by Mark Tufo
“Fire!” BT shouted from the middle room, making sure he was heard throughout the Inn. Gunfire erupted, zombies fell in droves, heads exploded, chests ripped open, arms and legs blown off, yet still, the horde did not shift. After five solid minutes of wrecking their front lines, BT called a cease-fire. Except for the zombies that had been obliterated, none of the others had budged. They did not look at the dead at their feet, they did not look to the Inn where the ferocious and barbaric shots had come from. The nothingness, the absence, was disturbing in its own right. BT now had to weigh options; how many rounds did they expend on an enemy that did not seem interested in the conflict? Thanks to Sanders, they had replenished their stock and then some, but he wouldn’t pour water out in the desert merely because he had plenty to drink.
BT turned as he heard Michael cry out in pain. A moment later, Travis ran past the room to check on his father; Tracy was with her husband–she would call out if help was needed.
“They’re coming!” Winters shouted. BT whipped his head back around.
“Just coincidence,” he whispered as he pulled the trigger. By the time they stopped advancing, the shooters were firing nearly straight down. Then, inexplicably, they began to pull away again. BT watched as they made a slow, apathetic retreat, making sure this was not some kind of ruse. He wanted to check on Michael; he used the excuse of an ammo check to do so. He wasn’t sure why he needed subterfuge, or even what he was looking for, but when he saw the man up and about and in good spirits, his suspicion of a correlation was confirmed. There was a connection between his most trusted friend and the strange behavior of the zombies. But what kind of connection? What did any of this mean? For, surely there was a relationship, right? The zombies had come when Payne showed; what if Michael somehow defined their purpose? They had stood outside in vigil while he was sick; they had advanced when he had cried out, whether in pain or for help. Then they had pulled back…realizing what? That he was alright?
13
Michael Journal Entry 13
I got dressed, went out to the porch, and watched as the last of the zombies receded–tough to call it a retreat; not something they generally do.
“Feeling better, Mr. T?” Tommy asked. He seemed so sincere, I felt guilty that I had accused him of trying to kill me.
“I saw Payne and Charity, and no, it wasn’t a hallucination. I was traveling in the astral realms.”
“And?” he asked.
“Charity is wounded on this plain and Payne gave me an…indication that she may never heal. But she was all tigress in there, until I wounded her.”
“What does she want?”
“Pretty sure it’s to kill all of us. Isn’t that generally what vampires want?”
“Not all vampires,” he replied.
BT came out onto the porch. “Happy to see you with some common decency,” he said, referring to my pants.
“Don’t act all coy and shit. You liked what you saw–kinda scared you,” I goaded.
“Fine. Since you opened this conversation up in that manner I’m bringing out the big guns,” he replied.
“Don’t, man–don’t do it,” I said.
“The only Talbot I want to see naked is your sister.”
Tommy snorted at that. I may have turned a slight green. “You been hanging with my wife?” I asked. “She teach you to ‘bring a tank to a thumb wrestle?’”
“Ain’t got time for your games. I’d like to talk to you,” BT said, and he looked serious.
I looked over to Tommy, who got the message and walked back into the Inn.
BT laid it on me–what he’d witnessed. I had nothing I could add. If I somehow had a measure of control over the zombies, sure, I’d use it to wipe them out. But I certainly wasn’t aware of anything big. In a pinch, I could maybe direct three or four to do my bidding, simple stuff, but that oily, disgusting feeling I got by linking with them was not something I relished doing, and I had avoided it altogether for a good, long time now. I’d rather lick the seat of an ill-tended gas station toilet, and we all know that just wasn’t going to happen–if you needed a conclusive image to follow my sentiments.
“Is it a subconscious thing?” he asked, reaching. “Maybe you don’t even know you’re doing it?”
“It doesn’t work like that, BT. There’s all this concentration, focus, reaching out. It’d be like trying to fly a plane subconsciously.”
“What the fuck is going on then?”
“I’m worried about Tommy,” I said. If I couldn’t say it to him, then I couldn’t say it period.
“In what way? Is he in danger?”
“No…I’m more worried about the danger to us.”
“From the kid? Really?”
“Just a feeling, couple of small things. He left me hanging there for a minute.”
“I can tell you this. While you were out, he swore up and down he didn’t know she was out there, for sure. And he was even more vehement that he had not seen you pass. And, I believed him. I have a pretty good instinct when someone is lying, or even half-truthing.”
“My understanding is psychopaths have no tells; that a lie does nothing to them physiology-wise.”
“You saying that kid is a psychopath? He’s been with us since the beginning. You don’t think someone would have noticed?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying, ok? But first off, he’s not a kid. He also had an extended stay with his sister not all that long ago. And there’s no denying she was a psychopath.”
“Mike. Think about what you’re saying. That kid, okay, man, vampire, whatever, has saved all of us, multiple times. If he wanted us harmed or dead he could have achieved that just by some inaction on his part. He would not need to do anything overt, and no one would even question him on it.”
“You’re right,” I finally said. “You’re right. It’s me, man. The accumulated stress of all of this–I’m starting to see shadows in the corners of brightly lit rooms. As much as we all needed this break, a way to heal and decompress…maybe it’s a sign that we should get moving again.”
“Yeah, it’s a scary thing when we give you too much time to think.”
I couldn’t even deny his words. He’d meant them as a joke, but there was a fair measure of truth to them. Idle hands might be the devil’s workshop, but an idle mind can be the birth of hell itself.
Even with the threat of Payne around and the strange zombie invasion, we had still found solace at that place, a measure of peace we had not had since the beginning. Two days later we packed up. We had enough food to make the trek by horse-drawn cart if need be and enough ammunition to fight off a city-sized horde. The only thing lacking could be the one thing we’d always had in excess. Hope. It took an immeasurable toll every time we lost someone. Death is a finality; you can never recoup the loss. There will always be something unique about that individual, their wit, charm, the way they smiled or the way they made you smile, hell, even their silence when others spoke. Those people aren’t just gone; when they go they take something from you as well, something tangible, it can never be replaced. That’s why they say you “miss” them; there’s something missing now besides another body. How many holes can you have in your heart before you begin to bleed out? It seemed to be a question we were all reluctantly and rapidly facing, searching for that number. But this was no Tootsie Pop with a gooey chocolatey center we wanted to get at.
BT and I headed out the next morning to Doctor Mary Jane Bones. If I’d made that name up, you wouldn’t even believe me. She wasn’t the closest obstetrician, not by a couple of miles. But come on, I had to. Like, I was compelled. It was an upscale medical building, couple of plastic surgeons shared the place as well. It was in remarkably good shape, but there wasn’t going to be many people coming to get a nose job or to check on why the missus couldn’t get pregnant during a z-poc. There were no zombies, no people, and no vampires, perfect trifecta.
“Door is locked,” BT said, pulling on it.
“Well, I gue
ss they’re closed. Maybe we should just go then,” I said.
“Is it hard being that much of an ass? I meant I was going to have to bust the window. Be prepared for some noise.”
He grabbed a decorative flower pot full of dirt and some weeds, thing had to have been a hundred pounds. He hefted it up onto his shoulder and heaved it a good ten feet. The resultant noise and shock wave was felt three counties over.
“Holy fuck, man! Maybe you should have just shot it,” I said to him. “Anything within a mile is going to come and check on it.”
“Sorry,” he said rather sheepishly. “I didn’t think it was going to be that loud.”
“Yeah, who’s the ass now?”
“Still you, always you,” he said.
We cautiously went in; nothing looked out of place, or better yet smelled bad. On the initial hallway were three doors. I went into the first one, Dr. H. Tuckman.
“This is a plastic surgeon’s office,” BT said, following me in.
I walked past the reception area and to the records room right behind. I pulled open a drawer and started flipping through some files.
“Talbot, what the fuck are you doing? Oh! Wow…” he said, getting closer when I handed him some before and after photos.
This guy is like an artist,” I said as we looked at some of his handiwork. For a solid five minutes, I kept handing off photos to BT.
He dropped his stack and grabbed my shoulder. “Come on. We’ve wasted enough time.”
“Wasted? Admiring art is no waste of time.”
“Not like this is the Louvre, and I’m sure your wife would be thrilled to hear about why this trip took so long.”
“I’ll miss you, patient 5642,” I said as I put her file back.
Dr. Mary Jane’s office was a bright blend of pinks and baby blues. She had an entire wall devoted to photos of all the children she had helped bring into the world. I couldn’t help but wonder how many of them might still be alive.
“So many,” I said, walking past the pictures.
BT had found the file room and was scouring files.
“Mike. Come on, man, there’s got to be thousands of files here. I’m going to need help.”
BT had a growing stack by his feet of women that were not viable candidates; each of them had already had their child or were conclusively incapable, as the case may be. I grabbed my first file and had just flipped it open when I looked across the room.
“Done,” I said.
“Really? You open one fucking file and we’re done?” He grabbed it from my hands quickly. “What the hell are you talking about? She had her kid ten years ago,” he said as he read the sheet.
I was walking to a cabinet that said “samples” on it.
“Mike, I looked at the damn booby pictures–the least you can do is help me with this.”
“When did you get so narrow-focused? Oh, I know what it is–you still have too much blood running around in your little man.”
“What? What the hell are you talking about? And me and you were standing entirely too close for me to be comfortable getting a…well, you know what I mean.”
“I wonder what my sister would say if she knew you got tumescent looking at other women’s breasts?”
“Tumescent? You talk like a third grader most of the time and then you throw a word like that out. What the hell is wrong with you? No, I wasn’t tumescent, you sick bastard. Let’s just find a house we can go to and get some damn vitamins!”
He was getting angry. “It’s okay, my stiffened friend! It’s a natural reaction. Men are very visually stimulated. Did your dad not have ‘the talk’ with you? We can go over the basics, if that helps.”
“I did not have a hard-on!” he roared. “I want to get the fucking vitamins and go!”
“Fucking vitamins? That a code word for Viagra? I mean, because, that’s a whole other set of problems. You seem young for that kind of issue, but all that anger could be blocking your chi. Don’t worry. Breathing techniques, maybe a little yoga could clear that all up.”
He flexed for a fraction of a second. Probably best I wasn’t standing behind him, I could be eating my words about now.
“I have to think the world would be a better place if I just spun your head off. The. Prenatal. Vitamins,” he said slowly and succinctly, hoping I wouldn’t find a way to distort his words. “I just want the prenatal vitamins,” he sighed.
“Done,” I said stuffing a pile of them into the backpack I had with me.
“Huh…what?” he asked as I walked by. “You have got to be kidding me? Why couldn’t you have just said something?”
“It’s a two-foot by two-foot clear display case that has six-inch letters that say ‘Pre-Natal Vitamin Samples.’ Should I have done some hand flourishes around it like Vanna White?”
“You could have tried, but she’s much prettier than you.”
“Can we go now, or did you want to grab some souvenirs from Tuckman’s?”
I didn’t need to turn around to realize he was flipping me off; I could feel the wind whip past my ear from the way he forced his finger into the upright position. We were back at the Inn in under two hours, might be a record for us. I didn’t want to say it was too easy because that implied that we were being set up for something right around the corner. I wouldn’t have minded in the least if all of our runs, hell, if half our runs went that smoothly. It was rare to have complete success, and even rarer to not have to fight or avoid serious danger.
“Any problems?” my sister asked when we came back.
“You should have used a thicker loaf of bread,” BT said.
“What?” Lyndsey was completely lost.
I smiled. “I’m thinking he wished you had smacked me harder or with something bigger when you hit me with the frozen pita bread.”
“Was he giving you shit?” Lyndsey asked BT.
“Your brother is a childish, mean, little man,” BT said, hugging my sister. Her back was to me, so not only was he freely flipping double eagles, but he was also sticking his tongue out.
“Oh…look at you making friends!” Tracy said to me as she came into the room. BT did his best to hide his gestures; it was about as effective as a kid with chocolate streaks down his face denying he’d eaten the cookies before dinner.
14
Mike Journal Entry 14
“On the road again…” Gary sang out from the back seat in a key I wasn’t even sure was measured on the musical scale.
“Does he realize how bad he sounds?” Tracy murmured from the passenger seat. She was doing her best to not show Gary she was plugging her ears.
“All the possessions we’ve lost, and he somehow holds on to a Walkman.” I had my window rolled down, hoping the seventy miles per hour air rushing in would drown out my brother’s crooning. It didn’t. If anything, it made the sound twirl around the car and directly into my right ear.
We all had our own unique ways of dealing with the problems this life was handing us. Mine generally involved an extra heaping of sarcasm steeped in large doses of alcohol. Gary liked to sing. It was the only time he was truly happy, the only time he could push his demons away, or at the very minimum, temporarily scare them off. The road was surprisingly clear of monsters and people, not debris–there was plenty of that. I couldn’t imagine that it would be much longer than ten to twenty years before car travel would no longer be possible, not to say with the way things were going we’d still have cars. We were already coming across stores of gas that were gumming up; wouldn’t be too much longer before we had no fuel. Sure, we could shift to diesel, but that would only buy us another year, max. Even if we used some sort of hybrid fuel or electric car, the rubber in the tires was only going to be good for so long before dry rot set in. Once you added the breakdown of roads no longer being maintained, we were facing the end of America’s love affair with the automobile. In reality, we had maybe a year or two more of driving wherever we went; our kids would never drive. I almost choked up at that though
t.
I understood that civilization was already on the ropes, but that would be one big nail in the coffin. Not just because some of my fondest memories centered around road trips and backseat romantic encounters, either. Without rapid transportation or a means to communicate, great swaths of the country would become isolated. Wouldn’t doubt it if we started to revert back to the Old West. That was, of course, if people made it that long. Mad Jack had scoured the country looking for settlements and the only one of note was Etna Station. I know there were pockets like ours, family groups banding together, fighting for our humanity, but tied off from all others they would inevitably begin to choke and die off. I hated to admit it because for most of my life I had tried to put as much distance as I could between myself and the rest of humanity, but we needed each other if we wanted to survive, if we wanted to come out the other side.
Deneaux pulled up alongside me. “You should take these two.” She was referring to BT and Lyndsey. “I’ve seen teenagers less handsy.”
“Not going to happen, and you’ve given me less of a reason to do so.” I rolled up my window and pulled ahead. We were making decent time and as we rolled from Indiana into Illinois, I could not help but think back on Camp Custer and the destruction that had been wrought there. Was I even now racing ahead to a new base, ready to insert a new virus into the community? Would I be considered this age’s Typhoid Mary? I mean, if you got down to the brass tacks of it, we had one vampire following us, there were two vampires in our midst, two people who maybe didn’t have the zombie virus in them anymore but had definitely been exposed, and a baby delivered from a zombie. That was a lot of potentially disruptive variables brought into a community that I’m sure had a very delicate ecosystem. I wondered if it was morally necessary to warn them about us.
“I’m worried about what our presence could potentially mean for Etna,” I said, finally putting words to my fears.
Typical Tracy, she immediately picked up on what I was thinking. “Custer wasn’t your fault, Mike. You can’t blame what happened there because of you or us. Eliza brought that storm to them.”
