The End Has Come and Gone

Day One

Outfitted with a new truck, plenty of ammo, weapons and food, Tracy , Justin, Travis, my brother Gary and I headed out to find Tommy. My previous injury to my shoulder has nearly healed to completion. I came to Maine hoping for the best and expecting the worst. The East Coast Chapter of the Talbots have suffered some losses, notably my brother Glenn in North Carolina and my niece Melanie who lives, (lived?) in Massachusetts . But for the most part, paranoid delusional Talbots or as they are now known, ‘survivalists,’ have stayed relatively strong.

My spirits should be much higher than they are, but I just can’t get it out of my head that this is a one way trip. We’ve been driving for four hours, and Tracy has yet to say one word. Her head has been resting against the passenger window, and she’s just been staring blindly out at the passing scenery. Leaving her mom Carol behind was actually a good thing. She wouldn’t be on the run any more, she’d be able to rest and find some semblance of normality, if possible, at the Talbot compound. Leaving Nicole behind was another matter. Our daughter is pregnant and Tracy wasn’t going to be there for it, and that above all else was weighing heavily on her. Well, that and the fact that some dumb ass named Michael Talbot was dragging her two sons back into harm’s way.

I didn’t quite see it that way. ‘Harms Way’ seemed to now be a main thoroughfare that intersected regularly with our ‘Life’s Path.’ The only noise in the truck was Gambo’s (my brother Gary) checking and rechecking of his magazine clips. I appreciated the thoroughness, and the obsessive compulsive disorder of it, I really did. But four or five times should be the max!

“You about done back there?” I asked Gary.

“With what?” he asked back.

“Admitting your problem is the first step to recovery,” I told him.

“What problem?”

“Forget it,” I said, too tired to even sound exasperated.

Gary started unloading and reloading his magazine clips again.

“I thought BT was gonna kick your ass, Dad, when you told him he had to stay behind,” Travis said from the backseat.

“Yeah, he got pretty close to your head with his crutch,” Justin said smiling in remembrance.

I absently rubbed my cheek where the rubber bottomed tip of the crutch had brushed across me. BT had been swinging for the fences, lucky for me he had foul tipped or I’d be back at my Dad’s nursing a concussion. Although how bad would that be, really?

“Yeah, that was close,” I said, forcing myself to sound cheerier than I felt. It fell flat. The interior of the truck once again slipped into silence, interrupted only by the repetitive sound of bullet scraping against bullet. How the hell that became a comforting noise was a mystery to me.

“What the hell is that smell?” Travis asked, grabbing his nose.

Justin sheepishly raised his hand. “Aunt Lyndsey made me try her breakfast burrito.”

The smell was horrific but it wasn’t this which caused my already depressed mood to implode. It was the remembrance of Henry. I had felt it best to leave him behind also. Besides not having my furry friend and companion along, I no longer had a viable alibi when my lactose intolerant bowels fired off a fiery discharge. “Oh, Henry,” I mumbled under my breath.

Gary rolled down his window, the howling wind masking his sounds of gagging.

“Wonderful,” Tracy said as she rolled down her own window. I was thankful that at least now she couldn’t rest her head in that melancholy way. It was breaking my already shattered heart.

We hadn’t seen much in the way of zombies yet. I figured there were a few mitigating factors. Maine was sparsely populated, number one, number two the area was so economically depressed that if the infected flu shot wasn’t being given for free not many people here were going to spend the twenty to twenty-five bucks to get one no matter how virulent the bug. Who cares if you’re sick if you don’t have a job to go to anyway.

“How are you planning on finding Helen?” Gary’s voice came from the back seat.

Tracy slowly turned to look at him. “Who?”

“You know, the werewolf chick,” he replied, never looking up from his magazines.

“You know you’re talking out loud right now, Uncle Gary?” Travis asked in concern.

“Dad, there aren’t any werewolves, right?” Justin asked.

“Hon, do you have on any silver jewelry?” I asked Tracy .

“You can’t be serious. And even if I did have some on, you wouldn’t be making any bullets out of it to kill a beast from faerie tales,” she said, placing her hand protectively over her obviously gold chain and crucifix.

“Was that cross blessed?” I asked her.

“How should I know, you bought it for me for our anniversary.”

“You sure?”

“No, that’s right, it must have been my other husband.” Her glare should have stopped me in my tracks, unfortunately I was paying too much attention to the roadway to heed the warning.

“Well, did he get it blessed?” I asked her.

Her hand would have connected with the side of my head if the G-forces from my hard braking hadn’t flung her forward. Thank God she was wearing her seat belt.

“What the hell Mike?” she asked hotly.

Travis nearly crawled over his seat to get a better look at what had brought us from 60 to 0 in record time. A full grown two thousand pound moose was galloping full speed towards us, and he had no clue whatsoever we were in his way. The zombie latched on its back and the one on its left rear leg had absorbed all of its attention.

I was in such a rush to throw the truck into reverse, I slammed it into park. The engine was taching at 5000 rpms and we weren’t moving.

“Mike, you’re going to want to back up,” Gary said, his eyes never straying from the charging beast.

“I think he’s right Dad!” Justin threw in for good measure.

It was taking long seconds for my racing mind to catch up to my ill-timed action.

“Mike!!” Tracy said, placing her feet on the dashboard and bracing for impact.

Travis sat back down and refastened his seatbelt. Wise move, I thought to myself.

The moose was within fifteen feet by the time I figured out how to drop the gear into reverse. That transmission got the workout of its life as I slammed the gas pedal down. We were moving but the moose was still gaining.

“Not gonna make it!” I said aloud.

The moose’s front hoof clipped the bumper, momentarily taking our rear wheels off the pavement. Between my furtive glances to the rear to make sure we weren’t going to hit a wayward semi, and back to the front and possible death by Bullwinkle, I noted that the moose’s next step was going to take him half way up our hood which would result in certain destruction with death being a possible consequence. Zombies saved our lives, yeah, write that line down, zombies saved our lives . (Sure, we would have never been in this situation if it wasn’t for them, but that’s just splitting hairs.) The one that had latched on to the rear of the moose took that opportune moment to hamstring the giant critter. The moose dropped like a brick, his head slamming into the hood and grill. So much for the resale value. Ron was going to be pissed.

I laid on the brakes again almost as hard as I had the first time. For twenty seconds I sat there, sweat accumulating on my forehead. The pops and groans of the overworked engine were drowned out by the mewling of the moose as it was being eaten alive. The sad sound pierced the air and my heart, so much so that I got out and killed the zombies as they feasted and then put one into the moose’s terror stretched eye. It was then that I noticed the torn tendon on the hind leg still hanging out of the zombie’s mouth. Tracy and Travis had come up to get a better look. Justin was rubbing Gary ’s back as he puked behind the truck.

“We should go, Mike,” Tracy said, grabbing my arm.

This opening act to our quest seemed an ominous premonition of things to come. I could not stop staring at the brain matter as it oozed from the moose’s eye wound.

“Dad, how did they catch a moose?” Travis asked.

‘By hunting it down relentlessly,’ I thought. “They must have stumbled on it while it was sleeping,” I lied.

We had narrowly escaped death by deaders just a week ago, how far would we have gotten if it had been speeders? As a survivalist I had prepared and trained for the day when the world was going to take a giant shit on itself, but I had no idea how much luck was going to factor into my family’s continued existence. I did not like it. Luck was a fickle bitch.

I finally turned from the gruesomeness; Gary’s retching had subsided slightly. Justin was no longer rubbing his back as the puddle of bile began to spread and he didn’t want to get in the splash zone.

“Big moose,” Gary said from his hunched over position, brown drool hanging in stringy rivulets from his mouth.

“Big moose,” I echoed. “You ready to go?” I asked him.

“Just about,” he answered, immediately followed by his biggest purging thus far.

I popped the hood of the truck to see if the contact with the beast had damaged anything internally. Besides a bumper that would never pass inspection and a hood with a two foot long crease, we were in pretty good shape. Ten minutes later I gave as wide a berth to the carnage in the roadway as the two lanes would allow. It wasn’t near enough. Gary ’s persistent gagging in the back brought me to the edge of my own expulsion. Another ten minutes and I was almost able to convince myself the whole thing was just some elaborate nightmare induced by my sister’s chili. Then I saw the drops of blood on the hood and they sliced effectively through that illusion. Oh yeah, did I express how pissed off Ron was going to be about his truck?

CHAPTER TWO – Mad Jack’s Backstory

Mad Jack aka Peter Pender until recently was a Technical Adviser for the Department of Defense. It was his primary responsibility to view all the aerial photographs and satellite data and determine viable threats from a hundred different rogue countries, and every major terrorist cell on the globe. He was so adept at his job that within three short years he went from an Analyst Assistant I to the Department Head. He had stopped six major attacks on American soil and at least a dozen other minor ones. Unfortunately, nobody had thought to take a picture of a crate filled with flu vaccinations or quite possibly this latest disaster could have been averted.

Peter was not well liked among his peers, shooting stars seldom were, but he was well respected. Peter’s home life revolved around one thing: HALO. His gamertag was Death by Murder667 (he thought he was one better than the devil). Those that had crossed his path on Xbox Live had a 98% mortality rate. He was a legend in the gaming world, a not well liked but well respected gamer. Peter had set up residency in his parents’ home for the first twenty-seven years of his life. The basement was his dominion, and he probably would have spent the next twenty-seven years there also if his father had not gently chided his son that it might be time to fly the coop. Only then could George Pender finally realize his dream of a man cave, resplendent with a six-seat home theater.

Peter traveled almost across the whole Pender backyard before he set up his new domicile in the apartment above the garage. The independence was invigorating. Between work and wreaking ruin on the minions within the HALO universe, Peter had very little time to deal with the fairer sex. It wasn’t that he didn’t think, dream, eat and sleep about them, it was just that they were a mystery that defied explanation. He could glance at a black blurry box the size of a foot locker photographed from 2,400 miles away and let you know with stunning detail the threat level that it imposed. Women he couldn’t decipher with a Cray super computer. HALO was easy in comparison, kill or be killed, no right no wrong, no double meanings, no games. It was straight forward and linear, whereas women were all dangerous curves.

Liver had saved Peter’s life, not directly mind you, but the effect was the same. The day his division was scheduled to receive the flu vaccine, his favorite restaurant Ma’s Grill and Home Cooking (the slogan being ‘the food tastes just as good without all the nagging!’) was having a special on liver and onions. This was hands down his favorite meal on the planet, which confused the hell out of his parents because they had never once made it for him while he was growing up. Ma’s was slow, the smell of the liver keeping her normal customers at bay.

“I thought you guys would be packed,” Peter said excitedly as he placed his order at the counter.

Stan the cashier, a young man doing his best to not let the smell affect him, could only shrug his shoulders in reply.

The only other customers in the restaurant were seated as far away as possible from the grill, although it didn’t help. They were unhappily shoveling their food into their mouths as fast as they could in an attempt to be out and away into the chilly air of Kansas City .

“I thought you said this place was good?” Peter overheard the woman ask her male companion in the booth. “Everything tastes like liver,” she said in distaste, roughly placing her sandwich down on her plate.

To Peter that sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world. “See, that’s what I mean about women, there is just no figuring them out,” he said silently to himself, shaking his head.

Stan had hastened to the back of the store to crack open the door and allow some carbon dioxide from the Fed-Ex truck parked in the alley to enter in. It was heavenly in comparison to the stench of grilled liver. Stan reluctantly closed the door just as a man approached from behind the open door which had effectively blocked Stan’s view. Had Stan been able to see he would have noticed that a fever ravaged man was approaching, red lines radiating out from his scalp and crisscrossing on his sweaty cheeks. Blood and drool combined to flow freely from his mouth; the smell of liver which he had hated his entire life all of a sudden it smelled like sweet ambrosia, and right now he didn’t care if it was off the grill or out of a body. One of his last coherent thoughts was ironically wondering where his last thought had come from.

Peter took his time returning to work, reveling in his great lunch. It wasn’t until he entered the lobby and saw the sign: FLU SHOTS HERE >>> that he realized his mistake.

“Dammit,” he whispered as he ran down the hallway to the conference room that was set up just for this occasion. Peter dreaded being sick, mostly because his mother thought she made the best chicken soup this side of the Mississippi , when in fact she didn’t make the best soup west of her own kitchen. But primarily he hated it because it slowed his reflexes and his HALO kill ratio would take a hit. He skidded to a stop right outside the door just as the nurse was putting the waiver forms back into her bag.

The nurse heard and then saw the man; his features let her know how disappointed he was. “Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll be back tomorrow for the 4th floor, just get in line and we’ll take care of you.” But that was a lie, the nurse did not return the next day, and neither did 90% of his department who had missed work.

“What a weird day,” Peter said to himself as he walked home from the bus stop. The streets of Kansas City looked deserted, barely anyone had showed for work and Ma’s Grill was closed. The bus which was generally standing room only had only one occupant and he was a bum with a bus pass. He was on the bus every day. He just rode it all day long in the winter to stay out of the cold. Peter sometimes wondered why the homeless man didn’t just buy a ticket to Atlanta , seemed like it would have saved him a lot of time. What Peter didn’t know was that the man lived for the here and now. The future was the big unknown, a doctrine that the rest of the surviving human race was to become very familiar with.

Peter stepped onto the gravel of his parents’ driveway and turned to watch the streetlight turn on. “Ha, beat you this time!” he shouted to the indifferent fixture. He noticed the lights on in his parents’ house but did not see any movement. “Probably watching a movie,” he said aloud to somehow dispel the dread that was building up.

He looked up and down the street uneasily before entering his tiny abode. It was never Grand Central around here, but it was quitting time and there should be and was always more movement as folks returned from work, errands, school, whatever. Realization did not completely sink in until he logged on to Xbox Live and noticed there was somewhere in the neighborhood of 20% of the usual volume of games being played. He had no explanation for the increased beating of his heart or the sweat that started to build up on his forehead and palms.

He looked out his window and across the yard into the large bay window that dominated the back of his folks’ home. Nothing looked unusual except for the lack of movement. His mom was usually a whirling dervish of activity, preparing dinner, doing laundry, playing with their two Maltese dogs. Peter picked up the phone to call his parents, but the phone alternated between a fast busy signal and the three tone warning of a downed line.

“Should probably go and check on them,” he mused, still gazing out the window, the phone chirping in his hand. He wouldn’t have gone if he had stopped to turn on the television. Early stories were already reporting mass riots involving cannibalistic mobs. He walked down the stairs, the air seeming oppressively heavy. The clicking of the phone was drowned out by multiple sirens caterwauling a few blocks away. Peter moved his hand up to his face, studying the handset he carried, suddenly wishing it was heavier and had a longer reach. “Now why would I need a weapon?” he asked himself. “I’m going to my parents’, not Detroit .” Each step got heavier and heavier as he crossed the yard. “Come on Mom, just walk by the window, just once,” he pleaded. More sirens joined the fray and for the life of him he could not figure out why his parents weren’t checking out what the fuss was about. ‘They must really have Breakfast at Tiffany’s cranked,’ he thought, looking for humor and finding none. The sirens which had violently been pushing the silence away cut off as if on a timer as his foot hit the first step on the back porch. The vacuum of sound was immediately filled in by the frantic barking of Chip and Dale, his mom’s dogs.

“Chip and Dale never bark,” Peter said aloud. “Mom dotes on them too much for that.” He never noticed as the phone slid from his grip and cracked on the cement. His eyes were fixed on the door handle. For reasons he could not explain, he was more afraid now than that time he had stopped a barge three miles off the shore of Florida that carried two nuclear warheads. This was far worse, this was quite literally happening on his own doorstep. Retreating into the alternate reality of HALO right now seemed like the wisest course of action. And he was close to that decision, he wanted to put this made-up nightmare behind him and go try out the new game armor he had purchased.

He had actually started to softly close the screen door and turn to walk away when Chip’s or possibly Dale’s barking changed into a high pitched howl. “Never heard that before,” He said, frozen in indecision, half in and half out of the entrance. He gripped the door handle and pulled back quickly. “Whoa, that’s freezing!” he said, blowing air into his palm. Even the dog’s change in tone was not enough to force him into action. It was the three shambling strangers that had just entered into the circle of light at the base of his driveway that sealed the deal. “You guys don’t look so good,” he said as he twisted the knob and prayed to the patron Saint of All Who Opens Things that the door was not locked.

He was in and had quickly shut the door before the smell assailed him. His first thought was that he was wearing the same shirt he had worn for yesterday’s luncheon special and had possibly taken home far more than his fair share of cloying liver and onions’ odor. Although that would have been heavenly compared to the aerial blast of assification that filled the room. Chip, the lighter colored of the two dogs came running down the hallway, tail tucked between his legs. He stopped right in front of Peter and began to piss all over the floor, something he could not remember the dog doing even when he was a puppy.

“What’s the matter boy?” Peter asked, lowering himself down to the dog’s level. Chip was shaking violently and he pulled back when Peter tried to comfort him. Peter stood back up; Chip ran and hid behind the couch. “Mom? Dad?” Peter said so softly they might not have heard him if they were in the same room. Peter wanted to check the basement first because it was on the opposite side of the house from where Chip had run out from. “Not very logical,” he chided himself. “Or courageous. Come on, what would Death by Murder667 do? Well, first off he’d have an M392 and about 25 hand grenades, so that’s not going to work so much considering I don’t even own a squirt gun. But Dad does. Yeah, and it’s down the exact hallway you’d rather not go down. And who the hell are you talking to?” Peter started slowly down the hallway and turned back to where the small dog had hidden. “Any chance of some back up?” Not so much as a whimper. “Solo mission then,” he said, steeling himself to go down a path he’d traveled at least ten thousand times in virtual reality. The atmosphere, the stink, the feelings of dread all intensified. Each step became a chore, a vastly distasteful chore.

He could hear something tapping in his parents’ bedroom. It was a discordant sound that more than anything had Peter on edge. The door was half open but no light spilled out, and the ambient light from the hallway did little to pierce the darkness beyond.

“This sucks,” Peter said hardly a register above silent. The tapping grew louder and more frantic and then suddenly stopped. The tapping which he had found ominous was light years better than the ensuing quiet. Something stirred in the darkness. Peter involuntarily checked his chest for his trademark hand grenade bandoliers. “Yeah, that’s how most people solve their problems, throw a hand grenade in their parent’s bedroom.” A face materialized out of the gloom, it was familiar yet unrecognizable. His mother looked through Peter with opaque eyes. Blood lined her mouth, entrails emblazoned her night shirt, a jagged strip of flesh was torn from her forehead where dirty white bone shone in the light. If his mother had not slipped on the remains of Dale, Peter would have died that night, frozen in fright. His last thought as he fled from the house was that the tapping noise had been Dale’s toenails hitting the wall in his death throes.

Peter spent the next two days barricaded in his apartment, only occasionally stealing glimpses of the chaotic outside world. Hundreds of zombies had passed by his house, this he could tell by the smell alone. The windows were shut and duct tape sealed every crevice, and still the stench bled through. Gun fire gave him grim hope that not all was lost, but by the end of the second day the frequency of shots was becoming less and less and the smell was getting worse. He was able to do the math in his head on that one. Sleep was infrequent and always ended abruptly when the ruptured skull face of his mother crept in on him.

Seventeen diet 7 Ups, half a bottle of ketchup and something that might have been a corned beef sandwich lined the barren shelves of Pete’s fridge. “Always ate dinner with Mom and Dad,” he choked out. Pete understood the irony of starving to death in his apartment or becoming dinner for the abominations that walked outside. ‘It’s an eat or be eaten world,’ he thought sourly and with no humor.

Three days later and even with strict rationing he was down to one 7 Up. The previous night he had stripped most of the bluish-green mold from the mystery meat sandwich. His stomach had cramped something fierce but it was worth it. The 7 Up and ketchup soup just wasn’t cutting it anymore. He didn’t dare drink any of the tap water until he was sure that wasn’t the agent that had caused this epidemic or whatever it was. Hunger and depression was making him lethargic, and leaving the couch was becoming increasingly difficult.

He was like the frog put in a slowly boiling pot of water; he would never leave this apartment. Starving to death was a slow painful process and was worlds better than the alternative. If not for the smell of smoke that was exactly what would have happened. Fire was the mitigating factor. Pete could think of no worse way to die except for maybe having rats eat his eyeballs while he was strapped to a table, but that was a completely different nightmare. Pete did not want to burn, charred blistering skin peeling back from his hands and face as lava hot smoke burned through his chest, exploding his lungs and torching his throat. The fluid in his eyes would sizzle and explode, his mouth forever pulled back in a smile of death like the victims of Pompeii .

He peeked out the window, the first time in a while he had cared enough to bother. Two streets away, in the general direction of where Susan Payne had lived (the first girl he had ever kissed), the sky was completely enshrouded in thick black smoke. Fine filaments of the sooty substance w ere bleeding through under his door and even around the uneven edges of the duct tape. He momentarily considered throwing up another layer of tape and sticking a towel under the door, but to what end? All that would accomplish would be allowing the fire time to catch up and roast him alive instead of suffocating him to death. Neither way was a savory means to his end.

The fire storm had one benefit, the things that were human once wanted as little to do with the fire as any other living creature. Squirrels, cats, dogs, and what he would come to know as zombies all made hasty retreats in the opposite direction from the impending doom.

“Now or never Pete,” he told himself, taking one last glance over at his parents’ home. He absently wiped a tear away from his eye. The fire had jumped to the street parallel to his own. He could see the flames as they licked the edges of the homes. God had turned his back on man, hell had been unleashed on earth, the proof was now devouring the Almstead house. The fire was a vengeance, a scouring of all that was wrong with the world.

Pete walked slowly through his apartment taking mental images of a home he would never return to, then left with nothing more than the clothes he was wearing. He ran to the driveway to get the white van his father used for his in-town delivery service. He went directly to the back of the van, feeling around the juncture where the bumper met the frame until he found what he was looking for, the spare key. His mother had made Pete’s dad get the magnetic contraption after his dad had called the locksmith for the third time in three months because he had once again locked the keys in the van. Funnier still was that in the twelve months since he had the spare key attached to the bottom of the van, he had never again locked his keys in the car.

Pete adjusted the captain’s chair and turned the ignition over. His heart skipped a beat when he peered into the kitchen window and saw his mother staring back at him. He threw the van into reverse heedless of whatever might be behind him. He nearly took out the privacy fence that encased his parents’ yard. He never took his eyes off that window as he stopped and then placed the car into drive; his mother’s gaze never wavered as her milky white eyes followed his treacherous departure.

CHAPTER THREE – BT

BT watched as Mike rolled down the gravel driveway. Surrounded by people, BT had never felt more alone. He draped his huge arm around Nicole as they walked back up into the house.

Nicole was crying, partly from hormones run amok, mostly from watching her family drive away. “Will we ever see them again BT?” she managed to ask through her sobs.

“We’d better, because I don’t know how long I can survive your aunt’s cooking,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. It worked for a moment, and she silently thanked him for it.

Carol had stayed in the kitchen opting not to watch the departure. BT came over to see how she was doing.

“Was it wrong of me to not see them off?” she asked the big man. She never gave him an opportunity to respond before she started talking again. “It just felt like that would have been too final, do you know what I’m saying?” BT nodded because that was exactly how it felt. He didn’t tell her that it felt that way no matter where you stood. That wouldn’t have helped. Carol then did something unexpected, she turned and gripped him hard in a bear hug, her hands not making it halfway across his broad back. BT was not used to being thrust into the mode of comforting people, not many people looked to a 6’8” 350 pound bear of a man for solace, it just didn’t happen.

“There, there,” he said, patting her back gently. He thought that he had seen this technique once in a movie and it had seemed to work. He looked more like a person who doesn’t like dogs and taps the tops of their heads gingerly, hoping they’ll go away.

Tony Talbot took this opportune time to enter the kitchen. BT wouldn’t swear to it, but Tony and Carol had seemed to hit it off. Maybe not romantically, not yet anyway, but there was something to be said about being around someone your own age. They had an uncanny ability to ease the mind of the other, shared experiences possibly or maybe even shared worries, didn’t matter. Whatever it was they each found peace in the contact. BT was grateful when Carol broke the hug and acknowledged Tony’s entrance.

BT left the kitchen to go to the living room that overlooked the now empty driveway. Ron, Mike’s older brother, stood looking out as if expecting guests.

“How’s the leg?” Ron asked without turning around.

“Feels better,” BT said aloud. But he thought to himself ‘it hurts a lot’ was only shades better than ‘hurts like hell,’ or maybe it was the other way around.

“When are you planning on leaving?” Ron asked, now looking directly at the big man.

“A day or two at the most.”

“How are you planning on following him?”

“Just follow in the wake of destruction, it’s usually pretty cut and dried with Mike. He doesn’t leave much to chance when he goes somewhere.” “A shortwave radio transceiver might make your life a little easier.”

“How many of those things do you have?”

“Five, I bought three and convinced the store owner to throw in two for free. Didn’t think I was actually going to need all of them but it’s nice to be prepared.” “You sound like Mike, or does he sound like you?” BT asked with a grin.

Ron laughed. “Let’s get you some supplies.”

BT followed slowly behind Ron as they descended into the basement. Ron entered into a room that housed the water heater and furnace. Behind those fixtures was another door. Ron opened that and flipped on a light switch.

BT could not believe what he was seeing. It was a huge room that dwarfed the size of the house it sat under. Metal shelves were lined with canned goods, bags of rice, coffee, flour, sugar, fuel, candles and every other imaginable necessity that people waiting out Armageddon might or might not need.

“Ron, this is like having your own Wal-Mart.”

Ron beamed. “Took me twenty years to gather all this stuff, so who do you think sounds like who now?” “I’d bow to the King of the Crazies if it didn’t hurt so much.”

“That’s alright, I appreciate the sentiment. And I’ve got something that will fix you right up.” for that.” “You truly are a scholar and a gentleman.”

CHAPTER FOUR – Talbot Journal Entry 4

We stopped that first night off of the Mass Pike at a rest stop. The combo Dunkin’ Donuts, Mobil Gas Station and Papa Gino’s had long ago been ransacked but the building itself was in remarkably good shape and easily defendable, two sought after qualities in this brave new world. I had everyone exit the truck and pulled it up so close to the front door only an anorexic zombie would be able to fit through, and I had yet to find one that fit that bill. Gary grabbed the radio out of the back and set it up on one of the red and white checkered pizza joint tables.

“Is it time yet?” Gary asked.

“He said he would keep it on all the time, so I would imagine any time would be fine,” Tracy answered.

“Breaker one nine, breaker one nine,” Gary started. “This is Hammer of the Gods, breaker one nine, Hammer of the Gods over.” “Hammer of the Gods?” my wife mouthed the question to me. All I could do was shrug my shoulders.

“Can you hear me Mount Olympus ? This is Hammer, over?” Gary asked.

An out of breath response came through almost as clear as if we were next door and not two states away. “I thought you were kidding about those call signs,” Ron said.

Gary seemed instantly relieved when Ron spoke. It was a connection to normalcy, or at least the Talbot version of it. “ Mount Olympus , this is Hammer, the Chariot of Fire has suffered some damage.” “Chariot of Fire? Gary, speak English. Wait, the truck! What happened to the truck? Get Mike on the horn!” Ron yelled.

I was backing up, my arms outstretched, hands waving back and forth in the negative. “Tell him I’m not here,” I told Gary .

“I can hear you, you little pecker, get on the mic!” Ron said from three hundred miles away.

“Balls!” I said resignedly. “You and me are going to talk, Gary ,” I said softly but with force.

Gary looked taken aback but there was also something else there, something underlying and subtle; it was humor. The ass was loving it. ‘That’s fine,’ I thought to myself, ‘revenge is a two lane highway, and we still had plenty of roadway left before this dance is over.’

“Yeah Ron, this is Mike,” I said with forced cheerfulness.

I had to step back from the speaker as Ron’s yells bellowed forth. “That truck is brand effen new, you’ve been gone for one day. What the hell could you possibly have hit? There’s not even anybody out there.” “Well, there was this moose…” I started.

“You hit a freaking moose? What were you doing, did you take the damn thing off-road?” “See, it’s more like the moose hit us.”

“Forget it!” Ron yelled. I could picture him throwing his hands up in the air the way my mom had so many times before when I was a kid and trouble had somehow found me and then followed me all the way home, and sometimes even inside. “Is everyone alright?” he asked, finally getting down to the important matters.

“Don’t you think that should have been your first question?” I taunted.

“Don’t try me little brother.”

“A little shaken up but no worse for the wear, you’re going to lose your security deposit though.” I could hear him groan. “That’s fine,” he said grudgingly. I could tell he was struggling within himself to not go ballistic and from this distance it was funny, any closer and not so much. “What are your plans for the night?” he continued.

We had decided before we left that we would check in at least once a day, preferably at the same time, and that I would let him know where we were at and what we planned on doing the next day. There was an innate comfort in somebody knowing where you were at all times. It wasn’t like he could send in the cavalry to rescue us, but maybe, eventually, he would be able to find what remained of us and give us a proper burial, provided of course there were any remains to be found.

“We’re off the Mass Pike, mile marker 70, holing up for the night in a rest stop. Then we’re going to go a little further west tomorrow into Pennsylvania and maybe south depending on if I get any hunches.” “Mike, for the fiftieth time, is this what you want to be doing? The U.S. is huge, how are you going to find one woman?” “No, this isn’t what I want to be doing,” I answered a little snappishly.

“You know what I mean.”

“Ron, I don’t know how it will happen, but it will. I will find her and I will kill her.” I was much more confident about the finding part than I was the killing, but this I would keep to myself.

“Alright little brother, you guys have a good night and stay safe. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. And one more thing.” “Yeah…?” I said hesitatingly.

“You mess my truck up any more and you’re going to need Eliza to protect your ass from me .” I wanted to tell him just to get another one, what was the big deal. I decided that discretion was the better part of valor and instead said, “Hey bro, don’t want to waste any more battery, over and out.” “Wait you litt....” I took this opportune time to shut the transceiver down.

Gary was about ten feet away, his face split with a shit eating grin.

“Not cool man,” I said, pointing my finger at him. I might have done something more than threaten him but just then the sound of metal scraping on metal caught all of our attention. The sounds of multiple firearms being readied dominated the landscape for the next four seconds. Travis was coming up behind me, shotgun at the ready. I put my hand on his shoulder as he drew up alongside. I pointed to my eyes and then motioned for him to watch our backs. The building, which I felt had been an ideal resting spot just moments earlier, now seemed more like a trap. We were in the dining area in the middle where long gone customers used to sit and try to digest all the processed food they bought at the gas station store on our left or at the pizza counter in front of us. The Dunkin’ Donuts had never opened the fateful day the zombies came, either that or the last employee to ever work there had had the foresight to close shop and run. That heavy gauge metal screen had been pulled down in front of the counter. You know the kind, you can fit your fingers through and almost reach the plastic mugs. What the hell you’re going to do with it once you get it in your grasp is beyond me, they won’t fit through the gaps, not that I had tried… lately.

No other sound emanated from the gas station store, but I still brought my gun up out of an abundance of caution. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Tracy tense up. Gary for all his comedic endeavors was now all business. He came up beside me as we advanced on the store. Justin went up to the front doors and peered out. I stole a glance towards him. His thumbs up assured me that our one avenue for escape was still clear.

“One chance,” Gary said loudly, startling the hell out of me.

I hated giving potential enemies any sort of heads up. Maybe that was how they had done it when Gary was in the Air Force. Marines? What can I say, we don’t fight fair, we fight to win.

“Did you hear me?” Gary asked again. “I said one chance .” “Dude,” I said impatiently. “You already gave them their one shot, enough already.”

“We’re coming in!” he added just for good measure.

I stopped and let my gun slack down. “Really? Are you kidding me? Should I get some flyers printed up, with our arrival date and time?” “Well I don’t think that’s necessary,” Gary answered.

“Don’t shoot!” came from the far corner and of course the dimmest lit section of the store.

We both swung our guns and trained them on that spot, advancing even slower.

“Don’t move,” came from our immediate right.

“Text book,” I said quietly.

“What?” Gary asked.

“We just walked into a trap.”

Why Gary looked down at his feet I don’t know, maybe he was looking for a tripwire.

“Not that kind,” I told him.

“Put your guns down,” came the voice from the corner.

Like gasoline to a fire Travis came running up to the store entrance. “Drop that fucking gun!” he yelled.

“No swearing!” Tracy said reflexively from the food court.

I could hear the metallic sound of the action being moved on the pistol that was aimed at my right side. I started going through the laundry list of vital organs exposed to that potential shot, any of them being damaged was not something I wanted to deal with today.

“Hold up!” I yelled. “I’m putting my gun down. Travis, do not do anything.”

“Dad, it’s just a girl,” Travis said. I don’t know if he meant he could take her down quickly or ‘it’s just a girl and what the hell do I do?’

“How big is the gun?” I asked evenly as I bent over very slowly to place my rifle on the floor.

“Fucken huge,” he said with some awe.

“No swearing!” Tracy said again.

“Angel, you alright?” the voice from the corner asked.

I couldn’t believe it. The girl apparently holding a rhino killing pistol started to giggle. “I’m alright Eyean. But he looks scared.” And then she started to giggle again.

I had placed my rifle on the floor and stolen a glance at my captor as I stood back up. She stuck her tongue out at me when she realized I was looking at her. A six year old girl holding a .44 magnum had gotten the drop on me. “Wonderful,” I said in self-disgust.

She put on her meanest face, probably the one reserved for when she found out that the Hannah Montana episode on that night was a repeat. However, it was no joke when she motioned with the gun for me to put my hands over my head. Gary had already put his gun down and was lying prostrate on the floor.

“Dad?” Travis asked.

“Put the gun down. I’d rather get shot than ever shoot a little girl.” Visions of a Wal-Mart loading bay blazed across my memories. “Again,” I added.

“Eyean, all their guns are down,” Angel said, putting her hand over her mouth to stifle another giggle.

“Eyean, why would you send this girl out here to do this?” I was enraged.

“It’s Ryan, she’s never been good with the ‘R’,” a skinny kid maybe 15 or 16 years old said as he came out from behind a NASCAR display. “She was in the bathroom when we heard you come in. I told her to stay there.” “Any chance we could convince her to put that gun down before anyone gets hurt? And considering I’m the only one under aim at the moment, it would most likely be me.” “Mister, I’m sorry,” Ryan said. “But we don’t know you at all.”

“Stranger danger!” Angel said excitedly.

“Wonderful, so now what?” I asked.

Ryan didn’t seem so prepared to answer that question.

Tracy came up cautiously to the front of the store. “Why she’s just a little girl Talbot, what’s the matter, did she trap the big brave men?” she asked condescendingly, laced with a bit of humor. I don’t know how she pulled it off. It was magnificent and it also had the added bonus of diffusing a potentially bad situation.

“Hi pretty lady,” Angel said, waving the hand that was not holding the magnum. How the hell such a little girl was keeping that cannon trained directly on me I don’t friggen know.

“Hi, Angel is it?” Tracy said, getting a little lower to be on eye level with the Bonnie (of Bonnie and Clyde fame) wannabe. That might seem harsh to you but I was the one being held at gunpoint. Give it a whirl sometime and let me know what you think of it.

“Yes,” the girl answered coquettishly, lightly kicking her left foot forward.

“You’re very pretty Angel,” Tracy said softly.

“Thank you pretty lady,” Angel answered. This would have been an awesome Disney flick if that cold steel huge caliber weapon wasn’t pointed at me.

“It’s Tracy,” Tracy answered.

“My mom’s name was Alicia,” Angel answered back.

We all noted the key word ‘was.’

“Oh honey,” Tracy said, standing back up. As she walked forward she opened her arms wide.

Angel didn’t give a crap about me as her gun clattered to the floor and she ran into Tracy ’s outstretched arms. I was thankful it didn’t go off, especially considering the first action of the dual action revolver had already been engaged. When I walked over to retrieve the weapon I increased my embarrassment level exponentially. I opened the revolver only to realize that she had no bullets.

“What now mister?” Ryan asked, cautiously watching his sister as she sobbed heavily into Tracy ’s chest.

“Nothing, come on out.” I looked down. Gary hadn’t moved. “Umm, you can get up now brother.” “All clear?” he asked.

“You could say that,” I answered, showing him the empty revolver.

“Oh, I knew that all along,” he said seriously.

I couldn’t tell if he was being truthful or just trying to save face. Ryan stepped hesitantly up to where we were.

“You’re fine, kid, we probably don’t fit the definition of Good Guys but we sure as hell aren’t the bad ones.” He seemed to relax a bit, especially when he saw how Angel had taken to Tracy .

“Can we come out Ryan?” another voice from the shadows asked.

I grabbed my rifle and slung it over my shoulder.

“Can they mister?” Ryan asked warily.

“It’s Mike and yes, this is your place, we’re the ones intruding.” I could tell Ryan was feeling more comfortable, not completely trusting yet but not fearful either.

“It’s alright guys,” Ryan said.

Three more kids came out from behind the end aisle cap. They were all roughly the same age as Ryan. One was a little taller and looked to be suffering greatly from their gas station food diet. Drakes Cakes were playing hell on his acne. I hadn’t noticed before but Ryan, Angel and the other three castaways were filthy, they looked like orphans from 18th century France . Apparently 21st century America wasn’t as far removed from those troubled times as we had hoped to believe.

“How many more of you are there?” I asked Ryan.

“This is it,” he said with downcast eyes. “Benny and Chirp went home when the end started and they haven’t been back. Dizz and me,” he said, pointing to the aforementioned face-pocked tall kid. “We went to look for them a couple of weeks ago and maybe see what happened to our parents,” he added softly. Angel had finally unburied her face from Tracy ’s chest and was listening intently.

“How far away do you live from here?” I asked.

“Not very, from the back of this rest area you go through the fence, a small woods and then we’re about two streets away. “Half mile maybe?” he asked his friends, looking for validation.

One of the dirtier kids (who was aptly named Sty) just shrugged his shoulders. “Guess so,” he answered in that typical dripping with contempt teenager way.

“What were you guys doing out here?” I asked, just to change the subject. He had lost at least two friends and his parents and probably didn’t want to rehash that again.

“We were sledding, there’s an awesome hill right at the fence,” Ryan said with a ghost of a smile on his face.

“And this store used to have the best chocolate milk,” Dizz added a little melancholy .

“I drank the last one,” Angel said. “Dizz gave it to me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dizz said, a little embarrassed.

“Our mom was going to get her hair done,” Ryan said. “She told me I had to take Ang with us if I wanted to go out.” “Daddy wasn’t feeling good, he was cranky and had gone to sleep,” Angel added for good measure.

My immediate thought was that he had been infected. Ryan must have been able to see the wheels spinning in my head, he nodded in assertion to my unspoken words.

“I had just come back up the slope and was waiting for my turn when I heard a bunch of horns and some skidding,” Ryan said.

“And then a lot of crashy noises,” Angel said, placing her hands over her ears as if it was happening now.

“Zombies just started walking out into the roadway. I mean, we didn’t know they were zombies then. It was horrible, trucks and cars were just plowing into them or crashing into the guardrail or each other trying to avoid them. But that wasn’t the worst part.” “Don’t Eyean,” Angel begged, trying to bury her head and her thoughts deep down.

“Well anyway,” Ryan started back up, leaving out the gorier details for the sake of his sister, and I guess for all of us actually. “We watched, we just couldn’t believe what was happening.” Angel groaned. “Customers and people that worked here they all left, I mean in a hurry, and the zombies pretty much followed them. I know it was wrong but we,” and he made sure to point at all of the guilty parties. “We just had to come in and take a look.” An untended store as a teenager, that’s a no-brainer. I would have ransacked the hell out of the place. It’s in my nature.

Ryan looked at me to see if I was holding judgment over his actions. “I would have done the same thing,” I told him, and he seemed relieved. Now to clarify, just because I would have done it definitely didn’t make it right, but I decided to not tell him that.

“We were still in here messing around,” he continued.

“And eating stuff,” Dizz added.

Ryan looked over at him crossly. “And yeah, I guess, eating some stuff.”

“A lot of stuff,” Angel said with a big grin.

“I get it, you ate a bunch of stuff,” I said.

“A bunch,” Angel agreed. “And then the army men came.”

“Yeah, they were using huge trucks with plows to push all the cars out of the way,” Dizz said.

“We thought they were coming for us,” Ryan said.

“Yeah, it’s a Capital Offense to steal a Slim Jim,” I said sardonically.

Angel started crying. “Nice one Talbot,” Tracy said, trying to comfort the girl.

“I was just kidding Angel,” I said, trying to placate her. “And how do you know what capital offense means?” “So we were scared,” Ryan continued. “We hid until they had gone by, it was completely dark by then and the power was out. Couldn’t see anything here because there was only a little bit of moonlight. We heard some wicked fighting down the road.” “Guns, grenades, missiles, everything,” Dizz said in fond remembrance. “The sky was pretty bright because of it.” “And smoky,” Angel interjected.

“Yeah, definitely smoky,” her big brother said.

I was going to ask them why they hadn’t gone home at that point. But this wasn’t a difficult puzzle to piece together. The power was out everywhere, no fun being out and about when you can’t even see your hand in front of your face, much less whether zombies are after you. I wouldn’t have taken that chance either.

Ryan continued his narrative. “The next day, early on, we saw some army guys heading back the way they had come and then nothing. No cars, no fighting, nothing. Benny and Chirp said it was time to go.” Ryan looked down at his feet. “Mister, I was scared, for… for my sister.” ‘Nice recovery,’ I thought. Can’t ever show weakness in front of your friends, especially not your friends.

“We had been safe in the store the night before, there was no way of telling what was happening outside. They called me chicken but promised they would send help back.” “That was a long time ago,” Angel added softly.

“And have you tried to go home since then?” Tracy asked, her arm still wrapped protectively around Angel.

“Me and Dizz went down the hill and to the edge of the woods a few weeks ago, but all we saw were zombies. I’m pretty sure we could have made it to either of our houses, but I didn’t want to know by that point. My mom knew where we had gone, if she was…” He paused as Angel looked at him. “Um, well, she would have got us if she could, that’s all I meant.” “And you haven’t had any zombies come here?” I asked incredulously.

“Early on there were a few outside, but none ever tried to get in. And then they just started leaving like they were being called or something.” Chills ran up my spine.

“What now?” I asked Ryan.

“Don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“What do you mean Talbot? We can’t just leave them here!” Tracy said hotly.

“You think taking them with us is the wisest choice?” I said, matching her tone. “You know where we are going, right? Into the damn teeth of the enemy!” Tracy flinched at my outburst. “I think that they’re light years safer here than with us!” Angel started crying. “You’re an asshole Talbot!” Tracy said as she turned and walked away.

“Whatever, I’ve been called worse by better!”

“Dick,” she added, flipping me the bird over her shoulder.

“Geez mister, you sure do have a way with the ladies,” Sty said in wry admiration.

Ryan looked dejected that we weren’t the cavalry. “I’m sorry kid,” I told him. “You do not want to go where we are going.” “The Summoner?” he asked apprehensively.

I involuntarily staggered back a step as if he had given me a physical blow. “How… how could you know?” “She keeps showing up in my dreams,”

“Yeah. Ryan’s kind of psychic,” Dizz said half-jokingly and half with awe.

“Psychic?” I asked Ryan. “Anything else you could tell me?”

“Yeah,” he said solemnly. “You shouldn’t follow her.”

CHAPTER FIVE – BT and Meredith

“I’m going with you,” Meredith, Ron’s second oldest told BT as he placed some ammo cans in the back of the SUV.

BT stood up, towering over the girl. “I’m more the solo type,” he told her sternly.

“Oh, you’re all lone wolf and shit?” she said sarcastically.

“I am a giant man. I know this, so why are all you Talbots not afraid of me?”

“What time are we leaving?” she asked, not in the least nonplussed.

“Your father isn’t going to let you go.”

“I’m 23, I’m pretty sure I can make my own decisions,” she said, poking a finger at his sternum.

“Wonderful, looking forward to the company,” BT said without much conviction.

BT would have left hours earlier if not for the fight that raged in the Talbot household. Meredith had made her decision known and Ron had snapped.

“I am 23 years old, Dad. I am by all conventional methods of societal acknowledgement an adult.” “Don’t go pulling that psycho-babble mumbo jumbo you learned in college, that I paid for by the way, on me. This isn’t telling me that you’re going to Paris for the summer. It’s war out there, Meredith, people are dying!” Ron yelled.

“Yeah and Uncle Mike is going to try and do something about it!” she yelled back. “And I want to be part of it!” “I understand wanting to be a part of something bigger than yourself, I really do,” he said, taking it down a few notches, going with the reasoning approach. “But getting yourself killed is not a solution to the problem.” “Is that what you think is going to happen with Uncle Mike?” Meredith asked. Ron’s ensuing silence answered her. “Then he definitely needs my help.” Ron could only shake his head. BT stood at the doorway to the living room as Meredith passed by.

Ron turned to BT, eyes red rimmed with worry.

“I will not let anything happen to her,” BT said. “I promise you.”

Ron nodded once, emotions choking his thoughts. Words would have pooled with tears if he had tried to speak.

Ten minutes later the SUV was packed and ready to go. Meredith climbed into the driver’s seat before BT could protest.

“You remember to call me every night. Do you understand?” Ron asked leaning into the driver’s side window.

“We will, Dad,” Meredith answered impatiently.

“BT?”

“Yes Dad,” BT answered.

“Two smart asses, fantastic,” Ron said as he stood back up.

“You’re letting her go?” Nancy, Ron’s wife asked incredulously.

“I tried to stop her, I did. You know how strong-willed she is.”

Nancy could only nod. Even from an early age Meredith had been an independent soul. Nancy had never won an argument with her daughter, but they had from time to time come to a mutual agreement that they would stop fighting. Nancy placed her head on Ron’s shoulder as she watched her daughter prepare to leave.

Meredith waved to her assembled family and placed the truck in gear. She looked over to BT and kept staring.

“What?” BT asked.

“Seatbelt.”

“What about it?”

“I’m not going anywhere until you put yours on,” she said stubbornly.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

BT stared at her long and hard. When he realized intimidation wasn’t going to work, he reached behind him and grabbed the buckle. He pulled it across his chest and down towards the locking mechanism; it came up 4” short of its goal. “Can’t,” he said triumphantly.

“Suck your gut in,” Meredith told him.

“I’m not forcing this thing, it’ll cut off my circulation!”

“Then you might as well get out now.”

“Something wrong honey?” Nancy asked.

“Yeah, apparently someone liked home cooking a little bit more than they should have, Mom!” Meredith yelled back.

“Fine!” BT said, driving the buckle into the lock.

“You look like you’re wearing dental floss,” Meredith chuckled. “Don’t you feel safer now?” “Just drive,” BT said through gritted teeth.

“You’re no fun,” Meredith said as she took her foot off the brake. She could not help but feel that they were the cavalry and they would get there in the nick of time. She hoped h istory would prove she was right.

Eliza and Tomas - Interlude

Tommy sat alone in the dark. The room was preternaturally cold; the radiator he was chained to gave forth no heat. Blood and snot intermingled on his top lip, pooling before running into his mouth. The thick liquid did little to quench his insatiable thirst. Fear pressed in from every angle, insidiously worming its way into every exposed crevice in his unnaturally strong mental armor.

“Hello Tomas,” a dark voice issued forth from a darker recess in the room.

He knew he was slipping, he had not even noticed when his sister had entered the room. Tomas had stopped pleading with her days ago when he realized the entity that looked like his sister carried none of her legacy traits.

“It is time,” Eliza told him.

“God is mad, Lizzie,” Tommy sputtered.

When Eliza laughed, a cruel thin metallic sound issued forth. Tommy did not fight when she gripped the top of his head and forced it to the side. As she leaned down, Tommy’s screams filled the night.

CHAPTER SIX – Alex, Paul and Company

“Marta, are you alright?” Alex asked his wife with concern. She had been tossing and turning for hours and now moans of despair where coming from deep within her chest.

“NO I WILL NOT!” She said forcibly, sitting straight up.

“Honey it’s me. Mi amor.”

Eyes wide open, lips pulled back, teeth clenched; terror strained her features. Marta took a half-hearted swipe at Alex before realizing who he was. She stiffened when he hugged her.

“Are you alright?” Alex asked, breaking the embrace to look into her eyes.

Marta’s head sagged down. “My head hurts Alex,” she said, rubbing her temples.

“Do you want me to get some aspirin Marta?”

“It’s a deeper pain than that Alex, I don’t know how to explain it. I used to have migraines when I was a teenager, those don’t even compare. I feel like something deep in my mind has decided it wants out and it is going to crack my head wide open to do it.” Alex was alarmed. Marta sometimes had a flair for the dramatic but he was not picking that vibe up right now. That she was in immense pain was clearly evident, the whites of her eyes were filled with red lines and he felt powerless to do anything about it. Paul had come up to the doorway of the room the Carbonaras were staying in. The abandoned school that they had sought refuge in had been a perfect fit. Plenty of room and plenty of canned goods in the cafeteria, although there was a reason school food was so horrible, it was of extremely low quality. The words ‘Grade E but edible’ adorned more than one label.

Paul wore a look of concern. Marta’s headaches had become more frequent and more intense. His initial thought was ‘tumor’ but he didn’t think their chances of finding a neurologist were so good.

Much like a migraine, all that seemed to help Marta was extreme dark and extreme quiet. Alex met Paul at the doorway and closed it behind him. Before they had walked more than a pace, Marta’s voice floated out to them and froze them both in place. “The darkness matches the void where her soul should be.” Paul could not contain the shiver that started at the base of his spine and like an insidious spider crawled all the way up to his brain stem, all eight legs caressing his creep factor.

“She does not know what she is talking about,” Alex told Paul, an insincere smile splashed across his face.

Paul thought otherwise.

CHAPTER SEVEN – Talbot Journal Entry 5

“Honey I’m sorry,” I told Tracy for the fifth time. Dammit, I hate groveling, well maybe I actually love it, I put myself in enough of these situations where it’s my only avenue of escape. “Hon, look at me. I feel for these kids, I really do, that’s why I don’t want to take them with us.” Tracy did finally look at me. “You’re right.”

She could have punched me square in the gut and not gotten the same effect. We had been married twenty something years and I could count on one finger how many times she had told me I was right. “Wait, what? Could you maybe say that again?” “Don’t push it Mike,” she snapped.

Gary was nodding behind her.

“They need to go to Ron’s,” she said triumphantly.

It was a brilliant idea. Ron would take them in without even blinking. “Hey, which of you guys has a driver’s license?” I asked the three boys hopefully.

“I have a permit,” Dizz answered, obviously feeling self-important.

“Mike, that’s not what I meant. How much have you driven, Dizz?” Tracy asked.

“I pulled out of the driveway once. Clipped the mailbox and then my dad made me get out, he was not happy,” Dizz answered, his inflated importance quickly deflating.

“Dad!” Justin yelled from the front doors.

“Company?” I asked.

He nodded in return.

Gary grabbed his gear and ran to the front. “Fifteen, nope sixteen.” I could see him doing quick calculations in his head. “Scratch that, eighteen, oh where’d that one come from, nineteen. Does a crawler count, because that would make it twenty,” “I get it, there’s a bunch,”

“Yeah, ‘bunch’ will work,” Gary said, staring out the window intently.

“Couple of speeders, mostly deaders though,” Justin clarified.

“Thank God for small favors,” I said resignedly.

“Hi pretty lady. Can I get back in your arms?” Angel asked Tracy .

Tracy reached down and plucked the small child up. “Mike, I am not going to entrust these kids to a kid whose driving experience involves backing up in a driveway.” “Umm, it’s a very long driveway,” Ryan said, trying to help his friend recover some of his lost ego.

“Okay, so his main experience is driving down a very long driveway and into a mailbox,” “That hurts, lady,” Dizz said.

“Twenty-five yards, Dad,” Travis said as he took position next to his brother and uncle.

“We need to take them, Mike,” Tracy told me.

That was the most sound idea, it really was. But I felt like Big Ben was ticking in my head, that elusive concept called time was slipping through my fingers. I, we, could not afford to lose the two days it would take to get them back and then us back on track. ‘Crap ,’ I thought angrily. Leaving these kids here was a death sentence plain and simple. Bringing them forward was a painful death sentence. Bringing them to Ron’s was their only chance.

I loved Tracy for a myriad of reasons. She knew the math I was going through in my head, so she solved the problem for me. “I’ll take them back.” I was elated, I was depressed. The kids would be safe, my beloved would be safe, we would never see each other again. I hugged her just as our defensive gunfire erupted. Twenty zombies, three skilled marksmen, they should be able to make short work of it.

“Alright you guys,” I said, turning to the kids. “Grab all the crap you want to bring with you. We’re getting out of here.” Angel jumped down from Tracy’s arms and into her brother’s arms. “We’re going home Eyean!” she said excitedly.

CHAPTER EIGHT – BT and Meredith (Plus One)

BT and Meredith had not been on the road more than a couple of hours when Meredith looked over towards BT for the fifth time, each time rolling her window down an inch or two more.

BT on as many occasions stole a sideways glance towards Meredith. He grimly did his best to cover his nose discreetly during the more noxious outbursts.

By the sixth time he could not take it. “What did your aunt make you eat? Damn it girl!” “Excuse me?!” she answered indignantly.

“Smells like pickled weasel in here. What the hell did you eat?”

“Me?? I thought that seat belt was so tight it was cutting your large intestine in half and it was leaking.” “So it isn’t you?” BT asked.

“God no! I thought you must be dying!”

“Pull over, I know of only one thing on this planet that could do that.” Meredith pulled over, a look of confusion on her face. BT ripped the belt buckle from its harness, guaranteeing that it would never work again. He opened the door and took heavy intakes of untainted air before opening the back door to look for their stowaway.

“Well son of a bitch. Hi Henry!” BT uttered genially.

Meredith was peering over the seat. “How the hell did he get in there? Should we take him back?” “Naw,” BT said, affectionately rubbing the dog’s proffered belly. “I’ve got a hunch he’s supposed to be here.”

CHAPTER NINE – Talbot Journal Entry 6

Gary, Travis and Justin came in a few minutes later.

“All set?” I asked as I finished packing up the radio.

“Yeah,” Travis said, a little flushed.

Gary responded by turning his head and vomiting into a convenient trash receptacle, and Justin resumed his vigil at the front window.

“Won’t be too long Dad before we get some more company,” Justin said.

“Yup, time has her finger in everybody’s pie,” I responded, my thoughts clouded with worry and anger.

Justin looked at me funny.

“Did I say that out loud?” I went outside, the putrid stink of the dead assailing my nostrils. “Oh yeah, that never gets old,” I said sarcastically. I walked over to the gas pumps looking over the abandoned cars. The third one I looked at was perfect, mainly for the reasons that the keys were hanging in the ignition and the tank was mostly full.

I had thought foolishly a few months ago that the parting with Paul and Alex was bad. That was topped tenfold when I left the East Coast Talbots, but that paled in comparison to what I was feeling now. I am not a perfect man, I do not claim to be. I am rife with shortcomings and my own sets of insecurities, but somehow Tracy has always been able to bring my better qualities to the fore. For twenty-three years she has been the vital piece that allows me to function correctly in a dysfunctional society. We were parting as cleanly as a rock breaks under the assault of a sledge hammer. There would be, there could be no reunion , we were now two separate parts..

“Mike, you come back to me,” she said, grabbing the front of my jacket. I couldn’t look her in the eyes, mine were rimmed with tears. “Mike, you bring my boys back,” she said, softly beginning to sob. I met her eyes and she saw the truth. She let go of my jacket and stepped back, an inaudible gasp flowing past her clenched mouth.

“Mike you have to promise me!” she said, raising her voice.

“I can’t Tracy, it would be an empty one. I will not let my last words to you be a lie.” “Stop! You will promise me! Or I won’t go!”

I looked at her and over towards the kids who were waiting expectantly. Would a lie be so bad if it saved six others? “ Tracy , please.” I wanted her to let me off the hook.

“Listen Talbot, you stubborn bastard. I do not want an empty promise. I want a promise that you will not break. I have known you long enough to know that you would rather go to hell, come back, and maybe revisit one more time before you would break your damn word. That is what I want from you, not this death march mentality I see in your eyes.” I looked away marshaling my reserves. The best part of me was leaving and she wanted me to be a better man than I was. “How?” I said so softly Tracy did not hear.

“I’m waiting,” she said, arms crossed, foot getting ready to start tapping.

“Dad,” Justin said. “Multiples coming.” Just the way in which he said it implied that this was a major battle about to take place. Saved by zombies, again! I was going to have to send them a Thank You card.

I started to turn to judge the new threat. Tracy grabbed my arm. “Don’t even think about it.” I coalesced the scared little boy inside of me. I drew on all the best parts of me that Tracy saw. I reached down, figuratively not literally, and grabbed my balls. “I promise you, I will do all that is within my power to bring all of us home,” I told her with conviction.

She stepped in and pulled me close; we kissed. No further words were needed.

“Um, Mike we gotta go,” Gary said as he stepped away from the window.

Tracy quickly told Justin and Travis how much she loved them and that they needed to watch out for each other and especially their dad.

I walked over to a darkened corner. Crying was a solitary endeavor for me; I did not want an audience. Gary grabbed some gear off the table and walked over my way.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

I quickly rubbed away the incriminating evidence from my cheeks. “Do I look like I want to talk about it?” I told him without looking to face him.

“Well I don’t know, that’s why I asked, and you didn’t turn around, so how would I know?” “It’s a good thing you know how to shoot,” I said as I brushed by him.

“What’s that mean?” he asked as he struggled to catch up to my quick pace.

Speeders were bearing down, we had half a minute tops to get out of here. After that it would take a major gun battle and a shitload of ammo I didn’t want to waste on these flunkies. No, this ammo was being especially saved for the queen bee and her minions.

Travis let fly some well-aimed lead. The closest zombie’s forward momentum brought his headless body skidding to a halt. Travis’ next shot ripped an arm from the elbow down clean off its victim. The zombie did not slow a beat as thick half congealed blood dropped in fat globules from the wound.

Tracy hopped into her new Subaru hatchback after she made sure all the kids were in and secure. She gave me one long look and mouthed words to me which were unmistakable. “You promised.” Gary, Justin, Travis and I set up a small firing line to give Tracy some safe clearance from our pursuers. Legs crumpled, heads disintegrated, blood arced, and still they came. Injuries that should have sent our attackers shrieking into the night had absolutely no effect to the throng. They trampled over their fallen without pause or hesitation, their need to feed far surpassing any other feeling they might possess. But something was happening here, wasn’t it? The mere fact that they hunted together implied some sort of cohesion, a hive mentality maybe? Could these ones also be under Eliza’s control? How far did her powers extend?

These were all higher functioning questions that I ran through as I took a breath, aimed, fired, reacquired, took a breath, aimed, fired.

“I can do this all day motherfuckers!!” I screamed. They didn’t care.

Travis and Gary were running to the far side of the truck as Justin tugged on my sleeve.

“Dad, time for a hasty retreat!” Justin yelled over my death dealing cycle.

I dropped two more before I let my self-preservation kick in. Tracy hadn’t been gone more than three minutes and I had almost broken my promise. Yeah, this was starting off just the way I wanted it to.

‘I miss you my love, but not as much as I will,’ I thought.

CHAPTER TEN – Tracy

“Pretty lady. Why are you crying? My mom says crying makes your asscarrots run,” Angel said.

Tracy could only look at the small child in confusion.

“Angie, no swearing!” Ryan berated her from the back seat.

“What?” Angel asked indignantly. “I only told the pretty lady her asscarrots would run! I did not say a bad word!” Tracy understood now. “Did you mean mascara? My mascara would run?” Angel nodded as if this is what she had said all along, then she turned around to stick her tongue out at her brother.

“Thank you sweetie. I needed that,” Tracy said. “I was crying because I miss my family.” “Like I miss my mommy and daddy?” Angel asked.

“Just like that,” Tracy answered her.

“Oh. I don’t like that feeling,” Angel told her matter-of-factly.

“Me neither, sweetie.”

“Will you ever see them again like I will see my mommy and daddy again?”

Tracy wanted to tell Angel that absolutely NOT like that. If Angel’s parents were still alive there was a good chance they had been participants in the mob of zombies that had been attacking the rest stop. Tracy was glad they got out of there when they did. She had been fearful that they might have spotted people that the kids had known.

Tracy was vague but Angel only heard the words she wanted to hear. “Someday sweetie, we will all be reunited with the ones we love.” Angel might have missed the subtleness but it was not lost on Ryan. He knew what Mrs. Talbot was trying to avoid saying but wisely thought better of calling her on it. ‘I guess this is what it means to grow up,’ he thought to himself sourly.

The hours droned on as Tracy drove, deep in her own thoughts. The boys occasionally horsed around in the back seat but it was more of a remembered activity, something they were supposed to do as opposed to wanting to do. They were seeking ways to strive for normalcy in a screw ed up world.

It was Dizz who said something first, although Tracy had seen it a few seconds earlier.

“Is that a car?” Dizz asked, leaning over the front seat.

Tracy’s heartbeat had accelerated. Absolutely no good came from dealing with zombies, and the odds were near to that bad when dealing with humans, post-apocalyptically speaking. And even a lot of times beforehand now that she thought about it.

“Angel, you scoot down under the dashboard. Boys, I want you to sit up and puff yourselves up. You need to look as big as possible.” Angel didn’t argue, she quickly picked up on Tracy’s trepidation. Dizz and Sty were a little slow on the uptake.

“What’s going on?” Sty asked. He was nervous and now he didn’t know why.

“Just do it!” Ryan said, folding his legs under his butt to gain some height.

Tracy wanted to laugh when she looked in the rear view mirror and saw that Ryan was turning varying shades of red as he took in large breaths of air in an attempt to gain bulk. She wanted to tell him to stop before he hurt himself but he was trying and for that she silently thanked him.

The cars were on opposite sides of the highway, hurtling towards each other. Tracy kept her eyes locked forward, not daring to glance over and possibly let them see any signs of weakness.

Dizzy had no such compunction. “Oh my God!” Dizzy said, fear twanging his voice two octaves higher, which immediately had the added effect of de-pubertizing him.

“What?” Tracy asked. She could only picture the worst. Red Neck Number One was alive, jaw-less and seeking revenge. Or it was Eliza herself come to finish them off personally. “Fine!” Tracy steeled herself. “I’ll finish the bitch off myself.” The words flowed out easier than she would have imagined. Now if she could only infuse some belief into her words she’d be all set.

“I just saw…” Dizz started.

“A man with no jaw?” Tracy finished.

“Ooooh gross,” Angel said from under the dashboard. “How does he eat licorice?”

In spite of her fear Tracy still managed a grin at that statement.

“A man with no jaw? No, and I agree with Angie, that is gross,” Dizz said.

“What did you see?” Tracy asked as she saw red brake lights flare to life in her side view mirror.

“I just saw the biggest man I have ever seen in my life!” Dizz said with amazement.

“What color was he?” Tracy asked. Durgan might be under control to not kill Mike, but she didn’t think that extended to the rest of his family or whoever else he might run across.

“What?” Dizz asked. “Oh. He was black.”

“You’re sure, Dizz?” Tracy asked.

“Positive, and the driver was a white girl. So what?” Dizz asked.

“Can I get out from under here? It smells like feet,” Angel giggled.

“Yeah, come on up here sweetie and get your seatbelt back on,” Tracy said as she took the Subaru over the grassy median.