by Mark Tufo
“Of course! But I don’t know where we’re going.”
“I’ll guide you. Let’s switch.”
“I know you want some alone-time with me, Michael, but is this really necessary?” Deneaux asked.
“Probably not; I’m sure Tiffany can hold her own. But the way you keep eyeing her damn pistol is making me nervous and if I’m nervous, my driving suffers.”
“Son of a bitch. She makes it so easy to forget that she’s a pit viper.” BT now had his eyes glued on her.
“Yeah, now you look.” Tiffany and I switched; we only got slightly drenched. “Stay straight for another ten miles or so. Miss me?” I asked Deneaux as I slid in next to her.
She lit a cigarette. I made a move to grab it from her and decided against it when she threatened to put it out on my face.
“How can you expect me to be out here in the wild without protection, Michael?”
I ignored her and she, thankfully, said nothing else...although she did make sure to send every plume of smoke my way.
“Alright—you have a turn coming up here.” We were in the center of Hampden; I looked longingly at the shut down Dunkin’ Donuts as we took a left. Got our first notion of trouble as we passed the Rite Aid drugstore; there were five people outside looking around. When we drove by, all eyes were on us.
“That can’t be good,” BT said.
“Mr. Talbot?” Tiffany had her eyes riveted on the people loitering in the parking lot.
“There’s a turn up here, it gets us on the highway. Punch it a little, Tiff. Let’s get the hell out of here.” I’d mistakenly figured we’d at least make it to Bangor before the shit started. Now I wished I was driving, but I didn’t want to take the time to switch out again.
“What do they want with us?” Tiffany looked panicked, I could see it in her eyes as she met mine in the rearview mirror.
“What people always want—power over others,” Deneaux said. She seemed to be enjoying herself.
“Friends of yours?” I asked.
“I have no friends,” she said evenly.
“They’re following.” BT had been keeping an eye out while I directed Tiffany.
“There’s more ahead!” The car swerved violently as Tiffany struggled to keep her emotions under check.
“BT—you to the front. I’ll watch our six. How many?”
“Three.”
“Guns?”
“Two of them, yeah.”
“It’s a damn trap.” We had no side roads to go down; our only defense was speed, and there were sufficiently enough abandoned cars on the road to make that difficult. Plus the torrential downpour wasn’t helping; at least it affected everyone. When we blew past the trio and they did not open fire on us I was confused...unless we were being herded into the final aspect of the trap, where we would be forced from the car and made to surrender our weapons for whatever nefarious reasons our waylayers had.
“They didn’t fire!” BT felt the need to tell us, although I’m pretty sure we would have figured it out soon enough if they had.
Not long afterwards, we knew why. They weren’t a part of the group that had been following us. The souped-up Dodge Charger, which had been catching up to us fast, came to a screeching, skidding halt when they spotted the easier prey. The three never stood a chance as four men and a woman emerged from the car; they were firing before any sort of introductions could be made.
“What the fuck?” BT asked, watching the entire scene. “Why would they just kill them like that?”
“Drugs, it’s got to be drugs. That’s why they were at the Rite Aid, probably as high as fucking kites on whatever they could find. Fucked up their minds.”
“We need to help them,” Tiffany said, trying to see what she could through the mirrors.
“It’s too late,” BT told her. “They’re going to be coming for us next, we need to get the hell out of here.”
We had just gone over a rise and were dropping out of sight when I saw the attackers go to the trio’s car, probably hoping there was a kilo of meth in there or something.
“We killed those people.” Tiffany cried. “We led those animals right to them!”
There were a lot of things I would take responsibility for in this world, but I didn’t see how I could possibly be held accountable for this one. Just a shitty set of random events was all it was.
“Death comes swiftly for those that are ill-prepared for life. Isn’t that right, Michael?” Deneaux asked.
Fuck if I wanted to agree with anything that woman had to say but in this, she was right. I grunted as non-committally as I could. We had just passed into Bangor; four zombies were hanging out by the town limits sign like they were the welcome wagon. I radioed back to MJ to get an update.
“MJ, this is Mike. You there?” I radioed the house.
“Where else would I be, Michael?” he asked. “And if I wasn’t here I certainly would not be able to answer.”
I wrapped my hand over the mouthpiece. “Sometimes I want to put him in thumbscrews.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about him hearing you unless you press the send button,” BT said.
“Don’t you start on me. Don’t any of you ever wonder how a person that takes things so literally can survive? I mean, I’m talking about even before the zombies came.”
“I thought he was kidding, but the other day I asked him how his day was going and he told me it wasn’t only his day, it was everyone’s. And then he just went back to work,” Tiffany said.
“Can you give me an update, please?” I asked, doing my best to not grit my teeth.
“Weather?”
“Not weather, MJ, the only thing I care about is zombies. We just passed four of them.” We’d been keeping a close eye on Bangor. It seemed a fairly decent zombie-free zone; there were a few deaders walking about, but nothing to worry over. Seeing four already was starting to fire off distress signals in my head like tiny little flares.
“Until that storm passes, Michael, I cannot see anything.”
I stuck my head out the window, hoping to see something besides the black of storm clouds. “What about infrared?”
“The electrical discharges are making that impossible.”
To the occupants of the car I asked: “What electrical discharges?”
“Lightning? Is he saying lightning?” Tiffany asked.
“What lightning?” I’d no sooner said the words when a flash as bright as a supernova illuminated the car. We all looked momentarily washed out under the intense glare. This was immediately followed by what sounded like an artillery barrage of thunder. “Holy fuck,” I said, as it rumbled away. “Okay...weather report, definitely a weather report.”
“I’m not a meteorologist, but I dabble in it,” MJ said.
“The way he dabbled in virginity,” Mrs. Deneaux chuckled.
“You smell smoke?” BT asked.
“That would be from my burn,” Deneaux said. She was having a grand old time. “Oh, how I missed this.”
“The storm sitting over you is huge, and with the way it’s swirling, I think it’s going to sit there for a while.”
“So we’re flying blind, then?”
“When did you become airborne?” he asked, concern rising in his voice.
“It’s almost like talking to a sober Trip,” BT said. “Your call, Mike. What do you want to do?”
“I hate to come this far and not have any success, but I don’t like not knowing what we’re up against,” I said.
“We didn’t use to know what we were up against before she brought her toy,” BT replied.
“True, but that didn’t always work out. We should at least take a look; the casino is only about three miles up. If it looks clear enough, we’ll head in. It seems we lost our tail; stopping now makes sense.”
My unease grew incrementally. It wasn’t any one particular thing. We were seeing zombies but in very small groups and spaced far enough apart that it wasn’t overly alarming. When I sa
w a half dozen of them together I was about to make the call to head back.
Just then BT called out. “There it is!”
A large sign that read “Hollywood Casino” dominated our view. A more misleading moniker would have been hard to come by. There was nothing Hollywood about it, and as far as being a casino…well, that was iffy. I’m not much of a gambler, but that was one of the saddest facilities I have ever walked into. It wasn’t old or in need of repair; they could just never really attract a clientele. Money is not the easiest commodity to come by in Maine, and most folks aren’t so willing to part with it playing games specifically designed to remove it from their pockets. The place was subjugated (and I mean by nearly three-quarters) by penny slot machines. Regular casinos would have laughed at this poor place, made fun of it even. Pretty soon they would probably start paying people to play. Now, I’m not saying you can’t lose money there, but you could dislocate your shoulder pulling that machine’s arm before you could blow through twenty dollars.
“Is that smoke?” I asked pointing off to the left. It looked like a thick plume of black, but it was difficult differentiating it from the backdrop of the sky.
“Must have been what I smelled,” BT said, though he never turned to look. He was peering at that sign like he was hoping it would light up. I’ll tell you, though, if that happened I would have told Tiffany to floor it. That sounded too much like the beginning of a Stephen King book for my liking. Frying ozone dominated my senses as multiple lightning strikes hit the city. It was usually a smell I loved; one of those things you remember from your youth. But right now I was afraid it could be masking the scent of zombies. The sound of the thunder and whatever was burning was awakening or gathering zombies from all around the general area. This place was going to be a hotbed of activity real soon. I was all for a good party, just not this kind.
“We going?” BT asked, although he was already opening his door as Tiffany pulled up to the curb.
“Should I stay with the car?” Tiffany asked.
This was a dilemma. Part of me thought she should, but if she got in trouble we’d never hear the sound of her horn over the storm or even through the thick walls of the casino. The smart play was for her to come with us and to leave the keys in the car, in case anything happened to her. But there were assholes afoot and they knew what this vehicle looked like. With the keys in it, they were bound to take it, or at the very least disable the car then wait for us to come out.
“Leave the keys and come on.” I was opening my door when I noticed Deneaux wasn’t moving. “Nice try. Get your ass in gear.”
“It’s pouring out.”
“You didn’t believe BT’s comment about witches melting, did you? Get going or I’ll drag you out.”
“Fine way to treat someone who brought you the gift that I did.”
“Fine lot of good that’s doing us right now,” I told her.
BT was halfway up the steps.
“You might want to wait for some back up there, buddy. Those doors are still intact.” I don’t know what had me more distracted, BT acting like Disneyland had opened up early just for him, keeping an eye on Deneaux, the blinding flashes and deafening sounds of the storm, or worrying about zombies and assholes. Why we didn’t just drive that damn car into the parking garage behind the building is one of life’s little mysteries. On two side notes, I was happy to see that Deneaux was wearing red—some of you sci-fi fans will get that, others might think bullfighting, either way she could maybe get a small dose of what she had coming. And if I ever do get the chance to sit down and write a book I think I’m going to call it Zombies and Assholes: How to survive when all those around you either want to shit on you or shit you out. Lengthy, but telling.
“It’s open,” BT said gleefully as he opened the door.
The first whiff I caught was of something like a seafood buffet table that had been thawed a few too many moons ago. That, and it was pitch black. Casinos are notorious for not having windows. Something about not wanting the betting people to know when it’s past their bedtime. But since this place was generally filled with blue-hairs, I guarantee that they knew when four o’clock rolled around, as this was generally early bird dinner time, or at the very worst five o’clock, when Diagnosis Murder or Murder She Wrote came on one of those stations that perpetually shows re-runs. We all flipped on our rifle mounted flashlights, save Deneaux, who had a penlight. She wanted a baton style light but I told her no. I figured if she could strike someone hard enough to knock them out with a light the size of a standard pen then she deserved to take their weapon.
As we crossed over the threshold, the wonder of the place distracted me from our mission: we’d come for a bus, and most likely there would not be one parked in the foyer. Tiffany had kicked down the door stop to keep the heavy door open. When she looked up and noticed zombies in the distance, she warned us about them.
“Close it,” I told her, reluctantly. Not that we were getting much light from outside, but it sure beat the compressed blackness we were now engulfed in. I remember playing a computer game called “Doom” when computers were relatively new. You wandered through these dark caverns and could not see more than a few feet in front of you and things would always show up unannounced at your sides. I felt like I’d immersed myself into that world, and as much as I was a fan of playing that game, I was not a big fan of actually being in it. We moved forward slowly—BT, Tiffany, and myself in a straight line, Deneaux right behind, her smoky breath striking my left ear. I had a feeling she was nervous; didn’t know demons could get nervous—so that at least was a positive.
The entrance was large, fifty feet by forty at least. There was a staircase ahead of us that came from the garage—a place we should have been heading for. Instead, we went to the right, where a row of wide doors lead into the casino. Tiffany propped those open. There were four sets of double doors; I guess they were hoping there would be stampedes of people fighting to get in so they’d better make access as accessible as possible. What we were doing was stupid and unnecessary and still we moved through those doors. Cautiously, sure, but still. Whatever subliminal pull those casinos radiated when they were alive, it still works. Unfortunately, this casino was very much dead. The smell was riper inside. My flashlight glinted over a fair amount of spent brass and then the body of the security guard that had spent them. The first rows of machines had been obliterated by gunfire; four old women had been cut down in their seats, one zombie man at their feet, chips and nickels everywhere. The security guard was a dumbass; I wouldn’t have let him guard buckets.
“Tiffany, can you get that man’s gun, please?” I said, still scanning the area for threats.
“He’s dead,” she responded.
“Yes, yes he is. And if you don’t want to be, your best bet is to get that gun before Deneaux does.”
“Don’t be silly,” Deneaux said. “The gun is empty—the breech is open.”
I spared a glance. “Fine. But I’m not liking that you looked that hard.”
“It’s instinct; it’s what I do.”
“BT man, stop moving so fast. We’ll get your machine—we just need to be smart about this.” Stupider words could not have been uttered. What we were doing was as far from smart as one could get and still use human speech to utter the words.
“I like the video poker machines. The ones with the ‘double down’”
“You have to have a particular machine. Is that what I’m hearing?” I asked incredulously.
“When you went to the liquor store did you just grab the first case of beer you came across?” he asked.
“Fair enough. Let’s just find the damn thing.” We were halfway in; the stench was getting worse, yet we hadn’t crossed whatever was producing it. It’s a sad state of affairs when you hope for decomposing bodies as opposed to some other alternative. I turned around quickly when I thought the light behind us dimmed momentarily; I couldn’t swear that I saw a shadow run past, but I could make a strong m
ention of it. “BT.”
“Yeah, yeah...I know.” He was looking around carefully. What had been child-like glee was now turning into grownup concern. We all turned when the light behind us was snuffed out. Yeah, I used “snuffed out.” It has a much more ominous tone to it. “Tiffany?”
“It was secure. Somebody shut it deliberately.”
“Shit, I thought you might say that. Dammit. Here,” I said, handing Deneaux my revolver.
“A gun? I do hope I don’t have an accident or something,” she said as she opened the cylinder to check for rounds.
“It’s loaded.”
“Aaand I should trust you why?” she asked flipping her hand to close it.
“Because I’m not you.”
“I could kill you all,” she said from behind us.
“You could, but then you’d have three rounds to fight off the zombies.” I think she was doing some math in her head.
“Has anybody seen how many zombies there are?” she finally asked.
“Good call giving her a gun,” BT said doing a slow scan of the entire area.
“Relax, kids. If I was going to kill you I would have done it already.”
“She always makes me feel so warm inside. She’s like a fucking teddy bear,” BT said.
“Yeah, with rabies,” Tiffany added.
“See? Now you’re starting to get it,” I told her.
“I’m with the big man on this. I don’t think giving her the gun was such a good idea.”
“She’ll prove you both wrong.” I was looking off to the side, my flashlight caught the back of a running shoe before it was once again out of sight.
“What the fuck are they doing, Talbot?” BT asked. “Why aren’t they just attacking?”
“They’re looking for an opening,” I turned to say. Just then I heard Deneaux’s gun roar. I felt blood flow down the side of my face and heard the distinct thump of a body collapsing to the carpet.
“You should pay more attention. He almost had you,” she cackled as she pointed to the zombie. His skin nearly matched the gray of his security uniform.
“You nearly shot me,” I said as I tenderly touched the raw spot on my head.