by Mark Tufo
“How’s it looking Mike?”
I wanted to pull out the standard answer of ‘that town is dead,’ but the joke was getting tired. “Well, crap Alex, my gut doesn’t like it. We didn’t ‘see’ anything, no people, no deaders and no speeders. The jail only has one way in. On a good note, the windows are barred and the door looks pretty sturdy. I say we go in and park the semi pretty much right up against the front door, that way if some friends come calling for dinner we can get into the cab.”
“What good is that going to do Mike? We can’t all fit in the cab,” Alex said exasperatedly.
“You must be tired my friend,” I said as I clapped him on the shoulder. He didn’t appreciate the gesture. “Fine,” I said taking my hand off of him.
“Sorry Mike, I’m wiped.”
‘Yeah! Well fucking me too!’ Whoa, that was an overreaction. I yelled so loud in my head I figured he had to have picked it up. “No sweat, you just need to get in the cab and then back the truck up to the doors.”
He nodded in understanding. God, he was a good friend, I hoped I didn’t screw it up. My tendency towards hotheadedness had lost me more than one potential ally in this world and right now I could ill afford that.
“What about your cars?”
“It’ll suck to lose them, but it’d be even worse to die.” I said it so casually Alex actually snorted a small laugh. “Okay, the sheriff’s office is almost all the way through town on the right hand side, I’ll lead.” Alex climbed up into his truck without another word.
In just the ten minutes it took to get Alex and come back, the sunlight had faded to a mere shadow of itself. The door still stood ajar. It waited expectantly for our return, like a hungry grizzly for a salmon. Imagination while in survival mode is a curse. Events were already unfolding in a fantastical manner and to make them even more so, really seemed like over-kill. Yet my mind plunged on. I was wholly convinced that No-Head Fred had self-resurrected himself and was now waiting patiently for us inside. Maybe I should send Deneaux in first. That seemed the wisest thing, kind of like an offering, the whole sacrificial thing and all. Nobody was going to miss her. What, like you weren’t thinking that too!
CHAPTER 10 Journal Entry Nine
Within twenty minutes we had all entered the office. A couple of large flashlights set up like candles illuminated most of the office except for the farthest cell, where of course my gaze kept wandering to. Jen managed to find some fuel for a small pot belly stove in the far corner. I had missed it on my first foray but I wasn’t going to hold that against myself. The stink of death had mostly been replaced by the smell of the living. On a bad day (which was most days lately) we can certainly rival our stiffer relatives in the odoriferous department. I had on more than one occasion received a dirty look from a fellow survivor as Henry let loose with some flatulence.
Another ten minutes later, we had done what humans always tend to do. We had marked out our territory. The Talbots were taking up residency in the first cell furthest away from ‘Fred’s’ previous abode. We were on the complete opposite side of the stove, but because of that we were also furthest away from the door and the windows. I just couldn’t shake the feeling of ‘something wicked this way comes.’ Even with the bars and the storm shutters closed, the windows were still the most vulnerable part of this building. It would take a while for the heat of the stove to travel this far if at all, but with all the bodies stuffed in this small office that shouldn’t present a problem.
As the heat in the building increased, conversation conversely decreased. Exhausted refugees began to drift off to hopefully better places, even though it would be tough to come up with a nightmare worse than the one we were already living.
“Merry Christmas,” I said to everyone. I got a few mumbled Merry Christmases in return but for the most part the sentiment went largely unnoticed.
I was asleep in minutes, even with the hushed conversations, coughing, and the flashlights burning bright. This was a feat for me. I used to be kind of a prima donna when it came to sleeping. I needed a white noise sound machine playing ‘Summer Crickets’ before I could even begin to think of sleeping, and even then, if a mouse farted too loudly I would wake up.
“Talbot!”
I sat straight up. “What?” I asked… no one. It was impossible to tell how long I had been asleep, but it was still night time. Everyone was asleep except for one guard placed at the windows (Igor) and he wasn’t even looking at me. ‘Who the hell said my name?’ I thought sleepily to myself. I was more than half convinced that someone had said it in their sleep, probably shouting my name while they were wringing my neck for some past transgression. I was on a lot of people’s shit list, hell it could have been Tracy. ‘No, that didn’t feel right, the tone of the disembodied voice felt male. Screw it, BT can yell at me tomorrow.’ I scooted back down onto my chair cushion/pillow.
“TALBOT!” It came more forcefully. I sat bolt upright, still the guard didn’t turn my way. There was no way he hadn’t heard that, come to think of it, that shout should have awoken half of the people here. ‘WTF.’ I actually thought the letters WTF instead of What The F… well you get the picture, damn text age. Great, I was hearing voices in my head and it wasn’t Tommy. I looked over to the big kid, he had a worried expression on his face, but he was most assuredly asleep.
“TALBOT!” It screamed.
I jumped up. “Dammit, what?!” Now Igor turned, luckily I wasn’t loud enough to wake anyone. “Nothing… nothing,” I said to Igor. Apparently I seemed convincing enough or he just didn’t care, he mumbled something in Russian and turned back to the window. I said “What?” again but at a barely audible range. It was still louder than it had to be, the voice was in my head. That CAT scan seemed like a better idea with every waking moment.
“I’m coming!” the voice said again, and like a television set being turned off, the signal was gone. Cold dread swept over me. I had recognized the voice. Could it be possible? How? My first instinct was to go over to the windows and see if anything was going on.
I was almost out the cell door when Henry looked up at me with imploring eyes. I knew that look. He had to go. “Come on, boy.” His stumpy tail wagged in enthusiasm. It was no easy journey getting across the room navigating through the strewn bodies, especially with Henry in tow.
“Vere you going?” Igor asked as I approached the door.
“The dog’s got to go.”
“I vealize that, I have been smelling him all night.”
“Sorry,” I said bowing my head. Exposing someone unwillingly to Henry’s toxic fumes will not generally win you any friends. I began to turn the handle.
“I vouldn’t do that.” His tone was casual. His stance was not. I was completely convinced that he would use that gun he was holding if I turned the knob any further. “This is not Vendy’s, we are not Open Late.” He was so amused with himself he couldn’t help but flash his gap toothed smile.
I had no clue what he was talking about. I figured he must still be taking pulls off his stock of booze. “Igor, if you think Henry’s farts can peel paint wait until he drops a steaming hot mess for you. When everyone wakes up because of the stench I’ll tell them it’s because you wouldn’t let him out.” The idle threat did little to yield his previous stance. Then the lights in the dimmed Talbot belfry began to illuminate. I understood the Wendy’s reference now. ‘Oh shit.’
“How many?” I asked “And when?”
“Da, so now you know.” He smiled again. Although WTF was so funny I don’t know. (This time I actually thought the words out.) “Only a couple and it looks like the sheriff and his deputy have come back to vork. Been here vor about fifteen minutes.”
“You haven’t told anybody?” I asked incredulously.
“Vy, vhat good would it do? Dey are out there, ve are in here.”
I wanted to yell at him but he was right, we were human and we needed rest. But this place could easily become a lobster trap. Options became extremely limite
d when you only had one way of egress.
“Ve can take care of them in the morning ven everyone is awake.”
Again with the sound logic, when did he become Socrates? “Has either one of them said anything?” I asked. Igor looked at me like I had found and drank his private stash. “I’ll take that as a no?” Henry whined.
“You had better take him into the bathroom.”
I began to walk Henry over to the facilities. “Igor, you’ll let me know if more of them come.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement.
“Da, da,” he said absently as he waved his hand at me dismissively and turned back towards the window.
When I got back from taking care of Henry’s needs, I noticed that Justin was awake.
“You should get some sleep bud. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day,” I said. I meant it in terms of driving but my thoughts kept drifting back to our guests outside. I don’t think any of us were quite ready for another battle for survival.
“I slept all day. I’ll go to sleep if I need to,” Justin answered on the snappish side.
Normally this kind of insolence, especially from my kids, would send me through the roof. But he looked like crap and I felt like crap, so we basically cancelled each other out.
“We should kill him. He’s always telling us what to do.”
“He is, isn’t he? I could teach him a thing or two!”
“That’s it, one quick shot to the heart and all your troubles would be over.”
“Wait wouldn’t it be all of OUR troubles?”
“Kill him.”
“Who are you? I can’t kill him, he’s my father.” Justin shivered involuntarily
Henry fell back asleep in seconds flat, not so tough when you have as much practice as he does. I unfortunately wasn’t so lucky. I was having a difficult time getting any sort of comfortable. When I rolled over for the third effen time I saw Justin looking at me. The gaze was not a comforting one. I got the distinct impression he wanted to do me bodily harm. When he realized I was looking at him the hostility fell off his features. For a second he looked confused and then he rolled over as if he was embarrassed because he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have.
The next morning couldn’t come quick enough. This night would have a hard time getting any stranger. With the sunlight came the thumping; my dream of hooking up with Wonder Woman was getting frustrating. Every time we moved, the headboard slammed up against the wall, the noise was so loud it eventually woke me up. Not only did I realize I wasn’t banging Wonder Woman, I also had the uncomfortable task of readjusting my manhood, so to speak. Then to top off this glorious day, I realized the banging wasn’t so much due to some heavy amorous lovemaking, but rather some unwanted breakfast guests. And they weren’t delivering, they were picking up.
I sat up quickly. Igor was still at his post but he was fast asleep. A couple of other folks started to stir but nobody yet realized the danger we were in. I got up quickly, not thrilled with the fact that my still erect penis, scraping against my zipper, had caused a most unpleasant sensation. I bent over at the waist to give more room for adjustment and to attempt to minimize the imminent immense pain that was coming. Fuck the zombies. This was going to take priority. After several deep breaths and a conscious effort not to puke I realized the worst of my endeavor had passed. If this was the worst that the day had to offer it might not be so bad. (Later edit…yeah that wasn’t the case, the day started off bad and got progressively worse.) I began my unfolding at the waist when I was rudely interrupted by another thump at the door. Shards of brilliant sunlight shot in along the edges as the door rattled on its frame but it didn’t seem like it was going to give anytime soon.
I crossed over to the windows, receiving loud protests as I pulled back the storm shutters. Sunlight flooded into all the dark crevices within our makeshift motel room. The remonstrations were nothing compared with the shattering of glass as a hand shot through the barred glass and sought purchase on my t-shirt. I jumped back with an agility I hadn’t attained since my high school football days. I felt a fingernail pull against my skin, I only hoped it wasn’t deep enough to mar the flesh. The scar I could live with, the effects of the infection were quite another. Igor awoke in a flash. The air-rending explosion of his rifle had everyone on their feet. The zombie that had made its presence known howled in frustration as I danced out of its grasp. The rifle shot to its shoulder seemed to do little to distract it from its primary target. I watched as fresh blood poured from its wound. I wasn’t sure what had me more intrigued, the fact that the blood wasn’t some congealed blood-red bacon fat looking substance or the constant mewling of the zombie as it keened in disappointment. Without meaning to, I found myself continually backing away as the zombie tried its best to fit itself through the six-inch space between the bars to get at me. Igor was saying something loudly in Russian, from his tone and volume I assumed it was swearing (but who can tell, a love song spoken in Russian sounds like taunts at a bar fight) as he tried to unpry a jammed bullet in his HK-47. (‘Russian piece of shit weapon.’ No, I’m not kidding, that went through my head as I kept backing up, while looking at the zombie and also checking my stomach for any tell tale signs of red welt-ish weeping wounds.)
The zombie was shoulder deep through the bars and trying in vain to fit its oversize melon through, when Jen came up and finished off what Igor had started.
“Thank you,” I stammered out, as I sent a silent prayer to the patron saint of Intact Flesh. I pulled my shirt up, thankful to realize that whatever saint I had prayed to had come through.
Jen looked shaken a bit, but pardon the pun, not stirred. She had a determination to her now, something she had not possessed at the armory. She wasn’t there yet but she was looking more and more like someone I would want on my team should the need arise.
“What was it doing?” she asked, a worried look across her face. I couldn’t blame her, killing a speeder seemed more like taking down one of our own. “Was I imagining it or was that thing showing anger?”
“Anger, frustration, hunger? Hell I don’t know, welcome to Zombies Version 2.0, the new and improved model,” I answered sarcastically.
“The better to kill YOU,” Justin said as he came up to witness the butchery.
I couldn’t help but focus on the word ‘You’ and how Justin made sure he was making eye contact with me when he said it. My concentration was broken, however, as the sheriff and his deputy finally made their way over to the window. The slower older Zombie Version 1.0’s were savagely cut down as Igor finally righted his rifle and made short work of them. I guess we were actually the rude guests, after all this was their place of work. We came in uninvited, locked them out and then killed them when they tried to gain entry. Oh well, manners were low on my list of priorities.
“Igor, do you see any more of them?” I asked tentatively. I wanted out. The more I looked at this situation the stronger I felt the urge to leave. The constricted confines of the jail, pressed in from all sides. I fucking started to swoon as I felt my equilibrium spin on its axis. And as suddenly as the static in my mind attacked, it abated, and the room returned to its original dimensions. It had happened so suddenly no one even noticed my distress, except for one. Justin was looking directly at me, a small sneer spread across his thin lips.
‘Fuck, what is going on!’ I never took my eyes off him as Igor finally answered my question. “Da, five or six, maybe more, can’t see past the truck and the windows are only in the front.”
I understood the implied meaning, and obviously my over active, scary movie fed imagination, pictured a thousand or more zombies to the rear of the building just waiting patiently for the front door to open so that they could make a human meat and cheese McMuffin for breakfast. That actually sounded good, my stomach grumbled, mind you not the human meat part, the McMuffin part. Remember where I said the zombie HADN’T broken skin when he scratched me?
April ran into the center of the room, her finge
r wildly gesturing back to where she had come from, her fragmented thoughts trying desperately for cohesion as her mouth soundlessly opened and closed.
“Spit it out,” Mrs. Deneaux said. “You look like a fish out of water with your mouth flapping like that. It’s not an attractive appearance on you.”
Well it was good to see that Mrs. Deneaux hadn’t placed that thought filter on her mouth yet. I didn’t like Deneaux but I was in agreement with her on this one.
“A noise… a noise,” April stated, and then as her brain caught up she elaborated. “I heard some scraping on the wall by where I was sleeping.”
“It was probably just a mouse,” Mrs. Deneaux said caustically.
I was tempted to agree with her again. In fact I wanted to, as opposed to accepting the alternative. The noise that we were now all hearing was suspiciously close to where I had deposited our dead jail bird. “Stupid,” I whispered as I inwardly slapped my hand up against my forehead. ‘Might as well have hung up a Denny’s sign. Come get your country folk buffet.’ I was frozen in indecision, damned if you do, damned if you don’t. We couldn’t stay here, that much was certain, but going outside meant uncertainty. BT came to my rescue, not purposefully but still I’ll take it.
“Talbot.” His voice boomed in the restricted room. “Let’s get our gear and get the hell out of here.”
My engine was racing, finally with the nudge from BT my transmission kicked into gear. Indecision was now in my rear view mirror and fading fast.
“Alright, Alex, you get ready. I’m going to get a five man fire team ready, we’re going to blow a hole into any opposition and then you go right up into the cab. Don’t go until I tell you though. If something happens to you, I’ll have to drive that effen truck and we all know how well that will go over.”
“Yeah, I have a weak stomach,” BT said smiling.