Mack looked confused by the viral comment. “ That many people are watching that stuff on the internet?”
“Are you serious?” Nunu said. “Where else can they go to see honest reporting? Have you seen the local or national news lately? It’s terrible, it’s all lies -propaganda.”
“All they show is what the government wants us to see. They completely run the media and the networks now. People don’t trust the major networks’ and media anymore, and for good reason. The news reporting outlets as we used to know them are going by the wayside, as did the newspaper not long ago.
“People who know us, they trust us. Because we are real. And every day more people are liking us and watching us and saying they can’t wait for our next weekly videos.”
The quadrumvirate began to settle down for the night in the dugout, when Graham said, “you guys are pretty cool. Even you, Mack. I’ve never known any cops before personally, but you seem like a good honest dude. Kind oflike a normal guy.” “Thanks, man. You know, I just try to be a good person, just like y’all do. We all do things to help people when we can and to stop those who are trying to hurt or take advantage of others. I’d say that most of the cops I work with are the same way. But occasionally you do come across a cop who is all rogue, thinking they are above the law and can do whatever they want to without penalty.
“I had this one trainer in phase one of the Field Training Program. He was that way. His name was Senior Corporal Travis Ward. He was an older white guy with about 25 years on. Dude made me nervous. He would do things unlike any of my other trainers. If we arrested someone who was talking shit, he would occasionally get an extra shot in on the guy. After we got him cuffed up, of course.”
“Sometimes I think he did stuff just to test me, to see if I would question him or even challenge him. I did once or twice, but it didn’t go over very well.” Mack continued. “One time I bought a new compact Glock pistol to carry as my backup and off-duty weapon. I told Ward about it, and he told me to bring it to work one evening so he could check it out. So, one night as I was getting ready for work, I threw it in my duty bag and took it to work with me.
“When the shift started , I told Ward I had brought the Glock for him to look at. About halfway through the shift, when the call load had slowed down, Travis said, ‘drive down to the river bottoms, let’s see how your new piece shoots!’
“So, I did what I was told. I drove to the dried -up river bottom, and we parked below the Commerce Street overpass. My FTO told me to gather up some cans or some other shit we could blast to smithereens- so we could see how well the little Glock shoots.
“‘Yeah, right’, I said. I still really thought he was joking. It was illegal to shoot guns in the city limits. Never mind the fact that there were homeless people camping out underneath these bridges. A stray bullet could end up hitting someone or something. It was unsafe, unprofessional. Nonetheless, Ward said, ‘come on, we’re cops. We shoot guns. That’s what we do. Who’s gonna tell us we can’t?’”
“So, did you shoot the gun down there?” Nunu quizzed. “Yes. I was afraid if I didn’t , they would make me fail Field Training or I would get the reputation of being a snitch.”
All parties grew tired and decided it would be best to crash for the night. Mack asked, “where would be the best place for us to get some rest for the night?”
“We l ike to sleep here in the dugouts where we have a roof above our heads, but still a couple different escape routes. You know, in case the Dead or other enemies make their way onto the field.” Graham followed up with a question he had been perplexed about regarding their earlier encounter. “So why did you tell the dog not to attack us when you had the chance earlier?”
“Let’s just say I had a gut feeling that it wasn’t necessary” was the lawman’s response. “Okay. Cool.”
Midnight’s full moon light filled the grand old ballpark, shining into the home team dugout and upon those sleeping within the shelter. Duy was awakened by the bright light and assumed that someone had turned the infield lights on. He sensed motion to his right and figured that it was just Roscoe walking around in circles and trying to get comfortable. Suddenly a tug on his sleeve followed by a moaning sound got Duy’s attention. He swiveled around to see a child-sized flesh muncher chomping onto his shirt. IT was attempting to snack on an adult-sized wing.
“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!! The Asian sensation began to scream and scramble for the dugout stairs. He tripped on the top step and rolled his ankle in the process. “Owwwwwwww!!!!”
Mack was awakened by Duy ’s agonizing yell and he grabbed the wooden Louisville Slugger major league bat he had set beside him before falling asleep. There was no hesitation as he swung the wooden sphere in axelike overhead fashion. He smashed the zombie kid’s melon like a candy- stuffed birthday pinata.
“What the hell!? I thought it was supposed to be safe here!” Mack bellowed. “For the most part it is. We have Constantine wire all along the top of the walls, but occasionally one will climb up and make it through. They are usually pretty shredded, but it’s not like they care about being torn up. They still keep coming.”
Graham led the group, searching the park for the place that the creature had gained access. They came across a flattened section of wire above the ten-foot-high brick wall behind the home plate gate. “Dammit, we need to fix that before any more get through.”
Duy now was extremely sick and badly wounded.
Nunu and Graham told Mack that they had a friend nearby who could help Duy. “Her name is Janice. She’s known for helping those who require medical attention and
needshelter. We can take you there now.” The foursome plus dog squeezed into Graham’s micro red Toyota Yaris and exited the park through an underground overhead door. This driveway fed out into a little-traveled back alley. They scooted around the corner and up five blocks to a slightly charred red brick building.
“Janice is a wonderful doctor. At one time she had a thriving family practice at this clinic. It nearly burned to the ground months ago when the creatures attacked a nearby apartment complex. Amid the mayhem that ensued, electric poles toppled over and lines were downed. That caused a fire which devoured several city blocks,” Nunu explained.
“But she is still here. Now she’s r unning a safe house for those who have no other place to turn. She provides medical assistance and shelter. She even has a fenced-in outdoor area filled with raised bed box gardens.”
The Yaris pulled onto the courtyard which was once part of the Haymarket. The Haymarket was Boston’s centuries-old open-air market in the historic heart of the city. It was mere steps away from Faneuil Hall Marketplace and the elegant Millennium Bostonian Hotel.
“We are here. You guys go in and tell her that we brought you o ver. She will take good care of you. We need to go back and secure our fence. So, if we never see you all again, we wish you the best of luck.”
Hours later, Duy awoke. He found himself lying on his back on a cot and surrounded by pots and old soda bottle racks full of small vegetable plants. Among them were tomatoes, bell peppers, cucumbers, and green bean plants.
Duy had no idea where he was at the present time and had no recollection of how he had gotten there. A familiar sight emerged as Mack approached from the courtyard area. “I thought I heard you waking up. How are you feeling, man? Hey look, I got you something on the way out of the park.”
“Umm, what park?” “Haaa, funny, dude.” Mack handed Duy a green ball cap with the Red Sox traditional yet classic capital ‘B’ on the front. “It was just lying in one of the rows of seats.”
“Oh, the Red Sox -Fenway Park. Okay I’m starting to remember now.” Duy said. But I thought the Red Sox wore red and blue. Whyis the hat green?”
Mack p hilosophized, “Well, I know they would wear green during St Patrick’s Day games, but it may also be symbolic of the ‘Green Monster.’ You know, the nickname given to the left field wall decades earlier.”
Duy stammered: �
��That’s marketing genius right there, selling memorabilia relative to a wall in a ballpark. Who else would think of that?”
“No one else would. Because no one else has Fenway Park.” Mack responded.
“So true” replied the Dew-man.
Over the next few days, thanks to some much-needed rest and the natural medicinal herbs, vitamins, and ointments that Janice provided, Tran began to feel stronger and healthier. Although this down time was not anticipated at the beginning of their adventure, Duy and Mack did make the most of their stay. They made new acquaintances by spending time with some of the interesting people that called Janice’s Lansdowne House their home.
One of the full-time residents of this place was a ten-year-old Puerto Rican/ African American kid named Carlos. A couple of years ago, Carlos and his family were living in a makeshift house made of pallets and plywood below a nearby Interstate 90 overpass. They were attacked by a pack of the Dead. Carlos ‘mother, father, and sister were killed. Carlos managed to escape. But he sustained a deep bite to his left arm.
In what could only be perceived as a medical miracle, Carlos merely needed stitches for the wound. In a rarity, he proved to be immune to the virus that infected so many others.
“I call him Bandit,” Janice said. She spoke fondly of the boy, recalling for Mack and Duy the way in which the two met. “One day he found a way to sneak into my garden courtyard from the outside. He was stealing a tomato from one of my plants in a garden box. I caught him in the act, confronted him. He didn’t try to run for it. He just apologized and said that his family was hungry. So, I told him he could keep the tomato and return every day for one or two more. So, he did. And eventually he felt comfortable enough to tell me that he really had no family and was out on his own. I invited him to stay with us, and he has been here ever since.
“He’s such a good little kid. He loves to read and loves to be told stories. There’s one little tale I made up for him one night at bedtime, he asks me to repeat for him again and again.
Janice went on. “The story goes something like this:
“Once upon a time there was a little boy named Carlos. He liked to play stickball in the streets with other kids and eat hot dogs with catsup and mustard on them. Carlos was a happy boy who always wore a smile, even though the world he lived in was full of darkness. A world much like a black and grey watercolor painting.
“There was no light, no color. And this cold, dark wo rld was full of scary monsters. Monsters that smelled horrible and did terrible things to the good people who lived in this place. All the good people lived in fear. They stayed locked up in their houses and never came out to talk to their friends and neighbors.
“This little boy ate a lot of vegetables and played a lot. But he also did his share of work too. He realized that there was time for play but only after all the chores were done. He also found time to pray to God to thank him for the roof over his head and the tomatoes in his belly. He was also thankful for the good friends that he had now, and for the wonderful people that were in his life before. Also, those that have moved on up to heaven to be with God. And Carlos asked God to say hi to his mother, father, and sister who were byGod’s side now.
“Carlos grew up to be stout and strong and courageous. He knew that he was faster and smarter than the monsters, and they could not hurt him. He did not live in fear of the creatures like everyone else did. One day he was walking down the street and found an old gnarly looking paint brush lying beside the curb. The flagged end of the brushes’ bristles was all bent out of shape and the handle had dark green paint dried onto it.
“Carlos picked up this old brush and suddenly realized this wasn’t a normal paint brush. It warmed his hand, and the longer he held it, the bristles began to appear cleaner and back to their original form. The dried paint on the handle disappeared as well.
“Carlos knew he did not have any paint. But that did not stop him from running that brush up and down the strip, stroking its bristles across everything he saw and dreaming up brilliant colors for each object. Carlos noticed that everything he had brushed changed to whatever color he imagined it should be. He was ecstatic! Carlos began to paint everything in sight, adding brilliant bright colors to the whole city.
“People saw the br ight lights and colors illuminating outside. They opened their curtains and blinds on their windows for the first time in years. They came outside to see what was happening. They introduced themselves to their neighbors and struck up conversations about this radiant new neighborhood.
“The monsters were blinded by all of these bright colors and lights. They could not find sunglasses that would stay on their ugly faces, so they all left to find a new home. They went to places where they could roam around in the dark and chase people and strike fear in their hearts.
“Carlos was an instant hero, and the town people carried him through the streets on their shoulders. They paraded him around for all to see and thank him. The end.”
Carlos had stealthily walkedup upon Janice when he heard his favorite fable being told. “I love that one,” he said, glowing as he spoke.
“You know what the best part of it is?” Janice quizzed the boy.
“No, what?” “It can all be true someday. It’s totally up to you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five - Massholes
Boston, Massachusetts Another inhabitant of the Lansdowne House was a twenty-two-year-old, heavily tattooed white male dwarf. He had shoulder-length jet black hair and gauges in his earlobes. Anthony grew up in nearby Amesbury and managed a tattoo shop, where he also worked as a tattoo artist and body piercer. In his spare time, he often practiced on himself, and thus he was covered with ink.
Anthony’s Body Arts shop closed shortly after that entire area was overrun by the Dead. When everyone fled town, so did Anthony’s clientele and livelihood. Anthony did not flee. Rather he continued to live in the vacant tattoo shop and building, climbing through the boarded-up windows to pass in and out when he needed to go on supply runs.
One day he had to leave the building to find some food. He found himself surrounded by a herd of the disgruntled decaying who mistook Anthony for a “fun size” human treat. Janice and Bandit happened to be in the area. They too were scavenging around for supplies. They heard the short-statured one yelling and cursing at the creatures. He was stabbing them in their heads with the flat head screwdrivers he held, one in each hand. He had already finished off a couple of them but was tiring quickly.
Janice and Bandit were quick to act. They provided a distraction to the demented, buying Anthony the time to backtrack away from the stampede.
The Lansdowne leader asked the misplaced man if he needed a place to stay. He accepted the invitation, and they led him back to Janice’s place for food and shelter. Anthony is like family there now, volunteering his time to be their security/door man. He has since upgraded his weaponry. He ditched those old screwdrivers for a battery-charged power drill and nail gun. He found these power tools abandoned in one of the nearby shops. The owner used these in boarding up the place when the town was overrun.
Anthony is also now an avid lifter of the free weights. He has been working out with dumbbells and kettlebells since his close call with the monsters. Anthony was eager to have his lack of height overcompensated by his muscular physique.
Thanks to Janice, Duy was beginning to feel more himself. And, being the social butterfly that he was, figured he would strike up a conversation with the vertically challenged one. “Hey, Tony, I dig your tattoos, man.”
Janice was several feet away but heard Duy ’s statement. She began to look at Duy and shook her head “no” as if he had done something unacceptable.
“What did you just call me?” Anthony asked. Unbeknownst to the Dew-man, Anthony absolutely despised being called ‘Tony’ because it sounded way too much like “Tiny.”
“I called you Tony. Do you not like that?” Duy and Mack looked at each other, each quite befuddled as to why the little guy seemed irr
itated suddenly.
“Oh, are we supposed to be all buddies now because Janice let you stay here for a couple of days?” Anthony barked. “Listen friend, you don’t mean jack shit to me. Not you, not that big cop, not that stinky dog. You guys are nothing to me.”
“Hey man, I’m really sorry. I meant no disrespect.”
“Haaa. Man lighten up. I’m just fuckin with you guys.”
The ice now broken, Anthony and the guests began to trade stories. The Lansdowne doorman felt comfortable enough to discuss some of the hardships he has faced throughout life as a dwarf in a land of bigger people.
“I was always being made fun of as a kid. So as soon as I was old enough, I got some tattoos to serve as a distraction from my size. So now people ask about my ink rather than asking me stupid shit like, ‘What’s it like being that size?’”
“I mean, so what if I am only four foot ten. So what. I’m still a man. I’m not that different from everyone else. I even had a girlfriend once who was five-nine. I was crazy about her, but we had to end it.”
“What happened?” Mack asked. “Man, did you ever see a Chihuahua trying to hump a Great Dane? It just doesn’t work too well.
“So, when we split up, I was bored and lonely. I decided to make a career out of the circus. When I started, they had me walking behind the elephants with a broom and dustpan to clean up the large piles of crap they left everywhere.
“Eventually they started to let me perform in an act where I was all done up like a clown. I would stand on a pony’s backside as it ran around in circles in one of the three rings under the big top” Anthony said.
Wicked Awake Page 23