Loose Ends: A Zombie Novel (27 page)

The one disarming Doc couldn’t stop talking. Once he put down the purple pony toy, he leaned forward to pick up the .45 off the floor. As he did, the shotgun shoved Doc’s head into the side window. The man had long, blond hair in random braids and a handle bar mustache. As he leaned down, I saw the Riding Dead emblem on the back of his jacket. The patch on his sleeve read, RD New Portown Chapter.

He lifted the .45 up as he kept Doc’s head pressed to the side of the truck with the shotgun. He flipped out the rotator and shook out the empty shells. A couple of them rang off the aluminum bar in the floorboard.

He said, “Empty. You two know how to make an entrance, Shaggy.”

He took the gun into the storage section. He reached in Doc’s belt and pulled out the other weapon.

The blond, shotgun biker said, “You better hope the safety is on or I might take off your pecker.”

He dropped out the clip.

“This one is empty too,” he said.

He reached up and pulled out Doc’s hunting knife. He leaned back and let Doc’s head off the plastic, window cover.

The man said, “Figures you guys would be out of bullets. You’ve been shooting up the town like some wild west something, huh?”

He waved the knife in Doc’s face. Doc flinched.

The man barked, “You should use these more and you wouldn’t have the stinks all worked up like you do.”

Doc said, “We got zombie guts on those knives. Be careful.”

The man held it up next to Doc’s eye. He put his mouth up to Doc’s ear and whispered. His lips were brushing Doc’s skin as he spoke.

“Is that so, boss?” the man hissed. “Maybe I pluck out your eyes with it and we see what happens.”

The man in the front passenger’s seat that had turned the jump seat around smiled again through his black beard. He spoke to me.

Black beard said, “What do you say, kid? Should we pluck his eyes out with the zombie knife for all the trouble you’ve caused?”

I just sat and stared.

Doc said, “He’s mute. He doesn’t speak. He can’t speak.”

“That must be refreshing,” the driver said without turning around.

“Shut up and drive, Hoss,” the beard in the passenger’s seat said. “Don’t go too fast. We still got a job here.”

The bearded man turned back to Doc. “This your son, Chatty Cathy?”

Doc answered, “No.”

The bearded man nodded. The fellow with the blond hair and the knife kept his chin rested on Doc’s shoulder, his shotgun on the back of Doc’s head, and the knife in front of Doc’s face. I felt bad for Doc, but a part of me also hoped he learned his lesson about handling the zombie knife by someone’s face.

The blond man was patting Doc’s pockets with the knife hand and pulled out something. I was afraid to turn my head with the gun pressed above my ear.

The bearded man said, “Is he your special friend? You guys play priest and altar boy in the sleeping bag at night?”

The blond man laughed too loud and high in Doc’s ear. Doc clinched his eyes shut at the noise. The man licked Doc’s ear and laughed some more. His tongue was pink and wet and not white.

Doc said, “No, it’s nothing like that.”

“Oh,” the bearded man said, “So, he’s available. You’re okay with us giving him a ride on the train then. That’s what you’re saying, is it?”

Doc said, “That’s not what I’m saying.”

The blond biker tapped Doc’s forehead twice with the flat of the blade. I shuddered and looked for blood or a scrape. I couldn’t see and I didn’t want to turn my head into the steady gun pressed in my temple.

The blond man chuckled quietly.

He whispered to Doc. “Be careful now. This is a trick.”

“You telling me not to poke your little boy toy here?” the bearded man asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”

Doc said, “No one tells you what to do. I got the message. We aren’t going to be any more trouble than we already caused.”

“That’s a good answer,” the blond man whispered. “The little girl in these pictures. The ass side of them says, ‘Jenny.’ You into little girls, then? That’s your thing, huh? You have her hidden away in a house somewhere tied up and waiting?”

I shivered when he said that. Doc gritted his teeth and did not answer him. The blond man kissed Doc’s ear and pulled his knife hand back away from Doc’s face.

“What’s your name, poluka?” the bearded guy asked.

“My friends call me, Doc,” he answered.

“Like the dwarf,” the blond man chuckled. “I’m Sleazy and this is Bashful over here.”

“I ain’t your friend, Doc,” the bearded man said. “What does everyone else call you?”

Doc answered, “John Brown.”

The blond guy barked out laughing again making me jump and he reached up with the hand still holding Doc’s hunting knife. He grabbed the top of Doc’s white hair and shook his head with it. Doc didn’t say anything, but gritted his teeth.

The blond man said, “Oh, that’s funny, Coop. Doc Brown, you get it? He looks just like him, don’t he? Do you see it? That’s hilarious. I’m going to call him Doc.”

He let go of Doc’s hair. I didn’t understand any of this. The bearded guy he called Coop shook his head.

Coop said, “Vike, you’ve got to settle down. I’m trying to figure some shit out here. You think you could take a page from the mute kid or Bam back there and shut your trap while I talk?”

Vike giggled a little in response. The hands of the dead pursuing us began pawing at the back door of the truck’s cargo section. I wanted them to tear the truck open and pull us out the doors. I didn’t care what happened in that moment, but I wanted out of the hands of these monsters even if it meant going into the mouths of the ones outside. I couldn’t breathe.

Coop scratched at his beard. He turned to the driver. I looked at the man driving and felt like I was forgetting something important.

Coop said, “Hoss, sped up a touch, but don’t lose them yet.”

“You got it,” Hoss said as we rolled slowly forward and the zombies’ hands scrapped off the back of the truck gradually.

Coop turned his attention back to us.

He said, “Why are you here, Doctor John?”

Doc said, “Things went bad at our last place and we had to run. We’ve been looking for somewhere to land.”

Coop said, “Check their arms.”

Vike lifted both of Doc’s Marthea High School shirt sleeves with the knife in his hand like he was trying to shave Doc’s shoulders with it. Bam tore the seams of the flannel shirt I had picked up at one of the houses we crashed in a couple nights before this interrogation.

Vike said, “Smooth as a baby’s ass, Coop.”

“Where is this magical place you come from, Johnny Rocket?” Coop asked.

Doc said, “Just a building down south. Place got heavy on zombies and light on people. With no one left to cook for, we set out looking for another place to live.”

“Well, this ain’t your place,” Vike said.

“You a cook, Johnson?” Coop asked ignoring Vike.

“I am,” Doc said. “Mutt her is a big help with that sort of work too.”

“Mutt?” Coop said.

“That’s what we call him,” Doc said.

Coop asked, “He likes it doggy style then, Pervey John, is that it?”

Hoss interrupted. “They are flanking us, Coop.”

“Speed up then, Hoss, but we aren’t done yet, now are we?” Coop said rubbing his beard and still facing us.

We continued to roll forward slowly.

“Who is we?” Coop asked.

Doc just sat there silently. Vike shoved the barrel of the shotgun into the back of Doc’s head pushing him forward in the seat.

“Answer the question, Doc Brown,” Vike ordered.

Doc coughed.

He said, “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“How many seagulls are in your flock looking for a soft place to land?” Coop asked. “How many assholes did it take to fill this truck?”

“There were four of us,” Doc said, “counting me and Mutt. We don’t know where the other two are. We got swarmed at the Super Max when we were looking for food. We got separated and had to abandon this truck.”

Vike leaned up to Doc’s ear again as he pulled the shotgun back a little.

“You probably shot your gun up in the air too many times, Wild Bill,” Vike said. “You got your friends killed because of it and disrupted the whole scene. How does that feel, Doc? You like being the last dwarf? I bet that happens to you a lot with that trigger finger of yours. I bet you are the reason the zombies got in your last cottage in the woods.”

“Take a breath, Vike,” Coop said.

Vike slid back into the cargo section. My head was starting to itch and sweat where the gun was pressed to the side. I shook trying to keep my hands at my side. I wanted to pull the door open and run out of the truck. I hoped they would shoot me, but I was afraid they would catch me and do worse.

Coop said, “There was plenty of food in the truck when we found it. Weapons, too. Why would you go looking for more and nearly get yourself killed? Who are you really, Doc Brown? Who are you really scavenging for? You with the farmers? Are you a freedman sympathizer? This truck is built for travel. This isn’t some left over utility vehicle from someone’s garage. This was customized and welded. This is a war machine. It was filled with fuel for distance. It was filled with gear for an extended campaign.”

Vike said, “It had records and a fruity, little pony inside.”

Coop sat silently after his train of thought was interrupted. Hoss jumped in during the lull. The keys jingled against his knee as he turned towards Coop in the silence.

“How much farther you want to roll?” Hoss asked.

Coop said, “Past the canyon and then circle around. Circle around wide so we don’t lead them back. With these assholes out of commission, we may be done with this business soon.”

I didn’t like how that sounded.

Vike whispered, “We had target practice with them records. We used slingshots to avoid sounding the call for the stinks. You should consider shooting less, if you live much longer, John Brown.”

Coop interrupted now, “How about you start telling the truth about who you really are?  Are you shy people?”

I expected Doc to finally say he was Collin Trasker and I was afraid. The word shy echoed in my head. I felt like I had been asked that before, but I couldn’t place it in time.

Doc answered, “I’m a guy who cooks. Our place kept getting hit by hungry people and hungrier zombies. We brought all this stuff because the four of us never planned to go back. You folks are the only people we have talked to outside our building for years. We survived because we are the cooks. We hung out in the kitchen when there was trouble. I survived among some really bad people after the zombies came because I cook better than anyone else and they kept me around and alive because of it. All that other stuff you are talking about … I’ve never heard of any of it.”

Coop smiled through his beard again. Vike chuckled quietly from the back.

“That’s a bold statement, Cook Brown,” Coop said. “Who were these bad men you are talking about? Where are they now?”

“They’re dead,” Doc said. “Like most everyone else. They were gangs like you guys only they didn’t last nearly as long.”

Coop shrugged. “You flatter me, Doctor. You must be one sorry cook though, if all your customers keep ending up dead. We’ve about had our fill of shitty cooks.”

Vike and Hoss both laughed. Vike’s laugh was shrill and piercing inside the slowly rolling truck.

Doc said, “You’re in luck then. I’m the best cook you’ve met since the dead started eating the living.”

Vike laughed again. “Oh, hell.”

Coop said, “As it turns out, you are out of luck, John Brown. We already have a good cook and he has made the best shit I’ve eaten since the grocery stores closed and the graves opened.”

“Is it eye plucking time?” Vike asked.

He slid the knife back up between the seats and turned the point towards Doc’s face in the air. I felt something slick and metallic bubble up in my throat. I tried to swallow it back down without coughing. My hands were shaking even though I was holding them together. My mom had told me to not say a word and everything would be fine.

Doc said, “You need to get rid of the hack you got burning your food now and let me show you how it should be at meal time.”

“Would you bet the life of your little boy toy on it?” Coop asked.

I felt darkness closing in on the edges of my vision.

Doc said, “I’d bet anything on it.”

I had to hold on to my seat to stay upright. I felt sharp pain under the gun barrel in my throbbing head. My stomach was swirling.

Coop actually blinked at Doc’s answer. Vike chuckled again.

“We just replaced our last cook for letting us down in more ways than one,” Coop said.

Vike added, “Yeah, we had to-”

“Don’t,” Coop cut him off.

Vike fell uncharacteristically silent. He didn’t even giggle nervously.

After a pause, Coop said, “We don’t like to let outsiders handle our food much.”

Doc said, “No one does. I’ll taste anything I make in front of you. And whoever you got cooking now, I’ll face him in whatever challenge you want and when I beat him, you can pluck his eyes out for making you think you had the best.”

Vike giggled again and lowered his knife hand. Coop looked at Hoss. Hoss looked away from the road briefly and shrugged. I got that anxious, forgetful feeling again as I watched Hoss driving. I couldn’t figure out what I was missing. Fear was clouding my brain and flashing me back under my bed.

Coop said, “I can’t promise anything, but I’m interested in a life or death struggle over cooking. Loser gets cut up with his own knife. And the loser’s twink, altar boy. You think we can get Old Cuss to go for it?”

“Oh, yeah,” Vike chimed.

Hoss looked over again, “I wouldn’t bet my life on it normally, but I’m about 99% certain he’ll appreciate this.”

“I think it’s time to circle back,” Coop said. “You boys stay real still and settled now. Any nasty surprises are going to be nasty for you two alone.”

***

Coop turned back around in his seat as Hoss sped up leaving the mass of zombies behind us struggling to keep up with the racing truck. Vike took his shotgun back away from Doc’s head and I saw him visibly relax. Bam kept the gun gripped in his leather glove and rested against my head for the entire drive.