Life Among The Dead (61 page)

Bruce takes his seat behind the wheel and starts the truck without a word. He places his hand on the back of Rash’s headrest so he can twist around to back up. He turns the Road master around and drives away from the Army of the damned that watches them leave. They return to the main road, once again head east resuming their journey.

“
So,” Bruce says. “Zee was a real hard charger?”

“
The hardest. He lived to serve his country, he died because some assholes wanted to eat him. Assholes he wanted to help.”

“
It’s pretty fucked up.”

“
How far is New Hampshire?” Not wanting to dwell too long, Rash changes the subject. Zee would have said ‘it’s what I signed up for.’

“
At the pace we’re traveling we should be there by tomorrow.”

11

They fly past towns without stopping. No other travelers are on the roads. The outlook for humanity is getting bleaker and bleaker the further they go. Aside from the two road trippers and Bruce’s kingdom, there may not be anybody left in the world now that Sinclair has been wiped out.

They stop only to fuel the truck’s thirsty tank. Most of the hours are filled with lively conversation, the rest with silence. The country is a blur. There is no longer any time for sightseeing. They just want to get to Vermelho, and hurry home.

“
Tell me again about New Castle.” Rash occasionally asks. It seems the old man can’t stop talking about it. She wants to see how many times he will take her bait. So far she has been able to get him started every time, and each time he says something completely different.

“
It’s great! You are going to love it.” His new description starts. “The people are wonderful for the most part. There are always a few bad apples. We only have the one, Mrs. McCleary. Steer clear of her; she’s a crazy old biddy.

“
We have electricity. We get it from Parson’s Dam. I was a principal investor in the dam actually. That’s where I got all my money. They told us we were stupid for putting it up where such harsh winters occur, but we proved them wrong. It’s been delivering clean reliable energy for over thirty years. It will continue to run indefinitely for years to come, even without human involvement.”

“
Any cute guys?” Rash asks.

“
Apart from me? None what so ever.”

“
I think I should go back to Sinclair. At least there they know how to eat a girl.” Rash laughs when Bruce turns his head fast to look at her with an exaggerated expression of shock.

“
Potty mouth. I’ll have you know I am an expert at…” Bruce is interrupted by a sudden sprinkle of rain. It is nearing dusk, the overcast sky is darkening quickly with black clouds. Droplets of rain start to speckle the windshield. It is slow to start, but soon the wipers can’t keep up.

“
April showers.” Rash says.

“
Usually, I love the rain. Not today.” Bruce is trying to get a clear view of the road. He has to chase the brief spots of clarity that the wipers leave as they squeak across the glass.

“
Why do you love rain?”

“
Because it depresses everyone else. I get a kick out of all those cheery fucks being brought down to my level.”

“
Grouch.”

The truck’s giant tires cut through the accumulating puddles. Bruce has slowed their progress to a crawl. The rain is coming in through the makeshift sunroof Dan had insisted upon.

“
Great idea, Nephew.” Bruce says, trying to stay out from under the dripping ceiling.

“
We should probably stop.” Rash suggests.

“
No, I think it’ll let up.” Bruce says. He is pressed up against his door to avoid the rain inside the cab.

“
But, you can’t see.”

“
I can see enough. We’re getting close.”

“
You’re too far over on this side.” Rash tells the driver. She stuck her head out of her window to see.

“
Sorry.” Bruce says. “Maybe we should stop for a bit.”

The truck comes to a halt and Bruce turns off the engine. They sit and listen to the fat raindrops that pelt the roof. An old shirt is stuffed into the unevenly cut sunroof.

“
Too bad we don’t have caulk.” Rash says looking at the rapidly saturating cloth over their heads.

“
I have plenty… Oh, you said caulk.” They both laugh. “I believe I was about to tell you about my prowess in eating…”

The truck jolts.

“
What was that?” Rash asks in a panicked voice.

“
We had to stop!” Bruce says as he turns the key to start the Road Master again.

“
I meant back there, not on the shoulder.”

The truck jolts again and is starting to tilt towards Rash’s side. They can feel a new sensation of movement. They are sliding sideways downhill. The earth below the tires has softened; the vehicle’s own weight causes a mudslide. They cling to the sides of the interior trying to be as still as possible, as if their stillness will influence the truck’s descent. It’s just wishful thinking.

As the Road Master picks up momentum it starts to turn making doughnuts all the way down. The helpless passengers inside are pressed against their doors like a teacup ride gone horribly wrong.

Everything is suddenly still. They have stopped abruptly and feel relieved since they expected to crash into something. The rain continues its deluge and they cannot see the world outside.

Rash and Bruce bicker about whose fault it is, Rash for wanting to stop, or Bruce for not stopping sooner. They sit at an angle; the driver’s side is slightly elevated.

“
Will we be able to get out of here?” Rash asks.

“
Yeah, of course.” Bruce replies though he isn’t entirely sure. The angle at which they sit is slowly becoming more pronounced. He is well above Rash now. They are sinking. Bruce doesn’t want to tell his passenger about his observation. He doesn’t want to scare her.

“
Are we sinking?” She asks.

“
Looks that way.”
She’s too smart,
Bruce thinks. “New England mud season; all the snow from the winter melted, collected in this ravine. That downpour must’ve loosened it like quicksand. I’ll get out and hook my winch to a tree or something. It’ll be easier to get out while the stuff is soft.”

“
Do you need help?” Rash offers.

“
No, you stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Bruce opens his door and can barely breathe with all the rain falling on his face. It feels like drowning. He drops himself to the soft ground and starts to wade towards the front. The mud is up to his ankles and the Earth threatens to remove his boots. Every step sucks him deeper.

“
Ok, Mother Nature, when I wrote that you can suck it, this isn’t what I had in mind.” He says to the spirit of nature. “You just can’t let good people be, can you? With your tornadoes and floods. Your earthquakes, and zombies. Your goddamned mud season. Well, I’ll tell you something, you vindictive cunt. Bruce Williamson won’t go down without a fight.”

He pulls at the winch removing slack from the spool of steel cord. His feet sink deeper and deeper into the mud, the more he fights against it the further he descends into the black slime.

The muck is up to his waist as he pushes through it and away from his truck. Every step he takes makes the next one that much harder. By the time he is able to hook the line around a tree he is up to his armpits. Mother Nature is going to win. He is unable to walk back to the Road Master and he is growing shorter by the second.

“
Rash!” He calls out fruitlessly. He doubts she can hear him over the pelting rain. After his one yell for help, he can yell no more. The thick mud has reached his mouth.

#

Rash is on pins and needles as she waits inside the lopsided truck. She keeps expecting him to enter and say it’s all going to be OK, or feel the truck start to pull itself out of its entrapment. None of this happens.

The rain stops as suddenly as it had started and the setting sun once again shines down. Rash can see they are in a grove of trees. Her side of the truck is completely enveloped in the mire. She rushes out through Bruce’s door and falls to the squishy ground. Bruce is nowhere to be seen.

“
Bruce?” She calls out for him as she wades towards the front fender. She can see the steel cable lying along the ground, submerged in sections like a lake monster. The golden sunset shines down on the surface of the moist Earth. Patches of the glare dull as gravity pulls the rain deeper. Rash traces the tow line, her eyes catch sight of something stuck to the cable.

The soldier rushes to the lump in the ground, sinking in to her knees. Her hands are in frenzy to clear the thickening clay from around what turns out to be a hand.

“
Bruce!” She says while pulling on her friend. He is stuck solid in the ground and not letting go of the cable. She cries as she stumbles towards the winch. She switches the device on, winding in the slack.

The old man is yanked from of the congealing soil up to his naval. Rash switches off the winch and rushes to him. His hand releases and he slumps forward. She has to flip him onto his back so she can check his vital signs. No pulse. He isn’t breathing.

“
What next?” She frantically tries to remember all of the CPR classes she had taken through the Army. She wipes his mouth free of as much of the gritty slop that she can. She inserts her finger into his mouth to clear the airway. Pinching the man’s nose she is about to commence rescue breathing, an internal struggle stops her.

He’s dead
, she states inside her head. He isn’t breathing and his heart has stopped, he’s technically deceased.
Can I put my mouth on his if he is dead and not turn? What if I’m performing CPR and he turns?
She has visions of this happening, of Bruce biting her tongue off.
Can I risk it?

She disregards her apprehensions and locks her mouth around his. Regardless of the uncertainty she breathes for him. She compresses his chest trying to get his heart going again. She cycles through the counts, hoping to get him back.

“
Come on Bruce. Come back. Come back… In a good way, come back.”

In the middle of one of the life giving breaths, Bruce moves. Rash scurries out of reach. She doesn’t know if he is alive or undead until he coughs. An aerosol of dirt sprays the back of his hand.

“
If you wanted to kiss me…” Bruce rasps. “You could have just asked.”

“
I’m glad you’re not a zombie, you old fuck.” Rash smiles.

“
Same here.” Bruce says. He looks at the soldier girl in her wet and dirty tank top that clings to her perky breasts. “I just had an idea.”

“
What’s that?” Rash leans back. All the tension pent up in her body released once the old man coughed.

“
At one of my clubs, we’ll combine mud wrestling with the wet tee shirt contest. It’ll be great.”

Rash crosses her arms to conceal her erect nipples.

“
I told you to keep your shirt.” Bruce laughs as he pulls himself the rest of the way out of Mother Nature’s botched assassination attempt. He can see the truck is never coming out of its predicament. “Looks like we’re walking.”

They gather all the gear they don’t want to leave behind into a pile and Bruce makes a fire. They decide to eat before beginning the last leg of the journey on foot.

“
You know,” Bruce says. “For saving a king’s life you get three wishes.”

“
Really?” Rash asks.

“
The sky’s the limit.”

“
I wish I was king then.” She laughs.

“
Try again.”

“
I wish I could write in your diary.”

“
No.” Bruce denies her second wish flatly.

“
Come on, Bruce. My insights might be very… Insightful.”

“
It is the historic documentation of a king’s journey across the zombie world. Kids will be taught this in school. Movies will be made of it. Minstrels will tour far and wide singing my praises.” Bruce stands up to emphasize his point. His arms are stretched outward to show the grandeur of it all.

“
That’s bullshit.” Rash pouts.

“
Tough luck, cupcake.”

“
I saved your life,” Rash’s eyes widen as she realizes something, an accusing finger points at Bruce. “You don’t want me to write about you almost drowning.”

“
Kings can’t drown.” Bruce sits.

“
Sure they can.”

“
Have you ever heard of a king drowning? No. See?” Bruce reluctantly gives Rash one of his spare shirts to wear as they break camp. The clothes they wear are caked with mud, they are just happy to finally be dry. Rash looks at the pile of gear they have to lug.

“
How far is it?” She asks.

“
Quite.” Bruce says crouched over the pile. He puts his one remaining bird into a lunch sack that he has poked holes into. He dumps out his toolbox and loads it full of ammunition. Once the weapons are slung, they are ready to go.

Night has fallen by the time the two climb up the slick embankment. On more than one occasion they slide back, losing what progress they are making. It’s a long hill without too steep of an incline, the mud just makes it more difficult than it should be. For every two steps forward they are taken back one. By the time they reach the top they’re already exhausted.