'Til Death Do Us Part

by Mark Tufo

  I could go into gory detail about how much stomach butter was churned in that cab but I’ll spare you the details. The truck at times slid sideways as we road over the crest of carnage, parts on occasion would be thrust out or particularly large blasts of air would pop as a vital organ was compressed past its limit much like those protective bubbles used for mail.

  Zombies milled around Ron’s house, unsure what to do now that they were not being directed or there wasn’t a food supply available but that changed quickly when they saw us coming. I had Azile pull up to the wreckage of the first truck that had tried to make it in to the compound.

  “Well shit…was kind of hoping they’d be gone. Let’s play Piper again, then I know a back way we’ll have to hoof it in by,” I told everyone. They weren’t listening much because I had just told them we were going to have to drive back over the horrid highway.

  “You kind of suck, man,” BT told me.

  “Kind of?” Azile asked.

  This time she only went about ten miles out. We got maybe another hundred or so of the slimy bastards to follow before we turned back around. I needed to get home, my stomach was cramping with worry, I had seen no signs of life from the house and I had seen some significant damage too. Everything could be fine and they were all hunkering down comfortably in Ron’s prep shelter or...this was an apocalypse and I had to think of all possibilities.

  Where I had Azile pull over was a two mile drive on roadways or about three quarters of a mile by crow flight. And that was about the only way someone should do this trek, was by air. There was a small field on this side but as we progressed onto Ron’s land the foliage would become so thick that to get a sight line of more than five feet would be a rare occurrence, and we were now only armed with sharp pointy objects at the moment.

  The field was covered in a low lying fog, of course it was, how else would it be. At least it was penetrable, that was of course until we entered the brush which seemed to grasp onto the ethereal mist like a lover to the blankets on a cold night. The five hoped for feet of range was halved, if anything came at us now we wouldn’t have enough time to act surprised. We tried to keep our noise level to a minimum; mostly muttering as clothes were caught or thorns pushed through to rake against skin. The fog dampened noise and we stopped repeatedly to get our bearing and listen to anything else that might be in there with us.

  More than once we heard things crashing through the trees, luckily heading away. The only zombie we stumbled across was one that had been run over through its midsection, its middle had been compressed to no thicker than a ream of paper and its spine must have been completely destroyed because it was bent over at the waist it’s head dangling down uselessly by its knees. I felt a tremor of remorse as I cut through the zombie woman’s neck that was at least until her pale blue eyes looked up from the ground at me with an accusatory glare. I pushed the sword into her mouth and flung the head away, that was not a sight that needed to infiltrate anyone else’s dreams.

  Ron’s house was a mess. Smoke was issuing forth from his basement, not enough for me to think it was on fire, more like a swirling of dust settling after an explosion. I swear I could hear Tracy’s heart pounding in unison to my own. Zombies were still around, but we had not been noticed as of yet. We moved further down the tree line so that we could see into the basement. That was not going to be a way of egress. I could see multiple bodies of dead bulkers, some wooden beams and nothing more, it was effectively sealed from outside intrusion. That left the deck which, at ten feet, wasn’t insurmountable; but we still had to all get up it before the speeders noticed us and tried to eat us. That also involved getting to the other side of the house because the decking on this side was pretty much destroyed. I did not think that we would be able to cross over the cleared expanse without being seen.

  “Okay I’ve got an idea,” I said.

  BT and Tracy groaned in unison.

  “Mike, I need to see my babies,” Tracy pleaded.

  “I’m going to get on the deck.” I started. “I’ll get the zombies that are still here to follow me, then you guys just come up the other side of the house.”

  “That’s not half bad,” BT said, nodding his head.

  “You going to be able to climb, big man?” I asked him, looking at his sling.

  “More pain than damage, probably only a sprain,” BT answered.

  “No time for bravado, my friend. If you can’t climb, we’ll do something else, because nobody is going to be able to lift your ass that high,” I told him.

  I looked at him for a few moments, trying to see how good my ‘bullshit detector’ was calibrated. I didn’t detect any deception. “Fine, Tommy, can you control the zombies?”

  “No, I lost a lot with my sister’s death. And there’s more that I need to tell you,” he replied.

  “Can it wait?” I asked.

  “It can, but not for long.”

  That sounded much more ominous than I was ready for. “Alright, give me a few minutes, I’m going to try to find a gun and make as much noise as possible to pull them my way. When you have an opening, go for it, because I’m sure any zombies that are in the woods will come back. I would imagine we’ll be under siege again.

  “Will it ever stop, Mike?” Tracy asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “One minute at a time, my love, one minute at a time.” I kissed her forehead, went about another twenty feet down the tree line in case there were any eagle-eyed zombies that saw my point of origin and my group. I made it to the fence before I was spotted. Fuck they were fast. I nearly lost my footing as I jumped over the nearly filled-in trench. The zombies were closing in fast, I was down to milliseconds with whether to stand and fight or drop the weapons and jump. If I miscalculated and slipped, it would be over before I hit the ground. Breath was coming out of me in great plumes as I fought for more speed, I felt a zombie’s hand brush up against me as I launched forward and up, my right hand wrapped around a banister. I semi-missed with my left hand, ripping the fingernail of my middle finger clean off; the pain was significant but not a hindrance, not at that moment anyway. I’d had the good fortune to be alive for over four decades without ever losing a fingernail, now I’d lost two in less than a week, life is funny like that. I was just praying it didn’t come in threes. I quickly pulled my legs up and onto the lip of the deck. Zombies began to pool under me. I had the strange urge to piss on their heads. Hey! I said it was strange, don’t judge me.

  I felt much better as I climbed over the railing and onto the relative safety of the structure. I entered the house quickly and quietly not sure what to expect. The house was as quiet as the woods had been, but this was worse because there should have been sound.

  “Hello?” I asked expectantly. I felt mighty exposed at that moment with nothing in my hands. I approached the darkened kitchen and grabbed the first thing I came into contact with, a large cast iron frying pan, I felt like I was in the UK, no firearms and all. I grabbed a small pot when I realized that noting was up here with me, I would search for everyone else when I was sure, that Tracy, BT, Azile, and Tommy were safe.

  I went out onto the deck and raised my pan laden hand high to the area in the trees where they were. I wanted to let them know I was alright, then I went to the far side of the house and banged the living shit out of them.

  “Dinner assholes!” I shouted, oh and they came, in droves. My plan was working a little better than I had intended. I moved further back down the deck away from Tracy’s approach.

  I was torn between keeping the zombies attention on me, checking on Tracy’s progress, and finding out the fate of the rest of my family. And still I banged pots over my head like a fucking loon. Then the real fun began as shots rang out. I tossed the pan and pot at the zombies and ducked back into the house (Nancy would later yell at me for tossing her cookware), and back out the French doors on the other side.

  Ron, Gary, Travis, and Justin were giving cover fire for their running mother or sister-in-law as the
case may be.

  “Mom needs longer legs,” Travis said as he chambered another round.

  “Here!” Ron said, tossing me a Mossberg.

  “How?” I asked.

  “Closed-circuit TV. Shut up and start shooting,” he said.

  Tommy was following behind, the zombies had closed in behind him and unlike me he swung his swords like a ninja, a deadly assassin ninja. The death he was dealing was artistic in its fury and form. Our job on the deck was to keep the zombies from the sides and the front; our shots were getting closer and closer to Azile, Tracy, and BT. Soon we would be firing on their position.

  “They’re not going to make it,” Ron said as he feverishly shoved new rounds in his magazine.

  “Trav, trade me!” I yelled to him. He was putting a new magazine in the Armalite MP-4. There was no hesitation as he handed me the thirty round assault rifle for the five rounds of slugs the shotgun held. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I said—or maybe thought—as I jumped down off the deck.

  They were twenty feet away as I started to fire. I advanced a step or two, firing repeatedly.

  “Dad!” Travis yelled. “Magazine!” he yelled down as I heard it thud behind me. I silently thanked him as I continued to mow the zombies down trying to give my loved ones some running room. It was working but partly due to the fact that I was now on the menu and they were coming my way.

  “…twenty-nine, thirty,” I said as my breech stayed open, I quickly ejected the spent magazine and twirled to find the new one. I banged it against my leg to lose any dirty, and once I pulled and released the charging handle I was back in business. Good thing, too, because they were close enough to read the serial number on the barrel.

  “Ron…gonna need some help!” I yelled as I started to back up. Getting onto the deck was not going to happen; we were going to be underneath it soon.

  “Far side of the house! There’s a barred window I can open up to get you in!” he shouted.

  I quickly motioned for Tracy to come under the deck and towards the house. She looked longingly at the safety above her and ran to the house like it was a safe zone in a particularly rough game of Tag. Azile was next and a fighting retreating BT pulled up next to her. Tommy was still a one man Cuisinart but his setting was rapidly going from puree to chop.

  “Around the house!” I shouted loudly, punctuating my words with rifle fire. I had lost count of my rounds, but I was at least halfway through my magazine and we now had no further support from above.

  We were a moving bubble of death. Tommy was now to our side, holding the horde at bay. The swords looked like they were getting heavier by the second as his neck severing swipes were now becoming belly gutting strokes and soon would become soprano makers if you catch my meaning. BT was pushing ahead in front, hacking zombies as if they were wheat and he was a harvester. I was selectively shooting zombies as I brought up the rear. Occasionally, a glint of metal would fly by my face as Tracy felt the need to hack at a zombie.

  “I like my nose where it is, woman,” I told her.

  Then my backpedaling feet walked into her. I stole a quick glance up ahead. We were stalled.

  “BT?” I yelled.

  “Stuck, man.”

  I heard splintering wood over my head. Travis and Justin were ripping up floorboards.

  “Dad, you need ammo?” Justin asked.

  “Like a fat kid needs a Twinkie. Tommy…need a little cover while I get this.”

  Tommy started to hack by my side along with the ever dangerous thrusts of Tracy. There was a good chance I was going to come out of this battle a eunuch.

  Justin was reaching down to me while Travis kept ripping boards up with a crowbar. He got about three up when the barrel of his rifle came through.

  Fuck yeah! I thought as he started blasting zombies to our front.

  With a renewed vigor, I heard BT’s war cry, zombies fell as his adrenaline surged. I drained the remainder of my magazine, giving us a little breathing room, although breathing was not on the top of favorite list right now, not with the smell that accompanied it anyway. Tommy focused his energy back to our side, as I replaced my magazine and began to fire.

  “I’ll have another one ready soon dad.” Justin said as he was shoving 5.56 rounds into a fresh magazine.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we didn’t have another minute. If we didn’t get into the house soon, we were done for.

  We were again moving but slowly, the zombies were paying in buckets of blood for the precious inches we were gaining. I was on my twelfth round when massive rifle fire came from our front.

  I couldn’t see what was going on, but it was fast enough that I thought it was automatic gunfire. If Ron was holding out, I was going to be pissed, that was provided we made it.

  “BT?” I screamed over the din.

  “Gatling gun I think!” he yelled.

  “Are you shitting me?” I asked softly. Now it was worth living just to see what the hell he was talking about.

  The zombies were human once and they could not sustain the damage we were inflicting, Travis turned his attention to our backs as we passed his position above.

  “You’re uncle is going to be pissed when he sees this damage,” I said as I went underneath him.

  “I’ll deal with that later.” He smiled with a strain.

  The Gatling gunfire stopped ahead as I imagined Ron was heading back into the basement. BT moved to the side as Azile and Tracy entered through the oversized window. Gary was holding the bars up.

  “Go, man.” I tapped BT.

  “Go, Tommy!” I yelled.

  I fired off the remainder of my rounds and ducked in. Gary let the bars clang down and locked them in place with first a pin and then a lock that I figure was first developed to hold an elephant in place.

  Gary hugged me.

  “Good to see you, man! Where’s the Gatling gun?” I asked.

  Ron was heading into the recesses of the basement.

  “Whatcha got there, brother?” I called out.

  “Nothing for you!” he said back.

  I caught up to him, it was a thing of beauty—eight gun barrels shone brightly.

  “It’s a .22 caliber Gatling gun reproduction,” he said defensively.

  “You should have told me,” I said, trying to place my hand on it.

  “Mike, it cost me ten grand there’s no fucking way I was going to tell you about it.”

  I was sort of hurt, but I wouldn’t have told me about it either. “Is this what was in your trap door in your closet?” I asked, putting it all together. This was why he was so adamant about not letting me see it. I had wrongly figured it was porn, although this thing had me drooling as if it were.

  Then Ron’s next words doubled me over. “Dad didn’t make it, Mike.”

  I staggered a step or two back, Tracy was there for support. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried like a five-year-old. I cried for the loss of my dad, my mom, my brother, my niece, Jed, Jen, Alex, Paul, Erin, Brian and at least a dozen other good souls we had lost along the way.

  I stayed for a long time in that darkened basement, when Ron had told me how our father had died. I wanted to be as close to his final earthly spot as was possible. The battle raged on above me, but now it was more of a fish in the barrel scenario. We had position, ammo and security, I wasn’t needed upstairs.

  It would be another three days before the horde dwindled down to an unlucky few. I had joined in the fray if only to vent my misguided revenge. I wished desperately that they gave a shit for what they did. I had switched out my MP-4 for a Mosin-Nagant Russian WWII sniper rifle, a bit of overkill when the 7.62 by 4.42 round struck home. I watched each individual I hit as the back of its head blew out in a spray of white, crushed bone and diseased gray matter.

  I drilled five hundred and twenty-six zombies into the ground that day, but whose counting. My fingers ached from jamming that many rounds through the old gun, my anger increased at each one, that they didn’t care, that
they didn’t give a shit when the zombie next to them fell, that their sisters, brothers, fathers and friends were dying all around them. That was what stopped any war—when the killing just became too much, when neither side could stomach the mounting atrocities. The zombies would not stop, they would never stop, not until each and everyone one of them was dead.

  AFTERWORD

  Three days after the death of Eliza, the war at Camp Talbot was over. I could not do much more than shiver as I sat in a rocker, on the part of Ron’s deck that was not on the blood steeped lawn. I watched, as he pushed piles of dead zombies into giant pyres with his tractor. The boys were keeping vigilance over him. Gary rode on the tractor as an added layer of protection.

  “Will this ever get better?” I asked, my teeth chattering even in the seventy-degree heat of the day and two blankets wrapped around my legs.

  “Not anytime soon, Mr. T,” Tommy said as he sat beside me suffering through the same symptoms. “With Eliza, gone we’ve lost a piece of us.”

  I felt like a hard core heroin junkie who had gone cold turkey, my bones dripped in pain, if that makes any sense. I’d already taken a loss I did not figure I could absorb when I had lost my soul, but with the absence of whatever Eliza had filled the void in with, I was adrift in a sea of black. My innards ached as they seemed to move around in the shell that once housed me.

  “It would be better to die,” I told him with vacant eyes, “than to live like this.”

  He may have nodded in reply or it could have been my shivering that gave the illusion of movement on his part.

  ***

  “Can you do anything?” Tracy asked Azile as she looked through the window and out at her husband who was so obviously suffering.

  Azile shook her head, she also was trapped in her own misery.