The Age of Zombies: Sergeant Jones (14 page)

Closer, closer, closer. The beast snagged Jones with his mind and pulled him into the room step by step. Each step echoed like lonely thuds in a humid chamber. Closer, closer, closer. The giant flicked his lighter. The beast gazed forlorn upon Jones. His massive naked body filled the Sergeant’s vision. The beast was a fleshy mountain, a corpse with breath and nothing else. The lighter was his magic. Closer, closer, closer.

Jones realized that they weren’t alone. The floor became alive with the grubby little worms. They brought Jones closer to the beast. They moved beneath his feet, like little wheels along a conveyor belt. They delivered Jones to the giant, as if the beast was their master.

Jones felt helpless. At the same time, he felt compelled to bow to the beast’s feet. He cowered at the power and presence of this ancient giant, this living relic who seemed so alien, this specimen of a dominant species. The giant rested his hand atop the Sergeant’s head. Jones looked up expectantly. The beast parted his lips to speak. Jones was imbued with the feeling a faithful son has for his honored father. He was filled with a curious devotion to this monster’s strength, courage, vision, wisdom, and brutality. Jones didn’t know what this beast was, but he felt his power. He understood that this giant was his enemy. This was the force that he was up against. One’s greatest enemies deserve an equally great amount of respect.

The monster parted his mouth wider. His gray tongue flapped up and down. The giant’s throat shook as he tried to unleash his words so that Jones could hear them. But all that came forth was a bone crushing cry.

Worms flew out from the beast’s mouth. They covered Jones body, and started wiggling down his shirt and pants and shoes. They squirmed into his ears and around his tongue. They roared, just like they did in the tunnel back in Afghanistan.

Jones was powerless. He attempted to swat and brush the worms from his body, but they kept streaming out from the gaping mouth of the monster. Soon they covered the Sarge’s entire body. They inched their way into his every orifice. A splitting headache overtook the Sarge’s consciousness. He felt woozy, and couldn’t move. The giant let out one last blood curdling cry, and shut his mouth. The worms and the headache disappeared.

Jones woke up to the ring of his iPhone. He shot up from the couch to answer it. His head was groggy, with a twinge of that headache, and his body was drenched in sweat. The waking world was nothing but a kaleidoscope of confusion. It stood in jarring contrast to the preternatural weirdness of his dream. Jones shook his head and gave his face a good slap to bring him back to the present. He picked up the phone and saw a familiar name. He clicked the green answer button.

“God damn buddy,” Jones said. “You woke me up from a dream funkier than your wife’s undies drawer.”

Roddy chuckled. “Only you would know how funky they really are.”

“It’s damn good to hear your voice,” Jones said. He didn’t want to sound panicked. He tried to keep his cool. “Haven’t since we came home. What’s going on Roddy?”

“Just returning your call,” he said. “Life’s been good since I’ve been back. Just getting used to life on the base again.”

Jones smiled. He really was happy to hear Roddy’s voice. It assuaged part of his pain. “How’s your novel?”

“Let’s just say I’m taking it to the next level,” Roddy said. “The war taught me a lot. And it’s done wonders for my storytelling.”

“That’s the truth,” Jones said. “Did Lieutenant Hocks receive my good word?”

“He did, Sarge,” Roddy said. “Thanks again for that. I just don’t know about doing another tour as a grunt.”

“You’ve got potential,” Jones said. “You know I’ll stick my neck out for you any day of the year.” Sergeant Jones had sent word to his higher ups that Rodriguez was a fine choice for Officer Candidate School. The opportunity would give Roddy a chance to become a commissioned officer. Out of all the grunts Jones served with, Roddy was one of the few he would consider recommending. “Do you have an ETA on when you’re in?”

“Not yet,” Roddy said. “But Lieutenant Hocks will be in direct correspondence with me from here on out. Sarge, I owe you a million. This is going to be a great move for me and my family.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Jones said. “And it fills my quota, too. I had to recommend one of you. I figured that it might as well be you.”

The two men shared a good laugh. But Jones quickly went quiet. An uncomfortable silence hung between the two men.

“Everything alright, Sarge?” Roddy asked.

“Yeah, it’s all good, man.”

Roddy picked up on the Sarge’s uneasiness. Roddy was accustomed to the Sarge’s stability and even keel during the most trying circumstances. The incident with the giants back in Afghanistan was the first example that came to Roddy’s mind. But right now Jones was holding in a lot more than that. He wanted to keep it all in, keep it all to himself.

Jones didn’t say a word.

“Go ahead, Sarge,” Roddy said. “You’ve got my trust. Signed, sealed, delivered.”

Jones shook his head. He strained his throat in an attempt to tell Roddy the truth of what was going on. He didn’t want to. He wanted to swallow it all deep down and shit it out someplace in the woods. But he had to tell Roddy. “I’m going to put it simple for you, Roddy,” Sarge said. His speech was calm, but Roddy picked up on the fact that he was deeply unsettled. “Your family’s in danger. You need to get your stuff packed immediately.” Jones sat back down on the couch. He let his body sink into the cushions. “That’s an order.”

“Oh shit, Sarge,” Roddy said. “What’s the punchline?”

Jones was pissed. “There’s not a punchline, Roddy. It’s a damn order.”

“You’ve been prepping me for too long,” Roddy said. “I’m not some green grunt anymore. If there’s a specific threat against me and my family, you need to tell me what it is, in detail. Otherwise I’m gonna assume that you’re full of shit.”

“Damnit Roddy, you’re being an asshat.” Jones was heating up. The pain he felt from losing his family bubbled up into anger. Roddy wasn’t a deserving target, but that was the whole point of this call. Jones had to warn him. “The giants, they’re back. They’re hunting us down. They got my family. I’m pretty sure they got Big Boy’s family. They’re gonna get your family, if you don’t shut up, buck up, and get on out of there.”

“The giants?” Roddy said. “Sarge, you said that we’d bury them in our fucking dreams. And that’s what we did. You need to slow down and explain what’s going on here.”

Jones just shook his head. “Listen Roddy, I know I’m not being clear with you. But if I explained everything down to the nitty gritty, you’d think I was just connecting dots like a baboon with a Crayola.”

“Okay, okay Sarge,” Roddy said. He followed the Sarge’s advice that he had given him back in combat. Take a deep breath. The joke about the baboon and a crayon lightened his nerves. “I’m hearing what you’re saying. I’m gonna get my family packed. I don’t know what it is about you, but you know how to motivate a man into action. This all sounds
loco
, but I’m with you, Sarge.”

Jones lit a cigarette and drew the smoke long and hard into his lungs. “This is a damn conspiracy,” Jones said. “Real life, right now. Get your ass moving, grunt. Call me when you guys are at least a hundred miles out of dodge.”

Roddy just nodded silently on the other end of the phone.

“I lost my Emma Jo,” Jones said. He wasn’t going to sob, but the pain shot deep down into his heart. “And I’m gonna get her back. I’m gonna find my son.” Another deep draw from the cigarette. “I can’t see you go through this, Roddy. I just can’t.”

Roddy breathed deeply into the phone. The line crackled. “Are you gonna be alright, Sarge?”

Jones drew in another lungful of smoke. He exhaled and gathered his thoughts. He shut his eyes and held back the tears.

Another lungful of smoke. Jones imagined the smoke filling the room and Emma Jo stepping out of the nicotine laced haze. But that was a fantasy. And there wasn’t much time for imagination now.

“Sarge, man, say something. You’re starting to make me feel...”

“Damnit Roddy, they’ve got Emma Jo.”

“I know it, Sarge. And we’re gonna find her.” A Spanish flair, normally absent from Roddy’s speech, now dominated his tone and inflections. “I’ll hunt down the
pinche burro
who’s behind all this. I swear to Jesus Christ, we’ll find her.”

“
Get
 moving, grunt,” Jones said. He lit another cigarette. He took a couple drags, snuffed it out, and lit another.

“I’m gonna pack the minivan now,” Roddy said. “And first chance I get, I’m calling.”

Suddenly Roddy heard a shriek outside his bedroom door.
It was his wife. Another piercing cry, this time from his nine year old son. Something was horribly wrong. Within seconds Roddy let out his own battle cry. The phone thudded on the floor. A cacophony of struggle filled the air: grunts, jabs, knees to the kidney.

Roddy wasn’t much of a match for the invasion. Three giants overpowered the family with the ease of a child blowing out some birthday candles. Jones stood there listening to it all go down. There was nothing he could do. He tried to warn Roddy. If only he would have listened sooner.

Through his phone Jones could hear the sirens getting closer to Roddy’s address. Within a minute, the military police on base had stormed the house, and discovered nothing.

“Damn these beasts,” Jones said. He clicked the end call button on his phone. There was no point in talking to the police. “Damn them to hell.”

The jig was up.

These monsters meant business.

And now that they had struck again, so did Jones. He wasn’t going to let another tragedy happen. Not after what just happened to Roddy and his family. They were good people. Roddy was a good man.  

His thinking quickened. What just happened with Roddy had to be left to the side for now. There was nothing he could do to alleviate the situation. But there was still a chance with his own family.

Jones needed more information, and there was one place in the city of Eugene where he knew he could get it. He cleaned himself up, put on a new shirt and fresh pair of jeans, along with a leather jacket. He slipped a pistol into his belt, and grabbed his smokes. Jones hopped into his Jeep, drove a couple miles up the road, and pulled into a dumpy parking lot.

The Billiards Bar was a raunchy sty. Even your typical scumbag would avoid the place. But the bar had its regulars. Old bikers who stood on either side of the law, tweakers looking to score, and an occasional group of Mexican day laborers who appreciated the buck fifty Coronas and generous shots of tequila. Not to mention the skanks that hovered around like flies on shit.

Jones stepped into the Billiards Bar looking for a lead. The bikers didn’t have their hands in every scheme around town, but they always had their eyes peeled. In the Sarge’s experience bikers were some of the most well networked, knowledgeable folks around. Especially when it came to matters of the street. He imagined their overgrown nappy beards as a conduit of the streets and its stories. Jones laughed to himself thinking about that as he sat down at the bar.

The man standing behind the counter was short, red faced, and stupid looking. His forehead was sloped and his eyes kind of popped out of their sockets. He looked Jones up and down. “What you drinking?”

“Shot of bourbon, straight,” Jones said. He made sure to give the bartender a good nod and look straight in the eye. Jones didn’t take his gaze away from the bartender. He waited for the bartender to look away.

The bartender got the point. He started whistling and fiddling around with a shot glass. He slammed it on the counter in front of Jones and poured the shot. “You’re military,” he said. “The first one’s on us.”

Jones threw back the shot without a nod or a thank you. “I’m looking for somebody,” he said. “Thought he’d be around here.”

The bartender looked around the place. A couple of scruffy fat bikers peered up from their beers. “Somebodys just don’t come around to the Side Pocket,” the bartender said. “Besides, if somebody did, a cop would be quick to follow.”

Jones caught the drift. It was the exact reaction he was going for. “Right, well, I’ll take a PBR. I’ll go sit over there and wait around for him.”

Jones took his PBR over to a table between the dart boards and pool tables. There were a half dozen bikers languidly playing bar games. They didn’t pay much attention, but still performed flawlessly. Jones watched on as they pocketed every shot and hit their numbers effortlessly on the dart board. The bikers were aware of the Sarge’s presence, but made it a point to ignore him.

A couple tweakers strolled in. They needed their fix. One of the bikers paused his game of billiards and invited the tweakers out to the back for a cigarette. The biker came back without a smirk or a smile. But he was a couple hundred bucks fatter. The tweakers left the bar feeling like they were riding on a rainbow.

Jones finished his beer and signalled for another. The bartender brought it out to him. “I start tabs for cops,” the bartender said condescendingly. “It’s just our way to say thanks.”

Jones smiled and nodded. He found it funny how much places like this really, truly detested cops. He couldn’t blame them. Cops hated the scum that gathered here just as much.