For the Fallen

by Mark Tufo

  “Umm, Mike?” Gary asked as we got closer to the truck.

  “Yeah, brother,” I said, tight-lipped as the stink of heating and frying wires began

  to become more prevalent.

  “The truck is locked.”

  “Okay, unlock it then.” I wanted to ask him who he thought was going to steal it here.

  The zombies seemed like a pretty good theft-deterrent, but I let it go. When he didn’t

  immediately respond I was figuring there was something more going on. “Did you lock

  them in the truck?” We’d have to break the glass and that gave the zombies a way in,

  but if we took off fast enough, that shouldn’t be an issue. Again there was that silence.

  “What, Gary? What’s going on?”

  “The box is on fire!” BT said. I could see the glow of it shining off his face and

  eyes.

  “Gary!” I demanded an answer. If we had to make a stand, the library was still our

  best chance, and we’d need to just about sprint there to make it.

  “IgavethekeystoRon!” He said it so fast that it sounded like one word.

  “Why, man? In what fucking universe did that seem like a good idea?!” I was pissed.

  He was going to get all of us killed.

  “Talbot!” Tracy shouted at me; whether for giving Gary a ration of shit or to get

  me focused on what we should do next, I don’t know.

  Gary was near to tears. “I was afraid that I might lose them, or if I died you wouldn’t

  be able to get them. And I locked the doors because I’d seen zombies messing with

  handles and I didn’t want any of them to get in.” His voice was near to hitching.

  Now I felt like an asshole. Everything he had said was a valid reason. He’d even thought

  of the contingency if he had fallen while trying to save us. Fuck, I’m an asshole.

  Well, I guess that’s already been established. Why I felt the need to keep reiterating

  the point still eluded me. Tommy had placed the box down. I would imagine because

  it was becoming too hot to hold. That it was still keeping the zombies at bay was

  a slight miracle.

  I caught a glimmer of light on the side of my face; I was thinking that the box was

  finally flaring up, and then it dawned on me that it was from the wrong direction.

  Ron was coming! I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had a wide-brimmed hat and a

  sword. The cavalry was coming, and the throaty roar of his engine let me know he was

  being quick about it.

  “You ready, Mike?” he yelled.

  He was holding up something shiny. At first I thought it was a bullet or bullets and

  I couldn’t figure out what he meant. As he got closer, I realized it was the key.

  With the press of zombies around us, he would not be able to get close enough to just

  hand them off; the truck would not be able to take that kind of damage. I played center

  field for a few years in high school, but back then, a dropped ball only meant derision

  from your teammates, a potentially lost game, and not getting into Suzie’s skirt because

  of an error. I guess the stakes were just as high now.

  He never waited for my response as he sent it spinning out into the night. I didn’t

  think they were going to have the distance needed to get to me. BT had watched Ron’s

  toss and was moving away from the limited protection of our frying box and into the

  fray of zombies. I was on the move as well. I was quickly placing targets in front

  of my peep scope. Firing and moving, firing and moving. BT’s gaze was not wavering

  from the key ring. Justin turned when he heard the first of my reports.

  I don’t think he knew about the keys, but it was impossible to miss BT and him heading

  away and me cutting a path for him to move. It was his additional shots that helped

  keep BT safe.

  “Got it!” he said excitedly. For a wild moment I thought he might spike them like

  a wide receiver will once they reach the end zone. Then I remembered he wasn’t me.

  “Hurry up!” I shouted.

  I think the only thing keeping the zombies back now was the flame from the box. At

  this point, it couldn’t still be broadcasting a signal. Luckily, it was only one key.

  BT’s hands were shaking violently, and if he had to fumble for the right one, things

  would have gotten a lot hairier. With the door open, I started flinging family members

  inside, bouncing them off the steering wheel, headrests, dome lights, I didn’t give

  a shit; a contusion or a concussion was better than what was being offered outside.

  “GO!” BT shouted at me. I was going to argue, you know the whole hero complex thing.

  “I need this one, man, I think I’m two behind,” BT added.

  If I stayed any longer we would have both died trying to one up the other. And as

  long as I was still in the lead, I would yield this one. I slid quickly into the driver’s

  seat. BT handed me the key as he slammed the door shut and jumped into the bed of

  the truck. There was some grousing from the back as people rubbed their heads or checked

  for various scrapes and bruises from their rough ushering in. Ron was already speeding

  off, a bunch of zombies in tow.

  Unfortunately, we weren’t rid of our entourage; they were banging on all sides of

  the truck, the glass was next. I took off, noticing that a zombie had actually attached

  himself to my driver’s side rear view mirror. I don’t know if he thought he could

  eat the image or that the image was actually a person, but that sucker had latched

  on tight, it was a good block before he fell away. One lone tooth had been imbedded

  in the hard plastic shell that housed the mirror. No way was I going to touch that

  thing.

  “I didn’t really have that much fun, Mike,” Gary said from the rear seat.

  “You don’t say?” I asked him. Now I just needed to catch up to Ron, but it was easy

  enough to follow the trail he’d left behind. Zombies that had stopped following him,

  and that had begun to mill around like they do, once again started running when they

  saw us.

  “They’re like those little fucking lap dogs that yip when anything comes close,” BT

  said in complete disgust. Travis had opened the small window that divided the cab

  from the bed.

  I didn’t agree. My aunt had one of the little bastards; all you had to do was give

  it a slight kick in the head and it would go away. No such luck with the zombies.

  We were a couple of miles out from the library when the smell hit. I thought for sure

  we had a zombie straggler, maybe hidden in the bed of the truck with BT, although

  I’m sure he would have said something by now. I wasn’t the only one to notice the

  stench either. Heads began whipping around, looking for the offender, then we all

  began to settle on Henry. He was the only living being capable of producing that kind

  of odor.

  “IT fwas meef,” Tommy said sheepishly.

  “What?” I asked him.

  He held up a foil packet.

  “Foiled froccoli,” he said as small pieces of the pastry fell from his mouth.

  “Did he just say he’s eating a boiled broccoli Pop-Tart?” BT asked.

  “Wiff femon glaze,” he managed after finally swallowing what he had.

  “Out the window,” I told him.

  “I eat when I’m nervous,” Tommy begged.

  “Come on, man, who eats a boiled broccoli Pop-Tart with lemon glaze? Mike, man, tell

&
nbsp; him again to get rid of it!” BT pleaded. We’d stopped a few miles back so that he

  could get in the truck. Now I think he wished he’d stayed where he was.

  “Can I have a bite?” Gary asked. “Sounds delicious.”

  It ended up being another five miles until we caught up to Ron. He was being overly

  safe and I thanked him for it. We’d had enough close calls, and I’m just talking the

  last half hour.

  I hugged him tight. There would always be time to give him shit. But right now, he’d

  saved my family’s life and I expressed my gratitude the only way I saw fit.

  “Thank you,” I told him as I let go of the embrace.

  “We’re family, Mike. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Interesting way of putting it, brother.” I smiled.

  “Everyone’s okay?”

  I nodded. I was suddenly exhausted. You sometimes forget how much the high stress

  situations take out of you. The body can only produce so much adrenaline, and when

  it’s done, it’s worse than coming down off of a caffeine-laced eight ball. (Not that

  I know what that would entail.)

  “You still going forward with this?” He phrased it as a question, but he already knew

  the answer. I had to; there were no choices in the matter.

  “Where’s the box?” MJ asked, looking inside our truck.

  “You mean the kindling?” I asked him back. He had a blank expression on his face.

  “It caught fire,” I explained.

  “What! How? Why? You didn’t discharge the R2 capacitor before you started it, did

  you!”

  “Missed that step,” BT said.

  “We were a little rushed, but for the sake of argument, let’s say we knew about this

  D2 resistor.”

  “Capacitor,” he clarified. “R2.”

  I think he was going into shock. “How long would it have taken to discharge?” I asked.

  “You have to go slow or there’s the risk of fire.”

  “Risk,” I repeated.

  “Six minutes should be sufficient.”

  “BT, how much time you figure we had to get that box on before the zombies ate us?”

  “Not six minutes, Mike.”

  “Listen, MJ, I can’t thank you enough for the zombie repeller, it saved our lives,

  it truly did. And you’re a friggin’ genius for inventing it. Couple of things, though…it’s

  far from a portable device, especially when you start tossing spare car batteries

  in it. And you may want to work on that discharge thingy. Other than that, man, thank

  you.” I hugged him as well. MJ stiffened. He wasn’t one for too much human contact.

  I made sure to stay in longer than was socially acceptable.

  “Okay, Mike, now I know you’re fucking with the man, but now you’re starting to make

  me feel uncomfortable,” BT said.

  “Your hair smells good,” I told him before I finally let him go. ‘Call me.’ I mouthed,

  making a mock phone with my pinkie and thumb. He skittered away pretty fast, mission

  accomplished.

  “Mean, man, that’s just mean,” BT said.

  “Listen, you know as well as I do, he was either going to give me shit for the next

  ten minutes about how I should have saved the box…or worse, fifteen minutes telling

  me how it worked.”

  “True, now what?”

  “Same as it ever was, I suppose.”

  We’d all had a few minutes to reflect on what had happened. I was proud that, as a

  whole, we were able to get past it fairly easily. Some better than others, Henry didn’t

  even seem to care. He had immediately gotten out of the truck, went to the side of

  the road, took care of a little business and then waited patiently until someone put

  him back in so he could lie down. Must be nice, I thought. Not the shitting in front of everyone, that part would be awkward, I’m

  more referring to the part about just curling up and going to sleep. Oh and someone

  picking me up and putting me in the truck would be nice as well.

  “We’ve got to get going, Mike,” Ron said. “I know Lyndsey’s son Jessie and husband

  Steve, and the women for that matter are more than capable, but I don’t feel right

  being away this long.”

  “I understand completely. Again…thanks, Ron. I swear I’ll be better to this truck.”

  He didn’t even acknowledge that last part, we both knew better.

  He got into his truck.

  “Um…you forgot one,” I said after he shut his door.

  “He wanted to go with you,” Ron said as he pulled away.

  “Glad to have you aboard,” I said to Gary.

  Chapter 9 – Stephanie and Trip

  “Honey, it would be better if you stayed in the middle of the road,” a clearly nervous

  and agitated Stephanie said to her husband. He’d miraculously not hit anything yet,

  but even blind luck has to find its target eventually.

  Trip dutifully slowed down. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.”

  Stephanie waited patiently for him to continue. “Well, apparently, you’re still thinking

  about it.” She almost put her fingernails through the seat cushion as he came within

  a fly’s wingspan of clipping a parked cop car.

  “About what?” he asked, turning almost completely around to look at her.

  “Oh, my God, Trip! I swear you’re going to give me a heart attack. How about you stop

  the bus for a moment and we talk.”

  “Fair enough,” he told her, slamming on the brakes and nearly sending her flying into

  his seat. When the bus was completely stopped, he smiled and looked at her. “Okay,

  you first. Do you have any spare tickets?” he blurted out before she could say a word.

  “What?”

  “The show, it sounds like you and your friends are going to have a great time and

  I just wanted to know if you have any spares. I mean, I can make it worth your while.

  I have all sorts of party materials and I’ll even throw in the bus ride for free,”

  he said excitedly.

  “Trip I…”

  “That’s cool.” He bowed his head. “I know how hard it can be to get them sometimes.

  If I give you money, can you get me a shirt at least? Three xl.”

  Stephanie laughed. “Oh, Trip, what would you do with a triple xl shirt?” She rubbed

  the side of his grizzled face.

  “Blanket for me and you,” he told her.

  “You know there’s no show right?”

  “You hired this bus under false pretenses? Are you smuggling weed?” He looked around

  for any hints of trouble. “I’ll help you, but I don’t like the illegal stuff.”

  “Just about your entire life is one illegality.”

  “Should we go look for Ponch?”

  She’d thought a lot about the man her husband called Ponch. He had a haunted look

  about him that she was not able to explain, that and the speed and strength he had

  displayed when he had launched her husband off the truck and onto the fire escape

  defied explanation. She sat somewhere in between wishing to seek him out and avoid

  him at all costs.

  “Would you even know where to go?” Stephanie asked, hoping that her husband’s break

  into lucidity would be short lived.

  Trip pulled out a carefully folded piece of paper from his back pocket. He unfolded

  it before handing it to his wife. It was an address, and she didn’t need to see the