Mark Tufo - 'Til Death Do Us Part

“I’ve got a girl” someone said triumphantly behind me. I heard some scuffling.

It seemed that my rear observation post had failed me. I put the weapon down and exited the truck as quickly as I could. Azile was struggling in a man’s arms. Her legs were kicking uselessly in the air as he had lifted her up against him and was pulling her back to the building.

I ran at him, he had been looking back towards the building. When he finally turned forward and saw me, I was within ten feet.

He put Azile up as a human shield. “Wait...you don’t even have a gun.”

I kept coming at him. Azile pulled her head to the left as I brought a punch from somewhere off in right field. Azile’s attacker was not able to do much more than watch as my fist made contact with his face. I had struck him so hard, bones cracked. At first, I was certain the snapping bones had been my knuckles. It was difficult to tell in the moonlight, but I was certain that his face was indented; it was a nauseating sight.

His nose had been pushed flat and his right cheek bone was non-existent. He fell backwards to the ground, the back of his head slamming off the pavement. The cavity in his face was soon filled in with a rush of blood.

“Jonas,” Kirk called out, “you still got her?”

I could hear blood pounding in my ears, fury had taken root. “That would be a negative!” I yelled as I grabbed Jonas by his shins. I screamed in rage as I tossed his body a good fifteen feet, more of his frame splintered as he landed with a crushing blow.

Azile was watching me, possibly thankful, possibly warily. “How?” was her one word question.

I wasn’t entirely sure if she meant, how did I cave his face in or how did I throw a two hundred-something pound man fifteen feet. More likely both. My chest was heaving from the adrenaline, not the effort, no, that had come easy enough.

“Shit, Kirk, he just killed Jonas!” someone yelled from one of the higher stories.

We were in the open and had nothing to shield us.

“NO!” Kirk screamed just as I heard the doors open back up.

Zombies were streaming towards us. “RUN!” I yelled to Azile as if she needed any prodding. I mostly meant for her to run away, but in the confusion she headed back to our haven, our not operating haven.

I ran to the back of the truck to retrieve the fallen ammo box. I quickly turned to head back to the passenger side door and realized I wouldn’t make it—or maybe I would. I started swinging the box like it was a Louisville Slugger and my team was down by three, bases loaded, two outs, and bottom of the ninth. I figured if I was going for cliché, I might as well go all the way. The lead zombie met the full fury of a twenty-five pound ammunition box as it completely caved its skull in. He hadn’t hit the ground before I drove it into Kirk’s next pet.

Brain matter shot out the tops of heads like sleeves of Mentos dropped in a gallon container of Diet Pepsi. I was covered in the viscera, and still they came. My arms were beginning to burn from the effort.

“My pets!” Kirk screamed from a doorway. Some saw their ‘master’ and turned to express their gratitude; most stayed behind thinking I would eventually let one in. More than once I nearly lost my grip on the box handle as viscous blood coated everything. “Get more prisoners!” Kirk screamed as he headed back in.

They might be his pets, but he knew enough to realize that they bit. More screaming ensued as the damned witnessed their fate bearing down on them. I would have chased the retreating zombies down, but I was exhausted and exposed. It was only a matter of time before someone shot my ass.

“He fucking killed like twenty zombies with...with his bare hands,” the man that had informed Kirk of Jonas’ passing yelled.

To be fair, it wasn’t my bare hands. Now my chest was heaving from the exertion, I moved quickly to the truck and pulled myself up with no small amount of difficulty.

“Mike?”

“Later,” I said breathlessly. “Help me...lift the gun.” My arms were jelly-filled rope. Azile did her best to help me while also not getting too close; I was beyond gross. I loaded the new belt in. “Keep the ammo straight,” I told Azile as she got up behind me, reaching to my left to hold the ammo up. “This’ll...be...loud,” I breathed out heavily, looking back at her.

“I’m fine,” she returned.

“Friend!” Kirk yelled.

“Friend this, motherfucker!” I unleashed hell’s fury in multiple 7.62 projectiles. Screams of terror echoed throughout the building as I tried to tear it down. Bullets whined as they struck home, some ricocheting inside and doing more damage as they careened off of poles or beams. I was indiscriminately doling out death. I hoped the prisoners were tucked away safe but even if that wasn’t the case, I had to believe I was giving them the escape they had longed for. Kirk didn’t seem like a benevolent captor. The building’s groans of protestations were the only sounds once I dry fired.

“Mike?” Azile asked again.

“I’m fine,” I told her through gritted teeth. At least as fine as a mass murderer can be.

Azile did the only think she could think to do, she tried the truck again. Of course this time it started without a hitch.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Eliza and Tomas

Kong was underneath the hood of yet another truck trying his best to hold up his end of the bargain with Eliza, when one of his men tapped him on the shoulder.

“Fucking what?” Kong asked heatedly.

“She’s back,” his helper answered nervously.

Kong turned, the black tinted window, late model Chevy Camaro idled on the far side of the lot. The car was pointed directly at him; he knew better than to wave her over to him. He jumped off his work bench and walked over. He wiped the grease and now-forming sweat off his hands as he did so. Her window lowered as he approached. He could not fathom how someone so beautiful could be so cruel, and on top of that, she seemed particularly pissed off. He noted that his end of the conversation was going to consist of a bunch of head nods and yesses at all the appropriate times.

“We will leave within the hour,” she told him, never even looking over at his face as he bent over to look in.

He had ten great reasons why that couldn’t happen. “As you wish, mistress,” was his reply.

Her window rolled up.

Now he had the unenviable task of figuring out how to make it happen. “Wrench!” Tank shouted for his helper. “Are all the trucks topped off with fuel?”

“You know the answer to that,” Wrench told him, getting back to switching out the water pump in the truck they had been working on.

“Shit,” Kong said. Eliza was a day earlier than she had told him she was going to be. They had completely sucked the diesel tanks dry at the truck stop. He was going to send a fair number of trucks to a nearby station to top off, now he had no time. “Wrench, stop what you’re doing.” Wrench looked up. “Any truck not making the journey or has less than half a tank of fuel needs to have its fuel siphoned.”

“Kong that is NOT going to go over well with those truckers.”

“Not much of a choice. Get an armed escort if you have to. She wants to leave in less than hour.”

Kong was happy when Wrench didn’t say the traditional ‘Ain’t gonna happen’; there was no sense to it. They had all thrown the dice when they opted to work for Eliza. Although ‘work for’ might be somewhat liberal, ‘indentured servant’ was probably a better fit.

The smell of diesel wafted across the parking lot as men in a hurry took diesel from one truck to place in others—more than a fair amount landing on the ground—and still Eliza sat in her car. Kong doubted she was watching any of the activity going on around her.