Zombie Fallout 3: The End

by Mark Tufo

  “Bet that fucking hurts!” A tobacco teeth stained mullet wearing cracker said in my face. Redneck Number One was back. “After you kilt my friends, I swore I’d get me revenge on you all. It was just a stroke of pure luck that brought me here. Old Vern froze out in that field that night when you took our trucks. I stumbled back to the road and the next morning these military trucks picked me up. They says I was a referee.”

  Through my muscle clenched teeth I was able to muscle out “Refugee, douchebag.”

  That got me another charge of electricity into my rib cage. It felt like muscle was tearing away from tendon, the pain was that intense.

  “So’s, I was already here by the time you’s got here but ‘course I didn’t know that. I just happened to come across your little flower of a daughter just this morning.”

  I strained against the paralysis.

  “Don’t waste yer time, you piece of shit. I shot you with ‘nough ‘lectricity to keep you from moving for the next fifteen minutes. Oh, I couldn’t have planned this any better iffen I had tried. You’re going to get a front row seat, well so to speak, front row floor maybe. As I do all sorts of things to your daughter. Then I’m going to slit her throat and I’m going to make sure you’ll be in position to have her blood flow over your face. This is going to be so much fun!”

  Nicole’s face was strained with terror. My body was immobile,. I was impotent. A ten-ton elephant sitting on me couldn’t have had the same effect the stun gun did. Redneck number one stood up and began to walk over towards the bed. He produced a foot long bowie knife from under his jacket. Nicole looked over to me, pleading for her life with her eyes. I did not even have the coward’s option of closing my eyes. They were frozen in the open position. Tears formed. The room before me got blurry but it would not be enough to spare me from the horrors that were mere moments away.

  I could feel a small pressure on my foot, I didn’t know it then but it was the apartment door being forced open. Henry came up beside me, he licked my forehead. I wanted to tell him to leave. There was no sense in two of us witnessing this atrocity.

  Redneck Number One turned to look at the new intruder who had entered into his sick fantasy. "What the fuck is that ugly thing? Looks like he was runnen' too close to a truck that stopped short." He snorted at his own joke. Redneck Number One came back towards me. "Whassa matter ugly?" Redneck asked Henry. You gonna be sad to see your master dead? That's okay, I'll kill you too just to make it an even three." Then Redneck did something that I think saved mine, Nicole's and Henry's lives that night. He walked back towards me, I strained against my invisible bonds and was rewarded with a kick square in the ribs.

  Henry then did the unthinkable, at least as far as anyone who knew that dog was concerned. He attacked. This was no play attack. His deep grumble alerted the Redneck that something had changed. Redneck had no sooner turned than Henry had latched onto the dirty bastard’s shin. I don't know what clicked in the dog's head. Lord knows he'd seen Tracy whack the crap out of the back of my head enough to not be too distraught when I was under attack. Henry must have known this was different but it still did not completely explain his behavior.

  I’m not sure what you may or may not know about English Bulldogs, so I’ll give you the 101 version. There is no more passive breed of dog on the planet, unless of course you’re trying to hide food from them. Most Bullies have what you might consider scraggly teeth. They don’t so much bite as they do crush. Their jaws are massively powerful and extraordinarily large. I can attest to that fact from the numerous times Henry and I have played and he will put my entire forearm in his mouth. He’d break my bones long before he’d be able to break my skin. That being said Henry would much rather sleep than play. They know true affection and they love to be the center of attention. I once did a test with Henry to prove to my wife how loving of a dog he was. This is no lie or exaggeration. One night I was cooking steaks on the grill and I might have had a few too many beers as I was cooking. Well lo and behold one of the steaks I cooked fell off the plate when I hit the tray with the screen door. There was no chance on God’s green earth I was going to eat this thing now, so I dusted it off, cut it up and placed it on a platter for Henry. ‘Watch this.’ I told my wife. She asked me what the hell I was doing as I got down on my haunches next to my furry friend. She placed one hand on the phone a heartbeat away from dialing 911. I literally got down on all fours, head to head with Henry, and made like I was going to eat his food. Now this is steak mind you, not kibbles and bits. You know what that dog did? He moved over so I could get a better angle on the dish. That’s Henry, not a mean bone in his body.

  So when Henry’s giant maw literally wrapped around Redneck's lower leg, I was just as surprised as Redneck was. The pain must have been intense, I watched as Redneck’s eyes began to bulge out. Dirt bag or not, he still had a knife and now realized he was going to need it for defense instead of fun. Henry snapped that man’s tibia and fibula, the cracking of bones was as loud as a percussion grenade in the small room. Redneck's knife came down, his aim blinded by the pain. I watched in helplessness as the knife arced down, Henry’s yelp of pain was all the proof I needed that Redneck had struck home.

  “Gotcha fucker!” Redneck yelled as he fell over, the pain in his broken leg making standing a losing venture. Henry was bleeding profusely from a wound to his side. The redneck was slumped against the wall, knife still in hand. His outstretched arm would still be plenty close enough to finish the job. “Fucking ugly motherfucker! I’m gonna kill you now!”

  ‘Oh no, Henry’. I could accept a lot of things that a hard life had to offer. This was not going to be one of them.

  Those were the last words Redneck Number One ever uttered. Not because he died, but because Henry ripped his jaw off. If that SOUNDS gross you should have been there to witness it. The splintering of bone and muscle as Henry tore into the soft flesh of the redneck’s face was gruesome. Teeth popped out of the redneck's jaw as Henry applied more pressure. When Henry shook his head, the bottom half of the redneck's jaw just came unhinged. Gristle, blood, teeth, and jawbone fragments flew around the room. A smear of blood landed on my right eye. Half the room became bathed in red as I desperately tried to blink, to no avail.

  Two MP’s and my wife simultaneously made it to the doorway. To my wife’s credit she only retched half as hard as one of the guards.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - JOURNAL ENTRY 10 -

  A half hour later we were all in Doc Baker’s house.

  “How is he Doc?” I asked nervously.

  “Mike you know that’s the fifth time you’ve asked me that question right?” The Doc answered.

  I looked longingly at him.

  He sighed loudly. “He’s fine Mike, and he’d be a lot finer if you’d stop bugging me and let me finish sewing these stitches.”

  Henry hadn’t even required any sort of numbing agent so intent was he with the frozen hot dogs he was sharing with Tommy, I’m not even sure he knew somebody was working on his side. Nicole in between sobs couldn’t contain herself from wrapping her arms around the lovable mutt.

  “See I told you it was worth saving him back at the house in Little Turtle.” I said to Tracy smugly. (Note to all men, wrong fucking time to prove a point!)

  “Talbot, are you kidding me?” My wife shot back. “You and your daughter almost died tonight and you want to throw an ‘I told you so’ in my face?”

  “Well I uh… had thought so. Not really so much anymore.”

  Tracy glared at me.

  “So are those hot dogs really frozen?” I asked Tommy in a vain attempt to thwart the hostility. Tommy ignored me like only someone who valued their own existence could. “Could use a little help here Tommy?” I begged

  “Wanff a hoff doff?” He answered.

  Henry took that as his queue and wolfed down the proffered frozen meat snack.

  I turned my attention back towards Henry. The laceration looked nasty. Fourteen stitches later he was as good as new.


  “Alright.” Doc said as he snipped the excess thread away. “I recommend as little movement for Henry for the next three days as possible.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem Doc.” I said. Henry had fallen asleep on the operating table with half of a frozen hot dog sticking out of his mouth.

  We went back to the barracks. I had rounded up an old musty cot to sleep on, while Nicole got into the bed with her mother. Henry had never woke back up as Tommy had carried him back up to our room. I waited until I was sure everyone was asleep and then I sobbed silently. There were just so much pent up emotions looking for an escape. A big chunk was relief, relief that my daughter was physically ok. Emotionally, that might take a while. Relief that Henry was ok. I was going to buy that dog a cow tomorrow. Out of us all he seemed the least affected. If I’m being honest, I think a big part of my tears were of frustration. I had walked into a trap. I had almost gotten my daughter and my best furry friend killed. That was a tough thing for me to reconcile. The cot swayed under the assault of my cries. I was being as quiet as was possible under the circumstances. It wasn’t enough.

  From the shadows came my wife’s voice. “It wasn’t your fault Talbot.”

  I wanted to answer her. It’s just that my throat was closed off.

  “Get some sleep Marine, we’ve all lived to fight another day.”

  She was right, of course she was right, she’s always right. Now if I could just heed her words I’d be all set. Three minutes later I stumbled into slumber.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - JOURNAL ENTRY 11 -

  It was sometime way after noon when I finally dragged my ass out of bed. Any movement more involved than scratching my nose sent excruciating bolts of pain radiating at the speed of fire from my shoulder outwards. If not for the fact that my bladder was sending an ‘imminent release’ warning to my head, I would have stayed in bed even longer. I might have cried a little (definitely some heavy moaning) when I reached over and grabbed my pain meds, Doc had hooked me up at his house last night when he had seen how bad I looked. I dry swallowed two but was not going to be able to wait the twenty or so minutes before they kicked in. I briefly wondered how ticked off Tracy might be if I just went where I lay.

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to work, for two or three good minutes I rolled around trying to find the least pain inducing method to get up. None were significantly better than any other. I went with the band-aid removal method. Bad, bad idea. Isn't it always? I sat straight up and fluidly stood as quickly as I could in a vain attempt at daring the pain to keep up. The pain had no problem doing that and nearly sent me to my knees. I fought to keep my vision from reducing to a pin point. I steadied myself on the steel headboard, thankful for the cool touch of it. When the spears of pain subsided to small knives, I shuffled my way to the bathroom. Two minutes later I stood in the bathroom, bladder completely pressure free and bathed in a fresh coat of sweat. This simple bodily function had nearly wiped me out and yet as my first day out of the hospital it was world’s better than pissing in a bedpan. Not much is more degrading than having someone remove your waste and then make comments about it as they do so. ‘Oh someone’s not drinking enough water’ or my personal favorite ‘You had corn last night?’

  Either I had been in the bathroom longer than I had thought or the pills were working faster than expected. The dull pleasantness of the buzz did its best to help me forget that my shoulder was knitting itself back into place. I longed to go back to bed but the mere thought of getting back out prevented me from doing that. I figured I’d go in the living room and sit in a chair and maybe pretend to read as the Percocets really went about their business. Let’s not kid ourselves, I was soon going to be high enough to watch a candle melt and enjoy the hell out of it.

  Tracy and Henry were nowhere to be found. My olfactory senses were thankful for the latter although that dog always managed to put a smile on my face even if it was hidden under my pulled up shirt, the better to hide my nose. The timing was impeccable. My ass had just made contact with the cushion when a knock came at the door.

  “You had better be a pizza or a candle delivery service.” I yelled.

  Tommy walked in thinking that was his invitation. “Hey Mr. T, how you feeling?”

  “Hurting a bit buddy. What’s up?”

  “Mrs. T thought I should hang out with you because I’m feeling a little purple.” He said with a long face.

  Even on pain pills it was not difficult to realize his meaning. “Blue, Tommy? You’re feeling blue?”

  “Isn’t that what I said?” He asked truly puzzled.

  “Hell you might have. What’s the matter? Why are you under the weather?”

  “We’re all under the weather Mr. T, of course, unless we’re in a plane really high.”

  I laughed, and that hurt like shit. So I was somewhere in the midst of a ‘Ha – ha and ooh – ooh.’

  Tommy looked ultra-concerned. “Don’t worry about it.” I said patting him on the leg. “Could you get us both some water and then come sit down?” The majority of my pain had eased as he sat down handing over a tall glass of Coke. I didn’t think we had any Coke but I wasn’t going to turn it down plus there was no piss Nazi to tell me I wasn’t drinking enough of the right kinds of fluids. “Thanks.” I said raising my glass.

  Tommy stared diligently at a condensation droplet.

  “Alright Tommy, out with it. I can’t stand anything but an extra wide on you.” (And by that I meant smile).

  He looked up at me with tears in his eyes, my heart was breaking. “I miss my parents Mr. T.” He said looking back down at that droplet, trying his best to not cry. Screw it, I did. I mean not your full out bawling, but between the pain and the pain meds I was already raking the coals of my emotions.

  My tears sent Tommy over the edge. He let go. I don’t know how long he had been holding onto his grief but if the pure pain that poured forth from him now was a hint then this was the first time. I got up and used my arm to hug him as tight as I could. His heaving body sent shock waves through my injury. That pain, however, was preferential to what he was doing to my soul. After a half hour or so and a small puddle on the floor later, Tommy had finally got to the bottom of his reserves. There was the occasional sob and I’m sure that he had a sinus headache that would rival any migraine. Images of Porkchop began to pop into my head. It took me many clouded moments later to put the puzzle pieces together.

  “Tommy.” I said as I stepped back a pace.

  The bleary teary-eyed face that stared back at me had absolutely nothing in common with the boy I had come to know and love.

  “Yeah Mr. T?” He said using his sleeve to wipe his dripping nose.

  “Why don’t you start calling me Dad?”

  “What?” Tommy asked as he snorted.

  “Let me run it by Mrs. T, Tommy but if you’ll have us I would love to adopt you.”

  I don’t know how it happened but Tommy’s face fell even further. A heretofore unknown untapped reservoir of water sprang a leak. ‘Stupid Talbot, always know how to say the wrong thing at the right time.’ I was only beginning to berate myself when Tommy took a momentary respite.

  “You would really do that? You would really become my dad?”

  Holy shit, now it was my turn to spring a leak. At first I thought he was crying because I had been so presumptuous as to think I could possibly be a stand-in for his real father when all along he was crying because of his thankfulness. I should have known better, Tommy is a better person than I could ever hope to be.

  Tracy came in at some point. “What’s going on?” She asked as she pulled the leash off of Henry.

  “I want to adopt Tommy.” I told her amidst my blubberings.

  “I was wondering when you were going to get around to that.” She said nonchalantly as she hung the leash up on a peg. “I was going to suggest it once you got better.” She added coming over to us.

  Tommy beamed as he hugged us both. “I love you both, Mom a
nd Dad.” Henry broke up the party as he began to lick the salty tears off of the floor.

  One thing that’s nice about the end of the world, it really cuts through the old administrative red tape. The next day we were able to make the adoption official in the eyes of the tattered government and hopefully some other higher power. The Talbots, plus BT (maybe I should adopt him too) and the Bakers attended the small ceremony. Next came the Feast of the Cakes, as Tommy liked to call it. It was his party and therefore his request had been granted.

  As the soiree was coming to a close I pulled him aside . “Hey Tommy.”

  “Hey Mr. Dad.”

  “Maybe we should just stick with Dad.” He smiled sheepishly. Chocolate cake and strawberry frosting lined his chin like a beard. “Listen Tommy, I just want you to know, I’ll never be your father.” His brow furrowed. “But I’ll always be your Dad.” His cheesecake lined smile was all the confirmation I needed that I had made the right decision. The hug he administered was just the cherry on the top.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - JOURNAL ENTRY 12 -

  I was itching in a couple or three different ways. I had an itch to get back on the road and away from sanctuary, call me crazy. Maybe I was becoming an adrenaline junky, I needed the drama of action in my life. No, that was crap, the simple fact of knowing that my family was safer now than at any time since the zombies came, was comforting. I had massive itching going on around my shoulder, but this was a deep tissue itching. No matter how desperately I tried to rake through the top layers of my skin, I was not going to get that satisfying sweet spot. You know, that point when you finally get at a difficult location on your body and just scratch that itch into oblivion. Oh, it is such sweet, sweet delight.