Zombie Fallout 9 (39 page)

N
icole has a problem with sharing
. So much so, that she is angry with me that Father's Day hovers at, or around, her birthday. I gently reminded her that without my celebration, she would not have hers. Dad one, Nicole zero. Although, in reality, she's up by about a hundred and twenty-seven thousand, six hundred and forty-six, give or take a thousand or so. For those who have raised a daughter, you understand the math. We welcome Wesley into the family with all of our hearts.

“
T
he fence is down
.” Justin was pointing out the window.

Mad Jack looked defeated. I had to believe he thought that this was going to be the best zombie deterrent of all time, and they had gone through it in much less time than it had taken to go up. My hands still ached from digging those damn post holes. Zombies were pouring into the yard. The obstacles that had done wonders for stopping the earlier versions of zombies were no more than a minor impediment now. They skirted around and over anything in their path. No amount of battling on our part was going to stem this red tide. I was about to tell everyone we needed to go when an explosion lifted me off the ground an inch, maybe more. The ground rippled from the percussions.

“That was intense!” BT screamed. He thought he was in a conversational tone, but there was a good chance everyone here had suffered some significant hearing loss.

He'd let loose an RPG into a small stack of used up five-gallon propane tanks. I'd wanted to use them for target practice. Mad Jack had informed me that would be a bad idea. Said that nearly empty cans were much more volatile than filled ones. Something about pressure and how the fumes were more flammable than the gas itself. I didn't want to believe him because they were good targets, but I wanted to blow myself up even less. I ran to the deck. The crater BT had created was pretty impressive. There was a clear twenty-five-foot perimeter around the blast zone, which was completely free from all enemies. I would imagine because they'd been blown apart or away. The dead and dying were laid out for another twenty feet from that point. Two hundred more explosions like that and we could win this war. We had one RPG round left and no more propane tanks.

Travis was tossing sparkler bombs, but those were like firecrackers compared to the grenade BT had launched. It was inflicting casualties, but not at a rate that they even acknowledged. This amassing was huge and was being directed. Payne and Charity had something to do with this, of that, there was no doubt. There were too many zombies, and they had bided their time for too long. Zombies by nature are not patient creatures. Glass all around us broke out as zombies reached into some of the lower lying windows, and even more unsettling, they broke out some that they had no business reaching. They had not yet quite figured out the mechanics of building cheerleader-worthy pyramids, but they had no problem climbing up and over the backs of anything in front of them. When one popped through the window in the kitchen, which was nearly fifteen feet from the ground, that was pause for concern. Pause for concern? Why the fuck am I trying to be so stoic? It was petrifying. Thousands of intelligent zombies were here. They were here to stay. They were pissed off, and they were hungry.

There was a moment where I was stuck. I didn't know what to do. So many things were going on at once, and I could not process all of the information. I don't know if there's a term, but “battle burden” seems to work. I was needed in a half-dozen spots, yet I knew no matter where I went, I would be virtually ineffectual. There were a dozen things that needed to be done; any one of them would cost human lives if they weren't performed. Still, I stood in the living room. The only thing moving was my heart and my head as I swiveled it back and forth. Explosions rocked the house. At some point, BT had set loose the final RPG round. Sparkler bombs were going off, a couple every minute. Mini-explosions from bullets being fired were at the blistering pace of a few hundred a minute. Once upon a time in fairyland, I had written that most firefights lasted in the neighborhood of a minute. This was not one of those times. We were at an unsustainable pace, both in resources and stamina. I'd made my decision.

“Downstairs, Justin. Drag MJ with you!” He did not hesitate. “Tommy, let's go!” He still seemed relatively lost in some deep recess of his mind.

“This is my fault. All of it.” He had tears rolling from his eyes.

This was war. There would be tears, but they would have to be reserved for the aftermath.

“Get downstairs.” I grabbed his shoulder and tried to force him in that general direction. When he didn't even budge, I remembered that he was much, much stronger than I was. If the saying “God helps those that help themselves” was good enough for the big man, I would also need to adopt it. I couldn't spare the time. This was a case of weighing out the safety of one for the safety of many. And if he didn't want my help, there wasn't anything I could do about it anyway.

I went out onto the deck. “Let's go! Now!” I guarantee I shredded vocal chords. They'd have plenty of time to heal in the bunker. BT gave me a look as if to say he didn't quite think things were lost and past the point of no return. That faded the moment the house shook from the collision of bulkers against the frame. Gary and Dennis were still firing shots down below, but the war had gotten a lot quieter all of a sudden. Wood was being splintered and cement was being cracked under the assault. Everyone was running. That I knew. But still the events seemed to be unfolding in super slow motion, like the world wanted me to make sure I didn't miss any fucking detail. Mark had dropped some bullets, causing my sister to stumble. Trip reached out and caught her shoulder, keeping her from falling over. Meredith turned back, looking for her father.

MJ seemed to be more getting carried along than actually walking. BT had got down to the bottom and was nearly hurling people toward the shelter. I was at the top of the stairs, making sure our retreat was not being pursued. Oh, it was. I just happened to be in the wrong position. My head whipped back around when I heard Tracy's voice as she helped usher people in.

“Get the fuck back in….” Then my words were drowned out as bulkers crashed through. Nearly took the top of my head off as I jumped down the stairs. Decapitation by low hanging ceiling. Gary had been launched from his previous spot. He was a good ten feet away, unconscious. Dennis had leaned down. I thought to check my brother's condition. I'd find out differently later. He was firing his weapon. Even so, he had the time to find me. There was a strange expression on his face. I knew it for what it was: sadness. If he left his position, Gary would die. If he tried to drag Gary away, they both would die. BT was ushering everyone, including my wife, into the shelter. If I could, I would thank him later. I headed to my downed brother. If I thought things were going slow upstairs, I was now seeing life one frame at a time. I could track the trajectory of a casing as it left Dennis's gun. The thing seemed to take five seconds from ejection to floor.

Dennis was screaming, “Run, Talbot!” It was that low, slow sound of a voice pulled over a long time and distance. I gripped Gary's collar and dragged him along the floor.

“Let's go, Dennis!”

I'm not sure exactly what he said, but it sounded a lot like “Can't.” He was still blasting away. Bulkers and speeders had flooded into the basement, overturning furniture while they tried to get to us all. I wasn't going to make it. I turned so that I was backing up, then I placed the rifle up against my shoulder and started firing. Much like Dennis, I was screaming, my war face, my death mask, I don't know. I hoped it was as fierce as it sounded. I cried out as Dennis was dragged down, the muzzle of his rifle still coughing out plumes of fire as he kept shooting.

“
No
!!!” I started to move forward, dragging Gary with me. I was firing as well. A huge hand wrapped itself around my jacket, I was lifted up off the floor.

“No, Talbot,
No
!” BT was yanking me backward.

“
Ahhhhh
!” The pain I felt was both physical and mental. Dennis's rifle had finally stopped. I couldn't see him anymore as zombies were now in the short hallway with us. I almost let Gary go when my bolt popped open so I could reach for another magazine. I was willing to die right there and then, and I would have if another's life wasn't hanging in the balance. BT's eyes were wide when he whipped us in. Tracy had been at the door along with Stephanie and Steve. They slammed it shut and spun the dial just as something collided with the door.

“Where's Dennis?” Tracy asked, looking around.

I dropped my rifle and slid down against the door. My head in my hands, I cried until I felt as if my head would explode from the pressure. Another loss—they were piling up and we were far from out of the woods.

I
didn't move much
. I looked up when Gary groggily came to. The shelter was a hive of activity as the women did their best to keep the children from being scared. I took note that the stronger sex seemed to be getting things done while us men were lost in our misery. Ron, Mad Jack, Justin, Travis, me—we were junk. We'd all taken up refuge, suffering in solitude. Gary had a bandage wrapped around his head. Looked like he should be playing a fife and reporting to General Washington. I was happy to see he was going to be all right, at least for now. My head pounded as I stared at the floor. I looked up when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Gary. He handed me a small piece of paper and walked away. It was a note from Dennis.

Hey Mike, I always knew it was going to end this way.

I sat up straighter.

Well, honestly I have no idea how I went out. Let's just hope it was heroic and I didn't take a header off a cliff or something.

“It was heroic, brother.” I mumbled.

We both know something supernatural happened in your parent's basement all those years ago. Something I don't think was ever supposed to happen. You gave me more time though, brother, more time to watch my kids grow up, hell to even have kids! To enjoy this existence we call life … and how could I ever repay you for that?

“You did every day you were alive.” More tears came out from a well I had thought was completely dry.

We cheated death, you and me. Somehow, someway, you found a loophole in the fabric of existence….

“I don't think it was me, my friend. I think we had help from someone who specifically said they could not help.” God was playing a dangerous game. This was twice now that Gary had been pulled from the jaws of death. What part did my brother play in all of this? It had to be huge if all of these elements were being manipulated in such a way as to ensure his existence, right? I mean, what would be the purpose of placing him in the center of the maelstrom and not making sure he survived? What kind of grand writer would kill off a main character? And God was the most majestic designer of them all, wasn't He? A thought formed in my head. Dennis had been saved and used to save Gary because he was unaccounted for.

He should not have been alive. He was not on the giant game board being played out among the gods. No one else today would have been in a position to save my brother. We
had
been accounted for. Dennis was the wild card. I'd been used as a messenger to save him, and Dennis had been used as a sacrificial pawn. I went back to reading the page in my hand.

“…and I thank you for that. Listen, man. I don't know why this happened, but I thank you. Whatever happens, man. No matter how I finally die, just a simple thank you, man. You bestowed a gift to me beyond recompense. I love you, Mike, and I don't even care who knows that. You are my brother no matter what the last name on the birth certificates say.”

At some point, even the bottomless well of tears dried up, I canted to the side and fell asleep. I awoke some time later. Most of the lights were out, and the vast majority of bunker inhabitants were asleep. I had a blanket draped over me, but even that could not keep the cold out that was slowly drifting to my heart.

“Hello, Michael.” I scooted to the side quickly as a voice whispered in my ear. “Wait, do not force me out. I will not delve deeply.” It was Payne.

“Fuck you want?” I stood.

“I can feel the heat of your anger through this door.”