Zombie Fallout 8_An Old Beginning, Page 2

  “Got a plan?” he asked. He already knew the answer—it was a long running joke between us. I’d yet to have a fully formed or functioning plan since this shit-fest started. Why break the trend now?

  “Just going to wing it, I think.”

  “They said I could only have a few minutes down here. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright, man, and…and I wanted to thank you.”

  “This must be hard for you,” I said to him.

  “You have no idea. I had it all thought out, but now, looking at your smug smirk is making me debate letting you know how I feel.”

  “I get it. It’s all good.”

  “Just…Mike, stop for a sec. I just need to tell you how appreciative I am. I know you had Justin’s health in mind as well, but you risked everything for me. Not that I would have ever forgotten the thousand other things we’ve done together. But this, man, this I will hold above the rest. I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you, but I will.”

  I made sure to safely palm the note before I wrapped my hands around his. Well, wrap is a stretch. But you get the idea. “You keep our family safe, BT. That’s all I ask, and we’re more than square.”

  He opened his mouth.

  Before he could speak, I cut him off. “And yes, that includes Trip.”

  “Dammit.”

  “Let’s go.” A guard was heading toward us.

  “You take care,” he said to me. “Nice to meet you, Cracker,” he said to Dennis.

  “Umm, yeah, likewise, I guess.” Dennis held his hand up weakly.

  “Come on, BT. I know where they keep the jars of peanut butter.” Porkchop was struggling to maneuver the chair around. BT’s knees whacked into just about every bar.

  “You’re going to break my damn kneecaps. Just get me back to my quarters. You get a hold of peanut butter, and I’m going to have it all over me like the chicken grease.” I could hear BT complaining all the way down the hallway and partly down the next before the door to the cellblock closed.

  “He’s your friend?”

  “Yeah. When he doesn’t want to kill me, we get a long pretty well.”

  Getting completely out of view of the cameras was no easy feat, but I needed to know what BT had risked getting me in that small, folded-up square of paper. I decided to feign sleep. At least I’d been provided with a blanket for warmth, although it seemed to be made of burlap. I turned to the wall and pulled the covers completely over my head before unfolding the note. The print was tiny, which I thought kind of funny given the massive fingers used to write it.

  In military installation of some sort, family safe. Doc is lying or was told to. Justin and I were guinea pigs for a whole keg full of experimental drugs, apparently we’re clean now. When you get out…(He had much better faith in me than I did.)…take a left down the corridor to Quarantine area. Once inside there, go to Blue Wing. I’ll have a beer waiting.

  “Thank you for that,” I said, barely audible.

  “You taking a nap?” Dennis asked.

  “Not really.” I folded the piece of paper up and stuck it in my pocket. I thought about eating it, but who knew what germs BT might have had on his hands at the time that he wrote it.

  We sat there a few more hours, reminiscing about our earlier, much less complicated lives. We would invariably come around to Paul, as he was a large part of just about any story we could conjure. We’d laugh for extended periods of time; only to then have equally as large moments of silence and reflection.

  Human life, in relatively normal times (if such a thing truly exists), is rife with change, loss, and gain. It is the nature of life itself. The thing with loss, though, is that it is generally incremental, and this gives us time to accept, grieve, and mourn for the passing away of a life, a relationship, maybe our innocence, or even a job—whatever it may be. As human beings, we need to work through this time of adjustment. Some never do or require the guidance of therapists, or a myriad of drugs—whether prescribed by a doctor or self—to each their own. I’m entirely too guilty to point a finger at anyone else.

  During this shit—this zombie invasion, apocalypse, or just plain zombie cluster-fuck—change and loss have come at such a rapid pace that my mind has not been able to keep up with it. I have not been able to give every bereavement its due. A day of reckoning will come when the accumulated weight will crash down upon me, and this balancing act of surviving and coping will implode. If I still had a soul, I’m pretty sure it would be fairly threadbare and riddled with holes. Someday, I will be sitting on a porch with my family safe and secure, and I will toast everyone I lost. Odds were that I was going to get pretty shit-faced that day.

  “Oh, man, do you remember—” Dennis was cut short as we once again heard traffic coming our way.

  “I feel like we’re at the zoo and we’re the damn exhibits,” I said grumpily.

  Dennis nodded.

  “Oh, shit.” I placed my head in my palm.

  “What’s the matter?” Dennis asked with alarm.

  “Ponch! Ponch is that you? Hey, man, could you bail me out, I’m in jail again,” Trip said as he grabbed the bars. “I told Don Carlos that guy was a cop, but he didn’t listen, sold him three kilos of Arabica beans, and now I’m here, man!”

  “He sold a cop, coffee?” Dennis asked me.

  “Just go with it,” I told him.

  “How are you doing?” Stephanie, Trip’s wife and I’m sure a person up for sainthood, asked.

  “I’m good. My family?”

  “They’re okay.” Her gaze slid away from mine. That was enough to let me know that danger might not be present at this very moment, but it was lurking like the insidious little fuck it was.

  “Oh, Stephanie, they got you too?” Trip asked, seemingly seeing his wife for the first time since they came to visit. “Ponch, man, you got to get us out of here. I’ve got some money stashed in an old Chevy down by the mall.”

  “Trip, it’s alright. I’m the one in jail.”

  Trip looked around; I guess finally noticing he was in an open hallway. “How did that happen? Were you with Don Carlos?”

  “It’s good to see you’re both doing well,” I told them honestly.

  “What’s going to happen to us, Mike?” Steph asked. She already knew, and she’d know if I was lying.

  “We need to get out of here.” That is what I told her. Seemed much better than, “They’ll eventually kill us.”

  “I’ll get you out of here. I’ve got money, Ponch.”

  “I know, I know, in an old Chevy down by the mall.”

  “What? Who keeps money in abandoned vehicles on the side of the road?” he asked almost indignantly.

  Stephanie shrugged behind him. Dennis may or may not have lightly dinged his forehead against his bars. “I’ve seen you make more sense passed out, Mike.”

  “Oh, you have company. I’m sorry, man, we didn’t mean to intrude.” Trip grabbed Stephanie’s hand and quickly pulled her down the hallway.

  “Bye.” She waved over her shoulder.

  “What the fuck was that all about?”

  “That was actually pretty lucid for him.”

  “He another friend of yours?”

  “You know, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even remember my real name, but yeah, he’s another friend of mine.”

  “I thought it was a fairly select group I was in. Seems you’ll let just about anyone in.”

  “Anyone that saves my life gets a free pass.”

  “Him? Really? You are kidding, right?”

  “No. He’s saved me three…four times at least.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “Luck of the Irish, or he has a platoon of guardian angels. Take your pick. Sometimes I think there is way more going on behind that burn-out façade, but then he’ll come out with something like, ‘Did you know you can snort jalapeños?’ and I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “Do you chop them up first?”

  “What?”

 
; “The jalapeños…does he chop them up first?”

  “Not you, too. I don’t think I could take two of him.”

  “And Stephanie?”

  “That’s his wife.”

  “I figured she was his caregiver. They’re married? How does she deal with him?”

  “Beats me, because she sure as hell doesn’t do drugs. Anything that got near their household would get sucked up by him. Oh, here’s another fun-fact. He’s loaded.”

  “Why are you screwing with me?”

  “Serious, like multi-millionaire loaded, invested in some stock that went through the roof. Knowing him, he probably walked into Merrill-Lynch to request a dime bag and instead bought the first shares of Apple.”

  We kept talking. I was hoping that this parade of fellow captives would finally lead to my family. Tracy, my kids, Gary, and Henry had yet to show. If my captors were attempting some form of psychological terror, they were succeeding. They must have known I’d ask BT and Trip about them. Why not just let me see them as well? I knew the answer—it was a way of control and potentially a way to soften me up for whatever they were trying to get from me.

  “Mike, Mike,” Dennis was shaking my shoulder through the bars. I don’t know if I was sleeping or contemplating; either way, it took me a second to figure out what was going on. “Someone is coming.”

  I sat up, my fingers crossed in the hopes that it was Tracy or the kids. It ended up being one of my kids in a sense. I could just make out Henry’s massive head from my angle. Something looked wrong, though, as he looked entirely too tall. And then I knew why. The guard walking him had pulled his leash taut and Henry’s front paws were a good six inches from the ground. Henry was breathing heavy, trying to get in enough oxygen as his airway was being restricted. If I had the strength to rip those bars off I would have.

  “Henry!” I yelled.

  He heard me and was able to get enough thrust with his back legs to pull the leash from the guard. The guard kicked out, nailing Henry in the side. He yelped in pain, his back legs nearly sliding out from under him. He righted himself and kept coming my way.

  “This fucking sausage yours?” the guard laughed as he followed after my Henry.

  Henry was running down the corridor toward me. Running might be a gross exaggeration, but you get the idea. His jowls were flapping like an eagle’s wings, drool was spraying to the floor, and I’d swear he had a grin on like we’d both been caught raiding an off-limits birthday cake. The guard picked up his pace just as Henry was getting to the bars. I reached through and quickly stroked his head and chest, Henry was in bliss. I got the feeling that the guard was supposed to let me see but not touch and now had to quickly correct his mistake. I moved to the far side of my cell, closest to Dennis and furthest from the cell door. Henry followed, as did his leash. The guard was just reaching down for the trailing rope when I moved with only a speed I’d been granted.

  Even as the guard’s hand was clasping around the rope, mine was clamping around his forearm. I yanked him in so hard that his forehead slammed against the bars. He’d have a decent sized knot that was going to be the least of his troubles. I positioned his upper arm halfway between the elbow and shoulder between the two bars before I forced it backwards, shattering the bone. He screamed in abysmal pain.

  “You ever fuck with my dog again, I’ll rip this arm off, shove it up your ass, and then parade you around like a fucking puppet. We clear? And, oh yeah, he’s not fat he’s just big-boned.” I pulled the man’s arm toward me, the bone fragments grinding together as I did so. He passed out from the shock and the pain.

  “That’s fucking gross, man.” Dennis had paled considerably and had one hand close to his mouth in case he spewed. I pushed the guard away hard enough that he came to rest on the far side of the hallway. I knew my time was limited, so I took advantage of it. I squished Henry’s face like it was made from Play-Doh.

  “Who’s my good boy?” I was face-to-face with him, scratching behind his ears as he gave me a tongue lashing.

  “Fuck, man, that’s worse than you breaking that guy’s arm. Ever think about getting a room?”

  “Got one,” I said as Henry moved his hindquarters into position for a good old-fashioned rub down.

  The door opened again. It was Grand Central all right. “Move away from the bars,” an authoritative voice shouted out. It was punctuated by the ratcheting of many rounds into many chambers.

  “You keep an eye on Mom,” I told Henry, gripping his large head between my hands.

  Henry barked, but to say it was a bark would be like saying I could sing like an angel. And trust me, I sing worse than I dance. I’d once been asked to leave the floor of a father-daughter dance after I’d stepped on a third set of feet. It was more like the bark of a seal, so imagine that sound and roll with it. He seal-barked three more times, hopefully in understanding of my words.

  “Is he dead?” the new guard asked as he approached cautiously, at least four other soldiers coming with him. I stood and moved back from the front of the cell, as did Dennis.

  “He’s not dead, but if he ever fucks with my dog again, he will wish he was by the time I’m through with him.”

  “Come here, pooch,” the lead guard said, not wanting to get any closer to my cell than he had to. Henry seal-barked at him.

  “It’s alright, boy, go ahead. Just do as I ask.” Henry looked to me and seal-barked again. He walked over to the guard on the ground, lifted his left rear leg and let a warm stream coat the man’s thighs, then went to the guard who had asked him to come.

  “I’ll take care of him,” he promised me, and I believed him. “Milts, Jonesy, get Samuels. I’ll cover you.”

  Milts and Jonesy did not look overly thrilled with their new duties as they each grabbed one of Samuels’ shoulders and dragged him away from there. He moaned loudly in his lifeless state.

  “Mike, shit, man,” Dennis said as the cell block door once again shut and the men were gone.

  “What? I would have done the same if they kicked you. Don’t look at me that way. You spent most of your time locked up with your dad. Now I’m not saying you had it easy, so don’t go getting all butt-hurt. I’m just telling you that I’ve been back and forth across the states, and I’ve met some of the worst assholes imaginable. This is the way of the world now…it’s swift justice or get screwed. I’ll dole it out any day before I’m the recipient.”

  “You’re not quite the easy going guy I knew.”

  “We’re not in our teens trying to feel up chicks and smoke weed any more, bud. Or even in our twenties out to just have a good time. This is survival, and not necessarily of the fittest, but more the ones that are willing to do what needs to be done.”

  “At what cost? At what point does it become too much?”

  “Don’t pontificate on me. If someone threatened your dad no matter their reasons what would you have done?”

  “I don’t know, man. I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “That hesitation would have got you both killed. Trust me.”

  “What else did Tommy take away from you with that bite?”

  “Don’t you dare. Just don’t. I don’t care who I have to go through for the safety and lives of my family and friends, you included.”

  “I just don’t know,” Dennis said as he moved to his bunk and sat down.

  We sat that way for hours, maybe minutes, I don’t know, felt like a damned eternity. All I could think about was my family and getting them out of this latest jam we’d found ourselves in.

  The door opened once again. I pressed my head as hard as I could against the bars in a hope to get an early view of my wife coming toward me. Unless she was in wing-tipped shoes, this wasn’t her. An older man with three armed guards was heading my way. Well, here came the answers.

  “Hello, Mr. Talbot, my name is—”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” I said as I went to the rear of my cell and lay down on my cot. I placed my hands behind my head and sta
red at the gray ceiling.

  “Right.” He looked to his guards and back down the hallway. “I had planned on allowing the rest of your family to visit before your last demonstration.”

  “He got off light. If he’d actually injured my dog, it would have gotten pretty messy. The cleaning staff would have probably charged you extra to get the stains up.” I noticed the three men with him were a little antsy.

  “We need something from you, Mr. Talbot.”

  “Refer back to my opening statement.”

  “I don’t think you understand the precarious situation with which you find yourself in. Your family—”

  He had not even finished the word “family” when I had sprung from the cot and slammed into the bars, my outstretched arm inches from grabbing the front of his suit jacket and pulling him toward me. He jumped backwards once he was able to catch up to how quickly I had moved. “You saw what I did because some asshole kicked my dog, what do you think I would do if someone so much as gave my wife a bad bruise?”

  He swallowed hard and smoothed back his hair in an attempt to compose himself. I had to give him credit—he recouped quicker than I expected. “Um…impressive.” There was a healthy dose of fear in his eyes but something else as well. Greed maybe, desire?

  “You touch my family and I will rip your head off with my hands.”

  I could see one of the guard’s hands gripping his weapon so tightly that his knuckles were the color of ivory.

  “No…wait…hold that thought. First, I will pull the skin from your face while you’re alive. You’ll be screaming so loudly at first, and then it will kind of taper off to this whimper of the insane, and then the hitching of one who is in shock. THEN I will rip your head off. I’ll most likely stick my left hand into your mouth and my right will be on the back of your skull, kind of where it protrudes, then I’ll twist it back and forth a few times. This has the added benefits of breaking your spine and loosening up those pesky muscles and tendons. Next, I’ll step on your feet. That’s to hold you down while I yank up on your head. I’m not sure if you’ll still be alive or at least cognizant of what is going on, but your mouth will forever be open in this voiceless scream-looking thing. And I’m sort of OCD about these kinds of things, so I’ll have to do it to all of you. I’m kind of forced to…horrible disease that it is.”