by Mark Tufo
“Mike?” Allison had asked to his back. “What are you doing?” She had never been on this side of rejection and was not taking to the learning experience too kindly. “You’re turning this down?” she yelled as she flaunted her body.
Even without the condescending tone Mike knew not to turn around. To do so might have turned him to salt like Lot’s wife of Sodom and Gomorrah fame. Or worse yet, have him question what the hell he was doing.
“Go back to your wife!” she yelled. Her tremulous voice reaching volumes that brought out her neighbors, the better to play out this drama.
“What are you, a fag?” she spat. Mike’s face burned as he realized he now had an audience to this spectacle.
Relief flooded through him as he finally reached his car door but was quickly diminished as he realized he would have to turn around to get in. Even from this distance, Allison’s beauty was unrivaled. The sheer hatred that etched her features only confirmed to Mike the wisdom of his decision. Mike’s dick, however, was unstirred by the power of higher reasoning and screamed its own words of hate and discontent at him.
“Definitely not a fag,” Mike said to himself as he made some adjustments to himself, started the Jeep and got the hell out of Dodge.
Allison’s eyes burned holes into the back of Mike’s head as he made his hasty retreat. Her apartment shook from the force she had applied to her door as she slammed it home. It was from that point forward that she had begun to formulate a plan to get Mike dismissed from his job. She had hoped for a scandal of epic proportions and was disappointed when she was only able to manage a ‘job discontinuance.’ She had felt nothing close to remorse when she came to his office that final morning, only something akin to a fulfilling satisfaction.
“Last day?” she had laughed from his office door, a smug smile on her face.
Mike was fairly certain of Allison’s hand in this, but had no desire to give her any more satisfaction than she was already deriving from it.
“Yeah, it’s time for a change, I’ve got some prospects back East that I’m looking forward to checking out.”
It was all a lie, Mike was deeply scared about losing his job, but to see her smirk come off her face for just a fraction of a second made it all seem worthwhile. Mike continued to load his last box with his belongings. Allison was irate as she pushed off from his doorframe. Revenge, unfulfilled. She stalked off, looking for her next victim.
Mike had told Tracy everything about that day, except the part about his traitorous penis. The liabilities of that disclosure far outweighed the benefits. Tracy had on more than one occasion wanted to confront Allison and let her know what she thought of her. Unlike Mike, Tracy was completely convinced that Allison had engineered Mike’s employment demise and had since wanted to exact revenge. Now the demon spawn stood before her, in all her deadly regal beauty.
“How does a zombie look so fucking good?” Tracy asked as she finally got to her feet.
“Mom?” Nicole was still bewildered, but finally took her mother’s words to heart and looked at the monster in front of them.
Except for some unkempt hair and a grayish sheen to her skin tone, the zombie was a knock out. For a second or two Nicole wasn’t sure if they were being confronted by a monster or just a starving civilian. All pretense of a peaceful outcome was shattered as the Allison-thing reengaged her one-track mind. Her mouth opened wide, revealing bits and chunks of her last conquest. Like the door of an ancient mausoleum creaking open, the stench of death issued forward. Nicole brought her pistol up to bear, her hand shaking wildly as she pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Nicole waited impatiently for the terse spring of the recoil and the acrid smell of gunpowder. All that happened was her hand shook wildly from side to side and the acidic smell of decay flooded her senses.
“Shit!” Nicole yelled as she pulled the trigger again and again, but still nothing happened, not even the satisfactory slamming of the firing pin hitting home.
Tracy had not been stationary during this brief interlude; she had also brought her rifle to bear. The Allison-thing was so close that her mouth closed around the barrel of the rifle.
‘Gonna be tough to miss from this distance,’ Tracy thought with a certain sense of satisfaction.
“This oughta take care of that shit-eating grin, BITCH!” Tracy yelled just as she pulled the trigger.
Yes, Allison-thing’s grin did expand, but not because of any hot lead injection. Tracy realized the gun wasn’t loaded. It was more useless than Viagra at a Promise Keeper's Convention. Allison-thing was held at bay as the muzzle of the weapon pressed against the back of her throat. Tracy wanted to scream in rage and frustration, in revenge unfulfilled. Meanwhile, Nicole picked up the closest object that she could find. Tracy reeled as the flying box of condoms narrowly missed hitting the side of her head.
“Really?! That’s the best that you could do?” Tracy shouted.
“Sorry Mom. What are we gonna do?” Nicole shrieked, hysteria rising dangerously close to the surface.
“Go behind the register and see if there’s a bat or a crowbar or something to hit her over the head with,” Tracy said as she struggled with the Allison-thing.
The zombie still hadn’t figured out that to get to the meat it would have to dislodge from the bitter metal stick. The barrel was coming dangerously close to pushing through the back of her slender neck.
“There’s only a cane!” Nicole shouted from the register station.
“That’ll have to do. Hurry, I don’t know how much longer I can hold her back.”
Tracy was struggling under the relentless assault. The Allison-thing would never stop. Tracy knew that even as her arms ached with the strain of holding the undead bitch away from her. Tracy was proud as her daughter conquered her rising tide of fear and approached the zombie, cane upraised. Nicole swung with all her might, but between the mass of the cane and the lack of muscle Nicole possessed, the blow did little more than irritate her mother’s assailant. Again she raised the cane and struck. The zombie finally noticed that she was being attacked. It backed up, dislodging itself from the gun and turned her full attention on the small morsel of meat to her side. ‘Succulent’ was its vacant thought.
“Mom!” Nicole wailed as she dropped the cane and backed away.
Tracy’s arms were burning from the exertion of holding the zombie at bay. As the Allison-thing came loose, Tracy’s arms fell. The rifle in reality weighed only seven pounds, but right now it might as well have been seventy. She caught her breath as the zombie turned all of its attention to her daughter. Nicole was moving backwards, her eyes wild with fear. The look of sheer terror on her face got her mother moving.
“First my husband! Then me! And now you want my daughter?!” Tracy screamed. She turned the rifle around so she was holding the barrel. “Well, you can’t have any of us! BITCH!” Tracy said, as she swung the beefy end of the stock with a strength and aim even Babe Ruth would have been proud of.
With contact came that disgusting sound that only a collapsing skull can make. Some compare it to the sound of a watermelon exploding after a three-story drop. In reality this isn’t even close. It is a much more visceral concussion. The sound assails the senses with the ire of a screeching cat in the dead of night. It is as repellent as a horde of spiders crawling on your head or getting your sternum poked or watching people chew with their mouths open. You get the point. It is a sound that is not meant for human ears. The stock of the rifle nearly stuck in the caved-in cranium of the Allison-thing. As Tracy pulled the gun back she was greeted with an audible pop as the suction between bone, blood and wood separated. Allison-thing’s head hung at an awkward angle. Her body stopped in midstride. It attempted to swivel its head to see its attacker but the bones in her delicate neck were in no better shape than her mashed in melon. Tracy heaved a cry of satisfaction and relief as the Allison-thing collapsed to the floor. Some violent twitching from her extremities kept Nicole and Tracy engrossed for a few long macabre moments. Trac
y had more expletives she wanted to shout at her downed adversary but was fearful if she opened her mouth only the contents of her roiling stomach would issue forth. Finally the Allison-thing lay still.
Tracy grabbed Nicole’s arm and pulled her through the exit. Not a word was said on the ride home, or ever again on the matter. Mike would learn of the cigarettes, eventually, but when he questioned his wife, the stern look on her face kept him from pressing the matter. He didn’t see any reason to pry any further. Women were a complete and utter mystery to him but he knew enough about when to keep his mouth shut.
CHAPTER 15
Journal Entry - 13
It was not difficult to see the source of Justin’s fever. The scarlet wound on his cheek screamed for attention. The sight of a thousand ravenous zombies could not compete with the fright one sick boy placed into me. If Paul hadn’t been sitting on the toilet I would have used it for some dry heave practice. It was then I finally REALLY noticed my lifelong friend.
“Paul?” I asked. I had to blink and rub my eyes, how cliché is that?
“Hey buddy,” Paul said, his voice strained. He was feeling extremely guilty for his part in this progressing drama.
Paul and Mike had talked occasionally, usually in drunken stupors, about what they should do in the event of a disaster. Now in Paul’s defense, most of these scenarios involved terrorist attacks, not zombie infestations. But after much debate and loud obnoxious rants, it was agreed upon that Mike’s house was easier to defend and had more supplies including armament. At the first sign of trouble, Paul was supposed to get his ass over to Mike’s, but he had let indecision rule and that had threatened the lives of his nephews. He knew Mike would have a hard time ever forgiving him this transgression.
I was torn between figuring out why and how Paul was here and the health and welfare of my son.
Paul saw my distress and eased at least one burden. “We’ll talk later, it’s a long story,” he said as he waved me away to the front of the crowd huddled around the bathtub.
Tracy didn’t look up from Justin as she sought out my hand for comfort. Words didn’t seem necessary. I could see the jagged groove of flesh missing from Justin’s right cheek. His face had swollen to almost double its proportion. If it had been caused by a bee stung, it would have been hilarious. As much as his cheek stuck out, his eyes had sunken in. He looked more like a caricature of himself than the real article. Red lines of infection radiated out from the unsightly wound.
I would have already thought he was a zombie if not for the next few moments.
Justin’s eyes gained a measure of focus as they found mine. His next words were strained and choked as he tried to force air over his tortured tonsils.
“I’m s...sorry Dad,” he cried.
I took a big intake of air as I sobbed. My heart wanted to leap out of my chest. Paul stifled his own keening. Tracy didn’t hold anything back as she let loose as only a grieving mother can. Her sobs racked her body; she released my hand in order to cover her face with both of hers.
In the back of my mind I heard Tommy speak, but I wasn’t cognizant of any particular word he spoke.
“He didn’t get bit,” Tommy said.
I wanted to lash out. I wanted to smash things. I wanted to swear to the heavens for this hell thrust upon me. But what would it accomplish? It wouldn’t make my son any better. It wouldn’t restore order to the universe. I didn’t know what had happened, but from the hangdog expressions on Travis and Brendon, it wasn’t a difficult puzzle to put together. Paul, being Paul, had procrastinated his departure from his house until his window of opportunity had closed. My boys had somehow got the half-assed idea to go and save their uncle. I loved Paul with all my heart, but never would I have sacrificed one of my kids for him. I wanted to lay into Paul and scream ‘How dare you!?’ But the guilt that he had already placed on his own shoulders was more than I could ever hope to achieve, and again to what end? My son was infected with the deadly virus, and berating Paul would do nothing, absolutely nothing to save Justin. I felt hopeless, no, scratch that, for the first time in my life I felt impotent. Okay the second, there was that one time in college when Paul and I had bought some incredible sensamilian herb and for some reason I couldn’t achieve the ‘full vigor’ of manhood with my girlfriend. But this was worse, much, much worse. I stroked Tracy’s hair as tenderly as I could. She bristled from the contact. I told her I had a quick meeting at the clubhouse and I would be back soon. She never so much as looked up at me; I can’t say I could blame her.
I looked at the crowd in the bathroom and demanded, “Keep his fever down, and Travis come get me right away if he gets worse. And whatever you do, don’t anyone let word of this get out. They’ll put him down like a mad dog.” I ignored Tracy’s flinch at my words; they were nothing but the truth. I hesitated for a moment, then knelt next to my waxen-faced son and tenderly kissed him on the brow. As I turned and left the room, my shoulders shook as I tried to restrain my own heart-wrenching sobs.
Ten minutes later, there were six people including myself present at the impromptu clubhouse meeting. Alex, who looked like he had no sooner hit the pillow when he got the call, Jed, and Tim Tinkle, (no, I did not make the name up). He was head of the new “Security Department.” He was a good-looking guy, about 6’2”, 185 pounds, in great shape. He had blue eyes that were striking next to his prematurely silver hair. But he had the look of someone who has had to constantly defend himself, and with that name he probably did. I had my doubts about Tinkle. He looked like he had a short fuse. Next, there was Wilbur Heathrow, an older, heavyset guy, with wide spaced eyes on a narrow face that gave him the look of a salamander. He was head of the Guards. I don’t know what went on while I was gone, but it looked like there were a whole lot of new posts. Maybe the titles made these people feel more self-important or more likely made them feel like they were in control of the situation. It was my personal belief it did neither. Why did we need a head of Security and a Guard Warden. It was the same thing, like saying, ta-may-to, ta-mah-to, what’s the difference? Whatever, if it made people feel all warm and fuzzy inside, then why not? And to round out the six, Carl had showed up.
When it looked like all the movers and shakers were present, I pulled away from Jed and asked for everybody to be seated. Tim Tinkle remained standing. “Gentlemen,” I began. “I’m sorry to have taken you away from whatever you may have been doing.” I looked at Alex especially, knowing he was way short on sleep.
He gave me a slight nod. “De nada,” he said, acknowledging my apology.
“We’ve got some problems,” I stated.
“Why are you wasting our time with the obvious, Michael?” Tinkle intoned self-importantly.
Why was this guy starting already? And I hated being called Michael, it always reminded me when I was young and in trouble.
“Um, okay,” I looked questioningly at Tinkle. “What I wanted to finish saying…”
“Are you implying that I interrupted you? The mighty Michael Talbot?” Tinkle sneered.
“Uh, Ti… Tim, I’m not sure what’s going on here. I’m just trying to pass on some information I think is vital to our safety and security,” I put forth, doing my best to rein in my anger at this idiot.
“Are you saying I’m not doing my job right?!” Tinkle yammered, taking a step forward and thrusting his finger at me.
“What the hell, man, I didn’t even know there was such a job until Jed told me five minutes ago. Listen, I’m not trying to get into a pissing contest with you.” Ooops, wrong adjective, he blew like Vesuvius.
“What does that crack mean, Talbot? You making fun of me? You got a problem with me? I’m gonna kick your ass into Tuesday.”
Which I thought was kinda hilarious, considering it was Tuesday, unless of course he meant next Tuesday and then it would suck. He was approaching fast, veins sticking out of all sorts of unnatural places.
“Tim, please,” Jed stood up, trying to thwart the hostility.
&nb
sp; Tim pushed him aside. Luckily Carl was able to grab him before Jed hit the deck. Tim swung with a roundhouse that a zombie would have been able to dodge. I dropped low and struck with all of my force into his solar plexus. The wind couldn’t get out of his sails fast enough. I felt the force of the super-exhaled air as it traveled with velocity over my head. I was thankful he hadn’t eaten any jalapenos for dinner. It might have melted my hair. He immediately doubled over, trying his best to gasp for the elusive air. I was a millisecond away from finishing him off with an uppercut when Jed finally righted himself.
“Enough you shitheads!” he yelled.
I felt like I was five. I pointed at Tinkle. “He started it!” I blustered.
Tinkle couldn’t talk yet but he had the presence of mind to point at me and shake his head.
“I don’t care!” Jed raged on. I didn’t know the old coot had that much fire in him. “Tinkle, sit your ass down. Talbot, continue.” Tim did as he was told, by small degrees he was able to retain more air, but luckily the firestorm had died down.
“Okay,” I stated again. “Where was I before I was so rude…” Jed pointed a finger at me. “Um right, uh I think we’re in for a bit of a mess.”
“Mike,” Alex said exasperatedly. “You know that I came here because you had something important for us. But if you woke me for that, I’ll be the next one up there taking a swing.”
“All right, sorry,” I held my hands up. “I was just thrown off-track for a sec. We’ve all been wondering where the zombies are? Why aren’t they attacking? Are they dying? Did they move on? Now I’m not saying this is fact, these are just my observations. I think these zombies are a little more advanced than we give them credit for.”