by M. D. Massey
We’re laughing as we dodge people to get to the bar. “So, you want me to help you with a bow?” He asks with a puppy face, referring to me upgrading to a bigger bow. He smiles as I elbow him.
“Sure. I’ve shot one before,” I say, looking for Rudy to tell him I’m leaving. I spot his “do-rag” on the dance floor, and he’s having an equally good time dancing with Glinda, but I spot a small flaw. Being big and imposing in his space on the floor, he dances awkwardly. I admire how he’s able to make the best of it and sticks with the beat. I imagine he’s only able to do so because of his natural musical abilities.
Other dancing females shoot Glinda envious looks, and I know his dancing doesn’t take away any sex appeal. He’s letting Glinda do most of the work, and I’m glad I’m not the one with him. My body thoroughly enjoyed dancing with Mac, something I didn’t ever think I’d feel again, but I don’t intend to get an itch I can’t scratch.
“Could you tell Rudy that I went to my room?” I ask Mac as he hands me another shot of gasoline. I take it, and this time it’s not as bad going down, but my eyes still water.
“You bet,” he says. I give him a hug and tell him thanks for the good time. He smirks and goes about his way.
I walk unsteadily down the corridor to the room. It’s been a long day, but a day I won’t ever forget.
20
Serious dry mouth like sandpaper, and a headache, is not how I want to start the day. Sitting up in bed, I take some Advil and drink water from a jug, spilling some down my chin. Searching for signs Rudy came back last night, I come up with nada. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t here.
Digging around in the box for something appetizing, a bump bangs at the door. I stand, alert, crossbow in hand. The door swings open to reveal Rudy with his hands full. His eyes widen, snapping to the weapon in my hand.
“Sorry.” I drop the aim of the bow.
“I almost get shot bearing gifts.” I peek in the box when he places it on the floor, finding the best things I’ve ever seen. The box contains four eggs, a jar of fresh milk, and strawberries. I stare at him. “Good thing I have moonshine. Arrows are painful,” he remarks, taking out two jars from his black hoodie pocket.
“Moonshine?” I ask confused.
Plugging in the electric stove he says, “They’re for the fights. Dulls the pain, darlin’.” I hate thinking about him in pain. I pull a small pot from one of the boxes we brought in from Rudy’s truck.
“I don’t know what to say, Rudy. I hope you didn’t tack on more fights for this food, because if you did, I’m not eating it.”
He laughs. “No, I have money. I’m sure you noticed people throw money at the performers. It’s a tip.” I remember someone hitting Candy in her tit with a coin when she danced that first night. Right. Tips. “I know you said you didn’t want me getting the strawberries yesterday, but….”
“Thanks.” I touch his arm, and his gaze zeros in on my hand. Not in a bad way, but in a way to make me think he doesn’t want it there. I pull it back. He meets my eyes, his tri-colored eyes mesmeric. I look away.
“I want to do this. How do you like your eggs?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Mmmm…fried on both sides and runny.” My mouth waters.
He laughs. “Good choice.” He cooks them while I change my shirt to a plain white one from the meager pickings. I’ll have to figure a way to wash some soon. I wear my black fleece jacket on over the white t-shirt.
When he slips the eggs onto the one and only plate, I practically drool. I swirl the egg through the yolk before taking the first bite. Savoring it, I glance at Rudy. He does the same. We both grin around our eggs. “Wow, I never thought I’d eat another egg,” I tell him.
“Yeah. They’re good. I’m happy to share.”
“Good,” I say as he watches me. I don’t know what’s going through his mind. Sometimes I can get an easy read – other times, he’s a complete mystery. I like trying to figure him out. “You have a good time last night?”
He nods, his eyes never leaving me. “Except for the puddle of drool I slept in.”
“What? The community has dogs, too?” I laugh, knowing he means my drool.
A chuckle comes from the depths of his belly. Picking up a bright red strawberry, I bite into it as the juice bursts out. It’s sweet, not bitter, with a firm and fresh texture. “Mmm…are you trying to win my heart?” I joke.
“Yes, if strawberries make you happy, then it’ll be easy.” He laughs again. I can’t tell if he’s being serious, or playing our unspoken ‘let me see if I can get you to blush’ game.
Knowing he’s teasing, heat blooms in my cheeks, anyway. Damn – point for Rudy. I don’t look at the smug grin I know he’s directing my way.
“You and Mac are good friends?”
He doesn’t say anything, so I risk a glance at him. He’s still beaming triumph for making me blush, all teeth and dimples. “Did Mac tell you anything about our friendship?”
What’s this? A question so he’ll know how much to tell me? I shake my head. I’m on my second strawberry. Finally he answers my question, getting serious. “Yes. I’m glad he’s coming with us. Fewer people I have to worry about.” His jaw clenches as his eyes become unfocused. “He’s a good guy,” he says, after a long moment.
“Yeah, he is. I like him.” I do like Mac, he’s fun. Rudy lounges against the wall eating strawberries. I take a sip of milk. It’s warm, but fresh.
“Does Stanley make butter and cheese?”
“Sometimes, but the eggs and milk are the easiest. It’s work just to keep stock of those. He’s a single parent since the outbreak. Helping his kids with their studies is a main priority for him. A reason I don’t mind helping him when he asks for it.”
I smile, liking how Rudy takes time to get to know Stanley and helps whenever he can. It seems Rudy does the same with everyone, putting everything into perspective. Everyone’s got a story, and everyone moves on the best they can. Helping each other keeps it going more often than not. I can move on by helping those people in the base. It’s time to stop messing around and do it.
Rudy finishes his milk in one gulp and stands. “You ready to go meet the guys?”
I give a look pretending to think, trying not to show my enthusiasm. I look forward to forming a plan. “Yep.” I jump up, grabbing my pack. I have no idea what I’m in for.
We meet in the courtyard by the gate to the parking lot. Rudy and I figure we can take them downtown to see how they deal with zombies. Most of these guys can handle it. They’ve survived this long. They’re not Guido’s right hand men because they don’t want to be. They find other ways of helping, instead. Rudy mentions Mac’s usually a loner, and that he danced with me is something not to take lightly.
When Mac sees me, the term loner doesn’t jump to mind. Displaying easy confidence and cheerfulness, he calls out, “Hey! We bow practicing?”
Checking out all the guys, Rudy says, “No, we’re going downtown. Because it’s cold, we’ll have zombie action.”
“If we’re lucky, we might run into famished,” I chime in, excited by the prospect.
Mac’s eyes widen with interest, my excitement triggering his own. “Well, well. This might be intriguing,” he rumbles.
We discuss how to go about our ‘suicide mission’, as Mac still likes to call it. I don’t blame him. Judging from all the zombies I saw, it is a suicide mission. Sticking with smaller groups rather than a big one, we plan to break into groups of five and six. With Rudy and me leading six, Mac and another will lead five. When we tell the group this, an automatic argument about me leading anyone breaks out.
I shake my head. “We don’t have time for this. If you don’t like it, hit the road. I won’t work with anyone who won’t have my back when I’ll be on the front lines.” I hope they don’t make me shove arrows up their asses. “I don’t have time to lick male egos.” I look all of them in the eyes.
Mac and the others look at each other. Rudy’s eyes sparkle
with amusement, standing with his bow strapped to his back. Maybe I should stick an arrow up his ass, but before I can say anything he speaks up.
“Does anyone have any field experience? Hunting, fighting, karate, military, anything of that sort we can use? We need one more person to lead a group.”
A big, burly, white-haired man bobs through our small crowd. I strain my neck to look at him as he steps out. He wears overalls, looking bulky in places to hide the fact he’s armed and dangerous.
“I’m John. Before the end, I was two years a retired axe-man.” I gape at him. This axe-man can pick up a tree. A mental picture of him tossing a putrid into a group of famished, like bowling pins in a crash of exploding, molten purulence flashes through my mind. I laugh out loud at the mental picture, and everyone stares. I clear my throat.
“Sorry.”
Even Rudy has to look up at him, but he nods his head respectfully. “That’s perfect.” Yeah, perfect. He should be in my group. Knowing my luck, I’ll get the two cracking jokes.
Mac fixes the problem. “Would you two shut your pie holes?” He scowls his annoyance at them.
I send a grin their way. “What are your names?” I ask them, and they look stricken to be called out.
The Asian–American eyes me and says, “Samaru, Sam.” He’s easily the shortest of the group, yet still muscular, like an English bulldog. A gray, zippered hoodie stretches over his huge chest and arms, and his baggy jeans cover shoes with the tongues and laces hanging out. I like him already because his black, glossy faux-hawk is cemented in such a way, I’m sure he could stake zombies with it.
He catches me eyeing his rifle and gestures with it. “AK47. Easy to find and keep stocked.” He sniffs, emphasizing the small-gauge ring in his septum which seems to block his nostrils.
The assault rifle he carries was mass produced and easy to maintain. I know this from being a well-read individual and because of a history paper Malachi helped me on in the old life. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize it. Looking around, I notice many of the guys have the same rifle.
Including his buddy, a bouncy, African-American with clothes five times too big for his body. Charcoal black skin matches his sparse stubble and the small dreads sticking out from his head.
He notices me watching him and says, “Wussup? I’m Ty.” Dancing to a beat in his head, he raises his fingers in a mock salute.
I do the same. “Good to meet you.” He grins, gleaming with gold.
“Okay, they’re with you,” Rudy says. I sigh in resignation.
It’s obvious he wants someone to teach me to shoot a gun. “Fine. I get Bunyan on my team.” I tell him, pointing to John. I make sure my voice leaves no room for argument. Rudy shakes with held in laughter as everyone else stares, confused.
“Bunyan? Really? As in Paul Bunyan?” Rudy laughs, but John seems offended. “Don’t worry, John.” Rudy says, looking at me. “It’s a compliment.”
John grins. “I’m not offended. Took me a minute to get you meant me.”
Rudy turns. “Really, Kan, we need him to lead.”
I shrug, glancing at Bunyan. “I don’t think I’m brave enough to call you Jolly G.” He booms this deep laughter at the reference to the Jolly Green Giant. The laughter spreads through the group, taking off an edge I didn’t realize was there. “Let’s finish setting up groups and head to the city. Sam and Ty are with me,” I say, looking to them. “Mac and Bunyan will lead a group.”
After teams are decided, I study my team of misfits, not disappointed, but appreciating my diverse group, and accept them for who they are.
Well, except maybe one. Thomas is one of the guys who protested being led by me. I can practically smell the anger coming from him. He stands there, looking defiant with his gray–streaked, brown hair cut in a short style, wearing relaxed fit jeans and tennis shoes. Being average height and soft from comfortable living, I wonder what he thinks he brings to the table. I might be biased from his pig-headedness, so taking a deep breath I let his anger roll off me. Since he stands here, not dead, he can do something. At the least, he can take care of himself. I shouldn’t judge – the only reason I’m alive is because I hid.
Then, there’s Reece. I haven’t seen him before, but when arranging in groups, Mac asked him about a trip. Mac informs me Reece owns a tattoo booth in the marketplace. Being covered in tattoos, including his bald head, I don’t doubt that. A long, dark goatee, speckled gray and braided with beads woven into it, hangs from his chin. Looking forty-ish, he’s shirtless except for a black leather vest covered in blood-stained patches, showing chest hair and a hard, round stomach. The weather is too cold for shirtless, but he shows no signs of it bothering him. A shoulder holster carrying two big handguns pokes out of his vest.
Shaking his firm hand, I say, “Great to meet you, Reece.” He nods as dark, bushy eyebrows move over his sunglasses. Being the one who volunteered to be on my team, coupled with his exterior toughness, makes me like him.
Felix Fuller, that’s how he introduces himself, seems to take this seriously. He should, but I don’t want people to be over the top. We have to work together, and we will trust each other more if we can joke around, too. Felix does not seem like the joking type. He stands ramrod straight. Being softer than Thomas from comfortable living before the outbreak, his belly protrudes outward in the bouncy fashion of someone who eats too much sugar. His handshake’s sure and strong as I take in his thin, straight, blond hair. Felix holds his chin high, as if I’d dare ask him what he’s doing here, gripping his AK like I’ll turn into a zombie any minute and he’ll have to shoot me.
That’s us: Ty, Sam, Reece, Thomas, Felix, and Kansas City Sunshine. I want to laugh. Talk about a motley crew. Looking to the other groups, both Rudy and Mac talk to their teams.
To gain attention, I clap my hands and say, “Okay, we will be going downtown. I wouldn’t call it training, since you guys wouldn’t be here if you haven’t dealt with zombies. We want to see how we all handle the situation. The zombies at the base are different – the ones I’ve seen move in unison, like puppets. There are many of them. Many,” I emphasize. “When we go to the base, we are going to find out what exactly they are doing and how.” By the look of their faces, no one seems surprised by this information. Guido must’ve given them the rundown.
I continue, “Possibly save the living there. Those people need our help. They’re sitting chickens waiting for slaughter and who knows what else.”
Rudy appears to our group and says, “We’re leaving. Guido lent us cars, and of course, we’ll take Agatha.” He beams at me.
“Who is Agatha?” Ty asks, stretching out vowels and turning his consonants to a mumble jumble. Good thing I speak mumble.
“Rudy’s armored truck.” He nods, as if liking the name.
21
We head toward the open parking lot beyond the safety of the courtyard fence, and Rudy informs me we have use of three cars.
“Um, we’ll need more than that for the trip. All of us, plus survivors,” I say.
Rudy gets serious, stopping me with his arm. “I figure we can find a couple of RV’s and vans. It would require your useful skills.” I know what he’s getting at.
“What skills?” Thomas sneers. I ignore him, having so many other things to do than hotwire cars. Like what? My mind whispers traitorously.
Rudy speaks up, “Kan knows how to hotwire.”
“Hotwiring is easy,” Ty chimes in with a mumble.
“Oh yeah? Can you hotwire anything made after 1995?” Rudy counters. How did he know what I can hotwire and what I can’t? Maybe my notebook? I shouldn’t have given the notebook to him. Ty looks put out, shuffling from foot to foot.
“Maybe she can teach us. It’d be a useful skill,” Bunyan says, ignoring their banter. Rudy looks at me seriously as I think it over.
Walking over to climb into Agatha, I come to a decision. “Sure, but I charge.” They all accept this with ease and I ignore Rudy’s triumphant grin.
“I like them.” I search my pack for my Whetstone. Finding it, I start on my machete in long, sure strokes.
Rudy glances over, his eyes following the stone. “Good.” I can tell he’s deliberating something. “Man, I bet you’re a beast,” he says. When I peek at him, his whole neck blazes with color as he realizes how his words sound. I marvel at the way he’s so easily embarrassed by innuendoes. He never colors at Candy’s advances, even though she made him uncomfortable, or at any female attention for that matter. He’s accustomed to it.
Another point for me without even trying. I keep a straight face. “Only one way to find out.”
He keeps his eyes on the road. The color goes from his neck to his ears. “I meant I’ve never seen you in action. Every time you see a famished here, you go into sudden alert mode, ready to kill immediately.” He laughs, shaking his head at himself.
He glances at me because I shake with suppressed laughter. I let it out. “You brought that on yourself.” Triple points for me.
Not acknowledging me, he continues, “I won’t ever forget the first time I saw you. You were running over those putrids with a grin on your face.” I remember, but it’s news it was his first glimpse.
“It’s not because I like it, well, maybe a little.” I grimace, not knowing it’s obvious.
He interrupts before I can say anything else. “I know, you think the people can still be in there. You’re showing them mercy. I understand.” That damn notebook again. I’ll burn it with the next zombie corpse. “Of course, you asked me if I believe in ghosts.” A chuckle erupts through the cab. I’m glad he’s tickled pink.