Zombie Fallout 3: The End

by Mark Tufo

  "You need to rest," she said matter-of-factly.

  "You think?" Here came my dumb-ass, dripping with sarcasm reply. Time to back-peddle before she could call me on it. "Sorry, I'm wiped."

  She gave me the 'You're lucky you saved our lives last night or you'd be suffering my wrath' look.

  BT sat bolt upright and yelled, "what the hell is that!?"

  I nearly drove the hummer off the roadway. "What!! What do you see?" I yelled in reply.

  Everyone was now wide-awake looking out the windows trying to see what new and unusual death deliverer was heading our way.

  "Oh my God!" Travis yelled. "Henry crapped back here. Dad, you need to pull over quick, I can't breathe!"

  The entire hummer took on the smell of Henry's offal. What could he have possibly eaten that could come out on the other end that bad? A moldy rat-meat burrito perhaps, or maybe a liverwurst stuffed crepe. Who knows, but it was the first time since I got in this hummer that I had completely forgotten about what I was sitting in. I somehow managed to make anti-lock brakes skid down I-80. I set records for the distance it took to stop that truck. Doors nearly came unhinged as everyone struggled to make a mass exodus at the same time. It didn't work so well, something about quantum physics and how two different masses of matter (meaning passengers) cannot occupy the same space at the same time (meaning the exits).

  Gore clung to the seat and sides of my legs and thighs. I didn't even notice as I kept exhaling quickly out of my nose in the hopes I could push out the molecules of shit adhered to the lining in my nostrils. Henry sauntered out a minute or so later, most likely reveling in his delivery.

  "Talbot, where did you get the dog? The city dump?" BT asked, pinching his nostrils shut in the hopes that he would not breathe in any more tainted air. "I hope you got half off, because he's defective!"

  Henry had no clue that he was the center of all this attention. He pissed on the tire, a look of contentment across his wide maw. Something that strongly resembled a liver plopped to the ground from the back of my shirt. The seriousness of our predicament seemed to be heralded with that one small transaction. It was morning, of that I was grateful. I looked around to check out our surroundings. Rural pretty much summed it up. There was a farmhouse within view, although from this distance it was impossible to tell if it was occupied. No smoke was coming from the chimney, if that meant anything or not.

  Travis had opened up the trunk and found an old rag in the back. He was treating the offending pile as if it were nuclear waste, which seemed about right. He heaved the rag and its contents as far as was possible and was about to shut the trunk when Nicole stopped him.

  "Yeah, probably should let it air out." He said as he grabbed a handful of snow and washed his hands.

  After five minutes the general consensus seemed to be that the majority of the odor should have dissipated.

  Justin took it upon himself to check this hypothesis, his partially wrinkled nose let us know that while not exactly pleasant it should be safe enough for human inhalation.

  "What do you think, Talbot?" Tracy asked, following my line of sight.

  "I think we go up there and check their hospitality. Been on empty for the last ten miles, I can't imagine we've got another ten miles left in her," I said as I thumped the hood. "And who knows what the hell is up the road. I'd rather we have a little bit of cushion gas-wise if we need to run." I started to get back into the car.

  "I'd rather walk, if it's all the same to you," Tracy said.

  Justin, Nicole, Travis and Tommy all chimed in about how they would like to stretch their legs or get some air or enjoy the weather.

  "Awesome," I said as I squished back down into my mélange a la gore.

  BT got into the front seat, Carol into the rear. Henry looked from me to the hummer and over to the four who opted to walk. Back and forth he swung trying to figure out what was going on here. Whatever it was, he wanted a window seat as he hopped up into the hummer. I drove slowly, staying next to Tracy and the kids. I was not going to leave them alone and I was still hesitant about approaching the farmhouse, especially since we were unarmed.

  The snow on the roadway had melted to a thin skin of ice. That was to change however when we reached the edge of the farmhouse driveway. The small band of travelers moved behind the hummer as I easily cut a swath through the 10-inch thick crusty snow. No champagne powder here, I was east of the Mississippi. Did that matter? Really didn't see myself strapping on a set of skis anytime soon. Another quiver to the heart of loved things lost, along with Monday night football, the Red Sox and my beleaguered Bruins. A random thought permeated my thinking as I crunched up noisily into the front yard. If I came across Kevin Youkilis as a zombie would I be able to kill him? That question got infinitely harder to answer as I pondered whether he would have his uniform on.

  I would have to dwell on that later, as I neared the front door and still could not see any signs of life or death. The snow around the house was pristine, marred only by the occasional deer or rabbit track. As long as they weren't rabid we were in pretty good shape.

  Tracy came up to my window as I rolled to a stop. "Don't get in if you don't have to but stay near here," I told her as I stepped out from the hummer.

  She looked down at my pants and at the seat, obviously hoping that there wouldn't be any sort of problems where we would need to make a fast get away. "Is that a tooth?" She asked.

  "Don't," I admonished her. "I don't want to know."

  "Do you think you're the best representative to go up there?" Carol asked from the back seat.

  I stooped down so that I could make eye contact with her. "Carol, you should know better by now. In the best of times I should never be the front man, this is just by default."

  She gave me a grim smile. These weren't times for jokes and she had yet to warm up to my 'what, me worry?' attitude, even if it was all a farce. I now worried every minute of every day.

  "Dad, you want us to come with you?" Justin asked, as he gestured to Travis and himself.

  Normally there is safety in numbers, but if anyone was here they were watching us right now and I didn't want to give them any extra reason to be spooked. This was rural Pennsylvania and we were at a farmhouse. Odds were exceedingly high that at the minimum they possessed a shotgun. If the owner was a little skittish, which he had every right to be, I didn't want my boys anywhere near the door. What would be the point? So we could all be lead catchers?

  "No, stay with your mom. Both of you," I clarified as Travis came up beside me.

  "We mean no harm!" I yelled, placing my hands in the air. I tried to put myself in the house occupant's point of view. Would I believe me? I answered honestly, no. Even bad guys would start out by saying something along those lines. Here I was covered in what they would think was my last victim's blood. No they wouldn't trust me, the stakes were too high. This wasn't getting ripped off on a Craigslist deal. This was the whole bag of marbles, so to speak.

  The house was an old style Victorian, smack dab between dilapidated and brand spanking new. If it was abandoned it hadn't been for long. It looked to be the domicile of aging occupants, ones that could not keep up with the maintenance such a home demanded. The steps creaked eerily as I ascended the stairs. I kept my hands in the air. I got the distinct impression I was being watched and then it hit me like a bolt, 'duh' there were at least eight sets of eyes on me from behind and maybe Henry's too. So much for the spook radar.

  I knocked loudly on the door. "Please, we mean no harm. We just need a place to stay for a day or two." I waited for a response; none was forth coming, I did notice though when I knocked that I did not get that hollow echo that accompanies an empty house. A spark of hope ignited in my gut. We might have the chance to get some supplies and not make idle chit chat with residents who were no longer in attendance. You may have read my other two journals. Nowhere in them does it say I'm a people person.

  I knocked again and gave the standard time for a response. I checked
the doorknob. It was locked. "Who the hell locks their door in the country?" I asked the wind.

  "What?" Tracy asked. "Are you talking to someone? Is there someone in there?"

  "Just talking to myself," I told her over my shoulder.

  "Well that doesn't count, you always have a crowd inside that head of yours," she said with a slight grin.

  "Is this really the time for that?" Carol asked her daughter with concern. This non-confrontation I was not having on the porch was starting to rattle her a bit.

  "This really is their basic form of communication," BT told Carol.

  "You're in on this too?" She asked BT.

  He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

  Nice verbal detour, but time to get back to the task at hand. "Please just let me know if you're in there. If you want us to go, we will. But if I don't get a response I am going to kick this door in!" I yelled. I wasn't too particularly scared of the 'Make My Day' law. That was a thing of the past. The owners of this house could have just as easily shot me on the porch and wouldn't even have to worry about cleaning up the blood trails as they dragged me inside to make it look like I had gained entry.

  No one responded. I thought I might have heard a distant shuffle but I chalked it up to an overactive imagination. I got into my best Chuck Norris impersonation stance and lashed out heavily at the door with the heel of my foot. The heavy stout wooden door cracked a bit but did not give. I rebounded off, the reverberation from the contact causing increasing concentric rings of pain within my body as it radiated away from my foot. I staggered and nearly fell right off the porch.

  I could hear BT laughing his ass off in the back of the hummer.

  "Yeah!" I yelled. "Why don't you get your gimpy ass over here and give it a try?"

  His chortling came to a quick and satisfying halt.

  "The door must be braced from the inside." I said to anyone that would listen as I rubbed my shin.

  Tommy joined me up on the porch, his eyes all puffy as if from crying. He didn't say anything to me as he bent down and grabbed the key that had been strategically placed under the welcome mat, unlocked the door and walked in.

  "Who still does that?" I asked him as I followed into the house.

  "Talbot?" Tracy yelled from outside. I backed up and stuck my head out. "What should we do?"

  "Shut off the hummer and come on in." Seemed a rational enough response. Tommy had gone in. I still had to trust his 'gift'.

  A heavy dust swirled in the light. I ran my finger across an old oak table. There was an accumulated layer of the fine dirt but nothing that hinted to longevity. Maybe as much as it would take to amass say since December 7th of the previous year. Chances were that these folks, the Powells, went to their local church when the end came. I knew the family name from the sign that welcomed all guests to The Powells, Union Station.

  Travis was last in as he helped his grandmother. "You want me to shut the door, Dad?"

  The interior of the house was that bone-chilling cold that can only come from an untended home, and had to be at least 15 degrees cooler than outside, but cold you can suffer with. Death from unknown sources, not so much. "Yeah go ahead and shut it and we'll see if we can get a fire going."

  BT was briskly rubbing his hands together. "I'll get it going Mike," he volunteered.

  "Dad, what about the smoke? Won't somebody see it?" Nicole asked as she clutched her arms over her chest.

  I went over to her and rubbed her shoulders in a vain attempt to generate some heat. "More concerned with freezing to death at this point. We'll deal with each life threatening event as it happens." My words did little to ease her tension. It was just the truth, really, we weren't going to have to defend ourselves if we ended up frozen to death.

  I nodded to BT to get that fire going. "Alright Trace, Nicole, I hate to be sexist..."

  "No, you don't, but go on," Tracy said patting my head.

  "Okay smart ass, could you please check the kitchen and hopefully the pantry and see what we've got for grub. The boys and I are going to check upstairs for whatever seems useful, especially blankets," I said, as I looked over to a shivering Carol. Henry had clambered up onto the couch with her and made sure as much of his body was making contact with her as was doggily possible. She seemed to appreciate the gesture as she affectionately rubbed his back.

  The house was huge with high, hard-to-heat ceilings. Never could figure out why they made such tall ceilings when people were shorter back then. The contents of the abode were Spartan to put it gently. Had the place not looked so neat, I would have thought the place had been cleaned out by raiders. Listen, we both know I'm cynical, but I really felt like the Powells had attempted to buy their way into Heaven. The clues were the bare minimum of furnishings and the multitude of crosses and pictures of Our Father Who Art in Heaven that lined almost every available space on the walls. It took closer inspection to realize that the pictures were indeed that and not some Divine Wallpaper. Yes, I know I'm going to Hell. Feel free to cut in front if it makes you feel any better.

  They at least had a myriad of blankets. Apparently, God liked his children to be warm. The upstairs also yielded two flashlights and the Holy Grail, or at least a breech loading over under barrel 10-gauge shotgun with a whopping seventeen shells. I really hoped nobody came a-visitin' as I'd never shot a 10-gauge before, but with its stout wooden no-give stock, I was pretty sure it was not going to be a pleasant experience.

  I sent the boys downstairs to hand out blankets to an adoring crowd. I stayed upstairs, having found old farmer Powell's closet. We were nowhere near a match, size wise, as he seemed to have been enjoying the fruits of his labors maybe a tad too much. However, his clothes weren't covered in human remains and that was good enough for me. I checked the tap hoping that the water might still be running, but no such luck. My next option was the water in the toilet bowl. Given my aversion to germs this might not seem a wise course of action, but it was still light years ahead of what was clinging to my skin. The water was frozen solid. I would have to stay a little while longer in this condition as my only other option was to find a container, get some snow and melt it.

  I plodded downstairs, not happy at all. Have you ever had a runny nose and the snot gets right to the edge of your nostril and you get this insanely tickling, itching sensation that you can not immediately take care of, because maybe you're in public, possibly talking to a bank teller? Take that feeling, amp it up maybe ten or eleven times, and that's what I felt like. Every time I took a step, the drying remains of that poor soul rubbed on my legs, thighs and ass, up my butt crack and, oh fuck, on my NUTS! I wanted the feeling of how when you finally step away from the teller's window, you take the sleeve of your jacket and just go to town on that itch. That satisfying 'Ah I win' sensation and for just a few moments in time all seems right in the world. Side note, if you're female, replace sleeve with tissue.

  The beginnings of a fire were being well tended by BT. Henry and Carol were swallowed up in a huge plaid comforter; both looked on the verge of a serious nap. Good for them. Tracy and Nicole were taking stuff out of a pantry that looked stocked enough to take on a complete cold Pennsylvania winter.

  Tracy wiped a strand of hair out of her face. "Stuff in the fridge has mostly gone over, nothing really worth salvaging. Smells better than Henry's butt in there but not by much."

  Oh, my stomach almost got queasy. The fridge was definitely off limits.

  "Got a big pot in there or something?" I asked, not really all that interested in checking out the menu just yet.

  "No water?" Tracy asked getting right to the root of the matter.

  I shook my head as she handed me a good size container.

  I went outside and stuffed that thing full. BT looked like he wanted to hit me as I started to crowd out his burgeoning fire with my giant snow-filled pot. I think the only thing that held him up was the miserable expression on my face. The snow took somewhere in the neighborhood of a half-hour to melt. I know this b
ecause I did one Mississippi, two Mississippi etc for the whole time. It was this monotonous obsessive compulsive counting that let me stay sane those last few agonizing moments.

  The water had barely let go of its previous frozen state when I grabbed the pot and headed back upstairs. As it was there were still chunks of ice floating around, but it didn't matter at this point. I found what looked like lumpy homemade soap up in the master bathroom. I was so distressed I didn't even think about whose body this may have last touched. Oh, I didn't mention that small tidbit? I used to have to have my own dedicated soap bar or I'd rather forego cleansing. The motel had those small individual ones so I had been alright. Didn't matter a lick this time though. I grabbed a small towel out of the closet, soaked it in ice water, lathered it up with soap and proceeded to rub my skin to a nice shiny red rawness.

  Three blood soaked towels later, I felt better, not clean mind you, but better. The bathroom floor looked like Lizzie Borden had lived here. If someone stumbled across this place after us they would have grim visions of what must have happened here. I found a belt, drilled a new fastening hole into it and cinched up my pants. I would have to go commando from here on out, I would never be 'cured' enough to put on someone else's briefs. There was a nice warm red wool plaid shirt to go along with my country-faded blue jeans, I was even able to snag a nice comfortable pair of socks. No fashion show trophies for me, but I was warm and functionality is the cornerstone of survivalism.

  When I came back downstairs, BT was melting another big pot of snow, some for drinking and cooking with and some if folks wanted to clean up a bit. It must have been sometime around noon judging by the sun. BT's fire had the room not balmy but homey. Almost everyone had eaten at least one or two cans of fruit. Nearly sated belly, a warm fire and a place to rest my ass, it all spelled a recipe for some much needed shut-eye. The finished can of sweetened pears fell out of my hand as I nodded off into the netherworld.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - JOURNAL ENTRY 22 -