The End Has Come and Gone zf-4 Read online

  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly when he got to the top. “I was trying to beat Trav’s time.”

  “Yeah, that seems worth it,” I said sarcastically.

  It was pretty much Perla’s turn, but she was having none of it. “I can’t!” she cried into Cindy’s shoulder. “He’s gone!” “He is, Perla,” Cindy said consolingly. “But his memory isn’t. He would want you to go on, Perla. You let me read the letters he sent you when he was in the thick of the war. He loved you more than anything. He was always telling you to not let your life go by unlived if anything should happen to him.” “Wait, you read his letters?” Brian asked, “Did she read mine?” he asked, pointing to Perla.

  “What do you think?” Cindy answered, pulling Perla in closer.

  “That was some pretty personal stuff,” Brian said with some embarrassment.

  “Don’t worry, you’re no poet,” Cindy said.

  “But there was a lot of love in them,” Perla said, sobbing into her friend’s shoulder.

  “Please,” Cindy said. “It was the only comfort we could give to each other while you were off fighting your wars.” “Fine, but I don’t like it,” Brian said as he turned away. I could only imagine that he was trying to desperately remember all that he had said and how many of his deepest secrets had been exposed.

  I remember some of the letters I had written to Tracy when I was traipsing around the world in some of the least unsavory places on the planet. When you are under the belief that the day in which you are living is going to be your last, you tend to spill everything within you. Sometimes I had gushed such heartfelt sentiment that I had actually become embarrassed when I reflected back on it from a safer vantage point. If Tracy ever thought that perhaps I was becoming a girly-man, she never once brought it up or held it against me.

  Perla did go next; she never once took her eyes off the spot where her fiancé dropped. I personally think it was the anger that spurred her on and not the fear. A pissed-off woman was always a good ally.

  Brian grabbed a coil of rope that was housed at the bottom of the lift controls and brought it up. “Never know if we’ll need it,” he said.

  By the time the rest of the troop had made it up the ladder I figure I had aged a good five years. It is a sucky feeling to feel so powerless (I would like to banish the word but impotent rings closer to the truth). It is the effect of being a man but unable to do the manly thing. No, I’m not talking sex; it was the inability to completely protect my family. I couldn’t spot them on the ground if they should happen to slip and fall. I couldn’t go up with them and hold them secure. I just had to wait and hope that a higher power was not calling any one I loved to be by His side just now.

  Of course that is assuming that I believe in Someone or Something. I have wrestled seemingly my entire life with my belief system. A lot of time in my youth I believed only when it served me. As I have grown older (you’ll note I did not say wiser) and I have spawned my legacy, I sometimes see Him and His Power shining through their eyes. But I waver as I look at the cruel black eyes of those that oppose us and wonder how an omnipotent being could ever find justice in the cruelty that the world afforded so eagerly. And I’m talking even before the zombies came, but if you really start to put all the pieces together, than perhaps it does fit. I’m not saying I like the picture that the puzzle is portraying, but who am I to say what is art? I can’t stand Picasso either. But let’s just say for the sake of argument that He gave us all free will to do as we pleased in His garden. And let’s say that as the spoiled, greedy, egotistical, uncaring, brattish life forms that we are, we took a big shit on his prized Azaleas and maybe His way of disciplining his wayward children is this plague, this plague upon humanity. I have yet to see so much as ONE zombified lady bug, or dolphin, or even an ape who shares somewhere in the neighborhood of 98% of our genes. So there you have it, Beginner’s Theology, Course 101.

  So I’ve been stalling my inevitable climb up the ladder. I am no fan of heights. I was so wrapped up in everybody else’s go at it, I guess I never figured my turn would come.

  “Henry, it’s just me and you. You ready for this?” I asked him. He didn’t respond, he was too busy looking down at the zombies.

  “Talbot, get your ass up here!” BT yelled.

  “What about the truck?” I asked him needlessly.

  “What about it?” Tracy asked in response.

  “He’s afraid of heights,” Gary said, looking over the lip of the wall.

  “Talbot? I watched him charge into machine gun fire,” BT said disbelievingly.

  “Our brother Glenn,” Gary said, bowing his head and doing the Holy Trinity upon his chest (Catholicism dies hard), “once took him hiking to a place called Blue Hills when he was young,” “Gary, you really don’t need to tell that story right now!” I shouted from the truck.

  “If you come up here I’ll stop,” Gary said with a wicked smile.

  “That’s kind of messed up,” Meredith piped in.

  “I agree with her!” I shouted. Just then the fire truck began to shake as zombies began to slam into the body. I almost pitched over the side long before I had a chance to go up that ladder.

  “Continue,” BT said.

  “Mike never told me this story,” Tracy said.

  “He told me once,” Paul said, “but we were pretty drunk.”

  “This sucks,” I said.

  Gary turned from me and began up his narrative, “So Glenn,” (Gary stopped for the Trinity again) “took him all the way up this Hill. How old were you Mike, ten, eleven?” “Seven,” I answered back.

  “Wow, that young? Damn, no wonder you’re so screwed up,” Gary reflected.

  “Just finish it up, will you!” I yelled at him.

  “So on the top of this hill is a Ranger’s station, looks a lot like a castle come to think of it. But anyway Glenn (yes the Trinity came again), one of his friends, and Mike go to the top of it. The stations were unmanned and unsupervised back then, I think that’s probably changed since then. Do you know, Mike?” Gary asked.

  “Never been back Gary, thank you very much. Please continue!” I told him.

  “Well, Glenn,” Gary started again with the cross upon his chest.

  “God gets it!” I shouted at him.

  “What? What are you talking about?” Gary asked.

  He was completely oblivious about what he had been doing. Catholics were used to doing things by rote. If you have never been to a Mass, it consists of a lot of sitting, kneeling, bending and the damn shaking of strangers’ hands. It’s not the people that I can’t stand nearly as much as the germs that they have on them. I’m concerned about where MY hands have been and I KNOW. Only God knows where Joe Schmoe’s hands have been. Who knows, maybe he has an incurable case of pubic lice and he’s been feverishly scratching his nether regions moments before he grasps your hand in mock friendship. I don’t know, but that’s what I’m thinking. I once saw a video on YouTube where a lady on a public train once shoved her hand down the crack of her ass and then pulled it out to give it a good licking. Yeah, you read my entry right, I wrote LICKING. Sniffing would be bad enough, but LICKING? Are you kidding me? I almost upchucked on my monitor. What if that bitch is sitting next to me in church! Still stalling about the climb up the ladder in case you hadn’t noticed.

  Gary had started back up while I was having my inner dialog. “… they’re up on the top of this castle slash ranger station and Glenn (Sign of the Trinity – I sighed heavily) asks Mike if he wants a better view.” “This doesn’t sound like it worked out well for you Mike!” BT shouted.

  I flipped BT off. It had absolutely no effect on the big man as he laughed it off.

  “So Glenn (SotT – guess what it stands for. I have to write this journal out with a pencil and I’m sick of repeating the same thing over and over) hoists Mike up.” My breathing started to accelerate just thinking about what was to come.

  “Immediately flips him over and hangs him upside down by his ankles
outside the window.”

  “Oh my God!” Tracy exclaimed.

  “Glenn (SotT) was a wild man,” Gary said with his head bowed.

  “Damn Mike, I’m sorry I was messing with you. That would be a head fest for any one, especially a seven-year-old,” BT said. “Now get your ass up here.” “Is that your version of tough love?” I asked him.

  “There are zombies getting on the truck,” the guy I hadn’t met yet shouted.

  Henry started barking, something he only does under extreme duress, and zombies closing in was apparently on his sliding scale of bark-worthy events, that and doggie ice cream treats, but I hadn’t heard the ice cream man coming.

  Eliza and Tomas Interlude

  “Are you controlling the zombies’ motor skills, Brother?”

  “Yes, do you like it?”

  Eliza did not answer her brother. For the first time in a very, very long time, an unfamiliar feeling jolted through her frozen veins. She thought it might be fear.

  “Not much choice Mike!” Paul shouted, trying to motivate me.

  I think it was a bit of overkill, what do you think? I had zombies climbing up the truck. They didn’t give a damn about any of my myriad of phobias. I absolutely detest heights, but being eaten alive trumps even that. I was halfway up the truck ladder when the fastest of the zombies stepped onto the rungs. I watched him in disbelief as he tried to coordinate the placement of his hands and feet. He looked like a puppet controlled by an inept puppeteer, but that he was even trying this was a frightening new development.

  “Brian, could you tie the end of that rope down and toss it to me?” I asked him.

  He unslung it from his shoulder, retreated for a minute or two, and then tossed the rope into my face.

  “Great idea Mike!” Tracy said in encouragement.

  “She’s not going to like this,” I said softly to Henry.

  I began to tie a make shift harness around Henry, kind of like what I’ve seen on Animal Planet when they have to hoist a cow out of a well or something.

  “Oh for Christ’s sakes Mike, what the hell are you doing?” Tracy asked with chagrin, “That damn dog.” “This damn dog saved your daughter’s life and mine! I shouted back. She backed down but she was not a happy camper.

  I no sooner got the harness as snug as possible when Henry brushed by me. He was either showing me the way or saving his ass, no sense in the both of us perishing here. Henry kept his gaze focused solely on the roof he was striding for. His paws splayed out as he stepped on the rungs; he seemed pretty sure of himself. On second thought, I might have been better off using the rope myself. Although I don’t know how Henry was going to climb the ladder once he got to the incline.

  “Mike, why are they following you?” Alex asked.

  “Really Alex? That’s the question you’re going to ask?” I asked sardonically, looking up at him.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Any chance one of you guys could maybe shoot the zombie s ?” I asked. “Instead of watching.” “Sorry, Dad,” Travis said. “I’ve just never seen them do that.”

  “I told you Mike was trouble,” Mrs. Deneaux said to her audience.

  Almost as one the group turned on her and told her in varying ways to shut the hell up. I would have savored it a lot more if I wasn’t on a swaying ladder suspended above zombies, frozen by a phobia my crazy ass brother thrust upon me some thirty-eight years prior.

  Travis’ shot went wide of the zombie’s forehead. I couldn’t blame him, the wind had picked up and the ladder was moving a good twenty to twenty-four inches back and forth. The fact that he ripped the damn thing’s ear off was impressive enough and the force of the bullet was enough to dislodge him from the ladder, which was just as effective as a kill. I climbed two more rungs when another shot rang out followed in quick succession by two more.

  “Dad, they’re getting better at climbing,” Travis shouted.

  “Don’t turn around Mike,” Paul said.

  So of course the first thing I did was just that. A line of zombies was making the ascent and they were getting close enough that covering fire was going to be extremely difficult.

  “You’d better get going,” Brian said needlessly.

  “And they always said Army guys were ignorant,” I mumbled.

  “I heard that,” Brian said. “Now get up here so that we can settle this like gentlemen.”

  I was moving a little quicker but I was making Meredith’s five minute snail pace seem pretty damn impressive.

  “You’ve got a ten-foot cushion,” BT said just as I made it to the junction from the fire truck ladder to our make-shift bridge.

  “How’s Henry doing?” I asked, too fearful to look up.

  “Better than you,” BT said.

  ‘I’m screwed,’ I thought to myself. As soon as two or three of the zombies got on the ladder with me, the added weight would pull the skids right off the roof.

  “I’m not going to make it,” I said looking up into my wife’s eyes.

  “You get moving Talbot or I’m coming down there to get you,” she said, and she wasn’t kidding. BT grabbed her elbow as she began to climb over the wall.

  “Just wait, this isn’t the way Mike goes out. It isn’t climactic enough,” BT reassured her.

  “This isn’t a movie or a book, BT, and last I checked you didn’t have the power of precognizance!” she shouted in his face. “For all we know he could die on that ladder by scraping his hand and getting an infection. That wouldn’t be climactic at all, in fact, I’d call that very anti-climactic, but it would still be a reality. Now let me go so that I can get my husband up here!” “Don’t you dare let her go!” I shouted to BT. “If I die here, it’ll be alone!”

  A thick rope almost toppled me off my perch. “Wrap that around your waist Mike!” Paul screamed. “Fast!!” I was never great with knots, maybe I should have joined the Navy, but in a pinch I can tie a double granny like nobody’s business.

  “Now climb, if you fall we’ve got you!” Paul shouted. “Mad Jack, tie the other end off.”

  ‘Wait, didn’t he tell me they would have me? Should I really trust a man named Mad Jack to tie the other end of my life line off?’

  “Henry’s up!” Justin shouted.

  ‘Damn, that was fast.’ I looked up to verify and immediately wished I hadn’t. Vertigo, like a physical force, pushed my face into the ladder. From my vantage point, with cool aluminum on my cheek, I could see the gamut of encouraging and disparaging (Marta’s and Deneaux’) faces. When the worst of the episode passed, I looked behind me. Mindless pursuit would not be the adjective I would have used to describe what approached. Relentless, yes, mindless, no. The zombie closest to me extended his hand. This was like my worst nightmare in church. If I let him get any closer I would have to take the proffered viral encrusted hand in celebration of a new bond between man and zombie. Yeah, that’s it. I could be the ambassador, the one that broached peace between man and monster! I would be a national hero, heralded as the savior of all mankind! Or he’d gnaw through my fingers on his way to devouring my forearm. Yeah, that seemed much more probable. Still stalling.

  I quickly unsnapped the tie down that was holding the ladder in place; the buffeting wind made it jump. I jumped on it before it could completely bounce off.

  “Mike, what are you doing?” Paul asked in alarm, not sure if the nylon rope they had secured the ladder with would hold the entire weight should the ladder and I both go over.

  I was four rungs up when I felt the ladder shift. Company had joined me on this final leg of the journey.

  I was halfway craning my neck to look back when BT’s words struck me. “Don’t ,” was all he said, and the tone was enough, I actually paid him heed.

  The ladder was bowing something fierce. I looked up to watch as the top skids were a good fifteen or sixteen millimeters from losing contact with the roof. See how I did that, I changed from U.S. measurements to the Metric system. Maybe if we had just switched
back in the seventies like they said we were going to, I would be able to feel much better about my predicament. Because fifteen or sixteen millimeters sounds WAY better than half a n inch!

  Another zombie joined us, or a particularly heady wind hit, or a damn butterfly landed on a palm frond somewhere on an island in the Pacific, didn’t matter, the rear of the ladder came off the ladder truck. What had previously seemed like a good idea now truly sucked as I death gripped the rung I was on as we swung with velocity towards the wall. Memories flooded through my senses, I guess the mind feels the necessity to show events that are not life threatening when one is faced with a most certain demise. For the briefest of moments I was once again a fifteen-year-old enjoying a burgeoning beer buzz with my two best friends on the planet, Paul and Dennis, as we discovered a place called Indian Hills. My parents had left me alone for the weekend and I did what any respectable teenager would do if they wanted to hold on to their cool card, I had a raging party. The next morning as my two buddies and I cleaned up, we decided to hightail it from the premises before my mother came home. During the best of times she could give Deneaux a run for her money. With the hangover I was suffering from, I did not want to add her to the mix.

  Paul, Dennis and I had grabbed a few beers and were reinvigorating the buzz we had so much enjoyed the previous evening. Our goal was an area that we had seen from a perch atop our local grocery store. We would come to find out that the area was known as Indian Hills. It was an Indian burial ground (no, really!). The place had become a sort of oasis for us as we had grown over the next three years. That it was mystical was beyond reproach. We had more than our fair share of adventures on that land, but that’s a story for another journal.

  The fingers of my right hand smashed against the wall as I had readjusted my grip from rung to rail. I’m not ashamed to admit I screamed. I’m pretty sure it was a good throaty man scream but I can’t be sure, it might have been as intimidating as an eleven-year-old girl’s. My immediate thought was better the right, I shoot lefty. And then all thought was washed away by the mind-blistering pain that ripped through my neurons. The pain peeled back quicker than I expected. I would learn later that the left side of the ladder had struck first, absorbing the majority of the strike. I would most likely lose all four fingernails on my right hand but that was a small price to pay for my life. I might have had some small micro-fractures in the tips of my fingers as well, but I’d left my Blue Cross Blue Shield card back in Colorado , and I figured that I was out of network anyway.