Mark Tufo - 'Til Death Do Us Part

“I wonder how many sleepers are in the city?” Azile asked, looking up at some of the huge skyscrapers

I shuddered thinking about them. “You’ve run into them, too?”

“Bathroom break.” She blushed. “Found a gas station, walked in and I saw a big mass of them. I figured they had been killed and stacked. Didn’t think too much about it…I mean, the stink was horrendous, but I had to go so bad even that didn’t matter at the moment. Felt a little bad for the next passer-by when I realized the water didn’t flush when I was done. That was the least of my problems, though, I heard stuff going on in the next room…figured it was rats. I’m not a fan of rats, but they don’t scare me, so I peeked my head in and I saw zombie after zombie peeling itself away from that congealed mass of whatever it was.”

“They are creating some sort of secretion that keeps them safe while they are in hibernation. I would imagine it also has some nutrients involved,” John said, glassy eyed.

“I don’t know how he does it,” I said aloud to Azile’s question before she could voice it. I pulled out the atlas and first found Pennsylvania and then checked out the Philadelphia insert. “It looks like we’re about three or so miles away,” I said as I got my orientation within the city. “You’ve got a left coming up.”

“Mike, I don’t really like this,” Azile said as she was swiveling her head back and forth.

And I couldn’t really put my finger on it, but I wasn’t a fan of the city either—and not just because they were Phillies AND Eagles fans here and in its heyday the city had been anything BUT the city of brotherly love. Philadelphians couldn’t stand outsiders…or themselves for that matter. It was claustrophobic; the streets were getting smaller and narrower the closer to the center we got. It was a shortcoming of all major cities on the eastern seaboard, they had been settled at a time when horses and carts dominated and those paths were made from the natural game trails of the deer and Indians before them. They were never built with the thought of a semi driving around.

“It does feel like it’s closing in,” I said as I put the muzzle of the gun on the frame of the truck door.

She looked over and nodded, her eyes big, she looked a lot like the scared kid that she was. “We could get in a lot of trouble real quickly, and with the noise this rig makes, I think that will happen sooner rather than later.” Almost on cue, air released from the drums letting out a large squelching sound.

Then it began, zombies just started to pour into the street. One moment the intersection ahead of us had an overturned cab and a burned minivan, and the next it was filling rapidly with running zombies that were coming out of the buildings on both sides.

“Shoot them, Mike,” Azile said with an edge to her voice. The truck was slowing down.

“I can’t really shoot it straight ahead unless I take out the windshield.”

“Don’t do that!” she shouted as if I were truly contemplating it—although I kind of was. “Stick it out the window!”

“I won’t be able to hold it steady enough. It’s a machinegun and it’s got a ton of kick.”

“Would the M-16 have been a better choice now?” she asked sarcastically.

“Do all women get together in a big annual rally and figure out how they can bust our balls better?” I asked as I pulled the muzzle in and quickly rolled the windows up before our guests arrived.

“Oh this is bad,” John said as he looked like he finally realized what was happening. “Is there a parade? This is really going to delay us getting to Stephanie’s hotel.”

If we can get there at all, buddy , I thought.

“A fucking parade, are you kidding me?” Azile said as the first zombie slammed into the truck’s grille.

“See any floats?” John asked as he craned his head around.

“Not one of those kinds of parades, John,” I told him as I was trying to figure out how to best use my heavy paperweight.

“Must be a demonstration, they look kind of pissed. They mad about Viet Nam?” he asked me solemnly.

“That’s probably it,” I told him.

“Why do you coddle him like that?” Azile asked hotly. “He needs to know what’s going on or he’s going to get us killed!”

“Hey, John, I’m going to talk about you as if you’re not here, you okay with that?” I asked as I put my hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. He nodded in reply. “On some level he knows exactly what’s going on,” I said, looking up from John to Azile while I left my hand on John’s shoulder. “This is his way of dealing with it. Who am I to tell him it’s wrong? Hell, I wish I were with him, his is an infinitely better world. And this man that ‘will get us killed’ like you said, has saved my life twice!” I accidently on purpose left out the part about me having to rescue him because he thought a couple of zombies were line jumpers for Grateful Dead concert tickets, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “This is also the same guy who figured out how to block out Eliza’s mind transmissions.”

“Fine,” issued forth reluctantly from Azile’s mouth, but it was not difficult to see that she was not happy about it.

John was reaching over me heading for the door.

“Where you going, buddy?” I asked him.

“Philly cheese steak, I’m starving.”

“Yeah I’m hungry, too, but I’m not thinking this is the best time.”

“No, no, it’s the best time. All the street cart vendors come out for the parades.”

“See!” Azile said, throwing her hands up in the air.

“What’s your solution, Azile? Are you tough enough on the inside to sacrifice him?” I shot back.

“If he ever puts my life in danger I’ll—”

“Stop!” I told her. “Don’t say something you’ll regret or force me into a decision I don’t want to make.”

She turned to face forward; the set of her jaw told me she was straining to hold back a litany of words best left out of this journal.

The truck was starting to jostle around as an increasing number of zombies made our acquaintance and still more were coming. I know it’s wrong, I’m not so far removed from reality to know my thoughts aren’t politically correct, but the image I got of all those zombies around the truck was of those late night commercials that beg for money. You know the ones where the Red Cross truck pulls up into the village and the people all run to the truck for their allotment of food? Unfortunately, in this case, we were the food.

“Can you drive forward?” I asked Azile.

“This is a truck not a tank,” she replied as we looked over the expanding sea of dead.

“You guys need to find something to wad up and stick in your ears.”

“Fireworks?” John asked. I thought I might have caught a glint of fear in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with a stoned countenance.

“Close enough,” I told him as I pulled back the charging mechanism.

“What are you doing?” Azile asked.

“I am going to destroy these motherfuckers.” I took off my hat under the severe protests of John.

“Listen, bud, I just need you keep the line of firecrackers straight as I set them off. Can you do that?”

“Sure, man, but you should still keep your hat on.”

“I’m fine for the moment.” And I was. The white noise was replaced by an eerie silence in my head. Eliza was nowhere around, at least not in broadcasting mode. I ‘pushed’ the closest zombies away from the running board and opened the door. The nearest ones were straining against invisible bonds, their teeth gnashing at the empty air like Doberman Pinschers trying to find a meaty thigh. And did I tell you how much Dobies scare the shit out of me?