The End .... zf-3

by Mark Tufo

  “Oh man, I needed that!” BT said holding his gut he was laughing so hard.

  “Ass.” Was all I could muster.

  After a significant lull, I realized that BT had drifted off into slumber. I was close too, when distant gunshots rang out. Fully alert now, I realized my dilemma. Here I was with a damaged arm tied to a bed without a weapon, I was sort of like a human kabob without the marinade or the accompanying vegetables or wooden skewer or…OH STOP TALBOT. Great just great, I was pissing the other half of me off.

  “BT you awake?”

  “Yup I heard it too.” BT said with his eyes still closed. “Relax Talbot.”

  “Not really in my nature.”

  “We’re in a military base, I’m sure they can take care of whatever is going on.”

  “Yeah you’re probably right, I just hate being this helpless. Bambi could come in here right now and kick both of our asses.”

  “Now are you talking about a zombie Bambi or just a regular type Bambi?” BT asked in earnest. “Cause I’m going to freak out a little if you’re thinking that there could be some zombie animals. Can you imagine nests of zombie rats coming after us, with that little hairless tail, or what about zombie pigeons? They’re already the rat of the sky. Or maybe cockroach zombies.”

  “Stop already. I thought I was bad.”

  “I think maybe we have too much time on our hands.” BT said. “But you don’t think there are animal zombies do you?”

  “Fuck no.” I said much too quickly, more to defer my unbounded imagination than to qualm BT’s fears. Could the disease pass the species line? Why not, other diseases did. Super, nothing like a 600-pound silverback gorilla wanting to munch on your head. “Oh no.”

  “What Talbot?” BT asked alarmed. Looking wildly about the room for this new threat.

  “I was just thinking about a zombified Big Foot.”

  BT was a half second away from calling me crazy, before he really let the thought of that set in. “Oh man, that would be really bad.” BT said and he meant it.

  “Big Foot as a zombie?” Tracy asked from the doorway. “What are you doing Talbot? Didn’t I tell you not to infect others with your touched thoughts?”

  “It could happen.” I said, defending my position.

  BT nodded in agreement.

  “The Doctor either needs to up both of your meds or halve them. I don’t know which.” Tracy laughed.

  “So what gives?” I asked, nodding my head to the doorway.

  “I figured the gunshots would get you thinking, I just didn’t know how far and fast you’d go down the rabbit hole.”

  “What? BT thinks that there are zombie cockroaches.” I said deflecting the conversation.

  “He’s a pretty big guy Talbot. Are you in such a rush to throw him under the bus?” I noticed that she did look down around her legs as she asked the question, a small shudder of revulsion coursed through her.

  It’s funny how thoughts, even inane (or insane) ones, have a habit of wriggling their way through your psychoses. That’s why therapists are (were) some of the most screwed up people on the planet. It’s impossible to listen to that many people with that many problems and not begin to inherit more than your fair share of them. Just think about it. What if I were to tell you that before you sat on that public toilet a grotesquely dirty male/female had just sat there and they had crusty sores that leaked a viscous oozing liquid that slightly resembled phlegm from a person suffering from bronchitis. You know what I’m talking about, that thick green/brown lung cookie. And that these seeping pustules carried small microscopic teethy worms that will burrow into your soft exposed flesh spreading their infection throughout your body. Will you ever be able to look at a toilet ring the same again? Or will you picture miniature monsters awaiting their chance to do you harm.

  “Talbot, you’re doing it to me again!” Tracy yelled.

  “What I didn’t say it.” I said surprised.

  “Did BT think about zombie cockroaches on his own?” Tracy asked.

  “Well yeah, he did.” I answered her honestly. “I mean I might have brought up something about Bambi.”

  “Bambi? Really Talbot?”

  “He did say something about nothing being left to rein the crazy in.” BT threw in for good measure.

  “Thanks man.” I said to BT

  “Anytime, there’s enough room under this bus for the both of us.”

  “Is it a double-decker? Although that wouldn’t really mean any more room underneath it.” I said as I started to wonder if there would be more room or not. I felt the heat of two sets of eyes on me.

  “Talbot sometimes I wonder how you got us this far.” Tracy said.

  “What?”

  “The shots. Remember those?”

  “I was getting to it.” I said, but in fact I wasn’t. I had completely forgotten about them, so intent was I on flesh eating rabbits.

  “Zombies came ashore.” She answered.

  “Ashore, what the hell does that mean?” BT asked

  "Ashore like in landing craft?" I asked

  I got the look that was becoming all too common. The, 'are you crazy glare.'

  "No boats then?" I added.

  "Yeah no boats." She shook her head and continued. "Dozens of them just started walking up the beach. Caught an older couple that was getting a little randy behind some dunes."

  "At least they went out happy." I said. The words were out of my mouth long before I realized how tasteless a statement that was.

  Tracy thought it. BT said it. "Fuck Talbot what is your problem?"

  "What?" the dawn of recognition coming slowly. "Oh sorry, I wasn't even thinking."

  "I wouldn't mind so much but it seems to happen more and more." Tracy said.

  "I'm sorry let's get past this." Of course I wanted to, it was my shattered reputation on the line. Tracy reluctantly let it go. "Was this the first time?"

  "The first time you've inserted your foot in your mouth or the first time the zombies have come up the beach?"

  BT pointed at Tracy and nodded. "Good one."

  "Funny, but deserved." I said. "Let's go with the beaching."

  "I'll tell you what, the Army guys were running around like chickens without heads and the Marines looked pretty concerned."

  "So I'm going to go with a yes on that then."

  "What do you think it means Talbot?" BT asked me.

  "I've got a couple of ideas BT, and none of them are good. You still want to hear them?"

  "No." BT answered truthfully. "Well get on with it."

  "Well first off it could mean that some zombies fell into the water sometime in the last few weeks, maybe off of some transport ship and just finally made it ashore here."

  "Eh, maybe." BT said shaking his head in the negative. "Next."

  "Some local zombies have figured out a more viable option of how to get into the gated buffet."

  "Possible." BT said. "Or?"

  "Or Eliza sent some forward troops in the hopes of finding some weaknesses to this base's defenses."

  BT eased his back down towards the pillow. "Shit."

  "Eliza? Already?" Tracy asked, hoping against hope that I was wrong.

  "It feels like something she would do. I know the zombies have some rudimentary intelligence. I just can't imagine that they'd be able to pass tactics to each other. Possibly one might figure out that he could walk into the water and bypass all the fences and guns but not dozens at least not all at once."

  "Okay though Mike." BT said. "If this is Eliza in all of this, why tip her hand now? She had to know that a few dozen zombies weren't going to breach this place. She could have waited until she had a few thousand zombies. That would have really thrown this place into mass chaos. These military guys aren't dummies. Now they're going to set up defenses and patrols."

  I pondered BT's question. Eliza's actions made absolutely no sense. Unless. "It's a feint."

  "What?" BT and Tracy asked simultaneously.

  "Jinx!" I
yelled. "Now you guys have to get me a coke! Man, what I wouldn’t do for that carbonated drink of pure refreshment right now."

  "Are we on hidden cameras? Are you getting sponsorship money for your product endorsements? Can you get back to the 'feint' thing."

  "Sorry that just sounds so good, in a tall glass with lots of ice and the huge condensation droplets sweating on the outside of the glass."

  "Talbot." Tracy and BT once again said in synch.

  "Again! Huh! This gets better and better."

  Tracy glared at me.

  "Sorry, sorry." I reiterated. "It's just that my mouth is so dry right now."

  "Talbot!" BT shouted. "If my leg wasn't busted I would run all around this base to find you that damn Coke just so I could bust it over your head. Now what are you talking about? Although that does sound really good, maybe with a little vanilla in it."

  "I'm leaving." Tracy said.

  "Hold on hon." I said coming back to a Cokeless reality. "Eliza has something else planned, she has to know that this place only has so many resources to combat a threat and she is going to stretch those resources as thin as she can. I don't have a clue as to what she's thinking but it's obviously better than having a water assault."

  "Seemed like a pretty good plan to me." BT said

  "Yeah me too, so whatever she's thinking must be even better."

  The room must have dropped twenty degrees because we all shuddered in unison. I don't think there is a 'jinx' rule for that.

  "How's your leg feeling now?" I asked BT in all seriousness.

  "Better by the minute." He answered.

  Tracy garnered what we were talking about. "Neither of you two is in any sort of condition to go back on the road. Mike you have literally died twice in the span of five days. And don't even say it! Three is not the charm."

  "How'd she know I was going to say that?" I asked BT.

  BT shrugged his shoulders, and then miraculously hit his power down button.

  "How does he do that?" I now asked the slumbering giant.

  "Mike?"

  "I know Tracy, we can't leave. I'm not sure I could get out of this bed and make it into the head to take a piss without passing out. Eliza just keeps forcing our hand. There's still time but the meter is definitely running.

  CHAPTER TWELVE - JOURNAL ENTRY 6 -

  "Mike you awake?"

  "What is it with hospitals?" I asked with my eyes closed. "You keep giving me sedatives to sleep and tell me I need rest so that I can recuperate and then you wake me up every half hour to see how I'm doing."

  "Mike." The Doc said calmly. "You've been asleep for nearly 36 hours."

  "Holy shit, no wonder why I kept having dreams about pissing. In one of them I was at an old abandoned town pool. It was empty when I got to it but I started to take a leak and it was filling at this really alarming rate, and I was like 'Holy crap this had better stop soon or its going to over flow and I'm going to be really embarrassed when my piss starts flowing down the streets and into storm drains The whole time I'm taking this piss I don't feel any relief. I am never getting that satisfactory release of pressure from my bladder. You know what I mean Doc?"

  "Mike to be honest I've given up a long time ago trying to figure out what you are talking about."

  "So you've never had the 'piss dream'"?

  "Can we perhaps move on to another subject?"

  "Oh I get it Doc, did you have some bed wetting issues as a child?" The Doc's face was beginning to look a little indignant. "Do you still have some issues? I mean cause it's alright with me. I mean we all have our own skeletons in the closet so to speak. I mean I don't personally wet the bed but…"

  "Oh for the love of God Mike, I really have no desire to discuss my fictional bodily function problems. I came here with a serious problem and a potential solution."

  "Alright, alright but I still think I'm going to bust at the seams."

  "Fine!" The Doc said handing me a bedpan.

  "This might go a little smoother if you weren't looking at me like you wanted to punch me."

  "Let me know when you're done." The Doc said as he went back over to a small table that contained a rather large syringe. I was hoping the needle looked so big because the table was so small and if that wasn't the case, I hoped the needle was for BT. Hell he was still asleep. It wouldn't hurt him until he was awake. "You done yet?" The Doc called over his shoulder.

  "You're really ruining the mood over here, Doc. I haven't pissed in 36 hours I would really like to enjoy this."

  "The elimination of waste should not…"

  "Doc! You're killing me over here."

  "Shoe doesn't fit quite so right when it's on the other foot, does it?"

  "Point taken, I think." After a couple of more minutes I took probably the best non-beer induced piss of my entire life. I bet I lost 3.5 pounds in 2 minutes. I was going to market this new diet sensation. 'Piss Away the Pounds'. Might be tough to get a sponsor though. Oh well, I had time to work on a new name.

  I sheepishly handed over the near brimming bed pan to the Doc, I don’t know which of us was more disgusted and embarrassed when some sloshed out and onto his arm and chest. "Sucks for you." I said under my breath.

  "What?" The Doc asked, completely mortified with this new development.

  "Nothing, I didn't say anything."

  The Doc looked at me suspiciously. This was not a good position for me to be in. I had one arm tied down and he had a nearly full bedpan of hot steamy piss. I'd probably die from shock if he threw it at me. The last time I had been this scared I was in my living room with Henry in my arms and a small contingent of zombies were trying to make me their breakfast. Doc Baker walked over and put the bed pan in the industrial sized sink, and then proceeded to take off his now urine infused scrubs. His vigorous washing had turned his skin into a cherry pink version of its former self. He was muttering something way over there. Every once in a while I would catch single words like 'asshole' or 'nutsack'. He could call me whatever he wanted as long as he didn't pick that bedpan back up.

  Doc Baker came back his left arm considerably redder than his right.

  "You know." I said. "That pee is sterile."

  "Don't!" He said pointing an angry red digit at me.

  "Fine, fine." I said holding up my one good arm.

  "Can we get on with what I wanted to talk to you about?"

  "Does it involve that needle?" I said pointing past him.

  "It does."

  I felt like I had already been pricked, deflated. "And me?"

  "Not directly."

  "BT then? He's a big guy he won't even feel it." That actually elicited a small laugh from the Doc.

  "No I was thinking of your son Justin."

  "What's going on Doc?" I asked, all triviality discarded.

  "If I had a team of virologists and biologists and a couple of dozen other ologists I might be able to use his blood to produce some sort of vaccine against this scourge."

  "You're throwing a lot of hope out there with a significant amount of negative tone to it Doc."

  "Well there's hope Mike, but not on as broad a scope as I was hoping for. I've been studying Justin's blood since the day he got here. There's a key there, of that I'm sure it just so happens to be locked in a world class bank vault and I'm trying to safe-crack it with a sparkler."

  "That bad?"

  "The sparkler might be an overstatement, more like a wet match."

  "Ouch."

  "Don’t get me wrong, I'm taking vials of his blood in the hopes that an epidemiologist somehow stumbles into camp. But until then I might have an answer or at least a way to treat what afflicts him."

  "I'm listening." Hell he could have been talking about the Baroque movement and I would be listening, couldn't really go anywhere in the state I was in.

  "I am going to put this in as easily explainable layman terms as I can, not because I think you're an idiot."

  "Thanks."

  "But because my grasp on the
concept is tenuous at best. In a normal human when they receive a bite from a zombie, their immune system is completely destroyed by the parasite. The system doesn't even have time to offer a viable defense. The saliva of the infected appears to be the most optimum way to spread the contagion, unfortunately not the only way. But in Justin's case he received such a small influx of the bug his body was able to rally and offer something almost as good as a victory."

  I was remembering that night not so long ago when I had sat over my son's bed dreading the fact that in all likelihood I was going to have to put a bullet in him. One does not easily get over one of the darkest days in their existence. "What's that Doc? What's almost as good as a victory?"

  "A sliding stalemate, the parasites have been stalled, somewhat."

  "I don't much care for 'sliding' and 'somewhat', there's more Doc, I can see it in your face."

  "It's a war that Justin can't win. He might be able to hold them off for weeks, months maybe even a year or two but eventually they will overwhelm him. If he catches a cold or gets bronchitis and his body has to start spreading white blood cells around he won't be able to produce them quick enough. The antibiotics I'm giving him are helping but it's more like giving Percocets to a man with a dislocated shoulder. It dulls the pain but doesn’t fix the root of the problem."

  The Doctor seemed hesitant to continue, I prodded him on. "And?"

  "And, I've got an idea."

  "The needle?"

  "The needle."

  "What's in the needle Doc?"

  "It's what the CDC was developing when this whole thing started."

  "You told me yourself it didn't work Doc."

  "It didn't work because it just wasn't strong enough. But it might be enough to tip the scales with your son."

  "Last time I checked Doc, scales can tip both ways."

  "And that's the problem."

  "You can't be asking me this Doc."