by Javan Bonds
Oh, and yes, I had just told the janitor the Viva Ancora was my “home.” It’s sad really.
I was kind of disappointed to exit the dorm building without my brother to show for it, just another miserable failure of Mo Collins. Maybe I could surprise him by showing up at this prison/fortress and take him home tomorrow, where he will be bathed in gratitude for returning. His presence will automatically increase morale and general happiness of the community.
They will no doubt build statues dedicated to the manly manliness of Easy and there will be several books written about him. I can see these books being sold in the distant future to teenage girls who will name their children Ezekiel. These New York Times bestsellers will be on the bookshelves beside The Book of Smokes, scriptures that will be nearly as popular as the Bible. I guess living The Gospel According to Smokes has led me to believe that just as my parents, Easy is alive and well, and not in desperate need of my assistance.
We made it back to the airport and our ride, Alex, with surprisingly no interesting conversation from The Oracle. There were only introductions and brief pleasantries between The Expert and our newly recruited follower.
I turned to the prophet as we walked down the runway. “I reckon we just found The Loner.”
“No shit Watson. You gots a learnt teacha!”
☠☠☠
The plane ride was relatively short. It seemed after only a few seconds in the air Smokes exclaimed, “Oh shit cracka!”
I sat up excitedly. “What’s wrong?”
“Dat’s it! He pointed down to a large, fenced in compound up a creek–hopefully not literally–a few miles from a lake.
Why the hell would you do that? If you are an amateur flying a small plane with absolutely no radio access to any sort of assistance, don’t be so damned excitable: I’m not even going to list the possibilities of catastrophic failures he could’ve been screaming about.
“Y”all wanna go fo da lake er da riva?”
“Just go for the damn lake! it’s wide open and there’s nothing to hit. We can sleep in the plane and drive up the creek in a boat or something in the morning.”
“You questioni’ my pilotin’ skills, cracka?”
I wasn’t going to beat around the bush. I had been willing to get in the plane with him, but I prefer not to take any more risks than absolutely necessary. “Yes. I am.”
Maybe he put himself in my shoes, realizing that I’d had less than an hour of proof that he knew how to fly a plane any better than I did. He simply shrugged before gently landing in the middle of the lake.
I had never been through this part of the state; there was this secluded lake, the fortified prison a few miles away, and absolutely nothing but trees in every direction for what seemed like millions of miles. Even before the zombie apocalypse, you wouldn’t really have been able to tell there was anyone alive in this area. If I had been one of those crazy hermit survivalists this would have been a great place to build my bunker.
☠☠☠
The Loner asked a question out of nowhere. “Did you say something about the “Viva Ancora” earlier?”
Oh dear God, even this janitor, all the way out here, who doesn’t really seem like the type of person that would be interested in pointless shit, asks about the damn boat.
I rolled my eyes, as I do every time this is asked. “Yes.”
“The pirate ship? You live on it?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and realized this was going to be just as painful as every other time. “Yes.”
The same exact tirade of questions was asked, ended by the customary, “Well, I would really like to get a tour.”
I think I’m being punished for being a shallow jackass. A pandemic sweeps across the world and kills everyone that the characters in this zombie movie knows and loves, but these idiots are all more concerned with hitting an elementary school field trip destination than finding friends or family. I’ve always hated being asked about the boat, and maybe I’ve never had a reason before. But now, I think it’s safe to say there might be something more important to care about. Perhaps people are just trying to keep their minds off the fact that they have lost everything; maybe I’m being too much of an asshole. Big surprise.
A few minutes later when Hammer and Tychus (with Adjutant curled up next to him) were sound asleep in the back and I was finishing up my journal entry, Smokes whispered, “Shit, homeslice. ‘Erbody ask you the same damn thang?”
Yes, yes they DO.
☠☠☠
Interlude 1
WE SAT IN the darkening plane on the still water, chatting occasionally as we waited to receive a radio transmission.
It finally came. “Mo, this is Gray Fox. Do you copy?”
I sighed. “Yeah, Daddy, I got you.”
My father graciously chose to skip the damn radio lingo and just conversed. “This is our first long-range communication. Gene set up a solar charger on the transmitter in the fire station at the top of the mountain, so we’ll be able to communicate any time.”
Holy shit, Gene! How many solar panels do you have? Although we could now get with one another at any time, but we decided to keep our debriefings to just after sunset every day.
I could tell he was itching for a report about his favorite son, so I gave him one. “Easy left a note in his dorm with a map to Joseph A. Davidson Correctional Facility which is about an hour from Birmingham. We are sitting in the nearby lake now.”
“Your brother’s in prison?”
I almost laughed. Yeah, Daddy. The officers allowed him to leave a note for friends before they carted him off. “Well not really. This prison is supposed to be some kind of sanctuary.”
I got my curiosity from my father, so I drew out my information until I was sure it was painful. I could almost hear his silent screams for more. Finally I continued. “I haven’t seen him yet, but we’ll be headed that way first thing tomorrow.”
I could feel the tension ease from over the radio. “Anything new on your end?” Dammit, I just remembered that I had not even mentioned our new compatriot. I guess Daddy will meet him when we show up.
He came back, “After Gene set up that transmitter at the firehouse this morning, he and a few others started rigging up gas powered generators all over the island. Those will last us a while, but we are still looking for somebody to work the dam.”
What the fuck? Almost everyone on the island has been without power for weeks and the moment I leave they decide to power everything?
I mean yeah, the Cora has been energized throughout the zombie apocalypse, first with propane and then with The Tech’s solar panels, meaning that I’ve been able to get hot showers, but I’m still going to bitch. I’m sure there has to be a fucking barber left alive and I’ve been in serious need of a haircut with an electric razor; my flattop is getting pretty shaggy.
I was too incredulous to speak. He supplied, “Oh, and the birds are back.” He continued with what I was just about to say, “Things just seem to happen when you leave.”
No shit. My traveling companions include a delusional senior that believes keeping her pristine driving record untarnished trumps avoiding becoming blue and naked.
The other is the reason McDonald’s sold 1 million hamburgers; he also received an early release of the script to my life but refuses to let me in on what is going to happen. Is it any wonder I don’t particularly enjoy traveling? I’m sleeping on a water plane in the middle of a lake with water the only thing between me and becoming a carnivorous animal with no more sphincter control than The Old Friend’s monkey. I always end up in situations like this and it really doesn’t leave me itching to vacation very often.
As I conversed with my dad, I looked out the window to watch a couple of zombie children wrestling before an undead audience on the beach. They gnawed on each other–amazingly, not drawing blood. They rolled and stirred up dust in the moonlight before one stood over the other, breathing heavy–the obvious victor.
The older
walkers began chattering and seemed to congratulate the winner of this tiny battle. This was another one of those “that’s too-human moments” we had witnessed exhibited by the monsters. Seeing expressions of emotion, even apparent love from these creatures, would only make it harder to kill them when the time came. The disgusting scenes of disemboweled dogs and baby food diarrhea would not be able to mask that these things were once people.
Even shit-covered, naked, retarded cannibals can be affectionate and this display could be compared to any young children wrestling in the back yard in front of their parents. This will make me hesitate to pull the trigger and that might be my end.
☠☠☠
I couldn’t even begin to speculate as to the why avian flocks decided to return within hours of my leaving and asked my dad what came to mind: “Just on the island or you mean everywhere?”
“I’m not sure yet, I just know that they are on the island now.”
I swear to God, I could hear birds chirping from his end of the radio. Well, this was one hell of a report: my dad’s crew set up a long-range radio transmitter, electrified most of the island, and somehow attracted all the missing birds, while the traveling band had basically done nothing but land the plane without being consumed in a giant fireball and rescue a janitor. Oh yeah, there aren’t any fucking birds here.
My pathetic-ness was almost guaranteed by this point in my life, but I still disgustedly signaled to end our nightly chat, “Well, I guess I’ll call you tomorrow after I get with Easy.”
“All right, I hope everything is okay with him.” He fell back into his radio protocol, “Gray Fox, over and out.”
I had to fight the urge to say, “Of course he’s okay. He’s probably running the damn PRISON!”
6
Stay Puft
SALLY DICK HATED her job. She might have only been on this island for a little over a week, but she despised waking up in a poorly lit hotel room and walking to this stupid doctor’s office. She was a social worker, not a nurse, dammit! She should be driving around arresting these yokels for not sending their children to public school as the benevolent government required, not doling out hand sanitizer to a bunch of illiterate rednecks. The scavengers had found a pair of scrubs she could squeeze into and when the local warlord–or whatever the hell he was–started asking for “people with basic medical knowledge,” she was willing to do anything that wasn’t dangerous. Now though, she could see that all of these people were beneath her. She planned to jump in the next car leaving town. These people had gold coins, a Postal Service, a library; this building had become a small hospital, and there was even a rudimentary justice system. None of it was public. It made Sally sick to think she was being controlled by a bunch of fucking Libertarians.
The day was wrapping up and she was relieved that the only thing she had left to do was take some papers to Dr. George, then she could walk back to her sad little “apartment.” The one good thing about the apocalypse was the exercise–she was slimming down to her high school graduation weight.
She made her way down the darkening hall and paused. Through the door she heard, “There’s something strange…in my neighborhood…who ya gonna call?”
This was obviously Dr. George’s thick accent, and a muffled reply came through a walkie-talkie with just as much of an Indian accent. “There’s something weird….and it don’t look good…you’ve reached the Ghostbusters.”
This was odd. Was the Doc losing his mind and quoting 80s theme songs on the radio? He came back quickly, “This is Phantom Foxtrot-Niner-Niner. Is the team ready?”
The radio buzzed. “Roger. All HITs standing by and awaiting orders.”
Dr. George was amazed–every member of his unit was still alive and none had gone AWOL. He would continue to force himself to think about anything but his own country. He didn’t want to speculate on India’s immediate reaction to the plague, knowing that once he learned the truth, he would either be extremely disappointed or unbelievably happy. The special forces cardiologist tried to put all guesses out of his mind. He had seen movies detailing all kinds of apocalyptic scenarios. A good many of these fictional plagues started in Asia; the real world-ending virus had started on the other side of the planet from India, and he was hoping his nation had survived. He was nearly giddy at the prospect of seeing his friends and fellow countrymen; they would surely be able to enlighten him on the state of affairs on the subcontinent. Mayor Collins was going to jump for joy when he found out the doctor had been the undercover leader of an Indian special forces group, a unit of NSG Phantoms. Randy would be even more surprised that they were not going to seize power and simply wanted to use his island as a home base. Dr. George smiled; he noticed his hand shaking when he pressed the button to relay his coordinates. He stopped when he thought he heard something and listened for any eavesdroppers.
☠☠☠
That was code! Sally thought, excitedly. He had to be using code words and was communicating with his terrorist buddies. She dropped her papers to the floor and started walking out. Sally wasn’t stupid; the doctor was calling his friends to come take over America! She wasn’t going to let ISIS take over her country! She might hate the leftists in power now, but she’d be damned before she let a bunch of foreigners take over. She planned to go tell the mayor about this sniveling commie planning a terrorist coup and make sure he did something about It. Well, she planned on doing just that. In the morning, right after she got some sleep.
☠☠☠
And she did just that. Standing in front of Randy was a very serious social worker / nurse with quite a story. He found this girl and her claims a little ridiculous and tried to reassure her. “Sally, I have known Dr. George’s family personally for several years. I’m pretty sure he’s not an Al Qaeda; I don’t think he’s even a Muslim.”
Nearly sobbing, she countered, “I heard him talking to his Jihadi buddies! They want to kill all the men and make the women sex slaves!”
Sally was adamant. There was no convincing her otherwise, so Randy conceded. “Okay. What if we go talk to him and find out what is going on?”
She furrowed her brow. “But shouldn’t we at least take a bodyguard along?”
Randy chuckled and patted the grip of the pistol open-holstered on his hip. “I wouldn’t leave home without one.”
He grinned sadly to himself. Technically, he had not been “home” in close to a month. As thoughts of his destroyed home flashed across his mind, he locked the door to his office and radioed Debbie to inform her that he was going to see the doctor.
She replied a bit panicked, “Are you okay? Do you need me to drive? I’m just right across Gunter Avenue and can meet you at the truck.”
He should have known his wife of over thirty years would hear this as “I’m bleeding out and in need intensive care.” He finally got a word in. “No, dear, I’m good. I just need to have a chat with him about something.”
He realized with a start that maybe this was home. His wife seemed fairly acclimated to their new digs and he was actually glad he was here, in the center of all the civic activity. Sure, the mayor might be living in a partially lit courthouse office taking at least bi-weekly trips to the Viva Ancora for a hot shower, but he was helping people settle in. These newcomers would not have survived without the functioning island he had partly been instrumental in reestablishing. Randy considered himself lucky that one of his sons had been on the island and was currently in Birmingham looking for his other son; most families had been separated–maybe permanently.
Sally got into the passenger seat of the Humvee and Randy drove away from his new HOME.
7
Phantasm
DR. GEORGE HAD just finished setting a child’s broken arm when the mayor knocked briefly then walked right into the examination room. The doctor had always liked the no-nonsense Randy, how the man always went to the source without pussyfooting around. Well, he had been happy with the approach until now; he could have been in the middle of a gynec
ological exam on one of the soon-to-be-mothers of the coming baby boom!
Even so, he was glad the mayor was here. He had been planning to go to the courthouse during lunch, but now he could just walk the mayor across the hall to introduce him to the other Phantoms. The team had HALOED in early this morning and their entrance had excited him well beyond just seeing friends he’d thought lost. If the Indian Air Force had jets and pilots to spare for an airdrop, then his country had obviously survived armageddon in relatively good shape. He was just waiting for the opportunity to ask his fellows for details about their home.
“What’s up, Doc?” Randy asked as he strode into the room and leaned on the bed.
The doctor could barely contain his smile. “Mayor Collins! Just the man I wanted to see. I need to talk to you about something…” he trailed as he noticed Sally walk in behind the mayor, her arms crossed in front of her in a very accusatory manner. He just realized that she had not been at the office all morning.
“Yeah, I think we do.”
The mayor continued when the doctor found nothing to say. “I heard you got some friends that want to get to know us.”
Dr. George smiled at the perceptiveness of the mayor; perhaps he had seen the team drop or was just a good guesser. “Yes, yes! They do! There will be one less worry with an armed detachment of–”
The Mayor had been hesitant to believe Sally up until this point. But the more he talked with The Medicine Man the more he started to doubt the Cardiologist’s trustworthiness. Maybe he really was not the Indian he said he was. “Sally here told me all about your radio conversation with your buddies from the other side of the world. When are they planning on getting here?”