“So, what does it say?”
“It says you missed a call from some park ranger or something like that in Pennsylvania. He said to tell you that ‘4856 is eating beans.’ What the fuck does that mean?”
“I’m not really sure, but thanks, man. Hey, can you do me a favor and burn that message. Oh, and by the way, you know nothing about it, right?”
“Yeah, sure, Mack. I mean… burn what? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
Mack clicked off his phone, tucked it back into his pocket, and looked up at Kristin.
“Kristin, it was nice meeting you, but we gotta roll. Thanks for checking up on the Hathaways. Jake would have really appreciated that.”
Mack and Roscoe climbed back into the Texas-registered pickup, and Mack piloted the vehicle in a northern direction. They had an hour-long trek ahead of them.
“All right, Dew-man, let’s blow this taco stand. We’re headed to Beantown. I mean Boston.”
Chapter Twenty-Four - The Green Monster
Boston, Massachusetts It was a seasonably brisk New England May morning. The Avalanche with bug-splattered Texas plates rolled onto the Massachusetts Turnpike and then exited onto Commonwealth Avenue. The truck was indiscernible behind the dense fog accompanying it.
“Dew-man, look! There’s one of those Duck Boats they give the tours on. Every time the Patriots won the Super Bowl,they would use these things for the victory parades.”
Mr. Tran, sprawled out on the Chevy’s back seat, failed to respond. “Are you okay, dude?”
Roscoe leapt from the front passenger seat to the center armrest/console, and then hopped onto the back seat. He began to lick Duy’s hot, red face. Even this did not precipitate a response. Mack pulled the vehicle over into a parking lot to assess the situation. Unable to wake his companion, Mack reached for his water bottle to splash some liquid onto Duy’s face to wake him. In his haste, the nervous Mack grabbed his tobacco spit cup instead and poured a combination of tobacco juice and saliva onto Duy’s face.
“Oh fuck! I know I didn’t just do that,” Mack scolded himself as Duy’s open mouth now had tobacco juice trickling down into his throat. Duy began to cough, and finally opened his eyes. “I feel like shit, man” he said. “I’m burning up. I must have gotten pneumonia or Lyme disease from those stakeouts in the woods. Something bad. I think I’m dying here.”
“All right, Dew man. Hang in there. We passed a hospital a few blocks back. I’ll take you there now. You’re gonna be okay.”
The burnt orange Avalanche screeched out a U-turn in the middle of the street, with pedestrians and other vehicles yielding to avoid a collision. The machismo mobile slid into the circular driveway beside the emergency room doors. Thefit cop flew out of the driver’s seat and opened the backdriver’s side door to aid his passenger out of the vehicle.
Mack yelled, “Roscoe, STAY!” as he wrapped his arms around Duy’s back and arms. He was practically carrying the young attorney, who was weak and hardly able to stand, let alone walk.
Upon reaching the Emergency Room entrance, Mack found the sliding glass doors to be locked. Visible on the inside were two people. One was an employee wearing blue medical scrubs and the second was a large security guard-looking dude with an AR-15 in his hands. The muzzle of the rifle was pointed at Mack and Duy from behind the glass.
The Scrubs Guy yelled through the glass, “what do you want?” Mack explained, “my friend here has very high fever and he’s very weak. He’s been losing consciousness, blacking out. We need to come in.”
“Where was he bit? “shouted the security guard.
Caught off guard by the question, Mack responded. “Bit? He’s not bit by anything. He’s probably got pneumonia or Lyme disease. Letus in!”
“We can’t do that. We can’t let anyone like that inside. All it takes is one infected person to get in and spread the virus to everyone else and we are all dead.”
“You gotta be fucking kidding me, right? You’re a GODDAMN HOSPITAL!!!“Mack shouted.
“We are only treating patients with traumatic injuries at this time. Gunshots, stab wounds etcetera but no bites.”
Mack said, “I bet if we were white,you’d let us in!”
Mack and Duy began the slow drag back to the car. Mack said halfjokingly, “damn that Jake. Of all times for our token white friend not to be around when we need him!”
“That’s fine. We'll just get back in the truck and go to another hospit---oh shit…” Duy’s head was down as he struggled to move one foot after the other without collapsing. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
It suddenly became apparent why the E.R. staff was not letting everyone and anyone in without the proper screening.
Four once-living human beings now in various stages of less- liveliness circled the Texas truck. They were only about fifty feet away. Based upon their soiled, tattered attire and other telltale signs, one of the DEAD appeared to have been a construction worker with his yellow safety vest and hard hat. Another appeared to have been a businesswoman in her once-smartlooking Macy’s business skirt and blouse. The third and fourth may have once been some type of meter maids or parking lot attendants.
Nonetheless, they all were stammering around the Avalanche, black muck oozing from their orifices. Their flesh was corroding and featured the stench that comes along with that. And the other common denominator that they shared: they were all hungry.
They could all see and hear something yummy inside the Mack mobile. It was a beefy Belgian Malinois chicken nugget named Roscoe, pacing back and forth inside. He was nervous as hell and barking like crazy.
Mack asserted, “okay Duy, don’t panic. But there are DEAD surrounding my truck. Just keep quiet, and I’m gonna carry you out of here.”
Duymoaned, “no, leave me. I’m dying. You need to go on and find Jake.”
“Quit being a wuss, no one’s gonna die on my watch. Shut up and be still.”
The muscled-up Mack threw the limp Dew-man over his right shoulder like a sack of red potatoes. He began walking down the street, with one eye on the mis-creations around his truck and another eye searching for a means of escape.
The street sign above read “Yawkey Way.” Mack abruptly realized where he was: just outside the friendly confines of Fenway Park. Mack was in dire need of a sound structural shelter and a place for Duy to rest and recover from his flu. Mack and his ailing cohort agreed mutually upon attempting to enter the ballpark as a temporary safe house. They alsothought it would be badass to take a tour of America’s best loved ballpark at least once before they died (or the world ended, whichever came first).
The desperate drifters began to walk the perimeter of the park. They were checking for unlocked doors, looking for holes in fences or walls short enough to scale and climb over. When they finally located a metal overhead garage door that was unsecured, Mack lifted it open just enough for the two to crawl inside. From here they were able to gain access to the loading dock area where food, beer, and game day souvenir vendors receive their deliveries.
“Okay, buddy, you wait here. I’ll be right back.” Duy was so out of it that he didn’t say a word. Mack crawled back out of the overhead door and ambled back towards the ER driveway. He was just in time to see a tow truck burning off from the location. The driver had probably been summoned there by the hospital staff then fled with his life when he saw the maggot farmers beside Mack’s vehicle.
Roscoe was still inside the truck, his nose pressed to the glass as he looked out. Roscoe spotted his new partner, Mack, about seventyfive feet away. Roscoe’s tail wagged and he began to whine as Mack made eye contact with the canine. Mack yelled, “Roscoe COME!”
The creatu res heard Mack’s voice and began to turn in his direction. Roscoe leapt up through the pickup’s moon roof and landed on the vehicle roof. The clatter of his nails on the metal lid regained the attention of the dead pack, and they retrained their gaze on the dog.
Roscoe took two running strides on the car
top. He launched his body well over the heads and outstretched arms and hands of the beasts. His puppy pads landed safely on the asphalt street ten feet beyond thethreats. Mack yelled, “Good boy!” followed by “RUNNN!!”
They made their way back through the Fenway Park overhead door to reunite with their sickly friend. Together they all made their way down through the various sections and rows upon rows of seats. It was hard not to take in the splendors and sights of this grand old relic. The left field wall, better known as the Green Monster, the one lucky red seat in a sea of green stadium chairs, and the Pesky Pole. Each of these icons had its own unique chronicle.
The muscular African American cop and the gimpy sick Duy made their way onto the natural grass playing field. Then they strolled over toward centerfield and the original non-electric, non-digital, only manually operated scoreboard that still existed in the major leagues.
They opened the door beside the scoreboard and entered the narrow structure behind it’s face. Autographs from players and umpires, stars and starlets who were fortunate enough to visit there over the decades. Their names jumped off the interior walls, book marking their place in history.
“Mack, look! Bruce Lee was here!” Duy said. Mack was about to admire the black permanent marker signature when the door that lead behind the scoreboard flew open without the assistance of an air current.
“That says Bill Lee, you idiots” came the voice of a stranger who was now pointing an improvised weapon at them.
It was a Caucasian male of about twenty-three years old. He was unshaven, with brown shoulder length curly hair and was attired in a Who rock band T-shirt and brown corduroy pants.
He also had a homemade white PVC pipe bow in his left hand. With his right hand, he was gently restricting the flight of a tin-tipped arrow.
“Who the hell are you dudes and how did you get here? You’re trespassing in our house!” the stranger bellowed.
“Oh, so you ownFenway Park?” Mack asked. Roscoe was by Mack’s side, and he began to eyeball the stranger and growl fiercely. “Easy boy, not yet,” Mack said.
The voice of a twenty-year-old female emerged from behind the male and was also directed at the newcomers. “Well, we were here first and settled down here, so that’s all that matters to you. We worked too hard to make this place our home and, we thought, safe from intruders. So, we are not going to just let some strangers come in and steal our place!”
“Look, we’re just looking for a temporary place to seek shelter,” Mack said. “My buddy Duy here is very sick, and, believe it or not, we just got turned away and threatened at gunpoint back there by the ER staff. If we don’t find a dry, warm place to crash tonight, he might not make it.”
The male party posed the question: “Has he been bit? “ “No.”
“How do we know you’re telling us the truth?” “He’s got pneumonia or Lyme disease or something like that but he’s not bit. You can
check him.” Mack and Duy offered forward their wallets to show the young couple their Texas driv er’s licenses, and Mack presented his Dallas PD badge and credentials as well. Mack told the abbreviated version of the story about Jake and how they were hoping to find him, if he was still alive. If that were the case, they were prepared to tell him that they now had the evidence to get his murder conviction overturned, that he could be a free man again.
The female was curious. “Why don’t you just call him and tell him it’s safe to come back? And doesn’t he ever call you to find out what’s up?” Mack sai d “he doesn’t have his cell phone anymore, it’s in the property room at the county jail. Besides, even if he had it, it would be so easy for someone to track it or trace it to him. And I’m guessing he doesn’t call me from some payphone or something because he probably assumes that my line is being traced too. And it probably is. Those feds are pretty sneaky like that.”
Now somewhat satisfied with the stories these two trespassers had told, the youthful male and female lowered their weapons. The male said “well, that guy (pointing to Duy) does look sick for real. He’s about as green as that wall out in left field. You guys can stay one night, and you are out of here by 9 a.m.”
And just as quickly as the hosts had raised their weapons a few minutes ago, they now lowered their guard as they began to exit the scoreboard. The young male chimed, “join us by the fire forsome s’mores later if you like” as the couple walked back toward the infield. “Cool dog, by the way. What’s his name?”
“Oh, that’s Roscoe,” Ma ck responded as he and Duy looked at each other. They were somewhat caught off guard by the invite to partake in the eating of s’mores at a time when one of them might be dying and they had just been chased by zombies. Yet, they fell in behind and followed silently.
The group all sat down around an open fire pit positioned at what was once the pitcher’s mound. Burning baseball bats and large rectangular cloth banners which had been gathered from throughout the park burned ferociously inside a sawed-off metal barrel. Duy rubbed his hands together over the brilliant flames and soaked up the warmth his body so badly craved.
“So, I guess since we know who you guys are, we should introduce ourselves as well. My name is Graham. I don’t know why I feel obligated to tell a couple of strangers my latest revelations. I usually save such stories for the fans of our YouTube video clips, but for some reason it seems important that you guys know our story too.”
The internet hero pointed at his female companion. “That’s my friend Nunu. She’s from upstate New York. I am originally from Maryland. We are– were– students at Yale.” Graham’s friend Nunu overheard the conversation and said “hi,” although somewhat tenacious about joining Graham and the newcomers in their introductions and conversation. She was outfitted in a grey tank top, blue jean shorts, a plaid flannel shirt tied around her waist and Chelsea boots.
Duy inquired, “Not to be rude, but what kind of name is Nunu?”
“It’s a nickname my dad gave me back when I was a little bitty thing. I have no idea what it means, but it seems to suit me just fine. Especially when some asshole asks my name and I don’t want to put my real identity out there.”
Mack was curious to hear the rest of the youngsters’ story.
“So, what do you mean you werestudents at Yale?”
Nunu felt uncomfortable talking to these newbies about her life, yet she too was also oddly compelled to do so. Maybe it was because these dudes seemed to be showing interest in them as If they really cared, and not because it was currently “trending.”
“Well, I was a journalism major, and he was studying political science. Graham was just a couple of semesters away from graduating. Everything was going great, until one mid-afternoon day about three weeks ago.”
Nunu teared up as she recanted the horror that had unfolded nearly a month earlier. As she spoke, she removed a large backpack from her shoulders and unzipped the top compartment. Two brown furry rodents scampered their way out of the pack and scurried onto Nunu’s lap, as if on command.
“Whoaaa…what the hell are those?” Mack examined as he leaned backwards, away from the rodents.
“Degus, “Nunu explained.
“Beansiesand Diego, to be more precise. These are my babies.”
She lovingly stroked the little furballs as she removed chinchilla food from another pocket to feed them.
Nunu continued. “So, we were sitting in New Haven Green, a park of over sixteen acres that lies at the edge of the campus and bordering the downtown district. Just a little history on ‘The Green’: It was once used as the main burial grounds for New Haven residents during its first 150 years. But by 1821, the practice was abolished and many of the headstones were moved to the Grove Street Cemetery. However, the remains of the dead were not moved and remain below the soil of the green today.
“Anyways, I was enjo ying lunch - feeding curly fries to a friendly park squirrel with a jacked-up tail. It would eat right out of your hand. Hundreds of students were in the park either re
ading, sunbathing, or eating. I noticed one group of students playing Frisbee, and one kid chased the saucer into the tree line and didn’t reemerge for several minutes. The second kid then went into the woods looking for his buddy, started screaming, and ran out of there. But he was followed by a creature!
“The second kid tripped and fell on the Green. A swift moving zombie landed on top of the student and began biting him on his shoulders and neck area. At first, the students were all awestruck by the scene unfolding. But many soon began to believe they were watching a joke or act by the performing arts students.
“Two more zombies exited the woods and attacked a sunbathing female. She had fallen asleep on the grass. And they bit another kid with headphones on, sitting in a cloth folding chair. But everyone still thought this was an act. That is, until old Professor Willoughby, who was eating his apple in his suit and handlebar moustache, got tackled by a zombie. The professor’s toupee went flying off his head and at that point this became very real.
Everyone who knows Willoughby realizes he would not let himself become part of a prank or a monster movie scene. Especially not if it meant revealing that he was as bald as a newborn baby’s butt.
“Then the masses begin fleeing, r unning for their lives. They were dropping their lunches and leaving behind their schoolbooks and laptops. More zombies poured out of the woods and onto the green.
“The campus quickly became overrun with those things. The administrators had to shut the school down until the creatures could all be destroyed, and the campus was cleared out. But now they need to enclose and secure the entire campus before classes can resume. It could be quite a long wait.”
Nunu set an exercise wheel and ball down for her pets to play with. Beansies and Diego both tried to enter the wheel together at the same time. It wasn’t long before one became territorial, growling at the other. A fight was about to ensue.
“Stop it!” Nunu yelled, wiping tears away from her face. She paused to catch her breath. Graham sensed that Nunu was upset. It wasn’t so much with the rodent situation but more with overall life in general. He took over the conversation. “We got evacuated along with eve ryone else. We decided to film the mass exodus, and I got attacked. Nunu started rolling the video and I barely thwarted off a couple of those things. We put it out on YouTube, and before long it went viral.”
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