Zombie Fallout

by Mark Tufo

  “Could you take the slings off the rifles, Mr. T?” Tommy said, his infectious grin never leaving his face.

  I should have known how strong the kid was just by the way he caught his bulk on the ladder. I shook my head in disbelief as we walked away from the car. He had fashioned a couple of crude carrying devices with the slings. He had the three boxes of MRE’s strapped to his back, off to his sides he hefted the four cases of ammo, and in his arms lay a slumbering Henry. He probably could have carried me too and not even have lost a step.

  It would have been a beautiful fall night; the crispness in the air always harkened me back to my youth and the start of school. But the smell, the fetid odor of the dead and the living dead blended together to create one humongous wave of putrid stink. It pervaded everything. Only Tommy seemed to be immune as he walked on, seemingly unencumbered by the undead bouquet. The first mile or so went by unremarkably; we heard things (mostly screams) in the distance but never anything too close.

  Things got radically difficult once we had about a half mile to go. I was asking Tommy for the tenth time if he wanted some help. He was telling me for the tenth time that he was fine, but he stopped short and the smile melted from his face. I followed his line of sight, and IF I had been smiling I would have stopped too. It didn’t look like an ambush, it looked more like a convergence. The problem being, we were the attraction upon which they were converging. We were almost entirely surrounded. The only breaks in the zombie lines were caused by either natural occurrences like the fast running stream on our left, or the large block wall that surrounded the Isuzu dealership parking lot on our right. Otherwise this looked like a textbook besieging. We were outnumbered easily 50 to 1. Good thing they didn’t know how to shoot.

  “There’s no way they pulled this off without some communication,” I said out loud just to hear my thoughts manifest themselves.

  “Mr. T, do you want me to put Henry down so I can shoot?” Tommy asked.

  “Not yet Tommy, we’re not going to stay and fight. Justin, I want you on my right side a step or two back. Travis, I want you on my left the same step or two behind me. Tracy, Tommy, you two stay close in behind us.” Again with the superfluous directions, both of them were already close enough to tell if I was wearing boxers or briefs.

  “Okay boys, we’re not going to worry too much about what’s coming behind and to the sides of us, we’re going to concentrate our shots to the front and slightly to our left and right. Understood?” I asked, looking both of them in the eyes to make sure we were on the same page and to gauge their readiness.

  They were both scared but they knew what had to be done. When the zombies were within fifty yards, I gave the signal. The signal involved me shooting. The frontline of the zombies crumpled under our withering fire, acrid smoke filled the air. Heads burst, limbs were blown apart, a river of thickening blood flowed in our direction, and hair fluttered down. But still they came, fearless, relentless but most disturbing of all, quietly. There was no battle cry, no gallant speeches, just the slow steady mindless march of the zombies. Kill or be killed, we fired on. The barrel of my M-16 shone a dull red. I knew I was moments away from making a deadly looking paperweight. We were making headway but it was much too slow. Our frontal assault was nearly complete, but to our sides and rear the zombies had halved their distance, some even closer than that. Our break towards freedom was close but not close enough. I slung my M-16 over my shoulder, the barrel grazing my cheek on the way. The smell of my burning flesh seemed to excite our opposition more.

  I pulled out my 9 mm Glock and began to shoot zombies that had closed to within fifty feet. I motioned for the boys to keep shooting to the front. We had to have dropped half of them, most of those fatally, but the survivors still pressed in. I then noticed something strange; some of the zombies started to leave the fray. It was in ones and twos at first and then it was in fives and tens, and just like that we found ourselves alone in the road. The tattered remnants of what attacked us were now heading for new quarry. I watched as two men emerged from a small copse of trees about one hundred yards to our right. They started running for all they were worth towards a nearby golf course, the zombies in pursuit, not hot pursuit mind you, but definitely trailing them. Sweat was pouring off my body, “Sweatin’ to the Zombies.” It could be the next big workout fad. Maybe I’ll run it by Richard Simmons. One of these days I was going to get a psych eval.

  “Dad, what just happened?” Travis asked.

  Justin was hopped up on beer and adrenaline. “We’re just too bad assed for them!” he cheered just a little too loudly.

  I thought about it for a second before I answered. “I think Justin has it mostly right; we weren’t worth the losses, and they found an easier food source and went for it.” But that still raised a lot more troubling questions than it answered. I would have to dwell on it eventually, but for right now I wanted to get out of this killing zone.

  There was several questions I wanted answered, who was going to answer them was a different question all on its own. How had the zombies pulled off a coordinated attack? That the attack was coordinated I had no doubt, we had been completely surrounded. And why, when they were so close to taking us, did they stop? Because if they were scared, they never once betrayed their emotions. I looked like hell and I smelled worse. If I kept this up the zombies would think I was one of their own.

  The remaining distance to the house was covered in a subdued silence. Even the gregarious Tommy was quiet. We knew how close we had come to feeling death’s cold embrace. Henry slept on in Tommy’s arms.

  As we approached our town-home complex I had the boys once again spread out into flanking positions. Our complex was roughly ten square acres. It housed over three hundred units and was surrounded by an eight foot high stone and cement wall. There were four entrances, two on the northern side and two on the southern. The security of the complex was part of the reason we had moved here. The other was monetary; we couldn’t afford anything better. The two northern entrance points had large, card activated chain-link fence gates. The two southern facing gates had nothing. That made no sense to me. Did the designers just hope that a criminal, upon seeing the northern gates, wouldn’t try another avenue to gain entry? Although the residents would be up a creek if said criminal came this way first. I’d like to have said they were getting ready to install the gates but I’d lived here for almost two years and I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of a construction crew.

  A large RV had been toppled on its side, completely covering the first entrance. It was placed with entirely too much precision to have been an accident. There wasn’t a gap on either side; this passageway was closed. We would have to walk another two hundred yards to the next opening. Hope surged. It appeared that a defense had been mounted at the Little Turtle housing community. As we got closer to the next entrance I saw a school bus, this one still on its wheels. The passenger side of the school bus covered most of the entrance. The only parts that were vulnerable to entry were towards the front end and underneath the bus itself. This would have been unsettling if we were dealing with a conventional enemy, but that bulk was going to stop ninety-nine percent of the zombies that attacked it. Smart bastard, whoever thought of that, I thought admiringly.

  “Stop right there!” a voice shouted at us.

  “I’m not in the mood for this crap!” I yelled in response.

  The cocking, clicking and other sounds of multiple firearms being made ready got me in the mood in a hurry.

  “What about now?” I heard the dry voice from within the bus ask.

  The boys were confused. Sure, they had fought valiantly against the zombies, but once again we were outnumbered, and this time outgunned.

  “Justin, Travis,” I said as I turned, slowly. “Put your weapons on the ground, SLOWLY.” I did the same.

  “What business do you have here?” The raspy voice asked again.

  I knew that voice. “Jed? Jed is that you?” Jed was a member on the Board of Di
rectors for our HOA. I hate HOA’s. Never before have I had so many people interested in my personal business. Jed had once written me up for putting my trash out at 5:30 at night when the bylaws said we couldn’t put the trash out until 6:00 p.m. I couldn’t even fathom how he caught me; he lived clear on the opposite side of the complex. I hated that man, but right now I wanted to kiss him.

  “Yeah, it’s Jed, who might you be?” came the terse reply.

  “It’s Mike, Mike Talbot, Unit 103.”

  Still no acknowledgment.

  “You remember, we had that heated discussion about my trash going out early.”

  Heated discussion didn’t even begin to describe how this event went down. I had called him every filthy name I could think of and I was a former Marine so you know I had a deep arsenal. I was eventually thrown out of the meeting, and not of my own accord. I was bodily removed. It’s not one of my prouder moments in life, and I eventually sucked up my pride and went to his house to apologize. He had blanched when I showed up at his door, probably thinking I was going for round two. We weren’t exactly friends after my mitigation but the hostility was gone, or at least buried under a few layers of civility.

  He grunted. That was his acknowledgment. So maybe a few of those layers had been removed during this first night of death. “Are any of your lot bitten?” he asked.

  “No,” was all I could reply.

  “Byron, move the bus,” Jed commanded.

  “Thank you Jed.” Relief washed over me. My legs had nearly given out.

  Again he grunted, but he loved this, he loved being in control. Right now that was fine with me. I could almost guarantee that he was the one who had orchestrated this defense.

  As we were making our way through the small opening, I looked up to meet his eyes. Jed said offhandedly, “your daughter and her fiancée are here.”

  My wife and I both let out a cry of relief. A big shit-eating grin came across my face.

  “Open that door!” I told Jed, pointing to the emergency hatch at the back of the bus. He looked at me questioningly. “I’m gonna come up there and give you a big kiss.” I started pulling on the handle. Jed was throwing his weight into the other side thwarting my attempt at entry.

  “Get your queer ass outta here Talbot!” Jed bellowed. “I ain’t haven no pasty assed man kiss me.”

  I let go of the emergency handle. “Fine Jed, have it your way,” I said as I was heading away. I noticed a small smile curve his lips. It was gone as quick as it had come.

  “Talbot!” he yelled to my back.

  I turned. “You having second thoughts about that kiss? The offer still stands,” I answered coquettishly.

  “Be at the clubhouse tomorrow at 7:00 a.m., and clean yourself up, ya smell like shit!” he voiced.

  I waved. “Thank you Jed,” came my solemn reply.

  CHAPTER 6

  Journal Entry - 6

  Our weary band of travelers headed for the front door. Sir Licks-A-Lot and the rest of his merry gang were nowhere to be seen. Must have been one hell of a firefight, I thought. My greeting for Nicole was brief and intense. I think I would have sobbed with relief if I wasn’t so exhausted. She gave her mother a huge hug and then bounded to me for the same; we embraced for a second before she pulled away, nose crinkled in disgust.

  “I know I smell like crap, I know,” I said before she could beat me to the punch. I wanted to go soak in a hot shower in the worst way. It almost hurt. But once Nicole got to talking, not much was going to divert her. We briefly recounted the highlights of our Wal-Mart rescue. I completely skipped over the little girl, trying my best to hide her in a remote fold in the darkest corners of my brain. It was my turn now to ask how Nicole and Brendon got here. I settled in and made myself comfortable. Even on a regular night Nicole would give me every detail of their journey, down to the minutiae of what color vest the cashier was wearing at the gas station.

  I nodded to Brendon, he nodded in return, she had most likely already recounted the entire trip for him, and he had been there. He sat down heavily on the loveseat. Stress that had been etched on his face was only just now beginning to ease.

  “So luckily,” she began, “we were already on our way over. We wanted to get some of the boxes we have piled in your basement out to our new place…”

  Travis interrupted from the kitchen. I could hear him open the refrigerator and then close it quickly, obviously not having found what he was looking for.

  “I’m going to get drinks, does anybody want anything?” he yelled from the kitchen.

  Everyone had a request, even Tommy. “Do you have any Yoo-Hoo?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “We’ll get some tomorrow if we can,” I answered as I saw the disappointment on his face.

  “Pepsi will be fine.” Tommy’s head was bowed.

  “Coke alright?” Travis asked.

  “I guess that’ll have to do,” came Tommy’s reply.

  I heard the back door and then the screen open and shut. I was listening to Nicole’s account, when I abruptly jumped off the couch like my ass was on fire. My foot caught the edge of the coffee table as I went down screaming. Screaming not from the pain but for what laid in wait. My ‘man-fridge’ was located in the garage. At one time it had mostly been stocked with beer, but it had became a lot easier to just put all of our beverages in there, coke, juice, extra milk, whatever.

  Tracy’s face froze as she saw the sheer look of terror flit across my features.

  “What’s the matter?” she shrieked.

  I scrambled to gain purchase.

  I distantly heard Tommy. “Coke’s fine, Mr. T!!” he bawled, reacting to my dread.

  I was in a nightmare. I couldn’t move fast enough, the ground was sucking me down. Gravity became a fiend. I weighed too much to move effectively. My feet were slipping and sliding on the area rug, but I finally gained purchase. Unfortunately, once I hit wood I had too much thrust and slammed into the wall as I turned left into the hallway. I heard more than felt the snap of impact as I dislocated my shoulder. The pain was blinding, the pain was clarifying. I was soaked in sweat running down the small hallway that connected the living room to the kitchen. By now everyone in the house was close on my heels, trying to discover my intentions. I made it to the kitchen. Now I had to make a hard left through the family room so I could finally make it out the back door. The gore on the soles of my sneakers made it nearly impossible to get traction on the linoleum. I moaned, a deep and mournful sound. Travis was half in the house holding the screen door open with his left hand, seeing my whole comedy of errors.

  “Holy shit, Dad! You alright?”

  “No swearing!” Tracy scolded him.

  And now I did sob, some from the pain but mostly in relief at the sight of my son. “Zombies in the garage!” I mustered before my tunneling vision rapidly began to close.

  “Holy shit!”

  “I said no swearing!” I heard from a million miles away.

  I awoke about ten minutes later, according to Nicole.

  “Brendon set your shoulder back,” Nicole said. Concern crisscrossed her face.

  I sat up waiting for an explosion of pain to rip through me; I was grateful for the moderate throbbing that met me instead.

  “Travis?” was all I could manage as I tried to break through the cobwebs that spidered through my thoughts.

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I heard from the other side of the kitchen counter.

  Tommy had taken up nearly my entire field of view. “You alright, Mr. T? You know you still smell bad right?” Tommy said as he tried his best to put on a brave face.

  "Help me up big guy.” As I extended my hand out, he almost pulled that one out to match the left as he launched me to my feet. I swayed for a moment as my blood did its best to catch up with my movement.

  Tracy was at the kitchen table, head in her hands, fresh tears staining the tablecloth.

  “You alright Hon?” I asked as I stayed close to Tommy, using him as a balance beam
.

  “Just relieved.” She looked up, I knew it was more than that, of course it was, but what was the point of pushing it.

  “What are the chances that anybody grabbed the garage remote out of the car?” I looked at everybody, including Nicole and Brendon. I was that desperate. Everyone slowly shook their heads in negation.

  I’ll be right back,” I said as I headed to the front door. “I just want to tell Jed to expect some noise.”

  I could hear shuffling in the garage but it was damn near impossible to ascertain their location. Who’s to say that one of them wasn’t right up at the door waiting for some unsuspecting person to stick their arm through. It would take me less than two seconds to open the door, grope wildly for the garage door wall switch, and then pull the door shut. But how long would it take a zombie in waiting to bite on my arm? I put on three sweaters, a heavy parka and a set of work gloves, so unless these zombies had fangs I should be able to do what needed to be done without becoming infected. My hope was the added bulk wouldn’t burden me too much. I did not want to sacrifice speed.

  “Dad, do you want me to go with you?” Nicole asked as I headed out the back door. “I could cover you with…with a gun,” she added.

  I looked down at her trembling hands. A palsy victim would have been appalled. “Um no, I think I might be safer if you stayed in the house.”

  She looked both hurt and relieved.

  “I love you sweetie,” I said as I pulled her close and kissed her forehead.