What was it that Jef had said after their plane crashed? Tom recalled that it was a theory at best, in lieu of no hard evidence from the wreckage, but Jef thought there was a chance that they had been shot down.
“We didn’t hear or feel anything,” Tom had said.
“Don’t always do.”
“No smoke either.”
“Yeah. Come to think of it, there were no warning lights,” Jef had said. “Usually there’s some other minor failure first before everything goes kablooey, but all systems shut down at once.”
In the aftermath of crash landing near the Burke home, Jef and Tom scoured the wreckage for any tell-tale signs, but the left propeller and engine of the Douglas C-17 was so charred and mangled that trying to piece together what happened was impossible, and not nearly as urgent as their other task at hand. Their mission. But still, conspiracy theories lingered, swirling like a cloud inside Tom’s head, over who or what may have taken down their plane.
He recalled wondering how the GPS device Major Fleming had in Iceland still worked, and Jef how had explained that satellites need constant human adjustment by the Master Control Station in Colorado. “If you need any more proof that the military is still operating from secret locations until this zombie shit’s all over, this is it,” Jef had told him.
Inevitably, memories and train of thought leapt uncontrollably into delusions; lines blurred. Zombies were no longer simple-minded animals. Wasn’t the military using zombies? Now, they were tools used in his delusional conspiracy that took down their plane. Tom’s mind made sense of nonsense.
The trees around him stood as a symbol of what the world had become. A stark winter landscape of dead trees standing among the evergreens. Skeletal ashen colored bare branches deceptively implying they are dead, but are as alive as their green foliage covered kin.
In his mind, zombies were surrounding him on all sides. Every twisted, dead, fallen branch snap was a bone. The forest floor seemingly a carpet of bodies.
Beads of sweat trickled from Tom’s hairline. Before cooling in the winter air, they divert into gaping sores, spreading over tissue, which absorbs like a sponge.
Conspiracy theories, greater than any Kenny could conjure up, formulated in Tom’s slowly decaying brain.
He roamed the Anna Page Forrest Reserve and surrounding area dispatching any errant zombies that happened into the area, bashing their skulls rather than using a racket-making firearm.
Sometimes Tom saw them for what they were, the walking dead, other times his mind told him that they were mothers that needed to be put down for the shameless cowardice of sacrificing their babies; military scouts of the corrupt kind sent by some nefarious superior officer to wipe out any survivors, or even reflections of himself that he destroyed out of his own self-loathing.
Something would move in the distance. Zombies. No. Just two knotted trees protruding from behind an evergreen bush, swaying in the wind.
He couldn’t rely on his judgment anymore, but the tug that pulled him into varying realities was often convincing. Two body shapes in the woods, triggered a memory to overlay on his vision.
He was back in Chicago. Back on the job with the Chicago P.D.. He found himself interrogated some roaming creepers, like they were suspects, hoping to get information to substantiate his delusions, but Tom’s tactics gained nothing from the non-verbal creatures.
With unbridled rage he brutally attacked the former citizens, ripping them to shreds with his bare hands, digging into their bodies, eyes, throats, tearing the flesh from the rib cages looking for recording devices, cameras, tracking devices—anything his paranoia could think of.
After the killing was done, Tom’s mind snapped back to reality. He closed his deceiving eyes to try to reset his thoughts, only to discover that the scene was real when he opened his eyes. He reeled in the aftermath of what he had done. He vomited.
The virus was causing his mental deceptions to last for longer periods of time. For Tom, this was no way to live. He looked like a monster, but now he was behaving like one.
#
Darren indulged James’s curiosity about the old couple he saw in the Walmart. “Seriously, man, that zombie acted like they weren’t there at all, but he sniffed me out as food from six aisles away.”
“That’s cuz you stink,” Dennis snickered.
“You saw it too?” Darren questioned Dennis.
“Hell no! He was gettin’ snacks,” James answered for him. “I had to practically drag him outta the store, so we could follow the old coots.”
Darren thought aloud. “You say that zombie didn’t even go after them, huh?”
“Like they were immune or somethin’.”
“And you followed ‘em?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Well, what are we waiting for, boys?”
#
James backhanded Dee Conroy across the face.
“Reverend Burke!” Marvin blurted out. “We got it from Reverend Burke.”
Dee turned to her husband in disbelief. “Marvin, how could you?” A trickle of blood from her busted lip landed on her blouse. “Hamilton’s a man of God.”
“But they’re hurting you,” Marvin said tearfully, then continued blurting out whatever information would satisfy the men who invaded their home.
“He’s got a whole stockpile of a serum [sniff] so he can help people stay protected from zombies [sniff].” When he was done, Marvin hung his head in shame and sobbed. “God forgive me.”
“See. Was that so hard?” Darren said to Marvin. “Now, all you gotta tell us is where we can find this preach...”
A single gunshot erupted in the room, and a spray of blood landed across Marvin’s face and chest as his wife slumped to the floor, the back of her head blown completely off. A second eruption took Marvin’s life in the same brutal manner.
“What the fuck did you go and do that for?!” Darren screamed at James. “He was gonna tell us where we can find that preacher.”
“I don’t think we’ll have any trouble finding him,” James said confidently, holding up a church bulletin he had found among the Conroy’s old Readers Digests and magazines on the coffee table.
Part 5
Jemma always made a concerted effort to wash herself extra well and keep her body covered with layers of clothes to conceal her necrotic odor. She thought further ahead to warmer weather and sweating within the confines of the bunker, but she’d deal with that when the time came.
It didn’t help Jemma’s self-esteem that Kenny would grab the Medi-aire biological odor eliminating spray from the kitchen shelf and spray it in her direction every time she passed within four feet of him.
Holly witnessed this one too many times, and conspired with Sherry to boost Jemma’s morale, rather than go another futile round arguing with Kenny.
#
The interior of the Matthews’s house provided a feeling of normalcy. Although, the decor was simple, and utilitarian, Holly and Jemma took it all in. It was a reminder of home, or a reasonable facsimile.
Holly shook her head at Kenny’s shortsightedness of not adding a generator to the main house. But, then again, he built his bunker and was determined to use it.
Photos lined the top of the dresser in the master bedroom. Definitely Sherry’s doing. Her husband didn’t seem the type for such sentiment. Smaller framed photos were nestled among the abandoned accoutrements on a simple makeup table in the corner of the room.
“Oh, my God. Look at this wedding photo,” Jemma pointed out to Holly. “Looks like Kenny cleans up pretty well after all.”
Holly studied the photo, located her parents in the wedding party, and was caught off guard by the emotion that struck her upon seeing her mother’s face again.
An overwhelming sense of loss returned to her, more than a year since her mother’s surreal death, which in a normal world would be classified as murder. Holly touched the glass, brushed away the dust from her parent’s faces, and wondered what they were like back th
en.
“Look how handsome your dad was,” Jemma commented, abruptly pulling Holly away from her melancholy daydream, causing her to return the frame to the table haphazardly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean... it’s just... I’m not used to seeing your dad’s face without... well, you know.”
Holly nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to the vanity table.
It had been the consensus that Jemma obviously needed a pick-me-up. A half joking conversation among the three women, about how a makeover might cheer Jemma up, turned into action when Sherry offered the use of whatever the girls could find in the house.
Sherry hadn’t worn any makeup since the pandemic, and even when she did wear makeup in the past it wasn’t a lot. The quaint little vanity table looked to be inherited from Sherry’s grandmother and was undoubtedly more of a sentimental piece of furniture than anything of serious function. Still, the meager assortment of powders, foundation, blush, lipsticks and nail polish would suffice for Holly’s purpose.
With Jemma sat down on the cushioned chair in front of the mirror, Holly pulled open the window curtain for better light, then set about brushing back Jemma’s hair. Typically, Jemma would let her naturally dark hair fall loosely in front of her face to hide as much of the necrosis as she could. But seeing her full face exposed in the mirror made her feel uncomfortable, vulnerable.
“This was a bad idea,” Jemma began to back out of the plan.
“Nope. You’re going to stay right there young lady,” Holly said blithely. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to shed that goth persona of yours? No, no. You’re not getting away that easily.”
Jemma giggled and allowed her friend to proceed. Despite not applying up her Gothic makeup in many months, the dark circled eyes were a more natural state of her condition now. Her skin was naturally pale, and her eyebrows had remained thin from several years of continuous over-plucking, making certain Gothic elements a permanent feature.
Holly applied foundation gently around the facial wounds, concealer around the eyes, blending and contouring, enhancing the eyebrows with an eyebrow pencil, followed by some soft eye shadow. About a third of Jemma lips had eroded away, but there was still plenty to work with, and the lipstick needed to be a softer color than Jemma was used to. Sherry’s sparse inventory included two lipsticks; a red and a pink, Revlon super lustrous brand. While transforming her friend, Holly’s observations of the makeup selection was happily transforming her mental image of the unembellished Sherry as well.
The hair would be the easy part. Nicely brushed, some hair spray for body, and a simple clip to keep the hair from falling over her face.
“Done,” Holly stepped out of the way to reveal Jemma to herself in the mirror. The goth-looking girl was no more. Despite the necrotic flesh that couldn’t be concealed by makeup, the overall effect stunned Jemma. A new woman stared back at her. Wholesome, demure. The picture of beauty. It was lovely and overwhelming.
“Awww, don’t start crying,” Holly said, offering a hug. “You’ll ruin all my hard work. Besides, this was supposed to cheer you up, not make you cry.”
“I’m absolutely gobsmacked. I love it.” She stared at herself in the mirror once more to make sure the image was real. “And I love you too. Thank you.” she told Holly, sharing another hug.
“Now, for the clothes,” Holly suggested, leading them to Sherry’s closet. After a moment’s perusal, they turned to each other and crinkled their noses at the somber variety of Sherry’s wardrobe.
#
Kenny and Mark had lugged a generator up the bunker ladder using canvas straps, set it down on its wheels and rolled it out of the barn. The whole while the two debated bio fuel versus solar and wind power.
“Look, let’s just replace this one, and in the spring you can help me put solar panels on the roof of the barn if it makes you feel any better.” Kenny was through debating. “I like to have four generators on hand at any given time, and the way those clouds look tells me snow is coming. I don’t want to get caught without proper backup.”
The men loaded the generator into the back of the truck when Sherry appeared, waving a shopping list.
Kenny took the list and let out a huff. Sherry couldn’t tell if he was huffing at the list, or because he saw Holly and Jemma loping across the yard toward them.
When he turned from the truck, Mark whistled a cat call in the girls’ direction. Jemma gave a mock curtsy, flaring her coat as if it were a dress.
“Who’s the new girl?” he asked playfully to Holly.
“You guys heading out?” Holly asked. “Mind if we tag along? I wanted to see if we could get Jemma some new outfits to suit her new look.”
Another huff came from the driver’s side of the truck. “Let’s make this quick, ladies,” Kenny said, including Mark in his tone.
“After you,” Mark said happily to Jemma and Holly, opening up the rear door of the extended cab.
“Sherry, honey?” Kenny called. “You and sweet Eva just stay in the bunker, okay. I’ve got the other genny kicking in until we get back. I’ll make sure these jamokes don’t lolly-gag. We’ll be as quick as we can. Love you.” Sherry nodded in agreement, blew her husband a kiss, then tugged the hat she knitted for Eva, pulling it better over the toddler’s ears.
#
A transmitting mast from the local news station could easily be seen jutting above the rural landscape as the truck headed to US Highway 20 Business.
It was a year and a half ago, that Kenny heard the last broadcast from WTVO 17 News. The program director went on a zombie-crazed on-air rampage through the newsroom before transmission abruptly stopped.
“Once we get to Winnebago, I don’t want any dawdling,” Kenny decreed to his passengers.
“Why Winnebago?” Mark asked. “Cherryvale Mall is the other way.” He had familiarized himself with Kenny’s maps over the past year to the point where he knew the surrounding area nearly as well as Kenny did.
“That’s clear on the other side of Rockford!” Kenny snapped. “Didn’t you hear me say that we need to get back before the...?”
“Yes. We know. The snow,” Holly finished. From the back seat, she and Jemma chanted like children playfully annoying their father. “Mall, mall, mall, mall, mall, mall, mall.”
“Why not the mall? Mark asked. “Besides... we’ve pretty much picked Winnebago clean from Home Depot to Ace Hardware. In fact, nine months ago we snagged the last generator in Winnebago from Sears.” Kenny scratched at his beard in aggravation.
“Cherryvale Mall has lots of toddler clothes for Eva,” Mark added. “I think Sherry would want us to go to the mall.” He tried to use his wife’s name as leverage to sway him.
“Mall, mall, mall, mall, mall, mall, mall,” sang out again from the back seat.
And, do you know what else that mall has?” Mark added. “A See-ears,” he finished in a sing-song voice.
#
“No. Not Hot Topic,” Holly said to Jemma. “We’re trying to change your look. No, more goth.” Holly scanned the mall directory for just the right shop to match Jemma’s new make-over look. “Ah. Here we go. Francesca’s... level 1, number 28. Oh, it’s near Macy’s, too!” She looked at Jemma gleefully, “You’re gonna love this.” The two began to scurry off, but not before Kenny handed Holly a snub-nosed .38 revolver.
“You girls might need this. Better safe than sorry,” he said.
Kenny took the shopping list from his coat pocket along with a 9mm Glock and handed both to Mark. “Here. You go find the stuff Sherry needs. I’m headed to Sears.”
Mark scanned down the items on the list. primarily clothes for Eva among a few other general items. “Tampons? Awww... C’mon.”
#
The winter fashions had never made it to the store floor, but that was of no consequence. Jemma was trying on clothes in the middle of the store as fast as Holly could bring them to her. Ruffle sleeved tops, floral wrap dresses, lattice pattern knit tees, mid-rise hem slit crop jeans. She tried them all, so
me she didn’t need to try on to know she wanted them.
As Jemma changed from outfit to outfit stood in the chilly aisle, Holly caught could see the patches of affected flesh in various parts of her torso and legs. She tried not to stare but couldn’t help herself. Jemma noticed her glances and began to feel self-conscious, dropping her smile.
Holly began smiling double for both of them. “Today’s a good day,” she said snatching something off of a nearby rack.
“How about this camo knit dress?” Holly held it up, still on its hanger.
“Camo? Really?”
Holly laughed and tossed it aside. “Might make Kenny warm up to you a bit.” They both laughed. It was the first time they actually felt like the world was normal again. Just two friends hanging out at the mall.
“Ooo. How about that.” Jemma pointed to a mannequin with a complete ensemble that caught her eye.
The happy duo disrobed the mannequin, leaving it in dismembered pieces on the floor in the process.
“I’ve got to say,” Holly admitted, standing back to get a better look at Jemma in her new outfit, “You’ve got good taste, Jemma.”
She was stunning in a pastel floral long sleeve babydoll dress with charcoal gray leggings, and it covered all the parts of damaged flesh she didn’t want seen. “Oh, my God,” Holly realized. “Boots! You need boots. Stay right there.”
While her friend left her alone, Jemma stepped over to a full-length mirror. All the months she felt like a monster, all that time she used the Gothic persona to justify what the virus had done to her, to hide her, was now a thing of the past. The girl in the mirror was a new Jemma—or more accurately, the real Jemma. She felt like her true self for the first time in years.
#
The Tale of Tom Zombie (Book 5): Zombie Survival Page 4