Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory (26 page)

Vida pictures Brad taking the savage beating
she unleashes on the ghoul. She imagines it’s the three men that
hijacked the convoy. The corpse she batters becomes every zombie
bastard who took Brandon away and robbed her of Vicky, Lloyd, her
mother and father, her life and future.

Not to be out done by a girl, the boys
quickly psych themselves into squaring off against their own
targets. Malcolm makes eye contact with a deceased bride. Her once
white gown is caked with grave dirt and torn from the splintered
edges of her coffin. Time has not been friendly to her. He keeps a
tall headstone between himself and the shriveled zombie, poising
his machete to strike, but he hesitates. All he can think is,
Somebody
loved
her
once
.

“Malcolm,” Brass says. “Hesitation is
natural, but it could also get someone killed.”

He brings the long blade back, but he doesn’t
use it. With every panicked gasp he takes, he goes to slice the
dead woman, yet halts. The ghoul keeps her eyes locked on him as he
counters her attempts to round the stone. Every step she takes, he
goes the other way. Being so close to food only teases her
appetite, and she suddenly dives over the grave marker. Malcolm
sidesteps and hacks out of reflex, removing her head.

“Good work, Malcolm!” Brass says, though
Malcolm remains frozen in his follow through. “There are more out
there however. And don’t forget that their heads remain active.
Give it a good stomp.”

Player 1 had no trouble initiating. He
delivered a killing blow to the top of a dead man’s head. Now he
can’t remove the axe from the twitching corpse’s skull.

“That’s a powerful weapon, Player 1,” Brass
says. “And the top of the head is the hardest part of the skull.
The younger the zombie the easier it is to get stuck. Try chopping
them at the temples.”

Vida was the first to attack the dead, but
hers has yet to fall.

“Blunt weapons work best when you hit the
same spot,” Brass tell her. “You need to drive bone fragments into
the brain. Tighten your focus instead of taking random shots at
them. I do want to commend you on your dentistry. Removing their
teeth is a great way to protect the team.”

The three continue to take on all the dead
that come their way. With Brass’s sage advice, they learn the most
effective ways to use their weapons. They even trade to try
different methods. They use the techniques they learned on the
dance floor, how the dead move, to keep from being overpowered and
get the zombies positioned where they want them. Brass watches with
pride as they moved deeper into the graveyard, away from the safety
of the bus and his words of wisdom. He likes that they stick
together, keeping one another in sight and helping each other
out.

“Good bunch, huh?” Brass says to Abby. He
notices Lady Luck is also on the top deck watching.

“Yeah,” the younger man agrees.

“And what about that Vida?”

“She’s good.”

“Looks good out there too, huh? Very
cute.”

“I guess,” Abby says.

Brass remains silent as he gauges his
friend’s reaction, remembering the bet they’d made over how far
Vida would make it. He isn’t seeing what he was hoping for. The
young man just watches the newbies through a pair of binoculars as
they head farther away. Lady Luck catches Brass’s eye with a wry
smile and a shrug that tells him she too is disappointed in
Abby.

“I think we should celebrate her success with
a chili cook off next week!” Brass says. “Or make it a cultural
event. All Mexican, all week long. More beans than a body can
handle.”

“Great,” Abby says without enthusiasm. “The
week I have to empty the shitters.”

“So oblivious,” Lady Luck says, before
returning to the helm below.

“What?”

“Abby,” Brass says. “I couldn’t help but
notice that our little Vida doesn’t have anything painted on her
helmet. A complete blank slate. Do you think you can help her with
that?”

“I wouldn’t know what to put on it.”

“You could try talking to her.”

“Sure thing.”

Brass decides to drop the subject, for now.
He calls to the pupils over a loudspeaker to bring them in. For the
team’s good work today, and for the record pace in which they are
progressing, thanks in a large part to Vida, Brass prepares a
surprise for them as they board the Gunship.

“All right, kids! You did amazing today! Who
wants to squeeze off a few dozen rounds?” He indicates the heavy
machine guns that line the top deck. Once the students give him a
positive response, he shouts to his driver, “Double L, take us
around the park, please!”

The bus travels the road that encircles the
graveyard, all the way to the far end.

“Give me a broadside off the starboard,
please!”

The Gunship slows and comes to a halt at the
bottom of a hill where over twenty zombies are milling about,
unaware that the living were in the area until they see the olive
bus. The dead swarm toward the right side of the vehicle as the
three take aim and open fire from above.

The .50 caliber weapons wail against the calm
of the cemetery. Brass had taught them to aim low at first and use
small bursts since the automatic weapons have a tendency to lift.
Spent shell casings rain down as the recruits unleash their deadly
salvos. It doesn’t take long before the deceased are put to
rest.

“See? Guns are the easy way,” Brass says.
“Now, after you all get out and grab the shells that have fallen,
we’ll push off.”

“You’re kidding?” Player 1 asks with a laugh.
“You have like tens of thousands of live rounds back at the armory.
Leaving behind a few shells won’t make much of a difference,
right?”

Abby rolls his eyes.

Brass just shakes his head. “Don’t be that
guy, Player 1. We were off to such a great start.”

“Be what guy?”

“The guy that questions a proven method and
challenges a simple request.” He grabs a handful of spent brass
casings from the floor and holds them out in his palm. “Each of
these represents a zombie that’s no longer a threat to us, or
anyone. The problem is each also equals twenty, fifty, perhaps a
hundred more that are still up and active. We have barrels full to
the top of these, but that’s a lot of hypothetical corpses still at
large, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Player 1 says sheepishly.

“Glad we’re on the same page. Go pick up my
brass so we can get outta here. Tomorrow is your final. Today you
can hang out at the armory and learn about the guns and loading
ammo.”

###

Loading ammunition is a tedious yet necessary
process. There are many steps required to take a discarded casing
from spent to live again. The old primer must be removed, it must
be polished and beveled, a new primer is inserted, then the proper
amount of powder is put in before it is sealed with a fresh
projectile.

“While we can reuse the brass, powder and
primers are not a renewable resource. Many of the lugs we load into
each cartridge have been made by our own people. Many things can be
melted down and cast into the right shapes and sizes, from
silverware, to car parts, and bright copper kettles!” Brass
explains with glee.

“Most people, mainly guys, gravitate towards
the larger calibers. I suggest working your way up if you haven’t
much experience with firearms. In terms of handguns, I opt for a
smaller size for accuracy and a better rate of fire.”

Player 1 heads straight for a .357 once they
have had a quick lesson from Abby about gun safety. Malcolm finds
an assault rifle he would like to try out since Brass told them
they’d get a chance to use them if they wish. Vida considers what
Brass said about smaller guns. He also suggested they try to stick
to revolvers if they don’t want to spend the time collecting
shells, so she chooses a snub nosed .38.

Brass leads them on foot out through the
winding valley of rubble and down Main Street Rubicon until they
come to a wooded area.

“We set up devices to ensnare the dead along
the tree line,” Brass tells them as he points across the field.

Zombies hang between the trees like knotted
marionettes. Barbed wire holds them aloft, tangling them even worse
the more they thrash and fight to head toward the living. Some are
caught in jungle gyms made out of tractor blades, and they’re too
dimwitted to pull themselves off.

“Why is that one so slimy?” Malcolm asks,
pointing at a corpse that doesn’t look dried out like the
others.

The creature’s skin glistens under the sun.
His flesh is bloated and stretches against his rotten clothing.
Where the other zombies are grey in color, this former man has an
odd green hue.

“He’s not from around here,” Brass says,
happy to add a new lesson to this unscheduled field trip. “Where do
you think he’s migrated from?”

“A swamp,” Vida says.

“Good! We have seen many corpses wander our
way from various places and climates. Some are dried like jerky
from the desert heat. Our local dead have a more natural rate of
decay--not too wet, not too dry, not too hot, not too cold. This
man is plump and juicy, clearly from a very wet and warm region.
Notice the green coloring. That’s mold. If you look closer you
might even see moss or lichen sprouting from where he rubbed
against a tree on his way out of the bayou. We’ve even seen nomadic
zombies with mushrooms growing out of their ears.”

“So have fun with it, kids!” Brass says while
heading off. “After tomorrow, it’s all on the job training. Vida,
get that helmet prettified. Abby said he’ll help you if you’d
like.”

After identifying the water logged zombie’s
home of origin, Vida gets the honor of putting him down. One shot
through the head renders him inert, leaving only his mildew stench
to offend their noses. She can’t help but feel unsatisfied by the
immediate results when using a gun. She would prefer to use a bat
or any other weapon that gives her the tactile sensation of her
actions. These things robbed her of her life. She was supposed to
be with Brandon and the rest of the Dogs of War, supposed to finish
school and have a future. Now all she has to look forward to is
revenge.

“Are you all done?” Abby asks when he notices
she doesn’t call dibs on any of the other trapped corpses.

“Yeah,” she says, not wanting to admit that
she’d much rather bash in the skulls of the dead. She waits for the
others to finish. “So you want to help me with my helmet?”

“Sure. I’ve painted quite a few. Even did
Lady Luck’s Gunship. What would you like?”

“I have no idea.”

“That makes it a lot harder. Tell me what
you’re into.”

“Music. I play guitar. My Grandmother taught
me.”

“What kind of music?”

“I like all kinds. My abuela played in an
all-girl mariachi band.” She hands over the helmet. “Not much to go
on, is it?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Player 1 and Malcolm finish off the dead,
then without being told they pick up every spent shell before
returning to camp. Vida and Abby walk together.

“Everyone says you did a lot of the murals
outside the market,” Vida says. The plywood plane she refers to is
covered with messages of hope and tributes to the fallen.

“Yeah, folks have a lot to say but can’t
always express themselves. I’ve become the go-to graffiti guy.”

“Do a lot of tagging before all this?”

“Nothing illegal,” he says. “I used to do
custom paintjobs on the side to make extra money. I wanted to be a
tattoo artist, but it’s a hard thing to break into. It’s funny.
Everyone asks me to put up names of the people they have lost and
miss, messages about a brighter tomorrow and better future, but I
believe my future is better now. Before all this I was in a job I
hated, trying to make payments on a truck that I only needed to get
to my job. What do you call that? A vicious cycle? Anyways, now I
have a purpose in life. I actually feel like I’m making a
difference.”

“You are,” she says.

While walking through the chasm of debris,
their arms gently brush against one another.

At the end of the twisting path, Abby takes
the weapons from the recruits. “I’ll get these stored. You guys are
off for the night. I’ll see in the morning.”

###

Abby stares at the blank canvas that is
Vida’s helmet. He visualizes an image and plans the best way to
illustrate it. His inspiration sprang not only from her words but
from old tattoo magazines. He heads out of the armory to the motor
pool where his airbrush kit is and finds Brass sitting on the
tarmac with a bunch of children, teaching them how to shine
shoes.

“Why are you shaving the boots?” a girl asks
as he lathers shaving cream on to a set of combat boots he took the
laces out of.

“These are factory new, Alice,” he tells her.
“There is a protective layer of oil on the leather that makes it
difficult to get a decent shine on. Acid in the shaving cream will
eat that oil away.”

“Why are we shining boots anyway?” a boy
whines.

“Because you asked me if you could help,”
Brass reminds him. “You don’t have to.”

The boy remains, since all of his friends
stick around.. “Does shining the boots keep the zombies away?”

“Oh, of course. Zombies hate shiny
shoes.”

Brass washes off the cream. The once black
leather is paler, almost white in patches. He adds black dye to the
porous material.

“So now you’re just making them look the same
as they were?” the same bored little boy complains.

Brass looks up and sees Abby across the lot
preparing to decorate Vida’s helmet. “Children, you have been most
helpful, but I think your efforts would be better suited
playing.”

“Aw! I want to shine boots!” Alice says.

“You will. Another time. I will have all the
prep work done and next time we can shine together. Sound
good?”