The Tale of Tom Zombie (Book 5): Zombie Survival

by Timmons, H. D.

  Sherry’s list was specific about the toddler items and sizes she’d wanted. Eva was quickly growing out of her flannel pajamas, and potty training had begun going so well that Sherry thought training pants were in order. Easily gotten items. Mark even stopped by the darkened Build-A-Bear Workshop to pick up a gift of his own for Eva.

  The last item on the list left Mark scanning the directory, scratching his head. When did they stop putting pharmacies in malls? he wondered in disbelief. He was about to give up, when he realized that there were several places he could find what he was after.

  The first three ladies’ public restrooms he went to were ripe for the picking. Using a trash can to break into the tampon dispensers was like busting open a piñata.

  When he’d made his way in search of the employee restrooms, he was horrified to discover human carnage in a locker room. It didn’t look fresh, but he drew his weapon to be on the safe side if something was lurking.

  Blood smears stained the walls, and flesh-stripped bones lay strewn on the floor. Stepping through the debris toward the restroom door, he was momentarily startled and unnerved by an armless mannequin standing in the corner, arterial splatter across its bare, lily-white plastic chest. A morbid tableau to what had happened there.

  #

  I can’t believe this place was going bankrupt before everything tanked. Kenny thought, shaking his head ruefully. “I’ve always loved Sears. A part of Americana, is what it is.” He stood and smelled the familiar aromas wafting from the hardware and sporting goods departments. “Damn shame.”

  “What a beauty.” Kenny ogled a heavy duty 5,000-watt diesel powered portable generator. “This ought to do the trick.” He looked at the price tag. “$10,000?! That’s double what this should go for,” he said in disgust, and began wheeling it down the aisle, perusing what else he might like to snag for a five-finger discount.

  In the latter part of what can only be called the fall of civilization, many stores tried to stock up on gear and essentials for survival. Many presumed it was out of a genuine desire to help their fellow man, but the price gouging seemed to indicate irrational corporate greed.

  “Whoa! The mother lode.” He was almost giddy at the find. Ten 4-gallon pails lined a lower shelf. Alpire Industries brand 1-Month 4-person emergency food supply kits. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and variety. Hmmm... 20-year shelf life. Not too shabby. “A total of 1,052 servings in 116 pouches per pail,” Kenny read from the label. “Bingo.”

  After loading two shopping carts, he impulsively decided to peek down the aisle of hunting supplies. “Let’s see what toys we have down here.”

  #

  Tom had thought long and hard before walking into the wintry woods. He seized the precious moments of decisiveness to take full control over the inevitable.

  Delivering the serum from Iceland was the qualifying factor that Tom needed to find his so-called redemption. It just fell into our laps, for God’s sake, Tom thought. Maybe I didn’t save the world, but Jef and I did about as good as anybody could. But now what? I’ve done all I can do. Now, I’m actually watching myself die.

  He swore he could feel the sloughing away of his own flesh. He thought of poor Jemma and wished that she could be spared the misery that was coming for her, but no magic serum nor any amount of praying could stop it.

  Tom had waffled back and forth about talking to Holly one more time—one last time—but he feared that face-to-face she might have some sway over him, preventing him from doing what he felt certain he had to do. There was no use postponing it.

  The gun was weighty in his hand. He hadn’t thought of it that way before. He’d considered it the right tool for the job every time he’d used it in the past, but now he studied it more than he’d ever done before. Heavy, hard, cold, and impersonal. Perfect really, he thought. No emotion to it. Done by nobody’s hand but my own.

  As he reached the edge of the tree line, snow began to fall, giving purpose to the gray blanket of clouds reflected in the placid pond in the clearing. The last beautiful thing he’d see on this god-forsaken planet. He gazed into the distance and brought the barrel of the gun to his head. Tom hadn’t intended to count down from three, it just happened. Three... two...

  A loud splash followed by crying stopped the clock. It was a child’s cry. Tom shoved the gun into his pocket and bolted from the trees to scan the pond.

  Sherry’s voice carried over the squalling. “Eva! Oh, my God, Eva!”

  Tom’s search became dire when he heard Eva’s name. After a moment, he spotted her thrashing in the water a few yards away and rushed in to snatch her up. He cradled Eva tightly in his arms for warmth, like the first time he carried her in the woods.

  Sherry came running over. “Oh, Tom! Thank God you were here,” she said excitedly crying and out of breath. She grabbed the child’s hands in her own to warm them, Eva still bawling from the scare and the shock of the frigid water.

  Sherry and Eva had been out picking some cattails, when Eva apparently wandered off and slipped from the bank of the pond.

  “She was getting heavy, so I set her down just for a second. Oh, I feel just awful,” Sherry chastised herself tearfully for being so careless. “I guess she’s just gotten so good at walking now that... Oh, good Lord, I just feel awful.”

  “Just get her home and warm.”

  Sherry wasted no time in wrapping her own coat around the soaking wet child and rushing back to the farm.

  Tom smiled inwardly at the irony of how saving Eva saved his own life. It did give him some satisfaction. Satisfaction in saving Eva and seeing that, despite his miserable condition, his purpose is not yet at an end.

  #

  December inside a shopping mall didn’t seem right without Santa’s village surrounded by all the overdone Christmas decor and holiday music piped through the sound system. No bustle of shoppers, or mouth-watering aroma wafting from the Cinnabon shop. It was desolate, and the only hint of a food smell was the lingering odor of rotted inventory from the food court.

  Mark and Kenny walked towards each other from opposite ends of the mall, meeting in the middle of the atrium. One wheeling two shopping carts tethered together, stacked high with large white pails, towing a top of the line generator, the other, carrying shopping bags from The Children’s Place store in one hand, a big floppy stuffed bear under his other arm, dragging a clear trash bag filled with tampons.

  “Is that a cross bow?” Mark acknowledged, pointing to something poking from between the pails in Kenny’s cart. “Don’t you already have two of those?”

  “Yeah, but not one like this. This Sears must have gotten a last-minute shipment of new inventory for the zombie hunters,” Kenny said, admiring his new toy. “Too late for everyone else, but good for us. Look at this stuff.” Alluding to the food.

  Mark set his bags and bear down and pulled out the cross bow to get a better look.

  Kenny began listing off its features, “Fiberglass 175-pound recurve crossbow with a 4 x 32 multi-reticle scope and detachable quiver. The camo pattern makes it extra sweet.” Mark was noticeably impressed by its weight. “Light as a feather, ain’t it?”

  As Mark tested out the scope, Kenny looked up to the atrium skylights to notice that snow had begun falling. “Damn. We better round up the girls.”

  Peering through the scope, Mark saw movement on the upper level outside of Macy’s, where a row of stylish mannequins dressed the storefront window. The withered frame of a zombified mall worker shuffled across Mark’s view.

  “Well, look at that. This mall still has creepers,” Mark affirmed for Kenny, not taking his eye from the scope. “Mind if I put this baby to the test?”

  “Have at it. Steady now, like I taught you with my other ones. Nice and smooth.”

  Mark loaded an arrow, with Kenny’s guidance, and lined up his shot. “Ya know, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear it’s on the scent of food.” He pulled away from the eyepiece to question Kenny. “Wait. We can’t be past time for the se
rum booster shots, can we?”

  “Naw. Three more weeks.”

  Aiming for the center of the head, the cross hairs wavered up and down on the target as it moved. Its pace seeming to quicken. Mark impatiently squeezed the trigger and the arrow sailed through the air, ricocheted off the zombie’s rib cage, continuing through its flimsy body. Something behind the monster slumped to the floor.

  From their skewed vantage point below, they couldn’t see Jemma had been admiring the outfitted mannequins’ wardrobe, as well as her own stylish reflection, in the Macy’s window. By the time she caught the reflection of the zombie behind her it was too late. The arrow had struck her.

  Kenny snatched the cross bow after Mark’s failed attempt to kill the beast, loaded another arrow and swiftly shot the creeper, lodging the arrow in its head. It teetered and toppling over the railing, falling to the lower level just as Holly came out of the store upstairs.

  She screamed out at the sight of the arrow protruding from Jemma’s chest, and frantically ran to her friend, who was bleeding on the floor.

  Mark and Kenny scrambled up the stairs to the second floor in a panic. The scene was more than Mark could bare. He rushed to Jemma, knelt by her side, and cradled her head in his arms.

  Holly saw the cross bow in Kenny’s hand and stormed at him, her fists striking his face and torso while he tried to hold her off. “You bastard! Why?” She sobbed. “I know you couldn’t stand her around, but... this?!” Remembering what Kenny had handed her earlier, Holly pulled the snub-nosed revolver from her pocket and aimed it squarely at Kenny.

  “Whoa! It was an accident,” he told her.

  “Holly, put the gun away,” Mark shouted. “It was an accident.”

  Kenny looked past Holly to Mark, and they locked eyes, and Kenny repeated himself earnestly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

  Mark didn’t know why Kenny took the blame, yet he didn’t refute it. He simply knelt by Jemma and took her hand and tried to comfort her through his tears.

  Jemma’s voice was weak. Almost a whisper. “Mark?”

  “I’m right here.” Mark leaned closer to her.

  “We’ve got to get her back home,” Holly stated with authority.

  “She’s losing so much blood. She’ll never....” Kenny began, but changed his words. “I’ll get the truck.”

  “Oh, no. There’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere with you!” Holly’s anger was unchallenged. “I’ll drive her myself.”

  Kenny remained silent and glared at Mark, conveying that he should remain silent as well.

  Holly strode off with determination, handing Mark her gun. “I’ll be right back. Mark, if that fuckin’ son of a bitch comes near her... shoot him.”

  #

  Kenny kept his distance, deciding that he’d best get the supplies loaded into the truck. Jemma was fading away by the second, and Mark’s grip on her hand was the only thing that felt real to her.

  “Mark,” her voice broke in a raspy whisper.

  “Shhhh. Don’t talk, Jemma.”

  “Mark... Take care of Holly.”

  “Of course. And we’re going to take of you, too. We’ll get you outta here and all fixed up,” he lied.

  “She loves you, you know. And I know you love her.”

  “Okay, now. Shhhh. Save your strength.”

  “Mark, do you,” Jemma coughed out her words. “Do you think... if I... I wasn’t so... ugly... that maybe you... could have loved me?”

  Mixed with his guilt and shame over accidentally shooting Jemma with the arrow, Mark felt the pull of empathy for a person he’s only known as a close friend, and wondered to himself if it had in fact been her zombie-like appearance that had subconsciously prevented him from seeing her as anything more. He was embarrassed to admit that it was most certainly true, but the other thing he was certain of was that Jemma Straight’s true beauty was more than skin deep. He cried and leaned close to her face. Jemma’s eyes tried to focus on him through the fading light.

  “Jemma, to me you are absolutely beautiful.” Mark sobbed and kissed her tenderly on the mouth—not caring in that moment about her eroding lips. Jemma smiled.

  #

  Fresh tires squealed across the smooth floor as the engine accelerated to make up for lost time.

  The bright white 2016 Mustang Shelby GT350, with double navy blue stripes down the center, was the prize in the Cherryvale Mall Dream Car Giveaway. A quick search had found its keys in an unlocked box holding the collected entry forms.

  Holly navigated around mall pillars and planters, plowed through a sunglass cart, screeching to a halt in front of Mark just as he reached the bottom of the stairs carrying Jemma. Mark noticed Holly’s eyes scanning the area for Kenny.

  “He’s loading the stuff into his truck,” Mark answered her unspoken question, as he quickly saw that the best option in the coup was to hold Jemma on his lap in the passenger seat. Jemma’s breathing was shallow. Removing the arrow would make matters worse, but they also knew that their dear friend had but a few precious moments left.

  Quickly swinging the mustang around, Holly sped toward the entrance. The explosion of glass from the white vehicle rocketing out of the mall made Kenny whirl around as he was packing the last of the food pails into his flatbed. Watching the tire marks in the snow dusted parking lot trail off, Kenny wiped tears from his eyes.

  Part 6

  The week had provided much needed R and R for Jef. He woke each morning to the smell of fried eggs, chuckling at his own shortsightedness. Cora saw that the hen Jef had meant to be dinner was better used to provide them a steady supply of fresh eggs. Protein is protein.

  Snow covered the ground and Jef soon began to feel giddy knowing that the trunk of his vehicle still held goodies for the Burkes. It was Christmas Eve, and this year Jef was determined to give the Burke family the Christmas they deserved.

  Last year, there was no festive tree, no decorations, no toys for Willie and Sasha. The disruption to the world had been so great that certain traditions were put on hold; all but forgotten.

  Jef set out after his fried eggs and cup of coffee, and soon returned with a freshly cut spruce for the Burke’s living room. Seeing the tree, then seeing their mom bring out the boxes of decorations that were stashed away in the attic, the kids became so excited that they couldn’t wait to help hang ornaments like they used to.

  Hamilton and Cora thanked Jef for returning Christmas to their lives. Such a simple gesture, but so welcomed and needed.

  “Now that we have a Christmas tree again, momma, does that mean that Santa will be coming back?” Willie asked, smiling hopefully.

  “There ain’t no Santa, stupid,” Sasha said. “He prolly got eaten up by zombies by now.”

  “Now you just hush up,” Cora scolded. “Uncle Jef said that Santa is safe at the North Pole. Remember? Once all the zombies are gone, he’ll be back. Don’t you worry.” She looked at Jef for confirmation.

  “That’s right. But, you never know.” Jef stopped hanging ornaments to look Willie in the eyes. “You know ol’ Santa’s always got some tricks up his sleeve. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did pay you all a visit this year.” Willie squealed with excitement, and even Sasha showed her delight by grabbing her brother’s hands and they both jumped in a circle chanting, “Santa’s coming! Santa’s coming! Santa’s coming!”

  Hamilton whispered to Jef, “You ought not get the kids hopes up like that.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry,” Jef whispered back. “I know for a fact that the trunk of Santa’s sleigh is full of presents,” Jef assured him, pointing his thumb outside.

  “It’s like a Christmas miracle,” Cora said through tears of joy and hugged Jef’s neck. Jef saw Hamilton look down the hall to his father’s room, no doubt hoping for a real miracle.

  #

  Naturally, the kids were the first to arise the following morning, squealing with joy to find presents beneath the tree, signifying that Santa had indeed s
urvived the zombie apocalypse.

  In the old days, Reverend Burke would have found himself coping with the butterflies in his stomach as he rehearsed his Christmas morning sermon. Now, he prayed silently as his children played. He prayed for the future of the world. He thought of his neighbors and members of his congregation. Those dead and those headed west for the hope of salvation for a future.

  Jef noticed the somber look on Hamilton’s face and switched on the Burke’s record player, thankful they were as old fashioned enough as he was to still have one. He’d been saving a record of hit zydeco recordings he’d brought back from New Orleans, and this seemed like a good time to break it out. You can’t help but feel happy when you hear zydeco music, Jef thought.

  Soon, Cora and Ham were dancing, while Jef clapped and stomped his foot to the Louisiana beat.

  The kids bopped their heads to the music as they played uninterrupted with the toys Jef picked up for them on his travels. Seeing Willie and Sasha reminded Jef of Christmases with his own family. He was happy for the memory, yet sad for the loss of something that was taken away from him so brutally.

  By day’s end, festivities had waned, and food filled their bellies, but Jef kept thinking about his family. In all his flights with the serum he hadn’t once gone home. In his mind, his family was gone and that was that, but he knew they were there—or what was left of them anyway. After all this time, he felt the sudden tug of obligation to do something as a way of personal closure.

  In the morning he told Ham that he was going to drive to the airfield to do a bit of maintenance on the plane.

  “I’ve done some calculations and figure I’ve got enough serum for about two more flights, if I’m lucky.”

  “Is that all?” Hamilton asked, not too surprised.

  “Yeah. Well, we knew it would run out. Guess it always seemed a long way off, but if I can get the plane ready I can spray the last of it before the end of the year. No sense waiting all the way until spring. Some folks probably could benefit from it now.” The logic supported Jef’s ulterior motive and that was fine. He was going home.