Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End (29 page)

36

“Brass,” Abby says outside after calling home for a crew. He was asked to get their construction experts to make a house call in order to strengthen the dwelling’s security. “Crews on their way…”

“Good. I want the place completely inaccessible from the ground,” Brass interrupts. His mind is bursting with ideas, so much he can’t contain them. “Our people can enter and exit with cherry-pickers or ladder trucks…Perhaps we can get some blowtorches to make the exterior look fire damaged, less appealing to anyone looking for a new place…”

“The women are all loaded up,” Abby interrupts Brass right back. He hitches his thumb over his shoulder to the departing pick-up trucks, behind them are Rough Rider and Peace Maker heading out on horseback. “This is Lady Luck,” the young soldier introduces Brass to the only other soul that remains behind aside from the two of them.

Brass pulls his attention from the house and all the possibilities swelling in his mind to meet the woman he sees for the first time in the light of day. His greeting gets caught in his throat despite the fact his jaw drops wide open. “Nice…Nice to meet you,” he coughs.

The woman is remarkable, like she has just stepped out of time from the nineteen-fifties. In a form fitting black and white polka-dot dress that hangs to her mid-calf, a matching frilly apron, her hair covered in a scarf, she looks ready to perform household chores in a bygone era. The picture of idyllic domestic bliss.

“She says she may have some things we’d be interested in back at her place,” Abby tells Brass.

“Oh really? Like what?” Brass asks the living pin-up.

“Vehicles,” the woman begins.

“We have plenty of those, more than we need.” After the day he has had, Brass just wants to get home to Rubicon.

“There’s also about twenty .50 caliber machine guns in my daddy’s bunker. Thousands of rounds. An assortment of other firearms. And, all my clothes, and of course my make-up.”

The list is too enticing to pass up. Brass doesn’t have to deliberate for a second, “Let’s get that make-up.”

During the twenty minute drive to Lady Luck’s place, her riding shotgun in Brass’s Buick Riviera and Abby sitting in the back, the woman chain-smokes three cigarettes. She tells them that her father had always been worried about the apocalypse, how she and her brothers had teased him about it. Not long before he was proved right he had joined an online community of like-minded folks. “We thought it was harmless since he had finally stopped worrying,” she said. “Each member focused on a different area of survival rather than hoarding everything they could. Daddy already had the guns, the bunker, and emergency rations...He passed away before he could say ‘I told ya so’, it’s a good thing too. His group never attempted to contact him by radio as they planned, listening to the dead air was the only company I had once both of my brothers were gone. Until, Kenny, the leader of that band back at the house, came calling. He knew what my daddy had hidden somehow. I wouldn’t tell them where.”

That was the end of her story. She lit another of her long cigarettes and stared out at the passing scenery. They now ride in silence the final minutes of the trek.

“What a dump,” Brass says upon arrival at the lovely lady’s abode, a salvage yard. It isn’t at all where he expected her to hang her hat, a dirty place surrounded by a high chain link fence that has been mostly paneled off with welded sheets of steel. They enter and navigate piles of rusting refuse until coming to the run down shack at the center.

“Home sweet home,” Lady Luck says.

Upon exiting, Brass recognizes a tow truck. He’s seen it before in Rubicon. He scoffs at it, “Tow trucks. Grim reapers of the auto world. They use to circle my Riv like vultures as if to say ‘your time has come’. I think we know who got the last laugh.”

“We should leave the Riv here where it belongs,” Abby quips.

“I knew you’d say something,” Brass shakes his head at his young companion, who has been telling him to trade up to a newer ride since they met. “My Riv is perfectly fine, it’s reliable, has character, and…”

“Turning off the AC to give your engine a little extra power is not a turbo booster!”

“It gives me oomph just when I need it!” Brass declares. He notices Lady Luck just stands looking at the shack. She had mentioned her father passing before the plague, she mentioned having brothers that are not rushing out to greet her. Having never seen her before in town, he believes he would remember her if he had, he figures she’s been living elsewhere until recently. Came back to her childhood home.

“Abby, explore the yard. The barbarians left the gate open so be careful. See what vehicles there are that may be useful,” Brass tells his companion. “Shall we?” he offers Lady Luck his company in entering the house.

Considering the location and dirty exterior of the house, the inside comes as quite a shock. It’s immaculate, not just tidy but perfect. The living room Brass is welcomed into is cozy, like something out of and old sitcom from the ‘50s. He has the urge to say ‘Honey, I’m home’ but refrains out of respect. He watches the lovely lady slowly walk through the room, over the plush carpeting. She struck him before as being completely composed, now she seems uneasy on her feet. He isn’t certain if he should offer her assistance or just let her be.

He follows her into the kitchen. It’s spotless except for one area on the counter where a mixing bowl and ingredients are laid out next to a mixer that harkens back to a simpler time. The device is bulky and old but looks as shiny as the day it was purchased forty or fifty years ago.

“Sorry about the mess,” she apologizes, walking past the unfinished project and to the sink for a glass of water. “I was making cookies when they barged in.”

Brass goes to the mixer. He picks up a rolling pin from the counter, it’s large and heavy. He judges its heft against his hand as one might a baseball bat. From the assembled items on the counter he guesses the confection she planned on making, “Sugar cookies?”

She only nods between sips.

“I like to add snippets of lavender petals to mine,” he tells her. “It gives the cookie an aromatic quality.” He quickly covers for himself as if he’s blown his macho façade, swinging the rolling pin onto his shoulder, “That’s just how I roll.”

He earns a smirk and a slight laugh from the woman, the first exhibit of real emotion he’s seen from her. She’s forcing herself to hold it together, not wanting to break the character she undoubtedly built years ago. The smirk has disappeared, the short laugh forgotten, but she is more at ease.

Lady Luck leads Brass out to a back room. What would be used by most as a mud room is a breakfast nook furnished with a table and chair set straight out of an old diner. A sharp contrast, her family could enjoy a nice breakfast as they looked out over the acreage of piled garbage. Against the wall is a plush backseat from some old car, the black leather upholstery is still in perfect shape. At some point in time it was removed from whatever automobile it was once in and converted to a couch. Lady Luck shoves it aside revealing a panel.

“My daddy’s bunker is down here,” she informs Brass as she opens the hidden hatch and heads down the dark stone steps.

The ratcheting click of a ball chain being pulled forebears the sudden explosion of light as the woman turns on an overhead bulb. Once his eyes have adjusted Brass sees wooden crates piled high in rows against one side of the room, olive green boxes along the other. Upon the first wooden crate is an item the takes Brass’s breath away as if he’s just been shown a gorgeous work of art. “Is that…”

“A Browning .50 caliber machine gun.”

“I was going to say, ‘big ass Rambo gun’,” Brass admits. “I like what you said better. Let’s pretend I said that.”

“I came back to bury my father,” she explains solemnly. “After the plague he rose up and bit my brother Clyde. Remus took care of them. A few days after that Remus went out and came back with a bite. I told him not to go, we had guns, ammo, and MREs for years. I think he was just going stir crazy and needed to get out.

“Those men came, knew all about this,” she says. “I refused to tell them where it was hidden. They thought they were doing me a favor by showing up, rescuing me. I’ve always been able to rescue myself…until you and your people showed up of course. Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” he shrugs. “It’s what we do. We should check on Abby. Then, get all this to Ruby.

As Lady Luck and Brass exit through the back of the small breakfast area, Abby is double timing it towards the house to find them. He’s excited, smiling ear to ear with a childlike glow upon his face. “Brass! You should see what I’ve found!”

Brass is lead through the salvage yard with Lady Luck in tow. Near the back of the property, tucked into the corner, is an area that stands out from the rest. This is where the man of the house kept his favorite things, the items that he didn’t want to part with when folks would come picking.

Lady Luck has a knowing smirk on her face. “This was where I spent my childhood. My daddy put all the stuff my brothers and I liked to play with here for us.” Her eyes sparkle with tears she’ll never let fall.

Among the things are massive tires, an olive green panel that used to be part of some military vehicle, complete with an old pin-up girl painted upon it. But, what has Abby so excited is a big, red double decker bus.

“Will it run?” Brass asks.

“I haven’t checked the…” Abby begins.

“I can get her to run,” Lady Luck announces, she’s always wanted to get the bus running, but grew up and moved away before she got the chance. The bus was once her castle, her fort, her make-believe future home when she was just a tomboy. “But, no one’s driving her but me.”

“Sounds fair,” Brass accepts the terms. “We’ll enroll you in the next boot camp. You know, those men may have had the wrong intentions when they discovered you, but you certainly are a great find. Any other special abilities? Can you fly?”

37

“And you called my place a dump,” Lady Luck quips as they enter Rubicon. The town is being demolished by earthmovers. The rubble is being pushed and hauled to the center of town to create large, curving walls that just get taller the further they travel.

“Home sweet home,” Brass responds as he guides past the rumbling machines and into a parking lot full of mobile homes. “You’ll get one of these for your very own. The electricity is up, we’re working on the plumbing yet.”

“This is very impressive,” she tells him. The sight of all the happy survivors working together, doing their part, is enough to warm even her heart.

Children swarm the Riv, cheering and waving. Brass has trouble exiting with all the smiling faces crowding his door. “Whoa! Whoa, guys! I just got home. We’ll play in a minute, promise. Abby, take the kids for some ice cream, I’ve got to show Double L something she’s gonna love.”

The young apprentice takes on the task begrudgingly as Brass escorts Lady Luck into a supermarket. They head all the way through the store to the back, a storage area that takes the woman by surprise. Instead of the typical grocery wares there are racks of guns and people working silently at stations. It’s peaceful and quiet as the folks pull cranks and measure powder. All that can be heard is the gentle metallic clatter of shell casings as they are turned back into live ammunition.

“If you are ever asked to take inventory, please use the ‘snowman 8’ rather than the quick scribbled ‘infinity 8’.” Brass instructs. “It is just more practical since the quick version can often be mistaken for a 4, 6, or 9.”

He takes her through the dim armory and out through a door that blinds them with day light once opened.

When she can see again, Lady Luck is greeted by the Rubicon motor pool. Military vehicles, tanks, and choppers are lined up with an array of civilian automobiles.  “Home sweet home,” she whispers to herself.

“This will be yours,” he tells her given her credentials, she revealed to him that she is adept at fixing machines.

“All right,” Abby surprises Brass from behind. “I gave them ice cream. Can I take a crew back to the junk yard now?”

“Jesus!” Brass catches his breath. “That was fast.”

“Can I?”

With a sigh, Brass returns his attention to Rubicon’s new motor head as she wanders down the rows of intimidating vehicles with wonder. She caresses the nose of a chopper, and then runs her fingers along the treads of a tank.

“Hold up on that,” Brass tells his pupil. “Lady Luck has just been appointed to the position of head mechanic and pilot. We’ll need to send her through boot…”

“I was there when this happened.”

“So,” Brass pretends he hasn’t been interrupted. “She will need some armor. Get her fitted.”

Though the woman in question is out of earshot, Abby is compelled to whisper. “Um, armor fittings are quite…invasive, Brass. Shouldn’t one of the women do it?”

“Don’t be a child, we’re all adults here,” Brass tells him. “How hard can it be to ask a beautiful, voluptuous woman to remove all of her clothes so you can get up close and measure...Oh, I see the problem.”

“I’m heading out,” Abby says departing to where a team is assembled for the return trip to the junkyard.

“Be careful driving!” Brass calls to him when he reaches the halfway point. “You’re wearing new boots!”

The team waiting for their leader snickers at that. “Dude?” the young man protests like a teenager.

“I worry!” Brass responds unapologetically.

The rumor has already spread about the new arrival. Word has it she is going to soldier-up and will be needing armor. Behind Brass is an assembly of men who wouldn’t mind being tasked with the duty of fitting her. Once Brass turns his eyes on them, they all pretend to be doing something.

Lady Luck is returning to the small man, giving the fleet one last glance over her shoulder as if telling all the rides that she will be back later. She looks puzzled by the crowd that has gathered, but knows exactly what all the men have been looking at. Brass is blushing from embarrassment over the behavior of his people. The faces she hasn’t met yet are all now darting off one by one as if there is a very pressing matter elsewhere that requires their attention immediately.

“Problem?” she asks.

“Not at all,” Brass coughs. “This way please.”

Brass brings Lady Luck into the armory once more. Some of the men that had conglomerated outside try to follow. Brass turns and gives them a look, shoves them back and closes the door. He tells all the people working on making bullets that he needs the room.

He attempts to speak to the woman once they have the place to themselves, but can’t form the words. She raises an eyebrow at him after several attempts. He is finally able to tell her what he needs to. “If you will be going out into the thick of things,” he pauses for a few breaths. “You will need to go through our boot camp…”

“I know.”

“We don’t allow anyone to go out unless they go through boot.”

“Makes sense.”

“If you are going to go through boot camp you will need some armor...To make your armor I need to get some measurements. Would you rather one of our females do this?”

“We’re already here,” she shrugs gracefully.

“Okey dokey,” he accepts the situation and heads off to gather the items he needs to get started. “I think you’re going to like it here. Unlike the savages that captured you no one here is subjugated. I know I seem like a pretty big wheel in this cracker factory, but…” Brass has returned to Lady Luck with an armload of items to get started and realizes she has disrobed. “Wow.”

The small man has bashfully turned away from her after just a glimpse of the endowments she had hidden beneath her clothes, though her tailoring of the form flattering garments had left little to the imagination. His face is flushing so hard it burns.

Finding his bashful chivalry charming the woman laughs. “You’ll have a tough time taping me with your back turned.”

He turns to her slowly, allowing himself time to adjust, by the time he is facing her once more he has taken on the air of a consummate professional. He begins making small talk while sifting through the items to determine the best place to start. “So, you were supposed to become the bride of one of those guys back there?”

“Boys playing at being men,” she quips. “They were fighting over who got to have me. Some already had wives back at their headquarters they were willing to trade. I guess I should find it flattering. Actually, if not for that girl on their squad and their leader, the others would have taken me there on my kitchen floor.”

The reminder that he was unable to help the girl in their ranks is still weighing on Brass’s mind. He pushes Rocky to the back of his thoughts and continues with the task at hand. Holding a tailor’s measuring tape he realizes he won’t be able to get Lady Luck’s bust from this angle with his short arms without his face getting buried in her breasts. “Perhaps I’ll have to get you from behind,” he says, suddenly wishing he hadn’t. His face blushes again even harder. “Or, if you hold this end, I can run around you…”

“Or, I could just tell you my measurements,” she says coyly, casually leaning back on her hands as if lying on a beach.

“Sure,” he says relieved and even more embarrassed, dropping the tape and grabbing a pen and paper. “If you want to do this the easy way.”

“36-28-36,” she tells him with pride.

“Impressive stats,” he says jotting the information. “I’m an eye man myself.”

“All men say that,” she knowingly counters.

“It’s true. A chick has to have at least one.”

She laughs as she watches him fish through the pile for fatigues and boots for her.

“We’ll have some chain maille made for you. The rings will be titanium which is as light as aluminum but stronger than steel. It will also be as cold as ice so feel free to wear a tee shirt underneath it or put it in the oven for a minute. After boot camp it will be optional if you want to wear it at all, but I recommend it. It depends on how close you plan to get to the dead,” he speaks to the beautiful naked woman casually now as he measures and records her leg and arm length, as easily as if she was wearing clothes. “Off topic: what do you think about Abby? Cute right?”

“Sure,” she suspiciously agrees with a raised eyebrow. “A bit young for me. I prefer my men with a little more experience.”

“You’re just seeing him as he is now, not what he will be. Right now he’s kinda like Luke Skywalker in episode four, all whiny and angsty. Soon, he’ll be a full-blown Jedi. You really don’t think he could handle you?” Brass asks.

“Not many could even before all this,” she levels with the man and then appraises him up and down. “I bet you could handle a girl like me very well. Is there a Misses Brass?”

“There is,” he says moving away from Lady Luck. “I am happily married with a lovely daughter.”

“I can’t wait to meet them,” she says.

“Dear girl, I hope you never do.”