Zombie Fallout 9 Page 4

  “Where you going?” BT asked.

  “Was thinking of going to the store and getting a pack of smokes.”

  “Great, I’ll come with you.”

  “BT, you don’t have to.”

  “Oh, so you’re just going to smoke them all up yourself?”

  “Someone say smoke?” Trip asked.

  “Thanks, man,” I told him. “Ron, I’m going to need a truck.”

  “No fucking way, baby brother. I’ve seen tornados with less destructive power. If you want one of my vehicles, I’m driving it.” This was a shock to everyone including myself and Nancy.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” his wife asked.

  “I’m being irresponsibly responsible,” he replied. “I will not have another car reduced to salvage. These aren’t in an unlimited supply.”

  I wanted to tell him that they kind of were; there were vast parking lots full of cars and trucks that would never be used again. Ripe for the taking. Ron had a funny way of looking at things though. If he hadn’t earned it, he would not beg, borrow, or steal it. Fortunately, I had no such limiting compunction.

  “Are you sure, Ron?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about him joining. He was an untested quantity, at least out in the open. Plus, I feared he would start pulling that “big brother” card, like he would always know the best course of action.

  He nodded.

  Trip began to stand. BT placed a large hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “You’re staying here,” he told him in no uncertain terms.

  I looked over to Tommy. “What about you?”

  “I … I think I need to stay here.” With that, he left the room. That had kind of been Tommy those last few weeks. He said little as he traveled realms only he was aware of.

  It was us three, and I was fine with that; we’d be more nimble: quick in, quick out. That was the plan. And right now, that was about as in-depth as it got. Actually, pretty good for me. Within an hour, we had all we thought we’d need. We spent the next ten minutes saying our goodbyes. And just like that, we were on the road, though this time Ron drove.

  “You just let me know when you’re tired, and I’ll take over,” I told him.

  Ron raised a thermos the size of a traditional pitcher. “Full of coffee, I should be able to stay awake this entire trip.”

  “Praise be to Jesus,” BT said, and not in mockery. He meant it.

  We drove in relative silence. There was a little small talk, but we’re like most guys—we don’t tend to have a lot to say, and now that major league level sports were no longer played, we didn’t even have that on the table. There was still the weather, I suppose.

  “The Quabbin is pretty huge, Mike. Any idea what to do when we get there?” Ron asked.

  “You guys are the ones that heard her call. Didn’t she tell you anything else? Not that it’s really going to be all that hard to find her.”

  “How can you say that?” Ron asked. BT got it right away.

  “The zombies, it’s going to be hard to miss them,” he said.

  “Right.”

  “You all right, Ron? You look a little green.” I laughed.

  We made it through the entire state of Maine without seeing a soul. I’ve heard of ghost towns, never a whole fucking state though. As we passed Portland, the only things we saw moving were small groups of zombies out on patrol. They turned and followed for a bit before they realized we were a meal out of their grasp, and then went back foraging for whatever was left. There had to be holdouts there, or why would the zombies bother? And what could we do about it? I watched the wasteland pass by. It was stranger than I could have ever imagined to be traveling through the end of times. I’d read tons of science fiction and apocalyptic horror when I was younger, always fantasized about a world with little to no people in it. Sounded glorious back then. What a fool I was. As much as people could suck, it was so much better than this.

  Some people were good, some were bad, but most of us had varying degrees of both elements. Did I believe the earth itself would be better without us? Of course, we were a destructive parasite as far as the Great Mother was concerned. Most animals would also celebrate our passing. The lone holdouts being dogs and rats. Cats didn’t give a shit about us when we were here; no reason to believe they would care now that we were gone. I don’t want to wax poetic because I very rarely live in the past, and I’m definitely not a poet. The thought of no more music, no more movies, no more books, none of the marvels of man’s imagination coming to fruition was damn depressing. Of course, that also meant no more weapons of mass or even minor destruction, no murder, no crimes against humanity, no greed and all the other less-than-fine qualities of our kind. Was the trade-off worth it?

  We’d effectively taken ourselves out of the loop. We talked about super-volcanoes and meteor strikes being our undoing, but it really was a foregone conclusion that we were going to pull the trigger that would blow us away. We’d been trying for so long (and man wasn’t predisposed to taking “no” for an answer) that he’d finally gotten his wish. I don’t know what the tipping balance was that made a recovery for human population a possibility, but I had to figure we’d long ago crossed over to the other side. As far as I knew, zombies could survive for years without food, going into their stasis mode to preserve resources. Even if we started to repopulate, we would just activate the zombies again to repeat the cycle of devastation. We’d scratched a rut into the record, and it was just going to keep playing the same shitty little part of the tune before repeating. Yeah, that was my mindset as we traveled down the road. Then the truck began to slow.

  “Something wrong?” I asked, first looking over to the instrument panel to see if the truck was breaking down. When I realized that wasn’t the case, I checked the magazine on my rifle, pulled the charging handle back, and got ready.

  “Relax, just some people on the other side of the road. Looks like they had car trouble,” Ron said as he put the hazards on, came to a full stop, and put us in park.

  “Are you fucking insane?” I asked. I rolled down my window, ready to get my rifle up and target someone. I noticed that the driver had already gotten behind his car to use as a shield. “This isn’t the morning commute anymore. They’ll just as soon kill us and take our ride as say ‘hello.’”

  “I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

  Dramatic had not even got out of his mouth when the first bullet came in our direction.

  “Get out of the truck!” the driver shouted. “Or the next one is in your head.”

  Ron reached for the door handle. “Duck the fuck down and get us out of here,” I hissed.

  “He’ll shoot me.”

  “He’ll shoot you anyway. Fucking do it, Ron. This is my world now.”

  Ron placed the truck in drive and ducked down just as I brought my rifle up. I peppered their car with rounds, forcing the driver to dive for cover. Rounds were still coming our way, striking the truck with heavy metallic thumps. We were picking up speed, getting away from our potential way layers. The rear windshield exploded inward as one of the men ran out onto the highway to get a better angle. I put at least one, maybe two, rounds in his stomach for his efforts. He would die a slow, miserable death.

  “Mike, you hit?” BT asked, alarmed. He’d turned to look at me. I put my hand up behind my ear. The bullet had grazed me right behind it, digging a groove into that bony protrusion. Now that I knew I’d been shot, it hurt like a motherfucker. That was the least of our problems as a funnel of steam shot up from the hood in a newly formed venting hole also supplied by our fellow highwaymen.

  “Mike, I’m sorry!” Ron looked on the verge of panic.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one that can fuck up a truck,” I said, trying to stem the flow of blood from my head.

  “You are not going to do a ‘told you so’ right now, are you man?” BT begged.

  I shrugged. “Why not?” He’s been giving me shit about his precious trucks now for a couple of
months, and he destroys the one he’s driving in under three hours. “Sorta feels like poetic justice.” It’s been well documented I use sarcasm and humor as a way to temper the fear I’m feeling. It was not lost on me that Ron was on the verge of checking out. He’d just had his perceived notion of how the world worked knocked on its ass. It’s one thing to think about how it is, it’s completely another to live through it.

  “You all right, man?” BT looked over to Ron.

  “I’m the fucker that’s shot,” I told him.

  “Please, everyone knows you’re too stupid to die.”

  “Shit, BT, don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel.”

  The engine groaned and clanked. It began to sound like loose sneakers in a dryer. Soon, it quit. Ron’s dashboard lit up in a variety of stunning colors. We found ourselves on a slowing roll.

  “Start grabbing gear, BT. Ron?” My brother clamped his hands on the steering wheel. He stared straight ahead. “Ron!” I smacked him on the shoulder. He responded with an erg or ugh. “Ron!” I shouted in his ear.

  He turned slowly. “I almost got you killed; I almost got all of us killed.”

  “Yeah, so?” I told him. “Grab your fucking gear. It’s not the last time you’re going to almost get us killed. You’d better get used to it.”

  “Is he kidding?” Ron asked BT.

  “Doubtful.” BT had begun cramming stuff into a small backpack. Well, I mean it was a big backpack to a normal human, but small in his hands.

  “Why were they shooting at us?”

  “Ron, man, we don’t have time to question everything right now. Either those douche bags are going to be on us, or zombies that heard the party are going to come and try to crash. We don’t have time to think, just do. That’s our modus operandi now.”

  “Latin, you’re using Latin. I’m so proud of you.”

  “We’re losing him, Talbot.” BT was halfway out the door.

  “Ron, man, listen to me. We need to get out of here and now.” I heard the sound of an approaching engine.

  “Mike.” BT poked his head in.

  “Not deaf, BT.”

  “Want me to drag him out?”

  “Ron, this is the new world. It sucks big, thick corn-encrusted shit through a Silly Straw.”

  “Really, man?” BT chimed in.

  “This is what we have to deal with. I’m not an expert. I’m not, but I do have experience, and you need to listen to me.”

  I got a strangled “ung.” Even if my brother wasn’t in the process of losing it, he still had the unenviable task of listening to someone’s advice, someone he used to torture mercilessly when we were younger. I would always be his little brother and therefore would never possibly “know” more than him. It was a huge bias that he was going to need to overcome, and pretty damn fast, if the sound of the oncoming car was any indication.

  “No time. I already got one crazy Talbot. Can’t deal with another.” BT came around to the driver’s door, opened it, and pulled Ron out easier than a toddler from a car seat. He had him all the way to the road edge before Ron finally told him he could walk on his own. I grabbed what I could and joined them. We’d just hit the tree line by the time the car came up over a hill and into view. The throaty engine was at full throttle.

  “Get down.” Superfluous words. BT knew better and he dragged Ron down with him.

  “What if they want to help?” Ron asked.

  “Aw he’s just like a little, itty baby. Ain’t know no better.” BT smiled like a proud parent.

  “That a fucking rocket launcher?” I asked with alarm. “Motherfucker.” We all buried our heads in our arms, thinking that this would somehow protect us should a rocket-propelled grenade make its way toward us. It wouldn’t, but luckily they were aiming for the truck. The car may have slowed, tough to tell. Next thing I heard was the whoosh of a rocket, the screeching of tires seeking purchase, then the concussive blast of an explosion that rippled past us along with a variety of truck parts. Our eight-cylinder, six-hundred-pound engine came to an earth-shaking landing not more than ten feet from our location.

  “Holy fuck,” I said, pivoting my head so I could see through my now splayed fingers. I stood up. What was left of Ron’s truck was a burning, smoking hulking mess of debris. “Well, I can honestly say I’ve never quite done that to one of your cars.”

  “Just another day in the life of Michael Talbot.” BT was now standing next to me as we watched what was left of the truck burn. “That’s going to bring every zombie from the state here.”

  “I’m sure that’s why they did it.” I turned to retrieve my brother, happy to see he was slowly getting up.

  “Why, Mike? Why would they do that?”

  “Wanted our stuff, I imagine.”

  “And they’d kill us for it?”

  “Sure, who’s going to tell them differently?”

  “Morals maybe?”

  “Those are in short supply. Anybody who was loose with them when civilization was here has completely let the expiration date lapse without picking up new options to continue.”

  “How can you be so cavalier?”

  “Do I look like I’m having a good time, Ron? Those fuckers just tried to kill us for a truck, a few guns, and two days’ worth of food.”

  “Umm, Mike, when you ask somebody the rhetorical question, ‘Do you think I’m having fun?’” BT mimicked my voice for that last part, though his was much deeper. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be smiling. It makes you look duplicitous.”

  “He’s right, you have this weird lopsided smile, like when you were tattling on one of us when we were younger.”

  “I never tattled. Fuck you both, we need to go.”

  “What? We just keep going? They shot a fucking rocket at us.”

  “Not sure what else you would have us do, Ron. If we packed it in every time someone shot at us, I would have laid down and died that time in Korea.”

  “That far back?”

  “That far back.”

  “You never said anything.”

  “I killed a man. I never wanted to talk about it again.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was me or him. More than likely, he’d be dead now anyway.”

  Ron looked at me strangely, like maybe he was willing to understand me a little more. That could be good or bad. Or perhaps, he could finally see where I was coming from. I had experiences he did not, and he would now need to lean on me for my expertise. I can’t imagine it sat particularly well with him. Better that than dead, though.

  “Zombies.” BT said flatly, pointing to a spot the way that we’d come. They were a long way off, but they were running.

  “Into the woods.”

  “We’re not going to kill them?”

  I peeked back. “Nope, too many, and they’re just like potato chips.”

  “What?”

  “It’s your brother’s way of saying the more you kill, the more will come.”

  “We really have been together too long,” I said to the big man.

  “Yeah, well, when this shit is all over, I’m leaving. Going to find a nice peaceful place, maybe in California or some shit. Gotta get away from all this. Start over maybe.”

  It pained me to think of BT leaving at some point. I understood the reasons why he’d want to, that’s for sure. Well, it was nothing to worry about at this point. It was a good, long while away. The woods weren’t too thick; only had to travel a couple of hundred yards through them until we found ourselves in a neighborhood. The greenery had been more of a noise buffer for the residents in this area than anything else. There were cars parked along the road. Most were locked up. A couple were open but had no keys. We were three streets over when we came across a smallish traffic jam. Ten cars had gotten tangled in a rotary, or a roundabout for those of you not from the New England area. A fair amount of shell casings of differing calibers sparkled in the sunlight.

  BT and I were on high alert; Ron was still in a daze.
His rifle hanging down in his arms. We came upon the scene slowly; whatever had happened here hadn’t been recent. Ron turned away when he saw the legs of a woman lying on the roadway. Good thing he had because she’d been devoured from the knees up. Someone else must have come up on the scene because the zombie that had done the damage was lying on top of her, dead.

  “BT?”

  “Checking.” He went around to the cars, looking for something serviceable, while I made sure Ron didn’t go further down the rabbit hole.

  “You hanging in there?”

  “We’ve been gone half a day, Mike. I didn’t think it’d be this bad. I just assumed that if you could do it, so could I.”

  “Naw, I never thought that.” BT stood back up, from where he’d been leaning into a lime green Honda. “Mike has a special skill set.”

  “Here we go,” I said, waiting.

  “Crazy, your brother is off-his-fucking-rocker crazy, and in this world, that’s what it takes to survive. Why do you think he was going even more nuts in your house? Another week, I wouldn’t have doubted if he took a radio, drove a few miles away, radioed like someone needed help, and then gone off to save the fictitious person.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “See?” BT asked Ron. “Um, Mike.” BT pointed to the body of the woman.

  “What?”

  “Look a little harder.”

  “Oh, fucking dammit.” Where the woman had potentially once birthed children was a silver set of keys. They were mucked up in varying hues of brown red and black. “Why are you looking at me? You saw them, you should get them.”

  “Hell, no.”

  We could sit here and argue about it, but I would lose and we would have wasted more time. I’m sure someone already had eyes on us. Stationary, and out in the open, were generally not great options together. “Fug.” Something thick and wet got stuck in my throat as I reached into the decomposing reproductive organs. It was worse than I’d even imagined it could be. I had to use force to pull the keys as if they’d been glued in place with pubic hair and ligature. I stood holding them as far from my body as possible.

  “Here.” I attempted to hand them off. BT threw an old shirt over to me. I wiped the keys and myself down with enough force to rip off a few layers of skin and some metal shavings respectively. “Volkswagen.” I could finally see the top of the fob.