“I’m listening,” he told her.
And an hour later, when they were done talking, there were some absolute truths. First and foremost, Kong was confident in the fact that he had just made a deal with the devil.
Eliza stepped on Randy’s dried husk of manhood as she walked away.
“Where we going to get more truckers?” Al asked Kong.
“I’ve got an idea about that. Shouldn’t really be a problem,” he told the younger man.
“Do you really think these work?” Dom asked as he held out the small vial Eliza had given them all.
Kong was absently rubbing his fingers over the vial he now wore around his neck. He didn’t know for sure, but he was going to check because, if they didn’t, he was going to consider their agreement null and void. Then he was going to go as far west as he could before driving into the ocean.
“Come on, Al, you ride with me,” Kong said.
“You want me to leave my rig here?” Al asked.
“Yeah. I just want to check something out, and the quieter we go in, the better.”
“Sure,” Al answered, but he wasn’t comfortable with it at all.
“What do you want me to do?” Dom asked.
“Get rid of Randy’s body. We’ll be right back,” Kong told him.
“You want me to bury the fat fuck? It’ll take me hours to dig something deep enough,” Dom replied.
“Did I say to bury him? Just get the body out of the middle of the parking lot. We’re going to have dozens of trucks in here. I don’t need someone squashing his lard ass all over the place.”
Dom lit a cigarette. “Fine, but I’m not touching his pecker.”
“Not much to worry about there anyway,” Kong said.
Kong and Al drove a few miles until Kong found what he was looking for: a small band of zombies wandering the neighborhood. They were still far off, but the sound of the huge diesel Mack engine was drawing them in like gypsies to a rhinestone festival.
“Hey, Al, can I see that new gun you lifted off that guy the other day?” Kong asked. Al handed him the piece. “She sure is a beaut,” Kong said as he looked at the extended barrel Colt .45. “Loaded too,” he said as he looked into the cylinder. “Get out.” Kong pointed the revolver at Al’s forehead.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Al said as he put his hands up and licked his lips nervously.
“A test. Get out. I’m not going to say it again.”
“Come on, man, we’re friends and shit,” Al said, sweat popping out all over his face as he looked out the window to the approaching zombies. “Come on, man, you can’t really believe this little vial of shit is going to stop them, do you?”
“Well Eliza sure seems to think that it will. If it does, then I have to honor my end of the agreement. I’ll be honest, I’m really kind of hoping that it doesn’t so I can get the fuck out of here.”
“If it doesn’t work, Kong, I’m dead.”
“Yeah…sucks for you. Get out.”
“Kong, man, please? We’re friends.”
Kong pulled the hammer back on the revolver. “I’ve known you for two weeks. I’ve had a sore on the inside of my lip for longer. Don’t make me have to clean your brains up out of my truck.”
Al hesitated a moment longer as he stared down the barrel of his own gun. “You’re a fucking asshole,” he said as he jumped down off the truck and started sprinting for the nearest house.
Kong reached over and shut his passenger door—locking it for good measure—and then proceeded to watch the show. The zombies changed their angle of pursuit as Al crossed the street and went to the first house he could. Kong snickered as Al frantically pulled on the security door. Al first looked back towards the truck to see if Kong was going to help, then went further down the street.
“Should have told the fucker to stand still. My fault,” Kong said as he slowly backed the truck up to keep pace with the fleeing Al.
Al had only been a truck driver for five years, but they had been rough years on his body. He ate fast food and drank to excess while on the road and it showed; he was running out of steam by the time he figured he was not going to gain entry in the second house either. The zombies had closed to within twenty feet. Al turned to meet his fate, fists upraised as if that were going to stop the swarm. Then, just as they got within teeth-snapping distance, they stopped.
The closer ones began sniffing the air all around Al.
“Son of a bitch, the shit works,” Kong said almost silently as he tucked in the precious vial under his shirt.
Al kept ducking his head and rapidly blinking his eyes as the zombies gathered all around him, the newcomers having to check out his edibility factor. Some lost interest quickly when they realized he wasn’t food. A few others lingered, fundamentally knowing that they should be able to eat him but couldn’t.
The zombies approached the truck as Kong stepped down. He held his guns up as the zombies got close. His heart was racing, and he killed two that approached a little too close for comfort. He stopped when they seemed to get the same confused look he had seen with the ones around Al. Again the majority lost interest and left. A few smarter ones lingered. Kong thought maybe they were wondering if they could get around whatever spell was holding them back. He gave them a .45 caliber lead injection against any future inquisitiveness.
He approached Al slowly, constantly looking around to make sure none of the zombies were sneaking up on him. He handed Al his weapon back.
“Let’s go,” Kong said as if nothing had happened.
Al was close to tears. He was leaning over and bringing in heavy breaths as he reached out and grabbed the gun. Standing up straight, he pointed the weapon at Kong. “I should fucking kill you!” he spat.
“Go ahead. I’d fucking deserve it.” Kong turned back to his truck.
The .45 was shaking wildly as Al wrestled within himself against the anger, fear, and betrayal. He eventually followed Kong to the big rig, not saying a word as Kong unlocked the door and let him in.
Dom was inside his truck smoking a cigarette when the duo returned. He got out when he saw Al get down.
“What’s the matter? You look like shit,” Dom said as Al stormed past.
“The vials work,” Kong told him. “Time to get some drivers.”
“Shit,” Dom said, grinding the cigarette under his boot as he realized what had transpired.
CHAPTER ONE
Day one without Talbot
“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” Gary kept repeating, as BT shoved him through Mary’s front door.
“Where’s Josh?” Mary screamed, her eyes wide with terror.
“He’s supposed to be here,” BT said, moving to the side so that he could shut the door and look out the curtain.
“He’s not here!” she screamed. “You left him out there!” She was shrieking now.
Gary was still muttering on the floor where BT had deposited him.
“Oh fuck,” BT said silently as he looked through the large, bar-covered picture window of Mary’s modest siege home.
“Where is my son?” she screamed, slamming her fists into BT’s chest.
BT pointed with the tip of his rifle before he headed back towards the front door.
Josh was, at the most, two steps ahead of the lead zombie whose outstretched hand was nearly close enough to touch his collar.
“Oh my God!” Mary said in unison with Gary.
“The fucking toy, he went back for the fucking toy,” BT said as he headed out the front door.
Josh was running for his very existence, but the large remote-control truck he was carrying was impeding his progress. BT did not trust his marksmanship or frayed nerves to start firing at targets so close to a live body, and he couldn’t tell Josh to drop down. BT would be able to get the lead zombie and a couple of others, but there were too many of them. Add to that the real danger that the zombies pursuing him and Gary would completely cut the boy off from the house.
“Dro
p the damn truck!” BT roared.
Josh looked up; wide, white, terror-filled eyes stared back at him.
“Drop the truck, boy!” BT repeated with more force.
BT watched as Josh had an internal struggle within himself. The boy was deciding on whether or not to give up one of the last things his father had given him or forfeit his life. It was close, but Josh finally let go of the toy monster truck. BT figured the boy’s father was still looking out for him as the truck caught in between the strides of the zombie closest to Josh. Josh yelped as the zombie’s hands reached out and touched him down his back and the bottom of his pants as its legs became tangled in the rubber and plastic causing the zombie to slam chin first into the ground.
The effect was instantaneous as at least another three zombies went down with their leader. Josh was far from out of danger, but BT finally had an opening with which to let lead fly. He lined up a shot and tried to pull the trigger.
“Oh no,” he sighed. He was out of bullets.
“Good a day to die as any, maybe even better than most,” he said as he ran towards Josh. His hastily drawn up plan was to use himself as a human shield.
“Get out of the way, you lummox!” Mary shouted behind him. She didn’t give him much of a chance, though, as she began to shoot. Most weren’t head shots, but the bullets were causing enough damage to slow the zombies down.
Gary came up beside her; he was jamming shells in to his rifle. Tears were still streaming down his face as he began to fire. BT was amazed he could hit anything through the waterfall in his eyes. Luckily Gary was focused on the zombies in the front of the house where his bullets would only slam into the undead.
Josh had about another fifty yards to make it to the house, forty before he made it to BT. BT waited like the anchorman in the first ever zombie relay. First prize was life, everything else was death. BT started jogging towards the house as Josh approached, then snatched him up into his huge arms, going full tilt within four strides. Mary was holding the security door open so that he could dive in with his precious cargo. Gary was busy shoving new shells into his rifle.
“Get in the house!” Mary yelled simultaneously to BT and Gary.
Gary was slow to react. BT grabbed him by the front of his jacket and pulled him in alongside. He pushed Josh ahead of himself as he fell to the floor; he didn’t want to save the boy from zombies only to crush him under his bulk. BT’s chest had no sooner hit the floor when the first zombies crashed up against the security door. Mary was backing up as the house rattled from the multiple impacts.
Gary shut the front door when BT moved his legs.
“What were you thinking!” Mary screamed at Josh, who was full on crying now. “What were you thinking!” she screamed again.
Josh was sobbing so hard that he was hitching and having a difficult time catching his breath. “It...it was from dad,” he wailed.
“Was it worth getting killed over?” She was screaming so loudly, and with such force, that her face was turning red and thick, corded veins were bulging from her neck and forehead.
“Mary, he’s alive, he’s fine,” BT said, trying to restore some order in the house.
She wasn’t having any of it and turned her wrath on him. “Wasn’t it your grand fucking idea to let him go along?”
“Oh I would imagine it was Mike’s insidious ramblings that convinced the boy to go out,” Mrs. Deneaux added.
“You shut up!” Mary wheeled, pointing her finger at the crone. It seemed no one would be spared Mary’s ire. “Where were you when my son was running for his life?”
“Dear, I’m just an old woman. What could I have done?” Mrs. Deneaux asked in return.
“I should have never opened my door. I should have never let any of you into my life.” She was crying now.
“It’s alright, mom, I’m alright,” Josh said, getting up to comfort his mother. She gripped him tightly as if she were afraid to let him go, lest he not be real. She was crying into his shoulder, their roles momentarily reversed. “Mom, we had to let them in, it was the Christian thing to do.”
“I almost lost you, Josh. I can’t lose you…you’re all I have left in the world.” She let loose with a full-throated cry.
“I’m here, mom, I’m here,” he said as he led her towards the couch.
“Where’s Michael?” Mrs. Deneaux asked BT.
BT shook his head almost imperceptibly from side to side. Mrs. Deneaux was careful not to let her joy show. Gary was staring out the living room window, but his eyes did not appear to be focused on anything.
“I didn’t even get a chance to bury him,” Gary mumbled. “What am I going to tell my dad?” he asked the question, but that was not anything any one had an answer to.
“What now?” Mrs. Deneaux asked BT.
“We head towards Maine,” he told her.
“When?” Mary looked up.
BT couldn’t tell if she was wondering when they’d be out of her house or how long she had for her and her son to get ready to go.
Gary had understood the meaning behind her question. “Mary, you can’t stay here,” he said, finally turning back around to face the group. The room darkened as the curtain slid back into place.
“Oh yes we can!” she said with vehemence as she pulled Josh closer. “We’re never going out there.”
“You know you’re going to run out of supplies,” he said calmly, which belied his true countenance.
“We’re better off without them,” Mrs. Deneaux said. “The boy will just slow us down.”
“As opposed to you?” Gary shot back, very much unlike anything that usually came from his mouth.
Mrs. Deneaux shrugged her shoulders and lit up a cigarette in response.
“How dare you!” Mary said to Mrs. Deneaux. “I opened my doors to you, I fed you, I confided in you, then you turn on me?”
“I was trying to help, dearie. You said you didn’t want to go and I thought this would help your argument,” Mrs. Deneaux said, smiling with her tobacco-stained teeth showing. The smile was much too wide and displayed too many teeth to mean anything but contempt.
“Handle a snake, you’re bound to get bitten eventually,” BT said to Mary.
“You must be happy now, BT,” Mrs. Deneaux said.
“What are you talking about?” he asked her.
“Well, it looks like you’re in charge now. With Mike out of the way, you take rightful control,” she said, then took a long pull from her cigarette while waiting for BT’s response.
BT almost rose to the bait, but he could see the grim glimmer of smugness right under the surface in the woman’s face and he’d be damned if he gave her anything remotely similar to a smile.
“Well the age is right,” he said.
“What?” Gary asked.
Mrs. Deneaux’s eyes narrowed as she waited for his response.
“She could be Eliza’s mother,” BT said as he went to the side of the house to see how many zombies Josh had brought back with him.
Josh snorted. “That’s funny because that would make her like five hundred and fifty years old.”
“I remember when spanking your children was an acceptable form of punishment,” Mrs. Deneaux said, turning towards the boy, who shrunk back into the protective embrace of his mother.
“We’re leaving in the morning,” BT said, coming back into the living room. “Mary, I won’t force you, but I really think you should reconsider.”
“Michael would have been more persuasive,” Mrs. Deneaux said.
“You done?” BT asked her.
“For now,” she said taking another drag off her smoke.
“Mary, please,” Gary begged. “You’re not safe here.”
She scoffed at his words. “Oh yeah, I see how safe it is out there,” she said mockingly, not even willing to move her hand to point, but rather nodding with her chin towards the front door.
CHAPTER TWO
Mike Journal Entry 1
There was not a place on
my body that was not screaming in agony. If I dared to look, I would imagine I had third-degree burns over three-quarters of my body. I smelled like barbeque; it was both disgusting and somewhat saliva-inducing at the same time. Where my head had bounced off the pavement a blackened mixture of burnt skin and wet blood slicked the roadway. My neck crinkled like dried old parchment paper as I picked my head up.
My arms were blistering, the surface looking like a dry lake bed with viscous puss running through the crevices. That did not smell nearly as tasty as the flap of meat on the ground. My blue jeans had mostly melted to my body and karma had come full circle. How many times had I given people shit for wearing their clothes so tight from trying to hold in some excess baggage that they looked like they had painted them on? This was like that. If I was so inclined (which I wasn’t) to pull the denim material off of me, it would have easily taken all of the skin and most likely a fair portion of muscle mass.
I screamed as I tried to stand, I nearly teetered over not willing to place my burnt palms on the ground and lose anymore of me. The sky darkened as I made it to an almost standing position. My skin was too dried and burnt to allow for full extension, I was hunched over like a man three times my age—which would have been REAL fucking old. I was fighting desperately to hold onto consciousness, but it was flickering like a basement light in a horror movie. My mind was urging me off the street. My body didn’t give a shit.
“Maybe I could just take a little break,” I said out loud. Or maybe I thought it. I don’t know, but it sounded like a grand idea. “Move!” I urged my charred limbs. Something creaked, groaned, and snapped, I sounded like a new macabre cereal advertisement. Get your new Meatie-O’s fortified with all the vitamins a growing zombie needs, I sneered as I thought it. It was funny and it gave me the briefest of seconds away from the agony that permeated my entire being.
I shuffled, the melding of my jeans to my skin making any movement difficult. Tears were streaming down my face in earnest; I would have bellowed in pain if I had been able to catch my breath, it was that intense. I imagined being placed in an iron maiden would have been bliss compared to what I was feeling. Still, I moved; the torment of pain seemingly the only thing spurring me on. It was thirty feet to the closest house. It might as well have been the surface of the moon.