Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End

by Daniel Cotton

  “Just livin’ life, being awesome,” a mullet headed man answers coolly, to match Brass he relaxes his weapon, resting his rifle against his shoulder.

  “’Livin’ life, being awesome’,” Brass repeats slowly as if pondering each word. “I like that! Mind if I use it?”

  “Might as well,” the mullet replies and then utters under his breath. “Ya take everything else.”

  “What was that?” Brass asks, leaning in a bit.

  “Forget it.”

  “I know you fellas are aware that you are in our territory,” Brass explains. “You’ve entered one of our houses actually…”

  “It’s ours now!” the man Brass had to banish from town seethes from behind his shotgun. He’s hardly recognizable now. His nose has been recently broken, the area is crusted with dried blood and swollen. Obviously, there’s a lingering sense of resentment and he’s still upset over the matter of being ejected. His personal politics didn’t mesh with what the Rubies were trying to build, he was simply poison to the community.

  “I brought you a housewarming present,” Brass sets down the bag from his shoulder. “Who among you is the leader of this outfit?”

  “That’d be me,” Mullet replies. “Name’s Kenny.”

  “Well, this is for you, Kenny,” Brass hands him a metal box.

  Examining what he has just been given, Kenny turns the steel, olive item. It’s a long curved rectangular box with raised letters on the convex side that spell ‘FRONT TOWARD ENEMY’. His eyes widen in recognition of the device, his knowledge doesn’t stop Brass from explaining it.

  “The United States Military has a habit of naming their modern weapons after historic ones; the Tomahawk, the Trident, and of course the Claymore.”

  Kenny stands as still as he can, the object feeling much heavier every second he holds it aloft. Shakily, his eyes raise from the anti-personnel mine to the little man who bestowed it to him, the little man that now twirls its pin on his finger and aims his six-shooter at the box. The standoff becomes even more tense for everyone but the leader of the Rubies. With his gun aimed at the explosive he looks around until he finds a friendly face once more.

  “Abacab, what happened?”

  “They came, got in, smashed my equipment,” the petite girl with electric blue hair explains adjusting her black rimmed glasses. “They said we were to become brides for their men. Peace Maker wasn’t too happy about it, they locked her in a room down the hall.”

  From the door, Rough Rider enters upon hearing that. “Brass, can I…”

  “Of course. Go,” Brass encourages him to find and free their comrade. “Abby, can you call for some backup?”

  “You don’t think we’ve got this?” the younger man asks, motioning for more soldiers just the same.

  “They aren’t coming to protect us from them, but to protect them from Rough Rider once…” Brass trails off, his eyes have landed on a disturbing sight. A red cooler on wheels is on its side, the floor around it is littered with small plastic cups that are all visibly empty. “Is that my pudding?” Brass inquires angrily.

  Brass takes a closer look at the contents of the cooler, or the lack of contents. The plastic cups he was expecting to have waiting for him are all gone. He crushes one of the empties. “My butterscotch.”

  There’s a commotion down the hall, howls of rage over the mistreatment of Peace Maker. Rough Rider is hollering, trying to get down the hall to the scavengers as Peace Maker tries to calm him. Rubicon soldiers enter and are directed toward their out of control comrade. Flanked by allies the man is lead out through the living room, his eyes locked on Kenny as he bucks trying to get away just for a second. His girlfriend, Peace Maker, follows exchanging a nod with Brass letting him know that she is all right.

  The house becomes eerily calm. Brass, still by the pilfered pudding cups, stands. “Who ate my butterscotch?”

  The question remains unanswered for several seconds, brass asks again, louder. He kicks the empty cooler against the wall. “Who ate my fucking butterscotch?”

  Just like Rough Rider, Brass throws himself at the leader of the barbarians. Abby holds the small man at bay easily. “There’s a special place in hell for the sort of man that takes another man’s butterscotch!”

  “I’m s…sorry,” Kenny manages to say between flinches.

  Brass settles down with a calming breath. Abby lingers, unsure if he should let go of him or not, he isn’t even certain if the outburst was real or not. Brass has a flair for the dramatic. “I’m fine,” he tells his younger apprentice.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” Brass assures with a nod. “Didn’t I tell you to let me know when I’m acting childish?”

  “You’re a child, Brass,” Abby says. He hasn’t been with the Rubies for very long, he’s still acclimating to Brass’s erratic behavior and antics. The small man may be weird, but Abby knows he can trust him.

  “Abacab?” Brass, much calmer now, asks.

  “Yes, Brass,” the girl answers.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she says. “My equipment is toast though.”

  “They didn’t hurt you, or…?” he lets the idea trail off, not wanting to speak the unthinkable.

  “No. They haven’t had the chance,” she assures. “They barged in just a bit ago with these women.” Abacab indicates a few ladies off to the side. “They just said they were taking the place over, that they planned to ‘nest’ here. I was to become a ‘wife’ for one of their men.”

  “At least they didn’t eat your pudding,” Brass coos tenderly, cradling his young friend in his arms. “Why don’t you take the ladies out while I have a chat with these boys?”

  Abacab rounds the relieved women up to usher them to safety, one remains seated on the couch. Brass, about to address the invaders, is taken a little aback by this. “You are free to go, miss,” he tells the woman with short, spikey hair.

  “She’s one of them,” Abacab flatly states.

  “Oh.” Brass is taken even further aback. “What’s your name, dear?”

  “Rocky,” she answers.

  “Well, Rocky, not to pry or be sexist, but what are you doing with these men?”

  “I’m one of them.” Her words come out with ease, but her eyes tell a different story. Subconsciously her eyes tell him that she wishes to be heading out the front door as well, she watches the train leave the station and her chance elude her.

  “You don’t have to be,” he offers, extending a hand to the departing train’s caboose.

  “I’m fine,” Rocky affirms, her tough exterior never wavering. Brass knows there has to be something keeping her with these guys, but leaves the choice up to her.

  “Suit yourself,” he lays the topic to rest. “Listen up. This place is ours. This is how we keep an eye on things. I doubt you ever want our eyes falling upon the likes you, now do you?” he asks the group.

  Kenny still holds the olive explosive in his sweaty palms. Beads of sweat drip down his forehead that he’s too afraid to attempt to wipe away, he’s barely able to answer the question but manages a quick, breathless, “No,” cringing as if the single word might detonate the claymore.

  “Good!” Brass says with cheer. “All of you can rise and file out through the back door. Go and just keep on going.”

  The group rises to their feet and begin to depart to the bus parked behind the house, all except for Kenny. Kenny remains behind, his feet cemented in place. The device in his hands seems to grow heavier by the second.

  “Just set it down gently,” Brass instructs, “and step away.”

  Taking up the rear is the only woman of the group, she lingers waiting for Kenny, perhaps still debating her choice. “Rocky,” Brass is compelled to say, “if you are ever looking for a change of scenery, and are able, find me in Rubicon.”

  She only nods, but walks with Kenny out through the back of the house. Brass watches her go, he can’t help but think there was somethin
g he could have said to make her join them. At the moment it troubles him even more than the barbarians’ trespass. He buries his thoughts, a new concern floats to the top of his mind. “Abby, do you know if these things can be re-pinned?”

  36

  “Brass,” Abby says outside after calling home for a crew. He was asked to get their construction experts to make a house call in order to strengthen the dwelling’s security. “Crews on their way…”

  “Good. I want the place completely inaccessible from the ground,” Brass interrupts. His mind is bursting with ideas, so much he can’t contain them. “Our people can enter and exit with cherry-pickers or ladder trucks…Perhaps we can get some blowtorches to make the exterior look fire damaged, less appealing to anyone looking for a new place…”

  “The women are all loaded up,” Abby interrupts Brass right back. He hitches his thumb over his shoulder to the departing pick-up trucks, behind them are Rough Rider and Peace Maker heading out on horseback. “This is Lady Luck,” the young soldier introduces Brass to the only other soul that remains behind aside from the two of them.

  Brass pulls his attention from the house and all the possibilities swelling in his mind to meet the woman he sees for the first time in the light of day. His greeting gets caught in his throat despite the fact his jaw drops wide open. “Nice…Nice to meet you,” he coughs.

  The woman is remarkable, like she has just stepped out of time from the nineteen-fifties. In a form fitting black and white polka-dot dress that hangs to her mid-calf, a matching frilly apron, her hair covered in a scarf, she looks ready to perform household chores in a bygone era. The picture of idyllic domestic bliss.

  “She says she may have some things we’d be interested in back at her place,” Abby tells Brass.

  “Oh really? Like what?” Brass asks the living pin-up.

  “Vehicles,” the woman begins.

  “We have plenty of those, more than we need.” After the day he has had, Brass just wants to get home to Rubicon.

  “There’s also about twenty .50 caliber machine guns in my daddy’s bunker. Thousands of rounds. An assortment of other firearms. And, all my clothes, and of course my make-up.”

  The list is too enticing to pass up. Brass doesn’t have to deliberate for a second, “Let’s get that make-up.”

  During the twenty minute drive to Lady Luck’s place, her riding shotgun in Brass’s Buick Riviera and Abby sitting in the back, the woman chain-smokes three cigarettes. She tells them that her father had always been worried about the apocalypse, how she and her brothers had teased him about it. Not long before he was proved right he had joined an online community of like-minded folks. “We thought it was harmless since he had finally stopped worrying,” she said. “Each member focused on a different area of survival rather than hoarding everything they could. Daddy already had the guns, the bunker, and emergency rations...He passed away before he could say ‘I told ya so’, it’s a good thing too. His group never attempted to contact him by radio as they planned, listening to the dead air was the only company I had once both of my brothers were gone. Until, Kenny, the leader of that band back at the house, came calling. He knew what my daddy had hidden somehow. I wouldn’t tell them where.”

  That was the end of her story. She lit another of her long cigarettes and stared out at the passing scenery. They now ride in silence the final minutes of the trek.

  “What a dump,” Brass says upon arrival at the lovely lady’s abode, a salvage yard. It isn’t at all where he expected her to hang her hat, a dirty place surrounded by a high chain link fence that has been mostly paneled off with welded sheets of steel. They enter and navigate piles of rusting refuse until coming to the run down shack at the center.

  “Home sweet home,” Lady Luck says.

  Upon exiting, Brass recognizes a tow truck. He’s seen it before in Rubicon. He scoffs at it, “Tow trucks. Grim reapers of the auto world. They use to circle my Riv like vultures as if to say ‘your time has come’. I think we know who got the last laugh.”

  “We should leave the Riv here where it belongs,” Abby quips.

  “I knew you’d say something,” Brass shakes his head at his young companion, who has been telling him to trade up to a newer ride since they met. “My Riv is perfectly fine, it’s reliable, has character, and…”

  “Turning off the AC to give your engine a little extra power is not a turbo booster!”

  “It gives me oomph just when I need it!” Brass declares. He notices Lady Luck just stands looking at the shack. She had mentioned her father passing before the plague, she mentioned having brothers that are not rushing out to greet her. Having never seen her before in town, he believes he would remember her if he had, he figures she’s been living elsewhere until recently. Came back to her childhood home.

  “Abby, explore the yard. The barbarians left the gate open so be careful. See what vehicles there are that may be useful,” Brass tells his companion. “Shall we?” he offers Lady Luck his company in entering the house.

  Considering the location and dirty exterior of the house, the inside comes as quite a shock. It’s immaculate, not just tidy but perfect. The living room Brass is welcomed into is cozy, like something out of and old sitcom from the ‘50s. He has the urge to say ‘Honey, I’m home’ but refrains out of respect. He watches the lovely lady slowly walk through the room, over the plush carpeting. She struck him before as being completely composed, now she seems uneasy on her feet. He isn’t certain if he should offer her assistance or just let her be.

  He follows her into the kitchen. It’s spotless except for one area on the counter where a mixing bowl and ingredients are laid out next to a mixer that harkens back to a simpler time. The device is bulky and old but looks as shiny as the day it was purchased forty or fifty years ago.

  “Sorry about the mess,” she apologizes, walking past the unfinished project and to the sink for a glass of water. “I was making cookies when they barged in.”

  Brass goes to the mixer. He picks up a rolling pin from the counter, it’s large and heavy. He judges its heft against his hand as one might a baseball bat. From the assembled items on the counter he guesses the confection she planned on making, “Sugar cookies?”

  She only nods between sips.

  “I like to add snippets of lavender petals to mine,” he tells her. “It gives the cookie an aromatic quality.” He quickly covers for himself as if he’s blown his macho façade, swinging the rolling pin onto his shoulder, “That’s just how I roll.”

  He earns a smirk and a slight laugh from the woman, the first exhibit of real emotion he’s seen from her. She’s forcing herself to hold it together, not wanting to break the character she undoubtedly built years ago. The smirk has disappeared, the short laugh forgotten, but she is more at ease.

  Lady Luck leads Brass out to a back room. What would be used by most as a mud room is a breakfast nook furnished with a table and chair set straight out of an old diner. A sharp contrast, her family could enjoy a nice breakfast as they looked out over the acreage of piled garbage. Against the wall is a plush backseat from some old car, the black leather upholstery is still in perfect shape. At some point in time it was removed from whatever automobile it was once in and converted to a couch. Lady Luck shoves it aside revealing a panel.

  “My daddy’s bunker is down here,” she informs Brass as she opens the hidden hatch and heads down the dark stone steps.

  The ratcheting click of a ball chain being pulled forebears the sudden explosion of light as the woman turns on an overhead bulb. Once his eyes have adjusted Brass sees wooden crates piled high in rows against one side of the room, olive green boxes along the other. Upon the first wooden crate is an item the takes Brass’s breath away as if he’s just been shown a gorgeous work of art. “Is that…”

  “A Browning .50 caliber machine gun.”

  “I was going to say, ‘big ass Rambo gun’,” Brass admits. “I like what you said better. Let’s pretend I said that.”

&
nbsp; “I came back to bury my father,” she explains solemnly. “After the plague he rose up and bit my brother Clyde. Remus took care of them. A few days after that Remus went out and came back with a bite. I told him not to go, we had guns, ammo, and MREs for years. I think he was just going stir crazy and needed to get out.

  “Those men came, knew all about this,” she says. “I refused to tell them where it was hidden. They thought they were doing me a favor by showing up, rescuing me. I’ve always been able to rescue myself…until you and your people showed up of course. Thank you.”

  “Not a problem,” he shrugs. “It’s what we do. We should check on Abby. Then, get all this to Ruby.

  As Lady Luck and Brass exit through the back of the small breakfast area, Abby is double timing it towards the house to find them. He’s excited, smiling ear to ear with a childlike glow upon his face. “Brass! You should see what I’ve found!”

  Brass is lead through the salvage yard with Lady Luck in tow. Near the back of the property, tucked into the corner, is an area that stands out from the rest. This is where the man of the house kept his favorite things, the items that he didn’t want to part with when folks would come picking.

  Lady Luck has a knowing smirk on her face. “This was where I spent my childhood. My daddy put all the stuff my brothers and I liked to play with here for us.” Her eyes sparkle with tears she’ll never let fall.

  Among the things are massive tires, an olive green panel that used to be part of some military vehicle, complete with an old pin-up girl painted upon it. But, what has Abby so excited is a big, red double decker bus.

  “Will it run?” Brass asks.

  “I haven’t checked the…” Abby begins.

  “I can get her to run,” Lady Luck announces, she’s always wanted to get the bus running, but grew up and moved away before she got the chance. The bus was once her castle, her fort, her make-believe future home when she was just a tomboy. “But, no one’s driving her but me.”