Zombie Fallout 9 (29 page)

T
he only good
thing about being covered by a half-dozen slimy zombies was that, for the most part, they were in each other's way and none able to get a clear bite on me. It was impossible from my angle to tell what was going on considering I was flat on my back under a pigsty pile of putrid flesh. The load was becoming lighter as zombies were literally being flung off of me. Only two people I knew could pull that off, BT and Tommy. Bullets whined all around me, hitting the ground not more than three inches from my head. Whoever was shooting was getting a wee bit too close for my comfort.

“Get up!” Tommy shouted. There was a true look of terror on his face, even more than the clusterfuck of zombies around us would account for.

“You make it sound like I've been sunbathing!” I smacked the butt of my rifle against the jaw of the last zombie pressing down on me. Teeth flew out of her head. Didn't matter, the jagged ones she had left still looked like they could do enough damage. Tommy ripped her so violently upwards she pulled me with her. I found myself in the much more desirable position of standing.

“Fuck! Who's shooting?” A bullet grazed across my thigh.

“Sorry, man!” It was BT. He stood atop the truck that was parked half inside of Ron's house.

Tommy had a bar of iron. It looked like a damn car axle, especially when he swung it. He mowed through zombies as easily as a scythe through wheat. The muscles bunched on his arms as he heaved through every swing. I'd taken one step to stay in behind him when I felt something penetrate my chest and wrap coldly around my heart. It felt so real, so physical, I actually rubbed my right hand over where I figured the entry wound was. When my hand came away clean, well I mean, without any fresh blood or gore, I figured it was a heart attack, a sort of a payback for all the shit food I'd eaten growing up. One can only scarf down so many French fries before they catch up.

“It's Payne!” Tommy huffed out. He was tiring from his attempts to keep the zombies from biting distance.

“It is painful.” I told him, thinking he somehow knew what was happening inside my chest cavity. Then I figured that he, indeed, did know what was happening, and he didn't say painful, he said pain, as in Payne the vampire. I didn't do anything consciously because, well, I didn't consciously know how to deal with this particular problem. I turned to her and just struck out with everything I had, hoping some of the pellets from my psychic shotgun would hit home. Won't lie, I grinned when she staggered back a step and the vamp next to her reached out to keep her steady. The amount of energy I'd expended on the one hit threatened to cave my legs in. I reached out with my right hand and grabbed hold of Tommy's shoulder, letting him make a path for us. It was all I could do to hold on. I turned to get a quick look at our new adversary. She'd recovered much quicker than I had, but she did not reach out again. I took that as promising sign.

“
W
hy isn't he dead
?” Sophia asked innocently. “I thought you were going to kill him.” Her head was tilted to the side slightly as she asked the question.

“It is not for lack of trying.” Payne smoothed her dress as she stood. “He is a strong one. The bloodline runs deep within him.”

“He is but a halfling, and a newly created one at that,” Charity said in a probing tone.

“He may be new, but the blood running through him is an ancient one. I should know, considering it is mine.”

“How far removed from the source is he?” Charity asked. There was concern in her voice.

“The same as myself, two.”

“That cannot even be possible!” Charity cried out.

“And yet it is. Come, we will leave them to their devices for now while I dwell on this new development.”

I
was spent
. Felt like a rag doll while first Tommy and then BT manhandled me around and into the house. I caught a glimpse of Nancy on the floor, Tracy and Stephanie at her side trying to stem the tide of blood. I would have pointed out the fact that it was too late, but they knew that. They were offering comfort in her final moments. Besides, I was having a difficult time keeping my eyes from crossing and passing out. I'd once gone to a party and someone pulled out an Apogee bong, or something like that. Thing was four-feet tall. Someone actually had to hold the flame in place, burning the weed while you sucked for all you were worth. I filled that thing up, looked like downtown LA during rush hour inside that glass tube.

When I felt like I couldn't pull any more in, I let go of the carburetor. For those of you smart folks who are not savvy to the ways of a bong, this has the effect of releasing all the stored up smoke into your lungs in one fell swoop. I was no virgin to joints, pipes, or normal bongs. But this thing was like the nuclear bomb of bongs. That smoke hit me like I'd been punched in the head. My eyes crossed, and I fell over on my ass. Someone caught the bong before it could fall over as well. Unfortunately, I'd not been treated with the same respect, although I did receive a chorus of guffaws! Where was I? Oh yeah, that was basically how I was feeling after my encounter with Payne. I couldn't see straight, my brain was clouded over, and my chest felt mule-kicked. I'd said back then, I'd never do it again. Looks like I'd lied.

BT put me down on a chair. Unlike the bong encounter, which took me a full ten minutes to pick myself up and two hours to stop drooling on myself, I was feeling better after about five minutes. I mean physically I was feeling better; mentally I was a fucking mess. Nancy, my brother's wife, was lost. I began picking up her screams as my senses started to return to equilibrium. Ron's basement looked like a war zone triage, respite with all the sounds. I don't even know if he had a clue his wife was dying. What am I saying? Of course he didn't, or he'd be down here by her side wailing at the heavens. Would he though? He fancied himself an agnostic. He believed in nothing but the here and now. I'd always thought that a pretty narrow view of the world previously, and my idea of that view had been broadened in the last year or so. Who did you blame when things went wrong? The nothingness?

I was having a difficult time getting my bearings, but we were still in the middle of a war. Just because I was out for the standing eight count didn't mean everyone else had stopped. Tommy, Travis, and BT had gotten in front of the women. Meredith was urging them to grab her mother and go upstairs. I honestly didn't think bringing her deeper in was a good idea at this point. I don't want to sound callous, but she was a handful of breaths away from playing for the other team.

I reached out. I looked more like I was trying to keep from falling over when I grabbed Meredith's shoulder. “Get your dad,” I urged her.

“We have to take my mom upstairs.”

“Meredith, get your dad.”

She got it at that point, whether she wanted to or not. Tears were falling by the time she got to the steps.

“I need a gun!”

BT looked over his shoulder and to the women behind. There were three there. I grabbed Tracy's. She'd been using a 9 mm carbine. Not the optimum weapon, but it beat using my hands and probably the slingshot that Trip was wielding. I'm not sure when he got that. I certainly don't recall, although something niggled in the back of my head in regard to his projectile launcher. As if he knew I was thinking about him, he turned to me and winked then started whistling. Again, I don't know why, but my bladder threatened to loosen. It was just that whistlers, all of a sudden, had sparked a fear in me.

He stopped as suddenly as he'd started, or maybe I couldn't hear him anymore because I was firing a gun. Don't know, don't care. After a bit, I heard the heavy sobbing that had a distinctive male timbre. Meredith had indeed gotten her dad. I'd been through a lot, I'd seen a lot, even done a lot, but I don't think I've ever heard a more deep and mournful sound coming from a person. If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was from some wild animal. My heart broke. I did all I could think to do, which was keep pulling the trigger and hopefully drown out that sound. He was living a reality I never wanted to be party to.

W
e won the day
, whether the zombies had been spurred on by the Gothic Girls and had faltered when they left or the new survival instinct within our enemy had finally decided that the losses were too great and had withdrawn. Didn't matter. They withdrew, although, to call today a victory was a gross distortion of that word. Nancy Talbot had died. Four of us had had to wrestle Ron away from his wife before she could do her resurrection thing. Tommy gave her the last rites: one she deserved in the form of prayer and one she most certainly did not. This involved a long metal spike driven through her temple and a quick spin to make sure no synapses could keep firing. I watched out of respect and guilt. Of everyone who had died since this had started, I felt like her demise was the one that most deserved to be laid at my feet. Ron spiraled from fits of rage to wails of the damned. My heart lurched with each pounding or cry out. I noticed more than one person keeping an extra eye out on me, expecting me to do something stupid.

In fairness, I was never too far from doing something stupid. I guess I just looked more apt to do something at that moment. I didn't do much of anything actually. I was kind of half-expecting Ron to shoot me in the chest with a shotgun for bringing this grief upon him. That he didn't just showed how broken he was. What didn't dawn on me, and perhaps maybe never would, was a simple fact that Tommy brought to light. It played out a couple of days later. The house was as quiet as one might expect. Although this wasn't the peace of a mausoleum, it was more an expectant type of silence, as if a fuse had been lit and everyone was waiting for the resultant explosion. It came soon enough. Instead of a shotgun, it was Ron's fist. I'd come in from the deck, my turn on guard duty. My head was hanging down, like it did a lot those last couple of days. The smash hit me like a sledge on my right cheek. Hard enough, my head hit the frame of the door. There was a little buckling to my knees, but I stayed standing. I think mostly because I did hit the frame. I instantly knew what was happening. There was no need for me to look into the mask of rage my brother wore as his blows rained down on me. I did not move. I did not try to deflect the hits or inflict my own damage. I stood there as if this were my own personal penance.

Again, it was Tommy who interceded. “Stop!” he shouted as he lifted Ron and chucked him halfway across the living room. It had happened so fast Ron was throwing punches into the air before he realized his target was out of range. He quickly started to make his way back to me. Blood ran down my face, some from open wounds on me, some from Ron's knuckles where he'd split them. I think my nose was broken, I had a tooth or two loose, and my jaw hurt like hell.

“He brought this upon me, upon us all!” Ron could not have yelled any louder. “I need to kill the cancer before it destroys us all.”

My head came up at that; he wasn't just getting frustration out, he planned on killing me. Would I have defended myself if I'd known that? I decided I wouldn't have. I could be killed—there was no doubt about that—but odds were he'd break all of his knuckles and both hands before he'd be able to do that with his fists. Sure, I'd look like a bloody pulp. I'd feel like shit, but I wouldn't die. Besides, I felt like I truly deserved it.

“What exactly did he bring upon us?” Tommy asked. In contrast to my brother, he was calm. Stern, but calm.

Ron had no desire to match Tommy's demeanor. If anything, he raised it up a notch. “Are you serious? He's brought death to us. Not just zombies but vampires. Everything he touches dies on the vine. He's killed my brother, my father, my daughter, and now his plague of existence has killed my wife!” He lunged, nearly getting past Tommy. I stood still, awaiting my fate.

“He has killed none of them. The zombies are no more his fault than they are yours.”

“And what of the vampires!?” Spittle flew from his lips.

“They are as much his fault as they are yours.”

Ron struggled against that iron-like grip of Tommy for a few moments before he finally turned and looked at the boy. Rage faded to confusion.

“Eliza, my sister, was a product of a Talbot.”

I'd never told anyone that. I guess it really wasn't my secret to harbor; not sure why I kept it in. Guilt, shame? When she died, I figured, wrongly, that the secret died with her. Or at least one more witness was gone. The truth had been down to Tommy and me, and apparently, he thought it was time to share.

“What the fuck are you talking about? He led her straight to us!”

“That is not the truth, Ron. If she had killed Mike, she would have made her way to your home soon enough. If anything, your brother bought you a chance. Would you have been able to defend against her had you not known?”

What Tommy was neglecting to say was that I wouldn't have stood a chance, either, if not for him. I knew what he was doing, though, trying to put me in as bright a light as possible.

“Half of my family is dead!”

“Yet, half is alive. Nothing can be done for those who have left. Those that are still here will need you now more than ever.”

“It wasn't Eliza that took my wife away from me.”

“And it wasn't Mike, Ron. It was the zombies.”

Ron didn't seem to like the fact that the focus of his anger was misdirected. That in all reality, there was nothing or nobody that he could turn that intense hatred onto. It was a feeling of utter impotence, one in which there was no blue pill big enough to get rid of. By this time, my nose had stopped bleeding. I could even feel the cartilage begin to slide back into place. It sounded like someone was making popcorn on my face. I was starting to garner attention, and I'd had enough for the rest of the day, week maybe.

“We done?” I asked my brother. He said nothing. That was about as good as it was going to get, at least for now. Just about all of the inhabitants of the house were there with a couple of exceptions. Of course, it had to be Trip that broke the silence while I left the room.

“Bravo, bravo!” he said, stepping into the middle of the room. “They just don't put good drama like that on television anymore. The acting, the make-up, the scene … perfection. I predict a couple of Bonies being awarded for this performance.”

I was nearly out of ear-shot as I heard Tommy talking about Victor Talbot and how he changed over Eliza. When he'd done that deed he'd then indoctrinated her into an existence of cruelty.

BT followed me out. Tracy, thankfully, had not been one of the people present. I think she was out by Nancy's grave with Ron's youngest. No saying how it would have turned out if she had been there. Either she would have urged him on, getting in a few licks for all the shit I'd done to her or, more likely, she would have tried to stop him. I've taken a beating or two before, and I'm sure this life hasn't quite finished doling them out for me, but if he had ever touched Tracy in anger, his children would be orphaned; I'm not sure I could have stopped myself. So I knew the place he was coming from, even if it had gone astray.

“Your face looks like hamburger. You all right?”

“I'll be fine,” I choked out. I was as close to tears as one could be without actually producing fluid.

“I came late, man. I would have stopped him.”

“He needed to get it out.”

“Jesus, not on you. Not that way. He's your brother.”

I walked into the bathroom. BT stood in the doorway. He was right, my face indeed looked like torn up, bloody shreds of meat. I turned the faucet on and did my best to get my swollen countenance into the stream. It stung before freezing under the cold. It's worth noting because not all of you will have been this lucky in the apocalypse. We got our water from a well, and it was pumped by a generator that used a variety of fuels including solar power to operate.

“You should put some disinfectant on that.”

I stood up to look at him.

“Right, forgot.”

I was in about as much danger of getting an infection as I was of being dragged off by faeries. Wait, I take that back; little miss demigod doesn't need any more fuel for her imagination. I stripped off my shirt. It did not have the recuperative powers I had, and if Tracy saw the copious amounts of bloodstains on it, she'd have a fairly good idea I'd gotten into some sort of trouble.

“You know you really don't need to be in here with me. Right?”

“What if you need help finding something?”

“Did you really just make a dick joke?”

“I thought it might help.”

“You have a skewed version of altruism.” I showed him the exit before closing the door.

“What now, Mike?” he asked.

I examined a deep bruise on my right side. Ron may have cracked a rib.

“I don't know, BT. I have no idea what happens next.”

“I meant with you. Are you going to stay? Whatever you decide, I'm with you. I want you to know that.”

I winced as I raised my arm over my head. Definitely cracked.

“You all right in there? Sounds like you just found it and you're not too happy with the results.”

“Really, man? Again?”

“I'm sorry. I'm stressed out, and I learned this stupid tactic from you. If there's anyone to blame, it's you.”

“That seems to be the theme of the day.”

“Aw shit, man. I didn't mean it like that.”

I gripped the sides of the sink and let my head hang a bit. “I know, I know. I'm sorry.”

“Where is he?” I heard Tracy asking from the next room over. Apparently, news had traveled down the grapevine.

“If you say, ‘Looking for his penis,' you and I are going to have words.”

“Why would I say something like that?” BT asked innocently. “He's in there.”

“How is he?” I heard her whisper.

“Not too good.” BT answered.

“He's fine, and he has bat fucking ears, remember?” I opened the door.

Tracy winced when she saw me. “Does it hurt?” She reached a tentative hand up.

I instinctively pulled back. “I don't think touching it is going to make it feel any better.” I told her, tenderly grabbing her hand to stop its progress.

***

T
he next few
days were somber. According to Trip, the next episode in the Talbot saga was just as gripping, as Tommy discussed Eliza's origins with Ron and what would have happened had I not shown up. And even if Ron had somehow dealt with her, Payne and her cohorts still would have shown. Nothing would have changed except the death count, which Tommy told him would have been considerably higher. If the damn vamps weren't still out there, I would have gathered up my family and left. On an intellectual level, Ron had heard and even understood Tommy's words. On an emotional level, I was the portent of death for his family. No matter how much time passed, he would always harbor some resentment toward me. The only thing that could alleviate some of that would be my departure. I'd give him that relief in a heartbeat if I didn't think my actions would bring more harm to those who stayed behind. And life on the road was no place for Nicole, especially since there was now a baby to deal with.

We'd stay; I'd stay. I could deal with his glaring eyes and hateful stares for the added safety I could offer. At least that was what I hoped. If push came to shove, I don't know who was going to stop them if they decided to come in. I'm convinced there isn't anyone mortal, or nearly immortal, that Tommy couldn't take on, one on one. Three on one is a different matter. BT and I, for all our strengths, were amateurs at best, stepping onto a pro field. All of us together, maybe we stood a chance, maybe. We'd get an idea soon enough about that though. The day started off as putridly disgusting as the previous one, smell-wise, I mean. The zombies had pulled back. They had not departed. It was a siege of sorts. I mean, we had plenty of resources to hold out, but they could do so indefinitely. Advantage: zombies.

It was warm for a late fall day. The trees, oblivious to the carnage around them, were a spectacular variety of hues. Deep ambers, lush reds, golden yellows. Tourists would be about losing their minds right now with the views while local gift shops and motels dotted along the coast raked in the last real seasonal money of the year. Oh, to be one of those people with hardly a care in the world, except where to take the kids for dinner. I was standing on the deck, looking out to the trees, not really seeing anything. It was quiet. I'd like to say too quiet, or I sensed something. But nope, I was drifting around lazily in the ghost of vacations past. Tommy caught the scent of something amiss.

“Mr. T, where's your brother?”

It took me a moment to shake away the sight of my eight-year-old daughter waving around a huge overpriced stuffed animal moose and begging if she could have it. Forty dollars had seemed a steep price to pay for momentary happiness. Right now, I'd pay forty thousand for it.