Authors: Mark Tufo
For the Fallen (58 page)
“Nobody’s in there,” Dennis said.
“Good,” I agreed as I cruised slowly past.
“Pull over up here a little bit.” Dennis pointed to a darkened area on the street.
“This really isn’t the best place to take a piss,” I told him.
“You got any tools in your car?”
“Just you.”
“You want any more of the SoCo?” he threatened.
“Fine, I’ve got a little roadside assistance kit or something my dad put in the trunk.”
“Let me see it.”
“Why?” I asked suspiciously.
“I want those lights.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. At first I figured he meant a streetlight,
but we were nowhere near that HIGH. Then I figured something on a house; still…nothing
stood out.
“Dude, what are you talking about?”
“I want the cop lights,” he said, sticking his hand out for the keys so he could get
in the trunk.
“What? Are you nuts? You want to steal the lights off a cop car with the lights going
and the cop in the house?”
He thought for a moment. “Yeah…that’s about it.”
So then I thought for a moment. “Okay, let’s go.” I handed him the keys. I don’t think
the accumulated brainpower we shared that night could have powered an LED light.
“That’ll work,” Dennis said, grabbing a couple of screwdrivers and an adjustable wrench.
We walked up to that cruiser like we owned it, the red and blue lights playing havoc
on my head. Vertigo was threatening to toss me on my ass—or maybe just my stomach
contents onto someone’s lawn.
“Hold this.” Dennis directed my hand to the adjustable wrench.
There were two bolts on each side of the car that secured the lights to the roof.
We spun the driver’s side ones off in under a minute. Now came the more dangerous
part, because we would be on the side that faced the house we figured the cop to be
in. Although, in reality, he could be just about anywhere. I once again placed the
wrench over the nut while Dennis worked furiously on the screw. I would alternate
between closing my eyes from the nauseating lights and keeping lookout. The bracket
clattered to the ground, bouncing off the top of my sneaker first.
“Ready?” he asked.
“For what?”
He tore the lights free from the car, snapping the wires that supplied the power.
It took me a moment to get over the thrill that the stupid lights had finally stopped
swirling before I sped to catch up with my fleeing partner-in-crime. I may have heard
someone shout ‘Hey you’ or the much more scary ‘I know your mother’. Either way, I
wasn’t stopping. Dennis tossed the lights into the backseat of my car and we both
hopped in. My heart was slamming against my chest and it was all I could do to start
the car. We hadn’t driven more than a quarter mile away before we both started laughing
so hard I had to pull over because I was tear-blind.
I drove around with those cop lights in my car for a good week. If I had gotten stopped
for a broken taillight (which I had at the time) I would have been busted.
Of course it was big news in the small town. It made the front page of the local newspaper.
There was a picture of the cruiser sans lights, and how they had some leads and suspects,
but nothing ever came of it.
Dennis ended up putting the lights in his room, dragging them out a couple of times
for parties. Hooked up to a car battery, they were just as obnoxious then as when
they were mounted. I think he eventually ended up trading them for a bag of weed.
At this point I’d known Dennis nearly four years and we were driving around. I want
to say we were going to Linda Mahoney’s, again, for a party. Either her parents traveled
a lot, or they just weren’t much into supervision. All I knew was she had great parties
and her kisses were nothing to sneeze at.
“Hey, pull over,” Dennis said.
“Again, man? You just went. You’ve got the bladder of an eight-year-old,” I told him.
“This is where my brother is buried,” he said, getting out of the car before I could
completely stop.
“Gonna be where you’re buried if you do that again,” I said when I finally was able
to place the car in park.
He was walking up to the gates of the Plimpton Hill Cemetery. It was your typical
start-to-a-scary-movie cemetery. A wrought iron gate held in place by stone wall,
giant monoliths and even some earthen tombs dotted the uneven terrain. Brown leaves
would occasionally swirl in the wind when it kicked up. You know, typical stuff.
“Come on, man, what are you doing?” I asked, not yet leaving the car. I thought he
was full of shit. He had a younger brother and sister, and as far as I knew, they
were at home.
“Talbot, my brother is buried here,” he insisted, placing his hands on the gate.
He sounded so sincere. I might have been a self-absorbed teenager who may or may not
have been drinking and smoking too much, but I’m pretty sure I would have known if
my best friend’s brother had suddenly passed. I reluctantly got out of the car to
see what game he was playing. I felt like I was getting set up for a good scare. I
took a quick leak by the side of my car just in case he scared me good and my bladder
suddenly felt the need to release. At least this way the reservoir would be dry.
I stood next to him, my hands in my pockets. It was an early fall night not particularly
cool, at least not until I approached the gate.
“I had a brother that died as a baby,” he said, not looking over at me.
We’d known each other for years and not once did this come up. I mean, I guess it’s
not something you’d discuss all the time. ‘Man, I was kissing Debbie Lynch and I have
a dead brother.’ Doesn’t really mesh, but at some point, you’d think it would come
up. Maybe not, though. We’re guys; deep meaningful conversations are not really in
our repertoire.
He pulled the gate open and slid through.
“They don’t lock those?” I asked, sullenly following my friend in.
The night got darker the moment I crossed over that threshold, probably because the
streetlights didn’t stretch their protective shine that far, or maybe it couldn’t
penetrate the darkness that permeated that place. Breath plumed from my mouth, I would
have said something to Dennis if my teeth weren’t chattering as well. He’d noticed
anyway--I watched as he tilted his head and purposefully blew into the air creating
the same effect.
“You feel that?” I asked, beginning to seriously creep myself out. Prickles of ice
climbed up my spine and to the base of my skull. It was a wholly unpleasant sensation.
“He’s here,” Dennis said.
“Who?” I asked, catching up to him.
“My brother Dan.”
Goosed flesh sprang up on my arms. “Dude, it doesn’t feel right in here.”
I expected something along the lines of ‘You pussy’ or ‘Are you chicken?’ The normal
guy bluster. Instead, he said, “You feel that too?”
The quarter moon was playing hide and seek amongst the clouds and I was thankful and
fearful every time it broke through. Thankful because I could see more of our immediate
surroundings, and for that same reason, fearful.
“I think we’re getting close,” Dennis said.
I personally didn’t think so, because the gate was further away. I wanted to grab
Dennis’ arm, certain my heart had gotten stuck for a handful of beats. A stiff wind
had pushed the latest cloud cover away quickly, and as the moon shone down, I saw
movement behind one of the grave markers. It was over to our left. It looked like
a child’s head had peeked around, and when it realized I had seen, it had pulled back
quickly. Morbid curiosity warred with self-preservation within me. The false feeling
of invincibility won out. I went over to where I had seen the figure.
Dennis came up beside me. “How did you know?”
It was then I looked down onto the gravestone itself and saw: Dan Waggoner, beloved
child.
Epilogue 1 – Deneaux - Pre-Zombie Apocalypse
“What do you mean the North American shots are being shipped? Who’s the idiot that
gave the order?” a visibly flustered Winston Deneaux yelled into the handset of his
phone. He dragged his hand across his face.
