by Mark Tufo
“If I’d wanted to do that, I would have. What kind of narcissistic, self-absorbed
bitch do you think I am?”
“If you weren’t pointing that gun at me, I’d probably tell you.” He handed the axe
over.
She laughed. “That’s the funniest thing anyone’s said to me all day.”
“Can I put my clothes back on?”
She looked one more time over at him. “Please do, all that pale skin is burning my
eyes.” She got the truck rolling just as the first of the zombies impacted with her
front end. The truck kept right on rolling as it flattened three of them into the
pavement.
Mrs. Deneaux’s new passenger braced himself as if the truck cared at all for the small
speed bumps.
“What’s your name?” Mrs. Deneaux asked, completely unconcerned with the zombies that
had congregated in the roadway.
“You should look out,” he said in alarm.
“For them? They don’t care.” She picked up speed. A plume of brackish blood spread
from the impact, two different colored eyeballs smacked the windshield. “Don’t see
that every day.”
“Dennis, my name is Dennis,” the hitchhiker said, keeping an eye on the side-mounted
rear view mirror.
“Well?”
“Well what?” Dennis asked, turning to her.
“Did I get a strike?” she asked, referring to the zombies that had been set up loosely
like bowling pins.
“You’re sick, but you left a seven-ten split.”
“You keep that up and we’ll get along fabulously. What’s your last name?”
“Waggoner.” Dennis shifted around to put his briefs and pants back on.
“What’s your story?”
“I bet yours is more interesting, but I’ll give you the short of it,” he told her.
“I was staying at my dad’s.”
Mrs. Deneaux looked over at him. “Little old to be a cellar dweller aren’t you?” she
asked haughtily.
“Right before the zombies had come, I was in the midst of a divorce from my wife.
We lived out in Arizona…where she’s from. When I caught her cheating with the garbage
man I decided to move back to my home town of Walpole.”
“The garbage man, was that a step up?”
“I see you’ve taken your show on the road.”
“No kids?”
“Dodged a bullet there. Apparently God frowns upon demon spawn and human procreation.”
“Where’s Walpole?”
“Massachusetts, south of Boston,” Dennis said, slightly muffled as he pulled his undershirt
on.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “You’re a few hours from home.”
“My father’s place was great. He owned a townhome in the center of town. Place was
like a fortress. Had a couple of skirmishes with zombies and some idiots that wanted
in, but no one ever did. Get in, I mean. Once the zombies started retreating…”
“Hibernating,” Mrs. Deneaux explained.
“That makes sense. Well, once they started doing that, it was pretty easy to go out
on supply runs. Although, we were never really in too much danger. My dad lived in
a retirement building. Most of the folks, well, they died in those first few days.”
Mrs. Deneaux thought about. ‘Sure; most of those people would have been first in line
for the shots, and then first in line at the hospital when they started to get sick.’
“We just took what we needed and shared with the survivors that were in there.”
“Did your father get bit?” she asked.
“No, good old fashioned flu did him in.”
“Ironic,” Mrs. Deneaux said.
“How so?”
“It was the flu inoculation that started all this.”
“The flu shot?”
“You didn’t know? I thought that to be common knowledge.”
“No wonder there were so few residents left.”
“The bulb burns brightly above your head,” she said snidely.
“Now I can see why you were alone in this cab.”
She laughed. “You still haven’t answered why you’re up here. Why not stay in your
father’s place?”
“After I buried him, I did stay for a while. I guess I just got lonely and I sure
wasn’t going to look for my ex, though. She probably was leading a group of the zombies
around on her own sinister designs. I have, uh had, a couple of friends out in Colorado, but I couldn’t even conceive of making that
trip.”
Mrs. Deneaux got a tingle up her spine. “Any chance your exes name was Eliza?”
“What? No. My friends out in Colorado…one of them has family up here in Maine, as
close to being my family as can be possible without blood. It seemed like an easier
trek up here, at least until my Monte Carlo broke down.”
It can’t be, Mrs. Deneaux thought. She had put the pistol back in its holster, but now she was
reaching for it.
“Who is this second family?” she asked, already knowing the impossible answer.
“Talbot. My friend out in Colorado is Mike, but I know his whole family…Ron, Gary,
Glenn, Lyndsey, and their dad Tony. All of them except for Glenn live up here, and
who knows, maybe Mike came home too.”
Her left hand wrapped around the grip. She squeezed it so tight it hurt her arthritic
fingers. “They’re all dead,” she told him, uncharacteristically losing her cool.
“What? You can’t possibly know that. And why would you even say such a thing?”
“It’s the truth.” She pulled the gun an inch or so from her holster. She was debating
just putting a bullet in him right now. “I was with Michael when he left Colorado.”
Dennis was looking at her. “You’re lying. Why?”
“Is this the same Michael Talbot that lived at Little Turtle? Had a wife named Tracy,
three kids, Nicole, Justin and Travis? And a smelly beast named Henry?”
Dennis was looking at her incredulously, his head nodding. He was thinking back on
what he’d told her, it certainly wasn’t all that. “You know Mike?”
“Knew,” she corrected him. “I barely escaped with my life. His brother’s house was
overrun with zombies. I did my best to save them all, in the end it wasn’t enough.”
Dennis was just staring at her. She was having a hard time discerning how much he
believed. In the end it was grief that saved Dennis’ life. He turned away just as
a torrent of tears sluiced down his face. “They’re all I knew.” He hitched. “I…I thought
for sure they’d be alright.”
“It’s a hard world,” Mrs. Deneaux said, taking a sidelong glance at him.
It was many miles before anyone spoke.
“Where are you going?” Dennis asked, wiping his face clean.
“Going to try and find somewhere safe. Somewhere with a community and a high wall.
A real high wall.”
“I was going to ask you for a ride to find a car, but now that seems useless. Do you
mind if I stay with you?”
Mrs. Deneaux almost told him no; being this close to one of Michael’s friends could
not be good. For some reason, the fates had aligned to put him in her path. That was
something she couldn’t figure out. For good or bad, she would see this through, at
least partly. As soon as it looked somewhat bad, she’d toss him or shoot him, whatever
the case necessitated. “Just don’t try to make any moves on me,” she cackled.
She’s nuts
, Dennis thought, and she’s all I’ve got. “I’ll do my best,” he told her.
Chapter 4 – Mike Journal Entry 3
“I can barely remember my name,” I said to Tracy.
“What?” she asked .
“You f—”
“Talbot!”
“…my brains out,” I finished.
“It’s stuff like this that makes me think twice and sometimes three times about doing
anything with you. Get your clothes on before people start looking for us.”
“Oh, I don’t know, all this nudity is very liberating,” I told her, wishing I could
just lie there a few years longer, even if we were in the horror book section.
“Yeah? Tell that to the zombies,” she said, looking at my rapidly deflating manhood.
“You really know where to hit a person.”
“I love you, Talbot. Now get your ass up. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Nice view,” I told her as she walked away.
She flipped me the bird, but I could tell she was smiling.
“I might die tonight, but at least I’ll go out happy.” I stood and began donning my
duds. I had just finished tying my boots when BT rounded the corner.
“Ever hear of your inside voice?” he asked.
“What?” I could feel fingers of heat traveling up my neck.
“Acoustics are pretty good in this place,” he said, smiling. “The boys couldn’t get
down in the basement fast enough to go and check it out, been down there the entire
time. Even Henry looked a little embarrassed.”
“Shit. Does Tracy know? She’ll kill me.”
“Oh, from the sounds of it, I think she’ll be fine for the time being.” He was smiling
ear-to-ear. “Always one for ambience I see,” BT said, pointing to the column of scary
tomes.
When I caught up to her, Tracy seemed completely unaware that none of her kids would
look her—or me for that matter—in the eye. Well this sucks, I thought.
“Anything worth noting in the basement?” I asked them, trying to change what they
were thinking about. Talk about uncomfortable.
Justin was conspicuously looking off to his left. “There’s windows, but they’re small
and don’t even open.”
“Yeah and the door is steel,” Travis added. “It’s locked and we stacked a bunch of
furniture against it.”
“Big bunch,” Tommy said. I swear his face was a couple of shades deeper red than I’d
ever seen.
Henry was at least happy to see me. He came over, tail wagging. I was happy to lean
over and pet behind his ears. It gave me the chance to not have to try and ignore
the six hundred pound gorilla in the room.
Travis had gone over to the windows. “There’s more coming. Should we start shooting
them?”
“We’ll hold off for now. Wait for the cavalry to come, I’d imagine we’re going to
need the rounds then.” I was looking around. With the appropriate supplies, we could
hold out here forever. I was sort of amazed that someone else hadn’t thought of it.
If books were edible we’d be set.
“When we get out of here, find Doc and get Justin and BT fixed, we should find a fort,”
I blurted out.
“That’s a lot of whens and ifs,” BT said.
“The last military installation we went to didn’t work out so well,” Tracy said, referring
to Camp Custer.
“I’m talking like that fort we visited in Bucksport Maine, Fort Knox. That place has
like two-foot thick walls. We could stay there forever.”
“That place is about as comfortable as I suspect Mrs. Deneaux’s place would be,” she
replied.
She was right; the fort was cold and dank, even in the middle of the summer, we’d
freeze before winter ever set in. “I wonder what the battle axe is up to?”
We had searched for her body after the battle with no luck. I couldn’t imagine a zombie
eating her, more like the other way around would be my guess.
“She can’t still be alive can she?” BT asked. “Eliza had to have killed her.”
“My guess is she scared Eliza, too,” I said.
“It would be just like that old bird to make it,” BT said.
“She’s a survivor for sure. Let’s just hope we’ve seen the last of her,” Tracy replied.
“More like a case of herpes, got a feeling she’ll be revisiting,” I said.
“Wonderful,” BT and Tracy said.
Chapter 5 – Mrs. Deneaux
“Go check it out,” Mrs. Deneaux said.
“Why me?” Dennis asked, looking at the store-front.
“You don’t expect me to go dashing about do you? I’m a frail old woman.”
“You’re an older woman, granted. Frail though? I don’t think so.” Dennis exited the
truck. “Can I have a gun?” he asked, coming up on her side of the big rig.
“I should think not.” She handed his hand axe down.
“I’ve made my share of poor life decisions,” he said, looking up at her. “I think
I’m adding to the tally.”
“Stop being overly dramatic and go get some supplies. If you take too long I won’t
wait.”
“And here I thought we were making inroads with our friendship.”
Dennis headed toward the front entrance. The reverberation of the engine bouncing
off the storefront blocked out all other noises. He thought about asking her to shut
it off, but he’d been with her long enough to know the answer. His boot crunched on
mounds of broken glass, all from the windows, the door, however, was surprisingly
intact.
A small bell placed strategically over the door heralded his entrance. The foreign
sound almost sent him running. The inside stunk of bleach and the all too familiar
stench of death, like there had been a hideous crime performed here and someone had
tried valiantly to clean up after. The store was destroyed; there was little of any
value still left inside. A gun battle had raged and, by the splatter, the ones wielding
the weapons had used shotguns.
Dennis went in a little farther. He felt like he was between a rock and a hard place.
If he came out with nothing, she might leave; and if he stayed in too long, she’d
leave. The more he thought about it, the better of an idea that sounded like. There
was more to the Mike story and the flippant way she had dismissed their deaths. He’d
stay with her if only to find out. A glint of glass caught his attention. He bent
over, pushing away a half-destroyed box of Cheerios.
“Well shit, not my flavor, but I’ll drink it.”
He wrapped his hand around the neck of a bottle of bourbon somehow unscathed in the