'Til Death Do Us Part (40 page)

BOOK: 'Til Death Do Us Part
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Do I smell nuggets?

a
voice drifted out from the trailer, the bird looked in that direction then alit from its spot.

John got up before I could stop him.

Not only is this nugget…
it is coated with a proprietary blend of hashish oils.

I fully expected John to be blown back towards me riddled with buck shot.


Well then come on inside,

the voice said with a distinctive Southern lilt.

I swore I could hear toe-
strummed banjos playing in the background.


My name is
Luke
,

a gap-toothed smiling man in his mid-
thirties told us as he held his door wide open. The mullet he
sported
harkened back to the early

80s
,
much like his felt paintings on the walls. There was a whale, an Indian
,
and of course
,
what trailer wouldn

t be co
mplete without a smiling tassel-
laden portrait of Elvis smack dab in the center.

That there is my wife Mirabelle,

Luke
said as he closed the door behind us.

Mirabelle looked the part of an older Sissy Spacek minus any good looks and make-up. But she was smiling almost as broadly as
Luke
and somehow that put me at ease. John seemed perfectly content with our new surroundings. A black dog roughly the size of a standard pony walked over to me
,
took one passing sniff
,
and got up on the couch.


Hercules
,
we ha
ve guests now…get off the couch,

Mirabelle said to the dog.

Hercule
s looked over at me and growled.
I

d had freight
trains pass me by that produced less tremble. He did, however
,
get off the couch.


Sit, sit.

Mirabelle motioned.

I kept looking over at H
ercules who was mean-
mugging me.


What about him?

I asked Mirabelle.


Hercules? Oh
,
he

s fine
. H
e

s just a big old teddy bear.

She laughed.

If by teddy bear she meant, psychotic, rabid gr
izzly then we were in agreement
,
I thought.

I sat, Hercules growl
ed again—
or a fissu
re had opened up in the earth—
I
figured both would sound the same.

Luke
and John were sitting at the small kitchen table, altern
ating hits on a Jamaica envious-
sized bone.


Wowee, that

ll make your toes curl and slap a turtle!

Luke
said as he leaned back in his chair.


That

s good stuff
,
right?
Got it from that guy over there,

John said
,
pointing at me.


Mister
,
you want a hit?

Sidering it

s yours and all,

Luke
asked.


I

m good,

I told him.


You want some possum pie?

Mirabelle asked me from the kitchen.

I thought about taking a couple of hits from John

s weed, thinking that would be the only way I
would get
strong enough munchies to actually try possum pie.


It

s not really possum,

s
he said when she saw my face.

We ain

t been able to find them since the zombies came.

My stomach was roiling a bit.
I tried my best to cover up its gurgling sound. I changed the subject away from food in the hopes I wouldn

t hav
e to pretend I was on some hillbilly
version of
Fear Factor
.

Thank you for taking us in.


It

s what God-fearing people do,

Mirabelle said.

They help other God-fearing people. Are you God-
fearing folk?

s
he asked.


Um I don

t really fear him
per se
. I
s a healthy respect okay?

I asked back.

She thought about it for a moment.

I s

pose that

ll do. What brings you folks around this way?


We

re trying to get to John

s wife in Philly,
then I

m trying to get home,

I told her.


Without weapons?

s
he asked astutely.


We

ve had a few hardships along the way.


Fell out of the damn sky!

John shouted after taking another hit.


Get outta here?

Luke
asked incredulously.


Unfortunately it

s the truth,

I told Mirabelle.


What is?

John asked.


You been dealing with him long?

s
he asked me.


Long enough.


And he hasn

t got you kilt yet?


I
figure the score is about even.
Every
time he tries to kill me, he saves me.


Hey
,
Poncho,
Luke
wants to know if you have any of this killer weed you can sell him?

John asked me as he started to laugh.


Fresh out
, man, check your pockets.
I gave you t
he last of my stuff,

I said as I shrugged to Mirabelle.


Whoa
,
man!

John said as he pulled baggies of stuff out of his many pockets.

Thanks
,
Poncho!


Any time,

I told him.

Have you been here the entire time?

I asked Mirabelle, wondering how a trailer could possibly hold up to a zombie invasion.


We have.

She looked at me a little guiltily.

Our neighbors all either left, were turned
,
or were kilt. We

ve been foraging from their stuff.


There

s no shame in that.


Man what

s with the diapers?

John asked
Luke
.


Smell
of shit keeps the zombies away.
They
think it

s more of them and don

t want anything to do with us,

Luke
answered.


That

s brilliant,

I said.


We noticed when the zombies were attacking ou
r
neighbors
that
none really came around here
,
and the only thing we could t
hink was different was Hercules,

Mirabelle said.


The dog

s shits are the size of bread loaves, and I ain

t talking those
normal size
d ones either, I mean those fat-
sliced Texas toast ones.

I didn

t
want to tell him that the Texas-
sized toast referred to the individual size of the slice not the loaf itself
,
but I got the visual anyway.


The dog laid those monsters
around the yard like land mines and
the zombies really just kind of ignored us.
It was Mirabelle

s idea to string some diapers up around the yard as an added precaution.

She blushed a little, w
ell that answered that question—
they didn

t have a child.
Better off in this new world…
an
d then I panged for my daughter
and my grandbaby that was on the way. It was a horrible time and place in our history to have a baby
,
but I also couldn

t wait to wrap my arms around t
he infant and the new hope he or she
would deliver.


You guys ever thought to look for a more secure location?

I asked.


Why
,
mister?

Luke
asked.


This is home,”
Mirabelle said.

It ain

t much, but it

s what we know. Our neighbors left us just about everything we need and more.


Cept for a little of the green,

Luke
said
,
swinging a baggie back and forth in front of his face.

And since Belle found Jesus I don

t need to share.

Mirabelle threw a dishtowel at
Luke

s head which he had no hopes of dodging.

I didn

t

find

Jesus, he was there all along, waiting for me to

see

him,

s
he said to her wayward husband.

He

s a little rough around the edges
,
but he treats me good and I love him.


My wife would probably say the same thing.

I smiled at her.


You haven

t been home in a while then?

s
he asked.


Seems like a lifetime ago,

I answered vaguely.


How bad is it?

s
he asked.


You were right to stay here, there

s no
t much good left,

I answered honestly.

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