True drove the truck forward and stopped it a hundred feet away. Killing the engine, they stepped out and walked to the front of the truck, while Liam crouched down on the far side of the truck and out of sight. True gave a slight grunt.
“They ain’t much to look at,” he muttered.
“You got that right,” Logan agreed.
There were seven of them, all dirty and grimy-looking, with greasy hair and soiled, mismatched clothes.
“Alright, cover me,” Melvin said under his breath. He slung his M4, waved, and walked forward.
When they got closer, Melvin looked them over with a soldier’s eye. The first thing he noticed was their firearms. He could plainly see rust spots on them. The men did not look much better; bathing did not seem to be a priority with them. One of them spit and grinned, showing rotten teeth. The horses looked better than they did.
An older man separated himself from the group and walked forward. He was cleaner than the rest, perhaps in his late sixties, a little taller than average. Melvin also noticed he had a slight limp when he walked. He stopped when he was within five feet of Melvin.
“Greetings,” he said.
“Howdy. My name is Melvin Clark. These are my partners, Logan and True.”
“Doctor Sinclair Lemieux, at your service,” the man replied with a slight flourish of his hand. “I am known around here as the Professor.”
“A doctor?” Melvin asked.
“I have a doctorate of arts actually,” Sinclair proclaimed. “Ipso facto, I am entitled to proclaim the title of doctor.”
“Ah, so you are, or were, a professor,” Melvin said. “Hence, the moniker.”
“Yes. I was a professor at the University of Missouri. Tenured, in fact.”
“What did you teach?” Melvin asked.
“I taught the bourgeoisie along with entitled rich kids how to properly appreciate art.”
“Interesting,” Melvin said. “Back when I went to college, I had to take an art appreciation class.”
“Did you enjoy it?” the professor asked.
“I did.”
“But you did not pursue any other art classes,” the professor said, like he was talking about something that was beneath him. He sniffed. “Ah well, we cannot all be cultured.”
“I understand you live over by a lake,” Melvin said.
“Yes, we do. The lake named after the great writer, Mark Twain. Are you familiar with who he is?”
Melvin pursed his lips in thought. “Let’s see. I learned about him in grade school, fifth or sixth grade. No, it was fifth. I had a teacher, Miss Humphreys. She was beautiful. She had hair like Farrah Fawcett, and the prettiest titties you ever did see. She always wore dresses that had a low cut and she loved showing off those puppies.”
“What did Miss Humphreys have to say about Mark Twain?” the Professor asked. “Please, indulge me.”
“Well, I believe his real name was Samuel Clemmons. He was born nearby. In the town of Florida, I believe.”
“Indeed, he was. The town is surrounded by the lake named after him. Please continue.”
“He wrote some humorous novels like The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Seems like he toured a lot and performed in public speaking engagements which were a lot like stand-up comedy acts.” Melvin scratched his chin. “The only other novel I can think of that he wrote was A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. I liked the movie version. That’s about all I know about the man.”
The Professor slowly nodded. “Not bad, not bad.” He glanced down at Melvin’s weapons and then over Melvin’s shoulder.
“You men are well-armed, and you are in a truck that is running. How do you happen to have access to viable diesel fuel?”
“We produce it,” Melvin said. “Not us personally, but we have people who produce it.”
The Professor arched an eyebrow. “Interesting. Where is your home, Melvin?”
“Back east, in Virginia.”
“And, where are you going?” the Professor asked.
“Oh, we’re just traveling around,” Melvin said. “We find survivors, survey the land, that type of thing.”
“You are conducting a reconnaissance mission.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes, we are. We’re doing it for the president.”
The Professor arched an eyebrow. “The president you say. The president of what?”
“Of the United States,” Melvin replied.
The professor narrowed his eyes at Melvin, and then looked back at his men before throwing his head back and erupting in laughter.
“The president of the United States, he says!” He laughed more. He waved a hand.
“Come, join us. We were in the middle of preparing lunch, and perhaps we might share an imbibement in the interim.”
“Imbibement?” Melvin asked.
The professor hooked a thumb toward a young man. In his early twenties, he looked like someone had beaten his face with a track shoe. As they got closer, the rank odor of human grime was almost overwhelming.
“That young man is Mister Hathcock, although he prefers to be called Horse-Cock.”
At the mention of his name, the man grinned, showing off those rotten teeth.
“He recently procured several bottles of Wild Turkey brand whiskey. We were about to enjoy a sip or two. Why don’t you and your men join us?”
“That sounds good,” Melvin said. He subtly made a hand signal behind his back—caution—before turning around and motioning his teammates forward.
“These are my partners Logan and True,” Melvin said. “Guys, this is the Professor, and this is, um, Horse-Turd, right?”
“Horse-Cock,” the man retorted. “You wanna see it?”
Melvin frowned in feigned confusion. “See what?”
“My cock. It’s huge.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Melvin replied. “I’m not gay. Are you gay? I mean, it’s okay if you are, I don’t judge people.”
The man bristled. “No, I ain’t gay.”
Melvin shrugged. “Well, okay then. I mean, all you’re doing is talking about your penis, so I thought, well, you know. No offense.”
The Professor and a couple of others laughed gleefully. “You are a funny one, Melvin,” he said.
The man who proclaimed himself Horse-Cock walked over to True and stood close. He made a point of inspecting him closely.
“What you looking at?” True asked.
Horse-Cock scoffed. “We ain’t got no niggers where we live,” he said with a sneer. His friends laughed.
“I know you don’t,” True replied. “If you did, all you white trash cocksuckers would’ve been hanging from trees a long time ago.”
The laughter stopped and all eyes turned toward True. The dirty young man puffed out his chest and stuck it up against True’s chest.
“What’d you say to me, boy?” he demanded.
“You about a stupid inbred,” True replied. “Is your momma as stupid as you are?”
True did not wait for a response and slapped Horse-Cock. Hard.
Horse-Cock went flying sideways off his feet and landed with a heavy thud. Logan chuckled. Melvin’s hand drifted toward his weapon as Horse-Cock struggled to get up. Once he was on his feet, he charged True. True deftly sidestepped and slapped him again as he stumbled by. This time, True had slapped him on the back of the neck. Horse-Cock went down again, flat on his face this time.
“Don’t get up or I’ll put a hurtin’ on you,” True warned and then stared at the other men. “Anybody else feel like talking shit to me?”
Two men reached for their weapons. Melvin and Logan responded by quickly bringing their own weapons up.
The professor casually held up a hand. “Here here now, I believe young Mister Hathcock had no call using racial verbiage. Everyone, please put your weapons away.”
There was a noticeable tension in the air, but the men took their hands off their weapons. Professor Lemieux raised his hand
s to shoulder level and made calming gestures.
“Enough, men. I want to talk with these people. Vesper, get lunch sorted out, please, and somebody please tend to our dumb friend.”
He pointed over to a fire a few feet away. One of the men who had been pointedly ignoring everyone was skinning rabbits.
“You men are welcome to join us, of course. In the meantime, I’d love to see your truck. Would that be okay? Would your man allow me to approach? I assure you I am unarmed.”
Melvin chuckled. “Yes, he’ll allow us to approach.” He made sure by giving the proper hand sign, but only when the Professor was not looking.
“I must ask, how close was he to opening fire?” the Professor asked. “Was he awaiting a signal from you? You seem to be the leader, Melvin.” He glanced at True as he walked. “Your African-American comrade could be a leader, but he seems to be more of a loner. Would my assessment be correct?”
“You’re spot on, Professor,” Melvin said and stopped at the truck. “Here we are, and may I introduce you to Liam. He’s Logan’s brother.”
Liam crawled out from underneath the truck, stood, and dusted himself off before nodding at the Professor. “Pleased to meet you and all that shit.”
“We don’t see many travelers anymore,” the Professor said. “Especially those with a working motor vehicle.” He walked around the truck, inspecting it with a shrewd eye. “Are those extra fuel tanks on the top?”
“Yes, they are,” Melvin replied. “It gives us extra range.”
“Plenty of supplies as well,” he commented. “Are you looting as you’re traveling?”
“Well, True here found some rat traps the other day. Does that count?” Melvin asked.
Logan snickered. The Professor paused in his inspection and narrowed his eyes at Melvin before smiling patiently. Finding a decent spot on the road, he sat and beckoned the men to join them. Logan, Liam, and Melvin sat with him; True remained standing. The Professor noticed and smiled.
“Yes, a loner. A zeta male. An admirable quality in these dark ages,” he said, did not wait for a response and turned to Melvin. “So, about this president?”
“The current president is Abraham Stark,” Melvin began and patiently explained the current United States government and the efforts to rebuild America. The Professor listened attentively. When Melvin was finished, he threw back his head and gave a phlegmatic laughed, which segued into a coughing spell.
“An exercise in futility, Melvin. That is what your so-called plan is.”
“How so?” Melvin asked.
“The world is a jape, an enormous practical joke,” he proclaimed. He gestured around. “And now we see the punchline.” He laughed again, more like a chuckle now, followed by a singular cough. “What am I saying, we are the punchline. We have been reduced to nothing more than a poor attempt at a Gemeinschaft.” He paused. “And I clearly see that you haven’t the slightest clue what I am talking about.”
Liam and Logan exchanged a glance. “What the hell is a Gemeinschaft?” Logan asked.
“It was a term used by a German sociologist by the name of Tönnies, who used it to describe small communities such as a farming village,” Melvin said.
The professor arched an eyebrow. “Ah, a man who knows his sociology.”
Melvin shrugged. “Not really.” He had a flashback of a night he and Zach had spent on guard duty. They had relieved the boredom by talking about the evolvement of societies. Melvin had sat there, fascinated by Zach’s lecture.
“You are correct, sir. We have been reduced to nothing more than small communities whose tragedy slowly unfolds as the days go by. Tell me, does your community have children?” he asked.
“Yeah, we do,” Melvin answered.
The Professor shook his head in disgust. “You and your people are sadistic. Cruel. Why would anyone other than complete imbeciles bring children into this world?”
“How else are we going to repopulate?” Liam asked.
“Yeah, perpetuate the species and all that?” Logan added.
The Professor chuckled. “The brotherly bond is strong in the two of you.”
“Yes, it is,” Liam said. “I’m the smarter one of the two, but you aren’t making a whole lot of sense to me, which means my brother is beyond confused.”
“I’ll make it simple for you gentlemen. Humans are a dying species. We’ll be extinct within a hundred years. No matter, good riddance.”
“It sounds like you hate people,” Logan said.
“A true-blue misanthrope,” Professor Lemieux replied.
“Even back when the world was normal?”
Professor Lemieux laughed again without warmth. “I hated them all. Arrogant, self-entitled, hypocritical, gutless vermin. Humans bred like rats, all the while defiling the planet and wasting its resources.
“You see, the planet cannot, could not sustain such large numbers of humans. 7 billion people? Hah, more like 7 billion parasites.” The Professor caught the stare of Melvin. “From the look on your face, it would appear you disagree with me.”
“You remind me of someone who was part of our group. He was a general. He believed the same as you, thought it was God’s divine plan for the plague to depopulate the Earth.”
The Professor scoffed. “There is no God. Divine intervention is a belief harbored by the ignorant.”
“Even so, we are committed to rebuilding America,” Melvin said.
Professor Lemieux stared at Melvin a moment and gave a tight, condescending smile. “Oh, my poor ignorant friend. America as we know it is dead. America is not a Phoenix; it is a rancid albatross strung around our neck.”
“Everyone is entitled to their beliefs and opinions, Professor,” Melvin said. “Would you mind if I record a census of your people for our records? We’ll be on our way after.”
The Professor scoffed. “What would you like to know?”
“The usual stuff. Numbers, genders, ages.”
“What do you do with this data?” he asked.
“It’s used to get an idea of the state of America, it’s current population, and demographics.”
He made a face. “Does it really matter anymore? I think not.” He stood, dusted his pants off, and faced the men.
“I think we should conclude this affair, gentlemen. We have no desire to network with people who have not come to terms with their impending demise. Please be respectful of our choices and our boundaries. The area you see all around you is ours. Normally, we charge a toll for outsiders, but the conversation we’ve had has been a welcome relief from the boring, mundane prattle I am subjected to with these people.”
“I understand, sir,” Melvin said. “We’ll be on our way then and we certainly appreciate the hospitality. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day and you can edify me on art.”
The Professor grinned at this. Surprisingly, his teeth seemed perfect, which led Melvin to believe he was wearing dentures.
“I normally do not like outsiders, but in this instance, I believe I would be delighted.”
Chapter 49 – Team Flash
Flash remained as still as he possibly could. He could still smell the remnants of the fire in the charred wood, and it was annoying his nostrils enough where he had to force himself not to sneeze.
“Come on out, boy! We want to talk!”
The voice came from somewhere down the street, maybe two blocks away. Flash knew he was well hidden. Well, he was reasonably certain they’d not be able to find him. They only had a couple of hours of daylight left. Even so, he was shivering.
“Where you at, boy?”
The man’s voice was getting louder; he was coming closer. Flash rubbed his nose and continued breathing out of his mouth.
“Why are we looking for this punk?” a second voice asked. “Hell, we killed his friends, although I would’ve liked a little taste of that girl first.”
“Norma led them back to us,” the other voice said. “We need to teach them a lesson.”
He
recognized that voice. It was the same voice that was calling for him. Flash was deep enough in the rubble where he would have to raise his head to get a look at them. He didn’t dare.
“Del Rio wants him,” the first man said and guffawed. “He wants to take a knife to him. You know, castrate him.”
“Oh, shit man, not again.”
Flash felt his mouth and throat go dry. The second man spoke again.
“Dude, I ain’t up for that. I had nightmares about the last one. I can still hear that dude’s screams.”
The other man guffawed again. “Don’t be a pussy, Poke.”
The two men were now on the street approximately twenty feet from where Flash was hiding. He could see them now. They’d stopped walking momentarily and one of them was looking at the rubble. Flash remained perfectly still. As Flash watched, the one man who was looking at the rubble made direct eye contact with him.
Flash waited. All he had was an empty handgun, which was currently secured in his holster, and a knife. The two men were armed with handguns.
He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he guessed getting shot to death was better than being turned into a eunuch.
“Hey, let’s go back. He’s either long gone or the infected will get him.”
The first man looked around and sighed. “Yeah, I guess so. I’m getting hungry anyways.”
Flash realized he’d been holding his breath as he watched them walked away. He let it out as slowly as he could. He did not know why the man covered for him, but he wasn’t going to move until it was dark.
Of course, that presented another problem—zeds. His shoulder wound was not severe, but the bullet took a little bit of meat and he was bleeding. And Flash knew from experience zeds could smell blood.
Flash must have fallen asleep. Something startled him awake. He jerked, which caused a blackened piece of lumber to shift. It made far too much noise, which caused Flash to grit his teeth and hold his breath. He waited at least two minutes. Reasonably confident that he was alone, he moved the debris off him with painful slowness and sat up.
Zombie Rules (Book 7): The Fifteens Page 30