by Mark Tufo
I walked the entire perimeter of the storage facility. But after thinking about it, I don’t think I ever looked out beyond the chain link fence. My head had been down and I was deep in thought or shallow in disregard. Either one works just fine, but I was paying absolutely no heed to the outside world. I could have walked into the waiting arms of a zombie and not realized it until he or she had bitten me.
My next lap I vowed to pay more attention, but I didn’t make it halfway around before I began to daze out again. It really does suck having the attention span of a coconut-laden swallow (whoever picks this journal up may or may not get that reference; it will be a slightly better world if you do). I started to think about life, a normal life, mortgage, taxes, death, pretty much everything that I would never experience again. How the hell is it possible that I’m now missing any one of those things? And then I kept circling back to arriving at Ron’s and seeing Tracy and the kids again. Was Nicole showing yet? And what the hell is in Ron’s false floorboards in his closet? After kissing my wife and hugging my kids, that would be my utmost priority. I was going to have to be careful though, I wouldn’t doubt it if he had a security system in place.
I would have completely missed the zombie pressed up against the fence if he hadn’t spoken.
“Eat,” it repeated over and over in my head.
“Why don’t you kiss my ass,” I told it back. It actually stopped for a beat or two, processing where that info had come from. I would bet the thing in front of me hadn’t had a real thought in its head since it became infected.
I had established that we could talk, but would it listen? “Dance, fucker,” I said aloud. It licked its lips. Okay zero for one, Talbot. What the hell are you trying to prove? I asked myself. Okay, so if I’m asking myself the question, what are the odds I’m going to know the answer? Not aloud, gotta get into its head. Dance, fucker! I screamed in my thoughts. I wouldn’t bet any substantial amount of money on this, but I would swear it picked up its right leg and dropped it back down. Maybe he couldn’t dance. It used to be a white guy, after all. “Where the hell is a black zombie when you need one? I really shouldn’t be left unsupervised for too long,” I said aloud and started to laugh.
I had effectively blocked the zombie’s repeating message, otherwise I would have just shot him in the forehead and ended this whole experiment. I was already a little antsy that I was this close to one of them and hadn’t dispatched it. I was pacing a few yards up and back trying to decide what, if anything, my being able to hear zombies could do to help us. Re-Pete (I named him that because of how he was following my every move; it seemed fitting) kept following, albeit a second or two behind, as whatever was left of his mind caught up and sent the appropriate message.
I walked to the left, Re-Pete followed. I turned and came back to the right, so did Re-Pete, his eyes never leaving mine. Re-Pete was starting to freak me out a little bit, STAY! I said in my most authoritative “in head” voice. As I turned to go back to the left, the only part of Re-Pete that followed were his eyes. I was looking over my shoulder the entire time, wondering when he was going to follow, but he never did. I did my complete small circuit and he never moved.
“Well, that’s interesting.” I said, scratching my head. On your knees! I screamed in my thoughts, convinced I was going to give myself an aneurysm. Re-Pete dropped to his knees like a choir boy promised a new bike. (You can go anywhere you want with that, I’m not getting any more descriptive.) His knees slammed hard into the pavement. I heard what sounded like his patella on his left leg cracking in two. Normally, I’d cringe, but the sense of power welling up in me was invigorating and I was thrilled I had hindered him in some way.
Was the next thing I wanted to try possible? DIE! I shouted over and over. I was concentrating so hard, my body began to sway back and forth. Sweat was cascading down my forehead. Re-Pete was looking at me like I had lost my mind.
“Talbot?”
My thoughts were snapped; how did Re-Pete know my name? I bent lower to look into its eyes.
“Mike!” An alarmed voice came from behind me. “What are you doing?” I heard heavy footfalls coming up fast. I was physically moved from my spot like a child might move his GI Joe, quickly and without regard for personal comfort.
“You alright, man?” BT asked me as he kept running. We were a good thirty yards away from the fence before he finally put me down. “Are you bit or scratched?” BT asked, trying his best to look me over.
I peered around him at Re-Pete who had gotten back up on his feet. “Well, he didn’t die?”
“What?” BT asked in alarm. “Who didn’t die?”
“Re-Pete,” I told him like he should know exactly what I was talking about.
“Mike, what’s going on? Is Eliza here? Is she in your head? Are you bit?” He kept rapidly firing questions at me.
I was still suffering from mild after-effects from the disconnection with Re-Pete. I guess that’s what you could call it. Wonderful! I wonder if they have any medications for postpartum depression resulting from the lost contact between man and zombie. It could open up a whole new market for the pharmaceutical companies.
“Mike! I’m about to slap the shit out of you, if you don’t start talking to me!” BT roared in my face.
I wasn’t quite ready to come back to this semblance of reality, but when BT says he’s going to slap the shit out of you, you tend to listen. “Don’t you dare!” I said, finally taking my eyes from Re-Pete. “I’m fine,” I was able to grunt out.
“I don’t know if it’s the moonlight or what, but you don’t look fine.”
I waved dismissively at his words. “Follow me,” I told him as I walked past him and back to an eager looking Re-Pete who now only had eyes for the bigger, beefier BT. “I knew you’d leave me at the first opportunity,” I told Re-Pete as I approached.
“Huh?” BT asked. “I’m right here, man. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I was talking to Re-Pete,” I told BT.
“That’s hilarious,” BT said without a hint of humor.
“I’m serious, first he wanted to eat me and now he’d rather eat you, but to be fair, I’m sure once he was done with you, he’d want to eat me again. He’s non-discriminatory that way.”
“I knew it had to happen sooner or later,” BT stated flatly. “I mean it really was just a matter of time. The problem now is how do I tell Tracy?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked him.
“You going crazy, that’s what I’m talking about. I mean everyone knew you were already precariously perched on the ledge even before the zombies came. That you held out this long has amazed most of us.”
“You do know I’m standing right here, right?”
“Sure physically you are, but mentally you’re gone, man,” BT said. “I’ll miss you. I count you among one of my best friends.”
“BT, I’m not insane,” I said. He merely tapped the top of my head like I was six years old and I had said something cute.
“Come here, BT,” I told him, approaching closer to Re-Pete.
“Don’t you get too close to him. There are some medications that you can take that, aside from some excessive drooling, will almost make you normal. There’s no cure for zombie. Tracy will skin me alive if I bring back an insane zombie.”
“All this time, I thought zombies were already insane.”
“Come on, Mike, let’s get the rest and we’ll just head back to Maine. Maybe there’s still a part of you that can be salvaged. A small part, sure, but some is better than none.”
“BT, shut up and watch.”
I said aloud, “On your knees,” at the same time as I thought it. Pretty talented right?!
Re-Pete didn’t disappoint. He instantly once again fell to his knees. This time his already cracked patella completely shattered with a loud snapping noise.
BT had finally shut up and was looking back and forth from me to Re-Pete. “That’s not some sort of trick is it?”
“Yeah, I was using finger snacks as a training aid,” I said sarcastically.
“Coincidence then?” he asked, still not quite believing what he was witnessing.
“Get up,” I told and thought. Re-Pete stood with some difficulty and was favoring his left leg, but stood he did. “Turn around.” Re-Pete did; he was now facing away from us.
BT’s nose was almost pressed up against the fence. “You know, this is fucking amazing,” BT said, not turning back towards me. Now he turned. “How many do you think you could do this to?”
“No clue, I didn’t know I could do this until a few minutes ago.”
“Is it hard?”
“I have to concentrate but it’s no more difficult than listening to you talk.”
“Funny,” BT said turning back to Re-Pete. “Can you make him hurt himself?”
“I don’t think directly. I tried to make Re-Pete kill himself.”
“Repeat?”
“Re-Pete, P…E…T…E.” I said spelling the name. BT was looking at me funny. “He was following me around, I thought the name seemed fitting.”
BT looked at me like he wasn’t completely convinced I hadn’t stepped over the edge. “Then what about indirectly?”
“Well, I think he shattered his knee the way he’s been dropping to them, but I don’t know if he’s incapacitated.”
“Is there a certain distance you have to be from them?”
I shrugged, I had no clue. “He stopped listening to me when you pulled me away, but I don’t really know from what point he stopped or if it was because I lost concentration while you were jiggling me around like Jell-o.”
“Well, walk away; let’s see what happens.”
“I’d rather just put a bullet in its head; he’s really starting to reek.”
“We’ll get to that, but we have got to test the limitation of this. We might never get another opportunity like this.
“Yeah, that’d be a shame,” I told him, turning to walk away.
“You’re still concentrating, right?” BT asked to my retreating back.
“Yes I’m still concentrating, Mrs. Weinstedder.”
“What?”
“Nothing, just my old algebra teacher.”
“So somehow this whole scene reminded you of an old math teacher? Who did the wiring in your head? Because you should get your deposit back.”
“BT what…”
“Stop!” he yelled. “Re-Pete here looks like he’s about to break free.”
I turned to watch. Re-Pete was slightly swaying from side to side. I took one step backwards, the swaying increased.
“Go one more,” BT said, swinging his visage back to Re-Pete.
I did and Ree turned around to face us. I won’t say he had a look of confusion on his face, wondering what had happened, first because the light wasn’t good enough to see that minute of a facial detail from this distance; and secondly, I don’t think zombies have any facial expression beyond perpetual snarl.
“He looks angry,” BT said.
“Angrier than normal?” I asked BT as I came closer.
He shrugged his shoulders in answer. We were both up by the fence. Ree was trying unsuccessfully to get his hands through the chain link.
“He really does have a funk about him, doesn’t he?” BT asked. “Do you want to try and kill him?”
“I’m having some issues here, BT.”
“I’d like to say ‘So what else is new’ but that almost seems cliché now. That’s no human,” BT said pointing to Ree. “And it’s debatable if that thing is even technically alive, but for the sake of argument, let’s say it is. It is still trying to kill us.”
“I know all this. I really do, I just feel like a cat playing with a mouse. It seems much more humane to put a bullet in its head than mess with it for our amusement.”
“I don’t see anything funny here, Talbot, do you?” BT asked hotly.
Step back and then get on your knees, I commanded my puppet. He complied immediately.
BT turned to watch and see what Ree would end up doing.
Smash your head against the ground! I yelled in my head, showing the motion I wanted him to take.
Ree was mannequin-still; he did not move.
“What’s going on?” BT asked, switching his view back between Ree and me. I was almost swaying as much as Ree had been earlier.
“He won’t do it,” I said, blowing out a large exhalation of air.
“Are you trying hard enough?”
“BT, I just about gave myself an aneurysm. I don’t think I could concentrate any harder.”
“I bet you got a D in that algebra class,” BT said, placing a bullet in Re-Pete’s head as he struggled to get up, his damaged knee finally locking the joint in place. Ree fell over with a solid thud.
“I failed it.”
BT snorted. “How far you think you were, fifty, sixty feet?”
“Not much more than that.”
“Could you do that with multiple zombies?”
I could hear Gary yelling if everything was alright in the distance.
“We’re fine!” BT yelled, moving away from the spreading pool of blood by his feet.
“How far are we away from our locker?” I asked BT.
“A ways,” he answered.
“How did you find me?” I asked him suspiciously. “And better yet, why?”
“Mike,” BT started. “You’ve gone through a lot in the last few days.”
“Keeping tabs on me, man?” I asked, more than a little hurt.
BT didn’t dance around the bush. “Yeah, actually I am. Do you blame me?”
I was a second or two away from flashing into anger and then it dissipated like fog in a hot summer sun. “You know, fundamentally, I’m still the exact same person I was. You know that, right?” I asked him, seemingly for his approval.
“I hope so, Mike. Because I can’t imagine doing this shit with anyone but that crazy bastard.”
“What’s going on?” Gary asked, somewhat out of breath. He took in the whole scene quickly. One dead zombie, me with a slightly wilted look and BT very standoffish. “Everything cool?”
“I hope so, I really do,” BT said, walking back towards the locker.
“Mike?” Gary asked.
“BT isn’t all that enamored with my upgrades,” I said, walking over to the fence to see if I could figure out if Re-Pete had a thicker skull.
“Anything I should be concerned about?” Gary asked, coming up to my side.
“Not yet, brother.”
“How much time we got until Eliza comes?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Do you think we’ll need more weapons?”
“I’ve got a little surprise of my own set up. We should have plenty of guns for what I want to do.
“What about the zombie?”
“He’s dead now,” I said, walking back towards the shed. I could not see anything more in the dark.
Paul met me about halfway back. “Hey, buddy, do you need any help?” he asked still fumbling with his pants.
“It looks like you’re the one that needs a hand. Now, I’m not offering, I’m just saying.”
“Go figure, I find a camp potty, toilet paper, a small flashlight and some damn comic books. The night couldn’t be any quieter and I find the perfect spot to take care of some personal business.”
“Sorry, man, but you should know better by now,” I said. I felt for Paul I truly did. Women don’t really get it, but a man’s time on the throne is one of relaxation, a time when he can let go, both literally and figuratively. Not bathroom humor, just fact.
“I’m going to see if the office is open. Maybe there’s actually a door to the bathroom there.”
“Be careful, my friend.”
He waved a hand at me, I hoped it wasn’t the one he had been using for other needs earlier.
Mrs. Deneaux was sitting outside in a plastic lawn chair, smoking a cigarette, I couldn’t tell if she was asleep or not
. The fluid motions she made when extracting the smoke from her lips and flicking the ash was a much-practiced maneuver. It was her own small dance of death.
Mrs. Deneaux magically produced a half-empty pack and one cigarette leapt out at me. I took it much like a drowning man would take a glass of water, or an apple from a serpent. You decide.
Gary had grabbed my shoulder and gave me a brotherly squeeze as he went back into the storage unit. Brian walked by, stopping only long enough to tell me he would take over the patrol. I thanked him as Deneaux lit my smoke.
“BT doesn’t trust you,” she said after a few peaceful moments. She wasn’t looking at me, but rather up at the sky and the blazing stars.
“And you?” I asked, taking a heavy intake of smoke, also marveling at the sight above us.
“All I know is that if you turn me into a vampire and I’m stuck in this old wrinkled body forever, I will make sure to never leave your side. I’m no longer a Miss Stewart.”
I started laughing. “I’ll keep that in mind; and who is Miss Stewart?”
“It’s of no concern now. So how are things, Michael?” she said. At some point, she had stopped looking at the stars and her eyes sparked brightly as they focused intently on me.
“That’s quite a gaze you’ve got going on there,” I said, trying to deflect some of that attention.
“It is not every day that someone has their soul stripped from their body. I have also given mine up, but I fear I will have to atone for it a lot sooner than you, I expect.”
My mouth opened to ask her what she had done, but she cut me off at the pass.
“It is not something I wish to discuss. Perhaps I will write it down in a journal. I see you scribbling in that thing all the time. I would love to know what you think of me.”
“No you wouldn’t,” I said.
Now it was her turn to laugh. “No, perhaps I wouldn’t. Do you lead us to salvation, Michael?” she asked in all seriousness. “Is that even possible?”
“To be honest, Mrs. Deneaux…”
“Vivian.”
“Vivian,” I said. Her name felt like I was swirling broken glass around in my mouth as I tried to say it. “I’m just trying to make it through tomorrow.”