by Bonds, Javan
I now sit here in the dark, about to close this notebook up into one of the waterproof bags I habitually carry with me everywhere. Living on a boat, I learned quickly that if I wanted to use shit more than once, you keep it in the waterproof bag. I’ll throw the bag as far out of my reach as I can. If I do turn, at least my last words won’t be covered in shit!
☠☠☠
26
Worth It
The peevie formerly known as the Warden Slice was uncharacteristically late. There had been a newly born Whitetail fawn recently dropped by its mother, only a short distance back. Just born, it wasn’t yet able to walk. The mother certainly was, and it wasn’t waiting around with a blue one close. When faced with life or death, even a new parent will sometime chose flight over protecting a young one. That was probably the most prudent choice the animal could have made when faced with a starving monster.
Doe could have been added to the menu tonight, but chasing it was out of the question with a ball of tender, succulent meat lying immobile on the ground. Though the female would enjoy devouring every piece of this buffet, it was a shame that the mother deer bolted. The meal could have been made that much larger. At least the steaming placenta remained on the ground.
Breaking into the soft bones and sucking down the indescribably delicious marrow was entirely worth it. There was something about the taste and texture of the lifeblood from an animal so new to this world. Getting a mouthful of the still beating heart was beyond exciting. Listening to the weak screams of the newborn mammal only made the treat more invigorating. Imagining this to be the target on the floating construct made the meal almost rapturous.
After the tantalizing snack, time was short. The peevie reached the edge of the clearing just in time to watch two of the pale ones in their metallic coverings climbing up the web on the side of the construct. It was no loss to the female; these pale ones remained shelled before and after entering the cave. Like always, their ritual was as customary as this one. One day though, Ezekiel Collins would be accessible!
☠☠☠
Interlude 3
“Mo Gray Fox here. You read?” Every night at the same exact time. He worked like a clock. Well, I have no clue about last night. I was too busy clearing a dam and almost getting turned into a zombie!
I responded with a smirk. “No.”
I waited for several seconds. Nothing. A few more seconds went by and still no reply. Thousands of horrible scenarios ran through my mind. Fearfully I ask a question. “Daddy?”
“Mo. Gray Fox here. Do you read now?”
Apparently, he was going to be an asshole and not even allow me to be sarcastic. I can’t be anything else! Really, I shouldn’t have been expecting him to have a sense of humor, especially over the radio. “Yeah, I got you.”
My father came out of his Saving Private Ryan lingo. “Wow. You’re alive. How about those nightly debriefs?”
I knew what he was doing. I had said the same thing to him way back when he didn’t get with me the night we left Guntersville. The rest of the crew must have been too busy doing absolutely fucking nothing to get on the radio last night. So I guess that means he knows not a damn thing about Festus or that debacle with the Pirates. I’ll probably have to fill him in on the ship that went down last night, too. That’ll be fun!
Smirking in spite of myself I echoed his response from when we departed. “Yeah, sorry about that. We were clearing a dam last night, and I almost got infected.”
His eyebrows arching was nearly audible. “What?”
Regretting I had said anything, I tried to give the simplest answer. “I’m okay. It didn’t bite me. Just a scratch.”
“No signs?” He almost sounded like he wished there were.
My smiles sounded through the radio. “Nope.”
Always the optimist, Daddy continued. “Well, you could still be turning. Maybe you’re just a slow burn.” He then spoke to my brother through the radio. “Easy, keep an eye on Mo. There is always a chance.”
My brother only grunted in acknowledgment. Easy was willing to end my life if I broke out into a sweat or let a nasty fart. Have I ever told you how much I love my family? My dad is convinced that I’m about to become a zombie given that he knows next to nothing of what happened. On top of that, not only did my father tell him to, but my bald-headed sibling is more than ready to murder me if my skin tone changes in the slightest.
The rest of the crew spoke to the radio in turn. Of course, their lazy asses weren’t to blame because they broke protocol and didn’t radio dad the night before. That subject was entirely skipped over. When it came around to The Tech, he looked longingly into the speaker. “Is Hunter around?”
My dad snapped. “Oh yeah! Hang on, I’ll get them in here.” I could imagine my dad walking to the door and screaming until someone came to see what he wanted.
My mom entered with the boy and encouraged him to tell a joke. “Hey Gene, why didn’t the leopard go on vacation?”
Gene barely held back a tear when the boy spoke his name. “Hey, buddy. I don’t know. Tell me.”
Hunter could barely get the answer out. “Because he couldn’t find the right spot!” He exploded into fits of laughter and was probably rolling on the floor.
Gene was also laughing like it was the most hilarious line ever told. He was wiping his eyes, and I don’t bet the joke was what made him weep. “That’s a good one. I love you, Hunter.”
No response came from the boy. My dad sounded apologetic. “Sorry, you can’t get much more out of him than that. It’s a start.”
The Tech seemed satisfied. “That’s all right. I like the joke.” Okay, I’ll admit it. It made me smirk, too.
Mama gave greetings and “I love you’s” to all of us before running out of the room to keep an eye on Hunter. Daddy sighed once they were out of earshot, confident he could talk about the happenings on the island, especially happenings revolving around the supposed temporary replacement for The Man of God. “He finally did it!”
“Who did what?” I questioned like a spectator that had no clue what was going on.
He was enraged. “The sumbitch, Brother Brown, came out and said he’s suspicious of your mama and me! He said it after another girl went missing yesterday.”
I was surprised I hadn’t been curious earlier. “Brother Brown... What’s his first name?”
“Mike.”
My jaw dropped, though he couldn’t see it. “Mike. Mike Brown. Michael Brown?”
My dad hesitated. “Uh, I figure...”
I paused even longer, hoping he would figure it out himself. I don’t guess he got it. “Come on! Michael Brown. ‘Hands up, don’t shoot?’”
My dad seemed completely ignorant. “Okay?”
It’s like the sense of humor for the entire island fucking leaves with me! This is as bad as Bobbitt and Dick! I tossed the radio to The Protector, disgusted. I was completely unable to carry on a conversation with someone that had missed an entire decade worth of current events.
“Gray Fox. Iron Man. How do you read?”
My dad gave just a one-word greeting. “Easy.”
My brother continued asking about the situation with the preacher. “So he said he thinks it’s you. Does he have any proof?”
My dad scoffed. “No, but he says he’s going to start an investigation.”
“And what did everybody else think when he accused you?”
I was taken aback at his uncharacteristic use of profanity. “Of course the dumb shits believe every damn word he says! It’s sickening!” He calmed down. “But Benji and his crew know we’re not kidnappers. They’re all on our side. So are the phantoms and the police department. Oh, and the Army guys.” I almost forgot about the soldiers that surrendered on the day the peevies became day walkers. I’m glad he has the guys with guns backing him up.
I broke back into the conversation with my usual asshattery. “You sure about that? That kind of language is something only a child murderer would use.�
�
He sighed. “What makes you think they are murdered?”
Damn. I just figured they’d be dead. Especially the first one, after being gone for so long. Dad knew I was more of a pessimist than he. “I just figured...”
My brother thankfully decided to discuss what was coming and end my embarrassing speculations before they could begin. “You know we’re getting closer to Mississippi. I think there are a few more locks on the Tenn-Tom before the last stretch to Columbus.”
That’s a good fucking estimate. In Easy’s world, 7000 is a few! That’s why I didn’t want to come down this damn river; we’d waste decades going through all the locks and dams.
The Protector continued. “We’re going to stop in Columbus and get off there. Me, Bradley, and The Phantoms will get off the boat to head to Tusc–”
The mention of the city brought something to my dad’s Alzheimer’s riddled mind. “Columbus! Benji told me a story about the Air Force Base there. I’ll have him over one night, and he can tell you about it. I think you are gonna need to go there.”
We just might need to, but I’ve always had trouble believing most of what my dad says he heard from someone else. It’s like going into the Alzheimer’s unit of a nursing home and hearing World War II stories from a man born in 1930. Yeah, he could’ve been in the Pacific theater in 1945. He might actually even believe with every fiber of his being that he is telling the truth, but without some other type of evidence, you have no proof, and he could just be a crazy old man babbling about shit he’s not sure of.
If what he’s telling you is not true, it’s not a lie because he would swear to God that it really happened. But, you could take it with a grain of salt. Talking to my dad about offhand, third-person knowledge is kind of like that.
I looked up in the dark, utterly cloudless sky. “Well, it looks like it’s about to start raining. We’re gonna have to let you go, Daddy.”
My brother spoke to me incredulously. “No it’s–“I threw up my hand.
“Roger. I’ll be sure to get Benji. Gray Fox. Over and out.”
☠☠☠
27
Mo Journal Entry 3
I was nearly gleeful when my partner was chosen for this mission. We weren’t going into one of the millions of fucking dams that magically sprang up before we started our trip down the Tennessee River. Some of the damn dams didn’t even seem to have a purpose other than just being in the fucking way. Providing electricity? Of course not. The goal of the Tennessee Valley Authority in building these non-hydroelectric locks decades ago was to be a pain in the ass for some loser whose parents weren’t even born yet!
“Easy told me not to go on any mission with you.” The Old Friend looked back over his shoulder while Mary sat on the other smiling her toothless grin and shaking her head. Then he threw a thumb at The Expert. “But she’s going, so I’m cool with it.” They could have partnered me with Gene again.
We were going into another pawn shop to scavenge ammo and guns. It was hard to understand at first. Apparently, ammunition isn’t automatically added at the beginning of each mission, plus there’s physical wear on firearms. Every video game I’ve ever played has lied to me. I demand a refund!
Hammer went on each quest to scavenge armaments. I don’t know why The Screenwriter saw fit to send me with her almost every time. At least I had been partnered with a 7-pound monkey. Oh, don’t forget about Joe from Family Guy! Not that I’m prejudiced against disabled people or anything, I’m just hoping everything is paved, and the doors are wide enough. Think the bathroom is ADA compliant?
☠☠☠
From the parking lot, there was a cement ramp leading up to the sidewalk for Bradley to use. It was pretty steep, and I don’t know if I could’ve pulled it off, but he unsurprisingly launched up it without a thought. That doesn’t say anything about my worth as a man. Because I’m fairly certain Mary wouldn’t have been able to do what Bradley did.
This place was basically on the waterfront of wherever the hell we were. But it wasn’t called Lakeview Pawn or some retarded shit like that. If you can believe it, this place was called Larry’s Pistol and Pawn.
“I thought Larry’s was in Huntsville. Is it some kind of franchise thing?”
Samus swiveled her helmeted head to face me. Even through the faceplate, I could see she was rolling her eye. “The one in Huntsville doesn’t have some kind of trademark on the name!” I really enjoy being talked to like I’m a retarded child.
Whenever she goes into her tirades, am I the only one that pictures a female version of Gunnery Sergeant Hartman? Well, minus the profanity and choking. She can bring a person to tears by using polite language. There was no laughter, but I almost cried under the weight of the demeaning, metallic glare of the Metroid Prime protagonist. Of course, I don’t feel like a fucking human being.
Like a movie, the door was unlocked. It seems everyone, everywhere, was similar to the citizens of Guntersville and had refused to prepare for the coming tidal wave of blue. Even pawn shop owners! The people you would most expect to be prepared for riots or some type of economic crash didn’t even go into lockdown mode. Maybe they left their doors unlocked because they were expecting the zombies to be forced to ask for entry. Shit, I’ve been watching too much True Blood with Gene!
You probably knew it. Bradley was the first one in the building. There was no threat of immediate peevies through the door. He was confident of this given the early detection alarm on his shoulder. Hammer waltzed in directly behind them. Can you guess who was drag-assing? I pushed my way through the door; a bit insulted that neither the guy in the wheelchair nor the elderly woman held the door open for me. Yeah, I said it.
“I feel like I’ve been here before...” I looked to The Expert with a raised eyebrow. “Are you sure Larry’s ain’t a chain store?” Her only response was to hold up a scary finger.
Inside, I could see this was Larry’s Pistol and Pawn, to a T. Or would that be an L? There was a line of glass gun cases to the left going to the opposite side of the large room. Just like the Larry’s I had been in, there was the same type of display cases starting immediately to the right and stretching nearly halfway down the main room. Also, there was one on the opposite wall. This place was jam-packed with firearms. Hopefully, there would also be ammunition. The cases were overflowing with pistols, and the walls were lined with every kind of long gun imaginable!
“How about we jack a fucking pickup, Cap? No way in hell I’m carrying these all the way back to the boat!”
The owner of Bottom Dollar Pawn was in awe. We had just hit the jackpot. “I don’t think we could use all these guns even if we wanted to. We will find a way to get what we need back.”
Don’t try to tell me I’m the only one that pictured one of those Asian guys pulling a cart. Too bad Benji’s not here. We could always use Bradley like an ox cart. There’s got to be some kind of wagon at a close by hardware store. Damn! I’ve realized that I’m not only racist, I’m also bigoted against disabled people. Mobilist? Pedalist? That last one sounds too much like “pederast.”
*Ding ding* The Old Friend and I both froze and looked at Hammer incredulously. *Ding ding*
“Are you fucking serious?” I face palmed, succeeding in nothing but clanking my armored glove against my Cylon helmet.
The Expert slowly turned from ringing the chime on the counter. “What?”
“Why the hell are you doing that?”
She threw her chin up. “Calling for service.”
I had to grab the gun rack beside me to keep from falling over. “You’re shittin’ me.” Breathing deep to prevent an aneurysm, I tried to speak calmly. “The only thing you’re calling is the fucking peevies!”
What the fuck? She’s not stupid; at least I didn’t think she was before that moment. Neither is she in total denial. It was beyond understanding how or why The Expert would choose to act as if this were any other day before May Day. Wearing fantasy armor and carrying a fucking sword, she’s w
ell aware we aren’t in a city populated by humans going about their business. It’s like she is coherent all the time, but chooses the most inopportune times possible to be delusional!
Before I could curl up into a ball and start crying, distant howls and barking sounded. “Fuck me!” I glared at Hammer, completely unaffected by my blank, metal stare. Dammit!
Looking over to the paraplegic Daredevil, I simply nodded. He pulled out Lucille, his Louisville slugger wrapped in barbed wire, a replica from The Walking Dead, over his shoulder. He took a few practice swings as Mary cracked her knuckles, brushing her hand over the Romulan throwing dagger on her hip. I unslung my Klingon bat’leth and prepared for the horde. Hammer unsheathed The Flame of the West, Anduril, her LOTR broadsword from its scabbard. We were ready for a brawl.
As if it were a fucking needed reminder, Hammer called out an order. “Melee first, firearms only if needed!” The mentally disabled children in the room were aware we were desperately low on ammo. Thanks, Cap! Shit, even Mary knew we had to be conservative with our lead.
☠☠☠
Apparently at random, we took positions. From the door, The Old Friend in his Daredevil spandex waited at the twelve o’clock. The Expert stood ready at two o’clock, and I loitered at something close to three.
I know you’re going to ask... Why the hell didn’t one of the idiots surrounded by a million dollars worth of firearms, even look for more bullets before the damn zombies showed up? Well, this entry wouldn’t be near as fun to read if we had done something to save ourselves some damn time!
The first of the half-starved blunatics burst through the door. It froze and looked at each of us in turn. Did this one just get the short straw to be the first in? Whimpering, the peevie looked back over its shoulder before turning again to face us. Was its mother on the other side of the glass door giving this one a stern look, and pointing for it to move forward? However reluctant the cannibal was initially, it started a slow trot in our direction.