by Mark Tufo
Chapter 3 – Mrs. Deneaux
“What the hell is this?” Mrs. Deneaux asked the empty cab of her eighteen-wheeler.
She had decided to forgo the main highway leading out of the state, preferring to drive the coastal Route 1. It was slower going, but she felt like she would be less likely to encounter trouble. And that had been the case right up until she saw the obvious trap set-up. A small SUV was parked perpendicular to the roadway straddling the median line and most of the two lanes. The driver’s side door was open, and a man was on the roadway lying on his stomach with his face pointed towards her.
She had stopped the truck a good fifty yards from the ploy, the engine was idling as she surveyed the scene. She cackled, the truck hitched as she placed it into first gear. She was about to pop it into third when she blatted the horn loudly. The man in the roadway’s eyes got large as he saw the huge truck barreling down on him.
“Feeling better?” she asked his retreating form as he ran to the side of the road.
She was laughing as she sent shards of the SUV hurtling into space. The truck barely slowed.
“Crazy bitch!” the man yelled at her.
She heard a shot ring out from the other side of her, and then nothing, as if whoever had shot had thought better about wasting bullets.
“Idiots.”
She continued down the road. She was unsure of her future when she’d left Michael’s brother’s home. And she’d certainly never foreseen Eliza falling to that idiot; well, technically the idiot’s wife. She would have never thrown her lot in with the vampire if she’d known that.
“Can’t know everything, Vivian. Otherwise you would have cut your husband’s balls off before he cheated and shut off the money.” She cackled again. “It wouldn’t have been too hard, they were just dried up little nuggets anyway, looked like prunes. That would have been so much more satisfying than killing him. I don’t know what it is about men and their precious little packages. Looks like a worm carrying worn leather luggage.”
She was thoroughly enjoying her wit when she saw her second human encounter of the day. Her shriveled heart accelerated a bit as the person had a slight resemblance to Paul, Mike’s friend who she had pretty much killed by proxy, sending him away with no shoes and no weapon.
The momentary heart hiccup evened out when she realized the hitchhiking stranger was not him. Same color hair, but it was receding slightly, and this stranger had a thick beard with some reddish undertones. She looked around to see if this was again some sort of trap. She stopped the truck well ahead of the man, he started to run towards her. She beeped her horn, he looked up and she motioned for him to come over to her side.
“Thank you, thank you,” he was saying over and over again.
“Don’t go getting all excited just yet,” she said down to him. “Turn around.”
When he didn’t immediately do as she requested she aimed her seven-inch barrel Colt .45 at him. A small hatchet was in the small of his back, held in place by his belt.
“You planning on burying that in my skull?” she asked.
“There’s zombies, did you expect me to be unarmed?”
“What else you have on you?”
“That’s it.”
“Strip,” she told him.
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“Bye,” Mrs. Deneaux told him as the truck slid effortlessly into first gear.
“Wait, wait!” He started to unbutton his shirt. She brought the truck to a halt.
“Hurry up, I don’t have all day,” she told him as he sat on the pavement to pull his shoes off.
“Shit there’s zombies!” he said in a panic. A small group was coming up on them. “Let me in,” he pleaded grabbing his things.
“Not until I see everything.”
“The zombies.”
“Better get moving then, either with the clothes…or with your feet.”
“Never heard of trust?” He scrambled to undo his belt.
“Oh, I’ve heard of it, never understood it much. The more people say ‘trust me’ the more likely they are to screw you over.”
“Cynical bastard,” she heard him mutter. “Here are you happy?” he asked in his briefs, doing a quick three-sixty to show he wasn’t hiding anything more.
“Them too.” She motioned with her gun.
“There’s no time!” he shouted.
“I’ve got plenty.”
“Listen! I do not have a shotgun shoved up my ass!”
“That would be a neat trick. Off with the underwear or I’ll be on my merry little way.”
He looked to the zombies and then his potential savior, trying to decide who was the biggest threat. “Fucking fine!” He whipped his underwear down.
“Definitely no weapon there,” she cackled as she looked down upon his manhood. “I’ve seen Ken dolls packing more heat.”
“Can I get in now?” he asked angrily.
“Oh, I suppose so.”
The man quickly picked up his belongings and ran around the front of the truck. Mrs. Deneaux hit the lock and let him in. She leveled her gun upon him. “Hand over the axe,” she said evenly as he stood on the running board.
“You going to shoot me?”
“If I’d wanted to do that, I would have. What kind of narcissistic, self-absorbed bitch do you think I am?”
“If you weren’t pointing that gun at me, I’d probably tell you.” He handed the axe over.
She laughed. “That’s the funniest thing anyone’s said to me all day.”
“Can I put my clothes back on?”
She looked one more time over at him. “Please do, all that pale skin is burning my eyes.” She got the truck rolling just as the first of the zombies impacted with her front end. The truck kept right on rolling as it flattened three of them into the pavement.
Mrs. Deneaux’s new passenger braced himself as if the truck cared at all for the small speed bumps.
“What’s your name?” Mrs. Deneaux asked, completely unconcerned with the zombies that had congregated in the roadway.
“You should look out,” he said in alarm.
“For them? They don’t care.” She picked up speed. A plume of brackish blood spread from the impact, two different colored eyeballs smacked the windshield. “Don’t see that every day.”
“Dennis, my name is Dennis,” the hitchhiker said, keeping an eye on the side-mounted rear view mirror.
“Well?”
“Well what?” Dennis asked, turning to her.
“Did I get a strike?” she asked, referring to the zombies that had been set up loosely like bowling pins.
“You’re sick, but you left a seven-ten split.”
“You keep that up and we’ll get along fabulously. What’s your last name?”
“Waggoner.” Dennis shifted around to put his briefs and pants back on.
“What’s your story?”
“I bet yours is more interesting, but I’ll give you the short of it,” he told her. “I was staying at my dad’s.”
Mrs. Deneaux looked over at him. “Little old to be a cellar dweller aren’t you?” she asked haughtily.
“Right before the zombies had come, I was in the midst of a divorce from my wife. We lived out in Arizona…where she’s from. When I caught her cheating with the garbage man I decided to move back to my home town of Walpole.”
“The garbage man, was that a step up?”
“I see you’ve taken your show on the road.”
“No kids?”
“Dodged a bullet there. Apparently God frowns upon demon spawn and human procreation.”
“Where’s Walpole?”
“Massachusetts, south of Boston,” Dennis said, slightly muffled as he pulled his undershirt on.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “You’re a few hours from home.”
“My father’s place was great. He owned a townhome in the center of town. Place was like a fortress. Had a couple of skirmishes with zombies and some idiots
that wanted in, but no one ever did. Get in, I mean. Once the zombies started retreating…”
“Hibernating,” Mrs. Deneaux explained.
“That makes sense. Well, once they started doing that, it was pretty easy to go out on supply runs. Although, we were never really in too much danger. My dad lived in a retirement building. Most of the folks, well, they died in those first few days.”
Mrs. Deneaux thought about. ‘Sure; most of those people would have been first in line for the shots, and then first in line at the hospital when they started to get sick.’
“We just took what we needed and shared with the survivors that were in there.”
“Did your father get bit?” she asked.
“No, good old fashioned flu did him in.”
“Ironic,” Mrs. Deneaux said.
“How so?”
“It was the flu inoculation that started all this.”
“The flu shot?”
“You didn’t know? I thought that to be common knowledge.”
“No wonder there were so few residents left.”
“The bulb burns brightly above your head,” she said snidely.
“Now I can see why you were alone in this cab.”
She laughed. “You still haven’t answered why you’re up here. Why not stay in your father’s place?”
“After I buried him, I did stay for a while. I guess I just got lonely and I sure wasn’t going to look for my ex, though. She probably was leading a group of the zombies around on her own sinister designs. I have, uh had, a couple of friends out in Colorado, but I couldn’t even conceive of making that trip.”
Mrs. Deneaux got a tingle up her spine. “Any chance your exes name was Eliza?”
“What? No. My friends out in Colorado…one of them has family up here in Maine, as close to being my family as can be possible without blood. It seemed like an easier trek up here, at least until my Monte Carlo broke down.”
It can’t be, Mrs. Deneaux thought. She had put the pistol back in its holster, but now she was reaching for it.
“Who is this second family?” she asked, already knowing the impossible answer.
“Talbot. My friend out in Colorado is Mike, but I know his whole family…Ron, Gary, Glenn, Lyndsey, and their dad Tony. All of them except for Glenn live up here, and who knows, maybe Mike came home too.”
Her left hand wrapped around the grip. She squeezed it so tight it hurt her arthritic fingers. “They’re all dead,” she told him, uncharacteristically losing her cool.
“What? You can’t possibly know that. And why would you even say such a thing?”
“It’s the truth.” She pulled the gun an inch or so from her holster. She was debating just putting a bullet in him right now. “I was with Michael when he left Colorado.”
Dennis was looking at her. “You’re lying. Why?”
“Is this the same Michael Talbot that lived at Little Turtle? Had a wife named Tracy, three kids, Nicole, Justin and Travis? And a smelly beast named Henry?”
Dennis was looking at her incredulously, his head nodding. He was thinking back on what he’d told her, it certainly wasn’t all that. “You know Mike?”
“Knew,” she corrected him. “I barely escaped with my life. His brother’s house was overrun with zombies. I did my best to save them all, in the end it wasn’t enough.”
Dennis was just staring at her. She was having a hard time discerning how much he believed. In the end it was grief that saved Dennis’ life. He turned away just as a torrent of tears sluiced down his face. “They’re all I knew.” He hitched. “I…I thought for sure they’d be alright.”
“It’s a hard world,” Mrs. Deneaux said, taking a sidelong glance at him.
It was many miles before anyone spoke.
“Where are you going?” Dennis asked, wiping his face clean.
“Going to try and find somewhere safe. Somewhere with a community and a high wall. A real high wall.”
“I was going to ask you for a ride to find a car, but now that seems useless. Do you mind if I stay with you?”
Mrs. Deneaux almost told him no; being this close to one of Michael’s friends could not be good. For some reason, the fates had aligned to put him in her path. That was something she couldn’t figure out. For good or bad, she would see this through, at least partly. As soon as it looked somewhat bad, she’d toss him or shoot him, whatever the case necessitated. “Just don’t try to make any moves on me,” she cackled.
She’s nuts, Dennis thought, and she’s all I’ve got. “I’ll do my best,” he told her.
Chapter 4 – Mike Journal Entry 3
“I can barely remember my name,” I said to Tracy.
“What?” she asked .
“You f—”
“Talbot!”
“…my brains out,” I finished.
“It’s stuff like this that makes me think twice and sometimes three times about doing anything with you. Get your clothes on before people start looking for us.”
“Oh, I don’t know, all this nudity is very liberating,” I told her, wishing I could just lie there a few years longer, even if we were in the horror book section.
“Yeah? Tell that to the zombies,” she said, looking at my rapidly deflating manhood.
“You really know where to hit a person.”
“I love you, Talbot. Now get your ass up. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Nice view,” I told her as she walked away.
She flipped me the bird, but I could tell she was smiling.
“I might die tonight, but at least I’ll go out happy.” I stood and began donning my duds. I had just finished tying my boots when BT rounded the corner.
“Ever hear of your inside voice?” he asked.
“What?” I could feel fingers of heat traveling up my neck.
“Acoustics are pretty good in this place,” he said, smiling. “The boys couldn’t get down in the basement fast enough to go and check it out, been down there the entire time. Even Henry looked a little embarrassed.”
“Shit. Does Tracy know? She’ll kill me.”
“Oh, from the sounds of it, I think she’ll be fine for the time being.” He was smiling ear-to-ear. “Always one for ambience I see,” BT said, pointing to the column of scary tomes.
When I caught up to her, Tracy seemed completely unaware that none of her kids would look her—or me for that matter—in the eye. Well this sucks, I thought.
“Anything worth noting in the basement?” I asked them, trying to change what they were thinking about. Talk about uncomfortable.
Justin was conspicuously looking off to his left. “There’s windows, but they’re small and don’t even open.”
“Yeah and the door is steel,” Travis added. “It’s locked and we stacked a bunch of furniture against it.”
“Big bunch,” Tommy said. I swear his face was a couple of shades deeper red than I’d ever seen.
Henry was at least happy to see me. He came over, tail wagging. I was happy to lean over and pet behind his ears. It gave me the chance to not have to try and ignore the six hundred pound gorilla in the room.
Travis had gone over to the windows. “There’s more coming. Should we start shooting them?”
“We’ll hold off for now. Wait for the cavalry to come, I’d imagine we’re going to need the rounds then.” I was looking around. With the appropriate supplies, we could hold out here forever. I was sort of amazed that someone else hadn’t thought of it. If books were edible we’d be set.
“When we get out of here, find Doc and get Justin and BT fixed, we should find a fort,” I blurted out.
“That’s a lot of whens and ifs,” BT said.
“The last military installation we went to didn’t work out so well,” Tracy said, referring to Camp Custer.
“I’m talking like that fort we visited in Bucksport Maine, Fort Knox. That place has like two-foot thick walls. We could stay there forever.”
“That place is about as comfortable
as I suspect Mrs. Deneaux’s place would be,” she replied.
She was right; the fort was cold and dank, even in the middle of the summer, we’d freeze before winter ever set in. “I wonder what the battle axe is up to?”
We had searched for her body after the battle with no luck. I couldn’t imagine a zombie eating her, more like the other way around would be my guess.
“She can’t still be alive can she?” BT asked. “Eliza had to have killed her.”
“My guess is she scared Eliza, too,” I said.
“It would be just like that old bird to make it,” BT said.
“She’s a survivor for sure. Let’s just hope we’ve seen the last of her,” Tracy replied.
“More like a case of herpes, got a feeling she’ll be revisiting,” I said.
“Wonderful,” BT and Tracy said.
Chapter 5 – Mrs. Deneaux
“Go check it out,” Mrs. Deneaux said.
“Why me?” Dennis asked, looking at the store-front.
“You don’t expect me to go dashing about do you? I’m a frail old woman.”
“You’re an older woman, granted. Frail though? I don’t think so.” Dennis exited the truck. “Can I have a gun?” he asked, coming up on her side of the big rig.
“I should think not.” She handed his hand axe down.
“I’ve made my share of poor life decisions,” he said, looking up at her. “I think I’m adding to the tally.”
“Stop being overly dramatic and go get some supplies. If you take too long I won’t wait.”
“And here I thought we were making inroads with our friendship.”
Dennis headed toward the front entrance. The reverberation of the engine bouncing off the storefront blocked out all other noises. He thought about asking her to shut it off, but he’d been with her long enough to know the answer. His boot crunched on mounds of broken glass, all from the windows, the door, however, was surprisingly intact.
A small bell placed strategically over the door heralded his entrance. The foreign sound almost sent him running. The inside stunk of bleach and the all too familiar stench of death, like there had been a hideous crime performed here and someone had tried valiantly to clean up after. The store was destroyed; there was little of any value still left inside. A gun battle had raged and, by the splatter, the ones wielding the weapons had used shotguns.