by Mark Tufo
Brendon at last spoke. “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 upfront 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 pointedly.
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 Avenue.
“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, yet 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 he was met by his girlfriend. 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.
Tracy’s Chapter - 14
“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 covering. “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 49-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.
Nicole ducked. “Definitely not by pointing it at me.”
“Oh yeah, sorry,” Tracy answered sheepishly.
“Are you sure this is such a good idea Mom?”
“My boys are out there. I’m going to find them.”
Nicole sighed and walked over to her mother to grab the rifle out of the safe. She proceeded to pretend to know how to load it as she placed it on the bed. Nicole spent the next few anxious minutes under the watchful eye of her mother looking for the nonexistent magazine well, not knowing that .22 rifles are barrel fed. Not wanting to appear ignorant, Nicole picked the weapon back up. “All loaded,” she announced proudly. It wasn’t.
“I didn’t see you put any bullets in it,” Tracy said, but she honestly had no clue. “What about this?” Tracy asked handing over the pistol.
Nicole had watched her boyfriend and her father shoot at least half a dozen times and they always pulled back on something on the top. So when she finally found the mechanism on the pistol that pulled back and then slammed home when her grip faltered, she proudly announced the pistol was also loaded. It wasn’t. At this point Nicole didn’t think they were headed out the gate and was hoping that her armory skills wouldn’t be put to the test.
“Mom, we have no idea where they went and they have at least a fifteen minute head start,” Nicole began pleading. Her mother might be stressed out to the max but Nicole was to put it bluntly, scared shitless.
At 4’11” and maybe 90 pounds after a Thanksgiving dinner, Nicole’s biggest defense had been a Marine dad that some thought might be unstable. Nicole had tortured many a potential threat with the words, ‘My dad knows where you live.’ For some reason Mike could not fathom, all of Nicole’s friends and potential enemies were deathly afraid of him and he had not so much as said boo to any of them. This had all been a device of Nicole. She had made sure that everyone knew of a particular incident in Canada involving her father, several Mounties and a politician. Nicole couldn’t have been any safer if everyone thought her father was Tony Soprano. When her brothers had gotten older they became a second layer of defense, and to top that off was Brendon. If all else failed she had a mouth that belied her diminutive size. To hear her scream one would think they were being besieged by a platoon of howler monkeys. Her dad, who had multiple drill instructors scream at him and shrug it off, shied away from his daughter when her ever-widening pie hole began to vibrate. But shorn of her bodyguards and with an impotent voice, zombies wouldn’t care about screams. It would be more like the sound of a dinner bell to them. She would become what she truly was, Daddy’s little princess. Strip away the abrasiveness of her attitude and there was just a scared young woman.
“I could use some cigarettes too,” her mother announced.
“Let’s go,” Nicole agreed immediately. Addiction is a powerful motivator. Screw the zombies.
Henry looked up from his chair, watching the two women leave. He realized nobody was home and hoped that somebody would be home soon to put out his second breakfast. Tracy and Nicole walked out to the garage. It was when they entered that Nicole noticed the obvious. (Yes, you guessed it, Princess Obvious.)
“You’re going to take Dad’s car?” she asked tremulously.
“Well he did trash my car,” Tracy answered, but not with much verve.
A few months back, Mike and Tracy had been at the grocery store picking out some Starbucks coffee. Mike was in heaven smelling the wonderful aromas of the different beans and spices.
‘You know,’ He began. ‘If God told me I had to give up either beer or coffee, I honestly don’t know what I’d do.’
Tracy had thought the dilemma was easily solved. ‘Beer.’
Mike looked at her. ‘All right then, God says coffee or cigarettes.’
Tracy now saw the point.
After they had filled up the backseat of Mike’s Jeep and were heading out of the parking lot, Tracy had asked him, if God said this Jeep or me, how hard of a decision would that be for you.
Mike’s answer came swiftly. ‘Oh Hon, that wouldn’t be hard.’ But he hadn’t elaborated and she more than half believed his non-verbalized implication.
“Any better ideas?” Tracy asked.
“Well, we do need cigarettes,” Nicole smiled sickly. More than once in her rebellious youth she had wanted to ‘borrow’ her father’s Jeep when she had snuck out of the house, but she was unruly, not insane. The
Jeep had stayed safely tucked away in the garage.
Nicole cautiously climbed up into the passenger seat, half expecting some form of theft deterrent to activate. No matter how much she adjusted the seat and her posture she could not get comfortable; guilt was a difficult suit to wear. Her mother didn’t seem to be wearing it any better than her. The Jeep started loudly in the confined space. If not for the seat belts strapped across their laps, they both might have jumped out. Tracy slowly placed the car in reverse.
“Um, Mom, you might want to open the garage door.”
“Oh yeah, right,” Tracy smiled weakly.
This expedition was getting off to a memorable start, cigarettes or no. Nicole wasn’t sure about the wisdom of this crusade. The door rumbled open, Tracy jerkily popped the clutch, stalling the Jeep. “Oops,”she commented.
“Great,” Nicole muttered under her breath. The next three attempts at reverse didn’t go much better. Then there was first gear to contend with.
Tracy rolled up to the main gate, hopeful they would open it before she lost momentum and had to mess with first gear again.
Igor waved them to a halt.
“Dammit,” Tracy and Nicole muttered at the same time and both for the same reason. Nicole had nearly got her nose broken on the dashboard as the Jeep bucked like a pissed off bronco.
“Vat’s a matter vit you Talbots? You not like it here?” Igor asked.
“Igor, do you know where the boys went?” Tracy asked concernedly.
“They say to help their Da but I could tell they was full of it,” he answered helpfully.