Mark Tufo - Whistlers

“Yeah. And it’s not just the night runners. We’ve run into more than a few marauding bands as well. We’re trying to scout for other survivors, but we’re finding less and less each day. We do manage to locate a few here and there, but the odds lessen every day; time is running out.”

“And they run in packs like we’ve seen here?”

“Initially, yes. They were in small to medium-sized packs, but we just discovered that they’re gathering in larger ones numbering in the thousands. I hate to think what will happen should they all start getting together into larger ones. If we take the percentages into account, there is something in the neighborhood of half a million in our area alone,” I state.

Mike just looks on. I recognize the expression of someone who has been through very similar events.

“We’ve started hitting them with an AC-130 gunship, but they disperse almost immediately. It’s hard to catch the larger-sized packs, and I have the feeling our effort at whittling them down isn’t really doing much,” I continue.

“Holy shit! You have a gunship?” Mike asks, incredulous.

“Yeah. We just acquired it,” I answer.

“And you have someone who can fly it?”

“Well, I have some experience in a similar aircraft.”

He shakes his head. “We could definitely use something like that.”

“I wish we had one here, but I’m not even sure they have something like that. We also just met up with the crew from an attack sub. Do you have something like that where you’re from?” I ask.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure we do anymore.”

“Well, they left to explore what remains of the coastline and, even though we maintain a form of contact, I’m not sure we’ll hear from them again. I tell you the worst part, there are some very crazy-ass people out there. The breakdown of the rules and structure has allowed them the freedom of their minds to do as they please.”

“Some people, man,” Mike states. “You mentioned your kids before. How are they holding up?”

I pause for a moment. “They’re doing as well as they can. I think it’s me that’s having a problem. It’s that balance between keeping them safe versus giving them experience in order to survive. I still haven’t figured that one out and probably never will. They’ve seen some firefights and have held up well, but it tightens my gut thinking of them having to live in that kind of world. I need to get back to them.”

“You will, man. We both need to get back to our loved ones. How about the rest of your family?”

I pause even longer before looking into Mike’s eyes, my vision blurring. “I lost one of my daughters.”

His expression saddens as he places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Jack.”

* * * * * *

“Is that a loon?” John asked.

The only loon you hear is …Jack thought.

Jack then heard an all-too-familiar shriek in the distance.

Damn, how did he hear that before me ? Jack thought, shaking his head in wonder.

The distant cries of the night runners drifted across the night air, reaching the top of the tower as Mike and Jack stood near the railing.

“It’s getting close to go time,” Mike said nervously. “I sure do wish I had a beer.”

“A beer would go down nicely,” Jack agreed.

“Those sounds make my blood run cold, Jack. Are you we sure that waiting for them to come in is the best move?” Mike asked, questioning the only plan they really had afforded to them.

Mike turned to watch Trip scribble something on the side of the smooth, steel structure. “What are you doing, Trip?”

“Graffiti, man, I want people to know we were here…kind of like Kilroy,” Trip said as he tried to write. “But this pencil I borrowed doesn’t really work.”

“Pencil? That doesn’t really look like a pencil. Jack, you see this thing?” Mike asked.

Turning, Jack saw John trying to scratch the surface of the tower with what appeared to be a fuse pencil.

“Whoa! Dude! Stop! Do you mind if I take a look at that?” Jack asked, reaching his hand out.

“How do you spell ‘Ponch’?” Trip asked as he turned, placing the ‘pencil’ in his mouth in a questioning manner.

“You seriously don’t want to be doing that, John,” Jack stated, slowly shaking his head with amazement.

“He’s eating explosives, isn’t he?” Mike asked, but it was more of a statement. “You have got to be kidding me. John, buddy, could I maybe borrow that pencil?” Mike nervously shuffled closer, his trembling hand extending toward Trip.

“Yeah…he is. Bite down on that hard enough and you won’t have to worry about further dental work.”

“Sure, Mike, not a problem. What’s mine is yours, except for the Phrito’s. Those were pretty much mine,” Trip said with a smile.

He pulled the pencil from his mouth, the end of it catching on his front tooth. His fingers fumbled and the cylinder plummeted towards the ground.

Jack watched as the fuse pencil fell through John’s fumbling hands. It struck the steel grating with a clink and rolled toward one of the openings. Seeing it start to fall through one of the spaces in the grating, Jack dove for the side of the walkway, falling onto the metallic structure chest first. The fuse pencil fell all of the way through. Reaching his hand quickly underneath, he felt the chilled metal of the object land in his hand before it could begin its long journey to the ground, and to the waiting walking dead below.

Mike had made a move for the pencil as he watched it fall from John’s hand, but Jack had been quicker. There was something here he didn’t understand. Jack had a secret; Mike would keep his eye on him. Thus far, they were allies, but only because of common enemies.

“Damn nice grab, man. Hundreds of zombies and dozens of night runners and we almost did ourselves in. Although, if I had my choice between being eaten or blown up…”

“I just get lucky sometimes,” Jack replied, rising. He glanced to see a look of thoughtful concentration, perhaps a glimmer of distrust, cross Mike’s face.

Yeah, we may be allies, but it’s obvious the complete trust factor isn’t there yet…perhaps for either of us .

“And I don’t think we’d be blown up with this, but it sure would have sucked mightily to lose it,” Jack continued, holding the fuse pencil up to find it still intact. “I think we’ve found our distraction.”

“Alright, let’s get by the ladder and I’ll toss what Trip volunteered.” Mike held Trip’s skivvies as far away from himself as possible. “Oh, God, I think I see some brown on there,” Mike said, trying to hold back some bile.

“Damn, I could have really gone without seeing that. We could use both. The skivvies for smell and the C-4 for noise. If we went partway down the ladder and tossed them, we could wait for the ensuing fight and make our way through the woods. Where we’ll go after that is another story, but at least it’s away from here. Are you going to guide John?” Jack asked as he watched Mike don the NVGs.

“Sounds good, Jack. You lead the way, we’ll follow.” And that way I can keep my eye on you, Mike thought . “You tell me when to toss the underwear,” Mike said.

“Toss them?” Trip asked, shocked. “I thought you wanted to wear them. I’ve had those since 1978, man.”

And apparently wearing them ever since , Jack thought.

“Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick. Jack, get us the fuck out of here,” Mike said.

“Okay. Let’s shimmy down. Weapons ready. And, John, it would be much appreciated if you didn’t launch that thing into my back,” Jack said, nodding toward Trip’s slingshot.

Jack secured his M-4 by his side and swung his legs onto the ladder. Looking down, he saw the milling group of zombies below become agitated as darkness settled firmly upon the land. The distant shrieks carried on the night air, drawing closer by the second. Night runners approached from the surrounding trees. The plan looked a lot different and a lot less appetizing as they descended the ladder with the inky blackness of night all around.