by Javan Bonds
I know intellectually, though I am still somewhat unable to convince myself, that real zombies are not technically undead re-animates. They are just infected with some sort of doped up rabies. So the fallen were not necessarily dropped by head shots. They had become animals. Though they were not affected by pain like uninfected humans, even ravenous animals could be crippled and bleed out.
Smokes and I had already discussed raiding this pawnshop and he had given me plenty of grief over skipping the last building, so I decided we were getting in this place no matter what. I slowed my pace as it crossed my mind that the bullets lodged in these bodies might have come from inside Bottom Dollar. Thankfully, the parking lot had a few cars in it. I figured a couple of people got smart and decided to arm themselves, but they were a little too late. I was able to keep cars between me and the entrance up to the building face and I felt safe for the moment, although it seemed a little too convenient to me at the same time. There was no glass on the ground; I could see that all of the windows remained intact. I ducked down a couple of yards from the storefront until I was able to stand against the solid wall between the line of windows and the door. It was a good thing I emptied my bladder outside of the restaurant this morning because I still almost pissed myself when I turned to locate Smokes in the parking lot and discovered him less than two feet away from my face. I am not always hyper-attentive to my surroundings, but holy shit—there was not even a damn bird chirping in this city and a freaking elephant had snuck up on me! His Reeboks did not appear to be noiseless ninja moccasins with wings, so I have no idea how he got that close to me, that fast, without me hearing him.
I was able to swallow a yelp while he appeared completely unaware that he had made me almost shit my pants and while trying to regain my composure I chanced a look over the lip of a window. I did not receive a bullet in the head, obviously. The coast was clear. While the pawnshop had apparently received a lot of last-minute business, as most of the gun racks were free of merchandise, I guessed the shopping had remained civil because the ground was not littered with shell casings and as I stated earlier, all of the windows remained intact. It was good to know that Bottom Dollar Pawnshop had not become someone’s, probably the owner’s, private Alamo. I watched through the window a while longer and once satisfied the building was free of hostiles, I stepped over to the door. It was conveniently unlocked, but as I gently pushed it open a bell sounded, causing me to hit the deck, and Smokes nearly fainted as he fell over onto his ass.
I held the prone position for what seemed like an eternity, my hands over my head, my eyes shut tight. Once I felt sure there was no one around to alert, I lifted my head to make sure Smokes had not had a stroke or broken a hip. He seemed intact and was in the process of dusting himself off and regaining his dignity. I cautiously began my search mission beginning with the checkout desk where I was sure I could find ammunition for any of the weapons we bought on a five finger discount. When I was in high school, I stole tobacco a few times from the gas station in my hometown. We all did it. But I have never considered myself a thief and would not normally take things without paying. But now the circumstances were entirely different. And anyway, there wasn’t any one to pay. I felt that the situation justified my thievery; in a way my survival depended on it.
In hindsight, I wished I’d taken a shopping cart from the CVS. I laughed to myself as I pictured my large friend and I masquerading as bums pushing a shopping cart through town, just a couple of homeless people who had raided a National Guard Armory. I also did not think to simply stuff a damn vehicle with firearms and drive back to the fucking boat. I guess I’m kind of new to this looting thing. I was hoping to find long guns with shoulder straps that we could carry back...but then there was all that food we’d grabbed, and who knows what else we might find here? My runaway train of thought was halted as I heard a noise that was all too familiar. I mentioned that I used to dip smokeless tobacco. Well, once you try it, you will always be able to identify the sound of a person spraying a stream of tobacco juice from their mouth. I cannot describe the sound, but I knew instantly what it was and almost swallowed my tongue as the stream contacted my right foot.
“Gotcha.”
In the endless nano seconds between the spit hitting my foot, hearing those two ominous syllables, and looking up to see my executioner, for some fucking reason I had the time to be offended that someone had just spit what I automatically realized was Red Man chewing tobacco on me. The person that was about to blow a hole through my skull was sitting in a tree stand attached to the wall only a few feet above eye level, pointing a mean looking AR-15 at me and wearing camouflage from head to toe. The building was dimly lit and the camouflage made this obvious antagonist difficult to spot, but shit—I still can’t believe I did not notice a figure pointing a gun at me while I was scanning my surroundings. Not that it would have done any good anyway. I wasn’t even near ready to defend myself; I held my bow casually in one hand and was daydreaming about shopping carts. Hell, I deserved to be shot. I just hoped it would be quick and painless.
"Who are you," my soon-to-be killer asked, "where did you come from," the gunner continued, "and what are you doing in my shop?" My murderer pulled the camo turkey mask up to reveal flowing and ridiculously red hair dropping below shoulder length, a pink, camouflage pattern eye patch over her left eye, and a wad of chewing tobacco sticking out of her smiling mouth. "Don’t just stand there peeing your pants. Answer my questions.”
I just looked at her, dumbfounded. My imminent death would be at the hands of a woman that appeared to be about my mother’s age. Though there was no physical resemblance, I could close my eyes and picture her as Kathy Bates, screaming "Towanda" and repeatedly ramming her car into another or warning me about the dangers of "foosball."
"Well? Didn’t you see the ‘closed’ sign? We are closed and you are trespassing," she prodded, emphasizing by jabbing the rifle in my direction. She asked the same question Mr. Scislaw had asked, reminding me of what went down at the pharmacy.
I finally, stupidly, stuttered, "I’m Mo." And now that I think about it, I wished I’d added: "No, ma’am. Sorry; I wasn’t really concerned with the working hours of a store that I thought was abandoned,” but that would have been too smooth.
She must have been surprised that a retarded person could have survived the initial outbreak and said sympathetically, "Well howdy, Mo. I’m Petunia. Now, would you mind telling me what you’re doing here?"
Yes, she really admitted to being named Petunia. Same as Porky fucking Pig’s girlfriend. Her accent was obviously local; it appeared through the camouflage that she was physically fit, at least for her age, and though I’m not one of those weirdoes with a granny fetish, I could tell that she had been pretty hot when she was younger, judging her from the neck up. The AR-15 was pretty hot, anyway.
I started to explain but it was more like rambling. "We were just going to grab what we needed. We had no idea anyone was here or we would have–”
She interrupted. "We?"
I had not even thought to see where my companion was, but he had again magically transported to wherever he wanted to be, which was not right behind me. Motherfucker! Was I going to have to make him take the lead from now on? How the hell did someone that huge manage to completely vanish at will?
I turned from looking over my shoulder at the side-kick space behind me to once again face the crazy woman with the wicked rifle. A mix of terror and confusion crossed my face as I was about to apologize for losing my behemoth of a compatriot. She turned the muzzle of her rifle to the ceiling and fired a single round. As if it could possibly help had the bullet been aimed at me, I dropped my bow which was hanging uselessly at my side and jumped in surprise, holding both hands up in surrender.
The blast also startled Smokes; he stood straight from his crouch between displays and also stuck his hands up. "Jesus lady! That shit loud up in hur!"
I rotated my head to see that he was standing only a few feet from t
he door as if he had not followed me at all and could have probably made it outside with a little more effort. Then I gazed in wonderment at Petunia, who read my mind.
"What? It’s just a ceiling. I don’t think I’ll get charged with firing a gun in the city limits." She gestured to Smokes with her free hand and spoke across the building, "And now the gang’s all here! Come on up here, big boy!"
Petunia cackled as Smokes slowly crept to my side. "So you boys were just dropping by to steal some of my guns?" It was as if she was an adult scolding two unruly children that she’d busted in the middle of being mischievous. I realized that I had to say something before my inconsiderate and sometimes disrespectful friend got us both killed.
"Honestly, ma’am, we didn’t think there was anyone left in town to steal from. We were just going to grab a few guns and some ammo, but if you will let us leave with our lives that would be much appreciated."
I would have been happy as hell to go back to the boat with nothing but ketchup and my worthless bow and she must have known I was thinking of "home" because she asked, "What would you do with the guns if you had them?”
She was angry we were about to steal from the store that she owned (or at least had laid claim to), and I fully believed she was going to shoot us both dead so I didn’t see the damn point in having any sort of conversation. I just wanted her to kill me fucking swiftly so I could be done with this shit. I therefore tried to explain our entire predicament in the shortest way possible. "We were gonna use them to defend the Viva Ancora."
She seemed intrigued, relaxing her grip on the rifle. Viva Ancora? Oh God, I really didn’t want to detail all of this shit to my executioner; she could just read my journal after she blows my head off and commandeers our ship. I almost rolled my eyes at my own stupidity. I still continued talking anyway.
"You see, I work for a foundation that sails replica pirate ships and—"
"Hot dog! I didn’t know the Cora was in town! It’s always fun to get a tour. Why, we used to book up half the ship when the family came down. You still got that crazy Captain Trivia running the ship?”
I didn’t feel like explaining the fact that every member of the crew had basically been glorified volunteer hobos and our only payment for our manual labor was room and board, or that the ship was as abandoned now as the rest of the town. I tried to stick with what was simple. My answers had been pretty clipped and I figured that would have signaled her to just fucking shoot me but she still continued, "Does she still have a working motor?" I cocked my head in confusion as she followed this line.
As she asked the basics, whether the boat was gassed up, if the Captain was aboard, if we had beer, I realized that maybe I had been too pessimistic and might just get out of here without being splattered across the floor. "It would be easier if I could just show you. Would you like that, ma’am?”
She brought both hands together in a quick clap as her rifle dropped to her side on its shoulder strap. "Oh my gosh, that sounds great! I’ve been so bored sitting up in this blind! Going for a sail would be amazing!" she said, then stopped, squinted her one eye and asked, "For free, right?" No fucktard, I thought, I’m going to charge you money since I am offering this while at gunpoint. And what do you mean you’re bored? You haven’t been fighting for survival against insane cannibals? Petunia’s utter bubbliness and seeming acceptance of humanity’s near-extinction irked me, but I had to smile. Here was our “expert"—a gun dealer who took this catastrophe in stride, even seeming a bit jolly over it. Every time I began to question the validity of the zombie prophesy of Marlon Williamson, it became evident that events were indeed following his script. It was entirely too convenient that she so readily agreed to travel to the boat with us. Well, Smokes had predicted that all of our incoming characters would be more than happy to join our band of survivors.
"I’m acting Captain now, and this here’s my first mate, Smokes. We’ll be happy to give you a tour!" I was afraid that I may have seemed too exuberant about continuing to do a shit job even after the End of the World and quickly added, "We’ll just need to take a few guns with us and anything else you think we might need to defend ourselves on our journey home." Either she was extremely lonely or had suffered severe brain damage, because she began listing our needed firearms and corresponding ammunition, doling out the weapons without question. She brought out tactical vests and Kevlar helmets that we now wore as she dumped water purifiers, long-range scopes, night vision goggles, assorted knives and other sundry commando gear in front of us.
As she worked, she filled us in on a little bit of her personal history. She told us that she had joined the military during the Cold War and though women had not been in combat roles, her left eye had been taken by "one of those Soviet pinkos that came at me with a dull bayonet." She was never specific; her unit had been some kind of “black ops special operations Delta force super secret squad” that was part of no official military branch, and she’d captained it. After a few minutes of listening to the disjointed autobiography of this patriotic heroine sprinkled with a lecture on the evils of communism, I realized that even though neither Smokes nor I had taken a step since she had joined our party, Smokes was now outfitted in a tactical vest. I was surprised there was one in existence that was his size. What was really cool was that both of us had been armed to the teeth, and we’d gained a real warrior.
I was about to ask Smokes why he was grinning like a damn clown when he mouthed, "Expert, homeslice.”
Though a bit ditsy, Petunia was not ignorant to the fact there was some kind of infectious armageddon right outside her shop, and she knew the best way to deal with hostiles: kickass firepower. As she continued to hint about her horrendous past and outfit us with gear, I decided that I could not call this woman "Petunia" indefinitely. I am aware that I am a shallow asshole, but my regional heritage trumps my attitude, requiring me to respect my elders, and especially military servicemen and women. I politely cleared my throat to interrupt her and asked, "So what should we call you, ma’am...?"
I wasn’t sure if I should refer to her by her military rank; she picked up my trailing question. "Captain Petunia Sledge," she extended her hand and was giving us the choice to call her by any of the three.
Smokes had to ask, "Sledge? So how’s about we calls you ‘Sledgehammer?’"
The Captain smiled. "That was my daddy’s nickname. Everyone just calls me ‘Hammer.’" I thought I might’ve heard of her father and was about to ask if he was also a veteran as Hammer began an introductory conversation with my comrade. She would be a welcome addition to the group, and it seemed we had come across the only living person I had ever met that could go conversationally toe-to-toe with Smokes. She seemed perfectly capable of keeping him busy most of the time, and he looked pleased to oblige her.
It was obvious there was not much more any of us could carry, even with the large duffel bags Hammer had packed. But when I turned to head towards the exit, I noticed my bow on the ground beside me. Even though I could barely use the damn thing, I didn’t really want to part with it; I was sure it would be useful to someone at some point in the future, so I decided to clip it to the quiver of arrows that still hung over my shoulder. The male portion of our trio was almost out the door when Hammer excused herself to "go potty." I dropped my two bags; I was glad for a moment to think without being over encumbered with firearms and I wanted to bounce a few questions off of my…well, he was really more of a prophet than a sidekick.
That all this was strangely working out just as Smokes had foretold did not escape my notice. A former killing machine had accepted us as instantly trustworthy, offered more weapons than we would ever need, and ultimately agreed to join our little club. There was no way it could be luck. "Can you believe this shit?"
He misunderstood my question and replied, "Hell yeah, homie! I got me a fuckin’ M-16." He slapped the barrel of the AR-15 hanging from his shoulder and I really didn’t want to argue firearm labels; the gun was cool and he was close enough
.
Why had she wanted so much tourist information about the ship? She was obviously familiar with it since she’d called it "The Cora." Why was she willing to give us enough guns to invade a small country within the first fifteen minutes of our acquaintance? I guess we just give off a vibe of being “okay guys” with nothing but good intentions—well, Smokes might give that impression at least. I’ve never felt like people automatically liked me or even assumed that I am a good person—if they did, it seems like I should have a girlfriend.
I turned away from the door; the sunlight illuminated the checkout desk from across the interior. I noticed for the first time that there were several used Mountain Dew bottles that had been emptied of drink and were now at least a quarter of the way full of a dark substance. Apparently, Hammer was a heavy chewer. This woman is more of a man than most men; I thought. Though I had been tobacco free for a few years, I think the occasional cravings for a pinch of sweet cancer will be with me indefinitely. I’ll have to bum some from her. I hope that won’t make my insurance go up again.
I was about to ask Smokes which main character from the list we would happen upon next just as Hammer reappeared from somewhere within the store. She was now carrying a much-too-feminine pink handbag with a large gold bow on the strap. She tossed each of us a small bag of Doritos.
"Dayum, I want me some ‘Tacos at Midnight,’" Smokes smiled. While I was fairly certain that flavor no longer existed, I had to agree with Smokes's sense of taste: those were some pretty good corn chips.
Hammer sauntered towards us and asked excitedly, "So? Where’s the Viva Ancora?"
I mentally rolled my eyes again; where could it be? "The city dock.”