by Mark Tufo
Prologue Four – Mike’s Journal
Hello, my name is Michael Talbot and this is my journal. If you have found this then most likely I am dead. I swore that after I left my first journal behind at my homestead in Little Turtle, I would not let the same fate befall this one. I have no way of knowing what the world has turned out like. While I was alive we were at war, a war where 85% of the combatants didn’t know that fact. They simply felt a need to eat and we simply felt a need not to be eaten. The story of me, my family and my friends are in these pages. It is as true an account of what happened to the Talbots as can be written by one that has lived through it. Is some of it biased? Probably. Is some of it subjective? Definitely. In a perfect world I’m hoping that I left this book behind in some haste to evacuate an area. But more than likely I have fallen. I have been so tired, maybe now I can finally rest.
CHAPTER 1 Journal Entry One
Zombie bodies exploded under the crushing weight of the tractor trailer. Splintered bones rained down all around us. The occasional eyeball struck the side of the trailer with a hollow thudding. The noise was sickening from atop. I could only imagine what it sounded like inside. Noxious gases issued forth from burst beings, some unlucky few that got stuck in the plow works were slowly eroded away like the world’s largest eraser on the biggest mistake in mankind, which actually wasn’t so far from the truth. The truck was an island that floated along a sea of death and decay. I had never felt more afraid for my family since this whole thing started. The constant jostling as we hit and subsequently ran over zombies made holding on for dear life take on a whole new meaning. For some friggen reason I had not had the foresight to rope my English Bulldog Henry to the truck. I now had one arm wrapped around Henry like he was an expensive Saks Fifth Avenue package and I was in Central Park at night. My other hand was gripped onto a handle secured to the top of the truck with two entirely way too small screws. Again, if you read my first journal, you’ll know I would no sooner let go of Henry than I would one of my natural born. For those of you that say he’s only a dog you must be cat lovers and just don’t know any better. I won’t hold it against you. Luckily, Henry wasn’t squirming or this would be a short novella punctuated by my untimely demise. The screws were puckering up the top of the truck. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were going to give under the strain I was placing on them. My last few moments on earth were going to be the loud audible pop as the screws tore loose and then my ungraceful swan dive off the top of this trailer and into the waiting arms of an adoring crowd of brain and flesh eaters. Thankfully, Alex was a much better craftsman than I gave him credit for, because I’m still alive to write this journal. Alex is a man that I’ve only known a few weeks, but I consider him a true friend, especially since he saved my family’s collective ass today - Christmas Day. Alex was one of the newest residents of Little Turtle after the deaders came. He set up or engineered most of the defenses we used in our now shattered community. If not for the stalwart supports he had added to our walls, I would have never made it out of my cell and to my house in time that last fateful day. With that thought I had a pang of remorse as I remembered Jed. At one time we had been bitter enemies in a much simpler world, when what time you put your trash out actually carried meaning. I hadn’t seen Jed since the day the walls came down, literally. He had let me out of my cell as I was awaiting my trial for murder. Sure, I had killed a perverted piece of shit and the world was a better place for it, but it was still murder. Why I had killed him is not something I am going to revisit, especially on this the most sacred of days. If you really want to know, you’re going to have to go back to Little Turtle on the Denver/Aurora line in Colorado. I left my journal in my old office before we made our narrow escape to the attic. I’m sure the zombies will be gone in a few days, there’ll be nothing left there to eat.
The jostling of the truck slowly decreased as we moved further and further away from the kill zone. I could almost hear the collective sighs of relief but more likely it was the great intake of air as everyone felt it was finally safe to breathe deeply, not because of our temporary reprieve from fear but because of the improvement of the air quality. The dead have no clue about personal hygiene. Saying zombies smelled ‘bad’ was akin to saying lepers had a mild case of acne.
Exactly one point one miles from my previous home the truck pulled to a halt. I let go of Henry with my left arm. I was going to need that hand to pry my right fingers from the handle. It seems I had frozen it in place. Again, I didn’t think to grab cold weather gear as zombies were pouring into my bedroom. Yeah, you sit there in your bomb shelter and judge me all you want for not being properly prepared, but I’ve got a leg up on 80% of the rest of the world. I’m still alive or at least not one of the living dead and that’s pretty damn good in my book.
There were no zombies in sight, but I knew that could change at any moment as I helped my wife, Tracy, down from the top. She seemed a little perturbed that I had gotten Henry safely to turf before turning my attention to her. You know how it is, man’s best friend and all, that and I think he had to take a piss, and I’d known him long enough to know he’d go anywhere and on anyone once the need was there. Brendon, my daughter’s fiancée, helped Nicole down. They were still in that new love phase when chivalry ruled. That would die as soon as he ripped his first big fart in front of her, but for now it was all still tea and roses. My best friend Paul had alit from the far side of the truck; I could hear his wife Erin grousing about trying to rub the circulation back into her arms. My son Travis had scrambled off the truck and was patrolling our perimeter, bless his heart. My other son, Justin, who was still suffering the ill effects from his zombie scratch, was helped down by Tommy into Paul’s waiting arms. Justin was both relieved and embarrassed, relieved that he had made it off the truck in one piece and embarrassed that he needed the help in the first place.
The biggest enigma, both literally and figuratively, Tommy, was the last person off the roof. I used to think I had saved the kid’s ass back at Wal-Mart so many days ago, but now I think he was meant to save us. In his previous life he had been a Wal-Mart greeter, all stickers and smiles. What his so called ‘normal mind’ lacked was more than made up for by the infectious grin and overwhelming heart that the kid possessed. But that was not everything about Tommy, not by a long shot. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the kid for those reasons, but there was something way above my pay grade going on with this kid. For starters, he has a spirit guide that by Tommy’s accounts sounds and looks like Ryan Seacrest. There’s that, and then there’s things he knows that he just can’t know about, and then there’s this fucken truck. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled Alex showed up when he did, but it wasn’t by coincidence. Alex’ wife Marta is related to Tommy on his mother’s side. Somehow he was able to hone in on that connection and summon them for help. I almost always had to shake my head at the dichotomy that was Tommy. I laughed as I saw the savior of the human race jump down from the small ladder and land with a thud on the ground. He looked at me, smiling, with a huge glob of peanut butter on the tip of his nose. This did not go unnoticed by Travis as he rounded the corner of the truck on his circuitous patrol route.
Travis stopped his motion, now staring straight at the offending heap of gooey goodness on Tommy’s nose.
“What?” Tommy asked, clearly wondering why he was now the center of Travis’ attention. Travis kept staring. Finally Tommy’s eyes tracked down to the tip of his nose. All he could do was sheepishly smile and shrug his shoulders.
“What was it?” Travis asked, a small measure of wonderment and envy in his tone.
Tommy looked like he was having an inner debate with himself whether to come clean or just deny the whole thing. Of course his good side won out. “Snickers,” he said hesitantly.
“We have peanut butter Snickers? They don’t even make those anymore!” Travis said pleadingly, looking to me.
I just shrugged my shoulders in reply to Travis’ imploring look. At th
is point I wouldn’t doubt that Tommy went to an alternate universe where they still make peanut butter Snickers and just snagged himself a few. Okay, well actually I don’t believe that, because knowing Tommy he would have paid for them.
“Weef did,” Tommy said as he wiped the peanut butter off his nose with the tip of one sticky finger and popped the near dime-sized morsel lovingly into his mouth.
Any doubt to the authenticity of Tommy’s food choice was immediately set asunder as I pulled a slightly worse for wear peanut butter Snickers’ wrapper out of Henry’s mouth. I was heavily tempted to see where that candy bar had been made, but if I turned the wrapper over and it said something to the effect of ‘proudly produced in the United States of Columbia’ I would be wasting more precious minutes than I had trying to puzzle this piece out. The world had gone to hell and there was no hand basket, but I still couldn’t find it in myself to litter. I put the Henry-slimed wrapper in my pocket. The germaphobe in me shuddered as I pulled my goo covered hand out of my jeans pocket.
“Fucken gross,” I said to no one in particular. My diatribe was cut short as I looked over lovingly at my Jeep. A week or so previously Brendon and I had stowed our cars about a mile outside the gates of Little Turtle. His was a huge Ford Explorer and mine was a Jeep Wrangler. They were both loaded with camping gear, ammo, food and water, so much so that fitting us all in was going to look like a Ringling Brothers event.
Alex was going to wait until both SUVs started before he placed the big rig in gear. Some of the passengers in the back of the truck were loudly protesting that they had stopped so close to the now defunct Little Turtle housing community. I didn’t begrudge them that. I was still amazed that they had let the truck turn around at all.
I watched as Tommy disengaged himself from his aunt’s arms.
“Are you sure Tommy?” Marta looked up at him questioningly.
I hadn’t heard the entire conversation but I got the general gist. Marta wanted her nephew to go in the truck with them. Marta had finally pulled herself out of the shell-shocked near catatonic state the zombies had placed her in. She did not want to jeopardize the progress she had fought for, and losing any more family would be unacceptable. I completely understood her distress when Tommy answered her.
“No Auntie, I can’t,” Tommy said sadly.
“But why, Tommy, you’re all that’s left of my family,” she pleaded.
I knew this struck a truly tender chord with the kid, and I was more than half tempted to tell her to leave him alone, when I realized how in the wrong I would be. They were family after all. I was the outsider in all this. Hell I’d only known the kid for three weeks or so.
CHAPTER 2 Journal Entry Two
I would later ask Alex how he hadn’t recognized Tommy as his nephew when he was part of his work crew and he answered me, “Never met him, Mike.” It seemed for a few moments that he was going to be content with that answer. As God is my witness, I wanted to pry so badly but discretion got the better of me; I was going to leave it at that. Alex, it seems, had delayed his answer for fear of how I might react.
“I did some time when I was 18,” Alex said with his face pointed down, embarrassment strangling his words. My mouth may have dropped a little but he couldn’t see it from his vantage point. “Marta’s family hated me and disowned her because she married a convict.” He looked up at me, a nervous smile playing across his lips. He continued, “Her parents are, or were,” he corrected himself, “strict Catholics, which actually makes no sense, because of all religions, don’t they preach forgiveness?” He looked like he was getting ready to blow a gasket. This was apparently a sore spot for him.
“Uh, Alex,” I said as I put my hand on his shoulder. I wanted to tell him we had bigger fish to fry at this point, but he quickly realized that small little tidbit himself.
“I know, Mike, I know. Her parents and the majority of her family are probably gone but they caused my Marta so much pain. Her parents never EVER came to see our kids. For Christ sakes Mike, twelve years ago I did time for boosting some cars.”
Whew, I was so happy he didn’t say rape or child molestation or something heinous like that, because no matter how much I liked him now, I would never have been able to look at him the same way. There are some transgressions in life you just don’t get over and that was in the top five.
“It didn’t matter to them that while I was in jail I got my degree and then when I got out I got my Masters, none of that mattered to them. I was always going to be that convict that corrupted their daughter. Hell, I hadn’t even met her when I got in trouble, to hear them talk you would have thought I had her out there watching for cops while I was popping ignitions. I had just started at an engineering firm after getting my degree. She was the HR Generalist. We dated, we fell in love. At my first dinner meeting her folks I told them about my past just to make sure everything was out in the open, so that there would be no surprises down the road. Her father flipped out. He kicked me out of the house and forbade his daughter to ever see me again. So the first thing we did was elope. At that point her parents disowned her. She was upset but she didn’t truly think it would be a lifelong ban. Surely after our baby was born they would come around. The uptight bastards never even called to congratulate her on the birth of our first child. A little piece of my Marta died the day she realized her parents were fully done with her. After Vera, our second, was born she slipped even deeper into her self- imposed, depot of despair. When the zombies came clawing at our house, she went over the edge. I at first thought she had become one of them.” I shuddered. Alex continued, “She was slowly pulling herself back out of her depression but when Tommy did whatever he did, sending a signal, lighting a beacon? Whatever, that was the first time in the seven years I’ve known her that she has been completely free and clear of the shackles that her parents put on her.”
“Yeah, I know, Tommy can have that effect on people,” I said without really thinking.
Alex just looked at me like I was loco. I didn’t clarify my words, thus leaving him thoroughly confused.
“So when she told me to turn the truck around I didn’t hesitate. I would have driven to hell on two flats to see that spark of life back in her eyes.”
“Shit, Alex you kind of did,” I said. He nodded in agreement.
“So back to your original question. She had told me all about her family, her sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews, but she didn’t have any pictures of them. The day we eloped, her parents threw everything in her room out. She was forbidden from going and getting any of her belongings and her siblings were told if they so much as mentioned her name the same fate would befall them. So for all intents and purposes she was an orphan. You know, now that I think about it, I caught Tommy looking at me a lot while we were working, do you think he knew who I was? Maybe he had a picture or something.”
“Oh I’m sure he knew who you were, and no, nothing quite as mundane as a picture,” I answered. Again Alex looked at me, hoping that I would elaborate. “Ever been on Idol?” I asked casually.
“Mike, what did I tell you about drinking tequila?”
“Can’t stand the stuff, wish I had some. Good night Alex.”
“One more thing, Mike?” Alex asked. I turned to face him. “How did he tell Marta? To come back?”
“Aw shit, Alex, you might as well ask me how the universe was created, or which came first, the chicken or the egg, or even better, what is a woman thinking at any given moment. Those I could give you some sort of informed bullshit answer. I don’t have a foggy clue in Hades what is going on with Tommy. All I know is that whatever it is, it’s powerful and it has a purpose, beyond that…” I shrugged my shoulders.
CHAPTER 3 Journal Entry Three
Tommy’s next words jolted me to a stop as effective as a two-inch thick chain around my neck. “I have to stay with Mr. T, Auntie, he’s going to need me to save him. Eliza wants him dead and I have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
I had
an inkling who Eliza might be. I hoped I was wrong. The mere vocalization of her name sent worms of fear crawling across my spine, which is not a sensation I would wish on anyone. I know it is naïve of me but I had hoped that by leaving Little Turtle behind we were leaving the worst of this new world behind too. Apparently that wasn’t to be the case. Sweat had broken out across my brow and I wasn’t attempting anything more difficult than standing erect. A cold breeze turned the moisture on my forehead into tiny daggers that laced across my head like an angry bee’s nest to a honey bear’s sensitive nose.
Marta tsk-tsked Tommy. “Tommy, how could you possibly know who needs help? And who’s Eliza? Tommy, I’m your aunt, I’ve known you seemingly forever. Your mom would want me to watch out for you.”
That was kind of funny her saying that, there’s this little waif of a woman saying she’s going to look out for this 250 pound hulking bear of a kid. But Tommy brought that out in you. It was almost instinctual that you wanted to go out of your way to make sure he was happy and safe. Was it because he was so-called ‘slow?’ I doubt it. The kid definitely had some vulnerability but on the flip side of that… his powers might be limitless.
Tommy blushed as his aunt spoke about his diapers, almost as if he remembered the occasion. “That was a long time ago Auntie. And I would have changed them myself if I could have reached.”
I snorted a laugh, I did my best to stifle it. Marta glared over at me. Damn it, like I needed another woman mad at me. I quickly replaced my mirth with a ‘fortress of solitude’ face. What is that exactly? Tough to say. Kind of stoic, definitely not a shit-eating grin type of thing. It doesn’t often work but it’s better than my normal cheesy smile that tends to get me in trouble.
“It’s alright Auntie, we’ll be in the Jeep right behind you,” Tommy continued.
I hadn’t really thought about it, but I guess, yeah we would be, there was no need or sense to split up, at least not yet. I had grand illusions of making it back East at some point to try and ascertain the status of my family, and as long as Alex was headed in that general direction then I was all for safety in numbers.