The Age of Zombies: Sergeant Jones

by Rockow, B.

  Jones wasn’t done. “I can’t even tell if this is America anymore,” he said. “Everybody’s got something to say about what everybody else is doing. Well guess what? I say live and let live. I spent eight years over there doing things that nobody should ever have to do. When I get back here to America, I expect that I can do whatever I damn well please.”

  “Woohoo!” the cabbie said. “God bless America! Where we can smoke what we want, say what we want, and do whatever the hell we damn well want!”

  Jones flicked his cigarette out the window. “Let’s fight to keep it that way, sister.” He lit up another. “I know we’re close to home,” he said. “But I’ve got a special request. I’ve been thinking about it the whole time I was deployed.”

  “Yeah, what do you want?”

  Jones mischievous smile turned into a shiteating grin. “Dairy Queen.”

  The cabbie smiled. “It’d be my pleasure.”

  They pulled up to Dairy Queen’s parking lot and Jones elected to eat inside. He held the door for the cabbie as they walked into the burger joint’s lobby. The smell of bacon, onion rings, cheeseburgers, and the prospect of sinking his teeth into a Dilly Bar gave Jones goosebumps. He wanted to kiss the teenage girl with braces who rang up their order.

  “You’re like a kid in the candy store,” the cabbie said. “Look at you. Just look at you.”

  Jones grabbed a table at the back of the restaurant. The two sat down with their order number and sodas. Once they sat down, the Sarge’s mood turned a shade or two darker. He was fidgety. His eyes darted back and forth, even though they were the only ones in the restaurant besides the workers.

  The cabbie didn’t know what had came over Jones. She figured it had to do with the long flight. “Something on your mind?”

  Jones just nodded. His breathing was shallow. His face went pale, and sweat beaded on his brow ridge.

  The cabbie took a sip from her Dr. Pepper. She extended her pudgy hand and rested it on top of his. “It’s okay,” she said. “If you need to talk, that’s fine. If you need to be quiet, that’s fine.”

  Jones threw a fit. “Damn it, I didn’t ask you to touch me.” He withdrew his arms and sulked in the booth. He looked away from the cabbie. Images of the giants back on that mountainside flooded into his mind’s eye. He saw Big Boy splayed on the ground, his guts hanging out. He compulsively scratched as his ankles. It felt like those damn worms were back, inching their way up his leg. “I don’t even know your goddamn name.”

  The cabbie was a bit put off by his reaction, but she didn’t take it personally. She had known enough soldiers to recognize their demons. And she wasn’t offended that he had already forgotten her name. That was common between her and any man. “The name’s Clara.”

  “Right, Clara,” Jones said. He seemed to snap out of his gloomy spell. His eyes brightened, and he was able to face her without fidgeting. “I’m sorry Clara. It’s just, I’ve seen things. Things that I can’t take back from seeing. You know?”

  Clara was about to cry. She hated to see a warrior wounded in this way. Such a strong man, she thought. His wife was incredibly lucky to have him. “I know honey,” she said. “You just have to think about what’s right in your life. Vanessa, Emma Jo, your son to be.”

  Jones took a deep breath. “You’re right Clara,” he said. “Hey, by the way, would you believe me if I told you that I saw giants in Afghanistan?”

  Clara just shook her head and laughed. She really loved a soldier’s humor. “Giants? Oh, Sergeant Jones, you are a storyteller, aren’t you?”

  Jones just smiled and nodded. He respected the naivete of the cabbie. Little did she know that monsters, giant ghouls, lived in the barren mountain ranges of Afghanistan. Who knew where else these freaks found shelter?

  The conversation turned again to cigarettes and the first time they got caught smoking by their parents. Jones was forced to smoke two packs in one sitting by his father, a common practice at the time. Carla had to wash out her mouth with a bar of soap. They both joked about how if they found their own kids smoking they’d do the same.

  The food was delivered, and it was just what Jones needed. He ordered a bacon double cheeseburger, onion rings, and a cherry dipped Dilly Bar. Carla ordered a hot dog, fries, and a hot fudge sundae. Jones didn’t say much as he wolfed his food down. The two left Dairy Queen in the same spirit that they arrived. The Sarge’s episode was forgotten.

  Carla started the cab back up and leisurely finished the route. Before going home, Jones asked the cabbie to stop at Safeway. He wanted to pick up a dozen roses for Vanessa. After getting the flowers, he came out and hopped back in the cab. Carla was impressed by the gesture of love. She drove out of the parking lot and reached the destination. “Looks like we’re here,” Carla said. “Corner of 19th and Willamette. Which one is yours?”

  Jones pointed up ahead. “That pale blue house, with the group of lawn gnomes in the yard.”

  She pulled the cab up to the driveway.

  They both got out of the cab. Carla waddled over to assist Jones with gathering his luggage. “Well you take care soldier,” she said. “And thank you for all the things you done for this country. In your honor, I’m gonna have another smoke on the way to my next pick up.”

  Jones gave the cabbie a fist bump and a hundred dollar bill. “That should cover the fare,” he said. “If anybody gives you any flack about the smoke in your car, tell them that First Sergeant William Jones of the United States Army killed three dozen hajjis for your right to smoke wherever the hell you damn well please.”

  The cabbie lifted her pudgy, pale arm, and gave Jones a salute.

  Jones walked up to door of his home smiling from ear to ear. It felt like he was walking up to the gates of heaven. He set his luggage down and knocked hard. He had a secret knock that he taught Emma Jo before he left. He said that they were the only two in the entire world who knew the knock. He said that if she heard it again, it meant that papa was home.

  Jones hardly blinked before he heard Emma Jo screaming at the top of her lungs. His smile grew as she hollered for her papa. Jones heard her feet stumbling down the hallway. In a rush of excitement and screeches, she went for the door.

  The door flew wide open, and there she was. A beam of energy, blonde hair, and dimples. Jones scooped Emma Jo up from the ground and into his arms. He kissed her over and over again. Emma Jo squeezed her papa as hard as she could. It had been eight months since they saw each other.

  “I didn’t forget the knock papa,” she said enthusiastically. Her face was radiant. She couldn’t wipe the smile away. “I remembered it just like you taught me.”

  Jones laughed and tossed Emma Jo into the air. “You remembered sweetheart,” he said. “Just like papa taught you. You’re the smartest cookie in the jar.”

  Jones carried Emma Jo into the house, leaving the door open and the luggage behind him. The house was immaculate. And it smelled wonderful.

  “Pork chops are just about done!” he heard a voice holler from the kitchen. “The cheesy garlic mashed potatoes are ready. How about you come in and give ‘em a taste!”

  Vanessa was a gem. Somehow she found out that Jones was coming home early. This was his favorite home cooked meal in the entire world. He walked into the kitchen, and Vanessa stormed into his arms.

  Jones set the bouquet of roses on the kitchen counter.

  “Are these for me?” Vanessa asked. She picked up the bouquet. “They’re beautiful. And they smell wonderful.”

  “You look great,” Jones said. He actually thought she was stunning. She never needed make up. Her big brown eyes lit up as she looked up at her husband. Her face was pale and soft, and Jones just had to get a taste. He kissed her cheeks and made his way over to her rose petal lips. They stood there in the kitchen for a good three or four minutes locked in their amorous embrace. Emma Jo finally broke them up by rushing in between them. Jones pulled away from his wife to check out what was on the stove. “How’d you know I was com
ing home?”

  Vanessa played dumb. “I had no idea you were coming home tonight,” she said with a wink. “I just thought I’d whip up this wonderful meal for Emma Jo and I.”

  Jones took his wife back into his arms. He pressed tight against her belly, which was swollen with their next child. “I see you made three pork chops,” he said. “So I guess today is my lucky day.” He rubbed her belly. “Do we have a name yet?”

  Vanessa was giddy. “William Junior,” she said. “I want to name him after his father.”

  This was what Jones was hoping for. “A little junior, huh,” he said. “Damn, I love my life.”

  It felt great to be back home. The three Joneses ate at the dining room table. Vanessa put a Patsy Cline record on the record player. She lit up three kerosene lamps for lighting. The family ate their meal and shared love and joy. It was just as Jones pictured it when he was back in Afghanistan eating shitty MREs. For a moment, the memory of those giants crept back into his consciousness, but he was quick to subdue any negative reaction. The dinner was delicious and delightful, and Jones was able to finish eating without a hitch.

  Vanessa even made dessert. Chocolate lava cake with vanilla ice cream.

  Even though Jones just ate two meals, Dairy Queen and Vanessa’s pork chops, he couldn’t resist the chocolate lava cake. He was giddy and bloated when it was all said and done.

  After eating, the family retired to their rooms. Jones tucked Emma Jo in for the night. He read her a chapter from her favorite book, The Berenstain Bears and the Spooky Old Tree. Half way through the chapter, Emma Jo tuckered out. Jones gave her a good night kiss on the forehead. He sat there next to his daughter for a few moments, just to appreciate the silence, and her presence. He wanted to soak as much of it in as he could. He needed to make up for lost time.

  He turned out the light and left the room. Once he stepped into his own bedroom, he realized that his wife was ready to satisfy more more than just his hunger for pork chops. She was wearing a skimpy, see through black teddy. The lingerie accentuated her luscious curves. She confidently walked right over to Jones and started undressing him. She got down on her knees, unzipped his pants, and looked up at him with a mischievous smile.

  “You’ve missed me, haven’t you,” Vanessa said. She fondled Jones’s bulge and wrapped her lips around it. He let out a moan of pleasure as he swelled inside her mouth. She continued sucking him for another couple minutes. Then she stood up and brought him to the bed. “Take me, soldier.”

  The two made love several times throughout the night. They didn’t get to bed, or to sleep that is, until two in the morning. They passed out in each other’s arms, exhausted from the marathon session of lovemaking.

  The two had become one again. Jones was home, and the two loves of his life were happier than ever to have their father, their husband, their love back.

  Jones wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  The next morning Jones woke up and watched Saturday morning cartoons with Emma Jo. They ate chocolate cereal with marshmallows and laughed all morning together. Vanessa lounged around in her pajamas, and later in the morning did some gardening in the back yard.

  At around one in the afternoon Jones got the itch to get some more Dairy Queen. Emma Jo was on board, as she absolutely loved Dilly Bars. Jones kissed Vanessa good bye and said they’d be home in a couple hours. Father and daughter ordered to go, so they could eat down at the park by the river. A beautiful rose garden graced the park. Jones knew about a nice gazebo there, where they could eat their meal under its shade.

  They stood behind an elderly couple in line. The old man was trying his best to place his order, but he was hard of hearing. The girl as the register had to repeat everything at least twice. Emma Jo thought the whole thing was hilarious. Jones told her to hush it, that it was rude to laugh at one’s elders, especially in public. But even Jones couldn’t help himself once the old man thought the cashier said “your total is whore seventy five.”

  Jones ordered two bacon double cheeseburgers and a milkshake. Emma Jo ordered a chicken strips basket and a mint chocolate Dilly Bar. They had a wonderful time at the park watching the bikers and joggers and geese. Emma Jo got to run around and look at all the different varieties of roses. She fed her extra fries to the geese. The birds became aggressive as they fought each other for the fried treats.

  Jones vowed that he wouldn’t take another tour out to the Middle East again. The last round to Afghanistan was his last one. Jones kicked back on a grassy hill and shut his eyes. The sounds and smells of the park and the nearby river soothed his nerves. Images of the battlefield started running through his mind, but they didn’t make Jones feel ill at ease. The beautiful, calm Saturday afternoon down by the river helped him process the horrors that he couldn’t quite purge from his mind. Emma Jo helped, too. Her innocence was a salve for any of his problems.

  The two called it a day when Emma Jo got tired of harassing the geese. They had only been gone an hour and a half. Jones drove home with the radio blasting Emma Jo’s favorite tunes. They were a mish mash of Disney classics. Jones sung along with his daughter all the way back home.

  When they got back, Emma Jo asked if she could ride her bike outside. Jones said yes as long as somebody would be watching her. He noticed that the neighbor across the street was outside with her son, who was about the same age as Emma Jo. Jones waved to the neighbor and told her that Emma Jo would be out riding with the boy.

  Emma Jo’s request gave Jones an idea. He’d have Vanessa all to himself for the next hour or so. He started thinking of things that he wanted to do to his wife. He had a laundry list of fantasies that he tallied up while back in the desolation of Afghanistan. He finally had the chance to play some of them out.

  Jones walked into the house, and right away something didn’t feel right. He took a couple steps up the stairs, and something didn’t smell right. A couple more steps, and something definitely didn’t sound right. Jones rushed up the rest of the flight of stairs to the second floor of his home. He ran down the hallway to his bedroom and kicked the door open.

  What he saw at that moment was worse than a bullet to the gut. Vanessa was spread out on the bed, flat on her belly, naked as the sky. On top of her was a guy that lived down the block. He was middle aged, skinny, and had a hairy ass. Jones remembered this guy as the jogger: every morning he ran up and around the block several times, and he did the same every evening.

  Once Vanessa realized that she was busted, she ripped the sheets off the bed and tried to cover herself up. The jogger turned around and shrugged. “She said you two had an agreement,” he said. “I was just playing a part.”

  Jones rushed the jogger and tackled him to the floor. He smashed the guy’s face into the carpet and twisted the back of his head. The carpet burned across the jogger’s face, and he begged to be let go.

  Vanessa was balling at this point. She pleaded with Jones to let the guy go, that it wasn’t his fault, that he should beat her instead.

  Jones wasn’t going to stop. His vision clouded red with rage. He cracked his fist against the back of the jogger’s skull several times until he lost consciousness. Vanessa got off the bed, with the white sheets wrapped around her, and pawed at Jones to stop the beating. Jones pushed Vanessa off, and dragged the jogger feet first down the stairs. He brought him all the way outside, and dumped him in the middle of the street.

  His nude, pale body glistened beneath the afternoon sun. The whole neighborhood seemed to be out at that very moment, washing their cars, mowing their lawns, playing with their kids. Jones looked at each and every one of them, and by his look alone he made sure that they knew what had just went down.

  Jones went back inside and poured himself some bourbon. He stared at the bouquet of roses on the kitchen counter. One of the red petals fell from a rose, and drifted to the floor.

  All that he knew right now was that it was time to drink.

  No other course of action was logical.


  Absolutely nothing else made sense.

  Chapter Four

  The Lord’s Army

  “Alright boys and girls, let’s take it from the top!” A pudgy, pale, bald man with a dorky Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts stood up at the front of the bus. He had just smeared sunscreen beneath his eyes and across his brow ridge. His name was Jacob Salamander, and he was a co-leader of the Glen Elder Church Camp. They were on a summer mission to camp in the Ozarks, and had just departed from Pittsburg, Kansas. “I may never march in the infantry,” he sung off key. “Ride in the cavalry or shoot the artillery.”

  “But I’m in the Lord’s army,” the chorus of kids on the bus called out.

  “Yes sir!” Jacob shouted back. “One more time, from the top, all together now!” For how thoroughly uncool the leader of the camp was, his campers absolutely adored him. They followed his every word with faith. The bus had been on the road for about an hour at this point, and the midmorning sun peeked through a couple stray clouds. The campers were just starting to really wake up and get going. “Lord’s Army” happened to be their favorite song, and Jacob knew that the melody would bring some much needed manna to their expedition.

  “A one, and a two, and a three,” Jacob said.

  “I may never march in the infantry, ride in the cavalry, or shoot the artillery, but I’m in the Lord’s army!” The whole bus was on board with the song now. The campers grinned from ear to ear. The boys imitated soldiers on a battlefield, weapons drawn. The girls pretended to ride atop horses. In their minds they were far from any war. “Yes sir! I’m in the Lord’s army! Yes sir!” they continued. “I may never march in the infantry, ride in the cavalry, or shoot the artillery, but I’m in the Lord’s army! Yes sir!”

  Jacob waved his hands in ellipses, imitating the motions of a conductor. He had no idea what he was doing, but it looked good for his campers, and for Jacob that’s all that mattered during the precious summer months.

  There were three other Camp Leaders with Jacob on the bus that morning. Chris Pencraft drove the bus. By trade Chris operated a forklift at a grain warehouse a few miles outside of Pittsburg. He was brawny, tan, and good with his hands. He had the mind of a satyr, even though he was a leader in his small town’s faith community.