Joseph Talluto - Taking It Back

Inside there was a lawn mower, a small two person boat with a largish motor on it and a cluttered workbench along the far wall. I moved towards the workbench while Charlie went to the office door. A small row of lockers was next to the workbench and a cursory look into each one revealed several work shirts, a couple of towels, and decent supply of porn magazines. I smiled and turned towards the office as Charlie opened the door.

A huge zombie crashed into Charlie and bore him to the floor. The zombie had to be at least three hundred pounds and was dressed in a stained coverall with the name ‘Pete’ stitched on it. Charlie had his hand under the man’s chin, trying to keep the snapping jaws away from him, but I could see his hand slipping. I grabbed an old, wooden handled hammer from the bench and ran over to help. Charlie managed to get the zombie off of him and the two of them were lying side by side, struggling.

I stepped up to the zombie’s head and swung the hammer down, hard. The head of the hammer decided at that moment to slip off and it hurled across the garage to clang against the wall and floor. All I managed to do was bonk the zombie’s head with a piece of wood.

“Play the damn drums some other time!” Charlie forced out through gritted teeth.

I reversed my grip on the handle and shoved it in the zombie’s gaping mouth, barely getting my hand out of the way of the brown teeth. Charlie shoved the Z away from him and scrambled to his feet, followed by the huge zombie slowly getting up and coming at us. The handle of the hammer stuck out its mouth like the stick of a putrid candy apple.

Charlie whipped out a tomahawk and, snarling, jumped forward, burying the entire head of the ‘hawk in the Z’s skull. Charlie ripped out the blade as the zombie fell forward and it hit the ground with such force the hammer handle poked out the back of its head.

Charlie didn’t say a word, he just went to the bench and cleaned off the blade of his weapon with a greasy rag. Coming back to the front of the garage he said, “I’d thank you, but I’m not sure what for.”

I tried to look hurt. “I distracted him, didn’t I?”

Charlie stepped outside and sloshed a little gas on his tomahawk then produced a lighter to set it aflame. The gas burned red off the blade, a curious side-effect of burning the virus. When the red died away, Charlie blew out the flame and resheathed the weapon.

We went back to the boat and found everyone else had started eating. Sarah handed me a hot dog and asked if we had found anything. I shook my head and said, “Just a rotting corn dog.”

I ignored the piece of bun that bounced off my back.

I was on watch during the night when I saw the lights. We had loosened the mooring lines and allowed the boat to drift away from the dock about twenty feet. I figured that allowed us some security from any wandering zombies as well as keeping us from getting surprised by any others.

The lights were on the river and at first I wasn’t sure I had seen anything, but the lights flashed on and off intermittently and after a few minutes I realized the lights were looking for something, but trying not to attract attention while they searched. That made me wonder if they were actually friendly survivors, looking for other survivors.

The river was dark as pitch, making slow slapping sounds against the pontoons. The moon offered very little light, just enough to show where the river was, but the banks were deep in shadow. If I recalled correctly, this was a Rustler’s Moon. Light enough to see, but not light enough to aim a gun. I watched and saw the light again, checking the sides of the river. It was about three hundred yards upstream and moving slowly, with the river current. I couldn’t hear anything other than the sounds of the river, so I had no way of knowing for sure their intent.

I stepped over to where Tommy was sleeping and tapped him on the shoulder. He awoke with a start and was reaching for a weapon when I whispered, “Shh…it’s me. We’ve got company.”

Tommy scrambled to his feet and swung up his AR. “Where, what, who… zombies,” he stuttered, his head still asleep.

I grabbed his arm and shushed him, pointing upriver to where the light flashed on again. Tommy shook the sleep out and stared at the shadows, trying to see what was coming our way. I climbed on top of the shelter and lay prone, keeping my rifle trained on the dark. If they didn’t notice us, my thought was to just let them drift on past and be on their merry way.

As they drifted closer, I began to hear bits of quiet conversation. It allowed me to focus more clearly on where they were. I heard Tommy shifting and knew he knew where they were as well.

“Why do we want to find them?”

“They looked dangerous.”

“What choice do we have? I already explained this to you.”

“The kids are tired and scared. We shouldn’t have left the city.”

“The gangs were going to kill us. They killed everyone else. They’re worse than the zombies.”

“We should have gone to the shelter.”

“This is crazy.”

They had drifted to within one hundred yards of our boat and I decided to force the issue, one way or another. I placed my flashlight on the roof of the shelter, away from me and turned it on. Its powerful LED beam pierced the darkness and lit up a crude flotilla. I felt like I was looking at refugee boats from Thailand. Three aluminum rowboats and two canoes had been lashed together to form a raft of a sort, and they were using the oars and paddles to move the mess downriver.

When the light hit them, several people dove for cover and I could hear the muffled cries of more than one child being desperately quieted by their mothers. I could see one man fumbling with what looked like a military-surplus style rifle. One boat was laden with garbage bags and packs, the sure sign of a hasty exit.

As the man tried to bring up the rifle, I spoke conversationally. “Don’t bother.” My words carried across the water, the man slowly lowered the rifle and raised his hands in surrender.

“Please don’t kill us,” he begged. “We’re just trying to get away from the city. Please, we have children with us. Please.” He looked in pretty bad shape, like he hadn’t eaten in a while. Stress was in every limb as he stood there in the light.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I said. I could hear stirring inside the shelter as my voice woke others up. Charlie had gotten up and was next to Tommy with his AR, trained on the refugees. “Paddle closer and we’ll throw you a line. You can dock up there.” I aimed the beam at the edge of the dock. “Stay there until we come for you. Get some rest. No one will bother you until morning.”

The man’s shoulders slumped in relief and I could hear small voices saying ‘thank you’ as they slowly paddled to the dock. I kept the light on them until they were secure, then sent Charlie and Tommy back to bed. I still had watch for another two hours, then it was Martin’s turn. I had a few things to think about.

In the morning, after we had pulled our boat back to the dock, Charlie and I went back to the maintenance shed and hauled out the boat that was in there. There was a moment when we had to move the body out of the way, but we wrestled the boat around to the gas tank and filled the motor, hoping the gas hadn’t turned to varnish over the winter.

We brought the bass boat-at least I think that’s what it was- down to the water and pushed it in. I never fished, so I had no idea. Charlie reassured me it was. I pulled the boat with a line while he sat in it and steered. We brought it to where our boat was tied up and left it there. Our crew was getting up and moving about and were moving in pairs to the woods to perform morning functions. Some were looking towards our raggedy neighbors, but no one said anything. I went to the boat and put my gear on, checking my SIG and making sure my knife was in place as well as my pickaxe. My extra magazines were in place and I tucked my Walther into my leg pocket. Charlie geared up as well and with weapons in hand we went to the edge of the dock and looked over our new friends.