Atton didn’t care.
“Move over.”
“How come you always get to drive?”
Atton didn’t respond. Eli scooted over.
“So where we going?”
“There’s a police station a few blocks south. Should have all the guns we need. And Linus says we gotta get him some batteries.”
Eli threw his hands in the air.
“That motherfucker.”
10:14 AM
The time on Eli’s golden locket read 10:12 AM, but it was two minutes behind. Eli knew because the larger hand moved two seconds slow. Meaning that if the time really did read 10:12 AM like it did right now, then it had to be 10:14 AM.
Once they arrived at the police station, they were greeted with the portrait of the precinct’s chief, Alberto Lorenzo. A portly old Hispanic man with more belly than muscle. Eli snorted.
“You know, more and more they really do start to look like pigs.”
Atton glanced at the picture, but made no comment on the matter.
“Let’s find the armory.”
“Yes sir,” Eli said with a mock-salute. “Say, mind if I ask you something?”
“You’re asking me something right now.”
“Since when’d you start turnin’ religious on me?”
“Since when did you care?”
Eli cocked his head.
“What’s the need to get so defensive ‘bout? I’m only askin’ you a question.”
Atton sighed, then turned around.
“It isn’t about religion.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“I said forget it.”
The cold authority in his voice brought an immediate end to the conversation. Eli trained his attention back to the matter at hand.
“I wonder what type a’ arsenal we’re gonna find ‘round here.”
“Shotguns mostly. Maybe some riot gear.”
“Oh, we could definitely use us some shields. Goddamn would that be sweet.”
They cleared the entire first two floors of infected. There were none. Once certain that the station was safe enough for plunder, Eli and Atton promptly made their way downstairs into the basement, where according to markers on the walls the armory was located.
A thin layer of wire mesh separated the men from a room filled with heavy ordinance. Eli’s mouth watered at the sight of MP5s on the open gun racks.
“I have to have that.”
They did away with the barrier via a pair of bolt cutters they found in the janitor’s closet. Eli ran his fingers along every weapon in the station, basking in the spoils. He strapped the MP5 over his shoulder, and found a duffel bag to pack with magazines. Among the items neatly stacked in the armory, Eli noted several brands of hand grenades on the top shelves.
“What the hell?”
“They’re gas grenades,” Atton said. “For urban control. Some of them might even be flashbangs. I can’t tell which is which though.”
The grenades were identical in shape and composition. Cylindrical, metal, small enough to fit a man’s grip, yet thick enough to carry some weight. The only discernible difference between the types were in the colored linings on each grenade. One was yellow. One was red. And another was blue.
“Maybe we should test ‘em out.”
Atton furrowed his brows.
“Serious?”
“Yeah man. Why not?”
From the ensuing smile on his face, it was clear that they were both on the same page.
10:19 AM
“Fire in the hole!”
Eli tossed a red grenade into an empty room across the hall. Room 204, where according to the plaque on the door, officer Scott Daynes worked parole. They ducked behind either corners of what was once police chief Lorenzo’s office. With the grenade out, they peered cautiously from the door frame and waited for the explosive round to go off. It did, though the blast was quieter than Eli had expected. There was a silent hiss. Smoke escaped from the capsule and sifted into the air.
“Smoke grenade,” Atton reported.
“That’s it?”
“Told you. All of this is nonlethal.”
Eli was disappointed. There was no use lobbing smoke grenades against infected. Zombies didn’t just run on eyes. They had hearing and smell strong enough to compensate for any lack of vision. Not that their eyes themselves weren’t naturally superhuman. But smoke grenades were more likely to harm them than it would any infected they might come across.
There were still two grenades left to test. One blue. The other yellow. Hopefully one of them would be worth something against the zombies.
Eli waited for the smoke in 204 to clear. Then, he lobbed a blue grenade. The explosion was the same as the last, breaking into toxic cloud. The only difference this time was that this was lighter in pigment, and in depth.
“Tear gas.”
“Looks the damn same as the last one. How can you tell?”
“Cause my eyes are spicing up. I feel like I’m about to cry or something.”
Eli felt it too even from where they were. But from their location the effect was subtle.
“Could just be you’re an overgrown pussy.”
“Yeah? Well I got a shotgun here wouldn’t mind having this conversation up close.”
“God ain’t you sensitive.”
“Who’s the pussy now?”
“I ain’t no pussy. Hell, would a pussy do this?”
Eli pulled the pin on the yellow grenade, then dropped it where they stood.
“No!”
The grenade went off. A high-pitched blast exploded their ears, giving birth to a blinding spark of light. Eli pitched back and forth, scarcely able to contain himself. He touched his forehead to relieve himself of the shrieking pain. Every sense in his body was under attack. His eyes went from blind to blurry within seconds. His ears felt as though a missile had gone off in front of him. He smelled gas and tasted metal. And for the longest time, Eli couldn’t feel himself move.
When things started to clear, Eli caught sight of Atton flapping his mouth over something, yelling words that sounded vaguely like stupid shit, asshole, moron, and flashbang.
10:24 AM
Atton would have been angrier at Eli for what he did, but the man was embarrassed enough for himself. Plus after having inadvertently pissed his pants, Eli was in no mood for a lecture. He slammed the door in the locker room and searched for a fresh pair of clothes. All he could find were undershirts and police uniforms.
“Fuck.”
Eli Desmond hated cops. The last thing he wanted to do was dress like one. The irony was far too deranged to be funny. Just as he was about to reconsider, he breathed in, and the air around him reeked of moist air and urine.
“Fuck.”
Eli didn’t have much of a choice. For the sake of not smelling like piss, he swallowed his pride, and changed in to the black and blue drabs of the city police. It was a foreign look, and one that he didn’t think he would ever get used to. It didn’t help that Eli despised the police. Even since before he’d been convicted. From the earliest years of his childhood, no other posse had ever made his life any worse than Richmond’s finest. Not even the infected.
Eli sneered. Hell, if it hadn’t been for the infection, he’d still be rotting away in Wyden Hall. It was a funny thought that. That the infected had done more favors for him than the police.
He glance at himself in the mirror. He looked professional. Distinguished. Like a man he’d never seen before in his entire life.
“Now ain’t you somethin,” he said to the reflection on the wall. “Never thought you’d live to see the day you dress like a pig now did ya? Damn, momma would be proud.”
He laughed.
“Naw she wouldn’t be too proud a’ that now would she? Momma’d sooner shoot a cop than see her son dressed like one. ‘Course, it ain’t like she’s here now is she?
God, I wish I knew if South Carolina was hit. Linus said it was the whole damn country. But who knows? Not like he’s there. For all I know momma’s still alive, and she’s livin’ in some army bunker hellhole underground somewhere. But then again it ain’t like her to leave that house a’ hers come rain or shine. If she ain’t already infected, chances are she died killin’ whoever was.
“Then again, who knows? Momma ain’t a hell of a shot, but she always did like wavin’ that rifle at dad. With luck, hopefully she put that thing to good use. If she killed one of them I suppose it’d be good enough.
“How many have I killed so far? Must be 14 I think. Or was it 17? I know I shot three today. Goddamn, that preggie bitch.
“You know what the funny thing is though? Those zombies. And I’m callin’ them zombies no matter what anyone says they are. Fuck me. It’s like no one knows a zombie when they see one nowadays. Everyone’s gotta call ‘em infected or some stupid shit. Well fuck that. They’re retard pale-faced sons a’ bitches itchin’ to eat my brains. And that means they’re zombies. Jesus Christ.
“Anyhow, as I was sayin.’ The funny thing about it all’s how they change you. Cause you see, when I killed my first, I didn’t know what it was. Not at the time at least. Asshole in a suit with bite marks on his chin. At first I didn’t know what to make of it. He looked sick, so I told him to stay back. But he didn’t. He ran right at me, pissed like I’d kicked his dog or something. I shot him on the leg when he got too close. Thing is, I did it with a sawed-off. Blew his knee clean. It was the scariest shit seein’ what I did to that man. But there was no pain. He kept on movin,’ running at me with one leg bleedin’ pools.
I guess I learned a lot since then.”
Atton wrapped on the door.
“What’s taking you man?”
“I’ll be out in a bit!”
“Who are you talking to?”
“In a bit!”
His eyes returned to the mirror.
“Swear that nigger’s got no patience. Man speakin’ of which,” Eli tuned around, and pulled the collar on his uniform. A tattoo swastika marked the spot on his back. The ink was still as fresh as it was on the day of conception.
“This baby’s still hangin’ in there ain’t she? Fuckin’ Wyden Hall. Fuckin’ Ku Klux Klan dipshits.”
Atton knocked again.
“You about done in there?”
“Yeah I’m done. Hold your panties. I’m comin’ out.”
10:35 AM
They packed as many magazines and shells as they could find into two separate duffel bags. For reasons of practicality they limited the weapons they took with them. Atton packed two Berettas in his case along with a plethora of shotgun shells, and Eli loaded MP5 mags into his. The less weapons they took with them, the less weight they had to carry, and as a result the more ammunition they could fit.
They ditched the grenades.
Eli was the last to pack his bag inside the truck. They closed the doors, then went back inside the station.
“We should check the evidence room,” Atton said as he glanced at the station’s directory.
Eli waggled an index finger.
“I like the way you think.”
10:43 AM
Untitled Video Project
Date: 12/11/02
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk. They just had me man. I didn’t know what else to do. Those cops. They said they had enough to put me away for life, and that that’s what they were going to do. I thought I had to make a deal man. Please, Vic. Man you gotta understand. Man I know what I did was wrong. I know that now. It was a stupid mistake, and I’m willing to pay for it. Anything. Just please let me go. I’m begging you.
My girlfriend Sally. We were planning on getting married before they started busting people up. I even got her the ring and everything.
Did you propose?
What? Ah. No. No. Not yet.
That’s good. Then things should be easier on the girl if she never finds out.
No man. Vic. Please. I’m willing to make it up for you anyway anyhow. Just say the word man. I’m good for it.
Your word ain’t been worth shit since you snitched on your own family. You’re a goddamn rat Anthony. And you know what we do to piece of shit rats.
But I’m sorry. I had no choice.
There’s no excuse for what you did. None whatsoever. Don’t bother wasting your time.
You know, I took you under my wing. I trusted you. I treated you as if you were my own. And you betrayed that trust. You embarrass not only me, but everyone else who ever trusted me, and counted on my good name.
But it’s a good thing you’re willing to pay the consequences of your mistakes Anthony. Because that is exactly what you’re about to do.
No. Please. You don’t have to do this. Please. Put the can down man. Hey Rico, don’t listen to him. He doesn’t meant it. No. No. Don’t do this to me. I was your friend man.
You’re a goddamn liar Anthony! And it’s all anyone’s ever gonna remember about you!
10:45 AM
The battery on the camcorder was low, but there was just enough life left in it to show the ensuing footage of a bloodstained man tied to a chair, getting doused with kerosene as he begged for his life. Eli watched intently, glued to the screen in suspense. He watched as the man recording the footage circled around the helpless man, casting his shadow and the shadow of his camcorder on the floor. A second man was on a chair with a cigar in his mouth. The third, clad in a black leather jacket, struck a match.
“Goodbye Anthony,” said the second man. The third lit the second man’s cigar, then tossed the match on the oiled man’s lap. The oiled man, once known as Anthony, burned to a crisp, screaming along the way.
Eli pitched back and felt his stomach twist.
“Holy Christ.”
He turned down the camcorder’s volume until even the slightest hint of noise was too much to bear. He muted the sound altogether. But as disgusted as Eli was at what he saw, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. As hard and as brutal as it was to watch, Eli had never seen anything like it before.
“Hey Atton,” he called. “Come check this out.”
Atton had a look on the screen.
“Sick,” he said.
“Isn’t it? God it’d suck to be that guy.”
The battery meter beeped red until it finally died. The screen went black.
“Oh what the hell?”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“What’d you get?”
Wrapped inside a tagged evidence bag was an entire kilo brick of weed.
“Nice. Ain’t there more?”
Being that it was a police station, there should have been bushels of them stacked around somewhere.
“Tons,” Atton confirmed. “But it’s the only one that doesn’t smell like shit.”
Eli took Atton’s word for it without doubt or question. Chances were if that was what Atton said, then that must have been the truth. After all, who’d know better than an ex-gangbanger?
“Man you might’a turned to Christ, but you sure as hell ain’t lost your fun.”
10:49 AM
They smoked on the rooftop of the police station, passing time sitting on the ledge while they towered over what was left of all creation.
“You know,” said Atton. “Crazy as it sounds I’m glad all this happened.”
He took a sip from the pipe, then passed it over.
“Crazy as it sounds, so am I.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, we’re out of prison for one. Plus I figure if I’m going to turn a new leaf, it might as well be someplace other than Wyden Hall. Someplace where folks might actually need my help. What better place than here?”
A wasteland of garbage and empty streets lay beneath their feet.
“That why you found God all a’ sudden? So you can make up?”
“Making up has been my only purpose.”
Eli kicked
his feet in the air, inhaled a lungful of smoke.
“Way I see it, past four months ain’t so much ‘bout survivin’ as it is ‘bout findin’ the right way to die. Worlds endin’ anyhow. Life’s shorter than it was before. And this time there ain’t no God to be bailin’ anyone out. Might as well have some fun while we’re still around.”
Eli inhaled a second sip, then coughed it all out. Atton snickered, and took the pipe back.
“Now this is some nice shit right here. You said you used to grow this stuff. This one better than yours?”
Atton laughed.
“Not even close my friend.”
He retrieved a kilo from the bag and studied the weed in the palm of his hand.
“Problem with hydroponics is all the shit that can go wrong if you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. The strain’s good. Can’t go wrong with white widow. But you can tell it was toxed more than it should have. The taste is a little weaker than it should be. Of course, they could have done it on purpose. Maybe so they can sell more in mass. Wouldn’t surprise me. Weed this big, you know they’re shipping large scale.”
“Huh,” replied Eli, pretending he understood the first word of what he’d said.
“Used to grow this stuff by the bushels. And then again when I got out of juvie. Course, then I started falling in with the Southside Freedom. I guess you do a lot of stupid shit when you’re a kid.”
Eli couldn’t imagine ever seeing Atton Stone, 38 years old, buff and packed with scars, ever being as young as a teenager. Nor could he ever imagine seeing him as a reckless youth prone to the peer pressures of joining a gang.
It wasn’t something they’d ever talked before during their time in prison, but Eli had to ask, “How long you been in Wyden Hall?”
Atton didn’t even have to count to recall the number.
“21 years.”
“Damn. So what were you, 18 when you got sent to the clink?”
Fear of the Dead Page 11