Zombie Fallout 2 (21 page)

“Ryan says something about a lantern being on.” Tommy said his eyebrows pinched in a frown as he tried to make sense of his ‘seers’ words.

You could hear a pin drop or Jen peeing a few feet away, you decide which descriptor fits. They were both accurate if not both politically correct. However I don’t think this was going to be on any ACLU docket in the foreseeable future.

(I let it go then but I haven’t forgotten about them yet and I can guarantee when the savage vestiges of Alzheimer’s are rendering my mind into brain flavored oat meal and I am slinging my own shit against the walls that I’ll remember triple berry pop-tarts with peanut butter frosting. Oh you dear reader can be assured that after Jen got her answers I checked that pop-tart out and it was indeed the flavor he described. Not that the kid had ever lied but maybe he got confused. He hadn’t.)

Within twenty minutes we came up on a viable choice for our overnight stay, even if there wasn’t a Dunkin’ Donuts. Beresford South Dakota was about to become our home away from home, at least for the night. It was by far the prettiest place we had stopped thus far in our journey, with its tree lined streets and the pond in the center of town. But pretty doesn’t equate to safe. It was a given that zombies travel to where the food is. So by pure theory alone small towns should be the first places to become devoid of the offending vermin. Like flesh eating locusts, they plunder and pillage the local resources and move on. They don’t hunker down and make roots. Can’t really cultivate a human farm, can you? And then I shuddered as I thought about The Matrix. Okay, but that was about machines harvesting humans for energy. If I come across penned up humans with zombie cowboys, my tentative grip on the fringes of sanity will be forever frayed. I shook my head, trying my best to dislodge the offending vision. Like this shit isn’t bad enough I’ve got to try and drum up even more exciting scenarios. ‘Ah what I’d do for a nuclear bomb.’

“A nuclear what?” My wife asked. Her contortion of fear was clearly outlined.

“Did I say that out loud?” I asked, clearly confused. When had I last let the inner thoughts of my unkempt mind out for all to see? My inner trappings were not a pretty place and I always made a careful case to make sure that my mind was shuttered against even the most curious onlookers. Tracy had long ago learned to not try and find out what I was thinking. My sometimes candid answers more often than not left her confused, concerned and just plain weirded out. Honest to God, I used to think that everybody thought the way I did, and were just as good at hiding it as I was. That however wasn’t the case. My depths of paranoia, conspiracy and psychosis approached and most likely surpassed levels that should have been medicated away. But it was these same ‘malfunctions’ of my mind that had my family thus far safe and sound. If I had really been able to ‘realize’ my dream though we would be riding this out in style in some giant underground shelter. I envy all of you that had the resources to pull that off.

“Look the light is on!” Tommy said excitedly.

And it was. The chill of icy fingers that ran up my spine was back and it was corpse cold. I shuddered involuntarily. Nobody but Tommy saw good in the stupid little hundred-watt bulb, shining bright through the twilight.

“How is that light still on Talbot?” BT asked in hushed tones, with a note of reverence in his voice.

“There’s a machine with Kit-Kats in there, do you have any change Mr. T?” Tommy asked hopefully.

It’s amazing to me that all of us had known Tommy long enough that nobody even looked halfway cross-eyed at him at his pronouncement. If Tommy had said that a convention of clowns respite with balloon animals was in there singing Billy Joel songs, we would all have believed him. Of course I wouldn’t have gone in, clowns are evil, but I still would have believed him.

I pulled into the parking lot. Brendon wisely remained on the street in the event that he needed to make a quick getaway. A few more years of exposure to me and he would be completely infected with my derangement. I was like a proud papa watching his baby take his first steps.

“What are you doing Talbot?” BT leaned in to me and asked, still in that hushed tone.

I wanted to let him know that zombies were more olfactory stimulated than auditory but then I remembered that there were other demons out there that still went bump in the night. Durgan invaded my thoughts for a moment. I snuffed the thought before it could grow. My mind malignancy could not get past the thought that something was amiss here. Zombies are notorious dark dwellers, relying on smell mostly to track down their prey. Odds of zombies being around were about 10%. Next on my list were bad guys, your average low life. Mad Max types, take whatever you will and destroy the rest. Again this is a relatively small percentage, maybe 10% also. This type, while very dangerous, doesn’t lie in wait. They go out and seek to take. Okay next came just regular folks doing their best to survive. I hate to keep beating a dead horse but this is also a small percentage, I’ll stick with the 10%. I might not be the greatest role model for this example but I can guarantee I wouldn’t be hanging a ‘We’re Open’ shingle out on my front door. Now we have our garden variety bad guy, using a lure to bring in some unsuspecting slobs. This percentage was considerably higher than the others, maybe 20%. But unless you carried your own personal physician with you, inviting trouble was not always a viable advantage. It was still early enough in the apocalypse that supplies were fairly abundant. Food, clothes and ammo were everywhere. Zombies had little use for them and by this time outnumbered humans thousands to one. So what was in small supply and would become a high trade commodity? Women, God damn it, it always comes down to women. The bane of our existence and our small party contained three of the golden ones. Okay that 20% might go up.

Now this part is something I’ve let very few people know. That’s a lie. I’ve let nobody know. This, I’ve come to learn is a huge character flaw in myself. I don’t want to change it and I recognize it for what it is. It’s the inability to reach out and help those in need. I don’t feel the altruistic requirement to help people. Now I’ll die for my family or my friends if the demands require it. I’ve risked my neck for the men I’ve fought next to and even for people that I’ve been tentatively tethered too, think Cash. But I will not go out of my way to help those in need. I’m blown away by the people that used to go to Africa and try to help populations dying from starvation. My first response was always, ‘What is their ulterior motive?’ Yeah, there’s the cynic in me rearing its grotesque head. Doctors and nurses could only be in it for the money, rich people giving to charities was for tax purposes, actors donating time to build houses, free publicity. So the thought that some people were in that motel wanting to help others was by and far the largest percentage of probability and it was easily the most difficult for me to reconcile in my mind.

I looked over my right shoulder as I backed out of the parking lot. Tommy looked like I had just run over a family of rabbits with a lawnmower.

“Against what?” Tracy asked. “What’s going on?” She had inklings of how deep my disturbed waters ran and for the most part made sure that she didn’t wade too far from shore. But since this whole undertaking had begun she had started to indulge me more and more. I felt sadness that she would someday swim in the turmoil I mired in daily but that was beyond my control for now.

I parked next to Brendon on the road without telling anyone. I grabbed my gun and got out. “Tra..” She was already moving into the driver’s seat.

“Hold on Talbot I’m coming with you.” BT said, as he fumbled with his seat belt, the material looked stretched to its capacity around his immense bulk.

“Hold on BT, I know that you’re a big sweetheart.” He grumbled. “But any poor folks in there are going to look at you like a raging T-Rex.” He took no umbrage to my words. A small smile may have passed his lips. It was difficult to tell in the fading sunlight.

“How convinced are you?” Tracy asked. She had not been expecting an answer, so when I came back with 50-50. She understandably didn’t know whether to be troubled or thankful.

I took that one calming breath that really doesn’t do anything except focus you on the fact you are about to do something foolhardy or dangerous, or a combination of the two. All eyes watched me as I slowly approached the motel. Halfway across the parking lot my concern came to fruition in the form of a green laser dot painted plainly on my chest.

“Dad why’d you stop?” Travis asked. His voice rang out too loudly in the unaccountable quiet. I hesitated to turn and tell him. I slowly raised my arms in the universal gesture of ‘Don’t put a cavernous hole in my body.’

“Oh fuck.” I heard from a multitude of mouths behind me. I concurred with them completely. I heard multiple car doors open or slide, the cavalry was on the way.

“Make them stop or you’ll be on the ground before you hear the shot.” The disembodied voice said softly for my ears only. It seemed to be coming from above and to the left of me, but I wasn’t willing to bet my life on that fact.

“STOP!” I said loudly. “He says that if you keep coming, he’ll kill me.” The sheer quantity of guns I heard being cocked behind me at least gave me the slight satisfaction in knowing that my death would be avenged ten-fold.

“What’s your business here?” The voice came again, and now I was willing to put some more stock in the premise of his location.

Odds were though he wasn’t the only one on this field of play. No chance this was a laser device from a tape measure. Those were only of the red variety. Green lasers were much more powerful and generally included only on tactical weapons. Would I feel the splintering of my chest plate as it first contorted to accept the intruding projectile and then shattered around the bullet? Would my heart burst as the bullet tore through it, like so many watermelons I had shot? And if I was somehow still alive after all that damage to myself would I be able to register the paralysis my body suffered as my spinal column was severed in two? Would it be better to be shot with a full metal jacketed bullet that would strike small and leave a fist sized opening in my back? Or with a traditional lead round that would mushroom immediately upon impact thus allowing it to damage more vital organs as it crushed to a stop halfway through my being? Maybe a low velocity round that would hit somewhere center mass and tumble through my body only to find a hasty exit through my orbital socket? It was a gruesome picture I was painting. I truly wished I wasn’t the model for it.

I answered my captor’s question honestly. “My business is to not get shot.” I wasn’t expecting a laugh when I answered him but that’s exactly what I received.

“I think that’s all of our businesses.” I could tell from his tone he enjoyed the response. But his prior wariness, if it had diminished at all, was only by a negligent amount. “I would feel more comfortable if you put that weapon on the ground.” He said to me.

I wasn’t really in a negotiable place, but what the hell. “And I’d feel more comfortable if I wasn’t painted with a laser. It’s a little unsettling.”