by Mark Tufo
“Told you about that,” Tommy said from the backseat.
Brendon had some choice expletives but kept them to himself. The energy to issue them forth was more than he had right now. His heart was a trip-hammer as he began to fumble with the shift selector.
More to himself than anyone else in the car he said, “Sometimes the shifter doesn’t go into park and the car won’t start.”
“Probably a good time to put it in park, don’t you think?” Travis asked.
Brendon glared in his direction, but his girlfriend’s little brother for once wasn’t being sarcastic. Travis was looking out the windshield at the growing number of zombies. Fear creased his face. The sound of Justin’s window exploding inwards masked the sound of the engine catching, so much so that Brendon was in danger of stripping out the starter as he held the key too far over for too long. A zombie reached in and clawed at Justin’s face. Travis having realized what Brendon hadn’t, slammed the car into gear. Brendon turned from the invading zombie as the car shot forward and threatened to stall. Brendon quickly realized what was happening and tried to put his foot through the floor. The car sagged at the over rush of gas, hesitated, sputtered and then shot out of the crush of zombies like a cat in a tub. A few unlucky zombies found out firsthand what it felt like to have three tons of Detroit steel run over your body, although they didn’t seem to mind that, only that the ‘meat’ was getting away.
The zombie in Justin’s window had its arm wrapped around the seat belt. It tried for a few feet to keep up, but then it allowed itself to be dragged, its concentration fully fixated on the food within reach. Its arms swung wildly within the car as it tried to pull its body up and closer so its gnashing teeth could do their job, the fetor of its moldering breath rivaled even that of its undead flesh.
Justin screamed in surprise as a hand closed around his cheek, trying to seek purchase, or perhaps just trying to pull a bit off for a snack. Paul, reaching over Tommy, was desperately attempting to unravel the seatbelt from the zombie. Justin was flailing around like a drowning victim. Erin moved into Paul’s vacated spot and placed one hand on Justin trying to calm him down. He didn’t, at least until her other hand passed in front of his eyes, the one with the gun. Paul pulled back as Erin lined up her shot. Everyone in the car was a little hesitant after her not-so-successful display of shooting skills earlier. This bullet, though, hit home, dead center in the zombie’s forehead. Its head whipped back and then forward from the backlash, but it looked more like he was questioning ‘Why?’ as his slumped body fell from the car like a discarded McDonald’s bag.
The zombies retreated quickly from view. It took a few moments for Justin’s overloaded senses to regain equilibrium from the deafening shot and the acrid blast of smoke that had inundated his nose. But when his senses did clear, the outcome was less than satisfactory.
As the ringing began to subside within his ears, Justin bowed his head to try to regain the precious breaths he had lost. At first he was uncertain what he was looking at as large crimson droplets splashed on his blue jean covered thigh. It was when he attempted to wipe his cheek clean that true terror infiltrated his heart. His fingers were covered in blood, his own.
“Oh, Jesus, no!” Justin wailed.
Paul looked out the back window thinking that the zombies were somehow keeping up with the speeding get-away car. Justin buried his head in his hands. Travis made an attempt to discover what the matter with his brother was but was shrugged off. Brendon slowed and then finally let the truck come to a rest (with the engine idling) to discover the problem. Justin was too far lost in his own thoughts to do more than show the offending blood to the rest of the occupants.
“Were you bitten?” Travis asked.
Justin shook his head ‘no.’
“That’s good then, right?” Travis asked, hoping someone would answer in the affirmative. “In most zombie movies you have to be bitten to be infected.”
Nobody knew the answer. How could they? This wasn’t a movie, and zombies weren’t supposed to be real, right? Even Tommy looked concerned. Travis hoped it was because he was out of Snickers bars. Nobody said anything. As Brendon accelerated the truck, nobody knew what to say anyway. Travis put his arm around Justin. It was a rare display of brotherly love. Justin was at first inclined to shrug it off, but when he realized Travis was not going to relinquish his spot, Justin acquiesced.
As Brendon was racing closer to Little Turtle, he voiced his thoughts. “They’re not going to let Justin in through the gate with that wound.”
Travis instantly got upset. “We can’t leave him outside!”
Justin didn’t say anything. He had already resigned himself to his fate.
“I’m not saying we should leave him outside, Travis,” Brendon said with a bit of attitude in his voice.
Justin and Brendon had become friends since Brendon had started dating his sister. He was offended that Travis would think he would abandon his friend this quickly.
“We could say he cut himself on the broken glass,” Travis said hesitantly.
“Justin,” Brendon said softly. Justin didn’t respond. “Justin!” he said with a little more force. Brendon pulled over again. “Justin, look at me.”
Justin reluctantly turned his head to face him. Brendon inwardly winced when he saw the wound. A three-inch long slab of flesh had been raggedly pulled from Justin’s cheek, and blood flowed freely from the laceration. If Brendon hadn’t firsthand witnessed the attack, he would have assumed the wound to be caused by a bite. The notched pieces of sinew looked angry with swelling; Justin’s eyes appeared to be sunken from the rapidly expanding flesh due to the damage. What was worse was the look of defeat in those same eyes. Brendon couldn’t help but think that his friend was already turning. Better to leave him out here than take the possibility of him injuring someone else. Brendon definitely did not want to be the person that had to put a bullet between his eyes. All these thoughts raced through Brendon’s mind, each one trying their best to gain a foothold and sway a decision in their favor. His lack of ability to think clearly under the circumstances may just have saved Justin’s life.
Brendon spoke at last. “Yeah, there’s no way the guards will mistake that for any type of cut.” He swung his head to the back. “Hey, Tommy, want to sit up front?”
Tommy was not his normal jovial self, and that, as much as anything, contributed to the downward spiral of morale in the truck. Erin had buried her head in Paul’s shoulder and was crying softly. Tommy looked like he wanted to join her. Travis did not understand Brendon’s motive to move Tommy and wanted to make sure he was one hundred percent clear on where he was going with this. Brendon saw the look of confusion on Travis’ face and clarified.
“I want Tommy to sit up front, and for Justin to pretend he’s asleep in the back, that’s the only chance we’ve got of getting him back through the gate,” Brendon elaborated. “I’d just as soon hide him in the trunk if I had one, but that isn’t an alternative.”
“What if he turns?” Travis asked.
“I’ll take care of it,” Brendon answered brusquely.
“I’m his brother, I should be the one to do it,” Travis said.
Justin began to open the passenger door as he spoke. “If it comes to it, I’ll do it myself.”
Tommy was busy coming around from the rear driver’s side around the front of the truck as he met Justin. He gave Justin a huge hug which seemed to elevate Justin’s spirits ever so slightly.
“That’s not the hug of death, is it, Tommy?” Justin asked.
“I’ve never hugged anyone to death,” Tommy said seriously as he wiped a tear away from his cheek.
Justin’s eyes were red-rimmed and enshrouded in blackness. He looked like a trick-or-treater halfway made into his costume. Paul switched seats with Erin while they waited for Justin to get back in the truck, placing himself between Justin and his wife.
Within minutes the truck was about ready to make the final turn onto Evans Aven
ue.
“Everyone ready?” Brendon asked as he exhaled loudly.
Paul stiffened slightly as Justin laid his head on his shoulder. Justin noticed the rebuff, but he couldn’t blame his uncle. He was sure he’d do the same thing if the circumstances were reversed. As they pulled up to the gate, Brendon put on his best award winning smile. It failed miserably.
“Boy, you look like you just had your balls stomped on by a golf player,” the guard said. “Ain’t that right, Igor?” the guard said, clearly amused with his pun.
Igor nodded and answered. “Da.” But Igor wasn’t paying so much attention to his partner. Igor’s head was inside Brendon’s truck looking around.
“Dere’s much blood in here.” Igor said, clearly not looking for an explanation—merely stating a fact. “Veren’t you boys going to help your father?” Igor asked. Now he was clearly looking for answers. Nobody spoke at first until Paul began to brainstorm.
“They were, sir, but when they came across my wife and I in trouble, that Mike fellow rescued us and then told these fine young men to take us home.”
Igor was not convinced. “What happened to the window?” he asked brusquely as he brushed shattered glass off the sill.
Travis spoke a little too soon and a little too loudly. “That was my fault, sir, I shot at a zombie not realizing the window was still closed.” Travis smiled weakly.
“Da glass is on the inside of the truck,” Igor said, looking piercingly at Travis. Travis’ smile weakened further. “Vat is wrong wit the other boy?” Igor asked, pointing to the rear seat.
“I’m fine!” Tommy beamed.
“Da, not you,” Igor answered firmly. Tommy frowned.
This time it was Brendon’s turn to think quickly. “Sir, I’m just trying to get him home so he can sleep it off. We broke into Mr. Talbot’s vodka last night and drank way too much.”
Igor laughed, not convinced again that he was receiving even half of the truth, but he laughed any way at the thought of two young Americans trying to tame Russian water. “Da, he does look a little green around the gills, get him home and get him well,” Igor said, his gaze boring directly into Brendon’s eyes.
“Yes, sir,” Brendon answered as he drove into the complex.
Justin’s sleeping act moved into the realm of reality as he had to have help to be removed from the truck. His steps were sluggish and weak. Paul supported one side as Travis supported the other. Brendon hustled up through the back gate to make sure the way was clear so they could get Justin into the house unimpeded. That didn’t look like it was going to happen, at least not easily.
No sooner had Brendon opened the back gate than his girlfriend met him. The dangerous look of fire was in her eyes and her posture. A litany of lavish profanity was about to be issued forth until she caught sight of her brother being almost dragged into the yard. She didn’t even acknowledge her uncle’s presence, as all of her attention was focused on the ghostly image of her brother’s face.
“Oh my God!” Nicole shrieked as she pushed by Brendon to wipe some of the sweat off of Justin’s feverish brow. She quickly pulled her hand away. “He’s burning up!” She turned back to face Brendon. “What did you do to him?”
Paul spoke up. “Now’s not the time for accusations, Nicole. We need to get your brother into the house and get some antibiotics into him.”
“Uncle Paul?” Nicole asked as she turned back and finally noticed him.
“Get your mother, Nicole,” Paul said with force.
“Thank you,” Brendon muttered under his breath.
“Don’t worry, kid, I did it for all of us. I’ve known Nicole long enough to realize ‘shrill’ was rapidly approaching,” Paul said as they brought Justin through the back door.
The boys laid Justin down on Henry’s favorite couch. Henry wouldn’t mind, he was sleeping soundly upstairs on Mike’s side of the bed. Tracy came downstairs awkwardly holding a rifle; it looked as much out of place in her hands as a cat holding an umbrella, but if there was trouble she wanted to be ready. She stopped short when she saw Paul and Erin, trying her best to assimilate this new information as quickly as possible. However, as soon as she saw Justin lying on the couch the rest was forgotten. In the meantime, Travis was going through the kitchen cabinets looking for any half-empty antibiotic bottles. Nicole and Tracy were famous for not finishing their medications. Within moments his effort was rewarded.
“Got ‘em,” he said triumphantly.
Tracy barely acknowledged his words as she pressed her hand to Justin’s forehead.
“What’s wrong with him?” Tracy exclaimed. “He’s so hot!” She turned her glare on Travis and Brendon. “Tell me right now what happened.”
Justin’s face was sallow and taking on hues of yellow and green. Brendon was hesitant to let his rifle down, feeling that he might need to use it at any moment. But how could he possibly tell Mrs. Talbot to get out of the way so he would have a clean shot.
“Nicole, go fill the tub with cold water. Travis, get all the ice and put it in the tub. And find me some antibiotics!” Tracy yelled.
Travis ran over and handed her the bottle of erythromycin, then headed back to the freezer, grabbed the ice and went to catch up with his sister; anything to get away from the scene that was unfolding in front of him. Justin had a difficult time swallowing the pills his mother handed him. His tonsils had swelled to the point where they were almost making contact with each other.
Mike came back four hours later to find seven people, including the dog, crowded into the master bathroom. The bathroom was spacious for one but was never designed for that many people. Mike took little note of his best friend and wife when he was able to muster past the throng and see what everyone had their attention focused on. Justin was lying in the tub alternating between violent convulsive shivers and panting from the heat his body was throwing off. He groaned in despair and fell to his knees next to his son.
Chapter 14 - Tracy’s Entry
“Mom!” Nicole yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Everyone’s gone!”
Tracy was irritated; last night was the first night in almost a week she had slept clean through. Between the nightmares and Mike’s thrashing about, sleep had been as elusive as an eel in Jell-O. A couple of more hours of blessed sleep and she might almost feel human again. Best not to joke about that, she thought.
“Everyone?” she asked in alarm as she sat up in bed, head swimming in light-headedness. She had not been taking her vitamins as religiously as she had before ‘the infection.’
Depression sometimes weighed heavily on her mind. What was the point of vitamins? They wouldn’t protect against zombies. Guns, one of the things she loathed most in life, were now her only clear salvation. She had turned a blind eye when Mike had begun his slow, methodical collection of guns. She had her own vices, why should she deny him his. He didn’t smoke, he didn’t use drugs, he didn’t run around with other women. He was a good man, maybe a card or two shy of a standard deck, but you could always draw in the missing cards on the jokers. Guns! She had worried, A LOT, when he brought the boys shooting, but he was careful and respectful of the power and devastation these devices could inflict. The boys were taught in this manner also. What at first had seemed unnecessary was now paramount to their survival. Civilization and all of its trappings were gone. Darwinism was back. The infirm would die. The strong would survive.
“Everyone?” she asked again, much more softly as she reined in her errant thoughts.
Nicole was now in the bedroom. “Even Tommy,” she answered.
“Are you sure they’re not out on a work detail or getting food or just walking the dog?” Tracy asked. The last question was answered when a loud snort came from the general vicinity of Tracy’s feet.
“Henry, how do you get up on this bed…and without me knowing?” Tracy said as she reached down and patted his snout. Henry obediently rolled over onto his back, expecting and receiving a tummy rub.
“Mom, I went down to
the clubhouse and then I went to the gate. They all left. Dad went to the armory, and supposedly the boys went to help him, but the guard thought they were full of shit.”
“All right, give me a minute.” Tracy said as she pulled the covers the rest of the way off, partially covering Henry. He didn’t stir, apparently happy with his new blanket. “What about the guns?” Tracy asked as she headed into the bathroom to put on pants.
“What about them?” Nicole asked, not having any idea where this conversation was heading.
“We’re going to need some,” Tracy yelled from the bathroom.
“Why? What for?” Nicole asked, alarm rising in her voice.
“We’re going to look for the boys,” Tracy said matter-of-factly, grabbing her sweater off the idly sitting exercise bike.
People don’t cover their exercise equipment with clothing because it is an easy coat rack. They do it because it hides their guilt. Guilt for having spent so much money on a piece of equipment that now did what any forty-nine cent hanger could do. The guilt of not having lived up to one’s own expectations, more like promises to oneself. Exercise equipment sent more people to therapists than any dysfunctional mother could hope to achieve.
“When we get back, Nicole, remind me to throw out this elliptical.”
Nicole stared at her mother, believing that she had finally gone over the edge. The stress of the last few days had been great on everyone and obviously her mother had enough.
Tracy opened Mike’s gun safe to find the cache had been nearly exhausted. All that remained was a .22-caliber pistol and rifle. Not that she had any clue to as to what type of guns they were. “How do we know if these are loaded?” Tracy asked Nicole as she picked up the pistol gingerly.