Zombie Fallout 9 (8 page)

“Nice shot, Tex,” BT said.

“I'm taking a standing shot, trying to hit a person's head from a hundred yards on a moving target. Give it a go, Annie.”

“Annie?”

“As in Oakley.”

“Just kill them.”

The next shot I took my time, controlled my breathing, followed the wavering zombie, and slowly squeezed the trigger, not even realizing I'd done so until the butt stock pushed against my shoulder. A spray of blood flew onto the lone survivor as the zombie I hit crashed to the ground in a flaming heap.

“Damn, that was a nice shot.”

“One second you're ragging on me, the next you're praising. You need to stay consistent, or you're going to mess me up.”

Apparently, I'd used up all my sharpshooting skills on the first zombie. Three shots later, I had not so much killed the zombie as I had incapacitated it. My first shot was low and to the right and nailed it in the shoulder, the second was a complete miss, and the third was more of a mystery than any of them as I crushed its left knee. The leg bent backward, and the zombie pitched forward, face first. It continued to crawl forward, but it was safe to see that the conflagration was going to get the best of him, melting his brain before he would be able to wander off and start an irreversible blaze.

W
e'd gone
some twenty miles, none of us saying much. When I'd adjusted to get a little more comfortable in the small confines of the car, I heard wrappers.

“Oh shit, I forgot I grabbed some stuff.”

BT turned to look. The first was a bag of Ollie's ostrich jerky, the next was a package with three bran muffins, and finally, six packs of sugarless gum.

“That's quite a haul you have there.”

“Hey, man. I was under a little duress. I didn't really get a chance to pick and choose.”

“Obviously, now give me some of the jerky.”

I thought Henry had stowed away when he opened that bag. A more foul odor I don't think I'd ever had the displeasure of smelling, and our world was full of zombies. BT couldn't get the window down fast enough.

“I might have to kill you, man,” BT said after another five miles. A sufficient transfer of fresh air had cleaned out the car although there was a good chance the smell had been burned into our olfactory senses. “Give me one of the muffins.”

“Really?” Ron asked. “He just handed you bagged death, and you're willing to try again?”

“I'm hungry.”

“There's food in the trunk. I'll pull over.”

“Give me the damn muffin, Mike.”

“I guess you would want your fiber. A man as big as you gets backed up, you could destroy a toilet. Make the damn thing unserviceable. Probably shatter the porcelain.”

“Shut up, Mike.” BT undid the wrapper. We all waited for the stench of odor, like perhaps everything in that store had been tainted from being in such close proximity to the zombies. After a couple of sniffs, he took a small bite. Satisfied he wasn't going to die, he finished the muffin off in silence.

All things being equal, I'd rather have a blueberry muffin, but this was still pretty good and I was happy to have it. Ron ate the third one as BT eyed him jealously.

“Better eat that fast, Ron, or he'll eat your arm trying to get to it.”

“I'd eat you if I thought it would shut you up. More than likely, you'd make me sick, and I'd keep hearing from you as you shot out both ends.” BT sneered.

“Trying to eat here.” Ron's words were muffled as he spat muffin bits onto the windshield. BT and I laughed.

The mood in the car was decent, at least that's how I sensed it. Considering how the day had gone and Ron's initial reaction, we were doing pretty good. There was some small talk, and thankfully, no more life-threatening altercations. The mood changed the moment we got onto the Mass Pike and the homestretch to the Quabbin reservoir.

I could see the tension worming its way through my brother. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tight enough his knuckles were turning white. He leaned forward, his back not even touching his seat. I wanted to offer some words to him, something that would alleviate his anxiety. I was not sure how he would react. I was his younger brother, and I always would be. Luckily, BT was more adept at this than I was.

“You look like you have a stick shoved up your ass. You all right?”

Ron looked over to BT, actually laughed, and physically relaxed, probably not even knowing that he looked like he'd shoved coal up his rectum and was trying to press them into diamonds before we made it to our destination.

“How do you think she got down here?” BT asked, I was not sure if he cared about the answer or if by having a conversation, Ron would not have the time to work himself up again.

“She must have got a car. I mean the night she walked out, it was harsh winter conditions. She couldn't have been out there too long.”

“Why, though?” This was my question. “Why leave? I mean, we all thought she left to commit suicide by snow. Then to find a car and drive away from everything you know? How the fuck does that make sense?”

“Maybe she was trying to get back home like Alex,” BT said.

That was a distinct possibility. If she had lost her mind after losing Paul, maybe she thought she could get both back in Colorado. “Never thought of that.”

“Of course you didn't,” he answered.

I gave him the finger, but behind the seat so he wouldn't see it.

“The Belchertown exit is next,” Ron said dryly.

This was it, the final approach.

“Any ideas what we're in for?”

“My guess would be zombies. What do you think, BT?” I asked.

“I blame you for this, Ron.”

“Me? How is this
my
fault?”

“You could have done something about him when he was younger. You know, maybe taken care of the problem in its infancy. If you know what I mean.”

The Quabbin came into view in all its beauty. It was a manmade body of water, created to supply the precious commodity to the Boston area. The entire area had been flooded, completely covering the buildings and towns that had existed at that time. There had been a lot of pissed off residents back then. It was a case of the betterment for the many to the detriment of the few. I thought sourly that if billionaires had lived here, Boston would have been flooded to supply Belchertown with water instead. The poor had been doormats since the dawn of civilization. It's strange to me that we put so much significance into material gains, but then again, it's not. Men, at least, chase wealth because wealth brings a mate. And there it is, the root of all evil isn't money, it's women. But I'm not telling my wife that. Honey, if you read this it probably means I'm dead, so that's a plus for me, I mean. So you can't get mad at me. But I'm just genuflecting here. I love women, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that you are indeed the stronger of the species.

“Now what?” Ron had gone onto the access road. We were now about to start circling the area.

“Not trying to be a smart ass, but look for zombies.” That was the best piece of advice I had. She could be anywhere. I'd hiked around the reservoir a few times in my youth, not because I cared about the local history of the place or how it was made. Sure, I could enjoy the beauty of the area. That was nice and all, but mainly it was because Karen Landers liked to hike around the Quabbin, and if I wanted any chance of seeing her scenic beauty, there was a price to pay. I remembered there were a few buildings around, mostly maintenance. We'd used them to shield us as we'd, umm, use your imagination. There's a chance my wife reads this, and even if it's because I'm dead, she may come into the afterlife and give me a what-for upside the head.

“Bingo.” BT pointed up ahead. Had to have been at least a hundred zombies surrounding a small stone building. I can't say I knew this place specifically. Maybe if we got around back, it would become clearer.

“Shit, Mike. Get your head in the game,” I berated myself. We were about to get into a firefight with a feared, relentless enemy, and I was thinking about a heavy petting session in my youth. “Well, if I'm going to die, it might as well be with a smile.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” BT asked.

“Why can I not figure out when I am talking out loud and when I'm thinking? Forget it. Ron, you want to stop here, and we'll go check it out?”

“I'm coming.”

BT and I looked at each other.

“Yeah, I know you two think I'm a liability. I … I just didn't know it was this bad out here. It took me a little while to wrap my mind around that maybe this world is not going to bounce back, that maybe my kids are not going to be able to go out and find their own way. You know what kind of shock that is. Don't you, Mike?”

I had to admit that I did. I'd had more time to come to terms with it, and I still think I teetered on the brink of depression if I dwelled on it. My only salvation was action. Action kept me from thinking. I'd proved that enough times.

“Fine, leave the keys in the ignition.” Not sure if he knew the reasoning, but he didn't question it. Obviously, I hoped I didn't have to leave my brother behind, but it's better to plan for all contingencies. We were about three hundred yards off, safe from the zombies seeing us.

“What about a rocket?” There was gleam in BT's eye as he asked the question.

“Don't think the people in the building would appreciate that much.”

“Right, right.” BT said like he'd already forgotten we were there to save people not kill zombies.

“What about a drive by?” Ron asked. “I'll get as close as I can with the car, fire a bunch of rounds, wait until they start following, and then I'll head off with them in tow.”

“It's a better idea than blowing everyone up,” I said, pointing to BT. “Just these aren't the same zombies; they see you taking off in a car, they're not going to follow. Not far anyway. Once they realize they can't catch you, they'll come right back.”

“I'll just go slow.”

“It's all we've got,” BT said.

“Shit, I think even I could come up with a better plan than this,” I said.

“Really?” BT asked.

“Yeah, probably not. Don't dick around, Ron.”

“I'm sure he needed that added inspiration.”

“I'll be fine.” He went back to the car; BT and I stayed where we were.

We heard the car start up, and I think so did a few zombies though they did not move. He passed us by, got off the park roadway, and crossed onto the expansive grass lawn, which was nearly a foot long now from being untended. There were no lawn maintenance people during a z-poc. A couple of years, and the forest would begin to reclaim what was always its land in earnest. I got a spark of unease watching as the small car plowed through the grass and how it bunched up underneath. I wondered if it could possibly high center like during a snowstorm.

“I still think we should have used a rocket.”

“Those things are really burning a hole in your pocket, aren't they?”

BT was silent. The zombies were now taking a great interest in Ron as he got closer.

“That's close enough, man.” I said more for myself. He was nearly on the walking path that encircled the entire body of water. And the path was no more than twenty feet to the door of the maintenance building. “What the fuck is he doing?”

“Stopping, it looks like.”

“Thanks for the commentary.”

“You asked, plus you're doing it. You can't give me crap if I do the same.”

Ron poked his rifle out the window and began to fire indiscriminately. I could see zombies being impacted as a few moved about in violent, random ways, but only one was fatal. I couldn't fault him; one hand on a steering wheel, not properly aiming, he was lucky he got the one. The zombies seemed very interested and a fair number began to head his way.

“Why isn't he moving?” BT asked.

I was thinking it; he said it. Zombies had reached the back of his car, and considering it was a bug, that was way closer than it needed to be. I was beginning to panic, thinking that somehow he did not see them, or he had passed out from fright or he had a damn death wish. I don't know. I brought my rifle to my shoulder and was going to do all I could to prevent zombies from getting to him when his car jumped forward and stalled. He'd had a manual transmission
faux pas
. Something usually reserved for the new-to-a-clutch drivers. Or the drunk... umm not that I know; I read it somewhere.

“This is painful to watch. At least I know what I'm getting myself into with you. I gotta be honest, Talbot. I'm not all that confident in your brother's abilities.”

“Come on, Ron. Get the fucking car out of there.” The engine cranked and turned over. There was the grind of gears as he must have jammed it into first. The zombies were by his window. At some point, he must have rolled the thing up, good for him. The car lurched forward again, hesitated, on the brink of stalling before he gave it enough gas and got it moving correctly. BT and I both let out heavy sighs of relief. I'd always been confident in what my brother could do; he'd always been older and seemingly wiser. I think that's a perspective most younger siblings have of their older peers. He sure was straining that belief system today.

“It's not working.” BT pointed back to the hut. Far fewer than half had taken the bait.

“We can take fifty.”

“Yeah, with a rocket.”

“BT, you're going to have to get it out of your head. You can't use the rocket.”

“Why not, man? We're not even sure there're people in there.”

“Does it look like the zombies are having their annual union meeting to you? Why the hell else would they be congregating there?”

“I'm just saying we don't know for sure.”

“Blow it up, we'll check the bodies afterwards,” I said sardonically.

“Buzzkill.”

“Oh, what the fuck is he doing now?” I went back to looking at Ron, who had been barely outpacing the speeders before. Now he was at a dead stop.

“I hear the engine whining.”

“Wheels are spinning, too. He's stuck.”