The End

by Mark Tufo

  When Tommy felt he had gotten far enough away from the homestead he jumped into a small culvert. There he waited, covering his ears when he heard his dad crying his name. Tommy had been crying too. On more than one occasion he almost got up and walked back towards them, but all he could see if he walked that path were gravestones engraved with the names of the people he loved. That walkway was already long enough. He would not add to it, not this time, not ever again. He drove his fists deeper into his ears, oblivious to the pain he was causing himself. Tears pooled around him.

  Tomas had been so intent on blocking out all extraneous sensations he had missed the noise of the Talbot clan as they had passed on by. Early nightfall was threatening on the horizon when he finally looked up. "Stupid, stupid," he said to himself, rubbing the remains of his tears away from his eyes and cheeks. The farmhouse that just the night before had seemed so safe now looked oddly menacing. No residual warmth remained there, only cold, impersonal death. Tommy stood up easily, having not felt any ill effects from being in a kneeling position in the cold snow for near on 4 hours. He never wondered why he never felt pain or got sick. It was just the way it had always been for as long as he could remember. He thought maybe it was because he was 'special' like Lizzie used to tell him.

  Tomas looked once to the house, once to the roadway and then headed out across the field in an easterly direction. He was walking a straight line to the psychic beacon that his sister was sending out. Within a half hour he found himself face to face with her. His need to hug and kiss her were thwarted by the indifference she flared all around her.

  "Welcome brother," she intoned, without even a remote hint of love or caring.

  "Hi Lizzie," Tommy, said looking down at his shoes, wishing he was anywhere but here.

  "I'm so glad you could make it," she said without regard.

  "You'll leave the Talbots alone?" Tommy fairly begged.

  "Oh come now brother, what does the death of one more perishable family mean to you. You are immortal like I am!" she shouted.

  "I am nothing like you, Lizzie," Tommy said meekly. Lizzie laughed mockingly at him. "You will leave the Talbots alone or I will leave again."

  "Oh it is far too late for that, Tomas. As for the Talbots, I do not think that I am quite done yet. He has defied me twice and I do not suffer fools gladly."

  Tommy was panicked. He had done no good here; he had in fact made matters worse. If he had stayed away for a month, two at the most Lizzie would have died, no, Eliza would have died. Lizzie died 500 years ago. Tommy started to cry anew.

  "Come, come brother. I will kill his family quickly if that makes you feel any better, but Michael, he will suffer in ways I have not yet dreamed." Her bitter laugh mirrored Tommy's feelings. "There is someone here that is going to help. Maybe you will recognize him."

  Tommy saw the man being pushed up to Eliza's side. "Doc?" Doctor Baker looked like he had suffered greatly at the hands of his sister, and his family was nowhere to be seen.

  Tommy registered Durgan's presence a fraction of a second too late. His sister had completely blocked his senses. The needle plunged far too deep, and sleep followed immediately.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - JOURNAL ENTRY 25 -

  I had felt nothing, going on ten hours. I barely registered the Maine Stateline sign hanging askew. The most conversation since we had left the Powell House revolved around a bathroom break and even that was a pinched conversation. Pardon the pun. Tommy was one of our own. He was the shining light. He was the hope of a new dawn. All of that was lost. He was lost. We were lost. Eliza wasn't going to let us go. She was too prideful and too filled with hate to let anybody that stood up to her go unpunished.

  Sure we might go unnoticed for a couple of months, but as soon as Justin ran out of his shots she would be able to home back in on him and we'd be on the run again. My thoughts were as black as the night, without even a single star to light my way. Would anybody protest if I just drove on into the ocean?

  So this is what my life is reduced to. I will watch as those around me fall. Maybe I will get lucky and be next, then I won't have to suffer through this anymore. I don't know how much more of this I can take, my soul is already damn near transparent. I have done everything that is within and possibly beyond my human ability and still I have come up woefully short.

  The slow, steady forced march to death that all of us experience has now turned into a 4x4 relay race. Jen handed the torch to Brendon, Brendon handed it to Tommy, who will Tommy hand it to? Every time I think that my despair has bottomed out I come to realize that I was only on a false shelf, the black plummeting drop wrenching my stomach into my throat, all sense of self and awareness enshrouded in misery. Existence hardly seemed worth the effort. How much pain does one feel from a self-inflicted gunshot?

  'COWARD!' Echoed off the walls of the well I was trapped in.

  Alone, in the dark, huddled against a wet dank wall, I shuddered in revulsion, of my situation and more so of myself. I just wanted to be done. The burden I carried now far exceeded my limits. Something had broken inside of me. Tommy had been the crutch upon which my spirit leaned on. With him gone it had crashed to the floor, smashing into millions of pieces like littered glitter. Pretty to look at but generally just a mess of color that gets everywhere but in the trash.

  The soft glow of the moon lightly lit up the interior of the hummer, and I took long moments to gaze across the faces of the ones I loved. Yes, they would be the reason I would climb out of this pit. They would be the reason I would move forward no matter how much my will resisted. For them, I would never give up.

  "You keep looking at me like that and you'd better take me out to dinner," BT said with one eye half open.

  "Thank you BT," I choked out.

  "Yeah, you're welcome. Now I know I'm pretty and it's tough to keep from looking at all this," he said swirling his hand around his face, "but I'd much rather you keep your eyes on the road."

  "Thanks BT," I reiterated.

  "We will get through this, Talbot," he said reaching up from the back and placing his hands on my shoulders. My shoulders shook, my silent tears crashing through my head. I knew the big man was hurting too. Tommy was dear to all of us. Right now BT was the Cliffs of Dover and I was the tide crashing into them. In a few millennia I might wear him down but for now he was going to be my rock. I reached over my chest and gripped his left hand with my right. If ever there were a strength I could anchor to, it was within this man. "This doesn't mean we're going steady now," I quipped half-heartedly.

  I propped my knee up to hold the steering wheel as I tried to wipe away the cascading tears with my left sleeve. BT looked off to the side, letting me hold on to what little remained of my dignity. Tracy witnessed the whole scene. Maybe at a different time she would have commented that we made such a cute couple; now just didn't seem like that time.

  The chain that ensnared my heart grew a little heavier that day as Tommy's death added its own links to the length. Someday I would be strong enough to carry it, but for now dragging it would have to do.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - JOURNAL ENTRY 26 -

  Maine looked almost the same as it had before zombieism became a national pastime. It was indeed passed over from modernity. The towns we passed through seemed devoid of any type of life. Occasionally we would pass a murder of crows snacking on things better left to the imagination but that was it. Mainers were traditionally a strong stock of folks that did not much like or trust people-from-away. But hey, they were Red Sox fans, so they have that going for them. Population wise, proximity (or lack thereof) to major cities and a general distrust of all things governmental may have worked in this reclusive state's favor.

  We weren't being attacked by zombies but at the same time I wasn't seeing a welcome wagon. Odds were that we had passed under more than one rifle scope as we drove on but Mainers live under the premise of 'if you don't screw with us, we won't shoot you.' (Sort of like Northeast Texas.) Some buildings had been destroyed,
others ransacked. There was the occasional crashed car but for the most part this looked better than pre-zombie Detroit. Okay so that's not saying a whole hell of a lot, but we are still talking Armageddon here.

  Travis looked out the window. I could tell he was starting to see things that looked familiar. "How much further?" he asked with a hint of excitement in his voice.

  God, I hoped my family was okay. I needed the infusion of hope that they would offer. "Hour or so, depending on fuel." The gauge couldn't go any lower. As it was, the hummer was sucking up the rusted bits of the fuel tank. I wonder what the mpg is on diesel-soaked metal fragments? If the truck died now that hour would now become a 10-hour sojourn that Carol and possibly BT wouldn't make. I started looking around for another viable means of transportation, but any survivors had beaten me to it. Mainers typically survive some of the harshest weather conditions on the barest minimum of supplies. Anything that could help them weather this 'storm' was long gone. I'd have a better chance of getting quality dental care in England. As if on cue and to make my heart skip another beat, the hummer sputtered once, twice and then lurched forward.

  Tracy looked over at me nervously. "We going to make it?"

  Both variations of that question had a huge '?' at the end. I didn't say it out loud. No need to, we all felt it.

  The hummer got further than I expected but less than was needed. We were a full fifteen miles short of our destination when she quit. We were on a slight downgrade and I was able to eke out another tenth of a mile. Excellent, only 14 and 9/10ths miles to go. Carol, BT, Nicole and Henry could not make this march. Hell, the way I felt, I wasn't sure if I could.

  "Any ideas?" Tracy asked me. She knew the score. We were in a lot of trouble.

  "I was thinking maybe Triple A." She didn't rise to the bait. It wasn't that great of a joke anyway. She scanned the roadway ahead of us. The gusts coming from the Northeast blew snow across the desolate roadway. It was somewhere in the neighborhood of noon and there was no way we were going to be at my dad's before dark. One shotgun with seventeen shots. Once they were gone then what? Deaders could catch us. Speeders would have a field day. "Shit." I said as I rubbed my hand across my face.

  "Should we just stay here and wait?" Carol asked. I understood her distress.

  I turned to look at her. "We can't." I could have elaborated and said that waiting was tantamount to death. Zombies, the elements or just plain old every day assholes would come across us sooner or later.

  "Mike, my mom can't make it," Tracy pleaded.

  "What do you suggest? Should I let someone else die?!" I yelled.

  "Oh, Mike," Tracy sobbed. She fully realized now the burden I hefted. "None of those deaths were your fault. Bad things happen to good people."

  Nicole full out started to cry, her loss coming to the fore again.

  "My job is to protect, them, us. It's what I do now. It's all I do now and I failed them!"

  "Mike." BT shot out. "We all look out for each other. It is not just your (italicized) job. There was nothing you, or any one of us for that matter, could have done."

  I nodded in agreement, not because I felt that was the case but rather to end the discussion.

  "Can't you maybe go for help and come back for us?" Tracy asked hopefully.

  "Tracy, even at a decent pace, in these conditions I won't get there for at least another three hours. I don't even know what I'll find. Absolute best case scenario, I'm back here in four hours. Since this has started, how many best case scenarios have we come across?"

  "None," Tracy said, lowering her head.

  "Even with the shotgun you guys are sitting ducks. We can't take that big of a chance of splitting up. I won't survive if anything happens to any of you."

  Carol was first out the door. "Let's get this over with," she stated flatly.

  Can't really argue with that logic, so we all piled out. The biting sting of wind-blown ice crystals against my skin was both invigorating and alarming. An hour of that and it would begin to feel like someone was dragging frozen sandpaper across my face.

  "What about Henry, Dad?" Travis asked.

  Henry's idea of a walk generally consisted of getting up from his comfortable pillow, going over to his dish, eating heartily, playing for 15 minutes, wandering outside, taking care of business, then going back to his comfortable pillow. Henry wouldn't make it more than a mile before he would just stubbornly lie down and wait for me to do something about it.

  "Winter in Maine," I replied slowly, deep in thought.

  "Folks couldn't retire to Mississippi?" BT asked as he grabbed the remainder of blankets out of the truck.

  "What?" Justin asked, picking up on my earlier comment.

  "Winter in Maine. We should be able to find sleds, or something that we can use." The faintest glimmer of hope flickered. The problem with Maine is there just aren't that many houses, especially where we were. We were a half mile and a full hour into our trudge through slushy snow before we came across a potential house to take respite in, maybe find some supplies and some transport.

  It was a small Colonial, set off the main street by 50 feet or so. I told everyone to stay where they were while I checked it out. When I looked back to them the betting money was even on whether Carol or Henry were going to stop walking first. BT was straining but he might make it just out of meanness. I was 15 feet from the house when I heard the tell tale cocking of a pistol.

  "That's far enough mister," a voice called out from a shade drawn window. One small corner was pulled up to reveal a very large caliber weapon pointed in my direction. The voice sounded feminine, or it quite possibly was a young male. That didn't help matters much; it didn't matter who pulled the trigger, I'd still be just as dead.

  "We just need a little help," I said, holding my hands out in appeal, thankful and regretful at the same time that I left the shotgun behind.

  "Don't care," came the reply. I definitely pegged it as female this time.

  "You don't understand... ."

  She cut me off. "I said I don't care." There was no hostility in her voice, no anger, no derision. She was merely stating a fact.

  I could argue with her another ten minutes and maybe get shot for my troubles, not really how I wanted to end my day. "Someday you'll have to atone for this," I said as I turned and walked back towards the roadway.

  It was then I heard the cackling of someone who had traveled far past the line of sanity.

  "Didn't go so well?" Justin asked, looking over my shoulder at the house.

  "It's good to see some things never change," I told him as I walked on past.

  "What's he talking about?" Justin asked Travis.

  "Too bad they didn't put any brains in those shots you take." Travis replied.

  "What are you talking about?" Justin queried.

  "The whole Captain Obvious thing." Travis replied.

  "Oh!" Slapping palm to head, Justin laughed.

  "Mike, Mom needs a rest and so does BT but he'll never tell you that," Tracy said, grabbing my elbow as she came up beside me. I had not even realized it as I walked at a slow, steady pace but already Carol and BT were a good 50 yards behind.

  "Shit, this isn't working out so well." I told Tracy. We were stuck. "Okay, go back and take a rest with them. There's a house a little ways up; I'm going to see what I can find." A quarter mile later I came upon a double wide that had seen better days. Nobody lived here. The snow that had piled in the open doorway was my first clue. The cold metallic stench of death was the second as I got closer. I took a big intake of air and stuck my head through the doorway. The gloom of the interior was dimmed even further with the mound of bodies that littered the floor. A small fierce battle had raged here. There were no victors. Arterial blood had cascaded down the far wall. Punctured intestine nestled in the couch like a throw pillow. Something closely resembling brain matter coated the door. I was perilously close to falling into it if I didn't get some fresh air.

  I pulled my head out. There was noth
ing in there I wanted to retrieve. I walked around the house and was rewarded for my efforts with a small green and white striped metal Tuff Shed, its door still closed. That boded well for what I was looking for. The door slid open with only a minimal amount of effort. My eyes had nearly adjusted to the dimly lit interior when the first gunshot rang out back from the direction where I'd left my family. I grabbed what I needed to and ran full tilt back to the roadway. I had not made it even that far before another three shots rang out. At this pace they would be out of ammo before I made it another hundred yards.

  I could see my family making what haste they could towards me, being followed entirely too closely by zombies. "Shit!" I started to sprint.

  Travis was down to five shots when I got to them. It looked like there were maybe another dozen or so zombies left to continue on after us. Now I'm no mathematician, but even I knew that unless they lined up real nice like, with head against head so we could kill more than one per shot, we were screwed.

  "Someone call a cab?" I asked as I pulled the toboggans up.

  Carol looked relieved, if a little dubious. Tracy helped her down; Henry watched raptly and then, realizing what this new fangled contraption was for, plopped down in front of her, nearly asleep before Justin and Tracy grabbed the ropes.

  "Let's go BT." I said. Looking at him and to our approaching party crashers.

  BT's pride was taking a huge hit. I know he wanted to argue that he could do it on his own, but even he knew his limitations. He laid down heavily on the un-cushioned slab of wood with a grunt. I pulled the rope over my head and laid it against my chest. "You ready?" I asked him. "I feel like that dog that pulls the Grinch's sleigh when it's all full from stealing everybody's stuff in Whoville."