by Mark Tufo
Henry again looked over. I’m worried. There are so many dangers aboard the floating building, many he does not know about. He is alive, but that is no guarantee.
“Whoa,” Travis said. “Looking into your eyes…it’s like you know.”
Of course I do. I am as much Michael’s guardian as he is mine.
“I love you, Henry.” Travis hugged his neck. Henry licked his face.
And I love you. And I promise never to tell our dad about the beers you used to sneak out of his fridge, if you promise never to tell about all the bacon that’s gone missing over the years.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” Travis said as he pulled out a packet of dog food and a rolled-up paper plate. “Enjoy,” he said as he poured it out. He pet the dog on the top of his head and walked down the beach a ways. The young woman he’d been dating, in so far as someone can date during a zombie apocalypse, was sitting on an outcropping of rocks, a hundred yards away.
* * *
Avalyn sat in her family’s tent. She’d not felt well since they’d arrived. The pull of the virus was much stronger here for a reason she could not tell. It had always been in her, a present delivered to her mother from an orderly at the hospital and then handed down to her within the womb. It was as much a part of her as her arms and legs. She knew how to use it at will, but now it was changing; it appeared that the gift now wanted something in return, and she was unsure if she would be able to prevent that from happening.
* * *
“Hey, Justin,” Dallas said as she sat down at the mess tent table with him.
He’d been looking morose, but brightened when he saw her. “Hey, Dee,” he said.
“You realize my name is only two syllables, right?”
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.
“I’ll let it slide.” She smiled. “Any idea what this is?” she asked, pointing to the brown lump of food on her tray.
“I think they’ve been calling it Salisbury steak.”
“Seriously?” She was closely investigating a piece upon her fork. She shrugged and set it down. “You all right? You looked pretty angry when I was coming over.”
“I should be over on that boat, helping my dad.”
Dallas knew that they’d not heard from the team in over twenty-four hours, and that was unsettling, to say the least, but she also knew Michael Talbot. If there was a person better suited to survival, she’d yet to meet him or her. And she told Justin just that.
“I know, I know…doesn’t make it any easier.”
She changed the subject, hoping to distract him from his thoughts. “What do you think it’ll be like to live on a ship? I’ve only been in a canoe, and that got tipped over. Guy I was dating thought it’d be funny to rock it; it wasn’t. He sure was pissed off when he fell in and ruined his new phone.” She laughed. “Clown deserved it.”
“Was it serious?”
“Losing the phone? Not for me.”
Justin smirked. “The guy.”
“Naw, just a summer fling. He was kind of a tool.”
“What about now?”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m engaged.”
“What?”
“God! You’re entirely too easy. Just kidding! I’ve been too busy thinking about how I’m going to get back to Texas or if I should even try. I know your dad said he would go with me if that was what I wanted to do, but I’d feel guilty pulling him away from you guys again. Now that I know my parents are safe and they know the same about me, I’m not sure what I want to do. Hearing them on the radio…it was so uplifting and liberating at the same time. I feel like I can do some good here. Colonel Blaylock’s group is great, but they’re not doing anything but surviving. This group, I think, is going to make a difference. I might want to be a part of that.”
“Strange feeling, isn’t it?”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The feeling that we’re living through something bigger than ourselves. I mean…I know it sounds egocentric, but when I was younger, I thought the world revolved around me.”
“Who doesn’t?” She smiled and nodded.
“But what’s going on around us…it’s hard to explain. Like, we’re somehow at the center of all this and we’re the only ones that can fix it. How narcissistic does that sound?”
“So, basically, you still think the world revolves around you! Sorry…” she laughed, “but, yeah, you’re right. That’s as good an explanation as any. It’s an inexplicable feeling, but it’s there, nonetheless. I feel like if we don’t succeed, the whole race fails. That’s why I’m having such a hard time. It seems selfish of me to be a sideline spectator rather than an active part of the engine that pushes for change.”
“Want to go walk on the beach? It’ll take your mind off of the food.” Justin stood.
“I’d like that.”
* * *
“Do you think he’s not calling because I threatened to make his favorite meal when he got back?” Lyndsey asked Meredith. She was joking in an attempt to tamp down the fear rising up through her throat like an aggressive tapeworm.
“As good a reason as any, auntie,” she said. “Don’t look at me that way! You’re the one that brought it up, and don’t forget, I’m your niece. I’ve tried to eat more than a few of your dinners. Next time you try to make mashed potatoes, remember you need to boil them first. Blech.” Meredith’s body involuntarily shivered as she remembered that first earthy taste of raw potato.
“I mashed them! How much more can you expect? God, I miss your dad.” Lyndsey hugged Meredith.
“Every day,” Meredith cried. “He always knew what to say, even if he wasn’t always right. That was the funny thing about him; he always sounded so sincere, so convincing, even when he was making stuff up. Like, he’d just never tell you he didn’t know.” She sniffed.
“Lie with conviction.” Lyndsey smiled.
“BT and Uncle Mike are fine.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m my father’s daughter,” she said somewhat cryptically.
17
Captain Vienden
“We’re in position,” the captain radioed Deneaux.
“Took you long enough. I want visual confirmation,” she replied. Vienden had his radio operator sweep the area with his camera.
“What the fuck, Captain. I said visual confirmation, I can barely tell what I’m looking at. I need to know Talbot is there. Get a picture of his stupid face or find that pretty little red-head or those irksome animals, a flat-nosed bulldog. I don’t give a shit. Don’t waste my time until you can prove it to me.”
“My daughter….”
There was a click as the line went dead.
“You heard; pack up, let’s move closer.”
“Are you sure, Captain? We get caught creeping closer with this thing,” the gunnery sergeant smacked the crate, Vienden winced, “and they’re going to kill us first and second, not even mess with asking questions.”
“Does this bother you at all, Freeman?” the captain asked the sergeant.
“Killing deserters? Should it?” He was putting stuff back in the van.
“It should.” But this he said quietly and only after the sergeant was back in the van.
“Stop here,” Vienden ordered when he felt that to get any closer, they would need to go on foot. The small caravan pulled off the road and hid in a driveway.
“Wow, live this close to the ocean and live in that piece of shit? Probably happy when the zombies came,” Sergeant Canter said, looking at the broken-down trailer home.
“I grew up in a trailer a lot like that one,” Vienden said.
“Bet you were happy when the zombies came too, am I right?” Canter was smiling as he said the words.
The captain knew he’d chosen poorly; most of what was left in Deneaux’s army were psychopaths, thugs, the fringe personnel that thrived on killing, or those too scared to make a stand. Either way, he knew the figurative bus he was driving contained screa
ming banshees, was on fire, and heading for the side of a cliff. The captain was looking over a sea of tents. He’d only seen Talbot once and from a distance; he didn’t think he’d recognize him if they passed right by each other. And a “pretty redhead” was a thin description to go on.
“Dog,” Canter said, pointing.
Vienden directed his gaze over to a small dog. “Some sort of terrier…doesn’t look like a bulldog.”
“It’s a fucking dog—good enough for me. I want to get back to the base.”
“You realize the base you want to get back to is surrounded by zombies, right?” Vienden asked.
“Dipshits aren’t getting in. And the poker tournament starts in two days; I don’t want to miss it. I’m going to radio it in.”
“I didn’t give that order.”
“I didn’t ask you for one.” Canter walked away.
“Jesus, he is here,” Vienden said as he saw a large bulldog approach the smaller dog. The impressive animal was followed by a red-headed woman. “What have I done?” His head dipped and his hands were now resting on the binoculars he’d put down.
It wasn’t five minutes later Canter handed him the radio. “Well? Have you found the twit?” Deneaux asked through inhalations.
“There is high confidence that this is the right location. The dog and the red-haired woman have both been spotted,” Vienden said.
“Michael Talbot? Do you have visual confirmation on Michael Talbot?”
“Not yet.”
“Idiot. Oh, Heather darling, could you come here?” And with that, she was gone.
The captain kept staring at the radio, hoping that he’d be able to tell what was happening on the other end. “You call her again without my order and I’m going to hang you by your short hairs.”
“If you say so. Sir,” Canter replied with derision.
Vienden wanted to punch Canter in the face, but Canter was the de facto leader of a small portion of the men he’d brought with him, and if he didn’t have their support, it was unlikely that he’d be able to make the mission successful. Though the odds were already small, he had to do his best to get back to his daughter.
“How’d that go?” Gunny Freeman asked.
“Ever feel like we’re working for the Evil Empire?”
“Careful Captain; a lot of the people here are very loyal to Vader.”
Vienden had to smile at that.
“Come on, water’s been boiled…time to eat some reconstituted food.”
“Sounds wonderful.” The two men walked to the small park picnic area that was across the street from their makeshift headquarters. Most of the unit was there already. Canter was sitting at a table of loud, jeering people. The captain went to investigate; he saw a small dog surrounded by people.
“What is going on here?”
The men stopped cheering. “Just having a little fun,” Canter said, smiling.
“Is that one of the dogs from the compound?” Vienden asked.
“Relax, we ain’t hurting the little fella. I like dogs, mostly. We’re betting on how fast he can eat through one of these meals.” Canter held up a nearly empty white bag with large black block letters written on it.
“Seriously, Canter? You said you weren’t hurting the dog, but you’re going to kill him if you keep feeding him those.” Gunny Freeman was attempting to deescalate the situation. Canter laughed, the rest of his lackeys joined in.
“Probably right, Gunny, and that’s his third one! Get the hell out of here, dog.” He tossed the empty bag, smacking the pup across the snout. Ben-Ben grabbed the bag and took off running.
“Three bags? You realize Etna is in the middle of a siege, right?”
“Are you pulling that, ‘there are starving kids in Africa,’ crap?”
“Soon enough there won’t be enough food,” Vienden replied.
“Relax, Captain. Murph was mostly done with his, and Traeger, the dumbass, dropped his. The dog was on it before any of us could move. And me, well, I just don’t like this reconstituted horse meat shit. And don’t worry, me and the boys, we’ve got plans for when the food gets low. Don’t we?” The laughter sounded mean-spirited to Vienden, but it might have just been his dark mood. He sat a couple of tables away but was acutely aware of how quiet Canter’s table was now, although occasionally they would look over and snicker. He gripped his utensils so tightly he was afraid they were going to become embedded in his palm.
“Relax, Captain. We get through this mission, we go back to Camp Death Star, and you can get your daughter and go about your business without having to deal with those losers ever again. At least you can count on some things…. Rehydrated meatloaf is just as disgusting as one would think it would be.” Gunny Freeman was inspecting the substance on his fork.
“You know about Heather?”
“It’s my job to know everything.”
Vienden eyed him suspiciously.
“Okay, okay, you caught me. My wife is a guest of Deneaux’s. I talked to her the other day, and she told me.”
“We should perhaps talk about this…situation.”
“Or not.” The gunny nodded his head to Canter’s table before getting up and disposing of the rest of his meal.
The next morning, Vienden woke early and went down to the forward observation post. Private Comera, anything to report?” He’d startled the man; it was easy enough to see he’d been sleeping. Comera was one of the personnel that was in tight with Canter, and the group had been drinking late into the night.
“Umm, uh, yeah, no.” The private grabbed the binoculars that were next to his head. “Nothing new to report.”
“Nothing new? I’m looking at a half dozen zodiac boats heading out.” He snatched the binoculars away. “And they’re all wearing hazmat suits. What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“No shit, Private—you were sleeping. You realize this is an active war zone, right? You know what the punishment is for dereliction of duty?”
“Ah, leave the kid alone, Cap. He had a rough night.” Canter was off to the side, he had a knife in his hand and was peeling an apple. The look in his eye was enough to let Vienden know the sergeant wasn’t picky about where that blade ended up.
“Both of you go. I’ll take next watch,” Vienden ordered.
“Whatever you say.” Canter tapped his friend, they left, laughing.
Vienden watched the small boats until they were nothing more than a mote upon the horizon. He spent the next few hours theorizing on why they’d had on protective clothing but hadn’t come up with anything he could prove. In the end, though, what would it matter? “What do we have here?” He raised his glasses; two boats were coming back. “No suits. Is the threat over, or are these different people?” He had more questions than answers. There was only so long Deneaux was going to suffer his perceived ineptitude. The pilots of the small boats lifted the outboard engines out of the water and coasted onto the sand where a group of people, including a small pack of dogs, were waiting.
“This is interesting.” Vienden was standing now. “No way these are the same people that left earlier; they look exhausted. Still, though, I don’t know who it is.” That question was answered soon enough as the red-haired woman approached one of the men exiting the boat. He held her at arms’ length and made sure the dogs didn’t get too close. “He’s afraid he’s been exposed to something. That would explain the protective gear. But what? And now that I’m pretty sure I’ve found Captain Talbot, what do I do? Can I justify blowing up the entire encampment for Deneaux?” He knew he wasn’t doing it for her but rather had to justify saving his daughter by killing these people; that was an easier decision. He would do just about anything to ensure her safety. “Fuck.”
By the time his replacement came, he was still standing there, though all of those on the beach had long ago departed for the camp.
“Anything?” Corporal Gordon asked.
Vienden hesitated. “Nothing.” He handed the binoc
ulars off and walked away, completely unsure as to what he was going to do.
18
Mike Journal Entry 11
It was surreal coming up onto that beautiful beach, my family and pups waiting; think I even saw Patches lurking around, although, since this wasn’t about her, she took off before we landed.
“Close enough,” I told the waiting group. “We need to get cleaned up, probably decontaminated.” I held up my hands. Henry barked at Ben-Ben, Chloe, and Holly. He’d seemingly understood what I’d said and was making sure none of the pack came to sniff my clothes. We headed off as a loose circle to the showers. I think I had my water setting on boil. Half an hour and three layers of skin later, I was as clean on the outside as I was ever going to be. If only there was a way to scrub your mind quite so effectively. Couldn’t even imagine the opportunity to pull your brain out and liberally apply soap to those parts that had darkened, get a Q-tip deep into those grooves and folds. Rose scored a bottle of something that was labeled as Tequila, hate the stuff, personally, if this was actually part of the family tree of drinks, it was a dead and fallen branch.
Had a small fire; around it sat my squad, Dallas, Autumn, my family, and the SEALs. Most of the time, I just stared into the flame and drank, though I occasionally joined in the small talk. The first time Tracy reached out to stroke my arm, I stiffened, and not in the, oh boy we are about to have fun way. Tender human contact was so foreign to me, at that moment, my body didn’t know how to react. Fuck PTSD; I was CTSD: Constant Traumatic Stress Disorder. There never seemed to be a moment where I wasn’t out of danger. After a sec, my muscles lost their rigidity, and I was able to enjoy the gesture for what it was, but I was fooling myself if I didn’t think Tracy had caught on. No way she wouldn’t have felt my skin get as cold, dead and hard as concrete. I was convinced I’d be much better after a good night's sleep, and I’d been convincing myself of that for years. I washed that unlikely thought down with a heavy pull of alcohol. Henry stayed within reach the entire night, and I found myself continually petting his head and back. We both appreciated the attention. By the time we did go to bed, I was better. The next morning, I awoke early, hunted down some coffee and ate something yellow…I was told it was eggs. It rapidly occurred to me that at no time was I told it was chicken eggs. I did my best to not think of all the other kinds of animals that laid them.
