Bowie V. Ibarra (16 page)

“Ewww,” said Misty. “I hope not.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs.

“All right, let’s go shopping.”

THE OLD SHOPS were something of a disappointment, but told quite a story about the time before George and Misty walked through the door.

Most of the souvenir clothing was gone. There was lots of broken glass and objects in the floors of the shops. Ivory chessboards had been smashed. Ceramic jars broken. Cash registers mauled.

“How do you think this happened?” asked Misty.

“Good question. When things got crazy, it must have been looters at first, some trying to get into the registers, some just trashing the place.”

“But why?”

“Who knows? Power. Anger. Fear. Who knows.”

George could recall a time when he was young and he and some friends found an old house with the door open. Like little monsters, he remembered his friend jumping through a wall, acting silly. He remembered how much he laughed and had fun as they scurried around throwing glasses, plates, and other objects to the floor. It was a wild time.

Looking back, he understood now that it was vandalism -an inconsiderate destruction of property -of memories. George couldn’t bear to think how he would have felt if someone did that to him or his family.

Looking at this inconsiderate destruction of property, George wondered if several young boys inconsiderately destroyed some of these shops, some of these properties, some of these memories. They probably laughed, not even knowing they were helping to destroy what was left of the nation.

It almost seemed, outside of the base, that there was nothing left. Nothing but rubble, charred buildings, wrecked cars, death. George was losing hope that his family was still alive.

“What do you think of this?” asked Misty, holding up a frilly wrap. “I could wear it across my shoulders…” She demonstrated, posing. “Or around my waist…” She demonstrated. Yet George was distant. “George, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just… I don’t know,” he responded, kicking a piece of broken ceramic material across the floor.

“What? Talk to me.”

“It’s just… I don’t know, there’s like a weird energy flowing around here, you know? Can you feel it?”

“I can. I get a lot of it from Alphonso. It’s like, he wants us to feel safe, but yet we don’t? You know what I mean?”

“You’re right. There’s just something there. Something I’m missing. And I’ve been having some weird dreams, too.”

“Was I good?” Misty threw out, flirting.

If only you knew, thought George.

“Listen,” she said, tugging him toward her. “Relax. We’ll be all right. And, uh, after we eat I can give you something to dream about.” She reached up and kissed his lips.

George embraced her.

Early evening came swiftly as George and Misty finished eating. They returned to their room where they had dumped some of their stuff from their earlier bout of shopping.

Misty found some jewelry, a belt, and some practical items like a backpack for her belongings.

George found some guayaberas and a large black and white heavy cloth poncho with two horses jumping at each other.

“That food was good,” said George, who had brought back a water bottle.

“It really hit the spot,” Misty agreed.

“You had those guys going crazy,” said George, referring to the way she looked in her outfit.

“Yeah, maybe. They all thought you were the luckiest man in here, though,” she said as she lay down on the bed.

“Yeah, maybe,” George replied with a chuckle. He took off his black guayaberas and sat down on the bed, his back to Misty. He sat and thought for a moment, touching the crucifix around his neck.

“Oh,” said Misty, “There you go again.”

“Something’s wrong here,” said George, “I just feel so weird. Did you feel it again?”

“Yeah. Kind of like Alphonso and his buddies were staring at you all night?”

“So I’m not the only one. Good. I don’t feel so crazy now.”

She sauntered across the bed on her hands and knees, approaching George. “You’re not crazy. You’re a nice guy. You’ll figure it out.”

“I guess.”

“Hey,” she said, gently turning his head to face her. “You will.”

She kissed him. He kissed her back. They began to touch each other. Shortly after, they started working their clothes off. He playfully told her, “You won’t be needing these anymore” as he slid her skimpy white panties down her legs, then brought his mouth to her smoothly-shaven groin and pleasured her beneath her skirt. She enthusiastically and skillfully returned the favor.

She took off her top in front of him, leaving her skirt around her hips, her earrings dangling from her lobes, and shoes clinging to her dainty feet. Her body was young and slender. Though she was soft, there was subtle development in her waist and arms, the kind earned from work. And, once penetrated, she was tight yet accommodating.

She sat down on George, holding on to his knees, and began to bounce and grind. Her every move complemented his. She should have been the perfect distraction, but George was outside of it all, his mind troubled. As much as he had been anticipating this, he somehow could not fully enjoy the moment.

Those words came across his mind again. “Please don’t fail… Please don’t fail…”

She bent over in front of him, leaning on the bed. Like clockwork, he entered her from behind, feeling more mechanical than human. He was just going through the motions. Gripping hips. Touching breasts. Kissing her mouth. Pulling her hair. Being a bit rough as her dirty words commanded.

“Please…”

Misty’s legs were on his shoulders. He was driving into her hard and fast. She moaned with pleasure. Tears formed in George’s eyes.

“…don’t…”

They were lying sideways together, George pressed against her back and working from behind. He gripped her breasts, he kissed her lips. His tears were disguised by his sweat.

“…fail…”

When she sensed him tensing up she whispered, “You don’t have to pull out.” She was determined to give him his moment -to be accommodating. And for this George immediately felt guilty. Misty was convenient. He was fucking her with no emotion, denying her any sensuality or comfort she may have wanted or desired and been too embarrassed to ask for.

He was merely going through the motions.

And in a moment of release, the motions ended.

“… Please…”

George sat on the side of the bed.

Misty lay alone.

George took out Esparanza’s photo and gazed at it.

“…don’t fail…”

The new day was beautiful. The clouds were out again, taking the edge off the spring sunshine. In a plaza across the street from the Mercado, a squirrel found some food and rushed to its nest.

Creatures continued to shamble around the city, their numbers growing.

The morning was fun and educational. Alex and Red hung out with George and Misty for breakfast in Mi Destino and talked conspiracies over potato and egg breakfast tacos. They talked about the Kennedy assassination being a Masonic ritual sacrifice on Dealey Plaza, named after a famous Freemason, George Bannerman Dealey. They talked about the faked moon landing, Atlantis, MK Ultra, and all the other conspiracy hallmarks. It was as if they were testing George on his knowledge. He replied and shared even more information about the deceptions by the “shadow government.”

Alex asked if George needed gas for the humvee. George said yes. Alex and Red offered to make a supply run to get George fueled up, so he agreed. Steven asked if he could tag along. He needed cigarettes.

They decided to leave at eleven. They informed the members of the compound. Alphonso was fine with it.

“Be careful, George,” Misty told him. She gave him a peck on the lips. George noticed that she had become strangely reserved since their encounter last night.

He told her, “I’ll be fine. Relax.”

They drove out of the base and went to find a gas station.

“So how often do you guys do this?”

“Not very often,” said Steven. “We’ve only had to make gas runs before for the vehicles you saw in the garage. We need them full in case we need to run. That was two days ago. There weren’t half this many creatures out then.”

“We’re pulling up, about a block away,” said Red, who was the wheelman. “Explain to George how we do this stuff.”

“All right, I gotta make this quick so listen close. It’s easy. You get out and pump the gas, Red and Alex have your back. Do you have a credit card?“

“Um, no,” replied George. “I got my wallet taken from me at the FEMA camp.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Steven said. He reached into his own wallet and pulled out a credit card, which he handed to George. “Just use this one.”

George glanced down at the card. The name embedded on the plastic in no way resembled the name ‘Steven,’ but George resisted the urge to question him about it. After all, what did it matter now?

Steven explained, “You’ll need the card to get the gas. Now, while you‘re gassing, I’m gonna run in the station and try to get as much stuff as I can. So don’t panic or anything if you see me rushing around. Okay?”

George felt the inherent danger and a surge of adrenaline rushed through his body. After a long exhale he replied, “Yeah, I’m good.”

“All right, we’re here, and a crowd is gathering,” said Red from the front, pulling the humvee into the station.

The vehicle stopped and the bullets were already flying from Alex’s gun. George, Steven, and Red disembarked the vehicle. George headed to the pump. Red was capping the zombies at George’s sides. Steven dashed toward the store and entered through an already broken glass door.

George entered the card at the pump. It asked credit or debit. He pushed the credit button.

In the store, Steven shot a zombie in the head and began to grab chips, canned soups, and cigarettes. He went to the coolers and took out the last remaining cases of beer.

A zombie, the store clerk, partially devoured, rose from the office area in the back of the store. Steven was totally unaware of the creature, as he had made no effort to secure each room in the store.

Alex was mowing zombies down in front of the store.

With all the bullets flying, George realized the danger was more than just the zombies, but the guns firing near the gas pumps. This is absolutely crazy, he thought, becoming more anxious now as guns continued to blaze as he waited for the pump to approve the card.

Red was effectively taking down zombies on either side of the vehicle, though the ruckus was gathering even more of a crowd.

Steven put the first armful of supplies in the truck.

The computer finally allowed gas to be pumped, so George quickly began doing so.

Steven dashed back into the store and grabbed more chips and several cases of soda.

The dead store clerk opened the office door in the small hallway leading to the bathroom in the back.

Alex reloaded. Though the machine gun was effective, the ammunition was limited. He became more frugal with the next belt clip.

Red reloaded both his pistols.

The zombie crowd continued gathering despite all those that had already fallen. Apparently the undead would never be fazed by the destruction of their own.

George looked at the pump. Five gallons. He pulled out his pistol.

Steven made it back and dumped his goods. He ran back in.

Eight gallons.

Steven grabbed boxes of chocolate, power bars, gum, and candy. He ran back out the door, snack items falling to the ground behind him. He threw them in the back of the Hummer and ran back in the store.

“I’m low on ammo,” said Alex.

“There’s an AK in the back of the truck with two clips!” yelled Red, a little nervous. “George, get it to him!”

George left the pump and got the guns from the back. He placed one near Alex, who was still firing.

Twelve gallons.

“Get me a clip!” yelled Alex, blasting away. George leaned in the vehicle and placed the clips beside him.

Red continued to fire on the advancing zombies, though an even bigger mass was fast approaching from the north.

Steven grabbed several gallons of bottled water and ran back out. He put them in the vehicle.

“Steven!” yelled Red. “One more run and we have to go! Did you get that, George?!”

“Yeah!” George yelled back. Steven had entered again.

Eighteen gallons.

Steven crossed to the back near the restroom to get some bread and canned goods. He reached down to pick up several cans of chili and beans from the bottom rack. He stood up.

As he reached for the loaves of bread on the top rack, the dead store clerk grabbed his arm and took a bite out of it. It was on his forearm, just below his elbow. Blood began to flow. He screamed, but no one heard. The gunfire was far too loud.

Steven dropped the goods and pushed the creature. It fell in the hallway. As it rose, Steven pulled out his gun and delivered a bullet straight to the forehead of the creature. It fell back to the floor. Blood splattered against a yellow ‘Wet Floor’ sign leaning against the wall by a mop and mobile bucket.

Twenty-five gallons.

Jesus Christ, thought George, How much can this thing hold?

The creatures were closing in.

“Red! Get Steven! We need to get out of here!”

George stopped pumping and put the nozzle away.

“Steven! We gotta go!” yelled Red.

No answer.

“Steven!”

No answer.

“I’ll get him,” said George. As he approached the door Steven appeared, arms full of canned goods and bread. He was wearing a blue windbreaker.

“Steven, let’s go,” said George.