Zombie Fallout 9 (2 page)

“
W
eapons
,” I said as silently as I could while making sure everyone heard me.

The mood changed suddenly and without question. Within a few seconds, everyone was on high alert. We had a loose circle formed and our complete perimeter covered.

“Dad, what are we looking for?” Travis asked.

“Anything out of the ordinary.”

I could feel his questioning gaze without even turning to look. The entire world was out of the ordinary.

“You know what I mean,” I barely explained. “Let's move closer,” I told the group. “Be careful for booby traps or land mines.”

“Hand mimes? They're the best. One was so good I actually walked into the wall he was trying to get around.” Trip was, for some reason, carrying Henry, and given the dog's size, Trip was struggling.

We were a good twenty yards from Ron's house. We had already gotten by the thick, sharpened wooden poles entrenched into the ground at a zombie-piercing angle. Next came a heavy chain-link fence. Beyond that were the deep and narrow death trenches we'd carved into the ground. Then was Ron's house. From our angle, we were staring into the gaping wound that was the burned-out basement. Above that was a deck, and it was from there I saw my first bit of movement. I gripped my rifle tighter, if that was even possible.

“Ron?”

“Mike?” We almost asked our questioning greeting at the same time.

“Is it safe?” I asked, pointing to the ground to get to him. He looked sad, defeated maybe. I hoped it was just tiredness. He smiled when he saw us. We climbed up to him. He hugged and kissed everyone, but I noticed the warmth never reached his eyes. He was holding onto something that had an icy grip on his heart. It was Justin that got the first hint of what was going on.

Two dogs I'd never seen before came onto that deck with us.

“Riley?” Justin asked. “Riley, is that you, girl?” He got down on one knee, gripped the dog's head in his hands, and patted her furiously.

“Justin?” I asked him.

“Dad, this is Jess's dog, Riley. You remember right?”

I remembered once I rambled through the shambles of my less-than-perfect memory. I'd always liked Jess. Thought she was a sweetheart of a girl. Justin had been devastated when she moved away. I remember meeting Riley once or twice. Jess had apologized profusely when her dog had jumped up against my Jeep door, I would imagine to get a smell of Henry, who although he wasn't in the car at the time, tended to leave heavy essence trails of himself wherever he went.

Henry wiggled in Trip's arms until Trip figured out the dog wanted down. I don't know the conversation Riley and Henry were having, but they seemed to be getting along pretty well, and generally, my dog didn't play well with others. I was curious to see how he would react to the little dog my brother called Ben-Ben. Thing looked like he was hopped up on sugar shooters.

“Where's Jess?” Justin had stood up and was waiting for the girl to appear. By the way everyone had filed out of the house and was on the deck with us, I didn't need their sullen faces to explain. I already knew the answer, and soon, Justin would as well.

“Jess?” He stood on his tiptoes trying to look over the burgeoning crowd.

Ron hugged him.

“Goddammit,” I said. “When is this shit going to end?”

“Dad?” Justin was choosing not to put the pieces of this particularly bad puzzle together.

“Come here, son.”

“Jess!” he yelled out again.

He was rooted to his spot, so I moved to him and wrapped him in a hug he could not break loose from, though he tried. To be in my arms was to come to a horrible realization, and he wanted no part of it. He struck out, punching me in the sides. At first, they were hard hits, but they softened as he began to cry into my shoulder. Tracy wrapped herself around his back.

“I'm so sorry,” she said over and over.

It was maybe twenty minutes later when he'd spent himself. Ron ushered us to a place I could have him lay down. He fell into a fitful sleep about a half hour later. I lightly touched Tracy's arm and pointed to the doorway. She looked back at him one more time before I softly pulled the door to the bedroom shut.

“It's good to see you, Mike.” Ron said. He sat at the table. Gary had been filling him in on everything that had happened.

“Yeah, it was touch and go for a while, that's for sure. Where is everyone else?” I asked.

“Tommy has them outside doing his best to distract them from everything that's going on.”

“Do you have it in you to tell me what the hell happened and how my Jeep got here?” I knew now that Jess had somehow miraculously stumbled upon my cherished ride and brought it here. But then what? Had she been injured beyond repair when she finally got here?

“It was a damned zombie, Mike, a smart fucking zombie. It traversed every obstacle we had out there. Made it through the basement, found Jess sleeping and … and….” He broke down. I didn't need the blow by blow at this point; easy enough to figure out.

I let him get it out of his system as best he could. He would carry the guilt of her death with him for the rest of his life. She'd been under his umbrella of protection, and he had seen himself as failing. It did not matter that he had no fault in this. He would never come to see it in that light, and for that, I truly wept inside. Humans carried guilt with them like luggage, and he'd just thrown a fully stuffed duffel bag onto his back. It would eventually wear him down.

“She showed up a couple of weeks ago. Nicole recognized her. Said she'd been to Little Turtle looking for Justin, and when he was gone, she lived in the clubhouse. She said there was enough food in there to last them for years.”

“Right. That's where we stashed everything from the supermarket when we were still able to defend our home.” I had a pang in my chest for all that could never be recovered. “Lucky find for her. That still leaves a mighty big gap for her to get to Vona and stumble across my Jeep.”

“She had help. A man named Alex.”

“Alex, as in Carbonara?”

“Yeah, I think that was what she said his name was.”

My moment of elation at potentially seeing an old friend was quickly dashed. Ron did not appear to have ever met the man. “What happened to him?”

“Zombie attack, actually not too far from here. A fucking bathroom break, Mike. They were just trying to make a quick pit stop, that's all.”

“There's no rhyme or reason brother; we both know that. Your marker comes up, and that's it. Doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing. I mean, I hope there're certain things that I'm doing when I die, but there's no guarantee.” I was trying to find some levity in the heaviness of our conversation. Either way, Ron wasn't in the mood. “There're some holes in this story. Do you know how Alex and Jess got together?”

“It doesn't get any better.”

“Not sure if it could. But he was a friend I'd like to know.”

“Well, I guess Alex's family had met with a fate much like the rest of the world.”

“Aw fuck.” I slammed my palm to my forehead. “Those poor kids. Poor Alex. Fuck.”

“Yeah, so he got it in his head that he was going to go back to where it had all started and end it. If you know what I mean.”

I didn't, not at first anyway. “Suicide?”

Ron nodded.

“He was going to kill himself? I guess it makes sense. At that point, what are you living for?”

“Then he met Jess.”

“Something to live for. Unreal how some things come full circle.”

“How so?” Ron asked.

“Alex came back to Little Turtle in that semi to save us on Christmas Day. Maybe somehow he knew he had one more person to save back there. Otherwise, why wouldn't he have just done himself in wherever he was? Why make a specific trip to your final destination?”

“Sometimes you actually make sense, brother,” he said with a smile that did not have enough power to touch his eyes.

“Every once in a while, I suppose I get my due.”

“What now?”

“I'm done, man. I'm just fucking done. There's no one out there anymore that needs my help. They're dead, they're all fucking dead.” The gravity of that reality slammed into me. We were now a very small island of the living in an ocean of death.

“Going to be nice to finally have you stick around for a while.”

“Yeah, that's something new for me.”

“How are you going to sate your hero complex?” BT had come back in and sat at the table.

“I'm good, as long as I've saved your life more times than you've saved mine,” I told him.

He smiled again. Much like my brother, it did not have the temerity to travel to his eyes, which were now downcast. “Hell of thing about Alex.”

Gary had got up at some point and come back with some beers. I held mine up. “To Alex.” We all took a drink.

“To Jess.” Ron said as we took another drink.

“To Dad.” Gary said.

By the time we'd gone through the list of all the people that meant something to us that had died in this shit fest, I was hammered. I admit I'm a cheaper date now that I've gained a few years under my belt, and I'd never been much of a heavy drinker. But, yeah, I was fairly drunk. Probably didn't help that by the end, we were repeating names. I probably toasted Jen three or four times. Paul five or more. How does one deal with the accumulation of loss? It is a cold, heavy feeling that settles into the bottom of your heart where it grows sharp barbs that take root and will not release its icy grip. It slowly chokes your system, making even the most basic and simplest of tasks brutally difficult.

I
awoke
the next morning with a modicum of prodding from Tracy.

“Any fucking chance this is all a bad dream like some shitty TV program?” I asked, placing my hand against my splitting head.

“Here, take these.” Tracy handed me a couple of aspirin and a bottle of water.

“How about I just lie here a few days longer?”

“Your son needs you.”

“Yeah, I get that.” I sat up with some difficulty and took the pills and water, swallowing them both as fast as I could get the muscles in my throat to move. “I hate this part,” I told her as I stood.

“The hangover?”

“Naw, I know that will pass. It's the crushing weight of loss in my chest.”

Tracy kissed the side of my face. What can one really say to that? I know she felt it as well. She was just less inclined to wear it on her sleeve, where I tended to show it for the entire world to see.

“Where is he?” I pulled a shirt over my head. “And why am I naked? Did you take advantage of me?”

“Yes, Michael. Haven't I told you how hot, drunk, stumbling men make me?”

“Hell, you must have been on fire last night then.”

“Just get out there. He's at the grave site.”

Another unfortunate development of the apocalypse was the need for us to revert back to the ways things used to be done early on in the country's formative years. Out of necessity, we'd had to dig graves on our own land, and that we'd already gone past the original capacity was another unfortunate byproduct. Sure, we'd been more hopeful than practical that we could keep the plot small. Worth a shot, I suppose.

I walked out of the house and made my way to Justin. I saw him about twenty yards away, his back to me, his head bowed, and his shoulders slumped. He looked so small, like all the spirit had been ripped from him and all that was left was his battered, bruised and misused body. I approached. When I was next to him, I reached out and wrapped my arm around his shoulder. He said nothing; he did not stir, in fact. I wasn't sure if he even knew I was there.

We stayed that way for a good, long while. A cold breeze started in the woods off to our right, picking up a swirl of leaves that swept around our feet before going about their way.

“I loved her,” he said with a croak. It was such a strangled sound I thought at first maybe I had imagined it.

Words eluded me. It wasn't like this was a high school crush (which it had been) and I could tell him that he was young and there were plenty of fish in the sea. And all that stuff parents tell their kids in the vain attempt to make them feel better. It doesn't work; we know it, they feel it, yet we do it anyway.

“She loved you as well. That's why she came.”

“Dad, she made it. She made it, and I wasn't here.” He turned, and I saw the pain etched deeply on his face.

I hadn't taken this angle into account. I should have—ignorance on my part. It just never dawned on me that he would feel guilt as well.

I squared his shoulders so he had no choice but to look at me. “This is not your fault. This is nobody's fault. This is a war. People die in wars.”

He turned away so I couldn't see his tears.

“You will see her again. I promise you that.”

“You talking that reunited in Heaven bullshit? It's a lie, Dad. There's no Heaven, only Hell and we're in it.” He looked at me defiantly. He wanted a battle I would not give him. He was full of grief, and he needed somebody to lash out at.

“The pain diminishes.” That was the best I could offer him. “It will never go away. There will always be a dull ache in your heart when you think about her, but it won't be as debilitating as it is now. I promise.”

“You don't know me!” he shouted, twisting his torso so that my hand and arm fell away. “How the fuck do you know how I'm going to feel!?”

“You're right, how could I know how you'll feel? I'm just using myself as an example.”

“Go away.” There was no vehemence in his request; he just wanted to be alone. What I wanted was to hug him tight and chase the demons inside of him away. What I ended up doing was walking away. Another chill wind whipped along my side; frostiness blistered up my spine. I looked up to the house. Tracy was on the deck, her arms folded. She had a look of concern on her face as she looked down at me. It was Tommy, though. He was the source of the cold dread that was spreading through me. He stood five feet to her right, staring off to the east. He was looking at nothing that I could discern, other than the direction of the ocean, which was about five miles from here and definitely not visible.

“How'd that go?” Tracy asked as I got within range that she didn't have to shout.

“Oh, about as well as you would expect. Tommy, what the hell are you doing?” He had not shifted his gaze in the least.

Tracy turned to apparently see the boy for the first time. “Tommy?” There was concern in her face. She walked over and placed her hand on his arm.

He shuddered and jumped an inch or two, shook his head, and then appeared to be trying to orient himself to his surroundings. He said nothing while he turned and strode back into the house. His terror-filled eyes the only clue he'd left to how he was feeling.

“What's the matter with him?” Tracy asked as I came up the stairs.

“I think he ate some of my sister's cooking.”

“Michael.”

I shrugged. I told her, “I don't know,” but I did. Company was coming, and it was unwelcome.

I
t's been
a week since I've touched this journal. I've oftentimes thought of just not writing in it anymore. Putting the monsters to page seems to only summon my nightmares. Maybe this was the way I could end the cycle. I found the call to write what was happening almost as powerful as a nicotine addiction. Stopping had made my head light and my thoughts scatter. Panic attacks threatened me daily; it was a week later that I finally put the reason to why I was feeling so shaky, with a cause. Writing was my way of dealing with our new world. For good or bad, I was stuck recording my personal history.

The week had not been completely unproductive, as we worked long and hard at repairing the many areas that needed help. The defenses around the house were as near to impenetrable as we could make them. A fucking whole day and definitely a non-inflated dollar short, but at least we could prevent what had happened before from happening again. Fuck the whole “history repeats itself” shit. Once we were done there, we turned our attention to the destroyed basement. We did some heavy framing and boarded up the massive gap in the wall caused by the bulkers. It wasn't pretty, but it was effectual. Like placing a Band-Aid over an ugly wound. When we'd finally finished, I pulled up an old La-Z-Boy chair and sat down, facing the boarded up wall.

“Fuck, this is a comfortable chair. I could stay here forever. Screw it, maybe I will.” Sucks when you realize how right you just might be.

Tommy, who had been picking up something off the floor, looked over to me. He seemed to have something to say on the tip of his tongue, but he kept it to himself. The kid was beginning to freak me out. Like he knew all sorts of nasty things that were about to happen but was hesitant to tell us as if he were protecting us from their exposure.

“What's with him?” BT dragged a huge couch over to me. I don't even know where he got it from.

“Beats me.” But again, I kind of knew. In my head, I was berating Tommy for not cluing us in, and yet here I was doing the same damn thing. Frigging irony is a bitch, nope wait, it's karma that's a bitch. So what's that make irony? An asshole, perhaps?

BT dropped the couch and sat down heavily, Gary next to him, Mad Jack taking up the far end. Ron and Nancy started dragging in folding chairs and barstools and basically anything someone could sit on including a bean bag that had been around since the Nixon era. In an impromptu gathering, the entire household save one was present. I wrote out the list of people for a couple of reasons, the first I guess is just historical fact and second because it would never happen again. Not with this cast of characters anyway, and those that died they at least deserved this small mention. Ron; Nancy; their three kids, Meredith, Mark, and Melissa; Gary; Mad Jack; Trip and his wife, Stephanie; my sister Lyndsey, her husband Steve, and their kid Jesse; Tracy's mom, Carol; the four kids we'd saved from the convenience store, Dizz, Sty, Ryan, and his sister Angel; me; Tracy; and a very pregnant Nicole, along with Travis and both of our adopted kids, Tommy and Porkchop; plus Dennis and Jess's baby brother, Zachary. The only noticeable absence was Justin, who had not said more than a handful of words to anyone in the last week. Even Henry and his new friends were with us. I noticed he was very cozy with the female dog, though I was having a hard time remembering her name for some reason. The cat, Patches, thankfully stayed away from me as if she knew that I was not all that fond of felines and may never again be, given my exposure to them. I'd talked to Ron a couple of times about her suddenly finding herself out in the woods
really
far away from the house, but he would hear none of it.

I think it was Trip that cracked out the beer. “Let's get this party started!” he shouted right before lighting his bong, taking a huge hit, and then downing the “water” which was actually beer that he'd used as a filtration system. Ron could only shake his head. Normally, he'd kick the stoner outside to do it. But right now, we were all together. Living, laughing, and loving, and in reality, that's all that life is about.