Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory (22 page)

“Oh, he is!” Abby says, and when she shifts
her heavy basket of supplies, he offers, “Trade ya?”

“Thank you,” she says, and he places her
plastic tote in the top of his cart, where one typically stores
eggs or toddlers. “I still have so much more to get.”

“The first trip is always like this,” he
says. “We often forget to tell newbies to grab a cart.”

“So, this Brass guy seems like an amazing
leader.”

“Yes, he is,” Abby agrees. “Though he’d never
admit it, he’s the reason for all this. He started it. He used to
be the manager of this place. I didn’t shop here too often once the
Ultramart went up not far away. They had better prices. I only came
here when I needed just one or two things since it’s closer. I
remember seeing Brass this one time, in his apron, pricing lima
beans. A woman was causing a scene, raising her voice because the
store didn’t carry the particular brand of whatever the hell she
was there for.

“The place was going under, struggling to
survive in the wake of that Ultramart. He tried to tell her that
the item was sold out and they weren’t getting any more in, but she
didn’t care. She started getting louder and he caved, gave her a
comparable brand on the house. I remember thinking how weak he was.
He would have given her his car keys if she had asked for them.
Look at him now, leading us like one big, happy family. He’s our
mother, father, best friend, and boss all rolled into one odd
little man.”

Vida laughs at the last part. She hopes if
anyone can convince Gabe to stay it’s this odd little man.
He’s
sure
to
stay
once
he
sees
the
place
, she thinks with hope.

“It’s good to be back.” Brass sighs in relief
as he guides his Riviera through the town of Rubicon. Gabe studies
the town he visited a couple times long ago, and it has definitely
changed. Ruby looks as if a war has taken place, and been lost. The
buildings have been leveled.

“What happened here?” Gabe asks.

“We happened here.”

They head deeper into town where all the
rubble has been moved to form a wall that stretches as far as Gabe
can see. Heavily armored vehicles are parked at the mouth of the
barrier.

“So this is a military operation,” Gabe
surmises from the markings on the trucks.

“Nope, I just have a lot of their toys, and
some of their people who have gone AWOL or were rescued from fallen
bases. My people and I travel to the forts and ports, clearing out
the armories and motor pools of the lost causes. The tanks over
there are more of a deterrent. Scarecrows for the living
threats.”

As Brass points out his proud collection of
hardware, all Gabe can think about is his son and Gloria. He
doesn’t notice the folks in body armor and custom painted helmets
that wave to Brass as they enter the confusing path of debris.
“You’ve probably never made it to Fort Eagle Rock, have you?”

“No, we’ve never traveled into the Midwest.
That’s where your boy is.”

“Yeah.”

“And here I am yakking about fallen bases,”
Brass says, feeling bad regarding his insensitivity.

“It’s all right.”

The boxy, black two-door comes to a halt at a
chain link gate. The men sit in silence while it is slid open for
them. Up until this point, Gabe felt like he was rolling through
old snap shots of Dresden. Crumpled ruins devoid of life. Now they
enter a thriving society standing strong in contrast to the
self-inflicted devastation.

###

The heft of the reusable canvas bags of
personal items delights Vida as she walks back to her trailer. She
tries not to think too deeply about the fact that such a simple
thing brings her so much joy, lest she dredge up the underlying
sorrow as to why. She focuses on the superfluous bottles and
trivial tubes she has gained, and not on all the people she has
lost.

It’s been a long while since Vida has been
around so many people, yet she feels lonely. She has the
opportunity to mingle and meet them all, yet all she wants to do is
get back into her solitude.

But a late model car cruising through the
neighborhood changes that. She drops her precious cargo at her door
and runs to greet Gabriel.

Brass stops at Vida’s dwelling and exits,
continuing an attempt at a subject change, “…like the people who
would come into my store, looking for eggnog with the nutmeg
already mixed in. Eww! Who the hell wants that? It’s supposed to
float on top! The nutty grains that would stick to my lips with the
first few sips is a cherished tactile memory. I also miss dialing
on rotary phones…” He notices a smiling Vida approaching and
realizes his last example predates her. “You probably have no idea
what I’m talking about, do you?”

Obviously confused by being brought into a
conversation at the end, Vida slows her rush to meet Gabe. “No,
sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Brass says. “I get that a
lot.”

“This place is great, isn’t it?” Vida asks
with her head pressed against Gabe’s chest in a bear hug.

“Yes, it’s most impressive.”

“We have over two hundred people,” Brass
chimes in, looking for one in particular.

“We’re getting a tour in a bit. Will you stay
for it? Will you stay for dinner?” Vida is positively bubbly with
delight over seeing Gabe.

“You have to stay for dinner,” Brass tells
him. “It’s only fair since some of the meat came from your friend’s
cows. Both of you, head over to the appliance store in fifteen
minutes. Bring the others. I can’t wait to show you around the
chocolate factory.”

Gabe brought a present from his home, his
guitar. He tenderly set the instrument on Vida’s sofa before she
tossed her bags into her small bathroom and dragged Gabe to Mike
and Jen’s place. Then, together, they proceeded to the store where
the tour of Ruby will commence. She’s eager to see it all, even
more eager for Gabe to see it and hopefully decide to stay.

They pass the plywood barrier around the
strip mall. Graceful artwork done with spray paint depicts stories
of past lives. Elegant graffiti spells out hopeful messages for the
future and names of the fallen. From the danger placards and what
Brass had said about his store, Gabe knows this wall stood before
the dead arose. The place was scheduled to be demolished.

“So the secret to the best barbecued ribs
ever is cooking them in the oven?” Vida asks Abby in the appliance
store.

“Shh! Don’t tell anybody.” He puts a finger
to his lips, careful not to get the sauce that coats them on his
face.

Vida lead Gabe inside when she saw Abby hard
at work through the windows. The young man pre-heats several ovens
while he coats racks of ribs with barbecue sauce and seals them in
carefully crafted envelopes of tin foil.

“I usually let them marinate in the sauce for
a day, but these will still be great. The trick is to cook them
like this for about two hours. Let them boil in their own fat. Then
I coat them in sauce again and grill them just enough to put a nice
char on.”

“I can’t wait,” Gabe says.

“It’s nice to see you again, sir.” Abby gives
him a nod.

“Please tell me you’ll stay!” Vida blurts,
unable to hold the plea in any longer.

“Well…”

“Oh, come on, Gabe!” Brass says behind him.
“Your place is a mess. You don’t even have any stairs!”

“You’re the reason my stairs are gone.”

“Let’s not go pointing fingers,” Brass says.
“Take the tour, eat some ribs, and think on it. ’Kay?”

With a sweeping gesture, he shows Vida and
Gabe to the door. Then Brass steps to the counter and looks at Abby
knowingly.

“What?” Abby asks, annoyed.

Without a word, Brass places four shell
casing on the counter. The small metallic objects clatter as they
topple and roll against one another. He just turns away to start
the tour, leaving Abby calling after him regarding the shells.

“C’mon! It was dark last night! You’re being
a child, Brass!”

Not a square inch of the compound goes to
waste within the rubble walls. The lot is full from corner to
corner with homes organized into a shanty town. Overhead is a
myriad of pipes and conduits delivering water and power. Brass
tells them how lucky they are to have a team of plumbers and
electricians, since simple comforts like running water and lights
make people feel safe.

The grocery store Brass once ran, where Vida
enjoyed her first shopping experience in a long while, looks like
any store before the plague at first glance. But after one travels
deeper in, explores the aisles, they find the oddities of its
setup. The meat department still offers choice cuts of beef and
poultry, but it’s fresh. Slaughtered that very morning in fact. The
tour guide shows them the back lot where the animals are kept and
allowed to graze in the field behind the store. Well over a hundred
cows, countless chickens, and dozens of pigs.

“The kids love it back here. Like a petting
zoo,” Brass tells his group. “Back here in this shed is where we
kill the fuckers. The cows and stuff. Not the kids.”

Back on the sales floor, the tour heads
through the shelves packed with supplies to the sporting goods
section that holds every firearm imaginable. Several would never be
seen on a store shelf, available to civilians, before the zombie
outbreak. However this is just the showroom, and Brass leads them
into the back where more weapons are neatly stored upon racks.

Most of the products from the storage area
are out where the consumers can grab them as needed to make room
for an assembly line. Here, odd machines vibrate upon table tops
filled with sand. Volunteers turn cranks and measure a curious
black powder. At the center of the operation are peanut barrels
filled to the brim with spent brass shell casings, waiting to
travel through the line to become live ammo for future use.

The tour continues through a back door, to a
plane of asphalt that serves as the motor pool. Where employees of
the strip mall once parked, and stores received their deliveries,
now rests the society’s fleet that range from small compact cars to
luxury sports utility vehicles, from armored military trucks to a
helicopter, and the very bus that carried the refugees from Gabe’s
home, the Gunship.

Tinkering under the hood of the double decker
is Lady Luck--the driver who looks as if she has time-traveled from
the 1950s. Her hair is set in perfect Victory Rolls and she wears a
dress unbefitting the job she performs. Her forearms are covered in
black grease yet her black and white polka dotted garment is
spotless. Tucked in the corner of her ruby red lips is a cigarette
that trails a long ash on the end. One of her eyes squints as the
smoke irritates it. She looks back at her audience then just
resumes her work.

She is radiant, especially compared to the
ugly vehicles of war she is surrounded by. Vida notices that the
pinup girl painted on the olive drab sides of the bus is her, Lady
Luck. If not for the matching anachronistic tattoos on her
deltoids, a skull on each with crossing wrenches in lieu of bones,
she would truly think she came from the past.

Greenhouses on the roof of the mall produce
fruits and vegetables for the people, and more comes from the
outposts that have enough land to grow crops. The newcomers watch
people happily pull weeds and water the plants.
They’re
a
family
, Vida thinks with a smile.
Everyone
does
their
part
.

Brass ends the tour with that exact
sentiment, “Everyone works, everyone eats.”

“Who says communism is a bad thing?” Vida
chuckles.

No one joins in her mirth to her
embarrassment, except Brass. The others look at her, puzzled, but
he grins broadly. “That’s what I’ve been saying! Don’t feel bad. No
one gets it when I say it either.”

“Great!” Abby appears among them. “Another
one of you.”

“Vida and I just realize this is a commune,
thus the term communism isn’t an evil word.”

“All I can think of is my grandfather
spouting off about ‘pinkos’ and ‘commies’ when I hear it.”

“As long as everyone is working for the
greater good, how can it be bad? It’s like camping or living on a
farm,” Brass says with a clap of his hands. “Which is a great note
to end the tour on. Give yourselves a week or so to try out the
different areas where you think you can be the most useful. But
don’t think you have to settle. Some of our people float from job
to job because they are jacks of all trades. Abby, when’s
dinner?”

“I’ll be grilling in about a half an
hour.”

“Did you load my shells yet?”

“No, Brass, I’ve been busy,” the younger man
snaps. “I might just try my luck at the jar.”

“What my cranky friend is referring to is the
Dirty Deeds chore jar. Mostly quick tasks that no one likes to do
but need to get done. He was in charge of gathering our spent
rounds from last night and I found four that he missed. To make up
for it, he must load one hundred rounds for every casing we almost
lost.”

“It was dark!” Abby groans.

Brass ignores the man’s gripe. “Folks, dinner
will be ready shortly. I’m going to let you all go and get washed
up. Gabe, what do you think?”

“It’s all very impressive. You
certainly--”

Vida blurts, “Will you stay?”

“Yeah, Gabe,” Brass mimics the girl’s
exuberance. “Will you stay?”

“For now at least.” He surrenders and is
immediately hugged by the young woman.

“Should I put him down for raping or
non-raping?” Abby asks sarcastically.

To which Brass coyly replies, “Let’s just
play that by ear.”