Holly quietly took the possum fifty yards into a nearby wooded area to bury it and conceal its scent. As she dug, a rustling sound caught her attention. A zombie shuffled through the fallen, brittle leaves allowing Holly enough time to react, but not without a scream that carried to Jemma, Mark and Kenny. Before Kenny could heft his axe and dart off in Holly’s direction, she shouted back, “I’m okay. I took care of another one! Just scared me is all.”
Holly removed the shovel blade from the opening she’d made with it in the side of the creature’s skull; the shovel’s now gooey tip glistening in the dappled sunlight. Once free, the limp zombie dropped to the ground, completely covering the possum. Two problems solved with one shovel, she thought.
Moments later, her ears caught another rustling sound behind her, but she was more prepared this time. Holly gripped the shovel handle tightly, adrenaline ramping up again to fuel her determination, as well as every muscle in her body. Turning swiftly, swinging the shovel around a hundred and eighty degrees, Holly aimed high, but the shovel was stopped short of its target—caught by a hand she hadn’t expected.
She was shocked to see that it was her father, and more shocked that he had a baby nestled in the crook of his left arm.
Part 3
Present day.
Kenny Matthews stared with pride at his wife. Sherry didn’t know he was even looking, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was in her element taking care of baby Eva while out picking rose hips. Sherry had the child on her back, nestled in a blanket transformed into a homemade papoose, as Kenny watched them with an uncontrollable smile of contentment on his face.
What food that came from looting stores began to dwindle over time, and Sherry’s garden helped sustain them through the summer.
In winter, Sherry knew foraging in the woods was easy if you know what you’re looking for. The group was amazed each time she was able to provide delectable, nourishing sustenance from simple things such as pine needles, acorns, chickweed, wild onions and garlic, burdock, and even cattails—for their starchy and sweet rhizomes and stalks packed with vitamin C, potassium and phosphorous. She’d been nicknamed earth mother by Holly, Mark and Jemma; a more euphemistic term than her husband’s use of hippie chick, though used as a term of utmost endearment, because Kenny certainly loved and admired that part of his wife.
Earth mother would take the sweet pulp of rose hips and boil it down to make tea, but she’d learned—through one of those TV documentaries, so long ago now that she couldn’t even remember which one—that rose hips were used in Britain during World War II as a vitamin C syrup for babies. Eva seemed to love it.
Kenny saw his wife as a natural mother and nurturer, but biological children weren’t meant to be for the couple. It was just one of those random things that proved life is one big crap shoot, that being a good person, or a bad person makes no difference in the outcome.
When Tom showed up with the baby, nearly twelve months earlier, everything changed. Kenny seemed to mellow as Sherry took charge of the child’s welfare. Holly, and Jemma were like doting big sisters, and Mark... Mark was the one who suggested the name Evangeline. He said it was fitting; from the Greek meaning the bearer of good news or luck, and Evangeline it was. Eva for short.
No one knew where the little one had come from—abandoned in a car by the side of the road, Tom had lied—but, it was as if their survival was no longer about them and their individual needs to survive. It was as if their survival was for the sole purpose of caring for Eva. Without them she would have no future. She was a helpless innocent, so she needed all of them if she was to make it in this new world at all.
Eva had taken her first steps a few months before her first birthday, but Sherry still had not allowed her to be given the necromone serum. She had been adamant that the serum not be injected into a child so young. Deep down, Sherry simply wanted the child to be pure of such things. Instead, she simply rubbed a few drops of serum on Eva’s skin after her bath as if it were baby oil, although it wasn’t oily at all. It was enough. Eva was also duly guarded and protected by everyone, so she was never in any real danger.
Kenny’s protective nature went into overdrive when it came to Eva. He began to see Tom’s resemblance to a full-blown zombie as a potential threat. Even Jemma felt the barbs of Kenny’s intolerance sharpen towards her more and more.
Eva would be part of the new generation after the zombie pandemic. All the living dead would soon be gone from her future, and the last thing he wanted was for the child he would raise as his daughter to be exposed to what he called monsters.
Tom was mercifully scarce, but Jemma was a constant reminder. That damn filthy zombie girl. Kenny’s animus wasn’t perpetually overt, but he was given to moments unbridled prejudice, leaving Jemma to live her life in a state of constant apology for her existence, and Sherry to apologize on her husband’s behalf.
#
When they first arrived, Holly, Mark and Jemma had expected the bunker beneath the Matthews’ barn to be little more than an underground panic room, but it was impressively more. Paula Dexter’s cousin-in-law Kenny had created a series of interconnected rooms from cargo containers. Quite an undertaking, but then again, Kenny Matthews had been working on it for several years.
Recalling a simpler time, Holly thought back to childhood when her mother would say, “I can’t help it my cousin married a looney-bird, but they’re in love,” whenever her father would tease about the doomsday prepper in the family. Now, Kenny looked to her like a modern-day Noah, who had the foresight to prepare for the world’s great disaster.
Living underground could be claustrophobic, if one thought about it, but thankfully the bunker was spacious enough to not have everyone bunched together. It had the creature comforts of a kitchen of sorts, a makeshift living room, food pantry, and a separate room for supplies, which included Kenny’s arsenal of weapons, and a soundproof, ventilated generator room. There was even running water and a toilet that was essentially a retro-fitted port-a-potty hooked up to a septic system.
Naturally, Kenny had only planned for he and Sherry to occupy the bunker, but there was still room to block out ample sleeping quarters in the living room area for the new guests.
Because Kenny would routinely declare that his distrust of the government was one hundred percent vindicated after Tom’s tale of what happened at Fort Sheridan, Mark had presumed Kenny’s paranoia was the reason that he wanted everyone to remain in the bunker when not outside tending to chores, rather than in the Matthews’s main house.
The truth of the matter was that Kenny’s preparedness allowed for wiring the generators to service the bunker only. “So, it just makes sense to live down there,” Kenny was chagrined to admit to Mark.
Over time, Mark’s mind craved intellectual stimulation. Not being able to teach psychology for over a year didn’t mean that Mark wouldn’t dabble.
Psychology intersects with human life on such a continual basis that Mark found conspiracy theory a great education, and Kenny Matthews was a perfect case study.
It had become routine for Mark and Kenny to occasionally be engrossed in heated discussions. Kenny had viewed Mark as a student, prime to learn at the elbow of the alpha, but never fully realized that Mark’s inquisitive nature was simply a way to gather stones to throw at the hornets’ nest out of sheer boredom.
Often, they would revisit a debate on how long before the zombies finally died out. Each time, Mark probed, prodded, and goaded until Kenny’s rhetoric often turned to loud admonition of how naïve he thought Mark was on the topic.
Eva would cry, and Sherry would act as referee declaring the conversation over. “You’re scaring the poor child,” she would scold, forcing the two to retreat to the supply room, where inevitably Mark would try to engage Kenny on other topics.
“You got enough gadgets down here, Batman?” Mark questioned when he came across something in the supply area that hadn’t been duly explained yet.
“All essent
ial to survival, kid. All military grade,” Kenny said with pride.
“Even this water bottle? I thought the military only used canteens?”
Alpha Kenny rolled his eyes. “You bet your ass it’s a military bottle. Not only does it hold your water, but it’s a solar powered lantern. Eight hours of light with four LEDs on a full charge.” He rummages through a box next to the water bottles. “Got these UV water purifying pens to go with ‘em. Could be the difference between life and death.” Kenny went on to explain how UV light destroys harmful bacteria and viruses in water. When he was through pontificating, it was Mark’s turn to roll his eyes at information he already knew.
Looking past the night vision goggles and binoculars, Mark pointed to a crate next to a pair of solar chargers mounted to backpacks. “What’s in there?”
“Geiger counters. In case of a nuclear holocaust you want to test the radiation levels.”
“Ah, of course.”
Mark walked over to a thermoelectric generator and tugged on a tarp covering a large object in the corner.
“Don’t touch that!” Kenny barked out of reflex. “That’s some sophisticated weaponry that you wouldn’t probably ever see for another ten to fifteen years.”
“Sophisticated and futuristic, eh? Is it in case of an alien invasion or something?” Mark chortles at his own gibe. But, then he noticed that Kenny was stone-faced serious.
“You can laugh all you want, boy, but defense against attack, earthly or otherwise, ain’t no laughin’ matter. Most of the stuff I’ve acquired down here is top of the line. Made by Alpire Industries. They make all the best shit.” Mark could tell that class was over by the way Kenny’s body language was ushering him out of the supply room.
On the way out, Kenny noticed Mark pausing to study some objects in an opened padding-lined crate.
“Flashbang grenades,” said Kenny. “Found those on eBay.”
#
The woods were quiet. Quiet except for the sounds of nature. Normally, a peaceful quiet, but to enjoy the beauty of nature almost seemed wrong in light of what the world had become. Tom was too oblivious to notice any beauty around him. He perpetually loathed his sorrowful state. His irreversible condition that was deteriorating him into non-existence. It tainted everything.
His hallucinations meant he couldn’t even trust his own thoughts. But, when an idea took hold, a concept, a threat, that his brain told him was real, he had to protect the group. He was on his way to perdition, with the weight of redemption still heavy on him. Whether real or imagined, he felt it would never go away. Tom remained ever vigilant of the surrounding area for the sake of Eva and the group, performing his self-imposed penance.
Tom could actually feel himself changing in some small measure each day. More than the ever-increasing dilapidation of his appearance and body. Kenny’s abhorrence of Tom’s condition was evident early on, causing Tom’s erratic temper to display itself in short-fused rage during his first few months among the group. It was almost animalistic the way he would lash out at Kenny, as if vying for dominance.
Tom could no longer hide how the damnable virus had begun eating away at brain tissue, his chemical balance was off, his logic, his focus. He could barely recognize the man that he once was, in more ways than just physical.
Over the past few months Tom Dexter had visibly noticed his muscles withering, his breathing occasionally emitted a low wheeze, and swallowing became laborious. He morosely thought of what an MRI of his body must look like at this stage.
Given his worsening bodily and mental state, he made a daily asseveration that the decision to keep his distance from the group was sound. The only clear logic he’d recognized in himself.
Reuniting with his daughter and protecting her had been his personal goal from day one. Day one beginning when the world got knocked on its ass. And as far as Tom was concerned, mission accomplished. Holly was safe. Now, in a way he was protecting her from himself.
Tom could see everything from his vantage point in the woods surrounding the group. While the rest of the group remained on the Matthews’ farm, treating it more like a compound than a farm, Tom relegated himself to roaming the area, and sleeping in a neighbor’s abandoned home, yet always made time to watch his daughter from afar. His way of protecting now, like some ghost always hovering around a loved one.
He observed how Holly had been really coming into her own. Not merely as a grown woman, but as a survivor—a leader. Tom felt pride, thankful that his brain allowed him that merciful capacity. All the parenting in the world could never have prepared his daughter for the nightmare they are all a part of. Her mother did a great job raising her, Tom thought to himself, accepting no credit. Damn. She even looks like her mother. He furrowed his brow thinking of his ex-wife, acknowledging the pain and anguish Holly must have felt shooting her own mother after she turned. The strength and courage that must have taken...
Kenny may act like the alpha down there in his bunkerville, but Holly is tough. I’ll bet she could go toe to toe with him and hold her own.
Tom knew she sure had the smarts too, working with Sherry to grow their own food in summer and harvest winter sustenance that naturally abound in the woods. Her biology studies at the University of Illinois Springfield working to restore the Illinois River’s ecosystem at the Emiquon Preserve really paid off. Tom laughed to himself. And she thought I never paid attention.
Tom paid keen attention to the group dynamic without being immersed in it. He saw how Kenny barked orders, spewed his conspiracy theories, and shunned Jemma.
As protective as Tom felt over Jemma, as if she and Holly were sisters, he was proud to see how Holly and Mark both came to her defense when Kenny blustered on about the zombie girl.
Hol got that compassion from her mother and her take no shit attitude from me. Tom smiled to himself.
The three contemporaries were always a tight unit, in thought and action, and still were most of the time, though romance is a flame that cannot be hidden. So beautiful and unwillingly destructive all at once. From afar, Tom could see how Jemma seemed to be becoming a third wheel.
Mark would go out of his way to help Holly with chores, following her around like a puppy. They’d linger over conversation, and Holly would often cut her eyes to Mark when he wasn’t looking. The budding romance between his daughter and young Mark Spencer, even in the state of the world, was something good and pure. As pure as little Eva.
There was a time, when he’d first met Jemma and Mark, that he thought they may have been an item. Maybe at some point in the past that might have been the case. The virus had stolen any physical beauty she once had, and her personality was not far behind. He knew Jemma was going to waste away like him, and it made him angry.
Shunned by Kenny, an unintentional third wheel to Mark and Holly made Tom wish he could do something for Jemma.
Maybe I can get rid of one problem. They really don’t need Kenny any more. Look at him... acting all Billy Badass in his flannel shirt, ball cap and scruffy beard. Sherry can take care of the baby, and the rest will step up just fine. Tom lifted his rifle and trained the sight on Kenny coming into view with a cord of firewood. Yep, they’d all be fine without ol’ Kenny boy. Tom said, then set the rifle down.
Such a sardonic musing could trigger Tom’s unreliable mind to register it as a genuine call to action. He had to learn to be careful.
Part 4
The Gant brothers weren’t the only ones making supply runs. Marvin and Dee Conroy were resolute in never wanting to be forced from their home. Too old to start over, and they saw it as divine providence that their good Reverend Burke had been blessed with a miraculous drug to help them through this global disaster.
Marvin ducked down behind the Walmart’s pharmacy counter and pulled his wife down with him as the shots rang out. They didn’t want to get caught in any crossfire. Armed survivors tend to shoot at anything that moves. Last year they witnessed their good neighbor Barney Gold shot dead in his own front
yard by an overzealous zombie hunter.
After a few moments to make sure the coast was clear, Dee and Marvin thought it best to abandon their shopping cart and head for the safety of home. They’d plan to return another time, but not before Marvin grabbed a few free bottles of blood pressure medicine.
James reached for his gun when he heard a rattle sound near the pharmacy.
Marvin quickly stuffed the medicine bottles into his coat pocket to silence them.
The silver haired couple moved deliberately toward the shattered glass front doors as James maneuvered to watch from a safe distance. Dennis was annoyed that James had wandered off, but glad his brother couldn’t stop him from loading extra bags of corn chips into the cart.
James felt as if he were watching the Nature Channel. Unsuspecting prey walking right into the path of a zombie Walmart stock boy ambling through the greeting cards aisle. This is gonna be good, he thought. Better them than us. But something was off. The old couple saw the zombie but didn’t seem the least bit scared. Their pace didn’t quicken, but rather they walked within four feet of the monster without drawing so much as a hungry growl. It was as if they were invisible.
Once safely out of the store, the Conroys headed to their blue Plymouth, prompting James to move from his hiding place to get a better look. The lumbering creature sniffed the air in James’s direction and began shuffling toward him, beginning a low growl.
Casually removing his gun from the holster, James turned from the window, squeezed off one shot to kill the beast, then peered out into the parking lot again, contemplating the curious couple.
#
When clarity abides a while, Tom juggles the memories from the past and recent past. A way to comprehend one’s own existence by the markers along life’s path. Latching on to some nugget from the past became an exercise to fight against his impromptu mental leaps from reality. Some memories were from as far back as childhood, while others were more recent.
The Tale of Tom Zombie (Book 5): Zombie Survival Page 3
