Zombie Fallout 4: The End Has Come and Gone

by Mark Tufo

  My gut was sinking as I ran. I had not heard Travis scream like that… ever. Two football seasons ago he broke his collar bone and fractured his nose all in one play. Blood had streamed from his face and the bone in his collar had been protruding outwards once his shoulder pads had been removed. I had waited by the sidelines, anxious as any parent that watches their child injured on the field. The team trainer had brought out the dreaded golf cart to bring my son to the sidelines to be worked on further.

  Travis had shook his head in the negative when they tried to get him to sit on the cart. He walked off the field in an ovation to the injured. His first question to me while we were in the car driving to the hospital was how many games did I think he was going to miss. The bulge in his collar told me the rest of the season, but I let the doctor break the news to him since I had still been within arm’s reach of his unbroken side. Even with the broken nose, the broken collarbone and the heartbreak of his season coming to a crash, he hadn’t so much as shed a tear. I knew he was bummed by the way he threw his cleats across the waiting room once his x-rays came back, but other than that he took two Advil a day until the pain went away.

  Gary was first on the scene. I saw him grab Travis by the shoulder and physically pull him out from the entrance to the small gas station.

  “Oh boy,” he said as Justin and I met him there.

  That I was breathing hard was really bad, the smell that emanated from that open door was a physical assault upon my senses. Why Gary hadn’t toppled over I don’t know. I veered away before I took in one more pull of the obnoxious odor. The one guy that had survived Armageddon and who arguably had the weakest belly stood there, mouth wide open to the scene laid out before him, and he wasn’t puking. Travis walked past me possibly in shock. His face was pale and I don’t imagine that he was thinking about the piss that had presented such an urgent need mere moments before.

  “You alright?” I asked him, my hands on my knees in the classic, ‘I’m about to heave’ pose. Jets of saliva weren’t quite coating the back of my throat yet in preparation for stomach evacuation but they were calling in all available volunteers to man the pumps.

  He waved his hand back at me as he walked slowly towards the truck. He had already gotten back into the truck and was vacantly staring in our direction before I was finally able to stand upright without the immediate impression that I was going to let loose a torrent of bile. Justin had also decided he had seen enough, either that or he wanted to console his little brother. I’m not sure which but he was hightailing it back to the truck too.

  “What do you make of this?” Gary asked from the doorway.

  I could not get enough air or nerve for that matter to get much closer than the ten feet distance I had now. “I’ll be right back, I’m getting the Vicks.” Gary waved at me much as Travis had earlier, but he did not move away from the scene in front of him.

  I don’t know what I was thinking, the only way Vick’s was going to mask the smell from the gas station was if I swallowed the entire container, choked and then died on it. No, this was primarily a futile exercise in stalling. The point seven five seconds during which I had seen the gruesomeness on the floor was all I would ever need or want to see of that.

  Tens, dozens, maybe a hundred, (I’m not Rain Man, I can’t count that quickly) zombies were piled like cordwood. They were neatly stacked like a farmer would lay out his fire wood for the upcoming harsh winter. They alternated head to toe. What were once men, women and children were laid out like the world’s largest funeral pyre. Thick black viscous fluid at least an inch thick lined the entire floor, the only thing keeping it contained within the gas station was the door stop.

  “Could you hand me the Vick’s?” I asked Justin.

  He was leaning in the truck talking to Travis. “You’re going back?” he asked as he fumbled around in the first-aid box for the smelly concoction.

  “Definitely not out of morbid curiosity. I think there may be some answers there,” I told him.

  “Let me know what you find out,” he replied. He was the smart one that wasn’t going back.

  I’m pretty sure the label on Vick’s warned against what I was about to do, but I’d take my chances. I shoved a wad of it up each nostril. It burned like hell and I was pretty sure I would never smell anything ever again and right now that was just fine with me.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I said to psych myself up.

  Gary took one step in to give me access to the doorway. Corroded humans melded into each other, it was difficult to tell where one zombie ended and the other started. Blood, muscle and tendon were all intertwined with their neighbors.

  “You think people did this?” Gary asked me. “I mean as a message maybe?” “A message to whom? Zombies don’t care about their brethren. Who would take the time to stack them so neatly?” ‘Neatly’ just didn’t feel like the right word to use. I mean if I was to save Henry’s shits and then one day stack them all on top of each other, would you use the word ‘neatly’ or would you just say, ‘Hey there’s a huge pile of shit!’ I know Henry would have a different take, to him it would be his ‘life’s work!’ his ‘Grand Masterpiece.’ But that’s a different story.

  “Eliza then?” He asked.

  “It seems like something she would do for some reason. But I don’t know, she cares about them less th a n they care for themselves. I think we’re missing something here,” A small tremor spread through the molasses thick semi-congealed fluid on the floor, a ripple spreading out like a pebble had been thrown into split pea soup. I was watching the small wave as it gently washed over the tow of Gary ’s boot. “Did you move your foot?” I asked him, looking up at his face.

  “No,” he said, never taking his eyes off the meat pile in front of him. “Do you think they died? Wait, you know what I mean, did they expire?” “You sure?” I asked.

  “About what? Asking you a question?”

  “No, your boot.”

  “What about it?” he asked a little peevishly because I was not responding to his repose query.

  “You didn’t move it?”

  “Mike, what is wrong with you?” Gary asked, tearing his gaze from the macabre view in front of him. “What the hell is up your nose? You did not shove Vick’s up your nose did you? Did you read the damn label? It’s people like you that made McDonalds have to put ‘Caution , Contents Hot’ on the outside of their coffee mugs for Chrissakes.” Another ripple crashed into Gary’s boot. “Did you see that?” I asked him as I pointed to the floor.

  “I think the Vick’s is eating your brain away,”

  “Great, maybe the zombies will stop chasing me then,” I told him, never peeling my eyes from the floor. “ Gary , I think we should get out of here, um probably now. I think they’re moving.” “Come on little brother,” he said with a condescending lilt. “They’re done for, it’s just bloating or decomposition, or most likely both of those processes together.” “Would decomposition make an eye open?” I said, taking a quick step back and pointing at the one rheumy gray eye peering longingly up at us.

  “Well, maybe,” Gary said, matching my hasty withdrawal.

  By the time the zombie’s arm reached up, Gary and I were in full on retreat.

  “Get in the car!!” I yelled to Justin.

  “What’s going on?” Justin yelled back.

  “Is anything behind us?” I yelled to Justin, running at the same time. I was entirely too spooked to look over my shoulder to verify it for myself. “Wish there was a Jumbotron I could look up at to check.” Gary looked over at me but did not question my statement. Running for one’s life tends to take precedence over asking questions that aren’t directly involved to said Life.

  “No, nothing is… ummm, yeah, you guys should run faster!” Justin yelled, hopping in to the truck cab.

  We reached the truck. I fumbled with the handle for a split second, long enough to imagine the deep seated pain involved with a bite to my shoulder. The windshield picked up the re
flection of zombies hurtling in our direction. No deaders in this chase. As I opened my door I peered back towards the gas station to see tens, dozens, maybe a hundred zombies heading our way. They were in such a rush to get to us that they were jamming up in the doorway like an old Three Stooges scene that took this inopportune time to come to the forefront of my mind.

  The truck started and I hauled ass out of that parking lot just as Gray Eyes slammed into the front quarter panel. “You tell Ron about that and you’ll be walking home,” I stressed.

  Gary was too busy white knuckling onto the truck off-road grips to pay me much attention. Within a hundred yards we were safe, but none of us visibly relaxed for another ten miles. Travis kept looking in the rear window, apparently convinced that the zombies were somehow going to be able to keep up with us. I’ll be honest, I kept stealing my own glances. I was under the distinct impression that we had just encountered Zombies 3.0 and we as of yet did not know their new and improved powers. Hopefully it was more like most household products bought at a grocery store that promised new and improved features but delivered only a higher price tag.

  “Dad, what was that?” Travis asked, turning back around from another peek through the looking glass.

  “I think they were in stasis,” Gary answered, never taking his gaze off the road ahead.

  “Hibernation?” I asked for clarification.

  “Maybe, that’s my guess,” Gary said.

  “What would make them do that?” Justin asked. Travis was busy looking back again.

  “Well bears do it for food, or lack thereof,” I said, more talking out loud than to answer his question. Once I friggen said it, I wished I could have pulled it back in.

  “Lack of food?” Travis asked, paling. “People you mean? There’s not enough people left for them to eat?” I nodded, sorry I had opened this can of worms.

  “How long can they hibernate?” Travis asked.

  “Bears can go about three to four months. But fleas can go for like six months and then I think that bedbugs can stay in a stasis state for years, and then there is the Moroccan…” Gary pontificated.

  “Enough,” I told him. “You’re scaring the boy and you’re freaking me out.”

  “Is there any way we can use this to our advantage?” Gary asked.

  “Well, the obvious is that there will be less of them just roaming around. And if we can stumble on an orgy of them, we have a couple of minutes of opportunity where we could burn a ton of them, I mean before they awaken and chase us.” “Burn them. Sounds good,” Travis said with a slight shiver, as if he wanted to heat himself over the roasting of the zombie pyre.

  “What now?” Gary asked me.

  “Well, now we find a gas station that is not inhabited by the dead and we use Ron’s handy dandy hand pump to fill up a bunch of gas containers. So the next time we’ll be prepared,” I told him determinedly.

  “That’s as good a plan as any,” Gary said.

  “It’s about time I had one,” I told him.

  “Amen to that,” Travis said, stealing one last backwards glance.

  CHAPTER TWELVE – Alex and Paul

  North Carolina was a balmy 58 degrees, and the trees were resplendent with early spring greenery. Life was burgeoning. Well, that’s an untrue statement, plant life was doing wonderfully and would absolutely flourish in this new world as man’s poison-laced waterways and smoke filled air finally gave way to the pristine, as nature had always intended. Man’s brains had removed him from nature and now ironically it was this very same brain that was going to return the earth back to its rightful owners.

  The small band of survivors had wisely avoided Charlotte , instead taking the beltway to the outer limits of the city. Paul knew of what he thought would be a perfect haven. Furniture City Warehouse turned out to be just that. It was a large corrugated blue steel building, one main entrance for customers and then loading docks in the rear for them to pick their purchases up.

  “It’s locked,” Paul said, turning back to the throng.

  “Were you expecting a ‘Welcome’ sign?” Mrs. Deneaux asked him in her usual acerbic manner.

  “You really are tough to get along with,” Mad Jack said, stooping to get a closer look at the lock.

  “Do you have a hammer?” Alex asked Mad Jack.

  “Even better,” Mad Jack told them. He patted down all of his pockets until he came across what he was feeling for. It was a lock picking device that looked much like a small pistol. “Working for the DoD sure had its perks,” MJ said, placing the picking device into the lock. He began to rapidly pull the triggering mechanism.

  “That standard issue?” Paul asked skeptically.

  After another ten seconds of fiddling with the device, Mad Jack stood up with a satisfactory ‘Aha’ sound.

  “Is it open or not?” Mrs. Deneaux asked. “Do you need all the theatrics?”

  “Oh, put a sock in it,” Joann told Mrs. Deneaux as she pulled the door open.

  “Hold on!” Alex told her. “We don’t know what it’s like in there.”

  “It’s a furniture store. And an inexpensive one at that. So unless zombies have started eating vinyl we should be fine,” Mrs. Deneaux said, although she did not volunteer to go in first.

  Joann’s initial haste to get indoors was quelled at the idea that the dark store could be hiding a variety of nightmares.

  “We should be safe,” Paul stated. “No food means no people, no people…”

  “No zombies,” Little Eddy finished the sentence.

  “You got it,” Mad Jack said, pulling a flashlight off the utility belt he was wearing and heading into the murkiness.

  The majority of the group huddled behind that one light as they checked furniture display after furniture display looking for anyone or more importantly anything that didn’t belong. The only notable exceptions were Joann and April who were standing guard by the front doors and Mrs. Deneaux who had found a Lazy Boy Recliner and had fallen fast asleep.

  It took over an hour to go through the entire showroom floor, the loading bays and the offices, but it was well worth it. There were four fully stocked vending machines with all sorts of snacks from nuts to licorice. Eddy was at first ecstatic to come across an ice cream machine and then severely depressed when he realized he was standing sneaker sole deep in the melted treats.

  “Do you think anything’s still in there?” Eddy asked Erin .

  “Oh honey, I don’t think so,” she told him and then hugged him before he started to cry again, something he had been doing a lot of since his mother had executed his family and then turned the gun on herself.

  “You going to use your fancy lock picking device on this?” Paul asked, pointing to the vending machine.

  “Step aside,” Mad Jack told him. The loud splintering crash as he threw a display vase through the glass awoke the slumbering Deneaux.

  “What the hell is going on in there!” she yelled from across the floor.

  “Everyone’s fine!” Paul yelled. “You old bat,” he said much more softly.

  Mad Jack giggled like a schoolgirl. “She really is, isn’t she?” he said, stating a fact more than formulating a question.

  “See,” Paul started. “Mrs. Deneaux is proof to me that God has one hell of a sense of humor. End of the world, and the crankiest 75 year old bitch that can’t shoot, can’t run, can’t fight, couldn’t make a friend in a whorehouse on payday and she survives. Armies of the finest men and women on this planet have been ground to dust and yet that cantankerous hag still mouths on.” “Don’t hold back Paul. Tell us how you really feel,” Alex said, coming up to pat his friend on the shoulder.

  “She just gets under my skin.” Paul shook his head.

  “Like a rash?” Eddy asked.

  “A lot like that,” Paul laughed. “Come on kid, grab the stuff you like the most,” he said as he lifted Eddy up to a bird’s eye view of the treats in front of him.

  “I think we’re safe for the time being,” Mad
Jack stated. “I’m going to lock the front doors, unless anyone has an objection to that.” He waited for a few beats before heading off.

  Alex cleaned up some of the stray glass around the machine and started surveying what his kids might want and that might be somewhat healthy, not an easy task when dealing with vending machine food.

  “Alex, can you hold the baby, I’m not feeling so well,” Alex’s wife Marta asked.

  Alex was midway between deciding on licorice or peanuts when he turned to honor his wife’s request.

  “Marta, what’s wrong?” Alex asked in alarm. The lighting was not good but it could not hide the fact that his wife was as pale as a cold winter moon. Black crescents ringed the bottom of her eyes, and her eyes themselves were as dark as craters.

  “Mi Dios!” Alex exclaimed as he grabbed the baby and almost simultaneously his wife as she very nearly collapsed.

  Erin quickly took the baby as Alex eased his wife to the floor. “Marta, what’s the matter?” Alex fairly cried. Marta did not look well and the transformation from bad to worse was happening right before their very eyes. Paul was watching it too, he thought it looked like those time lapsed photographs they sometimes showed for some special effects make-up make-over. This was much scarier than watching Lon Chaney become a werewolf, this was real.

  “Alex, let’s get her to a bed,” Paul said.

  Alex looked up and nodded, then picked his wife up in his arms. “You’re so cold, Marta. Talk to me mi amor.” “It’s in my head,” she whispered in his ear.

  A spike of iciness plunged down the middle of his back. “Who’s in your head Marta? Eliza?” She shook violently, with a force that almost caused Alex to drop her. “Much worse, it’s Tommy!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Tracy’s Car

  “That guy was huge!” Dizz was telling Sty, as if Sty hadn’t been there to witness it himself. “His bicep was bigger than my thigh,” Dizz added with amazement, as he sized himself up.

  “Yeah, like that’s hard to do? Mrs. T’s arms are probably bigger than your spindly legs.” Tracy and Dizz simultaneously yelled out, “Hey!”