by Mark Tufo
“He’s my husband, Curtez. What do you expect me to do?” When he didn’t immediately respond, she continued, “I know he’s a little eccentric.”
Curtez’ eyebrow arched at ‘little’.
“Okay, a lot eccentric, but if nothing else, he brings a lot of entertainment value.” Stephanie was trying to diffuse a topic that had been building the last week. Curtez did not take kindly to those that didn’t assist directly in their survival.
“I’m done listening to how many times he dosed to the Grateful Dead, and that sometimes he thinks he has seven fingers on each hand, Stephanie. That’s just not going to cut it anymore. He eats more than a man that skinny has a right to. It’s like he’s perpetually stoned.”
That might not be so far from the truth, Stephanie thought. “Let’s cut through the BS, Curtez. What are you suggesting?”
“Do I really need to say it?” he asked.
“I think maybe you do. I think maybe you need to tell me that you want to kick my husband out of our little corner of the world.”
Curtez was struggling. He felt that he was being pushed to the brink of something he did not want to attempt to cross. His true hope was that Stephanie would talk to Trip and get some action from him, not this. “Fine, Stephanie, I want him gone.”
She really didn’t think he’d say those words and they hurt as much as if he had physically slapped her. “I can’t, Curtez, I can’t make him go out there alone.”
When Curtez didn’t say anything, she knew what his silence was implying.
“We’ll umm…we’ll leave in the morning. I hope you can sleep with your decision,” she told him. “Hello, John.” She walked over to her husband who was furiously working at something.
“Who?” he asked, looking up.
“Oh, Trip, I love you so much.” She bent down to kiss the top of his head.
“I made you something.” He beamed proudly. “Been working on my Origami.” He handed over something that looked strikingly like a rolled up wad of paper used in an office basketball game.
“It’s lovely,” she said, turning it around and over, trying her best to see what hidden wonders it held, like her husband obviously did.
“You have it upside down,” he told her.
“Oh, I see it now,” she lied. “Tomorrow morning I thought you and I should go for a walk.”
“Perfect, I think we’re out of Genoa salami.”
She cocked her head. Not once had they had salami since they’d been holed up—Genoa or otherwise—and for the life of her, she couldn’t ever remember him eating it.
“Well then we should probably get some.” She smiled.
John the Tripper slept peacefully that night, dreaming of Pop-Tarts and some strange man he felt like he should know wearing a poncho that looked eerily familiar. His wife, on the other hand, paced throughout the night keeping a watchful eye on the street below them, looking for any signs of trouble.
Stephanie gently shook her husband awake the moment light began to seep into the office. Curtez was watching her, his dark eyes never wavering. She wondered if, and hoped that, he was rethinking his position from the night before. He came over as John arose and stretched.
“I’m starving,” John said as he scratched his nether regions. “Hey, Diggs.”
“It’s Riggs. Here Stephanie, I packed you some supplies.” He handed her a backpack.
“I hope there’s a deli slicer in there,” Trip said, taking the bag and putting it on.
“Trip, you’re in your underwear. Don’t you think you should dress first?” his wife asked.
“We going to be gone that long?” he asked. “These underwear are very comfortable. I bought them in Spokane back in ‘88 when the Dead were in town.”
Curtez knew he had to stay strong; he had just handed down a death sentence to these two. It was for the betterment of the entire group though. The sacrifice of the few for the good of the many was the Army way.
The group gathered around the trio when they began to figure out what was going on. Stephanie was pelted with questions and pleas not to go. She knew if she told the group why she was leaving that enough of them might rally to her side, but she wasn’t overly confident. Quite a few of them had surrendered all of their decision making to Curtez. She couldn’t take it if her friends turned on her as well. Even if they did, she would make an enemy of Curtez and it was very likely that he would find her more and more difficult missions to undertake until finally one day she wouldn’t come back, and at that point, her beautiful, wonderful Trip would be completely at his mercy.
Although, better than Curtez had tried, yet somehow her husband had always come out on top. She smiled at that. She could see Trip getting to Riggs so badly he would just walk out, but that wasn’t fair to the rest of the group. Riggs had made some hard choices for the group. Ultimately, he had kept them alive. What was the point, though? They were marking time here and nothing more. This wasn’t life; life was meant to be lived. As Stephanie said her tearful goodbyes, Trip promised them hard roll salami sandwiches when he returned.
Steph’s heart dropped as she heard the latch from the fire door close behind her. She and Trip were descending the stairs while three people from their group where coming up, bags of supplies in all of their hands.
“Where you guys heading?” Hal asked. “We got plenty of stuff, medication, bandages, food, even found some beer,” he said beaming.
“Any salami?” Trip asked.
“Huh?” Hal asked.
“We’re going to try and find other survivors,” Steph told him solemnly.
“Stephanie, you can’t leave,” Melissa, her closest friend even before the zombies came, said. She had since hooked up with Hal, even though they had made fun of his constant advances, when the world of man ruled.
“I need someone,” Melissa had confided with her one night…after.
“I understand completely,” Stephanie had answered her back.
“We ran into a nest on our last foraging mission,” the third, Lisa Evans, said.
Easily the second toughest survivor in the group after Curtez, Lisa and Curtez often butted heads. Stephanie thought for a moment about dropping to her knees and pleading with Lisa to be her champion, to save them from the insanity of this adventure.
“They’re not too far behind, if you’re going…you need to do it quickly. Are you sure?” Lisa asked, resting her hand gently on Steph’s forearm and looking deep into her eyes for the truth the woman was hiding from her.
“We have to, I already promised everyone salami,” Trip responded.
“Steph?” Lisa asked, not letting go.
“Salami for everyone,” she nearly sobbed.
“Okay. Then go west down River Street, stay away from Pohl’s. Good luck,” Lisa told her as she ascended the rest of the way up the stairs.
“Why Steph?” Melissa asked.
Stephanie thought about telling her; but that would only create dissension in the group, and they were already on the brink. No, she would leave with her head high and with no parting shots for Curtez, even if he deserved it. Damn him.
“There’s more out there, Melissa. And I…we…we want to find it.” She thought a moment about asking Melissa to join her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of watching her friend fall into harm’s way.
Melissa left a small puddle of tears on Stephanie’s shoulder before she ran sobbing up the stairs. Hal gave Stephanie a stiff hug and then stuck out his hand for Trip. Trip gazed upon the hand as if it had sprouted wings.
“You should become a hand model,” Trip told him, grabbing Hal’s proffered extremity and pulling it closer to his face to examine it.
Hal pulled his hand away in embarrassment. “Um…yeah, you two be careful,” he said, following his girlfriend.
“It’s just salami, why is everyone so concerned?” Trip asked his wife.
“It’s just been a while since anyone has had any and they’re very grateful.”
“Oh�
��that I get,” Trip said, whistling loudly as they pushed open the door that led outside.
Steph wished he’d lower his pitch, but by the time she explained to him why he needed to they could have walked a block. Steph could feel the many eyes of her previous group looking down on them. She would not give Curtez or his followers the satisfaction of the sheer terror that had to be etched on her features. She didn’t buckle even when she heard whom could only be Melissa tapping on the glass.
“Where are you going?” Steph asked, struggling to keep up with her husband who seemed to be a man on a mission.
“Bus station,” he told her between tunes. “We need to get to Pagliaro’s. They have the best meats.”
“Trip, Pagliaro’s is in Chicago. We’re in Philly.”
“That’s why we need the bus, Steph. Sometimes you’re such an airhead,” he playfully admonished her.
“Do you hear that?” Steph asked in a lull between Trips sets.
“Sounds like it’s raining fish.” Trip cupped an ear, listening.
The funny thing is that it does, Steph thought. But it wasn’t fish; it was the footfalls of many, many zombies. Some wearing boots, some shoes, some stilettos, and flip-flops. Others would be barefoot, and for some reason she couldn’t discern, some of them would have on mismatched footwear as if they had been in midstream putting their shoes on when they’d changed over. The pounding of feet on pavement echoed throughout the narrow city streets, the sound building up as it echoed off the myriad of storefronts and office buildings.
“Come on, Steph. The buses run on tight schedules and we don’t want to miss it,” Trip told her, his gait noticeably longer.
“Nobody is here. We’re either real early or real late,” Trip said as they walked inside the terminal. “Come on, let’s see if we can find any of the drivers.” He pulled her out into the back. Six city buses stood parked perfectly in their allotted spots, a seventh had crashed through the twelve foot razor wire tipped fence and somehow completely flipped onto its back like a giant turtle.
The driver had obviously tried desperately to get back to the terminal as his passengers warred with one another. It was easy enough to see who had won the battle, blood and bits of bodies covered most of the remaining windows that had not been broken out.
“I think that one is out of service,” Trip told her when he saw she was looking at it.
A hand shot through a window near the middle, oblivious to the fact that its arm was being neatly carved up against a jagged piece of glass. Black liquid, oozed down the spike of solidified sand. Hands began to beat against the thin aluminum frame like children caught in a car that had slid off a road and into a lake and was quickly sinking below the surface, furious that they would be forever trapped in a watery death.
Trip had already moved on, Steph hurried to be with him. He had moved to the bus furthest away from the crashed disaster. “What are you doing?” she asked as he pushed a small black button located to the left of the bus door. The answer became readily available as the door popped open.
“Your chariot awaits,” he told her.
“Trip, I don’t think the buses are running anymore.”
“Good thing I was a bus driver once then.” He climbed aboard, quickly making himself comfortable in the driver’s seat, donning a cap and shirt that the previous driver had left behind.
“Glad I have this.” Trip said happily as he pulled out a folded up square of tin foil. He proceeded to encase his new hat with the thin metal. “Can never be too safe.”
Steph was about to ask him at least ten well-founded questions; the least of them being how he was going to get the bus started, when it roared to life. A plume of black diesel smoke drifted past the windshield.
“Sounds good. I should do a quick mechanics check on it, though,” Trip said as he arose from his seat.
Steph looked to their right, zombies from the crashed bus or the ones that had been running in the streets were now heading their way. “Maybe later, Trip, we should get going.”
“Nonsense, the best bus trip is the uneventful one.” He quickly sat down when he saw the same sight as his wife. “Although, with more fares coming, we really shouldn’t mess with their schedules.”
It took Stephanie a moment to realize that he meant to let them aboard.
“I chartered this bus for myself!” she blurted out. “No other passengers!”
Trip turned towards her slowly. She could almost hear the gears in his head spinning.
“Oh yeah, you were going to pick up some friends before the show! I remember now. Party bus here we go! Right on, man.” He pulled the doors closed just as the nearest zombie slammed into it. “Sorry, fella! The lady bought this ride for herself!” he yelled to the zombie.
Steph let her heartbeat slow down a bit before she realized they weren’t moving. Trip was looking at her.
“We’re going to be late, we need to leave.”
Trip pointed to a sign at the front of the bus: State Law – The operator may not move this vehicle until all passengers are below the yellow line. Stephanie noticed her right foot was halfway across. She quickly moved it. Trip nodded in approval and turned back around. The bus pushed up against the fence before Trip realized he needed to be in reverse. “It’s been a while.”
If ever, she thought.
Trip was hooting and hollering as if he were the one that had chartered the party bus as opposed to driving it. The bus rocked back and forth as he pulled out of the depot and off the sidewalk.
“Curb check!” he yelled as if he needed to be heard above the music only he could hear. “Are any of these people in your party?” he asked her as a wave of zombies headed their way.
Stephanie emphatically shook her head in the negative and said the words aloud lest he mistake her actions; it wouldn’t be the first time. A few months before the zombies came, Stephanie had returned home from an extended business trip and had been all kinds of desiring to be with her husband. She had dressed in her sheerest negligee, lit a bunch of candles in their bedroom, and when he’d come back from taking a walk, she had cooed to him that she was ‘so hot’, she’d also used the ‘come hither’ finger movement. Trip had walked into their bedroom blew out every candle and had immediately left. He came back an hour later with seven different types of ice cream.
“This should help with the heat,” he told her enthusiastically.
After they ate to their hearts’ content, they made love. She smiled at the remembrance but decided there and then she needed to be as clear as possible when dealing with him. The ice cream had been great, but it had cost her hours on the treadmill to get rid of it.
Trip ‘blatted’ the horn as they passed by the hotel. He was waving happily upwards at the people looking down.
“Son of a bitch,” Curtez said, smiling that they were safe. His conscience eased.
“Zombies in the stairwell!” Melissa shouted.
“How is that possible?” Curtez asked, running over towards her. “You guys were the last through! Did you shut it?”
“Of course we did.” Hal came to Melissa’s defense. “And besides, we weren’t the last ones to use it.”
“Bitch,” Curtez hissed. Grabbing his rifle and heading back towards the windows he was determined to take some shots at the retreating bus.
“What are you doing?” Lisa asked.
“Bitch left the door open because I kicked her and her doltish husband out!” he shouted, lifting the gun to his shoulder. He knew it was a futile effort; any decent firing angle had long since passed.
“You did what?” Lisa and Melissa asked at nearly the same time.
Curtez turned to face them. “He was useless, he needed to go,” he said, defending his position.
“You’re a jerk.” Melissa turned her face into Hal’s shoulder.
“Really, Curtez, that’s how you decided to handle the situation? So if I get hurt and can’t do anything, you going to kick me out too?” Lisa asked. “Is that the soci
ety you’re trying to create? Fuck the weak and infirm?”
“It’s not like that, we’re trying to survive. Resources are scarce.”
“So you took it upon yourself to be judge, jury, and executioner? Don’t you think we maybe should have talked about it first at least? This isn’t your little fucking Tinker Toy group to do with as you please. And I’ve known Stephanie almost as long as Melissa. She’d no more put any of us in danger than she would Trip. You, on the other hand, are just an asshole. Had I known that decision had been made, I would have left with them.”
“Me too,” Melissa cried.
Hal turned when he heard noise in the stairwell. His eyes grew wide as he watched the unthinkable happen. “The knob! The fucking knob is turning!” Hal pushed Melissa to the side and dove for the door, grabbing the bar that was used to open it from their side. His fingers turned white as he gripped it hard, attempting to hold it from opening.
“Well there’s your answer, Sherlock,” Lisa said to Curtez. “Looks like our friends are getting smarter. I told you she wouldn’t betray us, she’s not you.” She got into position a few feet away from the door. “Okay, Hal, let go and move away from the door.”
“They’ll get in,” he said in a panic.
“How long are you planning on holding that door?” she asked.
“Melissa, get my rifle,” Hal told her. He waited until she was a few feet away before letting go and grabbing his rifle. The zombies had the door open before he could spin and shoot his first round.
Lisa drilled the first one in the forehead, blood sprayed back into the stairwell covering the next zombie to come through. He did not seem to mind the blood bath in the least. He quickly met the same fate as his friend.
“We need to move those bodies!” Lisa shouted. She had effectively created a doorstop.
Nobody made a move. Lisa’s words had stung Curtez. He truly felt that he was doing what was best for the group and now he felt the need to atone for his actions. He yelled as he ran towards the door, his gun firing bullets into the zombies that hurried to get over the fallen. His steps faltered as he was drilled in the side with a ricochet; the bullet piercing his side, going in and out. He did not stop to assess the damage until he was over the zombies in the doorframe.