by Mark Tufo
Another solo shot rang out. This one was definitely closer, but still no sign of Brendon. Justin was about to speak, but Paul saved him the trouble. “Yeah it does sound closer.”
Time slowed to match the shuffle of a zombie. The group fervently waited for something, anything to happen. They were rewarded a few moments later with the compensation of a rapid three round burst.
“Shit, that was close,” Travis said as he jumped a bit.
“You swear?” was all Paul could think to ask.
Travis grinned like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Not in front of Dad.”
“When we get to your place, I’ll make sure I leave that part out,” Paul said.
Brendon came sprinting around from the main street, still about two hundred yards away, but even from this distance they could tell he was drenched in sweat and laboring hard to keep up the pace. Three seconds later they could see the reason. Zombies were within spitting distance of his back. If he turned to shoot he’d never get the shot off. The boys flipped off their safeties, but at this distance there wasn’t much they could do. Brendon was slowly pulling ahead of those closest to him, but zombies began spilling out of the yards along his path, facing him; they were trying to encircle him.
“Paul, I’d like to get out of here now,” Erin said stridently as the whites of her eyes began to expand in terror.
Travis and Justin didn’t want to shoot the zombies between them and Brendon for fear they might hit Brendon. There was still room for Brendon to maneuver around, but it was getting marginally narrower by the second. When Brendon was within a hundred yards the circle noosed shut; the time for inactivity was over. Tommy began to whistle his favorite Clint Eastwood theme again. Travis and Justin concentrated their fire to the left. Their theory was that they could open a hole without hitting their sister’s fiancé. It was working, but more due to the fact that the forward-facing zombies had now taken notice of the new piles of warm meat directly behind them. The circle in front of Brendon broke down as those closest began to come towards their new prize. It was going to be a close contest to see who got to the car first.
The cloudy day was lit up by the expended rounds. The smell of gunpowder would linger long after the battle was over. Brendon was now zigzagging around zombies; some were still interested in him and once or twice they got a hand on him. Most were disregarding him and were now focused on the main course instead of the entrée.
Paul opened the back door, weighing the myriad of possibilities laid out in front of him.
“Hey, Tommy, you might want to get out of there,” Paul said, feeling the possibility of escape was rapidly diminishing.
“I’m good,” Tommy said matter-of-factly, blithely ignorant of what was going on around him.
Travis looked over his shoulder as he began to reload for the fourth time and saw Paul talking to Tommy. “What’d he say, Uncle Paul?!” Travis screamed over the roar of Justin’s shots.
Paul pulled his head from the inside the car door. “He says he’s good,” Paul answered, although he looked thoroughly perplexed.
Travis knew Tommy’s abilities and didn’t doubt him in the least as he yelled back to Paul, “Get Erin and get into the car!” Travis shouted as he drove his bolt home.
Paul slowly shook his head in response. “I think we should get back to the house.”
Erin began turning in that direction, she wasn’t going to need to be told twice.
Travis put the rifle up to his shoulder and fired a shot at a zombie ten feet away. “GET!” he fired again. “IN!” he fired again. “THE!” he fired again. “FUCKING!” he fired his last shot. “CAR!” he screamed as he fished more slugs out of his pants.
Paul was in shock but had the wherewithal to grab his wife and usher her into the car. “You sound more and more like your dad,” Paul said with dismay as he pulled the door shut.
“Want a Snickers?” Tommy asked.
The car jumped. A zombie had run into the rear in an attempt to get to the boys. Brendon had dropped his pistol as he covered the last few yards, desperately trying to get his keys out of his pocket without slowing down. It was going to be close, but the destructive fire of Justin and Travis had cleared a rapidly shrinking gap.
“Get in, brother,” Justin told Travis.
Travis usually was not one to do as his brother told, but this seemed like a foolish time to keep up that tradition. He hopped in and scooted over to the middle of the front bench seat. Seconds later, Justin slid in, pulling the door closed as the closest of the zombies smeared his decomposing hand on the passenger window.
Erin screamed in terror.
“Ah, just like old times,” Travis said sarcastically.
Justin sometimes wondered how deep the depths of resolve went in his younger brother.
Brendon crossed in front of the car, for one heart-stopping beat, all of his attention was on the set of keys that he fumbled in his hands. At one point he lost control of them. Everyone held their breath as Brendon made a desperate bid to swipe them out of midair, and in a play worthy of a top ten mention on ESPN’s Sports Center, he made contact and snatched life from the jaws of death. A moment later, Brendon plowed into the driver’s seat, nearly snapping the key in the ignition with the brute force with which he drove it home. His chest heaving for air, Brendon turned the key but nothing happened.
“Told you about that,” Tommy said from the backseat.
Brendon had some choice expletives but kept them to himself. The energy to issue them forth was more than he had right now. His heart was a trip-hammer as he began to fumble with the shift selector.
More to himself than anyone else in the car he said, “Sometimes the shifter doesn’t go into park and the car won’t start.”
“Probably a good time to put it in park, don’t you think?” Travis asked.
Brendon glared in his direction, but his girlfriend’s little brother for once wasn’t being sarcastic. Travis was looking out the windshield at the growing number of zombies. Fear creased his face. The sound of Justin’s window exploding inwards masked the sound of the engine catching, so much so that Brendon was in danger of stripping out the starter as he held the key too far over for too long. A zombie reached in and clawed at Justin’s face. Travis having realized what Brendon hadn’t, slammed the car into gear. Brendon turned from the invading zombie as the car shot forward and threatened to stall. Brendon quickly realized what was happening and tried to put his foot through the floor. The car sagged at the over rush of gas, hesitated, sputtered and then shot out of the crush of zombies like a cat in a tub. A few unlucky zombies found out firsthand what it felt like to have three tons of Detroit steel run over your body, although they didn’t seem to mind that, only that the ‘meat’ was getting away.
The zombie in Justin’s window had its arm wrapped around the seat belt. It tried for a few feet to keep up, but then it allowed itself to be dragged, its concentration fully fixated on the food within reach. Its arms swung wildly within the car as it tried to pull its body up and closer so its gnashing teeth could do their job, the fetor of its moldering breath rivaled even that of its undead flesh.
Justin screamed in surprise as a hand closed around his cheek, trying to seek purchase, or perhaps just trying to pull a bit off for a snack. Paul, reaching over Tommy, was desperately attempting to unravel the seatbelt from the zombie. Justin was flailing around like a drowning victim. Erin moved into Paul’s vacated spot and placed one hand on Justin trying to calm him down. He didn’t, at least until her other hand passed in front of his eyes, the one with the gun. Paul pulled back as Erin lined up her shot. Everyone in the car was a little hesitant after her not-so-successful display of shooting skills earlier. This bullet, though, hit home, dead center in the zombie’s forehead. Its head whipped back and then forward from the backlash, but it looked more like he was questioning ‘Why?’ as his slumped body fell from the car like a discarded McDonald’s bag.
The zombies retreated qu
ickly from view. It took a few moments for Justin’s overloaded senses to regain equilibrium from the deafening shot and the acrid blast of smoke that had inundated his nose. But when his senses did clear, the outcome was less than satisfactory.
As the ringing began to subside within his ears, Justin bowed his head to try to regain the precious breaths he had lost. At first he was uncertain what he was looking at as large crimson droplets splashed on his blue jean covered thigh. It was when he attempted to wipe his cheek clean that true terror infiltrated his heart. His fingers were covered in blood, his own.
“Oh, Jesus, no!” Justin wailed.
Paul looked out the back window thinking that the zombies were somehow keeping up with the speeding get-away car. Justin buried his head in his hands. Travis made an attempt to discover what the matter with his brother was but was shrugged off. Brendon slowed and then finally let the truck come to a rest (with the engine idling) to discover the problem. Justin was too far lost in his own thoughts to do more than show the offending blood to the rest of the occupants.
“Were you bitten?” Travis asked.
Justin shook his head ‘no.’
“That’s good then, right?” Travis asked, hoping someone would answer in the affirmative. “In most zombie movies you have to be bitten to be infected.”
Nobody knew the answer. How could they? This wasn’t a movie, and zombies weren’t supposed to be real, right? Even Tommy looked concerned. Travis hoped it was because he was out of Snickers bars. Nobody said anything. As Brendon accelerated the truck, nobody knew what to say anyway. Travis put his arm around Justin. It was a rare display of brotherly love. Justin was at first inclined to shrug it off, but when he realized Travis was not going to relinquish his spot, Justin acquiesced.
As Brendon was racing closer to Little Turtle, he voiced his thoughts. “They’re not going to let Justin in through the gate with that wound.”
Travis instantly got upset. “We can’t leave him outside!”
Justin didn’t say anything. He had already resigned himself to his fate.
“I’m not saying we should leave him outside, Travis,” Brendon said with a bit of attitude in his voice.
Justin and Brendon had become friends since Brendon had started dating his sister. He was offended that Travis would think he would abandon his friend this quickly.
“We could say he cut himself on the broken glass,” Travis said hesitantly.
“Justin,” Brendon said softly. Justin didn’t respond. “Justin!” he said with a little more force. Brendon pulled over again. “Justin, look at me.”
Justin reluctantly turned his head to face him. Brendon inwardly winced when he saw the wound. A three-inch long slab of flesh had been raggedly pulled from Justin’s cheek, and blood flowed freely from the laceration. If Brendon hadn’t firsthand witnessed the attack, he would have assumed the wound to be caused by a bite. The notched pieces of sinew looked angry with swelling; Justin’s eyes appeared to be sunken from the rapidly expanding flesh due to the damage. What was worse was the look of defeat in those same eyes. Brendon couldn’t help but think that his friend was already turning. Better to leave him out here than take the possibility of him injuring someone else. Brendon definitely did not want to be the person that had to put a bullet between his eyes. All these thoughts raced through Brendon’s mind, each one trying their best to gain a foothold and sway a decision in their favor. His lack of ability to think clearly under the circumstances may just have saved Justin’s life.
Brendon spoke at last. “Yeah, there’s no way the guards will mistake that for any type of cut.” He swung his head to the back. “Hey, Tommy, want to sit up front?”
Tommy was not his normal jovial self, and that, as much as anything, contributed to the downward spiral of morale in the truck. Erin had buried her head in Paul’s shoulder and was crying softly. Tommy looked like he wanted to join her. Travis did not understand Brendon’s motive to move Tommy and wanted to make sure he was one hundred percent clear on where he was going with this. Brendon saw the look of confusion on Travis’ face and clarified.
“I want Tommy to sit up front, and for Justin to pretend he’s asleep in the back, that’s the only chance we’ve got of getting him back through the gate,” Brendon elaborated. “I’d just as soon hide him in the trunk if I had one, but that isn’t an alternative.”
“What if he turns?” Travis asked.
“I’ll take care of it,” Brendon answered brusquely.
“I’m his brother, I should be the one to do it,” Travis said.
Justin began to open the passenger door as he spoke. “If it comes to it, I’ll do it myself.”
Tommy was busy coming around from the rear driver’s side around the front of the truck as he met Justin. He gave Justin a huge hug which seemed to elevate Justin’s spirits ever so slightly.
“That’s not the hug of death, is it, Tommy?” Justin asked.
“I’ve never hugged anyone to death,” Tommy said seriously as he wiped a tear away from his cheek.
Justin’s eyes were red-rimmed and enshrouded in blackness. He looked like a trick-or-treater halfway made into his costume. Paul switched seats with Erin while they waited for Justin to get back in the truck, placing himself between Justin and his wife.
Within minutes the truck was about ready to make the final turn onto Evans Avenue.
“Everyone ready?” Brendon asked as he exhaled loudly.
Paul stiffened slightly as Justin laid his head on his shoulder. Justin noticed the rebuff, but he couldn’t blame his uncle. He was sure he’d do the same thing if the circumstances were reversed. As they pulled up to the gate, Brendon put on his best award winning smile. It failed miserably.
“Boy, you look like you just had your balls stomped on by a golf player,” the guard said. “Ain’t that right, Igor?” the guard said, clearly amused with his pun.
Igor nodded and answered. “Da.” But Igor wasn’t paying so much attention to his partner. Igor’s head was inside Brendon’s truck looking around.
“Dere’s much blood in here.” Igor said, clearly not looking for an explanation—merely stating a fact. “Veren’t you boys going to help your father?” Igor asked. Now he was clearly looking for answers. Nobody spoke at first until Paul began to brainstorm.
“They were, sir, but when they came across my wife and I in trouble, that Mike fellow rescued us and then told these fine young men to take us home.”
Igor was not convinced. “What happened to the window?” he asked brusquely as he brushed shattered glass off the sill.
Travis spoke a little too soon and a little too loudly. “That was my fault, sir, I shot at a zombie not realizing the window was still closed.” Travis smiled weakly.
“Da glass is on the inside of the truck,” Igor said, looking piercingly at Travis. Travis’ smile weakened further. “Vat is wrong wit the other boy?” Igor asked, pointing to the rear seat.
“I’m fine!” Tommy beamed.
“Da, not you,” Igor answered firmly. Tommy frowned.
This time it was Brendon’s turn to think quickly. “Sir, I’m just trying to get him home so he can sleep it off. We broke into Mr. Talbot’s vodka last night and drank way too much.”
Igor laughed, not convinced again that he was receiving even half of the truth, but he laughed any way at the thought of two young Americans trying to tame Russian water. “Da, he does look a little green around the gills, get him home and get him well,” Igor said, his gaze boring directly into Brendon’s eyes.
“Yes, sir,” Brendon answered as he drove into the complex.
Justin’s sleeping act moved into the realm of reality as he had to have help to be removed from the truck. His steps were sluggish and weak. Paul supported one side as Travis supported the other. Brendon hustled up through the back gate to make sure the way was clear so they could get Justin into the house unimpeded. That didn’t look like it was going to happen, at least not easily.
No sooner h
ad Brendon opened the back gate than his girlfriend met him. The dangerous look of fire was in her eyes and her posture. A litany of lavish profanity was about to be issued forth until she caught sight of her brother being almost dragged into the yard. She didn’t even acknowledge her uncle’s presence, as all of her attention was focused on the ghostly image of her brother’s face.
“Oh my God!” Nicole shrieked as she pushed by Brendon to wipe some of the sweat off of Justin’s feverish brow. She quickly pulled her hand away. “He’s burning up!” She turned back to face Brendon. “What did you do to him?”
Paul spoke up. “Now’s not the time for accusations, Nicole. We need to get your brother into the house and get some antibiotics into him.”
“Uncle Paul?” Nicole asked as she turned back and finally noticed him.
“Get your mother, Nicole,” Paul said with force.
“Thank you,” Brendon muttered under his breath.
“Don’t worry, kid, I did it for all of us. I’ve known Nicole long enough to realize ‘shrill’ was rapidly approaching,” Paul said as they brought Justin through the back door.
The boys laid Justin down on Henry’s favorite couch. Henry wouldn’t mind, he was sleeping soundly upstairs on Mike’s side of the bed. Tracy came downstairs awkwardly holding a rifle; it looked as much out of place in her hands as a cat holding an umbrella, but if there was trouble she wanted to be ready. She stopped short when she saw Paul and Erin, trying her best to assimilate this new information as quickly as possible. However, as soon as she saw Justin lying on the couch the rest was forgotten. In the meantime, Travis was going through the kitchen cabinets looking for any half-empty antibiotic bottles. Nicole and Tracy were famous for not finishing their medications. Within moments his effort was rewarded.
“Got ‘em,” he said triumphantly.
Tracy barely acknowledged his words as she pressed her hand to Justin’s forehead.
“What’s wrong with him?” Tracy exclaimed. “He’s so hot!” She turned her glare on Travis and Brendon. “Tell me right now what happened.”