Zombie Fallout (Book 13): The Perfect Betrayal

by Tufo, Mark

  “Now what?” BT asked.

  “First thing is we find a place with a scenic view and we camp out for a couple of days. When that’s through, we head back and say we couldn’t find anything.”

  “I was talking about Deneaux.”

  “It’s so cute when you think I actually plan shit further than what I’m doing for lunch.”

  “You know I think it might be on me that I’m incapable of learning that fact. I mean, you’re as consistent as the stink on shit after a night of cheap Mexican food; it’s me that keeps expecting rose petals soaked in lavender.”

  “See, I told you it was all your fault.”

  “This is a nasty business,” he said after a while.

  “Going to get worse,” I told him.

  8

  Collier’s Journey

  Jake Collier wasn’t thinking about much except revenge as he quickly reassembled the pistol, something he normally could have done blindfolded and half asleep, but his hands were numb from being bound. He reasoned that he had enough time to shove five rounds in the magazine and take some well-aimed shots before that dickhead and the others were out of range. When he stood, the rage he felt coursed through his body and instead of properly aiming, not that it would have mattered, he squeezed off the five rounds haphazardly in a matter of a couple of seconds. None appeared to have done the slightest bit of damage. He was not angry he’d wasted the rounds, only angry he hadn’t exacted some measure of reprisal.

  “Oh, you can bet your ass, Lieutenant Talbot, I’m coming back to Etna. I’m gonna blow your fucking face off while you sleep. Then I’m going to pay a visit to the rest of your precious little squad.” He watched the three Hummers disappear into the horizon. As of yet, he was not feeling anything but anger. That changed quickly when he realized just how alone he was and how remote his location. He walked around until he gathered all the rounds he could, coming up one short. He loaded up each magazine with eight rounds a piece and put the remaining one in his pocket. He made a quick circle, looking for signs of life, maybe some wheels he could commandeer. When nothing presented itself, he began to walk back the way he’d come.

  A fire had burned in him through most of the morning, but that quickly tapered off as hunger and thirst began to take root.

  “Going to have to find some supplies,” he said as he stopped and once again looked around, not at all happy with the lack of resources. “Dropped me in the middle of fucking nowhere. Might have to shoot your wife, too, although her having had to live with your stupidity should be punishment enough.”

  Jake had been dishonorably discharged from the Army two months before the zombies had come. He’d been a supply corporal back then, though not necessarily a good one; he’d been accused of stealing M-16s and selling them to the highest bidders. The Army prosecutors did not have enough evidence to convict, otherwise he would have most assuredly died in Leavenworth. Instead, they’d booted him from the military, a decision he’d not been overly heartbroken over. He’d quickly moved back in with his parents and resumed his affair with video gaming. He’d gone out in the field for maneuvers only once during his active service, and that had been more than enough. He’d always found reasons or made up injuries to keep him on base. The gym, his dojo, or online were the only places he wanted to be, and he was fine with that. His commanding officer had once called him a malingerer, but his staff sergeant at the time had written a statement that Collier was outstanding at his job. That was the only thing that had kept him from being booted even earlier.

  Now, as he stood in the middle of the roadway with the sun high overhead, he had a pang of regret that he’d not gone out on the exercises and learned more about survival and the ability to live off the land. He’d always assumed, wrongly, that he had a base full of Marines that would do the job for him. One on one, he was nearly unbeatable. Two days ago he would have said completely unbeatable; he did not at all like the fact that the lieutenant had shattered that illusion. He was arrogant enough to think it a fluke, but if one fluke could happen, could another? And this was a solid ass kicking. His mind wandered as he continued on; he found himself back in his parent's basement the day it all started.

  “Jake! Jake, honey!” His mother had been calling from upstairs.

  “What?” he snapped as he ripped his headphones off. The distraction of her inane screaming had been enough to throw him off his game and he’d walked straight into a sniper’s trap. He was waiting the thirty seconds that it took to respawn. “You got me killed, ma!”

  “I don’t feel so good; I’m going to lie down.”

  He wanted to yell at her about why the hell she felt the need to bother him with that; it wasn’t like he was going to go looking for her to make him a sandwich. “Yeah, okay,” he’d answered instead, pulling his earphones back over his head.

  “Jake!” came the authoritative yell of his father.

  “Fuck me,” he hissed. He was annoyed his parents kept bothering him, but he was getting hungry. Then he realized it had been over eight hours since his mother had gone to sleep. “No wonder my bladder feels like it’s swimming. Yeah, dad?” he called up.

  “Your mom isn’t feeling all that well. You and I are going to make dinner.”

  “Shit,” he muttered as he turned the game off. His father had been a downright prick since he’d found out his son had been driven out of the army instead of being on extended leave, like he’d told them. It would do no good to argue with him. More times than not he would just shut the internet off, saying: “My house, my rules.” Wasn’t much of a hardship for them, as they only used it to check email or look up actors and actresses’ names they couldn’t remember.

  “Jake!”

  “Coming,” he replied. As he rounded the corner, he could see his father standing at the top of the stairs, hands upon his hips. He was gearing up for a fight, but Jake would not engage.

  “When are you going to get a job and put those stupid games away?”

  Jake grimaced; his father was going to push until he got what he wanted. He’d grown up in a loving home, and his parents had supported him when he said he wanted to join the military. They’d gently tried to persuade him to go to college instead, but when that didn’t work, they were behind his decision wholeheartedly. The disappointment in his father’s eyes when he’d received the letter from the State Department regarding his son’s status had created a tangible shift in the family dynamic; a nearly intolerable one.

  “Working on it,” Jake gave him his standard reply.

  “You’ve been buried in my basement for two months. A job isn’t going to come to you. Or can you not find one because no one wants to hire a vet with a dishonorable discharge, is that it? Your problems aren’t mine. In fact, I’m sick of this. Your mother and I work our asses off, and you to do absolutely nothing. You’re twenty-two. We did our time raising you, now it’s our time to enjoy life.”

  “I know, dad.”

  “Don’t take that condescending tone with me. Ripping off war weapons and selling them to criminals? What were you thinking? How many people are going to die because you wanted to make an extra buck?”

  “People were going to die from those weapons no matter whose hands they’re in.”

  “Don’t you be flippant with me, young man. War and street violence are two very different things!”

  Jake didn’t think so, but he wasn’t about to point that out. “You’re going to wake mom if you keep yelling.”

  That seemed to take some of the punch out of the man, but he wasn’t quite ready to let it go. “I’m disappointed in you, Jake. Just having you around is a constant reminder of how much I failed as a parent.”

  Jake was stung by the words, though he didn’t know which of them had been more hurt. His father’s body sagged, like once he’d let the great weight of that statement free from his soul, he no longer had support.

  “Fuck it. I’m going to lay down. Get your own dinner.”

  Jake noticed the breakout of
sweat on his father’s forehead. He wanted to apologize for what he’d put him through, but his father turned to go down the hallway to his bedroom, and Jake had yet to take care of his pressing need. He spent the next few minutes in the bathroom. When he came out, he noticed his mother standing at the top of the basement stairs; she was swaying slightly.

  “Mom?” he asked as he came down the short hallway toward her.

  Her face had a grayish hue with splotches of red veiny streaks; he thought it must be a trick of light and shadows. She turned her head slowly toward the sound, and as if her body were not in tune with the rest of her, she took a step forward and tumbled down the stairs. Jake stood in shock for a moment as he heard her body thump off the carpeted steps.

  “Shit!” He ran for the basement door. His heart banging wildly, he gasped audibly when he saw her crumpled form lying at the bottom. Her left leg was broken and her right was pinned underneath her at an awkward angle. He hesitated, afraid to know for certain what her condition might be if he went down and checked on her. As of yet, she had neither moved nor made a sound, and come to think of it, she had not yelled out in surprise or pain as she’d fallen.

  “Mom?” he called out tentatively. He was frozen; did he run for his father? Or go downstairs and check on his mother? Or phone for an ambulance? That she was hurt was unquestionable; now he was worried if she were dead. He loved his mother and didn’t want anything harmful to befall her, but it had, and his father would make sure to twist it so that it was somehow his fault. If he hadn’t been living in the basement, she wouldn’t have had a reason to go down there, and now look at what happened!

  He was halfway down the stairs when he heard his father moving quickly down the hallway.

  “What did you do?” he roared. He ran down the stairs, pushing Jake up against the wall as he went past. Al Collier gently turned his wife of twenty-four years over. He let out an anguished cry as he gazed upon her sunken eyes and the dark, sickly hue of her complexion. One milky eye opened up and stared balefully at him. “Call 911!” he shrieked. Jake had not moved, was not sure if he could even find it in himself to do so. “NOW!” His father’s shout got him moving. He fumbled with the phone, dropping it twice before finally punching the numbers in. The line beeped busy before he’d even connected. He mistakenly thought he’d misdialed, he tried four more times with the same results.

  “Can’t get through!” Jake yelled down.

  “Can’t even call in an emergency right, idiot!” He could hear his father stomping up the stairs. “Go watch your mother, she’s coming around.” He pushed Jake away from the phone.

  Jake stopped on the second to last step. He couldn’t bear to look upon his mother, the broken gray thing lying there. He thought she should be dead, but that one milky eye was looking at him. It was not a wide-eyed, I’m in pain—help me stare, it was the narrowed look of someone meaning to do harm. He wondered if she was mad at him, that she felt this was somehow his fault.

  “I’m sorry mom,” he whispered. He turned to look back up the stairs as his father began swearing and slamming the phone up against the wall. Then he heard pieces of the destroyed device falling on the linoleum flooring.

  “I can’t get through! I’m going across the street. You stay with your mother!” Al pointed a threatening finger toward Jake. “You leave her alone and they’ll be taking two people to the hospital!”

  Jake was taken aback; his father had never threatened nor raised a hand against him in anger, ever, and not for lack of justification, either. Jake hadn’t been a bad kid, but he’d not been an angel either. Al shut the basement door and threw the lock.

  “Wasn’t going to leave her,” Jake whispered. Although he’d said the words, he would rather have waited for the ambulance upstairs. Something about his mother just wasn’t right. She looked more than dead; she smelled like an open and active sewer line. When he turned back, he could have sworn she’d moved closer, though she was in the same twisted shape.

  “Stay calm…mom…help is coming.” Jake tentatively reached out with one hand before pulling back. His mother had not taken her eye off his hand, the expectation of her gaze almost bordered on desire. “Say something, mom.”

  A low, groaning moan escaped her lips, like a cold wind blowing through a mausoleum. The TV flickered, drawing Jake’s attention. A zombie dressed in a Nazi uniform stared back at him, frozen upon the screen. Somehow the game had turned back on to his last save point. He looked for a few moments more before looking at his mother.

  “No.” He shook his head as he spoke. The rest of his body followed suit; it was an uncontrollable, instinctual reaction. His mother moved toward him; she was pulling closer. Her right hand grabbed onto the carpet, turning her body around, stretching the ruined limbs behind her so she was angled straight for him.

  “Just…stay still,” Jake pleaded, half standing to move up a step. Another moan escaped his mother’s lips as she got to the bottommost stair. She raised her head to look at her prey. Suddenly, that was how Jake thought of himself now; she was hunting, and she was hunting him. Somehow, someway, she’d become the monster he spent a majority of his days killing. It had been so easy on the game, using bricks, knives, all manner of firearms, and on occasion even a flamethrower. But now that he was faced with a real-life enemy, he was icebound, unable to do anything except attempt an escape.

  “Stop!” he begged as she lay her head upon the step, dragging along what appeared to be the useless back half of herself. Jake moved up another step, his mother followed, though at a much slower pace. Her mouth was opening and closing as she gazed upon her child; thick greenish phlegm stuck to the roof of her mouth and her tongue, oozing out when she moaned. It looked like she’d been chewing on rotten worms, and the resultant squishing noise as she masticated send a spike of disgust through Jake’s gut. His mother grabbed another handful of carpet and came up another stair; she was now one step below him. Her right hand grazed against his bare foot, her eye opened wide in what Jake could only describe as a triumphant, malicious joy.

  Jake recoiled, pulling his foot and leg up underneath him. If his mother was dismayed, she did not show it; she plodded on. Jake had seven more steps of retreat, after that he didn’t know what to do.

  “Just fall,” he said softly, as they did the retreat and advance dance four more times. He reached out with his foot, thinking about placing it against her forehead to push her back down. But every time he tried, she would shift so her drooling mouth and her teeth were in a position to rip his toes off. She would chomp loudly and quickly whenever he got near. Once she bit the air so hard she shattered two of her front teeth. The jagged gaps gave her an even more menacing appearance, as if she had sharpened her teeth for just this occasion. Jake held his leg up for a while longer, horrified but fascinated by the monstrous appearance of the woman who had raised him. Long lines of drool fell from his mother’s mouth and pooled on the carpet runner. Five minutes later, with his mother still approaching, Jake’s back was literally against the wall, or the door, in this case. There was nowhere else to run. He had pulled himself up into a ball, his legs tucked in under his bottom. In desperation and hope, he tried the door handle, but his father had locked him in, making sure his son stood guard over his fallen wife. He began to beat on the stout door; it did not so much as rattle on its hinges. The lights flickered for a moment, plummeting the room into a nightmarish blackout. He cried out in anguish and fear, and on cue, they came back on, illuminating the ghastly face rising closer still. He did his best to meld into the door, failing miserably. He was weeping when finally he fell into the kitchen, the form of his father standing above him.

  “What the hell is going on?!” he roared but froze when he looked at his wife, who had halted her climb for food. He stepped over the balled-up form of his son.

  “Don’t, dad,” Jake said, grabbing at the bottom of the other’s pants. He’d not meant to clutch them in a death grip, and certainly hadn’t meant to make the man trip, but tha
t was the result.

  In Al’s panic to grab onto something to keep him from falling, he snagged his hand into the tresses of his wife, pulling her all the way down the stairs. She landed on top of him, forcing the air from his lungs as she did so.

  “Stupid bastard,” Al wheezed out, his final words before his loving wife bit into his Adam’s apple, crunching through the fibrous material and pulling it free from his neck. She threw her head back in ecstasy as she chewed. Blood bubbled forth from the wound; Al tried to push her away. A choked, wet cry of help escaped the hole in his windpipe. Jake’s heart stopped; he reached out and pushed the door hard, closing off the horrid scene playing out before him. He cried so hard, his ribcage hurt from the racking sobs, his face pressed to the flooring in a puddling of snot and tears. His head throbbed from the buildup in his sinuses. Finally, he groaned and rolled over, staring straight up at the ceiling. The kitchen lights flickered. There was a constant chirp from the stove as the clock demanded a reset.

  He closed his eyes, hoping for some miraculous reset of his own. They flew open when he heard a thudding against the basement door, less than three feet from where he lay. He scurried backward, his feet losing traction in the mix of muck he had left behind, but he had enough speed to give himself a knot on the top of his head when he collided with the cabinets. He expected to hear the ghoulish, dank rasp of his father accusing him of double murder; he would slowly turn the handle to the door and walk through, blood still draining forth from his neck, the entirety of his shirt and pants soaked in crimson. Jake pushed back until he found himself at the corner of the room, by the lazy Susan cabinet—he wondered for a moment if he could fit. He again cried out when he saw a lithe and nimble form come running into the kitchen.