by Mark Tufo
Dennis went in a little farther. He felt like he was between a rock and a hard place. If he came out with nothing, she might leave; and if he stayed in too long, she’d leave. The more he thought about it, the better of an idea that sounded like. There was more to the Mike story and the flippant way she had dismissed their deaths. He’d stay with her if only to find out. A glint of glass caught his attention. He bent over, pushing away a half-destroyed box of Cheerios.
“Well shit, not my flavor, but I’ll drink it.”
He wrapped his hand around the neck of a bottle of bourbon somehow unscathed in the melee. He was still looking at the label as he stood. It took him one constriction of his heart to recognize that there was a zombie standing before him. The monster seemed almost as confused, but reacted quicker, its teeth trying to bite down on the bottle held out before it.
Dennis heard a resounding crack. He thought the bottle had been broken, and that had been proven when he felt sharp shards sprinkle onto his hand. He realized his mistake when he saw the broken bits of blood-stained teeth stuck to his hand.
“Gross, man!”
Dennis did his best to keep the bottle between him and the teeth. He brought up his axe-laden right hand, swinging it with all the force he could muster, his balance was pushed onto his back foot and he could not put as much into it as he hoped. Yet, the blade dug deeply into the soft tissue at the top of the zombie’s shoulder. The skin split apart in a wide wedge as the sharp steel sliced through and struck the collar bone, shearing it in two. The zombie’s left arm hung uselessly by its side as the connective muscles and tissues were hewn through. It cared little for the damage wrought.
With its right arm, it snagged hold of the bottle, trying to bring it and its wielder in closer to its dangerous teeth. Dennis most likely could have got away if he had merely let go of the bottle; the thought just never occurred to him. He pulled the blade free with a wet ‘plopping’ sound and reared back for another attempt. This time he caught the zombie on the side of the head, neatly bisecting the ear. He thought he was going to be sick when half of the zombie’s ear fell to the floor, with an audible squishing sound. The zombie’s head cracked like an over-boiled eggshell. Black ooze the consistency of bad Jell-O leaked out of the devastating wound. The zombie shook violently for the span of a few heartbeats and fell to the floor, nearly taking the fought-over bottle with it.
“That would have sucked,” Dennis said as he fumbled with it before regaining control.
He had been so pre-occupied with his fight that he did not hear the tinkle of the bell, the explosion of the pistol round going off would have been hard to miss, though. The sound had not finished echoing throughout the store when he felt the vibrations of something falling behind him.
“Mike would never have turned his back on a zombie,” Deneaux said around a cigarette.
“Damn.” Dennis turned to see a zombie that had gotten to within handshaking distance behind him. He wasn’t sure which was scarier; that, or the crazy old bat with the large caliber gun framed in the doorway. “Th-thank you,” Dennis stammered.
“If you could have done the same, I’m sure you would have.” She approached, deftly stepping over the fallen zombie.
“Aren’t you afraid it could still be alive?” Dennis asked.
“Oh, sweetie, it was a head shot.” She dragged her smoke-smelling left hand across the side of his face. “What do you have here? Twenty-year-old scotch. Fantastic,” she said as she easily took it from him. With that, she walked back out of the store.
“Bitch is crazy,” Dennis said, following soon after.
He could not, however, shake the feeling that he had somehow been safer in the store with the ‘live’ zombies than in the truck with Deneaux, who was chugging scotch like it was ice water. She would occasionally hand him the bottle, and he’d take sips; not because he enjoyed it, but because she was plowing down the highway at speeds in excess of eighty or so miles per hour and she was clearly lit. He figured if he were going to die, it might as well be with a buzz.
Deneaux started singing. Dennis thought it was Sinatra. He quickly started talking, because the sound she was making was about as grating as listening to squirrels have their nuts torn off.
“How did you meet Mike?” Dennis asked.
Deneaux’s singing stopped immediately. She looked over at him warily, her eyes narrowing like a cat getting ready to pounce. When she figured there was no ulterior motive in his question, she began to talk.
“We lived in the same complex. Can you believe that? A commoner like him and me sharing the same residential area. Idiot was screwing his secretary.”
“What? Mike was cheating on Tracy? I don’t believe you,” Dennis said incredulously.
“Michael? No, he’s too high and mighty to stoop to that. High moral fiber and all.”
Dennis thought that sounded more like a slight than a compliment, especially with the tone in which it was delivered.
“My husband, well, that’s a different story. If he could have a got a watermelon to tell him what a fantastic lover he was, he would have fucked that as well. Oh right, you want to hear about Michael.” Mrs. Deneaux smiled when she looked over at the shocked expression on Dennis’ face. “Well, let’s say that, due to circumstances that I should have controlled better, I found myself living at Little Turtle where Michael also resided. We held out for a while, but even with my best efforts, the zombies still were able to get in. I was able to get on a truck much like this one and barely escaped with my life. For some inexplicable reason, the driver, Alex, after being miles away, turned back around and rescued Mike and his family.”
“How did he know to turn around? Radio?”
“Something about this kid Tommy in Michael’s group being psychically linked to Alex’ wife Marta. Personally, I think that’s a pile of rubbish. Want to hear the good part?” she asked. She continued, not wanting or waiting for a reply from her passenger. “Tommy is…I mean, was, a vampire.” She looked over quickly to see if her slip had been picked up. Dennis was busy wincing after his last nip of the caustic alcohol. His eyes flew open at the mention of vampire. “Oh, I can see you don’t believe in vampires. Well, let me tell you, they exist…had one pursuing us across the whole damn country.”
“Tommy, the vampire, was chasing you guys? I’m having a hard time believing you.”
“It was his sister Eliza, the first woman I’ve met that’s meaner than me. Although, now that I think about it, maybe that isn’t the case, because that bitch is dead and I’m still going strong.” She lit another cigarette. “Still having trouble with the vampire part?” she asked, almost tenderly. “You’re going to have to trust me on this one. I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life when I threw my lot in with Alex and Paul and the rest of the twits when Mike and his family split from us. They were heading up to Maine. I just wrongly figured that with him gone we’d shake Eliza. I had no idea how inept at survival my group was going to be. That Paul couldn’t shoot. His wife Erin, at least she knew which end to point.”
“Wait, Paul and Erin? As in Ginson?” Dennis asked.
“Oh, right. I guess if they were good friends of Mike that you’d most likely know them as well. Makes sense.”
“Oh, my God,” Dennis said excitedly. “I can’t believe this! How are they?”
“Dead,” she said flatly.
His head dropped rapidly.
“Paul was eaten by cats and his lovely wife…well, she made her last stand with the Talbots.”
“Cats?” Dennis asked through tear-glazed eyes.
“They weren’t zombies if that’s what you’re asking, just garden variety starving cats.”
“How is that possible?”
Deneaux ignored the question. “It was Mike that came to our rescue when Eliza had us pinned down. I might have been able to have gotten us out of there, but I’ll give him credit when it’s due.”
“How?” Dennis asked, trying to pull himself out of his depths of mour
ning.
“Eliza was using Paul as a means to get to Mike, for some unfathomable reason she wanted him dead badly. He truly had a penchant for pissing people off—especially women—probably told her that her fangs weren’t big enough.” A sound much like a crypt opening emanated from her mouth. It was meant to be a laugh.
“Yeah, that’s Mike. Always too much truth and too little tact. I loved him for that.”
“He got us out of that much like he did every obstacle placed before him…sheer stupid luck. Why I hadn’t seen that earlier I’m not sure. Perhaps I had, but the thought of being able to get out from under the gaze of Eliza had its own benefits. It started to all fall apart when Mike tried to put a stop to the whole thing. We launched an offensive without the proper weapons or personnel for that matter. Lost Brian, you don’t know him, and Paul, on that ill-fated attack. Mike almost died as well, but like I said he has an uncanny ability to preserve life and limb. Gary—”
“Gary? As in Gary Talbot.”
“One in the same. A little on the nuttier side of the Talbot tree, but he could shoot. He led us all back to Maine. It was good for a few days and then Mike came and death was close behind him. In the end, Eliza did Michael in. Tracy killed Eliza and then the zombies destroyed everything. Michael had gotten me up into this very truck to keep me safe before his showdown with Eliza. I stayed in here for three days until it was clear of enough zombies that I could leave. The devastation was immense, genetic debris was everywhere.”
“Are you sure none of the Talbots survived?”
“Yes,” she answered a little too quickly. “Ron’s house was on fire and I could hear them screaming from the cab. It was quite shattering.” She swiped away a non-existent tear. “How long have you known Mike?” she asked, diverting his attention away from the fact that she was not all that distraught.
“Seemingly forever.” Deneaux noticed that her bad acting job had passed him by. Dennis was lost is a sea of nostalgic fog. I was new to the high school, heart of Red Sox country, and I was wearing a Yankees hat. He still befriended me.”
“Is that important?”
“More than you know.” He laughed slightly. “We became fast friends, Mike, Paul and me.”
“That is devastating to realize you just lost two of your closest friends.”
Dennis couldn’t tell from her tone if she was really empathetic, or if she was just enjoying twisting the knife of realization. He continued on, not for her, but for himself. “I owe Mike my life. Paul got into a pretty bad car accident and Mike pulled us both from the wreckage.”
“He was in the automobile with you as well?”
“He got ejected.”
“There was enough force that he was ejected from a car and yet he was still able to get up and pull his friends free from a destroyed car?”
“Burning…the car was burning.”
“Hmmm…seems that Michael has been doing his death-defying acts for a lot longer than I’d realized.”
“I always wanted to repay that debt. Now it appears I won’t get that chance.”
“You’re not going to get all morose on me, are you? Are you one of those weeping winos? Give me the bottle back.”
“You don’t understand. He was all I had left.”
“Now we have each other,” she said after taking a large swig.
This time he hoped she was joking, but she was as tough to read as a snake. If they were all each other had, he figured he would have been better staying at his dad’s. Still, if she was a means to an end and got him to other people, he’d deal with her crazy ass until then. It hurt to put Maine in the rearview mirror though.
Chapter 6 – Mike Journal Entry 4
We didn’t do much as we sat there. I was beginning to think Ron wasn’t coming, or he had taken some circuitous route that took him past Montreal first. Can’t say I’d blame him; Montreal is a pretty sweet city. As long as he brought some Canadian beer back with him, everything would be fine. I picked up book after book, thinking that eventually I’d find one I could start to read, but anything that didn’t have pop-up pictures and start with ‘See’ I couldn’t concentrate on long enough. Even if I found something worth reading I was unsure as to when I’d have enough time to finish it. Hold on, Mr. Zombie! I’m at this crucial part in the book! He or she would understand.
Travis had found some emergency candles in his attempt to get as far away from the unthinkable, unimaginable things that his parents had been doing earlier. I smiled at that. I wasn’t overly thrilled with an open flame this close to so many combustibles, but I liked the thought of being plunged into darkness far less. The zombies, for once, were being respectful of the library rules and being quiet. Even the smell was tolerable.
No that’s a lie. It was putrid. We had just become accustomed to it, I suppose.
The boys had fallen asleep. Tracy was relaxing in a lounge chair, a book resting on her stomach, just where I wished my head was at this moment. It was Tommy that kept me away from that most desired of spots.
“You alright?” I asked him as I came up beside him and draped my arm over his shoulder. He was intently staring out the window, not at the zombies, but rather at the sky.
“I miss her,” he said without turning to look at me.
I could have lied and told him that she was in a better place; but that would be a lie. Even in my semi-unconscious state, I heard that deep rumbling voice, and the malice that was interlaced within it, when something came to get her. Eliza deserved everything that was coming her way—and then some. Her soul was what I bled for. It was the innocent in all of this. I contemplated asking him if there was a way to retrieve her and then stomped the shit out of that thought. If the boy could get to the Gates of Heaven, odds were pretty decent he could do the same with Hell, and I’d be damned if I was going to do that. (Pretty good pun if I do say so myself…and since it’s my journal and all).
“I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m sorry for you.”
“But not for her?” he asked.
“No,” I told him truthfully. I’d like to think he appreciated my honesty, but that’s bullshit when most folks tell you that they want your honest opinion. That’s all great and fine as long as your honest opinion of them is deeply flattering, otherwise, they want you to go fuck yourself. We are strange creatures.
“I hear her cry out from time to time,” he told me.
I shuddered. Growing up a good Catholic boy I could only ponder the things she was going through…and then some. What could I possibly say that would make any difference? “We’re your family now, Tommy.”
“After everything I’ve helped my sister put you through?”
I nodded.
“There will come a time, Mr. T, when you’ll curse me for what I’ve done,” he said, turning to look into my eyes.
“Maybe,” I told him honestly, “but not tonight.”
That seemed to ease his heart a little, but he didn’t move away from the window. I did though, before he could talk me into some asinine plan I had no business being involved in. As I was walking away, I thought for the briefest of moments that the zombies had somehow broken through. And then I realized Henry had strategically placed himself in my path, and let loose a heavy butt grumble.
“You know they have medication for that,” I told him as I got down to scratch behind his ears, his massive head shifting up so I could get a better angle. “Friggin’ ham,” I told him. “You still smell bad, though.” He didn’t care. His paw came up and smacked my arm when he thought I might be leaving. “Oh, not quite ready for your scratching session to end?”
“Get a room,” Tracy said from a few feet away. I had not seen her move. She was now standing by the head librarian’s desk.
I wouldn’t swear it on a stack of Bibles, but I think I heard Travis closely echo his mother’s words. Something to the effect of “I wish you guys had gotten a room.” Pretty sure I turned beet red. I was exceedingly happy we were running on candlelight at the moment so no one e
lse could see my embarrassment.
My suspicions were confirmed when I heard BT tell him, “That was a good one.”
“I hear something!” Justin said excitedly.
He came bounding down the stairs. We were all quiet for long moments. It was getting to the point where I figured he had merely heard one of Henry’s deep-seated gaseous fluctuations. Then it was unmistakable.
“Engine,” Tommy said.
“More than one,” BT said, readying his rifle.
“It had better not be more rednecks.” I grabbed my rifle.
In under a minute we were all locked and loaded. God help those that stood against us. Actually, scratch that last sentence. ‘Fuck ‘em.’ In terms of a fighting unit, I’d never been alongside so many people that had seen so much action. On one hand, I was happy they had the fighting experience; the flip side of that was dismay. Dismay that they had to have that much fighting experience.
My gut twisted a little with the thought of my loved ones potentially in danger again. Just drive on by, I thought. At first, I thought that was the case as the engine noise first grew louder and then began to dissipate with distance. I could literally feel the tension in the room begin to break, and then that quickly it rose again as the engines were once again approaching.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered.
“How is it, that during the ‘end of times’ it’s all zombies and rednecks?” I asked BT as I clutched my weapon.
“Oh I’m sure there are some good people left,” BT stated.
“And?” I asked.
“And what?”
“Oh, I can tell by the way you left the end of that sentence that you have more to say.”
He was smiling now.
“See? I knew it…out with it.” I prodded.
“I think you’re an asshole magnet.”
“An asshole magnet? Well that’s fucking new. Wasn’t sure assholes were magnetic.”