The other two men were already on their way to take over the shoveling. "I know I am young, but I ain't no baby, I'm 21 years old!" Gordon retorted as he then came back to the bus. "Oh my goodness boys! Did you hear that? Baby Gordy's balls finally dropped!" Dave shouted so that all the others on the bus could hear. This was met by uproarious laughter. "You been having wet dreams about me again?" yelled out a heavily tattooed Creed Sturgeon, from inside as he stirred a large pot of instant mashed potatoes on the propane cook stove. Ricky passed B.D. to retrieve a bowl but as Gordan attempted to pass, Dave stepped out of the bus, gripped his collar and pulled him in close enough to feel his breath on this face. He quickly pulled a bowie knife from his belt and held it against Gordon's crotch "Now I am really happy for you and your new manhood son and I think I have been real generous with you, but if you want to keep those freshly dropped balls I suggest you never take that tone with me again." B.D. growled at him. His gold incisor gleaming as his anger turned to smile. Gordons stared back with eyes as big as saucers. "Now let's hear you say yes sir." B.D. commanded. Gordon complied immediately "Yes Sir." Dave let him go and went to join James and Ronny yelling "Complicit behavior, that's what I like to hear!"
Gordon caught his breath and choked back the urge to cry. He knew any sign of weakness in the midst of these men would lose him every potential ounce or respect he had gained over the past months.
It was hard for Gordon though. He had never really been a tough guy. He was always a little chubby as a kid with longer blond hair. He had shed the fat just after high school, but It felt like everyone had always made fun of him. The redneck boys in class gave him shit endlessly. It didn’t help that several of them rode his bus route. Many days he had held back the tears only to collapse into a sobbing pile in his own driveway as the school bus disappeared out of sight. Once he had even brought a knife to class he had stolen from his father's hunting gear. He stared at the Achilles tendon of one of his tormentors sitting in the desk in front of him. He imagined running the razor sharp blade over it with purpose severing it entirely and laughing as he saw the sadistic fucker's football career ended in one stroke. Despite the pleasure he derived from this fantasy, Gordon found himself lacking in the way of courage when moment came.
The Sullivan County Correctional Facility was the worst place Gordon had ever been in his life. His inability to make friends had never really changed after high school either. He started working for a local grocery store as a nighttime stock boy. He found that he liked the night shift since he was never really required to do a lot of interacting with people. He would get off work at 7 am each morning just before the store opened, go back to this small apartment and watch television alone until he fell asleep.
He had never even lost his virginity, not to mention had a girlfriend. The urges killed him sometimes. Like most frustrated in that situation he often took matters into his own hands but it wasn't enough. He wanted to know what it felt like to be with a real girl. He wanted to feel her skin against his.
On his 2lst birthday he worked up the courage to go out to one of the bars in his hometown of Bristol, Virginia's famed State Street. The place was small and had quite a funky smell but he didn’t care. He was on a mission. He was not making a lot of progress with the ladies however, so he started to drink. The more he got rejected the harder he drank. All this did was make his annoying approach louder.
Eventually his gaze settled on the ass of a blond with a small silver nose ring who was wearing a pair of shorts that cupped her derriere perfectly. She had an infectious laugh and bright smile. Gordon was smitten. He couldn’t remove his eyes and before he knew what he was doing he was grabbing a handful and telling her she was beautiful. She squealed and slapped him powerfully across the face. He was pretty numb from the booze, but she slapped him hard enough that he reeled backward and into her boyfriend who had seen the whole thing go down. One hard punch put Gordon's lights out and he was thrown through the door and out onto the sidewalk.
The next morning Gordon was found lying in his car with the keys in the ignition and had been belligerent when the police questioned him. The fact that his keys were in the ignition qualified him for a DUI. He was first taken to Holston Valley Medical Center for testing. Even though it was the morning after, his blood tests were off the charts registering 1.8 blood alcohol content. He had never been in this kind of trouble before.
He came to in the back of a Sullivan County Deputy's cruiser. It was daylight outside and he could see houses flying by out the window as they drove down HWY 126. He wondered what was going to happen to him? Would he lose his job? What would his Dad say? He had even failed to get a girl to talk to him. He started sobbing. "Best get that out of your system now, keep that shit up and them boys will eat you alive" Said officer Owens. "He's right got to dry that up when we get there boy." Echoed Officer Cox. Gordon did his best to compose himself. He wiped his nose on his sleeve just above his handcuffed wrist.
When they arrived Gordon was still feeling the effects of the alcohol but his head was also beginning to pound. It felt like someone was beating a giant bass drum in his head with every beat of his pulse. The florescent lights pained his eyes. He was stripped of all his possessions, given a set of orange scrubs along with a roll of toilet paper, and shoved into a bunk bed laden room along with 15 other men. He took the only available bed. It was loud in the room. Several of the men were playing poker with cards it appeared they had made from the sides of paper milk cartons. There was a big one with a black beard who would tell a filthy joke and they would all laugh uproariously. When he smiled Gordon could see a gold tooth gleaming in the light.
"Give me that TP!" Gordon heard just before he was surprisingly shoved off his cot and onto the floor. His ass hit the concrete floor with an audible smack and his head clanged against the metal bedframe. Above him now, stood a lanky backlit figure. Gordon held the roll of single ply against his gut with both arms like a football. "I said, give it here!" Said the figure before delivering a brutal kick directly to Gordon's ribs. Gordon to let out a yelp similar to that of a beaten dog. He was now able to make out his face. He was not a good looking man by any stretch of the imagination. His head was shaved into a short Mohawk and he had a long goatee that nearly reached his chest. Dental hygiene had clearly never been important to him and he had a large facial scar that stretched over his right eye and across the bridge of his nose.
He was readying himself for another kick when man with the gold tooth stood up and yelled "Frankie!" The ugly man, apparently named Frankie, grew still and looked his way. "How about some of that home brew?" The gold toothed man continued. Frankie stared at him for a moment before replying "Alright B.D." He went to his bunk and pulled a small orange juice carton from underneath and brought it to the man he had just referred to as B. D. "Not for me" B. D. said "give it to the kid." Frankie grimaced and growled under his breath as he reluctantly took the carton over and handed it to Gordon who had now painfully climbed back onto the bed. "Hair of the dog kid. It will take the edge off." B.D. said. "I know it smells like shit, but hold your nose and choke it down" Gordon did as he was told. The concoction tasted even worse than it smelled but he drank all of it. "What's your name?" B. D. asked. "Gordon" he quietly said in reply. B. D. addressed the room "Everybody, leave Baby Gordy alone. He don't know how shit works around here yet. Anybody that wants anything from him they need to ask me." "You think he's purdy B.D.?" One of the guys yelled out from across the room in a thick country accent. "You know I wouldn't ever cheat on you Ronny!" B. D. replied and the room burst out into laughter. B. D. sat down and the room settled back into its previous rhythm.
Whatever that stuff was that Gordon had been forced to drink was strong. Adding that to his already high blood alcohol level was more than he could handle while staying conscious. In a matter of moments he had passed out on the bunk in a fetal position clinging to his roll of toilet paper.
When Gordon regained consciousness again his side was killin
g him. He wondered if the kick had broken a rib. It sure hurt like hell. He sat up on the bed to find that nearly all of the men were gathered around the small slit window in the heavy steel door. They seemed quite entertained by what they were watching. Was a riot going on or something? Every so often, he would hear them collective say "Ohhhhh!" or "Damn!" followed by a "Did you see that shit?" All of them were fixed on the spectacle but two. B. D. and another he would later come to know as Ricky Gross. The two of them seemed to be strategizing. He thought he heard one of them say "We got to bash them fuckers in the head, That my best guess!" the other replied "How the hell are we supposed to do that?" then their voices lowered into a whisper and he could no longer make out what they were saying. Gordon was more confused than ever.
Suddenly all the men gathered around the door, fell back onto one another as the dead weight of a guard's body crashed against it. Gordon could see the guards face was stricken with terror. He was splattered with a dark reddish black liquid Gordon suspected to be blood. He fumbled with keys frantically and finally found the one to fit. The door had only opened enough for the guard get about halfway in when B. D. sprinted across the room, hurdled the men in the floor, and laid his shoulder into it with agility and purpose of an NFL player on Monday night Football. The guard's hand was nearly severed as his wrist was trapped. He let out an awful scream of pain but B. D. kept the pressure on. "Help me hold this fucking door boys!" he yelled and they all hopped up. “Please! Oh god please don't do this!" the guard screamed his voice laden in terror. "They're coming you’ve got to let me in!" The men all leaned against the door the man's bone in his arm cracking against pressure as he was held there. Gordon could no longer see the glass as the men covered it but heard a throaty hissing, then wet crunching over the guards screams which became more and more garbled and eventually went away altogether.
Blood began seeping under the door and the men started to lose traction. Something was pushing back against the door hard. Gordon sat in amazement. B.D. looked to him. "Get over here Gordy! When the door opens get the guard's club." he instructed. Gordon crossed the room to the door stepping through the blood that was now soaked into all the inmates' socked feet. The top half of the guard's body was leaning through the door now. However, something had changed. There was a big chunk missing from the guard’s throat. His eyes were milky and reddened and he was gnashing his teeth at the air like a rabid dog. There were more behind him, all behaving similarly. More than Gordon could count. He was paralyzed in fear. "Move god damn it! Get that club" B. D. Yelled so forcefully it broke Gordon's trance. He could see the black weighted baton hanging from the guard's waist. he grabbed it's handle and pulled but the pressure the men still held against the door was holding it firmly in this holster. "Pull like you've got a pair" Ricky yelled. Gordon tried the handle again. The guard gripped Gordon's wrist with his still functioning hand and attempted to pull it up to his snapping mouth. This actually helped Gordon, he pulled with all his might and the baton came loose bashing into the guards mouth and relieving him of most of his teeth. "Knock that fucker over the head" B.D. commanded. Reacting purely on adrenaline, Gordon raised the baton above his head and brought it down on the guard with a loud THUNK over and over until the front of the guard's skull had caved in completely. The guard slumped down to the floor.
"Good job now take over for me" B. D. ordered as he took the bloody baton from Gordon's hands. He pulled the guard the rest of the way into the room and said "Alright boy's let em’ in one at a time." Gordon began helping with the door. B.D. proceeded to take out guards and other inmates with on to two heavy thwacks to the head each. He stacked them up like cord wood in the corner of the room for nearly an hour. When he was done, they all made their way out of the prison using keys and electronic slider ID's found on the bodies of these formerly rabid guards. B. D. managed to find his way into the weapon storage area and armed all the men with black tactical 12 gauge shotguns and 40 caliber Smith and Wesson pistols. He also managed to find himself a scoped 270 Winchester the sheriff’s office must have used for longer range needs.
The streets of the town of Blountville, TN were found to be in no better condition than inside the prison. In every direction there were tons of them. The women's side of the facility was completely overrun but thankfully the fences were holding a large group of them from escape. None of the squad cars were in the lot. Gordon found this odd. Maybe they had all been out on patrol when this all started. Maybe some of the deputies took the every man for himself approach. He didn't trust any of the inmates but what choice did he have? This town was covered in what could only be described as zombies. He thought about running but it seemed futile. He would have to stick with them if he expected to survive. That much was becoming quite clear.
At the top of the hill above the prison was a school bus with half the roof cut off the back at the bottom of the windows and the seats removed to form a giant truck bed. The prison used this to take inmates out for litter pickup. Ricky climbed inside and yelled out to the others "They left the damn keys in it! Some climbed inside, others climbed into the bed. B.D. ushered Gordon inside. Just then one of the men yelled "Is that Frankie?" Gordon and the rest all looked out the windshield of the bus and could see the same man that had kicked him in the ribs in an attempted TP robbery, running away at full speed. B.D. climbed out of the bus and dropped to one knee he leveled the rifle on the front bumper of the bus and with one loud report of the 270, Frankie's right shoulder jerked violently and his body skidded down to the pavement. "You're either with me or you’re against me boys" B.D. loudly exclaimed with a bit of chuckle as he climbed back onto the bus. With the men in a silent awe, Ricky started the bus, placed it into gear and headed toward the ramp for Interstate 81 south.
Chapter 10
The sun was bright but losing power and there was almost a chill in the air now. Gordon guessed it must have been getting into October at this point. He had lost track of dates somewhere along the line and it seemed like it wasn’t as important to keep up with a calendar anymore. He was sitting, in reflection, on the ground in the early afternoon atop the hill where he and Ricky Gross had dug a mass grave the night before. His back was against an oak that stood mighty and tall despite it’s solitude. Ricky and Snake Davis were playing cards using a nearby rock as their table. Gordon wasn’t even paying close enough attention to tell what game it was they were playing. He was too busy trying to dream of a day when he didn’t have to be at the beckoning call of Black Dave.
Since he had first been granted to keep his toilet paper that day he arrived at the Sullivan County jail, Dave had made it out as if Gordon owed him his life. When Gordon seemed to have forgotten it B.D. made sure to remind him. He also make sure to remind him he felt it was his to freely take, should it be deemed necessary. Gordon had lost count at this point of the amount of times B.D. gave him “pardon.” However, for some reason he did it in such a way that each time Gordon was sure this was the time he’d go through with it. It kept Gordon’s stomach in knots. Generally he found it easier to just go along with whatever B.D. said. Besides he wasn’t sure if he could make it on his own in this new and vicious world.
After they stole the prison bus and headed south they had soon acquired some other vehicles that were abandoned along Interstate 81 south. They had also found more than a few extra guns. Pistols of various calibers mainly, but a couple of longer range rifles of the 30.06 size and one AK 47 accompanied with 5 cans of ammo. The vehicles had been employed in an effort to scout ahead of the bus and find prospects for potential looting. Ricky and Snake had claimed the larger trucks, an older Chevrolet Pickup, and a Jeep. B.D. insisted Gordon go on these missions as well which only left him with the third running vehicle, a small red Honda hatchback. The Honda was small but it was nimble and VTech engine gave it a peppiness that belied its stature. Each of the drivers were accompanied by a sharp shooting passenger that could focus on weilding a weapon while the driver kept his focus on the road. They also ha
ndled the Motorola 5 mile range walkie talkies clipped onto the sun visor of each vehicle.
Gordon’s gunman, Marcus Tidewater, was overweight and surly with a very dark complexion and a surprisingly well kept afro that belied the rest of his hygiene. Gordon often wondered how he managed to stay so heavy even after months of being in jail and now on the road with food being pretty sparse. The fat man was ruthless and a better shot than most expected, which often worked to his advantage. He had been in jail for selling pharmaceutical grade narcotics, like OxyContin, out of his apartment. He acquired the drugs from encrypted websites on the internet along with anything else a customer may request. The problem was he sold it to anyone who asked and the last one who did was an undercover Sullivan County Sheriff’s Deputy. Marcus had a deep seeded hatred for law enforcement an any other form of authority, but for some reason he was do whatever B. D. told him to. Most of the time this entailed going on these runs and sitting in the car as a “lookout.”
“Gordon, Ricky, Snake time to make the donuts!” B.D. suddenly yelled loudly from the doorway of the large bus. They all hopped to attention. Every driver along with his gunman got in their vehicles and sped down the interstate toward the next exit.
The exit they were about to explore was one they had already been down the day before. There was a truck stop there and they had checked most of the trucks on the lot but not all of them. They found a few provisions in some of them. One carrying a large shipment to grocery stores of varying flavors of Ore Ida instant mashed potatoes, but most of the others were filled with things that were not useful anymore. One had flat screen televisions, another had furniture, and yet another had Halloween Decorations. In the cabs of a few of the trucks Snake had come across a few dirty magazines he was very proud to claim, but it started to rain and they called it quits around mid-day. That’s when they came across the bus of missionaries heading north.
Life After Page 6