Zombie Fallout 9

by Mark Tufo

  The mood in the car was decent, at least that’s how I sensed it. Considering how the day had gone and Ron’s initial reaction, we were doing pretty good. There was some small talk, and thankfully, no more life-threatening altercations. The mood changed the moment we got onto the Mass Pike and the homestretch to the Quabbin reservoir.

  I could see the tension worming its way through my brother. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tight enough his knuckles were turning white. He leaned forward, his back not even touching his seat. I wanted to offer some words to him, something that would alleviate his anxiety. I was not sure how he would react. I was his younger brother, and I always would be. Luckily, BT was more adept at this than I was.

  “You look like you have a stick shoved up your ass. You all right?”

  Ron looked over to BT, actually laughed, and physically relaxed, probably not even knowing that he looked like he’d shoved coal up his rectum and was trying to press them into diamonds before we made it to our destination.

  “How do you think she got down here?” BT asked, I was not sure if he cared about the answer or if by having a conversation, Ron would not have the time to work himself up again.

  “She must have got a car. I mean the night she walked out, it was harsh winter conditions. She couldn’t have been out there too long.”

  “Why, though?” This was my question. “Why leave? I mean, we all thought she left to commit suicide by snow. Then to find a car and drive away from everything you know? How the fuck does that make sense?”

  “Maybe she was trying to get back home like Alex,” BT said.

  That was a distinct possibility. If she had lost her mind after losing Paul, maybe she thought she could get both back in Colorado. “Never thought of that.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” he answered.

  I gave him the finger, but behind the seat so he wouldn’t see it.

  “The Belchertown exit is next,” Ron said dryly.

  This was it, the final approach.

  “Any ideas what we’re in for?”

  “My guess would be zombies. What do you think, BT?” I asked.

  “I blame you for this, Ron.”

  “Me? How is this my fault?”

  “You could have done something about him when he was younger. You know, maybe taken care of the problem in its infancy. If you know what I mean.”

  The Quabbin came into view in all its beauty. It was a manmade body of water, created to supply the precious commodity to the Boston area. The entire area had been flooded, completely covering the buildings and towns that had existed at that time. There had been a lot of pissed off residents back then. It was a case of the betterment for the many to the detriment of the few. I thought sourly that if billionaires had lived here, Boston would have been flooded to supply Belchertown with water instead. The poor had been doormats since the dawn of civilization. It’s strange to me that we put so much significance into material gains, but then again, it’s not. Men, at least, chase wealth because wealth brings a mate. And there it is, the root of all evil isn’t money, it’s women. But I’m not telling my wife that. Honey, if you read this it probably means I’m dead, so that’s a plus for me, I mean. So you can’t get mad at me. But I’m just genuflecting here. I love women, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that you are indeed the stronger of the species.

  “Now what?” Ron had gone onto the access road. We were now about to start circling the area.

  “Not trying to be a smart ass, but look for zombies.” That was the best piece of advice I had. She could be anywhere. I’d hiked around the reservoir a few times in my youth, not because I cared about the local history of the place or how it was made. Sure, I could enjoy the beauty of the area. That was nice and all, but mainly it was because Karen Landers liked to hike around the Quabbin, and if I wanted any chance of seeing her scenic beauty, there was a price to pay. I remembered there were a few buildings around, mostly maintenance. We’d used them to shield us as we’d, umm, use your imagination. There’s a chance my wife reads this, and even if it’s because I’m dead, she may come into the afterlife and give me a what-for upside the head.

  “Bingo.” BT pointed up ahead. Had to have been at least a hundred zombies surrounding a small stone building. I can’t say I knew this place specifically. Maybe if we got around back, it would become clearer.

  “Shit, Mike. Get your head in the game,” I berated myself. We were about to get into a firefight with a feared, relentless enemy, and I was thinking about a heavy petting session in my youth. “Well, if I’m going to die, it might as well be with a smile.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” BT asked.

  “Why can I not figure out when I am talking out loud and when I’m thinking? Forget it. Ron, you want to stop here, and we’ll go check it out?”

  “I’m coming.”

  BT and I looked at each other.

  “Yeah, I know you two think I’m a liability. I … I just didn’t know it was this bad out here. It took me a little while to wrap my mind around that maybe this world is not going to bounce back, that maybe my kids are not going to be able to go out and find their own way. You know what kind of shock that is. Don’t you, Mike?”

  I had to admit that I did. I’d had more time to come to terms with it, and I still think I teetered on the brink of depression if I dwelled on it. My only salvation was action. Action kept me from thinking. I’d proved that enough times.

  “Fine, leave the keys in the ignition.” Not sure if he knew the reasoning, but he didn’t question it. Obviously, I hoped I didn’t have to leave my brother behind, but it’s better to plan for all contingencies. We were about three hundred yards off, safe from the zombies seeing us.

  “What about a rocket?” There was gleam in BT’s eye as he asked the question.

  “Don’t think the people in the building would appreciate that much.”

  “Right, right.” BT said like he’d already forgotten we were there to save people not kill zombies.

  “What about a drive by?” Ron asked. “I’ll get as close as I can with the car, fire a bunch of rounds, wait until they start following, and then I’ll head off with them in tow.”

  “It’s a better idea than blowing everyone up,” I said, pointing to BT. “Just these aren’t the same zombies; they see you taking off in a car, they’re not going to follow. Not far anyway. Once they realize they can’t catch you, they’ll come right back.”

  “I’ll just go slow.”

  “It’s all we’ve got,” BT said.

  “Shit, I think even I could come up with a better plan than this,” I said.

  “Really?” BT asked.

  “Yeah, probably not. Don’t dick around, Ron.”

  “I’m sure he needed that added inspiration.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He went back to the car; BT and I stayed where we were.

  We heard the car start up, and I think so did a few zombies though they did not move. He passed us by, got off the park roadway, and crossed onto the expansive grass lawn, which was nearly a foot long now from being untended. There were no lawn maintenance people during a z-poc. A couple of years, and the forest would begin to reclaim what was always its land in earnest. I got a spark of unease watching as the small car plowed through the grass and how it bunched up underneath. I wondered if it could possibly high center like during a snowstorm.

  “I still think we should have used a rocket.”

  “Those things are really burning a hole in your pocket, aren’t they?”

  BT was silent. The zombies were now taking a great interest in Ron as he got closer.

  “That’s close enough, man.” I said more for myself. He was nearly on the walking path that encircled the entire body of water. And the path was no more than twenty feet to the door of the maintenance building. “What the fuck is he doing?”

  “Stopping, it looks like.”

  “Thanks for the commentary.”

  “You asked, plus you’
re doing it. You can’t give me crap if I do the same.”

  Ron poked his rifle out the window and began to fire indiscriminately. I could see zombies being impacted as a few moved about in violent, random ways, but only one was fatal. I couldn’t fault him; one hand on a steering wheel, not properly aiming, he was lucky he got the one. The zombies seemed very interested and a fair number began to head his way.

  “Why isn’t he moving?” BT asked.

  I was thinking it; he said it. Zombies had reached the back of his car, and considering it was a bug, that was way closer than it needed to be. I was beginning to panic, thinking that somehow he did not see them, or he had passed out from fright or he had a damn death wish. I don’t know. I brought my rifle to my shoulder and was going to do all I could to prevent zombies from getting to him when his car jumped forward and stalled. He’d had a manual transmission faux pas. Something usually reserved for the new-to-a-clutch drivers. Or the drunk... umm not that I know; I read it somewhere.

  “This is painful to watch. At least I know what I’m getting myself into with you. I gotta be honest, Talbot. I’m not all that confident in your brother’s abilities.”

  “Come on, Ron. Get the fucking car out of there.” The engine cranked and turned over. There was the grind of gears as he must have jammed it into first. The zombies were by his window. At some point, he must have rolled the thing up, good for him. The car lurched forward again, hesitated, on the brink of stalling before he gave it enough gas and got it moving correctly. BT and I both let out heavy sighs of relief. I’d always been confident in what my brother could do; he’d always been older and seemingly wiser. I think that’s a perspective most younger siblings have of their older peers. He sure was straining that belief system today.

  “It’s not working.” BT pointed back to the hut. Far fewer than half had taken the bait.

  “We can take fifty.”

  “Yeah, with a rocket.”

  “BT, you’re going to have to get it out of your head. You can’t use the rocket.”

  “Why not, man? We’re not even sure there’re people in there.”

  “Does it look like the zombies are having their annual union meeting to you? Why the hell else would they be congregating there?”

  “I’m just saying we don’t know for sure.”

  “Blow it up, we’ll check the bodies afterwards,” I said sardonically.

  “Buzzkill.”

  “Oh, what the fuck is he doing now?” I went back to looking at Ron, who had been barely outpacing the speeders before. Now he was at a dead stop.

  “I hear the engine whining.”

  “Wheels are spinning, too. He’s stuck.”

  “On grass?” The speeders began to arrive, smacking on the sides of the car, rocking it back and forth in their efforts to get the tasty treat inside.

  “Has to be a rock or something.”

  “There’re only twenty of them.”

  I knew what he was implying, that we go down there, kill them all, and then push Ron off whatever he was lodged on. The only problem with that was that the longer he was stuck, the more zombies over at the shed became interested in the goings on. There was somewhere in the neighborhood of seventy-five zombies, give or take a few ugly fuckers. We had a couple hundred rounds each. Theoretically we could do it, but if we failed, we had nowhere to go. Speeders would chase us down. Plus, we had to hope that our fight didn’t draw any more to the festivities.

  “Yeah, we go down, pick up Erin, be back for dinner, he says.”

  “You realize you’re talking about yourself, right?” BT asked.

  “I can be mad at myself.”

  “Can you maybe have that argument later? Would love to see who wins, though.”

  “Shut the hell up. You ready?”

  We stood. Both checked our magazine pouches. I was OCD enough that I had to check that I’d chambered a round; actually expelled a fresh round in doing so.

  “That could be the one round that spells the difference between life and death.”

  I knew he was screwing with me. I wouldn’t have left the round, but now I had to hit the magazine release button and put the bullet back.

  “The time you’ve wasted here could be the difference—”

  “I am going to shoot you.”

  We moved closer. The zombies were still too interested in Ron to even glance in our direction. I wanted to be near enough that headshots were viable and at a high percentage, but leave enough room that when they inevitably turned and ran toward us, we would have time to defend ourselves. BT started to line up a shot.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Getting ready to shoot.”

  “We can’t afford to spray bullets. Get down into the prone position; there’s a good chance they won’t even know where we’re at for a while.”

  “I don’t want to get down there.”

  “Man, I know you’re a good shot; you’re not that good.”

  “There are ticks, man.”

  “What?”

  “Ticks. They’re like spiders, but they suck your blood.”

  “I know what the hell ticks are. We’ll pull them off if they get on you. I mean, someone will, depending on where they are. Get down here, and you’re giving me shit about wasting time.” I waited until he was down, and I fired.

  “I better not get Lyme disease. That’s a hiking-honky sickness…. Oh, let’s see nature and catch some parasites!” He was still going on as I acquired targets and shot. I watched as heads were laid open and throats cut through. At first, the zombies did not seem to notice, then slowly but surely, they began to look around trying to find the hidden assassins. BT finally stopped talking and started shooting. I did not notice any zombies going down by Ron. I thought he still had ticks on the mind and was about to give him crap about it when I turned to look. The reason that none of the zombies surrounding Ron’s car were being hit became immediately evident, the ones at the maintenance shed, which were closer, had already discovered our sniper nest and were coming full tilt.

  “Any chance you were going to say something?” I asked as I switched my field of fire.

  “I figured you’d get it soon enough.”

  We were in a spot of trouble. A hundred and fifty yards seems like a fairly long distance, but if something is running at you at full speed, you’re really only talking eighteen or nineteen seconds. Most people never realize that the vast majority of firefights are generally over in a minute or under. With one side victorious and the other dead. This battle was going to be no different. Of course, for those of you wondering, that minute seems closer to about a week.

  “I’m out!” I shouted to BT, letting him know I was going to need to reload. I’d no sooner released my empty magazine when he stopped shooting.

  He twisted his rifle. The bolt was lodged partially open with a live round jammed into the back of an expended one. “Stove pipe!”

  He was out of the mix for a while. I was going to have to be spot on to make this work. At least the zombies were cooperating by coming closer and making better targets. I targeted the closest zombies for obvious reasons, but this also had the added benefit that, more times than not, the ones immediately trailing would get tangled up and go down as well. It bought precious time.

  “Hurry up, man.” I was killing them, but not fast enough. Even if he got back into it now, it might be too late.

  “What do you think I’m doing, man?” He was as nervous as I was.

  Blood sprayed, skulls exploded, brains flew, and still they came. Fifty yards. I spared the smallest of glances toward Ron to see if he had extracted himself from his own potentially deadly situation. I couldn’t even see the car due to the mob of zombies coming at us from his direction.

  “We might need to run,” I warned BT.

  “Almost free.”

  “Now or never, buddy.” I was still firing, and I instinctually knew I was getting to the end of the magazine.

  “I’m good.” I h
eard his bolt close home. “Holy shit.”

  “No kidding.” I switched out while he fired.

  He blew through the rest of his rounds in record time. We’d won some hard-earned time just as he shouted “Out!”

  They gained ground while I went solo for a few seconds. We could just about keep them in check with both of us going. Of course, our magazines would run dry and, soon enough, so would our supply. It again became a question of when we would abandon our post.

  “BT, we’re going to have to go.” Although, that ship had not only sailed but also was probably already pulling up at its new port. By the time we arose, turned, and got running, they would be colliding with us. There was gunfire happening to our front. I figured it was Ron trying to get rid of the zombies around his car. I believed that right up until I heard multiple reports and from differing caliber sizes. I had to put a hand on BT’s shoulder to keep him down as he potentially tried to make his escape.

  “I’m going to count that as a lifesaving gesture,” I told him, not sure what he was thinking. Bullets were zipping up and over our location. Normally, this would be extremely disturbing. Right now, though, it was welcome. “Out!” I warned, dropping my magazine. We had a thirty-foot cushion drop to twenty before I could start firing again. Zombies were coming to skidding halts less than five feet from our location. We were about as overrun as we could be without getting trampled.

  I think I had one magazine left. Wouldn’t matter though; I’d never get a chance to get to it. I debated keeping one round to put in my own head. But I’d already lost count of how many I’d shot. Bone fragments and body pieces began to pelt us as those behind kept firing.

  “Out!” BT shouted onto a completely silent battlefield. Smoke from our rifles hung in the air. We were the last men standing. Well, technically, there were twelve of us, but I was pretty sure we were all playing for the same team. I took note that BT quickly and quietly, placed his last magazine into his rifle before he stood. Just because we shared an enemy did not make us friends. For all we knew, they were cannibals that wanted us for themselves.

  “You all right?” Ron called out to us.