The End Has Come and Gone

by Mark Tufo

  “There, there,” he said, patting her back gently. He thought that he had seen this technique once in a movie and it had seemed to work. He looked more like a person who doesn’t like dogs and taps the tops of their heads gingerly, hoping they’ll go away.

  Tony Talbot took this opportune time to enter the kitchen. BT wouldn’t swear to it, but Tony and Carol had seemed to hit it off. Maybe not romantically, not yet anyway, but there was something to be said about being around someone your own age. They had an uncanny ability to ease the mind of the other, shared experiences possibly or maybe even shared worries, didn’t matter. Whatever it was they each found peace in the contact. BT was grateful when Carol broke the hug and acknowledged Tony’s entrance.

  BT left the kitchen to go to the living room that overlooked the now empty driveway. Ron, Mike’s older brother, stood looking out as if expecting guests.

  “How’s the leg?” Ron asked without turning around.

  “Feels better,” BT said aloud. But he thought to himself ‘it hurts a lot’ was only shades better than ‘hurts like hell,’ or maybe it was the other way around.

  “When are you planning on leaving?” Ron asked, now looking directly at the big man.

  “A day or two at the most.”

  “How are you planning on following him?”

  “Just follow in the wake of destruction, it’s usually pretty cut and dried with Mike. He doesn’t leave much to chance when he goes somewhere.”

  “A shortwave radio transceiver might make your life a little easier.”

  “How many of those things do you have?”

  “Five, I bought three and convinced the store owner to throw in two for free. Didn’t think I was actually going to need all of them but it’s nice to be prepared.”

  “You sound like Mike, or does he sound like you?” BT asked with a grin.

  Ron laughed. “Let’s get you some supplies.”

  BT followed slowly behind Ron as they descended into the basement. Ron entered into a room that housed the water heater and furnace. Behind those fixtures was another door. Ron opened that and flipped on a light switch.

  BT could not believe what he was seeing. It was a huge room that dwarfed the size of the house it sat under. Metal shelves were lined with canned goods, bags of rice, coffee, flour, sugar, fuel, candles and every other imaginable necessity that people waiting out Armageddon might or might not need.

  “Ron, this is like having your own Wal-Mart.”

  Ron beamed. “Took me twenty years to gather all this stuff, so who do you think sounds like who now?”

  “I’d bow to the King of the Crazies if it didn’t hurt so much.”

  “That’s alright, I appreciate the sentiment. And I’ve got something that will fix you right up.” for that.”

  “You truly are a scholar and a gentleman.”

  CHAPTER FOUR – Talbot Journal Entry 4

  We stopped that first night off of the Mass Pike at a rest stop. The combo Dunkin’ Donuts, Mobil Gas Station and Papa Gino’s had long ago been ransacked but the building itself was in remarkably good shape and easily defendable, two sought after qualities in this brave new world. I had everyone exit the truck and pulled it up so close to the front door only an anorexic zombie would be able to fit through, and I had yet to find one that fit that bill. Gary grabbed the radio out of the back and set it up on one of the red and white checkered pizza joint tables.

  “Is it time yet?” Gary asked.

  “He said he would keep it on all the time, so I would imagine any time would be fine,” Tracy answered.

  “Breaker one nine, breaker one nine,” Gary started. “This is Hammer of the Gods, breaker one nine, Hammer of the Gods over.”

  “Hammer of the Gods?” my wife mouthed the question to me. All I could do was shrug my shoulders.

  “Can you hear me Mount Olympus? This is Hammer, over?” Gary asked.

  An out of breath response came through almost as clear as if we were next door and not two states away. “I thought you were kidding about those call signs,” Ron said.

  Gary seemed instantly relieved when Ron spoke. It was a connection to normalcy, or at least the Talbot version of it. “Mount Olympus, this is Hammer, the Chariot of Fire has suffered some damage.”

  “Chariot of Fire? Gary, speak English. Wait, the truck! What happened to the truck? Get Mike on the horn!” Ron yelled.

  I was backing up, my arms outstretched, hands waving back and forth in the negative. “Tell him I’m not here,” I told Gary.

  “I can hear you, you little pecker, get on the mic!” Ron said from three hundred miles away.

  “Balls!” I said resignedly. “You and me are going to talk, Gary,” I said softly but with force.

  Gary looked taken aback but there was also something else there, something underlying and subtle; it was humor. The ass was loving it. ‘That’s fine,’ I thought to myself, ‘revenge is a two lane highway, and we still had plenty of roadway left before this dance is over.’

  “Yeah Ron, this is Mike,” I said with forced cheerfulness.

  I had to step back from the speaker as Ron’s yells bellowed forth. “That truck is brand effen new, you’ve been gone for one day. What the hell could you possibly have hit? There’s not even anybody out there.”

  “Well, there was this moose…” I started.

  “You hit a freaking moose? What were you doing, did you take the damn thing off-road?”

  “See, it’s more like the moose hit us.”

  “Forget it!” Ron yelled. I could picture him throwing his hands up in the air the way my mom had so many times before when I was a kid and trouble had somehow found me and then followed me all the way home, and sometimes even inside. “Is everyone alright?” he asked, finally getting down to the important matters.

  “Don’t you think that should have been your first question?” I taunted.

  “Don’t try me little brother.”

  “A little shaken up but no worse for the wear, you’re going to lose your security deposit though.”

  I could hear him groan. “That’s fine,” he said grudgingly. I could tell he was struggling within himself to not go ballistic and from this distance it was funny, any closer and not so much. “What are your plans for the night?” he continued.

  We had decided before we left that we would check in at least once a day, preferably at the same time, and that I would let him know where we were at and what we planned on doing the next day. There was an innate comfort in somebody knowing where you were at all times. It wasn’t like he could send in the cavalry to rescue us, but maybe, eventually, he would be able to find what remained of us and give us a proper burial, provided of course there were any remains to be found.

  “We’re off the Mass Pike, mile marker 70, holing up for the night in a rest stop. Then we’re going to go a little further west tomorrow into Pennsylvania and maybe south depending on if I get any hunches.”

  “Mike, for the fiftieth time, is this what you want to be doing? The U.S. is huge, how are you going to find one woman?”

  “No, this isn’t what I want to be doing,” I answered a little snappishly.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Ron, I don’t know how it will happen, but it will. I will find her and I will kill her.” I was much more confident about the finding part than I was the killing, but this I would keep to myself.

  “Alright little brother, you guys have a good night and stay safe. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. And one more thing.”

  “Yeah…?” I said hesitatingly.

  “You mess my truck up any more and you’re going to need Eliza to protect your ass from me.”

  I wanted to tell him just to get another one, what was the big deal. I decided that discretion was the better part of valor and instead said, “Hey bro, don’t want to waste any more battery, over and out.”

  “Wait you litt....” I took this opportune time to shut the transceiver down.

  Gary was about
ten feet away, his face split with a shit eating grin.

  “Not cool man,” I said, pointing my finger at him. I might have done something more than threaten him but just then the sound of metal scraping on metal caught all of our attention. The sounds of multiple firearms being readied dominated the landscape for the next four seconds. Travis was coming up behind me, shotgun at the ready. I put my hand on his shoulder as he drew up alongside. I pointed to my eyes and then motioned for him to watch our backs. The building, which I felt had been an ideal resting spot just moments earlier, now seemed more like a trap. We were in the dining area in the middle where long gone customers used to sit and try to digest all the processed food they bought at the gas station store on our left or at the pizza counter in front of us. The Dunkin’ Donuts had never opened the fateful day the zombies came, either that or the last employee to ever work there had had the foresight to close shop and run. That heavy gauge metal screen had been pulled down in front of the counter. You know the kind, you can fit your fingers through and almost reach the plastic mugs. What the hell you’re going to do with it once you get it in your grasp is beyond me, they won’t fit through the gaps, not that I had tried… lately.

  No other sound emanated from the gas station store, but I still brought my gun up out of an abundance of caution. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Tracy tense up. Gary for all his comedic endeavors was now all business. He came up beside me as we advanced on the store. Justin went up to the front doors and peered out. I stole a glance towards him. His thumbs up assured me that our one avenue for escape was still clear.

  “One chance,” Gary said loudly, startling the hell out of me.

  I hated giving potential enemies any sort of heads up. Maybe that was how they had done it when Gary was in the Air Force. Marines? What can I say, we don’t fight fair, we fight to win.

  “Did you hear me?” Gary asked again. “I said one chance.”

  “Dude,” I said impatiently. “You already gave them their one shot, enough already.”

  “We’re coming in!” he added just for good measure.

  I stopped and let my gun slack down. “Really? Are you kidding me? Should I get some flyers printed up, with our arrival date and time?”

  “Well I don’t think that’s necessary,” Gary answered.

  “Don’t shoot!” came from the far corner and of course the dimmest lit section of the store.

  We both swung our guns and trained them on that spot, advancing even slower.

  “Don’t move,” came from our immediate right.

  “Text book,” I said quietly.

  “What?” Gary asked.

  “We just walked into a trap.”

  Why Gary looked down at his feet I don’t know, maybe he was looking for a tripwire.

  “Not that kind,” I told him.

  “Put your guns down,” came the voice from the corner.

  Like gasoline to a fire Travis came running up to the store entrance. “Drop that fucking gun!” he yelled.

  “No swearing!” Tracy said reflexively from the food court.

  I could hear the metallic sound of the action being moved on the pistol that was aimed at my right side. I started going through the laundry list of vital organs exposed to that potential shot, any of them being damaged was not something I wanted to deal with today.

  “Hold up!” I yelled. “I’m putting my gun down. Travis, do not do anything.”

  “Dad, it’s just a girl,” Travis said. I don’t know if he meant he could take her down quickly or ‘it’s just a girl and what the hell do I do?’

  “How big is the gun?” I asked evenly as I bent over very slowly to place my rifle on the floor.

  “Fucken huge,” he said with some awe.

  “No swearing!” Tracy said again.

  “Angel, you alright?” the voice from the corner asked.

  I couldn’t believe it. The girl apparently holding a rhino killing pistol started to giggle. “I’m alright Eyean. But he looks scared.” And then she started to giggle again.

  I had placed my rifle on the floor and stolen a glance at my captor as I stood back up. She stuck her tongue out at me when she realized I was looking at her. A six year old girl holding a .44 magnum had gotten the drop on me. “Wonderful,” I said in self-disgust.

  She put on her meanest face, probably the one reserved for when she found out that the Hannah Montana episode on that night was a repeat. However, it was no joke when she motioned with the gun for me to put my hands over my head. Gary had already put his gun down and was lying prostrate on the floor.

  “Dad?” Travis asked.

  “Put the gun down. I’d rather get shot than ever shoot a little girl.” Visions of a Wal-Mart loading bay blazed across my memories. “Again,” I added.

  “Eyean, all their guns are down,” Angel said, putting her hand over her mouth to stifle another giggle.

  “Eyean, why would you send this girl out here to do this?” I was enraged.

  “It’s Ryan, she’s never been good with the ‘R’,” a skinny kid maybe 15 or 16 years old said as he came out from behind a NASCAR display. “She was in the bathroom when we heard you come in. I told her to stay there.”

  “Any chance we could convince her to put that gun down before anyone gets hurt? And considering I’m the only one under aim at the moment, it would most likely be me.”

  “Mister, I’m sorry,” Ryan said. “But we don’t know you at all.”

  “Stranger danger!” Angel said excitedly.

  “Wonderful, so now what?” I asked.

  Ryan didn’t seem so prepared to answer that question.

  Tracy came up cautiously to the front of the store. “Why she’s just a little girl Talbot, what’s the matter, did she trap the big brave men?” she asked condescendingly, laced with a bit of humor. I don’t know how she pulled it off. It was magnificent and it also had the added bonus of diffusing a potentially bad situation.

  “Hi pretty lady,” Angel said, waving the hand that was not holding the magnum. How the hell such a little girl was keeping that cannon trained directly on me I don’t friggen know.

  “Hi, Angel is it?” Tracy said, getting a little lower to be on eye level with the Bonnie (of Bonnie and Clyde fame) wannabe. That might seem harsh to you but I was the one being held at gunpoint. Give it a whirl sometime and let me know what you think of it.

  “Yes,” the girl answered coquettishly, lightly kicking her left foot forward.

  “You’re very pretty Angel,” Tracy said softly.

  “Thank you pretty lady,” Angel answered. This would have been an awesome Disney flick if that cold steel huge caliber weapon wasn’t pointed at me.

  “It’s Tracy,” Tracy answered.

  “My mom’s name was Alicia,” Angel answered back.

  We all noted the key word ‘was.’

  “Oh honey,” Tracy said, standing back up. As she walked forward she opened her arms wide.

  Angel didn’t give a crap about me as her gun clattered to the floor and she ran into Tracy’s outstretched arms. I was thankful it didn’t go off, especially considering the first action of the dual action revolver had already been engaged. When I walked over to retrieve the weapon I increased my embarrassment level exponentially. I opened the revolver only to realize that she had no bullets.

  “What now mister?” Ryan asked, cautiously watching his sister as she sobbed heavily into Tracy’s chest.

  “Nothing, come on out.” I looked down. Gary hadn’t moved. “Umm, you can get up now brother.”

  “All clear?” he asked.

  “You could say that,” I answered, showing him the empty revolver.

  “Oh, I knew that all along,” he said seriously.

  I couldn’t tell if he was being truthful or just trying to save face. Ryan stepped hesitantly up to where we were.

  “You’re fine, kid, we probably don’t fit the definition of Good Guys but we sure as hell aren’t the bad ones.”

  He seeme
d to relax a bit, especially when he saw how Angel had taken to Tracy.

  “Can we come out Ryan?” another voice from the shadows asked.

  I grabbed my rifle and slung it over my shoulder.

  “Can they mister?” Ryan asked warily.

  “It’s Mike and yes, this is your place, we’re the ones intruding.”

  I could tell Ryan was feeling more comfortable, not completely trusting yet but not fearful either.

  “It’s alright guys,” Ryan said.

  Three more kids came out from behind the end aisle cap. They were all roughly the same age as Ryan. One was a little taller and looked to be suffering greatly from their gas station food diet. Drakes Cakes were playing hell on his acne. I hadn’t noticed before but Ryan, Angel and the other three castaways were filthy, they looked like orphans from 18th century France. Apparently 21st century America wasn’t as far removed from those troubled times as we had hoped to believe.

  “How many more of you are there?” I asked Ryan.

  “This is it,” he said with downcast eyes. “Benny and Chirp went home when the end started and they haven’t been back. Dizz and me,” he said, pointing to the aforementioned face-pocked tall kid. “We went to look for them a couple of weeks ago and maybe see what happened to our parents,” he added softly. Angel had finally unburied her face from Tracy’s chest and was listening intently.