Deadly Eleven Page 18

  Justin’s face was sallow and taking on hues of yellow and green. Brendon was hesitant to let his rifle down, feeling that he might need to use it at any moment. But how could he possibly tell Mrs. Talbot to get out of the way so he would have a clean shot.

  “Nicole, go fill the tub with cold water. Travis, get all the ice and put it in the tub. And find me some antibiotics!” Tracy yelled.

  Travis ran over and handed her the bottle of erythromycin, then headed back to the freezer, grabbed the ice and went to catch up with his sister; anything to get away from the scene that was unfolding in front of him. Justin had a difficult time swallowing the pills his mother handed him. His tonsils had swelled to the point where they were almost making contact with each other.

  Mike came back four hours later to find seven people, including the dog, crowded into the master bathroom. The bathroom was spacious for one but was never designed for that many people. Mike took little note of his best friend and wife when he was able to muster past the throng and see what everyone had their attention focused on. Justin was lying in the tub alternating between violent convulsive shivers and panting from the heat his body was throwing off. He groaned in despair and fell to his knees next to his son.

  Chapter 14

  Tracy’s Entry

  * * *

  “Mom!” Nicole yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Everyone’s gone!”

  Tracy was irritated; last night was the first night in almost a week she had slept clean through. Between the nightmares and Mike’s thrashing about, sleep had been as elusive as an eel in Jell-O. A couple of more hours of blessed sleep and she might almost feel human again. Best not to joke about that, she thought.

  “Everyone?” she asked in alarm as she sat up in bed, head swimming in light-headedness. She had not been taking her vitamins as religiously as she had before ‘the infection.’

  Depression sometimes weighed heavily on her mind. What was the point of vitamins? They wouldn’t protect against zombies. Guns, one of the things she loathed most in life, were now her only clear salvation. She had turned a blind eye when Mike had begun his slow, methodical collection of guns. She had her own vices, why should she deny him his. He didn’t smoke, he didn’t use drugs, he didn’t run around with other women. He was a good man, maybe a card or two shy of a standard deck, but you could always draw in the missing cards on the jokers. Guns! She had worried, A LOT, when he brought the boys shooting, but he was careful and respectful of the power and devastation these devices could inflict. The boys were taught in this manner also. What at first had seemed unnecessary was now paramount to their survival. Civilization and all of its trappings were gone. Darwinism was back. The infirm would die. The strong would survive.

  “Everyone?” she asked again, much more softly as she reined in her errant thoughts.

  Nicole was now in the bedroom. “Even Tommy,” she answered.

  “Are you sure they’re not out on a work detail or getting food or just walking the dog?” Tracy asked. The last question was answered when a loud snort came from the general vicinity of Tracy’s feet.

  “Henry, how do you get up on this bed…and without me knowing?” Tracy said as she reached down and patted his snout. Henry obediently rolled over onto his back, expecting and receiving a tummy rub.

  “Mom, I went down to the clubhouse and then I went to the gate. They all left. Dad went to the armory, and supposedly the boys went to help him, but the guard thought they were full of shit.”

  “All right, give me a minute.” Tracy said as she pulled the covers the rest of the way off, partially covering Henry. He didn’t stir, apparently happy with his new blanket. “What about the guns?” Tracy asked as she headed into the bathroom to put on pants.

  “What about them?” Nicole asked, not having any idea where this conversation was heading.

  “We’re going to need some,” Tracy yelled from the bathroom.

  “Why? What for?” Nicole asked, alarm rising in her voice.

  “We’re going to look for the boys,” Tracy said matter-of-factly, grabbing her sweater off the idly sitting exercise bike.

  People don’t cover their exercise equipment with clothing because it is an easy coat rack. They do it because it hides their guilt. Guilt for having spent so much money on a piece of equipment that now did what any forty-nine cent hanger could do. The guilt of not having lived up to one’s own expectations, more like promises to oneself. Exercise equipment sent more people to therapists than any dysfunctional mother could hope to achieve.

  “When we get back, Nicole, remind me to throw out this elliptical.”

  Nicole stared at her mother, believing that she had finally gone over the edge. The stress of the last few days had been great on everyone and obviously her mother had enough.

  Tracy opened Mike’s gun safe to find the cache had been nearly exhausted. All that remained was a .22-caliber pistol and rifle. Not that she had any clue to as to what type of guns they were. “How do we know if these are loaded?” Tracy asked Nicole as she picked up the pistol gingerly.

  Nicole ducked. “Definitely not by pointing it at me.”

  “Oh yeah, sorry,” Tracy answered sheepishly.

  “Are you sure this is such a good idea, Mom?”

  “My boys are out there. I’m going to find them.”

  Nicole sighed and walked over to her mother to grab the rifle out of the safe. She proceeded to pretend to know how to load it as she placed it on the bed. Nicole spent the next few anxious minutes under the watchful eye of her mother looking for the nonexistent magazine well, not knowing that .22 rifles are sometimes barrel fed. Not wanting to appear ignorant, Nicole picked the weapon back up. “All loaded,” she announced proudly. It wasn’t.

  “I didn’t see you put any bullets in it,” Tracy said, but she honestly had no clue. “What about this?” Tracy asked handing over the pistol.

  Nicole had watched her boyfriend and her father shoot at least half a dozen times, and they always pulled back on something on the top. So when she finally found the mechanism on the pistol that pulled back and then slammed home when her grip faltered, she proudly announced the pistol was also loaded. It wasn’t. At this point, Nicole didn’t think they were headed out the gate and was hoping that her armory skills wouldn’t be put to the test.

  “Mom, we have no idea where they went and they have at least a fifteen minute head start,” Nicole began pleading. Her mother might be stressed out to the max but Nicole was to put it bluntly, scared shitless.

  At 4’11” and maybe ninety pounds after a Thanksgiving dinner, Nicole’s biggest defense had been a Marine dad that some thought might be unstable. Nicole had tortured many a potential threatening people with the words, ‘My dad knows where you live.’ (For some reason Mike could not fathom, all of Nicole’s friends and potential enemies were deathly afraid of him, and he had not so much as said ‘boo’ to any of them.) This had all been a device of Nicole. She had made sure that everyone knew of a particular incident in Canada involving her father, several Mounties, and a politician. Nicole couldn’t have been any safer if everyone thought her father was Tony Soprano. When her brothers had gotten older, they became a second layer of defense, and to top that off was Brendon. If all else failed, she had a mouth that belied her diminutive size. To hear her scream, one would think they were being besieged by a platoon of howler monkeys. Her dad, who had multiple drill instructors scream at him and shrug it off, shied away from his daughter when her ever-widening pie hole began to vibrate. But shorn of her bodyguards and with an impotent voice—zombies wouldn’t care about screams, it would be more like the sound of a dinner bell to them—she would become what she truly was, Daddy’s little princess. Strip away the abrasiveness of her attitude and there was just a scared young woman.

  “I could use some cigarettes, too,” her mother announced.

  “Let’s go,” Nicole agreed immediately. Addiction is a powerful motivator. Screw the zombies.

  Henry looked up
from his chair, watching the two women leave. He realized nobody was there and hoped that somebody would be home soon to put out his second breakfast.

  Tracy and Nicole walked out to the garage. It was when they entered that Nicole noticed the obvious. (Yes, you guessed it, Princess Obvious.)

  “You’re going to take Dad’s car?” she asked tremulously.

  “Well he did trash my car,” Tracy answered, but not with much verve.

  A few months back, Mike and Tracy had been at the grocery store picking out some Starbucks coffee. Mike was in heaven smelling the wonderful aromas of the different beans and spices.

  “You know,” he began, “If God told me I had to give up either beer or coffee, I honestly don’t know what I’d do.”

  Tracy had thought the dilemma was easily solved. “Beer.”

  Mike looked at her. “All right then, God says coffee or cigarettes.”

  Tracy now saw the point.

  After they had filled up the backseat of Mike’s Jeep and were heading out of the parking lot, Tracy had asked him, “If God said this Jeep or me, how hard of a decision would that be for you.

  Mike’s answer came swiftly. “Oh, Hon, that wouldn’t be hard.” But he hadn’t elaborated and she more than half-believed his non-verbalized implication.

  “Any better ideas?” Tracy asked.

  “Well, we do need cigarettes,” Nicole smiled sickly. More than once in her rebellious youth she had wanted to ‘borrow’ her father’s Jeep when she had snuck out of the house, but she was unruly, not insane. The Jeep had stayed safely tucked away in the garage.

  Nicole cautiously climbed up into the passenger seat, half expecting some form of theft deterrent to activate. No matter how much she adjusted the seat and her posture she could not get comfortable; guilt was a difficult suit to wear. Her mother didn’t seem to be wearing it any better than her. The Jeep started loudly in the confined space. If not for the seat belts strapped across their laps, they both might have jumped out. Tracy slowly placed the car in reverse.

  “Um, Mom, you might want to open the garage door.”

  “Oh yeah, right,” Tracy smiled weakly.

  This expedition was getting off to a memorable start, cigarettes or no. Nicole wasn’t sure about the wisdom of this crusade. The door rumbled open, Tracy jerkily popped the clutch, stalling the Jeep. “Oops,”she commented.

  “Great,” Nicole muttered under her breath. The next three attempts at reverse didn’t go much better. Then there was first gear to contend with.

  Tracy rolled up to the main gate, hopeful they would open it before she lost momentum and had to mess with first gear again.

  Igor waved them to a halt.

  “Dammit,” Tracy and Nicole muttered at the same time and both for the same reason. Nicole had nearly got her nose broken on the dashboard as the Jeep bucked like a pissed off bronco.

  “Vat’s a matter vit you Talbots? You not like it here?” Igor asked.

  “Igor, do you know where the boys went?” Tracy asked concernedly.

  “They say to help their Da, but I could tell they was full of it,” he answered helpfully.

  She wanted to yell at him for letting them go, but his job was who to let in, not out.

  “They be all right, Missus Talbot, they were armed for bear,” he finished when he saw the look of apprehension on her face. “You two should stay here and wait for them to return. It’s too dangerous to go out there.”

  “Did you give the boys the same speech?” Tracy lashed back.

  Igor stepped back and motioned for the bus to move. He’d learned a lot of things since he had moved to the States. Women were not subservient like in Russia, and it was best not to stir a hornet’s nest with a short stick. “Have a nice day.” And he walked back towards the bus to get some heat.

  Tracy stalled the Jeep twice more at the mouth of the gate. The bus driver seemed on the verge of panic. He was gesturing wildly for Tracy to get out of the entrance.

  “What the hell is he so worried about?” Tracy asked hotly, driving, or actually stalling Mike’s Jeep was getting her flustered. “There isn’t a zombie for miles!” She was wrong—very, very wrong—but they were definitely out of the line of sight. “Keep your damn shorts on!” Tracy yelled as she successfully ground through first and out of the way of the bus. “God, Mike always makes it look so easy.”

  “Mom, are you sure we should be out here?” Nicole couldn’t put her finger on it. but something didn’t seem right. Her foreboding grew as Little Turtle diminished in the rearview mirror.

  Tracy was too busy concentrating on shifting gears to notice anything. It was possible her difficulties with the clutch were stemming more from her subconscious than her foot to pedal interaction. “Huh, got it!” Tracy said triumphantly as she pulled away from the intersection of Havana and Evans with nary a rattle. Now, as she surveyed her surroundings in earnest, she had to agree with Nicole. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. She had endangered her daughter and herself and for what, she hadn’t a clue which way her boys had gone. Driving around without a purpose was tantamount to suicide. Sure, they were armed, but neither one of them had shot more than a half dozen bullets, and none of those rounds had impacted the desired targets.

  Tracy felt exhausted from the stress of this brave new world, her husband gallivanting all over the place and now her boys were God knows where.

  Tracy’s head slumped over the steering wheel as she looked over at her daughter. “Nicole, I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going. Mike will kill us if he finds out about this and not only because we took his Jeep.”

  Nicole had never seen her mom so defeated. She had to think of something fast or her mother might just shutdown completely. Nicole had lost her license to drive last year. Not that any patrolman would be stopping to check, but the fact remained that she could barely control an automatic transmission. A clutch was out of the question. The sense of foreboding that she was feeling had not diminished in the least. She had no wish to walk back to the complex.

  “I sure could use a smoke,” Nicole said, looking out the corner of her eye, hoping for some reaction besides despair from her mother.

  Tracy picked her head up, anguish clearly visible on her taut features. There was also something else…resolve. She was a little bit more than pissed at herself that she should be able to pull out of her funk over a cigarette, but old habits don’t die easily. They can be suppressed or even forgotten for a while but they can and will always rear their ugly heads at the most inopportune times. This, however, was an opportune time. Tracy wasn’t sure if she was mad or grateful that Nicole knew which buttons to push with such precise precision, but after all, she had been practicing for the last eleven years.

  Tracy put the truck in gear. “Sounds good to me. Contracting lung cancer is the least of my problems.”

  Nicole would have laughed if the thought wasn’t so macabre. Somehow, at this point, lung cancer was the safer alternative. How the hell did that happen? They drove in silence for only a minute or so as Tracy pulled into the nearest service station a half-mile away. There were a couple of cars in the bays, but they were unattended. Tracy did a lazy figure eight through the parking lot looking for anything that might make this visit not worth their while. Besides spilled gas, there were no imminent threats. The lights inside the convenience store were out and the opaque glass masked everything. Tracy parked in front of the store, the Jeep idling quietly. She and Nicole peered intently into the gloom looking for any movement.

  “Keep the car running. I’ll run in and grab a bunch of packs,” Nicole said as she began to open the door.

  “Wait a minute, I’m not letting you go in there!” Tracy yelled louder than she meant to.

  “Mom, I’ll be fine, I’m just gonna run in and run out.”

  “No, if anyone should go in, it should be me. I’ve already got two kids off God knows where. You stay here and I’ll run in,” Tracy said, convinced this was the correct maneuver.
“If anything happens to me, you just take off,” she said as she began to open her door.

  “Mom!” Nicole yelled.

  Tracy slammed her door shut convinced Nicole had seen something. She looked wildly around for the threat.

  “Mom, I can’t drive a stick. If something happens to you, I’ll have to run. Have you seen me run?”

  “Shit, you scared me,” Tracy said. As Nicole’s words settled in, she realized the dilemma they were in. No matter which approach she took, she would be placing her daughter in danger.

  “Let’s go in together,” Nicole interjected before the paralysis of fear took her mother over again.

  Nicotine was a powerful drug. It had the power to overwhelm judgment. Tracy nodded weakly. They both opened their doors and stepped out. The cold air was redolent with the scent of spilled gasoline. The noxious fumes made breathing difficult but also had the benefit (or disadvantage) of masking the scent of death. They hurried to the entrance to get away from the overpoweringly strong smell. Had their sense of smell not been burned-out by the gas it would have been assaulted by the now all-too-familiar stink of death. It would be three breaths too late before they realized their error.

  “God, I wish there were some lights on,” Nicole said, a slight tremor in her voice.

  Tracy had been first in and was silently glad that was the case. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the store, she could make out a pair of scrubs-clad legs sticking out from behind the counter. Those legs were not made for walking anymore. There was also a congealed pool of blood coming from the aisle closest to them. Tracy had no need whatsoever to see what had caused it. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss. She shot her hand out and grabbed Nicole’s arm, steering her away from the offending aisle.

  “Shhh…did you hear that?” Tracy stopped and listened intently.

  Panic welled in them both and Nicole hadn’t even heard a sound. They both stood stock-still as the seconds ticked by. Nicole’s arm began to throb where her mother gripped it like a vise.