by Javan Bonds
Well, I’m willing to get Hammer shot every day if it means I don’t have to risk falling to my death on concrete. “Petunia’s white, by the way!” I couldn’t resist shouting back at her as she ran to be with the woman she loved.
Sarah–my new girlfriend–and I made our way from the deck and to the captain’s quarters where I sat on the edge of my bed. I awkwardly stammered, “So what now?”
There was a gleam in her eye and she slowly sauntered in my direction. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“Well, we can always go down to the courthouse and get some of your–” she shoved me down onto my back. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Hero.” I think I can figure out what comes NEXT.
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49
Mo Journal Entry 21
FOLLOWING OUR SEVERAL hours of passionate lovemaking–read that as Tim Meadows with a lisp and an Afro–okay, it may have actually only been a few minutes, but remember, this is my journal and I record things the way I want to. Anyway, Sarah and I were lying on the bed when my radio sounded. “Mo, this is Gray Fox. You read?”
I reached over my girlfriend’s naked form–yes, I’m going to remind you of that every chance I get–to give a reply. “Loud and clear, Daddy. What’s up?”
Though his transmit button was off, his sigh was nearly audible. “Can you come to the main deck of the Cora? You need to be in on the post-op briefing. Over.”
“Yeah, I’ll be up shortly.”
I untangled myself from the woman of my dreams, who was naked, by the way, and began quickly dressing. You know, I’m surprised my dad didn’t just walk into my room and start telling me what was going on. Maybe Smokes or my father’s spidey sense let him know that I was occupied. It’s funny, guys do seem to have a sixth sense that tells them when another guy should not be bothered. Well, except when I walked in on Easy the other day. If you remember, nothing embarrassing ever happens when someone just walks in on me, well, except for the two instances I mentioned earlier. Damn. I would have been proud in this instance, though obviously it saved my completely nude girlfriend some awkwardness.
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“No, I wouldn’t really call them prisoners; they’re not villains or anything. They were willing to be bound and remain overnight on a yacht. Once we are sure they weren’t infected, they will need to be integrated into our society. We can’t treat them differently.”
I shot back, “It won’t be that easy. They killed quite a few people!”
My dad was adamant for forgiveness. “I know, I was there. They were taking orders from a lunatic with a grudge and have all renounced their former United States postings. If these soldiers swear allegiance to Guntersville, it’s a huge win for us!”
My dad and The Oracle sat across from me at the roundtable. They discussed with one another as I read the written report.
This report told of Hammer’s stable condition after a gunshot to the chest that would have killed a normal human. She was now being sewed up at the clinic by Dr. George, the report went on. The Phantom doctor had been assumed lost by the other defenders, being unable to make radio contact until returning to his office. I snickered, vividly picturing Crow screaming at the doctor, “Fix what these motherfucking white people have done!” There were several more technical entries on weapons and vehicles salvaged after the battle with Cock-No-More. I scanned through it to discover that we captured twelve soldiers, three personnel carriers, one Humvee, and a LATV. I don’t know who would be willing to clean up the grenade launching MRAP, but at least it was no longer in enemy hands. It really would be a good thing to have that many trained defenders, once they had proven they could be trusted.
According to the casualty report, the island had lost seventeen defenders–all of the main protagonists and the full Phantom squad had survived. Damn, I need to give Smokes or The Screenwriter some credit for keeping my ass alive for another journal. Daddy told me about Georgia, that she had recently moved in with The Tech but had perished. That sucks. As a man I am legally obligated to secretly wish that Gene got laid before she had been killed. After some investigating, they found that the murderer was a new immigrant, Earl Buckalew. Haven’t I heard that name before? I would have to ask about that one later.
I set the papers down and pushed away from the table. My dad added to report on the others I cared about, “Your mama’s getting ready for bed at the courthouse, your brother and his fiancée are gonna stay the night with Bradley. Bro. Williamson stayed at his ranch throughout the fight. Gene did a hell of a job; he’s back home at Excelsior. Oh, and we are planning to take Aka to the dam tomorrow; she may be able to power the entire island. You got anything planned?”
I had a living woman that actively participated in doing naughty things. “Actually, I don’t think I can make it.”
My dad shrugged and turned to The Oracle. “You got anything to add, big guy?”
Smokes stood with a straight back and I was expecting some kind of cryptic prophecy detailing how we would have to endure some new terrible shit tomorrow. My tension dissipated as he spoke casually, “Hell naw, cuz. I’m a get me some sleep!”
We broke from the meeting, exhaustion evident in all of us. I questioned The Oracle.
“How long until the next Reason?”
The professor answered as he approached the stairs.
“When it’s time, you’ll know.”
Damn, now I’m almost too creeped out for sex.
ALMOST.
☠☠☠
50
Chief Engineer Gene Stanley’s Log 4
THE DAY OF the great battle for independence turned out pretty stellar for the island as a whole, but for me personally, it was the worst day ever. I lost my soulmate, my Padme’, my Imzadi, my Trinity, and I will never be able to replace her. Hunter is grieving rather well, having lost two parents in such a short time. He is a tough little youngling. I believe I am still in a state of shock, not yet throwing Klingon curses at random passersby or drinking myself stupid on Corellian brandy. I’m in a state of strange calm. I wonder if the Elusive Man from Mass Effect survived the zombie apocalypse? We could try Lazarus to resurrect Georgia.
It’s funny how things seem to happen almost as if they are scripted. The original crew of the Cora made it through this ordeal, Mo completed his quest and returned with his brother, and the doctor is currently studying a living peevie. He may not produce a cure, but I’m hoping he can at least discover what has made them adjust to walking in the fraking sun! What has miraculously turned them into day walkers? Solutions of vinegar produce attracting qualities; perhaps we will discover zombie repellent in alcohol or some other solution. I’m sure more answers will come the longer he studies the creature.
The sniper team that nearly put a hole through the mayor was clearly attacked before they lost all communication. The soldiers reported hearing screams and cries of “Mayday” before they dropped off and remained forever silent. We have our cardiologist / NSG Phantom to thank for that.
No mortal can explain everything; why did Randy fall at the instant he did? His radio being destroyed midair proves the bullet missed him by millimeters.
Ezekiel Collins’s future bride claims to have knowledge about the workings of hydroelectric dams. She is slated to travel to the TVA dam with nearly a company of armed soldiers to attempt to re-electrify the island.
I have not been without electricity here at Excelsior, but I am excited for others to have power. I’m pretty sure I can start at least a local broadband system. I am going to be schooling noobs in no time!
As we sail off into a recently re-ordered, peaceful galaxy, I must ask: Can the Center hold, or is this just the calm before the STORM?
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Epilogue
*THUD*
IT WAS finally free from what looked like the head of an animal. Had no scent, did not move, even after it had worked its teeth through whatever was over its mouth and tried taking bites from the thing. It clearly could n
ot be an animal. It was finally on the ground now and its memory of getting into its previous position was fuzzy. It could not remember anything about its past, not even its name. It had simply become conscious a few hours ago, wrists trapped together around a large fake animal. Its first priority was to get these bonds from around its hands so that it could strip and defecate freely, as nature intended. The female had no idea why anything would want to cover itself and constrict the flow of feces.
As it kicked the covers off its feet, it noticed an apparent bite mark on the back of its ankle, swollen and festering. It couldn’t remember any recent fights. It shook its head; suddenly feelings flooded its mind; a distant memory of “before.” It was consumed with a fierce, illogical rage.
Its new goal suddenly became clear: feast on live flesh. The image of its targeted prey appeared and it had a name:
“COLLINS!”
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The Following Is An Excerpt From Book 4 Of The Still Alive Series
ROBERTO MARTINEZ WALKED along the road and remained in direct sunlight. He stayed away from the Diablos in the shadows, but was always ready to dive into the ditch if a hostile enemy or a vehicle approached. He was one of those that escaped Jefe’s place when it was first attacked. After spending a few days in Albertville searching for surviving familia and coming up empty-handed, he was now returning to Douglas and discovering mostly scorched earth. The houses he had passed in Albertville were not completely destroyed, but they certainly were here.
He knew what was under the charred remains of Jefe’s casa.
Bob remembered seeing the medico making his way back to Jefe’s bedroom when the federales started shooting. He wasn’t sure who all knew about this underground bunker, but would be glad to find the doctoro still hiding down there. He moved a few pieces of crumbling word and found the manhole cover which opened to a ladder.
This passageway would lead down to the safe room. Bob pulled his trustee pistol from his belt as he opened the door to the shipping container. The mechanic was greeted by nothing but pitch black. He lifted the mini flashlight on his key ring and saw the place was empty. All the safes were opened and gutted. There were none of the lights he had seen when Jefe had originally shown him this bùnker for hideaway. Surely, those pindayhose had found this place and raided it.
The diminutive mechanic turned to make his way to the door with disappointment hanging over his head. His light ran across a package of MREs and a case of bottled water. As he continued to the door, his flashlight settled on a note taped to it. “Viva Ancora with Mo – Randy Collins.”
Bob spent days turning the note over in his head: “Viva Ancora?” The he was fairly certain Jefe didn’t speak Spanish and wouldn’t know that “Viva” translated to “alive” and he had no clue what the other word was, it wasn’t Spanish and he was pretty sure it was in English. Maybe Jefe was simply trying to send some kind of encrypted message that he was still alive and Bob could take piece in that. He set up from his makeshift bedroll when the realization struck him: “Viva Ancora,” wasn’t that the name of the boat Jefe’s skinny kid worked on?
Bob could’ve sworn to Madre Maria the that the kids name was Mo! Maybe the kid would give him a tour once he got there. After another few days of living in this luxurious cave, Bob would attempt to make his way to Guntersville Lake and hopefully discovered the Jefe Familia on a boat, safe from the monstrous.
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The round little Mexican might not look incredibly healthy, but he knew how to be conservative with his food and survive. Supplementing the freeze-dried, packaged meals with squirrels, nuts, berries, and fruit, he could stay here for as long as he wanted.
As he picked up a few pecans from beneath the largest tree near the road, he heard distant explosions coming from the direction of Guntersville. Not knowing exactly what and only that something was happening down the mountain, he decided to wait a few more days before making his journey to the lake.
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He decided to wait a couple of dias to begin his long walk down to Guntersville. He hoped to find Jefe safe from the blue monsters. Before exiting his home of the past few weeks, Bob stuffed the remaining bottles of water and MREs into his pack.
The handyman fixed the note in his gaze. His handwriting was worse than Jefe’s chicken scratch. He could not recall the last time he had been forced to write in English. Even so, the short repair man made his sloppy mark below the first inscription. “Still alive going to Guntersville beginning of June Bob.”
If he was to die on his way, maybe this note would be found by the former owners of this casa. They would eventually find this note where he had found it originally and understand what happened to him. He made it up the ladder and started the trek.
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Bob felt like a bandito each time he had to force his way into a house . He had to break into a home every night when the sun started going down. He knew he wasn’t committing a crime, he was not breaking in to steal . Even though he did take the occasional can of sardines or bottle of Coke. The reason had to do with getting shelter from the loco animale outside.
The whiz with small engines passed the Shell station and continued down the mountain. He was almost there. About halfway down the incline, he began hearing explosions from in front of him. Bob squinted and could make out military vehicles sitting on the mainland side of the causeway, facing the island.
Were the federales attacking more innocent people? He wasn’t sure on which side of the land bridge lay the protagonists and which side held the antagonists. The diminutive mechanic decided to make his way over to the apartment building on his left. As he made his way across the highway, a small plane zoomed overhead and passed over the vehicles. One of the trucks opened its rear door and an explosion of meat, blood, bone, and everything else one would expect to see from an exploding sardine can of humans violently shot out the back. The smaller truck over to the side sent some shells in the direction of the plane and it began smoking. The obvious water plane started its final dissent on the east side of the island. Bob could only wonder who just been shot down.
The short repair man jimmied the lock on one of the doors to an upper story apartment just as screaming, naked people started charging the military trucks. He thanked Dios for keeping him out of the hands of the criaturas outside. At least he could watch the scene at the bottom of the mountain from a rear window.
It was shocking to see the Diablos in the daytime. Even more surprising was witnessing the things attack armored vehicles.
As if their hunger drove them to the point of insanity, one would run full on one of the vehicles to be ripped into shreds by a mounted machine gun. Another would follow right behind to be slaughtered in the same fashion. Chunks of mutilated infected were strewn all around the vehicles.
A few soldiers would occasionally walk up, completely ignored by the creatures. The soldiers would blow the back of infected, unsuspecting skulls to the ground. Bob had been informed by television that the Diablos would pay no attention to a newly infected human, he was sure the soldiers must’ve already been bitten.
Vehicles started coming from the island side of the causeway and mowing down more of the animales. He wasn’t sure what was going on. The federales began to exit their armored trucks and get down on their knees in obvious surrender. After at least a dozen soldiers in line had been searched and cuffed, the searchers came to one smaller person and simultaneously an infantryman. They were obviously surprised to have found these two. The soldier in question rose to gun down the redheaded woman in front of him as the other person shot the armored man. Both of the shot fell and the soldier began to run away.
The redheaded woman rose up on an elbow and gunned down the retreating soldier before beginning a short conversation with the smaller individual which she then shot. The armored knight stood up and people began rushing to the injured woman as she again collapsed.
This was interesting. Bob would observed for a few more
days to try and get a feeling for these defenders. The diminutive mechanic wasn’t willing to rush headlong into villano. Bob would gladly wait and see.
It appeared the federales had not overtaken this Alamo. The battle scene had been cleaned up within a day or so, the human cleanup crews only gathering up human bodies or equipment. Strangely, the morning after the battle, every single blue corpse had mysteriously disappeared. The repairman began cautiously making his way down the mountain in the middle of the road. Almost to the causeway, he took in several stop- and caution roadsigns driven into the pavement or hanging from telephone wires.
“Hands up! Approach slowly.” a synthesized voice sounded from somewhere in front of him.
Bob dropped his pack, slowly raised his hands in surrender, and walked forward. He was still not sure if these people were with Jefe or if they were banditos.
Either way, he was fairly certain that they were not federales, so he supposed it could be worse.
They could have simply chewed him up with machine gun bullets with no warning. Bob was perplexed to see a man in a full suit of armor and a sword over his back standing behind a small shack on the other side of where the bridge used to be. The guard asked over a loudspeaker if he was armed, if he was alone, where he had come from, his name, and several more questions he would expect to be asked from an immigration officer. He guessed he had given satisfactory answers because the Jet Ski pulled a pontoon bridge over and he walked across. The mechanic noticed a gaping hole in the side of the hotel.