Deadly Eleven Read online

  I was torn between figuring out why and how Paul was here and the health and welfare of my son.

  Paul saw my distress and eased at least one burden. “We’ll talk later, it’s a long story,” he said as he waved me away to the front of the crowd huddled around the bathtub.

  Tracy didn’t look up from Justin as she sought out my hand for comfort. Words didn’t seem necessary. I could see the jagged groove of flesh missing from Justin’s right cheek. His face had swollen to almost double its proportion. If it had been caused by a bee sting, it would have been hilarious. As much as his cheek stuck out, his eyes had sunken in. He looked more like a caricature of himself than the real article. Red lines of infection radiated out from the unsightly wound.

  I would have already thought he was a zombie if not for the next few moments.

  Justin’s eyes gained a measure of focus as they found mine. His next words were strained and choked as he tried to force air over his tortured tonsils.

  “I’m s...sorry, Dad,” he cried.

  I took a big intake of air as I sobbed. My heart wanted to leap out of my chest. Paul stifled his own keening. Tracy didn’t hold anything back as she let loose like only a grieving mother can. Her sobs racked her body; she released my hand in order to cover her face with both of hers.

  In the back of my mind I heard Tommy speak, but I wasn’t cognizant of any particular word he spoke.

  “He didn’t get bit,” Tommy said.

  I wanted to lash out. I wanted to smash things. I wanted to swear to the heavens for this hell thrust upon me. But what would it accomplish? It wouldn’t make my son any better. It wouldn’t restore order to the universe. I didn’t know what had happened, but from the hangdog expressions on Travis and Brendon, it wasn’t a difficult puzzle to put together. Paul, being Paul, had procrastinated on his departure from his house until his window of opportunity had closed. My boys had somehow got the half-assed idea to go and save their uncle. I loved Paul with all my heart, but never would I have sacrificed one of my kids for him. I wanted to lay into Paul and scream ‘How dare you!?’ But the guilt that he had already placed on his own shoulders was more than I could ever hope to achieve, and again…to what end? My son was infected with the deadly virus, and berating Paul would do nothing, absolutely nothing, to save Justin. I felt hopeless, no, scratch that, for the first time in my life I felt impotent. Okay, the second; there was that one time in college when Paul and I had bought some incredible sensamilian herb, and for some reason, I couldn’t achieve the ‘full vigor’ of manhood with my girlfriend. But this was worse, much, much worse. I stroked Tracy’s hair as tenderly as I could. She bristled from the contact. I told her I had a quick meeting at the clubhouse and I would be back soon. She never so much as looked up at me; I can’t say I could blame her.

  I looked at the crowd in the bathroom and demanded, “Keep his fever down, and Travis come get me right away if he gets worse. And whatever you do, don’t anyone let word of this get out. They’ll put him down like a mad dog.” I ignored Tracy’s flinch at my words; they were nothing but the truth. I hesitated for a moment, then knelt next to my waxen-faced son and tenderly kissed him on the brow. As I turned and left the room, my shoulders shook as I tried to restrain my own heart-wrenching sobs.

  Ten minutes later, there were six people including myself present at the impromptu clubhouse meeting. Alex, who looked like he had no sooner hit the pillow when he got the call, Jed, and Tim Tinkle, (no, I did not make the name up). He was head of the new “Security Department.” He was a good-looking guy, about 6’2”, 185 pounds, in great shape. He had blue eyes that were striking next to his prematurely silver hair. But he had the look of someone who has had to constantly defend himself, and with that name, he probably did. I had my doubts about Tinkle. He looked like he had a short fuse. Next, there was Wilbur Heathrow, an older, heavyset guy, with wide-spaced eyes on a narrow face that gave him the look of a salamander. He was head of the Guards. I don’t know what went on while I was gone, but it looked like there were a whole lot of new posts. Maybe the titles made these people feel more self-important or, more likely, made them feel like they were in control of the situation. It was my personal belief it did neither. Why did we need a head of Security and a Guard Warden. It was the same thing, like saying, ta-may-to, ta-mah-to, what’s the difference? Whatever, if it made people feel all warm and fuzzy inside, then why not? And to round out the six, Carl had showed up.

  When it looked like all the movers and shakers were present, I pulled away from Jed and asked for everybody to be seated. Tim Tinkle remained standing.

  “Gentlemen,” I began, “I’m sorry to have taken you away from whatever you may have been doing.” I looked at Alex especially, knowing he was way short on sleep.

  He gave me a slight nod. “De nada,” he said, acknowledging my apology.

  “We’ve got some problems,” I stated.

  “Why are you wasting our time with the obvious, Michael?” Tinkle intoned self-importantly.

  Why was this guy starting already? And I hated being called Michael, it always reminded me when I was young and in trouble.

  “Um, okay,” I looked questioningly at Tinkle. “What I wanted to finish saying—”

  “Are you implying that I interrupted you? The mighty Michael Talbot?” Tinkle sneered.

  “Uh, Ti… Tim, I’m not sure what’s going on here. I’m just trying to pass on some information that I think is vital to our safety and security,” I put forth, doing my best to rein in my anger at this idiot.

  “Are you saying I’m not doing my job right?” Tinkle yammered, taking a step forward and thrusting his finger at me.

  “What the hell, man, I didn’t even know there was such a job until Jed told me five minutes ago. Listen, I’m not trying to get into a pissing contest with you.” Ooops, wrong adjective, he blew like Vesuvius.

  “What does that crack mean, Talbot? You making fun of me? You got a problem with me? I’m gonna kick your ass into Tuesday.”

  Which I thought was kinda hilarious, considering it was Tuesday, unless of course he meant next Tuesday and then it would suck. He was approaching fast, veins sticking out of all sorts of unnatural places.

  “Tim, please,” Jed stood up, trying to thwart the hostility.

  Tim pushed him aside. Luckily Carl was able to grab him before Jed hit the deck. Tim swung with a roundhouse that a zombie would have been able to dodge. I dropped low and struck with all of my force into his solar plexus. The wind couldn’t get out of his sails fast enough. I felt the force of the super-exhaled air as it traveled with velocity over my head. I was thankful he hadn’t eaten any jalapenos for dinner. It might have melted my hair. He immediately doubled over, trying his best to gasp for the elusive air. I was a millisecond away from finishing him off with an uppercut when Jed finally righted himself.

  “Enough, you shitheads!” he yelled.

  I felt like I was five. I pointed at Tinkle. “He started it!” I blustered.

  Tinkle couldn’t talk yet, but he had the presence of mind to point at me and shake his head.

  “I don’t care!” Jed raged on. I didn’t know the old coot had that much fire in him. “Tinkle, sit your ass down. Talbot, continue.” Tim did as he was told; by small degrees he was able to retain more air, but luckily the firestorm had died down.

  “Okay,” I stated again. “Where was I before I was so rude…” Jed pointed a finger at me. “Um, right, uh…I think we’re in for a bit of a mess.”

  “Mike,” Alex said exasperatedly, “you know that I came here because you had something important for us. But if you woke me for that, I’ll be the next one up there taking a swing.”

  “All right, sorry.” I held my hands up. “I was just thrown off-track for a sec. We’ve all been wondering where the zombies are? Why aren’t they attacking? Are they dying? Did they move on? Now I’m not saying this is fact, these are just my observations. I think these zombies are a little more advanced than we give them credit
for.”

  Everyone stirred a bit except for Carl.

  Wilbur spoke up. “This is ridiculous. They’re brain-dead, flesh eating parasites. They have all the brainpower of Tim over there.” Everyone laughed, even Tim.

  I related the story about when we had gone to get Justin and how the zombies had just up and left us for easier prey. “Listen, I know it’s just conjecture, I have as much knowledge about this as you guys. But I think the zombies know we’re here.”

  “That’s preposterous!” Wilbur yelled out. “They’re not even self-aware.”

  “Since when do predators have to be self-aware? Does a wolf KNOW it exists?” I shot back.

  Wilbur withered a bit.

  “I thought about this the entire way home from the armory after our encounter with the zombies.” The news of the sighting of so many zombies had seemingly beat us back to Little Turtle “I think the zombies have exhausted the easier food supply.”

  Wilbur was like a pit bull; he just wouldn’t give up. He must hang around a lot with Tinkle. “Those are our family and friends that you so casually call food.” He clearly wanted to continue with his scathing diatribe, but the only place this was heading was another confrontation resulting in a punch to the abdomen, and I’d probably lose my fist in his massive midsection.

  “Wilbur,” I said solemnly as I carefully interrupted his harangue, “I’m not trying to make light of the situation, I’m calling it like I’m seeing it. Those people the zombies have hunted down were the infirm, or slow, or those caught unawares. I think that the reason we have been so ‘relatively’ safe is because we are a much tougher prey.”

  Wilbur was about to unseat his great mass again.

  “Hold on, Wilbur, just let me finish. Lions go after gazelles and zebra and only occasionally water buffalo, and even then, only the smaller ones. But if desperate enough and hungry enough, they will attack a full-grown elephant, I watched it on the Discovery Channel. I’m willing to bet the pickings have gotten real slim outside these walls, and we’re the next available source of food.”

  Wilbur finally got his bulk up. His chair sagged in relief. “Oh come on, are we really going to listen to this?” he said, addressing the rest of the gathering. “He’s telling us zombies are smart and that they know we’re here. He’s drawing parallels between them and Wild Kingdom for goodness sake. Why are we wasting our time with this, or him for that matter? He’s just pissed he’s not in charge, and this makes him feel more important.”

  I felt defeated. “I have no desire to be in charge of this three-ring circus.”

  “So you say!” Wilbur said fiercely

  I ignored his barb and continued, “I was only trying to make sure we were prepared for what’s coming. Jed, I’m going to pack my family up and get going. Those of you that want to are more than welcome to come along.”

  “Good riddance, Talbot, we don’t need your kind here anyway,” Wilbur snorted. Tinkle nodded, agreeing.

  Alex looked away. “I’d like to come, Mike, but it feels safe here.”

  “I understand, Alex, you have to look out for your family. Good luck, my friend,” I said honestly.

  “Now hold on,” Carl said, standing up. I didn’t know what his relationship to Wilbur was, but Wilbur immediately deferred to the older man. It was later that I learned Wilbur was Carl’s son-in-law and Carl couldn’t stand him. Wish I had known that then. “Now I’m not in total agreement with Talbot.”

  Great, I thought. Jump on the ‘beat Talbot’ bandwagon.

  “But those zombies were acting peculiar, and I’ve also been thinking a bit on what I witnessed. I won’t stand here and pretend to know what’s going on, but if those things are coming, and in the vast numbers that showed at the armory, we’re in a world of hurt. Now I have no intention of leaving, and I don’t think Talbot should either.” Wilbur was not pleased. “But I do think we should roust the populace, such as it is, and begin to buttress up some of our weaker points.”

  “Thanks, Carl,” I said earnestly.

  “I didn’t do it for you,” Carl answered.

  “I still love you, man,” I said smiling.

  Jed finally spoke up. “You better be careful, Carl, he seems to like older men.”

  Wilbur did not like being thwarted this close to the goal line, but he respectfully kept quiet the remainder of the meeting.

  With a newfound vigor and hope I pushed on. “Alex, you’re the engineer, how much stress can those walls take?”

  Alex looked confused. “I don’t think I’m understanding the question, Mike. More than likely the wall would stop a regular sized car traveling no more than thirty or forty miles per hour. A full tractor trailer however would probably punch right through.”

  “No, no, I’m talking much smaller, like zombie-sized,” I said.

  “I don’t think the zombies possess super-human strength, if that’s what you mean,” Alex said.

  “I’m sorry, Alex, I need to be clearer. I have a hundred things running around in my head and they’re all fighting to come out at the same time. I’m talking about thousands of zombies all pressing up against the wall, could it hold?”

  “Oh crap, I hadn’t thought about that. I mean it’s only cinder block and cement. There isn’t any rebar in it at all. There are stanchions every twenty feet, those would hold because they’re anchored but no, if you put it that way, the walls are extremely vulnerable. The zombies could push over entire sections with that much force.”

  Wilbur’s fat face recoiled; it shouldn’t have made me happy but it did.

  Jed spoke, “Well, if the walls are not safe then none of the gates are either. I reckon they could push that RV out of the way a whole helluva lot easier than taking out the wall.’

  “Now you’re seeing my point,” I said triumphantly.

  I could almost see the gears in Alex’s head churning. He quickly started reciting his grocery list of desired items to begin the fortification.

  Jed wanted to talk a little more after the meeting broke up. I so wanted to. The thought of idly chit-chatting small talk about zombies seemed unbelievably more desirable than returning to the horrendous reality that awaited me at home. But a father’s responsibility is to his family in times of need, and I would not break that cycle. The cold air did little to invigorate me as I slowly marched home.

  Justin was out of the tub and laid out on the futon in my office. Again it was a crowded venue. He looked worse huddled under the blankets. The best word I could use to describe him was diminished. Tracy was still diligently at his side.

  “Everyone out,” I choked.

  Everyone seemed to be lost a little too deep in their own thoughts to even recognize that someone had spoke aloud.

  I spoke a little louder. “Everyone out, NOW!” I punctuated my command by slamming my hand against the wall. That got their attention. Paul placed his hands on Erin’s shoulders and helped her up. Brendon, Travis, and Tommy immediately followed them. Only Tracy and Nicole remained. Nicole was wrapped up in her mother’s arms.

  “I’m not leaving him,” Tracy said matter-of-factly, never looking up at me. “You just want to shoot him,” she said again in that assured tone.

  I shook inside.

  “Tracy,” I said as I tried to wrap my arms around her, but she angrily shrugged me away.

  “You can’t shoot him,” she pleaded, this time looking me directly in the eyes. MY heart crashed to the floor and was immediately stepped on by a hippo. I couldn’t answer her. What words could possibly justify my actions in the next few minutes?

  “Nicole, please get your mother to bed,” I asked.

  And for the first time in Nicole’s life she did something I asked of her without putting up an argument. This was not when I wanted this new trend to start. I needed something or somebody to help me off this insane Tilt-a-whirl. I could hear Tracy’s sobs retreating in the hallway as I shut and locked the door to my office. Justin was blissfully ignorant of all the mad happenings going on arou
nd him. I pulled my Glock 9mm out of my shoulder harness. Tears immediately welled up in my eyes. I wanted to get this over in the worst way, even more so than when I was eleven and had to do an oral book report in front of my class. In those days I had crippling stage fright and would dread for weeks the coming of the fated day. That was nothing in comparison.

  What could a few moments more with my son harm, as I sat down in my office chair five feet away. I sat and stared at his puffed face the entire night and into early dawn. I was playing back in my head all the fun and not so fun times we as the Talbot family had enjoyed and endured through the years. As the sun began its slow fateful journey across the horizon I was no closer to the final judgment than I had been when I kicked everyone out. I had long ago put the Glock on my desk, fearing I might accidentally shoot myself in the leg if I were to fall asleep and then jerk awake. As tired as I was though, sleep had eluded me.

  Justin opened his eyes and looked over at me. Did he see his father or a tasty early morning treat? His face looked less swollen, but his eyes appeared to be sunken even further. How was that possible? His mouth opened, long lines of filament-thin spittle spread from roof to floor of his mouth. Without taking my eyes off him I reached out blindly to the Glock I had laid down hours earlier. Oh God, why hadn’t I done this when his eyes were closed?

  He still so much looked like the son I had taught to throw a baseball so many years previous. Tears filled my eyes as my hand closed around the cold, indifferent composite material of my Glock 26. His features became distorted in my glistened visage. That was for the best, I thought. I could tell he was sitting up. My hands shook. Some sort of noise emanated from him. It was more something I would expect to hear from a frog on a marshy wetland, on a hot summer night. Nothing human could make that sound. My heart caught in my throat. I was fearful of passing out from lack of oxygen. I wanted to turn the gun on myself rather than ever take the life of one of my own, and I would have deserved it. I had fundamentally failed. A father’s primary mission after procreation is protection. I HAD FAILED! The price for failure should be death, but if I killed myself I left this task to someone else while also putting everyone else at risk. I would only be compounding my errors on top of my cowardice. I was still in the midst of berating myself when Justin managed to croak out some words.