Mark Tufo - 'Til Death Do Us Part

“This is murder,” BT said.

“How are you so dense?” she asked. “It is our survival or it is theirs, by any means necessary.”

“She’s right, BT,” Gary added. “Mike understood that. There are more than just zombies now. It is a struggle of good versus evil. The zombies have just marked the lines of delineation. Instead of scouring the earth of the scourge of humanity, those same lowlifes have risen to the top and are taking over. While the good people stay hidden protecting themselves and their own, these assholes take whatever they want and destroy whoever they want.”

“That man is defenseless.” BT pointed to the wailing figure on the roadway.

“And if he wasn’t?” Gary challenged.

“That’s not the point!” BT said, letting anger begin to inflect his voice. “He’s a human being and we’re treating him like a zombie.”

“You mean like this?” Deneaux asked as she drilled the man’s forehead with a shot. His head snapped back and his crying ceased.

“Q-ball they killed Deuce!” the distraught man yelled.

“How would I have missed that, Digger?” Q-Ball yelled. “We didn’t want to hurt you,” he added.

Deneaux started laughing in response. “Neither did we.”

“You’ve killed six of my men, this isn’t over!”

“It could be,” Deneaux said. “Just step into the clearing.”

“Yo, bitch, what is your problem?” Digger yelled. “That was my friend.”

“Well now I gave you a reason to pour some of your forty ounce beer on the ground. Isn’t that what you do? Kind of as a homage?” Deneaux cackled.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Digger screamed as he began to run to the clearing, his rifle chattering from the multiple rounds he was expending.

BT shot him before Deneaux had an opportunity. The bullets had come dangerously close to their location.

“And then there were two little Indians,” Mrs. Deneaux said cheerily.

“Fuck you all!” Q-ball said as he hopped on his bike and headed down the dirt path. It was moments later and the last remaining man got on his bike and headed back the way they had come.

“Well that was fun,” Mrs. Deneaux said as she began to brush broken bits of glass from her hair.

BT was still at a loss for words. Gary was approaching the dead men.

“What are you doing?” BT asked him.

Gary bent over and grabbed the assault weapon.

“Oh,” BT said as he came over, “any ammo?”

“Check the bikes. At least one of them had saddle bags.” Mrs. Deneaux reloaded her pistol and Gary’s rifle. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Huh?” BT asked.

Gary was opening the bike’s bags. “Damn, looks like a brass factory in here!”

Mrs. Deneaux pointed to the ground where a spreading pool of liquid was emptying from the bottom of the Pinto.

“Shit,” BT said as he ran back to the car.

Mrs. Deneaux was going over to Gary. “Help me lift this bike,” she said to him. Him helping turned out to be him lifting it.

Mrs. Deneaux straddled the machine; she held the clutch in and pushed down on the starter. The bike stuttered and died, she pushed again the bike started up. She got off and started to inspect the front end. “It should be fine,” she told Gary.

“Fine for what?” he asked her.

“For you or BT. I’m taking Digger’s motorcycle,” she replied.

“Taking it where?” Gary asked, obviously still confused.

“The Pinto is dead, so unless you want to walk, this is our option.”

“I don’t know how to drive a motorcycle,” Gary replied in alarm.

“First off, one does not ‘drive’ a bike, they ‘ride’ it, and you’d better hope BT can, then.”

“You’d really leave us then?” BT asked as he came over.

She didn’t reply as she went over to Digger’s bike and gave it the once over.

“And you do?” BT asked in reference to her knowing how to ride a bike.

“I belonged to a motorcycle club back in the late sixties,” she said with a smile.

“Of course you did,” BT responded. “This bike has some front end damage.”

“It’ll be fine, it’s just going to be a bumpy ride for you is all.”

“You know how to ride then?” Gary asked BT hopefully.

“I’ve had experience, I’m not great. With my size and the damage to the front end you should ride with Deneaux.”

“Fantastic!” she cackled. “You will be my bitch!”

They grabbed their meager supplies out of the Pinto and stuffed every available pocket and saddle bag with it and started off. Gary was reluctant to wrap his arms around Deneaux, but when she started and he almost pitched off he thought better of his hesitation. Deneaux was laughing madly as they started for the road. BT was cautious on the rough dirt road and was already a few miles behind Deneaux as she was screaming down the highway.

Gary had his head huddled into her back and was holding on for dear, dear life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mike Journal Entry 4

“Got another beer?” I asked John. Drunk was infinitely better than tripping and the quicker I could change my altered states the better. I had long ago stopped staring at the van’s gauges. They kept swirling and melting into each other anyway. The roadway wasn’t much better, but I still had enough presence of mind to keep watching that…barely.

I almost slammed into a tree when I felt the icy prick of death against the back of my neck, or it was the beer John was handing to the front. “Fuck,” I said as I reached back and grabbed the beer. “My hand, John, my hand!” I told him.

“What’s the matter with it?” he asked sitting up to take a look.

“Nothing, just put the beer in my hand next time.”

“Oh you need a beer?” he asked. “Why didn’t you just say something?” He reached in the cooler and placed another freezing can against the back of my neck.

At least this time I was ready for it and I grabbed it quickly. The glow of the burning city in my rearview mirror would have been surreal under normal circumstances. I couldn’t get over the sensation that Godzilla was real and he had just laid waste to the entire area. I hoped that Gary, BT, Mary, and Josh had made it out, because from my vantage point, it didn’t look like anything had survived.

“Man…you crying?” John asked, he was completely leaning over the seat, mere inches from my face.

“I’m fine,” I told him, trying as nonchalant as possible to wipe my tears away.

“Are you out of beer?”

“I’m good,” I told him, but we need to find a place to hole up. I can’t keep driving, if that’s what you’d even call this.”

“There are some cabins a few miles up the road. It’s a little bit off the highway, nice and secluded,” John said.

John’s flashes of lucidity were always welcome. “Just point the way,” I told him.

His index finger was up by the side of my face as he was quite literally pointing the way. I thought he might have been joking at first, or maybe he’d only leave it up there for a moment or two, but ten miles later his finger began to bend as we were coming up on our turn. Then straightened back out as we made the left.

“You think it’s safe?” I asked him as we pulled up to a small camp ground that had six or seven cabins for rent.

“We never got caught,” he answered.

“Who?”

“Me and the wife…we never got caught,” he answered.

“And who would have been doing the catching?” I asked.

“That’s not the point. Come on,” John said as he quickly exited the vehicle.