by Dan O'Brien
It was a useful skill now.
“Usual run, gentlemen,” called Dan.
“Doesn’t feel usual, boss,” replied Allen.
Jesse looked at his brother.
“All feelings aside, grab what we have to and get out of there. No fucking around, no messing with the deadheads. In and out.”
Allen nodded grimly and Brandon stared coldly from the driver’s seat. “You want me to do what we talked about? Re-situate our dead guests?” asked Allen.
“You head to the Sports Authority. Brandon, you take an eagle locale with the .50 cal and keep an eye on things,” replied Dan.
“Right, boss,” called Brandon from the driver’s seat.
“Me and Jess will hit the library while tweedle dee and tweedle dumb hit Wal-Mart to pick up the Big Box shit.”
“And deadheads?” queried Allen.
“Try to keep the noise to a minimum and add bolts to those that are previously bolted. Kill any that have gotten loose.”
“Right, boss.”
The stereo was low and the music somber.
“Are we expecting trouble?”
Turning and looking at Jesse, Dan’s face was grim.
“Always.”
Track 6
Comfortably Numb
T
he two-vehicle caravan pulled into the empty streets of River’s Bend. The Bronco rumbled and then subsided. The van barely made a sound.
Doors opened; men emerged.
Kenny and Will were back at it again.
“You absolutely could not kill a zombie high. Fuck, you are high for even thinking that,” spoke Kenny riotously.
Will had dark sunglasses on.
He pointed an accusatory finger at Kenny. “It would mellow me out, calm me down, man. I get fucking stressed walking around here.”
Dan walked over and slapped Will hard on the back, jarring him forward. “Try and keep the bickering to a minimum. You guys sound like a couple.”
“Fuck you,” retorted Will.
“Nice. You two head down to Wal-Mart, grab what we need and whatever you think we might not. Take the Bronco.”
Kenny nodded and hopped back in the driver’s seat, revving the engine once more.
“We going alone?” asked Will.
“It’s daytime, you’ll see them coming if they come,” replied Dan with a smirk.
“That’s not nearly as reassuring as you think it is.”
Dan started to walk back, turning back to Will.
“Isn’t supposed to be.”
“Just fucking wonderful. Fucking Liberace over here,” spoke Will verbosely.
“You’re saying I’m a gay musician. What is that supposed to mean?” challenged Dan.
“Wait, no, I meant Mussolini, fuck.”
“Italian dictator?” queried Dan.
“How about grammar Nazi?”
“Grab a fucking thesaurus while you’re there,” replied Dan.
“Fuck you. You wouldn’t be giving me this much shit if Mary was…” Will stopped, the smile disappearing from his face. “I didn’t mean…”
“Get in the Bronco and do what I told you.”
Will saluted mockingly. “Right, boss.” As he leaped into the passenger seat, the Bronco roared to life and disappeared down the road.
Jesse stood beside his brother, looking at the slowly-disappearing SUV. “Tact was really never in her brother’s vocabulary, was it?”
“Not so much.”
Allen walked up, two giant duffel bags hung over his upper torso. He carried an assault rifle, a shotgun, and a cadre of handguns littered across his shoulders and waist. Links and links of shells and rounds overlapped.
“We meet back here?” asked Allen.
Dan nodded.
“Two and a half hours, not a second longer, and then we head to the Tower.”
“Tower? You didn’t say anything about the Tower today,” spoke Jesse.
Dan looked into the distance. “It has been a while since we gave it a try. I will remind the wonder twins to grab some extra generators and supplies.”
“Do you think that is a good idea?” queried the younger brother.
Dan shrugged. “Ran out of those a long time ago.”
Allen started to walk down the street, melting into the distance. It was nearly noon already and the wind was cold. Brandon carried the .50 cal over his slender shoulder with ease. “Brandon,” called Dan.
The much smaller man turned, looking at Dan through Aviator sunglasses. “Yeah, boss?”
“Play Watchtower. Watch the babies. Keep in contact.”
“As you say, boss.”
Brandon disappeared, ascending one of the many medium-sized buildings in River’s Bend. Dan and Jesse moved forward, walking down the street toward the library. It had been a dilapidated building before the apocalypse, now it looked more like a mausoleum than a house of books.
“Here we go,” spoke Dan with a sigh. Jesse looked at him strangely, the box of books in his hands.
*
The Bronco pulled across the faded lines of parking spaces. Will was the first out of the vehicle, bounding like a school kid exiting a school bus on a field trip. He carried his rifle loosely.
Kenny lumbered out, depositing his chainsaw on his back and grabbing the riot shotgun––that Dan previously wielded––in one hand and used the other to shut the heavy door of the Bronco.
Will jumped up and kicked his door shut.
“Hey, monkey boy, don’t kick the beast.”
“Don’t be so sensitive about your behemoth, man, she’s resistive.”
This seemed to brighten Kenny’s demeanor. “That’s true. This beauty here is a lot more resilient than you are. Fucking killing the English language, man. Boss would be pissed.”
“Low blow, man.”
“I call it likes I sees it, motherfucker.”
Will rolled his eyes and started forward, running ahead of Kenny, whooping and jumping about like a spaz.
“Didn’t you hear Dan? Keep the noise to a minimum, man.”
Brandon’s voice sounded over static.
“This is Eagle Eye, Dee and Dumb acknowledge.”
Kenny smirked. “Eagle Eye this is Dee. Dumb is accounted for. We can hear you loud and clear.”
“Dee keep the bullshit to a minimum. Grab extra generators, we are hitting up the Tower later.”
“Acknowledge, Eagle Eye. Dee and Dumb out.”
Will was already damn near the front doors of Wal-Mart. His eyes were wide open, and he knelt on the ground like he had made a spectacular soccer goal.
“Asshole, wait up,” called Kenny.
*
The interior of the Sports Authority was darker than outside. There was little ventilation in the store, so Allen reacted to the smell, scrunching his nose.
“Disgusting.”
The front counter retained its circular construction.
A groaning zombie stood behind it, indentured to the counter with the same silver bolts as the others. Allen approached the counter, hanging the assault rifle around his neck. Feinting a jumping motion, he drew the zombie forward. Bob the Sports Authority Zombie attempted to lunge, but did not budge.
“Seems solid.”
With a shrug, he continued farther into the store.
*
The inner sanctum of the library was shadowed. There was a smell of old books––stale and ever-present––in the air. “There is something rather comforting about the smell of old books. Makes me forget the world for a while,” spoke Jesse as he strolled.
Dan nodded and moved forward, his weapon in front of him and ready. Jesse navigated toward the library counter and placed the box of books on the old faded wood. “Shall we simply leave the books here or place them where they were once at home?” asked the younger brother with a bemused grin.
“I am guessing that is a rhetorical question.”
“Very astute, it is all part of the ritual.”
Dan smir
ked and slid the strap of the rifle over his shoulder and grabbed a handful of books before moving into the stacks. Jesse smiled, though his was more reserved. He picked up another handful of books, leaving only a few left in the box, and followed his brother into the long bookshelves.
*
Brandon found his way to the top of the building. The .50 caliber was set up, sights and barrel pointed through an open window at the town below. A duffel pack sat beside Brandon, and a headset clung around his head, which was much larger than his thin body. He chewed gum thoughtfully, leaning back in a fold-up chair, arms behind his neck.
He sung quietly to himself.
“I can’t get you out of my head….”
Leaning forward, Brandon continued to hum as he looked through the scope at the streets below, which were momentarily empty.
Track 7
Knocking on Heaven’s Door
M
usic played in the store, softly, like a haunting hymn. Kenny walked slowly through the aisles, touching various items as he passed. He reached down and picked up a candle, smelling it. A soccer ball screamed past, slamming into the shelves that had held candles.
“What the fuck, Short Stack?”
Will shrugged his shoulders and retrieved the ball, negotiating the aisles with relative ease as he ran deeper into the store.
“Fucking idiot,” murmured the lumbering giant. Walking into another aisle, Kenny touched a huge pillow, pushing his hand into it to test its softness. “Fuckhead, grab a cart.”
The sound of Will kicking the soccer ball echoed again. He sent it spiraling into something that resulted in glass breaking, followed by the quick footsteps of him running. Kenny continued to look at the pillows, walking down the aisle inspecting them. Will returned, riding the cart and laughing hysterically when it crashed into the tall shelves, rocking the items there.
“Are you in middle school or something? Grow the fuck up.”
“Coming from the guy who wanted Hello Kitty sheets, I’m not sure that means shit.”
“Hello Kitty is cool as shit.”
“You want some pink curtains to go with that, maybe some tampons?”
Kenny lunged forward, but Will slunk away easily. “Make yourself useful and grab cleaning supplies. You have about a shit-ton of zombie parts to clean out of my room.”
“The fuck if I do.”
Kenny pushed the smaller man and Will overdramatized, shrieking and covering his mouth as he bounded away. Will ran through the store, jumping off of things, touching damn near everything within touching distance. He, however, stopped in front of the paint counter upon seeing Bob the Paint Counter Zombie.
“Greetings and salutations, Bob.”
Bob groaned.
It was with much more vigor than any of the other zombies. Struggling against the bolts in its hands, black and red muck oozed all over the counter. “Looks like you are making quite the mess there.”
Bob tried to lunge forward, twisting its arms.
An elbow cracked.
It drooled menacingly.
“You really should be careful with your anger there, chief, could be bad for your heart.”
Bob lunged again, breaking another elbow.
Its arms hung loose.
“You see, now you’ve really done it. Two broken arms can’t be good for meeting the ladies. Interferes with the night life, ya know?”
Bob merely drooled and gargled at this point.
“I think perhaps my wisdom is lost on you there, Bob-o. I think I will be going about my business. You keep on keeping on, man.”
Will walked past Bob, who continued to struggle manically despite its broken arms. The youngest of the survivors grabbed a golf club from the counter and swung it about in wide arcs. Looking into the distance, he covered his hand over his eyes like he was out on the green. Reaching out with the golf club, he ran it over the counters, knocking various plastic-wrapped items off of the shelf. A tube of tennis balls fell to the ground, spreading out in a collage of green, yellow, and orange.
“Tiger Woods is set up for an eagle. He eyes the hole carefully, feeling the ground, testing his window of opportunity here on the 18th green.”
He drew the golf club up and then swung it with a grunt, launching a yellow tennis ball across the store. “He has done it. Again the green jacket will revert to the immortal Woods, further proving his dominance over a sport populated by overweight white men.”
Will raised his arms, making jeers and cheers as he danced about like Rocky Balboa.
*
Allen carried two duffel bags full of various goodies and camping equipment. The butt of his assault rifle was pressed against his shoulder; his head moved back and forth as he swept the store. With a kick, he opened the back door into the store room. Swiveling his head left and then right, he moved into the storage unit.
A groan echoed in the darkness.
His eyes steeled as his grip on the weapon intensified. Stalking forward with precise, powerful movements, he squared himself as he stepped into the open space of the storage room. A zombie sprinted forward on all fours, running with its body nearly sideways.
Blam.
The shell discharged, and the round caught the scrambling zombie in the head. Angling to the side, Allen approached it carefully, barrel steady as he stood over it. There was nothing left except a mutilated corpse and bits of skull and brain matter.
“Fucking deadheads.”
Turning, he moved into another portion of the storage room. Shuffling and scraping announced another denizen in the deeper shadows. A zombie screamed as two emerged running along stacks of goods like roaches along the walls of a dirty home.
Allen followed them calmly with the rifle.
Blam.
The first one fell, its body tumbling. The other one pivoted, moving from side to side on all fours. The barrel of the gun circled slowly, following the zombie’s approach.
Blam.
The round tore through half of the zombie’s face, putting it down. Allen turned back into the darkness.
Track 8
Foreplay/Long Time
D
an stood in front of the shelves. He held Les Misérables by Victor Hugo. There was a distance in his eyes as he looked at the pages. Closing the book, he stroked the cover.
“It was her favorite, as I recall,” spoke Jesse softly. He stood at the edge of the row, a short distance from his brother.
Dan nodded.
“It was. She read it every year.”
Jesse moved forward, touching his brother’s shoulder.
“I know that you loved her very much.”
Dan nodded again, eyes glassy.
“Yeah. Yeah I did.”
He sniffed, wiping a hand across his face.
“Is that your selection?”
Dan shook his head and replaced the book onto the shelves. “I don’t think I am going to grab anything this time.”
“Ah, I see.”
Even inside the library, the distant sound of gunfire filled the air. “Did you hear that?” queried Dan with apprehension.
“Sounded like gunfire.”
Dan brought his automatic rifle back to his shoulder. Jesse followed suit, drawing a silver handgun with a long, extended clip. He held the box of books with one hand, letting it droop beside him.
They moved to the front of the library.
The library was silent.
It was the one place where there were no zombies.
No distractions, just the past.
Moving past the counter, Dan hit the door with his shoulder. Out into the sunlight of the dwindling day, Dan walked ahead of his brother. The streets remained empty, but a second shot resounded.
“Sounds like it came from Sports Authority.”
Dan stepped forward quickly, Jesse not far behind him. He threw the box against a wall, allowing it to slide to a stop against the old stone. They moved across the open streets, reaching the front of Sports Authority
in a moment. Dan signaled that he would go first, and then slid into the open door.
His feet were sure beneath him.
“Allen?”
Another shot rang out.
Dan abandoned his careful footwork and stormed forward, his brother at his side. As they neared the door to the store room, Allen exploded through it. His back was to them and round after round erupted from his weapon.
“What the fuck is going on? Talk to me,” demanded Dan.
Allen did not turn around. “We got crawlers, a fucking hive of them in the back.”
“Fall back to us,” ordered the older brother.
Allen’s nod was barely perceptible. Moving quickly, he covered the distance back to the brothers with a practiced ease. His face was dirty, and bloodstains covered his torso and duffel bag.
“You alright?” asked the younger brother.
Allen looked at Jesse with a smile.
“Their blood, I’m fine.”
The back door squeaked. The three of them watched it open from a distance, but saw nothing come through. “We got more crawlers coming,” called Jesse with his voice slightly raised. The scratching of the skittering zombie’s broken nails filled the empty store.
“Draw them to the streets, into the open,” commanded Dan.
Allen nodded and backed up quickly.
Jesse followed suit.
Dan took up the rear of their position. A zombie climbed a stack of boxes––orange and white, collapsing them as it moved. The round ripped through the zombie’s neck, decapitating it with a vicious splash of zombie innards.
“Nice shot, boss.”
Dan did not respond and continued backing up as the door squeaked open again and then bounced several times, announcing more zombies.
He turned and yelled.
“Street. Now!”
They ran then, rushing for the embrace of the sun.
*
