by Wimer, Kevin
“Anyone injured?” Cubbie asked as he walked up to the group.
“No,” one of the men said.
“Anyone bitten?”
The group looked at each other and then back at Cubbie and shook their heads no. The silence among the group was deafening. Cubbie was a bit worried about them. He started to ask another question when Tex walked up with a lollypop firmly planted in the side of his jaw.
“Damn if you didn’t save our bacon,” Tex said, slapping Cubbie on the back as he looked at the group, “It looks like you got us all here in once piece,” turning his attention to both Cubbie and Chris who nodded their heads in agreement, “That was one hell of a shit storm,” taking a breath as he looked at the truck and shook his head. He couldn’t believe the damn thing was still running. It was beat all to hell. “I can’t believe the truck made it this far. I sure hope it—”
Tex didn’t get to finish what he was about to say. The engine made a clunking clank of a death groan before rattling to a stop. Chris watched as white smoke began to slowly pour out from beneath the hood. The engine was dead.
“That’s not good,” Cubbie said with a brow raised.
The three men began walking towards the front of the truck to have a look at what was going on under the hood. Chris was the first to make it around to the front. He stopped dead in his tracks and let out a slew of curse words as he stumbled backwards and into Tex. The grill of the truck had been caved in and it had various body parts hanging from within in it. It looked like a meat grinder. Chris had been startled by the severed head that was stuck between the front bumper and the trucks grill. The blood shot milky white eyes of the severed head were looking up at the three men—its mouth gnashing together. The bastard still had the hunger that drove him. Tex pulled a knife from its sheath and stepped around Chris. He walked up to the severed head—the walker growling a hiss of a moan as its teeth gnashed together while trying to bite him. Tex was unwavering as he drove the blade of the knife into the severed head. The blade broke through bone and made a popping sound that reminded Chris of someone biting into a freshly picked apple. Tex twisted the blade of the knife and then pulled it out. The blade dripped with both blood and brain matter. Tex slung the blade of the knife in a downward motion—clearing the bits of brain and blood from it.
“Damn if that isn’t the craziest shit I have ever seen,” Tex said as he turned and looked at the two men, “I have seen a lot of shit in my time . . . but this right here just might take the cake,” putting the knife back into its sheath, “Help me try and get the hood open.”
The hood of the truck was badly dented and nearly caved in. Chris was sure it was going to take all that they were worth to get it open. The three men grunted as they pried on the hood without success. Tex took a step back and looked at it. Chris could see the anger in the man’s eyes. He motioned to one of the other men who had been standing guard to come over and lend a hand. It took all four of them to finally get it open. The fan blade of the truck had chunks of meat clinging to it. The engine was coated in a fresh crimson red.
“Well . . . it looks like this old mule is toast,” Tex said as he looked at the three men. “If this was the wild west, I would shoot the old gal and put her out to pastry,” placing the palms of his hands onto the six shooters on his hips.”
Cubbie chuckled a laugh and Chris shook his head. The other men looked on—expressionless. Chris looked at the man as did Tex. The group needed a break. Tex turned from the three men and took a few steps towards the intersection. Chris watched and waited for Tex to give orders for the group to move out. The man stood there with his hands on his guns and his back to them.
“I guess we should go and look for another vehicle,” turning as he looked at the three men, “Chris, what do you say that you and I go and rustle us up some transportation.”
Chris knew it was Tex way of saying we need to talk.
“Roger that.”
Chris started to take a step forward and towards Tex when Cubbie spoke up.
“Let me grab my rifle and check on Lailah and then I will be ready to go with you both.”
Tex turned and walked back to Cubbie. He placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled as he began to speak.
“I need someone here,” looking Cubbie dead in the eyes, “Someone I can trust to keep everyone safe,” Tex looked at the road weary group. He then looked at the mountains in the distance and the sky that seemed to go on for eternity. He knew it wouldn’t be long until dark was upon them. He had to get them back to Graceland before nightfall, “Check on Lailah and make sure she is okay,” looking over Cubbie’s shoulder and towards the truck. He had yet to see Lailah, “Once you do that, and everything is okay, set up a perimeter,” his brow narrowed as he looked at the young man, “Make sure everyone who is on watch is watching and those that are resting are getting the rest they need.”
Cubbie nodded. He looked at Chris and then at the group. He felt a bit of guilt for not arguing to go with the two men but knew Tex was right. Someone needed to stay here and keep order. Someone needed to make sure everyone would be safe. Cubbie wasn’t sure why Tex trusted him to do the job but was thankful his friend felt that highly of him.
“You can count on me Tex,” turning as he looked the man in the eye, “I won’t let you down.”
Tex pulled a lollypop from his breast pocket and handed it to Cubbie.
“Make sure you give that to Lailah. It might pick up her spirits a bit.”
Cubbie smiled. Tex was always thinking of someone else and not himself.
“Yes sir.”
Tex turned and started to walk away when Cubbie cleared his throat and spoke one last time. He told them to be safe and to watch their backs. The gas station had been cleared a few months ago but that didn’t mean anything. Chris nodded his head at Cubbie and Tex did the same.
“First sign of trouble, Chris and I will haul ass back here.”
Tex looked at Cubbie who nodded his head. He could see the look of guilt in the young man’s eyes. He had nothing to feel guilty about and one day Tex would tell him just that. Cubbie was more than just a part of the group. He was family. He was the kid brother Tex had always wanted. Cubbie and Lailah and everyone else in the group were the kind of family Tex had dreamed of having. He had grown up with a drunk for a father and a mother who had been strung out on drugs. Images of Tex coming home from school early and finding his mother dead flashed through his mind. She had a needle in her arm and her eyes open—staring up at him as if she was begging for help. The painful memory of that day faded from his mind as he looked at the group—his family. Tex knew he was leaving them in good hands. Cubbie wouldn’t let anything happen to them. The young man was not only a good man but someone who had their shit together. It was one of the reasons the two had hit it off so well. Tex didn’t like repeating himself a thousand times to get the job done. Cubbie did what was asked of him and he did it right the first time.
Tex thought about the group back at Graceland. He had done all he could do to weed out the ones that were useless and untrustworthy. The ones that were of little use to him and the others when the shit hit the fan stayed behind the walls of Graceland—protected by a handpicked team. Tex and Brandy had given them daily task to get done—to prove themselves worthy of a second chance. Brandy believed in second chances—Tex not so much. Tex felt once someone showed you who they truly were you were to believe them the first time. Second chances could get someone killed. It was the reason why those individuals stayed behind and not out here fighting the dead and scrounging for food and supplies. Tex knew if they didn’t do their jobs while he and the others were out here, Brandy would have their asses. Brandy was a spitfire. She had kind eyes but damn you if you crossed her.
CHAPTER 11
The two men began walking across the pavement and through the intersection. Chris looked at the interstate below as they crossed over the overpass. He shivered at the eerie scene below them. It made him think about a handful o
f movies that had scared the shit out of him as a kid. The movie that stuck out in his mind the most was a movie called The Day After. He wasn’t sure why that one movie had stayed with him and in his thoughts throughout the years. He thought about the attacks on 9/11 and the training Homeland Security had put into place for law enforcement agencies throughout the country. He and many others within the Harrisonburg police department feared something far worse than that of a nuclear missile attack. The city of Harrisonburg was so close to Washington DC that if a nuclear bomb hit the Capital it wouldn’t be but a few ticks of a heartbeat until everything around them was vaporized into dust. He and his fellow officers feared something far worse—something that would bring out the worst in humanity. Electromagnetic pulse. EMP for short. The training exercises showed how bleak the world would become if such an attack happened. It showed Chris how dying would be far better than living in a world that had been forced back into the stone ages. It wasn’t a nuclear attack or an EMP that brought the world to its knees. It was an outbreak of an unknown virus that turned the living into the walking dead.
Chris gripped his rifle in hand and gritted his teeth as he limped across the road that the two men were now walking down. He had almost forgotten about the injure to his ankle. Almost. He cursed the pain and wished that his ankle had forgotten about him for at least a few more hours. His body from the wreck also hurt. Images flashed through his mind. He could see himself being tossed around inside the Jeep’s cabin like a ragdoll. He than pictured himself being thrown through the rear window of the truck as he hit the dashboard with his head and crumpled to the floorboard next to Lailah. His head throbbed reminding him that he had hit it twice in one day—if not more. You are one hard headed kid. The voice of his grandfather echoed as he painfully forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. It would take more than a kick from a mule to knock you out. Chris could feel the goose egg atop of his head throbbing a dull painful ache—much like that of a tooth ache. He needed to take something for it—some painkillers or a bottle of whisky. He was sure he had suffered a concussion—at least two of them today. Chris wasn’t sure how much more abuse his body could take before it finally had had enough. The will to not give up was fading with each second that passed. He had not much fight left within himself and knew that if a group of walkers appeared in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to outrun them. He would fall to his hands and knees and let them eat him. I hope those blood and brain hungry bastards choke on me.
Chris took a breath and held for a second as he looked at Tex. The man was stone faced and quiet—eerily quiet. He had said nothing since the two of them had left the group. The last words Tex had spoken to him had been about finding some transportation. Chris wondered what thoughts might be roaming through the man’s mind. He wondered when Tex was going to ask him about Hawkeye and about the group he had been with. It was a talk Chris was dreading to have but one he wouldn’t hold back on having. He knew there were lives at stake—good lives that didn’t deserve what Deacon and his sadistic group of killers would eventually bring to them. Chris nervously took his eyes away from Tex as he looked over his shoulder and at the group behind him. He could see Cubbie helping Lailah from the truck. He felt a lump in his throat as the two embraced. She’ll be okay. She’s tough. They both are. Chris thought as he turned and faced the road in front of him—limping a few more feet as he and Tex walked in silence. It was the kind of silence that could drive a man insane. Chris wanted to say something but held his tongue. He knew Tex was the kind of man that would talk when he was ready.
Chris let his mind drift off in thought as he placed a foot in front of the other and limped across the highway. He thought about the group he was now with. He thought about the man walking beside him. Chris had gotten the feeling that this group was more than just a group of survivors. The group was family. It was just a gut feeling but something deep within him told him that this group was nothing like the group he had been with for the past three months. Chris stole a glance at Tex and knew the man was nothing like Deacon. Tex had an air about him—an air that was of honor and loyalty. He wondered if the man had been in the military before the outbreak. He looked at Tex who held his rifle in hand and his head forward. Tex was chewing on the plastic stick of his lollypop. Chris wondered what the man’s fascination with lollypops was about. He looked at the man’s features. Tex was nearly a splitting image of Clint Eastwood—the cowboy Eastwood and not the old man Eastwood.
Tex turned and looked at Chris and pointed towards the guardrails. The two men walked over to the guardrail and put one foot up and over and then the other one as they crossed it and started down the small slope. The intersection behind them slowly began to grow smaller as did the group they had left behind. Tex was still quiet. The two men walked another sixty or seventy yards before coming to the parking lot of the gas station. The sign atop of the building glowed. It gave Chris the willies. The parking lot was full of cars but there was not one person to be found. Chris started to take a step when Tex broke the silence between them.
“Hoss, there is something I need to know,” turning he looked at Chris, “That man I killed. Hawkeye.”
“Yes. He is a tracker. He’s one of—”
“His friends will come looking for the man or men who killed him and his buddies. Won’t they?”
Chris noticed how the brim of Tex cowboy hat shaded his eyes. It cast a darkness over the man’s face that was a bit haunting. Tex stood just a few inches taller than Chris.
“Yes.”
Tex took a breath and let it out. He turned and looked back towards the group. He could see Cubbie looking their way. He held up a hand and waved to let Cubbie know that everything was okay—at least for now. His gut gnawed at him. He had a sinking feeling that a battle would soon be at their doorstep. He had a gut-wrenching thought echoing through his mind that some of those within the group would soon be dead. Tex wasn’t sure If he was the one to blame for the deaths that were to come. Maybe it was his fault. Maybe it was Chris’s fault. Maybe there was no blame to be placed on anyone but the world that they were now forced to live in. He looked at Chris and could see the look in his eyes. It was a look of worry. His gut feeling about Chris was right. He was a good man.
“Those people back there are not just a group of survivors to me,” pointing as he spoke, “They are my family,” pulling the lollypop stick from his mouth he gave it a flick and tossed it away as he spoke, “I would die for them as they would for me.”
Chris nodded his head. He wanted to look over his shoulder at the group but every fiber of his being told him not to. He knew not to break eye contact with Tex.
“Hawkeye told me that you killed two men in cold blood.”
Chris wrinkled a brow and shook his head.
“It wasn’t in cold blood.”
Tex told Chris to explain himself. Chris started at the beginning. The two men stood there at the entrance of the gas station for nearly fifteen minutes. Tex was a bit shocked to learn of the horrors Chris had witnessed—directly and indirectly. The feeling he had gnawing in his gut about Chris being one of the good guys was still there. He knew Chris had found himself in a bad situation and the fear of being alone and being hunted by not only walkers, but Deacon and his men had kept him in place. Chris had had no plan and nowhere to go. He knew Deacon and his men would eventually kill him, but he stayed anyways. He stayed until he knew his time was up and that if he was going to leave it was now or never. It had been nearly two day’s since he had left the group and ran for his life. Tex told Chris that there were things that needed to be discussed between the other members of the group back at Graceland. He promised to do whatever it took to get him to Graceland. He promised that once they were behind the walls of Graceland, he would have Brandy look him over. Chris nodded and cleared his throat at the mention of Brandy’s name. Tex looked at Chris and could see a question forming in his mind. He told Chris to spit out.
Chris felt his heart ticking a beat
faster. It was the one question he had been wanting to ask since meeting Tex and the others and learning that they had a doctor whose name just so happened to be Brandy.
“When I found the gas station . . . I found . . . I found,” stumbling for his words as he spoke, “I found a man inside who had taken his own life,” images of Carl lying on the bathroom floor filled his mind, “He had a letter pinned to his chest,” reaching into his breast pocket Chris pulled out the letter and handed it to Tex, “The man’s name was Carl. Carl Yassa.”
The look of shock that spread across Tex’s face told Chris that he did indeed know the man. It was Brandy’s father. Tex said nothing as he opened the letter and began reading it. He looked up from the letter once before he continued to read it. Tex read the letter three times before folding it back up and handing it back to Chris.
“We’ve been wondering for months what happened to Carl,” his heart felt heavy as he spoke, “Brandy has been holding onto hope that one day her father would return,” images of Brandy filled his mind. She loved her father, “Its that kind of hope no one in this world should keep,” Tex mind drifted into thought, “When we get to Graceland. I want you to give that letter to Brandy. I want you to tell her how you found it . . . just as you told me.”
Chris nodded as Tex turned and walked into the parking lot and towards a group of vehicles.
“She’s the reason I was . . . She’s . . . I had to—”
Tex stopped walking and turned to look at Chris.
“I get it . . . I get it brother,” he paused for a second, “Now help me find a couple of vehicles that run,” looking towards the sky and then back at Chris, “It won’t be long until its dark. We need to get back to Graceland before nightfall.”
Chris nodded as Tex turned and began walking. The two men walked across the parking lot—checking cars and trucks as they went. The first few they checked had their doors open. The batteries to them were dead. The two men didn’t brother after that with the ones that had their doors open—it was a waste of time to do so and time wasn’t on their side. The skyline was starting to dim. Chris broke off from Tex as he made his way deeper into the parking lot. He found a minivan and rushed around to the driver’s side. He started to open the driver’s door when one of the infected banged its head against the glass window. The hollow thud of its head hitting the glass caused Chris to leap back a few steps. He stood there for a moment as his heart pounded in the center of his chest. He looked at the driver. It was a woman. The woman looked to be in her late twenties if not early thirties. She moaned and hissed and between those moans and angry hisses Chris could hear something banging around in the rear passenger compartment of the minivan. He swallowed as the lump in his throat began to grow and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. The minivan was full of kids.