Those Left Behind

by Mark Tufo

  “The mere fact that you’re confused about it lets me know all I need to. Maybe you should join the zombies in their night classes. Speaking of which…” he started.

  “I don’t know man...it’s happening faster and faster. They’re adapting, getting smarter...that ambush? Come on! And, stronger too, I think. That bite was not human.”

  “These kind of changes would take generations to happen if they procreated.”

  “Yeah, that’s the thing. They have a virus running the show.”

  “What do you think the evolutionary timeframe is on a deadly strain?” he asked.

  “You mean for them to actually die from their own zombieism? Don’t know, but whatever it is, I hope I don’t live long enough to see two zombies fucking.”

  “True that,” was his response. We fist bumped low on that one.

  All looked quiet at the house. I saw a wave from the window upstairs. I think it was Justin. There were a few people on the porch just enjoying some fresh air and to get away from the claustrophobia of being in their tight quarters.

  “You’re limping, Mike. Are you alright?” It was Tracy come to check on us.

  I shrugged my shoulder over to BT. “He tried to shoot me.”

  “What?” she asked confused.

  “Hey, asshole. Why don’t you maybe tell her the rest of the story!” he said. He’d stopped walking so he could put his stuff down; I kept going to the porch. Mad Jack was looking back and forth to BT and me. I thought he was going to start hopping around if he got any more agitated.

  “Shit, man, just give him the batteries before he spontaneously combusts,” BT said.

  “First, you try to kill me, then you ruin my fun. Fine.” I handed over a box of batteries to MJ who dashed off back into the house.

  “Run into a little trouble?” Deneaux asked. She’d pulled a kitchen chair out onto the porch and was smoking a cigarette.

  “Got an extra?”

  Her eyebrows raised up before she handed one over.

  “Mike?” Tracy asked as I’d cupped my hands around the end of the cigarette, while Deneaux lit it. It was obvious to all my hands were shaking. I related what had happened on the bridge and what I felt might be in store for us going forward. I was even going to advocate going back to Ron’s when MJ came back out.

  “Your brother’s house is completely surrounded.”

  “What?” I asked reaching out to look at the console. “What are they doing? There’s nobody even there.”

  “I think they’re making sure it stays that way.” Tommy was looking over my shoulder.

  “There’s a disturbance in the force,” Trip said as a heavy cloud of smoke billowed forth from him.

  “Okay, Obi-Wan,” I said. As usual, I had initially disregarded his comment to only revisit it later and see the validity buried within the haze.

  “Scroll back,” BT said as ten people tried to stare at the tiny little screen. “Those cars looked parked in a mighty uniform manner.”

  “I think that’s A-1 used car sales,” Gary said. “I was just about to buy a sweet Miata when the zombies came. Maybe I could go get it now?” He looked around.

  “Yeah, we should be able to stuff ten, maybe twelve people into one of those. Jackass,” Deneaux said. Gary appeared to deflate under her words.

  “Don’t worry, brother. We’ll get you that Miata when we get to Washington,” I said.

  “We’re still going?” Tracy asked.

  “Hon, I don’t know what else to do. We can’t go back to Ron’s and we certainly can’t stay here.”

  She seemed to understand, but I knew I’d not heard the end of it. Trust me, I was all ears. If someone had a better alternative, hell any kind of alternative, I was listening. The dealership had a couple of cargo vans and a small recreational vehicle; it had been my intention that we should all stay in the same vehicle, but splitting up had merit too. If we ran into mechanical issues we could pig-pile into the other cars until such time as we could secure another ride, rather than just be stranded like last time. Or maybe we could just use these until we could find something else.

  “We taking the tractor?” BT asked.

  “How far is it, MJ?” I asked.

  “Seven miles—give or take a tenth.” He was checking the scale.

  I was in no mood whatsoever to go out on another run. I was exhausted and scared. My leg hurt. I missed my dog. But I knew our backs were up against it. We’d solved the immediate problem of food and water, but in a few days, we’d be back to square one. Anyway, who the hell else was going to go? I was feeling the weight of the entire troupe resting squarely on my shoulders. I was not comfortable with becoming the de-facto leader.

  “You alright man? You’re looking a little pasty,” BT said.

  “Wicked bad gas,” I feigned.

  He backed up.

  “I think I’d like to come,” Tommy said.

  “No tractor. It’s too damn slow and loud. We’ll walk.” I would have told Tommy to stay behind to keep an eye on everyone, but we were going to need a third driver. If all went right, which I had my doubts about, this should only be about a three-hour jaunt.

  “What’s the range on these?” BT asked MJ regarding the salvaged walkie-talkies.

  “Five miles, depending on the terrain,” he answered.

  Mad Jack had reluctantly offered up the satellite viewing system. His relief when we’d declined was palpable. I’d rather the people staying behind knew if there was any trouble coming, plus we would be able to stay in contact for most of our walk. And of course, if there was something breakable, odds were I’d find a way to do it. Sure, it wouldn’t be my fault, just that I know I’d be in a situation where it would happen. I can’t be held responsible if a Yeti swings a tree trunk at me and I have to deflect it with the hand holding the unit. These things happen.

  “Can you think of any reason to come with us over staying here?” I asked Tommy off to the side.

  “I can’t, Mr. T.”

  Tommy had been sort of our resident psychic, the kid had an inexplicable link to future events. It wasn’t quite like a guide book; more like a cautionary tale. But lately, he’d been rooted as much in the present as the rest of us. Well, except maybe for Trip. That guy had no concept of roots; he was more likely to attach himself to high flying objects. I would imagine he had a great view, though. Tommy looked pensive after he spoke, like maybe he had something more he wanted to say but wasn’t sure how to proceed...or possibly he didn’t know how to verbalize it.

  “Say it, Tommy. I can practically see the thought bubble above your head.”

  He looked at me; there was confusion on his face. Not at my words, but what he was trying to put into words. “When my sister was alive, for whatever reason, I had the ability, to a degree,” he quantified, “to see the fates of those that were intertwined with hers. Like somehow it was within my power to attempt to mitigate the damage she was going to cause or suffer, all along her timeline. These visions weren’t always clear or relevant; as circumstances would change the outcomes I’d seen before were also altered, and the whole process started over again. That...fluctuation, the diverging paths, the clouded futures, they cropped up way more often once you got involved.”

  I think he was calling me a monkey wrench in his engine block. Wasn’t sure how I was supposed to take that, so I let him continue.

  “With my sister’s passing, the visions have been getting less detailed, less vivid, less far reaching. All I’m starting to see is the immediate aftermath of an event. Like watching the wake of a vast cruise ship; I know it’s coming, but I can only watch the waves until they diminish and are finally still. Mr. T, that wake is fast approaching, and I’m scared.”

  I grabbed him in a hug. “Welcome to our world,” I told him. “I think maybe not knowing the future is slightly less frightening than knowing it.”

  “I’m losing a sense.” He was now crying into my shoulder.

  BT was looking over, I waved him off.r />
  When it seemed that Tommy had got it out, I gently pushed him away. “No, Tommy. It’s just changing. We’re all changing. Come on, let’s go for a walk. It’ll do you some good, clear your head.”

  I patted him on the back as we once again headed out.

  “Yada yada,” I said to Tracy and the kids, hopefully lightening the mood.

  “Yeah, dad, we’ll keep an eye on things,” Travis said.

  “Yes I know…you’ll be right back,” Tracy smiled and gave me a kiss. “Just hurry back this time, will you?”

  I took a long look at the tractor as we departed; seemed insane to leave a virtual tank behind, but the noise was too much of a giveaway to us coming. That could have been what sparked the trap from the zombies. That was a lot of assuming on their part, though, wasn’t it? That we were the same people that had been there previously, and that we were heading back to our bus. That’s a lot of what ifs and a lot of communication on their part to coordinate the attack. But maybe that was just my imagination running wild. They could have been like trolls, just waiting for any poor traveler to cross their bridge. Anyway, the tractor might be safer for the here and now, but not so much for what could happen. I much preferred my zombies to come running into my hail of bullets from a well-protected place rather than getting trapped in a nearly inescapable snare. Although right now, I wasn’t exactly in a well-protected area, either.

  We’d decided to avoid the bridge on this trip and head back the long way to where the zombies had come and hopefully gone. We’d gone about a quarter mile when I checked in.

  “Hey MJ, we still all clear?”

  “Don’t you think I would have told you otherwise?” he asked.

  “Is he being a smart ass?” BT asked. “Because I’ll go back and…”

  “Not everyone is a Talbot,” Tommy said assuaging BT’s feelings.

  BT calmed down. “Damn good thing, too. Can you imagine this world if everyone ran around like him?” He was pointing at me.

  “What the hell man, I haven’t even done anything.” I was defending myself from an attack brought on from deep left field. “You can both kiss my ass.”

  I think the duo were getting ready for a good old Talbot smashing. I was saved by Mad Jack’s next words.

  “There is a small group of zombies about a mile from your location moving in what could be an intersecting path,” he said.

  “Are they running?” Tommy asked.

  “Lightly jogging,” Mad Jack said after a pause.

  “Do you see any reason other than us, for their trajectory?” I asked.

  “I don’t, but I’ll keep looking. I’m about to lose my feed.”

  “We should get going,” Tommy said.

  “Yeah, I’m not of the same ilk. We sit tight for the forty-five minutes it takes the satellite to come back around. By then the zombies should have passed our rendezvous point.” I said.

  “How many zombies are we talking about? Maybe we just get rid of them.” BT said.

  “How about it, MJ?” I asked.

  “Seventy-four,” he replied quick enough.

  “Umm...MJ that’s not really a ‘small group’.”

  “It’s all relative. It’s small compared to what we’ve been encountering,” was MJ’s retort.

  “I’m just going to kill him.” BT’s head was shaking back and forth.

  Right here didn’t seem like such a great locale. We were in someone’s pasture—open ground for hundreds of yards in every direction, and for some reason, this place looked like it had been mowed recently; the grass wasn’t even to our knees. “The trees ahead or the house behind?” I asked a steaming BT and pondering Tommy.

  “Seventy-four Mike. How does anyone call that a small force?”

  “We’re going to have to move past that, big man. If we started jogging right now we could get back to the house before they ever become a concern. Either that or we hide in the woods and hope they just keep on going.”

  “What are the odds of that?” BT asked.

  “About as good as we could expect,” I said.

  “So they’re coming right for us?” Tommy finished.

  “Probably.”

  BT went down the path I’d been heading without any further prompting from me. “Say they’re out here looking for us. If we head back, they’ll know where we’re at. I vote for the woods.”

  “So do I,” said Tommy.

  “I vote for the house. That way, if you guys are wrong, I get to say ‘I told you so’ right before we die.”

  “You suck, Talbot,” BT said.

  It was a pine forest, which had the benefit of the ground being coated in pine needles. If we stayed away from fallen branches and twigs, our footfalls would be nearly silent. The cool thing about a pine forest was the absolute quiet, like the flooring not only dampened sound but absorbed it. Even the wind, which made leaves rustle, giving the illusion of running water, was not a concern here. We found a tree that was massive, had to be pushing seventy years of an undisturbed life, free from home builders and fire starters. We hunkered down behind it, keeping a look-out for the zombie patrol. I used that word because I was convinced that was exactly what it was. I don’t know what was tracking us or where and when they had picked up our trail but something was playing a war game with us. I had to wonder if it was someone Deneaux had pissed off; they could have the exact same devices she did. Then I went a step further; maybe she was working in concert with this mysterious force, doing her best to separate me from the group and have me eliminated.

  It came down to motive, well not really, Deneaux might kill me for the fun of it. But more likely there would have to be a reason she would do this, some clear and present reward. She could have killed me a dozen times by now since her return, though she would have had a difficult time explaining my death by hand cannon as she held the smoking weapon. No, if she’d made a deal to have me killed, this was the way to do it, sabotage our every move and have me running around on these suicidal half-missions. I mean, we’d basically accomplished nothing but lose our home, my brother, and my sister’s husband. I’d been as close as one gets to death several times. We had no vehicle, and so far our plans to get to safety had failed worse than miserably. When we picked her up, no one had wanted her but I’d taken her anyway. I’d told myself to keep an eye on her, and I had. But I’d been so tunnel focused on her current actions, watching for her to pull something overt, that I didn’t take into account things she may have already set in motion before she ever got to us. Could be a serious case of paranoia…or not. Her track record wasn’t exactly spotless. Shit, the spots on her track record were blemished.

  Could have maybe gone in circles a few more times with the Deneaux dilemma, but the thought was cut short as we were joined by zombies. They were jogging, like MJ had said, in more or less a column now as the woods dictated this formation. I know I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating for those of you not from this locale. I’m sure most of you have been out for a walk in the woods, as it can be a very pleasant endeavor, especially when you’re not fleeing for your life from a relentless enemy. The majestic trees and the cool breezes can be invigorating. The wonderful line of sights as you peer into the wild nature of wherever you are—a drink from a cool clear stream, perhaps a picnic table, a berry or two. That’s all wonderful, but it in no way describes the deep Maine woods. Here it is an explosion of vegetation, trees, bushes, thorns, wildflowers, saw grasses—all fighting for their small parcel of land to call their own and they stake out their territory with a vengeance. And fucking black flies, which make mosquitoes look like butterflies

  A fifteen hundred pound moose could quite literally be within twenty feet of you and you would never see him. Yes, you’d hear the beast pushing through the flora, but you wouldn’t see him. That’s the Maine woods. We were on a small rise that looked down onto a deer path some thirty feet away. We could just see a piece of the ground they were passing on, maybe no bigger than a standard chalkboard, or
whiteboard, for those of you that grew up a little later. So maybe there were seventy-four zombies, according to MJ’s calculations. We, however, could only see three at any one time. That left a whole fucking bunch of deadly monsters unaccounted for.

  BT raised his rifle up.

  “Whatcha doing, pal?” I asked him.

  “Want me to write you up a synopsis?” he asked.

  “Yeah, as long as somewhere in there it talks about how we have to go running for our lives once you take that shot.”

  BT looked over his shoulder at me.

  “He’s probably right,” Tommy said, backing me up.

  “Really? The man who is generally doused in gasoline and ready to be the first to jump into the fire doesn’t want me to shoot?”

  “I’m kind of surprised you’re in such a rush, buddy.”

  He thought on that for a moment, his finger alternating between applying more pressure on the trigger and easing up. “This sucks,” he said as he lifted his barrel up.

  I let out a breath of relief. Fighting in the woods was only cool when you were a Minuteman and you dashed out to the British marching columns, blew a couple of Red Coats away and then melted back in. Not being able to see an enemy until they were right in your face? Well, that loses its appeal pretty quickly. The winds of change or the winds of war, okay, the just plain wind, chose this very moment to pick up. Like a lot of things in life, it started slow enough, I mean, I hardly even noticed it. You would have been hard-pressed to get a kite up in it. But it kept building; I wasn’t concerned just yet, even if the wind was to our backs and was pushing our scent to the zombies. They weren’t known for picking up trails this way. Nope, I started to get concerned when the branches began to sway.

  BT still had eyes on the zombies; Tommy and I were looking upwards. If foul play had a scent, I think we would have been covered in it like unsuspecting shoppers walking through Macy’s team of commission-based perfume salesgirls during Christmas.

  “We have to go,” I said, touching BT’s shoulder. An old pine tree not more than ten feet from us crashed down with an explosive fury. It was so violent sounding I thought perhaps we were walking through a minefield.