'Til Death Do Us Part

by Mark Tufo

  “Let’s go, Rocky, get your ass back here!” Ron was motioning for him. “If he starts shadow boxing while he’s running, I’m going to kill him.”

  BT was beside Travis, they were keeping the zombies to Gary’s left from approaching any closer, but it was Tony’s sniper rifle shooting that was keeping the ones that had gotten up behind him from being able to drag him down.

  Cindy held the gate open for him as he ran through. She quickly closed it and latched it, heading back up to the deck as the first of the zombies crashed into it. Gary gave the zombies the finger, sang one more stanza and headed upstairs. “Risin’ up to the challenge of our rival, and the last known survivor…”

  “Are you nuts?” Ron yelled at his younger brother. “You did good.” He gave Gary a hug. “Don’t do it again.”

  Gary saw a trail of dead zombies where he had been. “Yeah, that’s probably safe to say.”

  “It doesn’t sound like they’re coming any closer,” Tracy said.

  “Looks like they’re just dropping their payload,” Ron said, looking as zombies were coming by the score.

  Nicole came up to Ron’s side. “MJ wants to know if he should throw the switch.”

  “Now would be as good a time as any.” Ron was still trying to bring his beating heart down to a manageable rate and not having much success.

  The six-foot high chain link fence was swaying as more zombies walked into the impediment, the extra braces on the poles and the chain link section themselves would not be yielding anytime soon.

  Perimeter lights flooded on just as the zombies touching the gate and fence stood bolt upright, a decent current running through their frames, enough to kill a man or at the very least incapacitate him. The zombies’ muscles were locked in place, and still more came pressing up against their stock still brethren only to join them in their rigidity.

  “Is it killing them?” Tracy asked, hoping that was the case.

  Ron grabbed his binoculars. “I can’t tell for sure. Travis, can you go down and tell MJ to turn the fence off for a minute, then back on? Thanks,” he added as Travis went by.

  The first few zombies that had been the unfortunate first test zombies fell to the ground as the current let their muscles loose. More moved in to take their spot, but there were not yet enough that they blocked out the zombies on the ground as they stood and fought for access to the fence.

  “Well that answers that question,” Ron said more to himself. He walked inside and yelled down the stairs. “Turn the fence back on.” Travis was already on his way back up and heading for the outside deck.

  “Time to make them pay for their trespassing,” Tony said as he sent a bullet through the forehead of the nearest zombie. A plume shot out the back of its skull. Travis, Gary, and BT joined in the shooting.

  “Take your time,” Tony told them. “One shot, at least one kill with them packing this closely. Bullets are going to get precious by the time this is all over.”

  The first quandary surfaced about twenty minutes into the firefight. The dead zombies up against the fence hadn’t seen fit to fall away so that it would be easier targeting in on those behind.

  Mad Jack had just come up from the basement to see how his handiwork was holding up.

  “Going to need you to go back downstairs and turn it off,” Ron told him.

  Mad Jack’s face fell. His face, which had a moment before been beaming, was now dejected.

  “It works fine, MJ,” Ron said, picking up on the man’s feelings. “Probably too well. We can’t get the extra dead ones off the fence. Listen, shut it off for about a solid minute, keep it on for ten and just keep repeating the cycle while the zombies change out.”

  Mad Jack had an extra swagger in his step as he headed back down.

  Mrs. Deneaux was sitting on a lounger looking up at the sky as she enjoyed one of her cigarettes.

  “You getting in on this?” Ron asked, preparing his rifle.

  “When it counts I suppose I will,” she said after exhaling.

  Zombies still flowed. The fence which encased the entire grounds was now at least ten deep at the minimum; the only thing keeping them from going deeper where the trees. The accumulated weight—no matter how strong the supports—was beginning to fold the structure in on itself. They had to keep revolving weapons out as they got too hot to shoot without damaging the barrels and still it would not be enough.

  “Truck coming!” Gary shouted over the blasts.

  “Want me to take out the driver?” Travis asked. “I’ve got a clear shot.”

  “Let him come,” Tony said. “He’ll fill in the hole nicely.” And then I’ll kill him when he tries to run, Tony thought, trying to protect his grandson from the distaste of killing a man that would linger with him through his entire life like a rotten piece of food that would come back up for a second taste from time to time.

  The truck started slowly down the dense, tree-lined path, then began to pick up speed. Tony thought that someone had surely drawn the short end of the stick as they barreled towards the fence line and ultimately the house. The trailer had been removed, giving the truck the ability to be more maneuverable and move faster. Tony could not see the driver as he sighted in. The straw had been short, but not short enough that they didn’t try to protect that driver. He was hidden behind what looked like a piece of steel.

  “Might as well have some fun,” Tony said aloud as he pulled the trigger on his favorite weapon: a Remington 30-30, bolt-action hunting rifle with a Leupold 8-times scope. The bullet smashed easily through the safety glass of the windshield and hit the steel. The resulting gong could be heard over the roar of the engine. The truck swerved momentarily, nearly clipping a tree as the driver placed his hands over his ears. The steel was still vibrating when the front end of the truck began to dip down. The unsupported ‘bridge’ dropped out from under the truck, the front end smashing into the far side of the earthen embankment. The metal screeched as it took on its new form. Plastic and glass smashed, and once the truck engine seized, they could hear the driver moaning.

  “Al, you alright?” someone yelled out from around a small curve in the road safely tucked away from any defender shots.

  “My head, Kong, I’m bleeding…smashed myself on the plating. Get me out of here, man!” Al yelled frantically. He didn’t want to tell Kong that he had also broken his vial; the man would probably leave him where he was.

  “Go hook up some tow cables to the back end of the truck,” Kong told the nearest driver. He though his name might be Scribner or Scrivener, he didn’t really care.

  “Why me, man?” the guy asked.

  “Because I said. Get someone to cover your ass if you need to,” Kong said

  “Let’s just leave the damn truck there. It ain’t bothering anyone,” Scribner replied.

  “It’s bothering me and fucking bad!” Kong yelled. “I want the damn thing removed so we can throw something over that hole and drive in if we want to. Plus, I sort of owe Al one. And if you don’t, I’ll kill you…enough reason?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Scribner walked back up the road to the staging area, which was basically just a road with trucks parked up and down the length of it. He got a tow line from his rig and grabbed two men sitting on their fender. They were the only ones with rifles on and if he was going to get cover, he at least wanted men that were armed.

  “What’s going on?” the taller of the two asked. His name was Burkes, he had a moustache that made him look somewhat like a cowboy and he may have been able to pull it off, but instead of cowboy hat, he insisted on a golf visor, and instead of the signature leather boots, he wore Keds.

  “The truck they sent in to bust down the fence got stuck and...” For a moment he thought about lying and telling the man that Kong had told him to get a man to hook it up, but Kong was still standing at the curve and would never let him get away with it. “...I have to hook this up to the rear end of it so we can pull it out.” He held the hook up.

  �
��I’m not going near that house,” the shorter man replied. His name was Dobbs; he looked like a cross between an accountant and a construction worker. Small spectacles did little to re-shape his square head and jaw. Powerful arms were sheathed in a button-up shirt. Add to that the fact that he was wearing khakis and Hush Puppies, it seemed he was having great difficulty defining his cliché. “You hear all those shots? Sounds like a war up there.”

  “It is a war, dip wad,” Scribner said. “And do you know what happens to soldiers that disobey orders?”

  Dobbs’ eyes widened. He hadn’t really thought of it that way until just now. He checked his weapon.

  “Three men heading towards the back of the truck, Pops,” Travis told his grandfather. The three men approaching the truck were bent over so far, they looked like the trio were all vying for the part of Quasimodo in The Bells of Notre Dame at the local dinner theater.

  “Do they think nobody can see them?” Mrs. Deneaux asked, finally getting up from her chair.

  “Looks like they’re going to try and pull the truck out,” Ron said, clenching something tightly in his left hand.

  “Did the hook one of them is carrying give it away?” Deneaux asked.

  “Ron?” Tony asked his oldest son.

  Ron knew what he had to do, but theory was always easier than practice.

  “Ron, once he lays that hook on, they’re gone,” Tony stated looking through his scope.

  Ron was a devout anarchist…that was why his next words seemed to take on more meaning. “God forgive me,” he said as he pressed down on the detonator. For the briefest of moments nothing happened, and Ron was relieved. Then the earth exploded, or at least that was what it looked like as two strategically placed Claymore mines went off—one on each side of the disabled truck. Ball bearings shredded the three men like a fork pulled along a slow roasted pork loin. Meat, bones, and blood…lots and lots of blood coated the trees on either side of the roadway.

  The man still in the truck opened his door and fell to the ground, the sound and possibly some shrapnel injuring him further. He began to crawl back towards the truckers’ encampment. Tony severed his spine, killing him instantly.

  “It’s good to see at least one Talbot not all wrapped up in morality,” Mrs. Deneaux said as she turned to get back on her chair.

  Tony let his head drop a bit, he had not wanted to kill the man, he had to.

  “Well, they’ll think twice before they come that route,” Mrs. Deneaux said smiling, lighting another cigarette.

  “Wish we had more of those,” Ron said, putting the detonator down on a small table, absently wiping his hand on his shirt as if he could wipe off the death his thumb had just delivered.

  “It’s alright, son,” Tony said. “Mrs. Deneaux is right. No one is going to come up that way.”

  ***

  Eliza’s head whipped around as the explosion tore through her men. “Kong,” she said to the truck driver’s leader.

  “I’ll find out,” he told her.

  “Seems the rest of the Talbot clan has just as many surprises as Michael,” Tomas said smiling.

  “Do not start!” she said, pointing her finger at her brother.

  Kong came back a moment later. “We have a truck stuck in the only approach a vehicle can make. They had it booby-trapped so when three of my men went up to hook up a tow cable it went off. They were killed instantly…plus the original driver.”

  “Have my zombies made progress?” Eliza asked.

  “Their fence is holding so far. Doesn’t make much sense, it’s only a chain link fence and it has extra supports, but still with as much push as the zombies should be giving it. It should have buckled by now. And what makes it weirder is the zombies up towards the front are not really doing anything, they just kind of stand there,” Kong finished.

  Tomas had an idea of what might be going on. His sister looked completely befuddled and he decided to not tell her.

  “We can make it more difficult on these people,” Kong stated.

  “I’m listening,” Eliza told him.

  “We can station men in the woods and shoot back. Maybe we kill some of them…at the very least we can keep them off that wraparound deck. We have more options if they’re not cutting down your zombies at the rate they are now. And a few of the driver’s are prior military, we could probably assemble some sort of strike team when they’re all huddled inside.”

  “I would like at least some of them taken alive,” Eliza intoned.

  “Of course,” Kong said, leaving to get some planning done.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Mike Journal Entry 13

  According to the mile markers, we had walked ten miles and where getting pretty close to the 495 and 95 interchange. Our traveling was getting slower and slower; Azile was having great difficulty walking under such a heavy load. Every time she lagged behind, I would take more equipment from her even as she protested that she needed to do her part. By the time we hit ten miles, the only thing left to carry would have been her.

  “Someone’s coming,” Azile said as she stood back up. She had been sitting by the side of the road with her shoes off tenderly rubbing around her sore spots. “Hide?” she asked me when she realized I wasn’t moving.

  Normally that would have been standard operating procedure, but we hadn’t encountered so much as a scooter. We were traveling at a whopping ten miles per half day, and at this rate, we’d get to Maine and it’d be winter and I had no desire to revisit sled travel. “Hold still, but get ready to move.”

  “That’s your plan?”

  “Better than most,” I told her. My heart thudded a little heavier when I saw that big rig crest over the top of a small rise.

  “It’s a truck, Mike,” Azile said, looking over towards the trees.

  “Hold steady,” I told her, the trucker had already seen us. He flashed his lights, if we bolted now it would look mighty suspicious, although ‘suspected’ is better than dead. Now I was looking over at the tree line.

  The truck was slowing as it approached. It stopped about twenty feet away. “That rig back there yours?” he shouted, sticking his head out from the window.

  “Hers!” I pointed to Azile. She did not look pleased that I had singled her out.

  “Run into a bit of trouble?” the trucker asked.

  “Flat tire,” I told him.

  “Is that right?” he asked back.

  “We’re running late for an appointment, is there any chance you could help us out?” Azile asked.

  The driver switched his gaze from me to Azile, but keeping me in his periphery due to all the weaponry I was carrying. “That’s funny ‘cause I’m a little late, too…had some truck trouble and had to stop and get a quick fix on.”

  What were the odds? I thought. I was going to give it a shot. “Listen, we need to get to a particular thing in Maine, or we’re going to be in a world of hurt.”

  I watched as recognition lit the man’s face up. “Well fancy that, I have an engagement in Maine also. I just need to make sure we’re playing for the same team, you can never be too careful.”

  “Never too careful,” I reiterated when I saw the barrel of his rifle resting on his dashboard.

  “We had a shipment of guns and food,” Azile said. “Kong gave us directions to a place in Maine where we were supposed to deliver them. If I don’t at least show up and tell him what happened he’ll think I stole the stuff.”

  The man’s face softened when he heard Kong’s name. “Kong isn’t the most forgiving man, are you sure you don’t want to just start walking the other way?” The driver asked.

  “I’m his niece,” Azile said, “he might be mad but he’ll understand.”

  “What about him?” the driver asked.

  “He’s my porter.”

  “Funny,” I said under my breath.

  “Come on, you both can tell me what happened when you get up here,” the driver said as he reached over and opened his passenger door.
/>   A large orange tabby was staring me straight in the face as I went to climb into the rig.

  “Oh, don’t mind him, I picked him up back in North Carolina. He was just wandering around. He climbed up into the truck and now he’s convinced he owns the place,” the driver said, smiling as he reached under and picked the cat up.

  The cat hissed violently as he did so, but it was looking squarely at me. The cat remembered me. Good, I thought, he’ll know why I’m cutting off its air flow when I get the chance.

  “Take a little longer,” Azile said as she brushed past.

  “Can we put some of the rifles in the back?” I asked the driver.

  He looked at me strangely. “You may have been carrying food and weapons, not me.”

  Then I realized it, his trailer was jammed full of zombies. “Yeah, I’ll just hold on to them,” I told him as I handed the weapons up to Azile, truly hoping that one would accidently discharge and take out the damn cat.

  “My name is Jake Fitzgerald, most folks just call me Fritz,” he said, extending his hand.

  I nearly froze, remembering the last person I’d known with the same moniker. I recovered smoothly enough, I hoped. I wasn’t an actor. “Mike, Mike Tal...isman.” I was figuratively fist-palming my forehead. I had nearly given the man my true name.

  I could see Azile’s slight head shake as she realized what I had nearly done. Fritz hadn’t seemed to catch my error as he was getting the truck rolling. “Nice to meet you, Mike, it’ll be great to have some company. What happened to your rig?” Fritz asked, looking into the back where the sleeper was.

  “Someone was shooting at us, must have hit a fuel line. They took off once we started returning fire,” Azile replied, trying to be as least descriptive as possible.

  “Man, looks more like a bomb went off,” Fritzy laughed.

  “You’d think,” I half laughed, keeping an eye on him to see if he was fishing or not. He didn’t seem to be.

  “Have you tried this little vial thing out yet?” he asked as he pulled a small bottle wrapped in an ornate piece of silver jewelry out to show us.