Floyd & Mikki (Book 2): Zombie Slayers (Dawn of the Living)

by Tatner, Joseph

  “The hell it ain’t! We was planning on storin’ that corn over the winter. We gotta grow our own food here! We gotta take care of the animals. It takes work to keep this place goin’! Somethin’ you all don’t seem to know how to do!”

  “Now that sounds downright insulting,” said Jackass.

  “No! What’s insulting is you all takin’ everything Floyd and me worked hard for and givin’ nothin’ back. Look at this mess around here! You cain’t even clean up after yer damn selves? You wanna stay, you gotta work! That’s the deal.”

  “Excuse me,” Skinny Slim interjected, becoming confrontational. “Since when do you tell us what to do?”

  “Since we run the place, that’s when!” Mikki retaliated.

  “And who says you run the place?”

  “We do! We was here long before you showed up!”

  ‘Uh-huh. And who was here before you?”

  “Ranger Martin and about a dozen other people.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Dave told us. And where are they all now, exactly.”

  “They left. They’re all in New California Haven, which is where you all oughta be goin’!”

  “Well, you don’t get to tell us where we oughta be goin’ or what we oughta be doin’! You don’t have any more right to this place than we do. So you was here before us. So what? Somebody else was here before you. You didn’t build this place. In fact, this here is a public campground. That means it’s open to anybody. This place belongs to all us taxpayers!”

  “Tax—Are you shittin’ me? Who you paid taxes to over the last two years?”

  “Don’t matter. This is public land and you don’t own it. I say we take a vote. All in favor of taking over the campground, raise your hand and say, ‘Aye!’”

  Everyone raised their hand and said, “Aye!” except Dave. He started to raise his hand, then looked at Mikki who glared at him, so he put his hand down. Then everyone else looked at him and he quickly raised his hand and said, “Aye! Oh, yes, aye! Of course.”

  “Looks like you just been outvoted, Little Missy!” Skinny Slim bragged, smiling at Mikki.

  Must’ve been one helluva fight last night. Skinny Slim was missing a tooth. Come to think of it, Mikki didn’t remember Jackass having that shiner under his left eye before, either.

  Runner and Gabe walked in at that moment carrying a bucket with a couple of fish they had caught. “Sorry, we broke your fishing pole, Floyd,” Runner said.

  Mikki screamed and ran off. She entered the cabin and slammed the door behind her. Floyd just stood there, looking at the two pieces of broken fishing poke in Runner’s hands.

  “What’d we miss?” Gabe asked.

  “Nothin’. Skinny Slim replied. “Now since this place is under new management, why don’t you and you’re little girlfriend set about to cleanin’ up this place, Floyd? Can’t leave a mess like this around. It ain’t presentable for decent folk.”

  Deep down inside, a fire began burning. A fire he had felt before. A fire that could be very dangerous. Very explosive. He tried desperately to put the fire out. He had to extinguish it quickly, or things were going to turn ugly. Very ugly. He knew all too well what Mikki was feeling.

  He walked up to Skinny Slim and stopped less than a foot away, staring him down. Skinny Slim did not flinch. He stared right back.

  “Well? You gonna clean this mess up or what?” he asked Floyd.

  The rage and hatred burned in Floyd’s eyes, but he somehow managed to choke it down. He slowly backed away, turned, and slowly walked away to join Mikki back in the cabin.

  “Yeah! That’s what I thought! Big man against brainless zombies, but you can’t handle a real man in a real fight! Walk away, Little Man! Walk away!”

  Floyd stopped in his tracks, he looked back over his shoulder. Everyone gasped at the look on his face and held their breath for a moment that seemed like an eternity. Even Skinny Slim was a bit taken aback, although he refused to show it. Floyd turned away again and retreated into the cabin. Laughter erupted behind him, led by Skinny Slim.

  “That’s right! Run away, you coward! Go hide away in your little hole!” Skinny Slim taunted. The laughter continued long after Floyd had disappeared.

  “Mikki.”

  “Yeah, Floyd,” Mikki asked, through a torrent of tears.

  “Time for Plan B.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Why cain’t we just find people like us, Floyd?” Mikki mused, peeking out through the window after hours of hiding. They both had calmed down sufficiently and felt utterly drained.

  “You mean a burned out auto mechanic and a…runaway teenager?”

  “You was gonna say ‘unstable psychotic bitch,’ wasn’t you?”

  “Oh, come on, Mikki! You know I would never call you a bitch…to your face.” She shot him a nasty look.

  Night had fallen and everyone had retired for the evening. No wild parties tonight. It would take the corn mash a week or two to ferment before they could distill it.

  “But I know what you mean,” Floyd continued. “I just don’t have an answer. We need to be able to get along with other people, but what you said before is right. They need to get along with us, too. It ain’t a one-way street. We can’t just let people walk over us, but we can’t blow away everyone that pisses us off, either. We do that, and we’re no better than the Raiders. We do that and we become everything we hate about other people.”

  “Yeah, them Raiders was the scumbucket assholes of the planet. So were those rejects in the biker bar. But even they all had each other. Why is it we cain’t seem to find anyone we fit in with? Did you have a lot of friends Floyd? Before the world all went to shit, I mean.”

  “Nope. I pretty much kept to myself. I never stayed in contact with my buddy from college or any of the guys from the army. When my best friend betrayed me with my fiancé, I pretty much gave up on women, friends, the whole world. How about you?”

  Mikki gave a short, sad little laugh. “Nah. You don’t make many friends when you’re on the road, runnin’ from the law. I never fit in with none o’ the girls in my town, neither. When my boobs grew in, they was all real jealous. Men can be assholes, but women can be real bitches, Floyd.”

  “And it ain’t like there’s a lot of people left now to choose for friends, neither. The one true friend we had turned zombie on us.”

  Mikki knew he was referring to Zeke. “You got that right. We’re stuck with the hand life deals us…and the people.”

  “Them navy guys was nice. So was the ranger and his group. Well, most of ‘em anyways.”

  “Yeah, but we didn’t really fit in with the campers, either. You probably would’ve done pretty well in the military. They give you a place to stay, food, fill up your day with stuff to do, and they give you big guns to shoot. And grenades”

  “Too bad we cain’t find a local recruitin’ station.”

  “Of course, you aren’t really free in the military either. You live where they say and you do what they say. I didn’t mind that, but it would probably drive you nuts. I can’t see you lasting a month before you jack-slap some officer and wind up in the stockade.”

  “I don’t just go around slappin’ people, Floyd!”

  “No, you punch them. I know. I have the bruises to prove it.”

  “Yeah, but I love you.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I pity anyone else that pisses you off!”

  Mikki peeked through the blinds again. “It’s still pretty quiet,” she reported.

  “Well, let’s get started, then,” Floyd directed.

  They had spent the last several hours debating what to do. They couldn’t stay here with the new unfriendly neighbors, but they didn’t want to leave, either. They wanted the newcomers to leave, but there seemed little chance of that any time soon.

  So should Floyd and Mikki leave? Should they come out with guns blazing to drive the interlopers away? Sure, they had superior firepower, and none of the weapons the moonshiners had could penetrate t
heir battle armor, but if they drove Skinny Slim and the gang out, would that really be the end of it?

  Ha! No way. These weren’t the kind of folks who walked quietly away and let bygones be bygones. They’d put a hole in the fishing boat, kill all the animals, trample all the crops and burn down all the cabins out of spite—most likely late at night when Floyd and Mikki were asleep. On the other hand, if Floyd and Mikki left, should they do the same thing? They were damned if they were going to let these jokers reap the rewards they had worked so hard for over the past few weeks.

  Then again, why bother? It was clear the whole place would fall to shit within a month if the two Zombie Hunters hit the road again. These idiots would rape the land until everything was used up, then hit the road to find some other place to plunder. They had no clue how to build or sustain anything. They could only take and exploit.

  So, Floyd and Mikki came up with Plan B. Not just a hypothetical Plan B, but a real Plan B. It wasn’t perfect, but it fit the situation. And it didn’t include grenades in the cabins (to Mikki’s disappointment). As much as they both really liked the idea now, they just weren’t cold-blooded killers.

  Except for zombie blood. That was always cold. And was it really even killing if what you killed was already dead? But that was a question for another day.

  Their backpacks and duffle bags were already packed. Mikki looked around the cabin one last time. She took pictures of the place from every angle with her iPhone, including several selfies of her and Floyd together. For all she knew, this would be the last place they would ever find where they could be happy together. She had cried out all her tears, and nothing was left in her now but grim determination of what they had to do. Green Acres was not the place to be, anymore.

  It was well after midnight when they snuck out of the cabin into the compound. The place was even filthier than before. The group had thrown its empty soup cans and other trash all over the ground, no doubt just to make a point and piss off Floyd and Mikki even further. First, they entered the kitchen and flushed all the fermenting corn mash down the sink. Then Mikki backtracked a bit and stole the CD player and CDs that were still sitting on one of the picnic tables. Floyd just shrugged, and they continued on their way.

  First they hiked up towards the dam, but they had no intention of travelling that far. They came to a junction box that was hidden under some brush. Mikki pulled out a screwdriver and threw a monkey wrench into the thing. There were no lights on in the camp, so it would be hours before anyone realized they had no electricity. On the way back, they stopped by the lake and Floyd rowed the boat to another part of the shore, where he dragged it out of the water, turned it upside down, and buried it under a bunch of brush.

  Finally, they made it to the old raider camp. Mikki packed up all the medicine and added it to the extensive supplies they had already had stuffed into the Doom Buggy Floyd had rebuilt. It was painted black with the F+M logo on both sides, the front and rear, in bright red. They might not have a home anymore, but by God they had their own Floyd-and-Mikki-mobile. Bruce Wayne would have been envious.

  Foregoing grenades for this operation, Mikki dumped a full can of gasoline all over the inside of the new dormitory/medical ward and tossed in a match. She wasn’t leaving it behind for those goobers. Let somebody else build something here if they want to.

  “Payback’s a bitch, and her name is Mikki!” she announced loudly, watching the small structure burn. Floyd was glad that she said it, instead of him.

  With the Doom Buggy ready to go, there was just one last thing to do. At Mikki’s request, Floyd had drilled a couple of holes into a metal street sign she had found in the complex. She wrote something on the back of it and walked back to where the barricade used to be. On the same post that held the sign she had once changed to read, “Don’t feed the zombie animals,” Mikki hung up the new sign right below it with wire strung between the holes. It read, “Former home of Floyd and Mikki, Zombie Hunters.” Of course, the sign prominently displayed their logo, as well.

  So Floyd and Mikki had finally met their match. In all their adventures, Floyd and Mikki had overcome insurmountable challenges to not only survive, but to thrive. They had triumphed over the giant zombie grizzly bear. They had stared down the vicious zombie Chihuahua. They had blown themselves up along with a hundred zombie cats, and killed hordes of bunny creepers in the woods. They had conquered the Super Zombies and wiped entire cities of undead off the map.

  Now, they had finally encountered the one enemy they could not defeat. They had found the one thing they feared worst of all. Something that struck the darkest terror in the deepest part of their hearts: groupies. The Floyd and Mikki Fan Club. Now they knew how William Shatner must have felt.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Doom Buggy was powerful. It was also a bit cramped, but then, so was Freedom (before Mikki blew it up). At least in Freedom, however, they sat side by side. In the Doom Buggy, Mikki sat far enough behind Floyd to man the machine gun, if necessary. They had to use the Super Z helmet coms to talk to each other. According to MacGyver, the batteries should last more than a year, even with fairly constant use. As they headed down the freeway, they both felt like Willie Nelson. On the road again!

  Once again, they had no clue where they were going. They had come from the East, and they had already been West, so they decided to try North. Neither one wanted to see what Cabo San Lucas was like this time of year, after the zombie infestation.

  Floyd had installed a simple automobile voltage converter in the front and back, so they could plug in electrical devices when the engine was running. Mikki had her iPhone Nova plugged into her outlet and was playing Angry Birds. Unfortunately, they had lost all their CDs when Freedom blew up, and the CDs Mikki had just stolen were mostly crap. She kept a few that were tolerable and threw the rest out.

  There were no major interstates heading north, so the Doom Buggy proved highly useful. More than a few of the roads they traveled we in sore need of repair, but the vehicle rolled or bounced over all obstacles with no problem.

  The one drawback was the cramped space. It was nearly impossible to sleep in the vehicle, even though Floyd had installed a front seat that would fold down backwards. There was just enough room for him and Mikki to lie side by side, but no real way to get comfortable. They would have to find shelter to sleep at night or take turns driving while the other curled up in the back seat, trying to get whatever sleep was possible.

  Still, they were away from their fan club. Apparently, fame wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. It was funny. In “normal” times, everyone had wanted to be famous. No one realized what a pain in the ass it was to be loved and adored by people you couldn’t stand to be around. If they figured out you didn’t like them, they considered you a stuck-up asshole. All the visitors had loved Floyd and Mikki when they arrived at the campground, and all of them had turned their backs at the first sign of conflict. Nobody had even tried to be accommodating.

  Screw them! Screw them all! Floyd and Mikki had had enough. Time to get back to what they did best. Kill zombies. Even Super Zombies.

  They agreed to try a new plan. Instead of interstates and cities, they decided to stick to the smaller roads and tinier towns. They were far less likely to run into any large groups of brain-eaters that way, and had a nearly zero chance of running into any Super Zs. Given the devastation they saw around the Anaheim area—including the total eradication of Disneyland—the military had been authorized to wipe out entire blocks in a failed attempt to get a handle on the growing zombie problem.

  They only saw a few cars as they traveled, nearly all of which had drifted off away from the road, after the drivers had turned zombie or died. Half the time, when they came to some little Podunk town, they two didn’t even know where they were. They didn’t care, either. As long it was free of tourists, it was fine. Zombies, they could deal with. Zombies, they could shoot.

  Such was the case with the town they were approaching now, if you co
uld call it that. If there had ever been a signpost giving a name to this God-forsaken place, it had long since blown over and disappeared. All that was left was a gas station, an Indian souvenir shop, a couple of ramshackle houses, and a dinky diner.

  Floyd drove all through the town, exploring every angle before pulling into the gas station. No sign of trouble anywhere. It felt good to be out of the vehicle. Muscles creaked and popped as the two stretched and shook off the road dust.

  Floyd found the underground tank access and popped the lid. Dropping in a pebble, he eventually heard a small splash below, but it sounded really hollow. Whatever gasoline was left, it wasn’t much. He wondered if someone had already been through here and emptied it, or if they had always been low, waiting for a supply shipment that never came.

  Either way, it was enough to fill their gas tank and they hadn’t even touched the reserve tank yet. Mikki stood guard on top of the Doom Buggy, ready to man the 50-cal on a moment’s notice, while Floyd uncoiled a long plastic hose and dropped it in to siphon the gas.

  With the gas tank full, it was time to explore. Cautious as ever, they checked every room in the little gas station, with Bonnie and Clyde leading the way. It didn’t take long. The place had already been picked clean. The shelves were devoid of anything useful and even the cooler was empty. They found a couple of boxes of steel wool scouring pads, a few fan belts, and assorted other useless items, but that was it. Judging by the dust on everything, it had been a long while before anyone had come this way. That was actually a good sign.

  The rest of the “town” was in much the same shape. The cash registers in the diner, gas station and souvenir shop were all open, empty, and held nothing more than dust. Whoever had come through here must have come at a time when they thought money would still be worth something. Unfortunately for the local residents, the thieves were neither smart nor merciful. Floyd and Mikki found several dried out-bodies in the buildings. They had all been shot, but the bodies were so old that neither one could figure out whether they had been alive or zombified at the time. Not that it mattered to any of them now.