Still Alive (Book 2): Zombie Island

by Javan Bonds

  I crossed my arms. "What the hell is it?"

  I expected him to throw his head back and chuckle maniacally like a mad scientist. He finally said, "Gold!"

  I stammered hesitantly, "Like…like, you mean…the precious metal, gold?"

  This was guaranteed to come around eventually, I just thought that the barter system was working pretty well and there wasn’t a rush for actual currency. Did he think the peevies were going to steal all the gold?

  His grin faded and he grew serious. "No, the other kind." that statement definitely came with a silent "dumbass" which I guess I deserved.

  Before I could ask, his ruse faltered as he sputtered laughing. "Of course I mean ‘the precious metal!’" This could have also been ended with "dumbass."

  I scratched my chin. "But all the scavengers are looking for jewelry and stuff anyway…"

  My dad assured me. "This is bigger than jewelry." There was a credit union building and several banks on the island. I was guessing the vaults and every safe-deposit box had already been broken into.

  Only one thought remained. "Fort Knox?"

  He chuckled and shrugged. "The next best thing."

  My attempts to draw out the answer faster with my penetrating stare must’ve started working. Or maybe he just didn’t want to waste any more time. "Gil Gainesworth lives on the lake…"

  "You mean the State Senator?"

  "No, the other Gil Gainsworth.” I was pretty sure he was going to call me a dumbass out loud this time; instead he just sighed. “Yeah, that’s the one. Anyway, he’s supposed to have a lot of cash sitting around. Other than just his expensive hunting club and thousands of acres of land, a lot of people said he had a stash of gold bricks. There’s even stuff about it in the courthouse records. I’m gonna have you give it a look-see."

  I knew my dad, he was a firm believer in the buddy system. I asked, "And who else you want me to take?"

  He scratched his chin. "Hammer is picking up cars. What about Daniel?" I shook my head. "Bradley…?" I again shook my head. He exhaled, hoping I would come to my own obvious conclusion.

  With no alternatives, I offered, "Well, Smokes ain’t busy."

  He raised his chin as if to say: "That’s a perfect idea and I am ashamed I didn’t think of it myself." What he actually said was, "Good idea. I need people I trust on this one."

  My dad was deliberately saving the actual quests for me. I could see that now, and I suppose I could take pride in the fact that my father trusted me. But it was just as surprising that he trusted The Oracle more than The Expert or the Old Friend. This was amazing considering that Smokes was a proud drug dealer and shoplifter before the apocalypse. I don’t think my dad would have seen him as quite so trustworthy just a few months ago, but then again, this was a whole new world.

  He gave me a map of a piece of waterfront property circled in red and explained it would probably be easily accessible by boat. I wouldn’t need to worry about procuring an automobile. There were plenty of gassed up bass boats for use. The assignment seemed pretty simple. The hard part would be getting Smokes to come along willingly.

  "Mufucka I don’t give a shit. I’s sleepin’!" He was throwing things and pulling the blanket over his head like a twelve-year-old.

  "Quit being lazy and come on. Daddy told me that you were my second. " I don’t know why I thought saying it like that would make a difference.

  He retorted, "You callin’ me lazy ‘cause I’s black?"

  I’m not even touching that. I threw his vest at him. "Just get your shit and meet me up top. I promise we'll pick up some ice cream on the way back." TEOTWAWKI Grill made some pretty decent ice cream. I knew that would get him moving. He got dressed faster than I assumed possible, so fast he almost beat me to the main deck.

  "You fuckin’ wit me, white bread?" We made our way down to a small boat docked conveniently just next to the Cora. I made a final check to ensure my gear was secure before putting the key in the ignition.

  “So, what's the mission, cracka?”

  “We're after the gold, dude!" I said, not even trying to hide my enthusiasm.

  "No shit, yo." Smokes bit into a Slim Jim.

  "If I’m lyin’, Daddy is too." I knew the Oracle would be just as excited as myself, so maybe this quest would be satisfying enough to have gotten him out of bed without the promise of ice cream later. I turned the key to start the motor of the boat and I could tell he was as proud to be on this quest as I was: we were hunting for treasure!

  We puttered along to the far side of the lake and into a deep secluded cove. Past a curved, white sand beach, there was a steep set of winding stone steps that led into the treeline. I killed the motor allowing the boat to drift ashore and stepped onto solid ground. About halfway up the steps to the house, I heard Smokes gasp from somewhere behind me. "Shit son, dis a DHC-2 Beava! It gots a wang span a tirty-tree foot and git up to one-hundred fifty-eight mile an hour!"

  I had to take a step back. First I was shocked to hear The Oracle excited about something that wasn’t glazed, fried, or illegal. Then I saw what had his panties all twisted. A shed I had originally dismissed as a boathouse actually housed a small biplane floating on the water. The single engine craft seemed to be in pretty clean condition.

  Smokes continued to babble on about the specs and virtues of this plane. I finally had to ask, "Dude, how the hell do you know so much about a plane?"

  He pointed a finger at me. "Listen mufucka, my cousin, man. He a pilot!" As if he did not believe that would satisfy me, his eyes continued to narrow. He finally whispered, "I kill a cracka."

  The Oracle’s cousin was a pilot. Okay? I didn’t understand why he thought I should care so much, or why that would make him such an aviation genius.

  Not necessarily this particular model…but do waterborne airplanes make you think of Kevin Bacon? I have no idea why I would think that, I can’t even think of a particular Kevin Bacon movie with a plane. Was it River Wild? I just started singing that stupid song from Footloose. I hate having a good memory sometimes. Apparently, it just randomly chooses when it’s going to be good. anyway, back to the mission.

  We continued up the hill to the enormous house, a pink stone mansion. It was surrounded by a tall iron fence, and naturally we assumed it was electrified, despite the fact the house was probably as dead as the rest of the island. We started testing to see if the gate and fence were electrified. First we threw rocks at it, then we poked at it with a stick. When that didn’t produce any visible reaction, we looked at each other.

  “Fine,” I said when it was obvious Smokes was not going to open the gate. I cautiously touched the latch, then pulled it open it with authority, like it was no big deal and my large friend was just a chicken shit. We moved on when neither one of us ended up looking like the kid on Jurassic Park.

  Every door to the house was locked, including the reinforced safe door to what looked like an underground tornado shelter only feet away from the back door. It was locked with a surprisingly still functioning computer keypad. The white, picked clean bones of two animals that I’m assuming were pit bulls or Dobermans lay to either side of the door, collars still chained to stakes in the ground, and I am seriously glad we didn’t have to worry about that. No matter how mean or vicious, I really hate to think of any dogs suffering and I was sorry they had to go out that way. I guess I can take solace in the fact that neither one attacked nor mauled me and I didn’t have to shoot them. Maybe they took out a few peevies with them.

  I looked over at my aviation-knowledgeable friend. "Okay Daddy told me to ‘just have a look-see’ and we’ve done that. I’m not blowing up any doors or shooting any locks. I say we just sail on back and report what we found."

  Smokes was physically drained from all the walking and standing. He wiped sweat from his brow and was relieved not to have to work any harder. "Sound like a plan, bra." He smiled and reminded me of my earlier promise. "And I want some chocolate chip cookie dough!"

  I'll admit, after th
e sail back, I was ready for some ice cream. We pulled up a little farther down the coast at a public dock and walked to the grill. I was expecting vanilla and chocolate. Okay, maybe some fake strawberry and possibly some sprinkles...those things have eternal shelf life. When our waitress came over, a newcomer I hadn't met, I was floored when she asked me if I wanted the same flavor that Smokes planned to devour; chocolate chip fucking cookie dough. I still have a hard time believing it even though I got a cup of the delicious concoction.

  Afterwards, we walked to the courthouse and I gave my report. My dad said we had done a good job and would get to accompany a larger crew to open the bunker tomorrow. I don’t think I embellished too much; I’m not sure what makes walking around a locked mansion and kicking at a couple of guard dog skeletons a good job, but I’ll take any praise I can get. Of course, you can't underestimate the value of recon. As I walked out of the office behind The Oracle, my dad stopped me and whispered, "By the way, why is Smokes licking his SHIRT?

  Mo Journal Entry 18

  THE NEXT MORNING we geared up and were en route to the Gainesworth property. Our two strongest comrades, The Expert and Daniel The Builder got on the boat with The Oracle and me. Scratch that, Bradley’s got them both beat in the weightlifting department, but neither the property nor the bunker were exactly ADA compliant, otherwise, he’d have been on the team. He’s probably busy teaching a bunch of cheerleaders yoga on the beach. The bastard.

  Anyway, we figured if we found vaults full of gold down there, we would need a couple of muscular backs to carry some of it out. Smokes and I would be there for moral support.

  We sailed and landed on the beach, then single filed it up the hill to stand near the door to the bunker. I noticed the Oracle was lagging behind to stare into that little over-water hangar housing the airplane. I made a mental note to ask him more about that later. The Expert was confident there would be no gold stored in the house and the bunker had to be the sweet spot. We therefore completely ignored the house as she attached explosives to the thick door. The bang was even less exciting than the explosion of the canal. There was nothing more than a couple of pops, proving again that my life is the opposite of action-packed. The hinges blew off, which was kind of cool, and we were set to go in.

  Hammer slithered in first, weapon drawn, checking corners and doorways. We followed a hallway that slanted downhill and took three rights, I’m not sure how the hell she had any clue where we were going. Maybe fallout shelters were like Jim Walter homes; all followed the same basic layout. Perhaps my dad had found a map of this vault at the courthouse or something, but if I was in the lead we would be spending hours trying to find the fucking exit door from here. It’s a good thing I took a piss before we started this quest. Otherwise, I’d be running and my eyes would be watering before I found the exit.

  We came to another locked and closed metal door, one of those with the giant wheel that you would need a stethoscope to crack open. I took a step back, expecting her to use a bunch of high explosive grenades on the thing or something, but she put her ear against it, knocked a few times, placed a couple of strips of that sticky explosives stuff near where the hinges would be, and stepped away.

  This movie, I realize, is mostly like my life…nothing big happens. At least there should be more extravagant explosions, billions of rounds fired in automatic glee, or even a real love story. Well, I apologize for that. I could write some of that stuff in, but I’m trying to stick to the way things have happened. And give me a break; I’m working on the love story…sue me for being less of a ladies man than Steve Urkel. Hang on, Urkel did get the girl, after several seasons and a personality altering machine, so I guess there is hope for me. Maybe I will survive long enough to write a few more journals and get laid. Anyway, there is actually an exciting part coming up…so keep reading.

  The Expert continued to hug every corner and sneak around like James Bond. The rest of us were not really worried about naked, screaming lunatics attacking us underground; they couldn’t have gotten past those locks. We adopted a more casual stance and did not pretend this was Splinter Cell. The Expert rolled to cover on the opposite side of the hallway as we rounded a corner into a large room, dimly lit by some kind of lantern, maybe candles. She was playing out her own adventure; I couldn’t fault her for that. Suddenly, The Oracle tugged at my sleeve, pulling me one step behind Daniel.

  We were assaulted by a single gunshot. The bullet cracking through the dead silence in the enclosed space momentarily deafened me. I don’t know if the missile was aimed at me, but it passed from my left to right in what had to be mere inches from the front of my skull, straight into Daniel’s cranium. I discovered later that the bullet came from an M-14. Our stocky friend had no chance when the projectile struck him. His head exploded like a piñata being shot by a tank, just as I had expected Mr. Scislaw’s too, he was the pharmacist in my first journal that I shot in the head at close range to keep him from becoming a blue nudist. Maybe the shooter was using soft points or explosive tips. But a ballistic tipped round should have passed through and hit The Oracle. Remember the Gallagher shows when he took a mallet to a watermelon? It sprayed red goo all over the front three rows of the audience…hell, those seats came prepared with plastic sheets. I don’t even remember why that was funny, but after seeing what the bullet did to Daniel’s head, it will never be funny again. The similarity between an exploding skull and an exploding melon was shocking.

  Being at least a head taller than the carpenter, Smokes received gray matter, blood, and bone fragments down the front of his shirt. His face made it clear that he wasn’t sure if he preferred that or a bullet. In the horrified second after the greeting round, we all ducked behind cover and Smokes fell back behind the corner and slid down the wall to the floor. I didn’t even bother bringing up a weapon. I began to scan the direction from which the bullet had come and wasn’t surprised that The Expert already had a lock on our enemy.

  I heard her shout from across the expanse. “Shooter! Twelve o’clock.”

  “You damn revenuers ain’t gonna steal my gold!” was exclaimed from farther inside the vault.

  I consider what we do “scavenging,” not “stealing.” I sleep better at night knowing I only take things from dead people to keep living people going. The stuff would otherwise never be used by anyone else. Taking abandoned goods doesn’t really feel like committing a crime. This, however, turned out to be different. What we assumed was abandoned ended up costing us a valuable character in a gun fight. This would be a good time to elaborate on greed and gold and all that shit, but I guess if you’ve survived you’re probably already shaking your head at this whole thing.

  I dropped down to a kneeling position. My glance encompassed the decapitated body of Daniel and settled on the gore covered and sad Oracle. I was a bit taken aback when I couldn’t see that all-knowing gleam in his eye; it was obvious he was completely unsure what to do. He had saved me so he knew it was going to happen, but maybe he just gets a signal to act and does. That would explain his anger at me for touching that preacher; who could have predicted a move that stupid? Then again, maybe blood just creeps him out.

  I looked at my large friend with worry. “Did you get hit?”

  He held his bloody shirt away from his body. “Shit naw, cracka. Mufucka got shit on my duds, yo!”

  It was clear he was in shock. I turned and shouted, “Hammer! We’ve got two down back here!”

  Smokes was staring at his dripping shirt. Daniel’s headless corpse lay in a growing pool of blood. By “down” I didn’t mean that they were both dead, just that neither would be able to back her up if needed. I really didn’t know how to convey that one of our compatriots was simply out of commission. I’d clearly said the wrong thing and she let me know it later with her one, menacing stink eye.

  “You may have used your biological warfare on my wife and kids, but I…” I still had no idea where this guy was. The Expert ended his tirade with four rounds from her rifle. Now w
e were thieves and murderers. How else could you see it? We broke in looking for this guy’s gold, and shot him dead while he defended it.

  Hammer dashed from cover to cover, making her way to the shooter’s location. I realized for the first time that the cover we had been using and what she was now rolling between were giant pallets of gold bars. She stood and signaled from the other side of the large room for me to move up. I really did feel like I had uncovered Goldfinger’s secret lair with 007 by my side. I had never seen this much gold. We were standing behind a pillbox constructed of gold bars. She gestured to the floor where lay a middle-aged man with four red holes around the neck of his blue suit.

  What the fuck? Was this really crazy hoarder our new Villain? I figured he would have a little bit more screen-time and at least one memorable line. I didn’t even see the dude before he was shot! I suppose that makes Daniel another incarnation of The Sacrifice; but it seemed like a fucking useless death. Motherfucker. If this is what it means to have a more exciting life, give me a fishing pole right now.

  According to the driver’s license in his pocket, this was Gill Gainesworth, crazy old bastard and dutiful representative. I didn’t live in his district before the fall, so I didn’t know him personally, but I’d always heard good things about him as a senator. Even so, I had to make sure none of his fingers were gold plated. It’s a shame that we had to kill an elected official that might could’ve been useful on the island. Who knows? He might have filled the role of despot; become The Dictator. Yeah, never mind.

  Smokes walked into the pillbox with brains dripping down the front of his shirt and stared wide-eyed at something behind us. I turned to see what he was fixated on. “Dis shit tolly worth it!” I followed his loving gaze to the wall behind the gold bars; it was lined floor to ceiling with boxes of Little Debbie cakes.

  ☠☠☠

  Our precious metal carrying ability had been greatly reduced with the loss of Daniel. The Oracle’s need to fill his arms with Zebra Cakes didn’t help, either. Even after Hammer and I readied the body of our friend for travel and our snack cake aficionado had emptied his giant pockets, the boat would only carry a small amount of gold anyway. I tried focusing on how I would tell my dad about the ridiculous sum of gold and not dwell on the fact that we had killed a senator…or the terrible task of telling Georgia and Hunter what happened to Daniel. That was going to suck.