Authors: Mark Tufo
For the Fallen (57 page)
“He is dangerous and resourceful, Dixon. If given the opportunity, he will bring this
place down.”
“I did not realize you had a flair for the dramatic, Vivian. This is a military base
with hundreds of military personnel and weaponry, I’m not overly concerned.” Dixon
laughed.
“You should be.”
“We also have his family.”
“You have the Talbots here?” she asked, pointing to the floor.
“Yes, Vivian. You act as if we let sharks loose in a fish tank. This Talbot will not
do anything if he believes it could harm his family.”
“You’ve got it wrong, Dixon, he will do something because you
are
threatening his family. Kill them, kill them all.”
“I’m not a murderer of women and children, Vivian,” he said indignantly.
“Oh…NOW you decide to employ a moral compass. Little late for that, don’t you think?
I’m going to pack so that when this goes to hell, which it will, I’ll be able to leave
that much quicker. I should have stayed on Michael’s side,” Mrs. Deneaux said sadly
as she walked out of Dixon’s office.
Dixon shook his head as she left. “Age has tempered her resolve.”
“He’s alright?” Tracy asked, hugging Porkchop.
“He seemed alright…but probably not, because he didn’t want any of my chicken,” Porkchop
said.
“This is so exciting,” Trip said, walking around the room, a glow seeming to emanate
from him.
“Exciting?” Gary asked. “What’s exciting?”
“Backstage, man,” Trip said enthusiastically. “How many times can you say you’ve been
backstage at a Dead show?”
“Ummm…still zero,” Gary said.
“Leave him be,” Tracy said. “At least one of us should be enjoying themselves.”
She smiled. She was relieved to hear her husband was alright, even if he was in a
cell, it wasn’t his first time. Doc had been in earlier to tell them how BT was doing.
The flat emotionless way he had talked was disturbing. Tracy couldn’t blame him for
that, though, not after all he’d been through. That he was still functioning at all
was a testament to the strength of his will or his desire for revenge. She hoped for
his and Porkchop’s sake it was the former rather than the latter.
Chapter 28 – Mike Journal Entry 13
‘Tommy?’ I asked, feeling the boy around the peripheries of my mind. ‘You’re still
alive? I thought I’d lost you.’ The relief within me was palpable.
‘You alright?’ Tommy asked me back. ‘I’m almost as hard to kill as you are.’ Even
though he was talking in my head I knew he said that last part with some mirth. ‘When
we were going up in that helicopter, I was just happy that all of you were safe. And
then I saw everyone unconscious and you had just been given a shot. I hit the release
on the winch. Crashing down onto the zombies bought me the time I needed as I jumped
out of the truck and ran for cover. I got the distinct impression if they couldn’t
catch me they would attempt to kill me, and I wasn’t wrong. They shot up the truck
until it finally caught the fuel on fire.’
‘How’d you get away from the zombies?’ I asked.
‘I can move faster than they can react.’
I was having a hard time with the concept and Tommy could tell.
‘Just think about you walking around normally and everyone else is in super slow motion.
That’s what it’s like for me with the zombies. What’s this got to do with women’s
locker rooms?’ Tommy asked, picking up on some stray thoughts.
‘Ah…nothing…sorry. I’m glad you’re here,’ I changed the subject.
‘I’m not quite there. I’m following the ground unit back. I just picked you up a few
miles ago. How’s everyone else doing?’
‘Good as far as Porkchop says.’
‘Porkchop’s there?’ I heard Tommy ask. It was a mixture of anguish and thankfulness.
‘Doc’s here too, Tommy,’ I said. The boy went silent. I was picking up images of horrific
detail. ‘He may have found a cure for BT.’
‘That’s great,’ Tommy said with true appreciation for that fact, but the thoughts
of Doc’s family dominated his attention.
‘Tommy, he said he knows a way to kill you.’
‘I would imagine,’ Tommy said.
‘I’m telling you this so you’ll be careful,’ I admonished.
‘I’ve got it, you don’t want me to die until I help you get out,’ he said with some
withdrawal in his voice.
And for the most part, he nailed it on the head. On some level, I did love the kid,
but he had destroyed the foundation of trust from which our relationship was based.
I hoped that someday we would get back to where we were, but it was going to take
time. He had been lying to me the moment I had seen him on the Walmart roof.
‘Tommy, would it help if I said I don’t want you to die at all?’ I asked.
‘It would, Mr. T, it would.’
‘Get us out of here kid, all of us.’
He pushed his darker thoughts down. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
‘Looking forward to it.’
As it’s been noted in previous journals, and from what goes unstated, I’ve not been
a poster child for the law-abiding citizens of the world. I’d been caught in enough
scrapes that I’d been forced to join the military or watch out if I dropped the soap.
If I’d been caught in even a tenth of the things I’d truly done, I’m sure I’d still
be doing hard time. And at the root of a lot of those things was Dennis. Now, I’m
not saying it was his fault, not by any stretch of the imagination. It just so happened
that when we got together, bad shit just kind of happened.
More than likely booze was the biggest mitigating factor. I don’t know…when we got
together it was like adding a flare to a gas can. I had just picked Dennis up from
his house. Okay, shit, let me throw in a disclaimer. I am in NO way advocating Dennis’
behavior or mine. If I caught any of my kids doing the shit I’d done, I’d kick their
asses two ways to Sunday. Yeah, I know, I’m hypocritical. Any of you parents reading
this know what I’m talking about, any of you without kids right now will eventually
get it. Back to the...umm ‘story’ that’s right…story, this is a piece of fiction that
will not run afoul of jurisdictions, paroles, or statutes of limitations. So I had
mythically
picked up Dennis at his house, and he had
figuratively
pulled out a bottle of Southern Comfort—which is basically bottled diesel fuel. I
took a pull on it like only an inexperienced drinker does, meaning I took in way too
much of the fiery liquid.
“Good!” I lied. “Where’d you get this shit?” I looked at the bottle.
The ‘shit’ part I meant. I’m not really so sure why the majority of my youth revolved
around booze and drugs. I grew up in a relatively stable environment. I wasn’t abused,
mentally, physically, or emotionally. I had no ailment that the drug companies had
yet to create a moniker for. It was just what we did—partying I mean. This was before
Nancy Reagan got on her high horse and started talking about ‘Just Say No.’ We were
always pretty much ‘Just Say Why Not.’ It was an accepted part of our youth. It was
as much a part of our growing up experience as was texting for my kids.
We had some time to kill before Linda Mahoney’s party began, so we were basically
riding around catching a hell of a buzz from the SoCo. It was then I noticed the cop
lights, not behind me, but rather in front. We were on a side street and the cop had
pulled up to someone’s house on a call. I drove by slowly, making sure not to look
over and make any sort of eye contact. Not that it would have mattered, the cop was
inside the house.
