Mark Tufo - Whistlers

“Guy really liked cherry,” I said as I pulled box after box of them out. “Now the question is, do I like cherry?”

Again, I got a pang in my gut and I had no idea why. Maybe it was the hunger I was feeling. I didn’t know if I’d eaten an hour, or three days ago. The hollowness in my stomach was an indicator it had been a while. I ripped open the foil packet and instead of nibbling around the edges, I shoved half that thing in my mouth. Yeah, I gagged. It wasn’t because they were bad but rather, I indeed hated cherry.

“Oh, fucking gross!” I was spitting out the chewed up bits onto the floor and wiping my tongue free of the offending food.

“Come on, man, there has got to be something in this bus worth the effort of getting into it.” One hundred and six boxes of the mini-pies and one hundred and five were cherry. “What kind of freak is this guy?”

The last was peanut butter. Again, I had no idea if this was a flavor I enjoyed or not and the words PEANUT ALLERGY flashed across my thoughts in angry red letters.

“Well, I’d more likely be concerned about that warning if I knew what it meant.”

I ripped this packet open. However, this time, learning from my earlier mistake, I took a bite a mouse would have been ashamed of. I didn’t immediately spit it out or go into convulsions, so I figured I was somewhat safe. I took a bigger bite. When the peanut butter coursed across my taste buds, I figured this must be what heaven was like. I ate all eight of the delectable delights in record time; my eyes were closed as I savored every satisfying chew. I wasn’t full, and I might have had a little stomachache from too much sweetness, but it was so worth it.

Now, if only I could find some milk, or better yet, a cow so I could wash it all down.

For the first time since I’d gotten onto the bus, the zombies had stopped beating against the truck. I looked up. A fair number were no longer watching me like I was a fish inside a large aquarium stationed in their favorite Chinese food restaurant while they waited patiently for their order to be filled.

“Something else on the menu, boys?”

I checked my weapon. Maybe there were other folks out there and I could give them some covering fire. I was peeking over the head of an incredibly tall monster. I felt like opening the window and tapping him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, Mr. Monster. I realize you probably had a lucrative career playing basketball, but now you’re in my way, and I need to see. So…if you could please move a little.”

Good thing the heavy mesh was in the way. I stepped back from the window when I heard the cries of the night runners, they were hunting. They were close, but not overly so. Who were they hunting? Someone had told me that they had an incredible sense of smell.

“Who?” I yelled. “Who the fuck told me that?!”

I caught glimpses of a face, then I completely stopped when the giant thing in front of me turned. He looked like a clay model man created by Picasso. Half of his face seemed normal enough, but the other side was dragged down. Half of his forehead had sloped down and was covering his right eye. His eyelid on that side, which had completely stopped working, was in the closed position. The skin under his eye had sunk down leaving a veiny red area exposed. His cheek, which was sallow and concave, was pulled down, giving him a Bulldog jowl expression. Another pang, this one almost put me in a seat before I recovered. There was either something about jowls or Bulldogs that threatened to put me in a funk. On the good side of his face, the corner of his mouth was pulled up in an ‘I’m going to eat your spleen’ kind of smile. The left side was pulled down in an ‘I’m going to eat your spleen’ kind of sneer. It was not a pleasant sight. I would have shot him just because, but I was afraid the noise would bring the others and I didn’t need that kind of trouble.

I watched the far side of the road, where the night runner cries had originated. Ten to twelve of them came out from the tree line and were jealously looking over at our party. They appeared to want to crash it, yet they were tentative. A few of my guests peeled off from the bus and pursued the night runners as they melted back into the woods.

It was ten or fifteen minutes later, the night runners returned. I’m not sure if it was the same ones, but the likelihood was high. This time, they were silent as they crossed the road and were now standing in the median.

“What is going on?”

I got my answer soon enough as they started screaming amongst themselves. They came no closer, that didn’t seem to be their motive.

“They’re luring the security away.”

I quickly crossed the bus and was now leaning on the bench, peering out into the woods on this side of the roadway. Most, but not all of my entourage had departed, it was definitely a skeleton crew.

“You crack me up.” I was talking to myself.

Whatever mirth I momentarily felt, left quickly as I watched a half dozen of the sneaky bastards come out from behind cover. A quick count showed about ten of the original monsters, who had absolutely no clue what was going on. My instincts were telling me to let this play out. Then I could deal with the remainder and get out of this cherry overload hell I was in. The night runners were swift and merciless as they descended upon the first of their enemy.

One of the night runners grabbed the female thing from the back, wrapping his arms around her waist, tightly pinning her arms to her sides. Her neck bent as she dipped down trying to get a bite on the forearm holding her. A second night runner came up behind her and grabbed a fistful of hair and wrenched her head backwards until her spinal column popped. The first one let her go and she lost her balance and fell over backwards, landing awkwardly on her lolling head. The night runner that had broken her neck brought his foot down on the side of her head until she looked like neglected road kill. A variation of this went on three more times. I couldn’t tell who I wanted to win. This was like watching the New York Yankees play the Philadelphia Eagles, I wanted them both to lose. Two names I was positive I didn’t like, but had no idea who or what they belonged to.

“Which is the lesser of two evils?” I asked myself as I watched the night runners kill another zombie. “Zombie?”

I said the word like my tongue was swollen. It came to my lips long before the meaning came to my mind. I had a funny feeling this happened a lot to me—even before I banged my head. The zombies were much more familiar, and it was clear to me I’d known them longer. The night runners were a relatively new threat. I don’t know how I knew that, I just did. And like any good redneck, I fear change. I grabbed the two latches on the window nearest me and pushed the window down. I placed the barrel of my weapon through a hole specifically designed for a rifle to poke through. I mean, there was even a rubber grommet to protect the bluing of the firearm from scraping against the wire.

“Why didn’t the idiot have a throwing star cut out as well? Jerk.” I said as I lined up my shot.

I put two holes into the base of the night runner’s neck. He went down fast. His assassin partner spun to look up at me and charged my gun emplacement. He grabbed the barrel and yanked me forward. If the dimensions of the gun hadn’t of stopped his pull, I would have slammed my head off the wire. He screamed in unbridled rage, as he wrapped his other hand around the barrel as well and started shaking it like he was churning butter. I could barely get my finger on the trigger. Luckily, he was presenting his chest to me, or I would have never got a decent shot off. I hit him flush in the nipple, completely obliterating this useless appendage on the male anatomy. He staggered back, the fury never leaving his features as he fell to the ground. The zombies finally caught wind that something was wrong, as they came to investigate the loud noises happening on the far side.