'Til Death Do Us Part

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Mike Journal Entry 20

I was shattered.

I felt like a mirror image of Humpty Dumpty, so when I fell, my eggshell and my reflection were destroyed. I felt arms around me, I could hear bedlam, men were screaming, shots were being fired and I was slowly rising to consciousness. I was in the arms of the trucker Kong who was rushing to get me to a rig. I could see zombies running towards us as we ran, or at least he ran. BT was cradled in Tommy’s hands, parts of BT did not look to be moving, but I was having great difficulty focusing on anything as we bobbed.

I came up from the depths of unconsciousness, a killer headache worthy of a twelve-pack of cheap beer hangover thrumming through my temples. I saw Tracy and Azile in the sleeper behind me, they seemed to be constructing a makeshift sling for BT. Tommy had put my seat belt on as I kept finding myself pooling on the floor of the cab.

“Fucking zombies, now we’ll show them!” Kong laughed as he pulled on his horn. Even the deep throated bass of his truck horn could do little more for me than allow me to make the pitchfork sign of rockers everywhere.

The truck bounced around as Kong did his best to make zombies an integral part of the roadway system. With the passing of Eliza, her vials and the safety they offered were removed. Truckers that were slow to recognize this often found themselves under the assault of multiple zombies. The zombies that had been single-mindedly attacking Ron’s house relentlessly now pulled back when they saw no signs of food. Speeders and bulkers attacked the retreating truckers ferociously.

As I slowly came back to the world of air breathers, I got the sense that the only thing keeping the rest of the men from bolting was Kong and his threats of retribution if they ran.

The man was nuts, probably more so than me. The trucks were making short work of the zombies that dared come out, but they weren’t quite as clueless as we hoped, more and more of them would wait by the edges of the road where the trucks could not get and would only attack when the truck had to slow down and turn around or open the windows to fire rounds. I witnessed at least one trucker get pulled from his truck, I would have sworn that the zombie pulled the door handle, yet I was holding out hope that my oxygen starved mind had maybe missed a detail or two. I still locked my door though.

“Shit,” Kong said as he pulled his pistol in. “Out of rounds. I miss my wife,” he said to no one in particular. “Do you think she still loves me?” he turned to asked Tracy. “I’ve done some things.” Whether looking for forgiveness from my wife or a higher power I didn’t know. “There’s a duffel bag in the compartment over your head could you get that for me?”

With some effort she handed it past Tommy. Kong put the bag on his lap with a loud clang, he unzipped it, metal shone as he did so.

“Big ComiCon fan are you?” I asked him as I looked down at a satchel of swords and large knives.

“This isn’t that reproduction shit, this stuff is real,” Kong said, digging around through the contents.

“What are you going to do with them?” I had an idea I just didn’t want to be right.

“I should’ve been a better man. When others around me were weak, I succumbed. Instead of helping, I made things worse…in most cases much worse. Well today that changes, today I go out a better man, hoping that God and my wife can find it in their hearts to...”

He didn’t finish as he opened his door, a large two-handed broad sword slashing back and forth violently. Blood spray coated the windshield and driver’s side door as he hacked off body parts with no more effort than a band saw would have going through balsa wood. Arms flopped to the ground, heads rolled away. Once or twice I saw him cut down zombies at the knees, but he was tiring and the zombies were just getting started.

“Help him,” Tracy said in alarm.

“He wants to die, is that what you want me to help him do?” I asked her.

“He helped kill Eliza and he saved your life.”

“Are we forgetting the little detail of why he was here to begin with?” I asked.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” she said, making a move to come up front. “In the end he did what was right.”

And the truly fucking scary part is, for a moment, I almost told her ‘go ahead, I won’t stop you’ and would have meant it. I reached over into the bag and grabbed two swords; they were smaller than the behemoth Kong was swinging.

“When the fuck did you become a Ninja?” BT asked as he sat up with a grimace of pain.

“Online correspondence classes,” I told him as I opened my door.

“Be careful,” Tracy threw out there at the last moment.

If you were about to immerse yourself among blood-thirsty zombies armed with only two swords, would you need the caveat to ‘be careful’ added in, or would that just be a given? Would we have needed to start telling electricians working on downed power lines while standing knee deep in flood water to ‘be careful’ or would they just get it?

I hopped down, zombies started to coalesce. I moved away from the truck so that I would have the ability to swing my swords. The steel jumped in my hands as it made bone jarring contact; I now understood the reasoning behind Kong’s heavier instrument of destruction. I felt diminished from Eliza’s death, but I was still stronger than an average man. I was keeping the zombies at bay with a modicum of work. My efforts were for naught as I fought for inches to get over to Kong’s side. I was halfway past the grill of the truck when I heard him fall; it was more of a cry of thanks than pain.

With the smell of blood, the zombies were momentarily pulled away from me. I hacked indiscriminately. Backs flayed open as I severed spinal columns, zombies hunched over as I cut through their powerful back muscles and they lost support. I almost dropped my swords when the powerful blatting of the truck horn sounded. I looked up to see Tracy frantically pointing behind me. Bulkers were bearing down, a herd of stampeding water buffalo would have been a more welcome sight. I would not make it back to my door, or Kong’s for that matter, not unless I could cut through the swarm that was eating him in time.

I stepped up onto the bumper and onto the hood as the first of the big zombies rocked the rig. I nearly lost my balance until I dropped a sword and reached out to grab a windshield wiper. Bulker hands were reaching up and trying to seek purchase on any part of me so they could drag me down among them.

“Hold tight!” Azile screamed as she took over Kong’s former seat.

Again with the superfluous cautions. I reluctantly let go of my remaining weapon and gripped the lip of the hood. The truck bucked as Azile put it in drive and was trying to pull away from the carnage. A bulker had somehow got up on the bumper and was chewing vigorously through the sole of my boot. My leg was whipping back and forth as the monster shook its mouth trying to get a tasty tidbit free. I repeatedly kicked at its head with my free foot; it couldn’t have cared less as I slammed the side of its head.

My leg pulled free as the bulker ripped the tread of my boot off. I pulled my legs up before he had a chance to start chewing on the bottom of my foot. The bulker didn’t care that my shoe bottom wasn’t food it tore through it and swallowed it as I watched over my shoulder. I turned back to look at the astonished faces of Azile and Tracy.

“It’s climbing up the front isn’t it?” I asked them without daring to look back.

Azile was nodding furiously.

“Shit.”

“Mike, it’s coming!” BT roared.

“Not sure what you’d have me do, BT!” I replied.

“Here goes nothing,” Azile said. At least that’s what the words looked like as she said them softly to Tracy.

I had pulled up my legs so far that I was nearly horizontal to the windshield. I could hear the top of the hood denting in as the bulker approached. The truck picked up speed as Azile cycled through her gears. I wanted to warn her that we were on a dead end, but it goes back to the superfluous, the truck had to be approaching sixty or seventy miles an hour as Azile slammed on the brakes at nearly the same time the bulker gripped around my ankle.

My fingers felt like they were going to snap off. I had them curled under the lip, my weight plus the bulkers and the drag of the braking was causing excruciating pain in my over-worked digits. The bulker had not been able to get as good a grip as I’m sure he would have wanted; the stuttering of the truck jumping and the inertia caused the zombie to slide down the front of the truck. And still the damned zombie nearly killed me as the truck went up and over the being, my entire body, save two fingers rose into the air from the force. Blood gore and half-digested body parts sprayed out from under the truck. I went to a place in my brain that said it was just the world’s largest ketchup packet, sure filled with, blood, bile, body parts and bones—but ketchup nonetheless. Another forty feet or so and we came to a blissful stop.

It would be an hour before I could completely unfurl my fingers and a few days until the dull ache would stop. I got down off the truck and walked to the passenger door with a noticeable limp due to my sole-less boot rather than any injury. Tracy had moved over so that I could get in.

“Thank you, Azile,” I said as I cradled my hurt hands in my lap.

“I’m sorry, Mike. I wasn’t thinking,” Tracy said, gingerly rubbing my purpling digits.

“Is she talking about when she married him?” BT asked Tommy.

“You want some Ben-Gay Mr. T?” Tommy asked.

I could envision me wiping sweat off my brow while they were coated in the pungent concoction. “I’m good, thanks,” I told him.

Zombies were getting scarce as were truckers, word of Kong’s passing was making the rounds among the remaining men and with their leader and the threats removed they were more interested in saving themselves.

“Time to play the Pied Piper,” I told Azile.

She got the rig turned around, and wasn’t going more than five miles per hour, continually honking her horn, zombies fell in step (or got run over, which was just fine) as we drew them away from Ron’s. Thousands had died over the last couple of days and still thousands remained. We had a few hundred with us, some would stay around the house and need to be dealt with, others would go into stasis and need to be dealt with at a later time, but for now the biggest threat to mankind was dead and I for one wouldn’t miss her.

Azile drove over twenty miles away from the house until she picked up the speed to shake our entourage. I gave her an alternate way back to the house so that the zombies wouldn’t merely turn around and come back.

“What now?” Tracy asked as we barreled down Route 1.

“Mop up duty,” I hoped.

As we pulled on to the street before my father’s I was (we were) wholly unprepared for the scene before us. Hundreds if not thousands of zombies had been destroyed under the heavy wheels of tractor trailers. It was beyond putrid, there was nearly a six-inch layer of compressed zombies on the roadway, so thick I didn’t think a snow plow would be able to sludge them off the roadway. Of all the smells I had encountered thus far during this apocalypse, this couldn’t even be measured it was so far over the top.

I could go into gory detail about how much stomach butter was churned in that cab but I’ll spare you the details. The truck at times slid sideways as we road over the crest of carnage, parts on occasion would be thrust out or particularly large blasts of air would pop as a vital organ was compressed past its limit much like those protective bubbles used for mail.

Zombies milled around Ron’s house, unsure what to do now that they were not being directed or there wasn’t a food supply available but that changed quickly when they saw us coming. I had Azile pull up to the wreckage of the first truck that had tried to make it in to the compound.

“Well shit…was kind of hoping they’d be gone. Let’s play Piper again, then I know a back way we’ll have to hoof it in by,” I told everyone. They weren’t listening much because I had just told them we were going to have to drive back over the horrid highway.

“You kind of suck, man,” BT told me.

“Kind of?” Azile asked.

This time she only went about ten miles out. We got maybe another hundred or so of the slimy bastards to follow before we turned back around. I needed to get home, my stomach was cramping with worry, I had seen no signs of life from the house and I had seen some significant damage too. Everything could be fine and they were all hunkering down comfortably in Ron’s prep shelter or...this was an apocalypse and I had to think of all possibilities.

Where I had Azile pull over was a two mile drive on roadways or about three quarters of a mile by crow flight. And that was about the only way someone should do this trek, was by air. There was a small field on this side but as we progressed onto Ron’s land the foliage would become so thick that to get a sight line of more than five feet would be a rare occurrence, and we were now only armed with sharp pointy objects at the moment.

The field was covered in a low lying fog, of course it was, how else would it be. At least it was penetrable, that was of course until we entered the brush which seemed to grasp onto the ethereal mist like a lover to the blankets on a cold night. The five hoped for feet of range was halved, if anything came at us now we wouldn’t have enough time to act surprised. We tried to keep our noise level to a minimum; mostly muttering as clothes were caught or thorns pushed through to rake against skin. The fog dampened noise and we stopped repeatedly to get our bearing and listen to anything else that might be in there with us.

More than once we heard things crashing through the trees, luckily heading away. The only zombie we stumbled across was one that had been run over through its midsection, its middle had been compressed to no thicker than a ream of paper and its spine must have been completely destroyed because it was bent over at the waist it’s head dangling down uselessly by its knees. I felt a tremor of remorse as I cut through the zombie woman’s neck that was at least until her pale blue eyes looked up from the ground at me with an accusatory glare. I pushed the sword into her mouth and flung the head away, that was not a sight that needed to infiltrate anyone else’s dreams.

Ron’s house was a mess. Smoke was issuing forth from his basement, not enough for me to think it was on fire, more like a swirling of dust settling after an explosion. I swear I could hear Tracy’s heart pounding in unison to my own. Zombies were still around, but we had not been noticed as of yet. We moved further down the tree line so that we could see into the basement. That was not going to be a way of egress. I could see multiple bodies of dead bulkers, some wooden beams and nothing more, it was effectively sealed from outside intrusion. That left the deck which, at ten feet, wasn’t insurmountable; but we still had to all get up it before the speeders noticed us and tried to eat us. That also involved getting to the other side of the house because the decking on this side was pretty much destroyed. I did not think that we would be able to cross over the cleared expanse without being seen.

“Okay I’ve got an idea,” I said.

BT and Tracy groaned in unison.

“Mike, I need to see my babies,” Tracy pleaded.

“I’m going to get on the deck.” I started. “I’ll get the zombies that are still here to follow me, then you guys just come up the other side of the house.”

“That’s not half bad,” BT said, nodding his head.

“You going to be able to climb, big man?” I asked him, looking at his sling.

“More pain than damage, probably only a sprain,” BT answered.

“No time for bravado, my friend. If you can’t climb, we’ll do something else, because nobody is going to be able to lift your ass that high,” I told him.

I looked at him for a few moments, trying to see how good my ‘bullshit detector’ was calibrated. I didn’t detect any deception. “Fine, Tommy, can you control the zombies?”

“No, I lost a lot with my sister’s death. And there’s more that I need to tell you,” he replied.

“Can it wait?” I asked.

“It can, but not for long.”

That sounded much more ominous than I was ready for. “Alright, give me a few minutes, I’m going to try to find a gun and make as much noise as possible to pull them my way. When you have an opening, go for it, because I’m sure any zombies that are in the woods will come back. I would imagine we’ll be under siege again.

“Will it ever stop, Mike?” Tracy asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “One minute at a time, my love, one minute at a time.” I kissed her forehead, went about another twenty feet down the tree line in case there were any eagle-eyed zombies that saw my point of origin and my group. I made it to the fence before I was spotted. Fuck they were fast. I nearly lost my footing as I jumped over the nearly filled-in trench. The zombies were closing in fast, I was down to milliseconds with whether to stand and fight or drop the weapons and jump. If I miscalculated and slipped, it would be over before I hit the ground. Breath was coming out of me in great plumes as I fought for more speed, I felt a zombie’s hand brush up against me as I launched forward and up, my right hand wrapped around a banister. I semi-missed with my left hand, ripping the fingernail of my middle finger clean off; the pain was significant but not a hindrance, not at that moment anyway. I’d had the good fortune to be alive for over four decades without ever losing a fingernail, now I’d lost two in less than a week, life is funny like that. I was just praying it didn’t come in threes. I quickly pulled my legs up and onto the lip of the deck. Zombies began to pool under me. I had the strange urge to piss on their heads. Hey! I said it was strange, don’t judge me.

I felt much better as I climbed over the railing and onto the relative safety of the structure. I entered the house quickly and quietly not sure what to expect. The house was as quiet as the woods had been, but this was worse because there should have been sound.

“Hello?” I asked expectantly. I felt mighty exposed at that moment with nothing in my hands. I approached the darkened kitchen and grabbed the first thing I came into contact with, a large cast iron frying pan, I felt like I was in the UK, no firearms and all. I grabbed a small pot when I realized that noting was up here with me, I would search for everyone else when I was sure, that Tracy, BT, Azile, and Tommy were safe.

I went out onto the deck and raised my pan laden hand high to the area in the trees where they were. I wanted to let them know I was alright, then I went to the far side of the house and banged the living shit out of them.

“Dinner assholes!” I shouted, oh and they came, in droves. My plan was working a little better than I had intended. I moved further back down the deck away from Tracy’s approach.

I was torn between keeping the zombies attention on me, checking on Tracy’s progress, and finding out the fate of the rest of my family. And still I banged pots over my head like a fucking loon. Then the real fun began as shots rang out. I tossed the pan and pot at the zombies and ducked back into the house (Nancy would later yell at me for tossing her cookware), and back out the French doors on the other side.

Ron, Gary, Travis, and Justin were giving cover fire for their running mother or sister-in-law as the case may be.

“Mom needs longer legs,” Travis said as he chambered another round.

“Here!” Ron said, tossing me a Mossberg.

“How?” I asked.

“Closed-circuit TV. Shut up and start shooting,” he said.

Tommy was following behind, the zombies had closed in behind him and unlike me he swung his swords like a ninja, a deadly assassin ninja. The death he was dealing was artistic in its fury and form. Our job on the deck was to keep the zombies from the sides and the front; our shots were getting closer and closer to Azile, Tracy, and BT. Soon we would be firing on their position.

“They’re not going to make it,” Ron said as he feverishly shoved new rounds in his magazine.

“Trav, trade me!” I yelled to him. He was putting a new magazine in the Armalite MP-4. There was no hesitation as he handed me the thirty round assault rifle for the five rounds of slugs the shotgun held. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I said—or maybe thought—as I jumped down off the deck.

They were twenty feet away as I started to fire. I advanced a step or two, firing repeatedly.

“Dad!” Travis yelled. “Magazine!” he yelled down as I heard it thud behind me. I silently thanked him as I continued to mow the zombies down trying to give my loved ones some running room. It was working but partly due to the fact that I was now on the menu and they were coming my way.

“…twenty-nine, thirty,” I said as my breech stayed open, I quickly ejected the spent magazine and twirled to find the new one. I banged it against my leg to lose any dirty, and once I pulled and released the charging handle I was back in business. Good thing, too, because they were close enough to read the serial number on the barrel.

“Ron…gonna need some help!” I yelled as I started to back up. Getting onto the deck was not going to happen; we were going to be underneath it soon.

“Far side of the house! There’s a barred window I can open up to get you in!” he shouted.

I quickly motioned for Tracy to come under the deck and towards the house. She looked longingly at the safety above her and ran to the house like it was a safe zone in a particularly rough game of Tag. Azile was next and a fighting retreating BT pulled up next to her. Tommy was still a one man Cuisinart but his setting was rapidly going from puree to chop.

“Around the house!” I shouted loudly, punctuating my words with rifle fire. I had lost count of my rounds, but I was at least halfway through my magazine and we now had no further support from above.

We were a moving bubble of death. Tommy was now to our side, holding the horde at bay. The swords looked like they were getting heavier by the second as his neck severing swipes were now becoming belly gutting strokes and soon would become soprano makers if you catch my meaning. BT was pushing ahead in front, hacking zombies as if they were wheat and he was a harvester. I was selectively shooting zombies as I brought up the rear. Occasionally, a glint of metal would fly by my face as Tracy felt the need to hack at a zombie.

“I like my nose where it is, woman,” I told her.

Then my backpedaling feet walked into her. I stole a quick glance up ahead. We were stalled.

“BT?” I yelled.

“Stuck, man.”

I heard splintering wood over my head. Travis and Justin were ripping up floorboards.

“Dad, you need ammo?” Justin asked.

“Like a fat kid needs a Twinkie. Tommy…need a little cover while I get this.”

Tommy started to hack by my side along with the ever dangerous thrusts of Tracy. There was a good chance I was going to come out of this battle a eunuch.

Justin was reaching down to me while Travis kept ripping boards up with a crowbar. He got about three up when the barrel of his rifle came through.

Fuck yeah! I thought as he started blasting zombies to our front.

With a renewed vigor, I heard BT’s war cry, zombies fell as his adrenaline surged. I drained the remainder of my magazine, giving us a little breathing room, although breathing was not on the top of favorite list right now, not with the smell that accompanied it anyway. Tommy focused his energy back to our side, as I replaced my magazine and began to fire.

“I’ll have another one ready soon dad.” Justin said as he was shoving 5.56 rounds into a fresh magazine.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we didn’t have another minute. If we didn’t get into the house soon, we were done for.

We were again moving but slowly, the zombies were paying in buckets of blood for the precious inches we were gaining. I was on my twelfth round when massive rifle fire came from our front.

I couldn’t see what was going on, but it was fast enough that I thought it was automatic gunfire. If Ron was holding out, I was going to be pissed, that was provided we made it.

“BT?” I screamed over the din.

“Gatling gun I think!” he yelled.

“Are you shitting me?” I asked softly. Now it was worth living just to see what the hell he was talking about.

The zombies were human once and they could not sustain the damage we were inflicting, Travis turned his attention to our backs as we passed his position above.

“You’re uncle is going to be pissed when he sees this damage,” I said as I went underneath him.

“I’ll deal with that later.” He smiled with a strain.

The Gatling gunfire stopped ahead as I imagined Ron was heading back into the basement. BT moved to the side as Azile and Tracy entered through the oversized window. Gary was holding the bars up.

“Go, man.” I tapped BT.

“Go, Tommy!” I yelled.

I fired off the remainder of my rounds and ducked in. Gary let the bars clang down and locked them in place with first a pin and then a lock that I figure was first developed to hold an elephant in place.

Gary hugged me.

“Good to see you, man! Where’s the Gatling gun?” I asked.

Ron was heading into the recesses of the basement.

“Whatcha got there, brother?” I called out.

“Nothing for you!” he said back.

I caught up to him, it was a thing of beauty—eight gun barrels shone brightly.

“It’s a .22 caliber Gatling gun reproduction,” he said defensively.

“You should have told me,” I said, trying to place my hand on it.

“Mike, it cost me ten grand there’s no fucking way I was going to tell you about it.”

I was sort of hurt, but I wouldn’t have told me about it either. “Is this what was in your trap door in your closet?” I asked, putting it all together. This was why he was so adamant about not letting me see it. I had wrongly figured it was porn, although this thing had me drooling as if it were.

Then Ron’s next words doubled me over. “Dad didn’t make it, Mike.”

I staggered a step or two back, Tracy was there for support. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried like a five-year-old. I cried for the loss of my dad, my mom, my brother, my niece, Jed, Jen, Alex, Paul, Erin, Brian and at least a dozen other good souls we had lost along the way.

I stayed for a long time in that darkened basement, when Ron had told me how our father had died. I wanted to be as close to his final earthly spot as was possible. The battle raged on above me, but now it was more of a fish in the barrel scenario. We had position, ammo and security, I wasn’t needed upstairs.

It would be another three days before the horde dwindled down to an unlucky few. I had joined in the fray if only to vent my misguided revenge. I wished desperately that they gave a shit for what they did. I had switched out my MP-4 for a Mosin-Nagant Russian WWII sniper rifle, a bit of overkill when the 7.62 by 4.42 round struck home. I watched each individual I hit as the back of its head blew out in a spray of white, crushed bone and diseased gray matter.

I drilled five hundred and twenty-six zombies into the ground that day, but whose counting. My fingers ached from jamming that many rounds through the old gun, my anger increased at each one, that they didn’t care, that they didn’t give a shit when the zombie next to them fell, that their sisters, brothers, fathers and friends were dying all around them. That was what stopped any war—when the killing just became too much, when neither side could stomach the mounting atrocities. The zombies would not stop, they would never stop, not until each and everyone one of them was dead.