Mark Tufo - Alive in a Dead World

“You sound like you’ve had personal experience.”

“I invited them in for coffee.”

“What the hell were you thinking? You just wanted to show them your new vacuum, I bet.” Gary bent his head slightly like I had hit the nail on the head. “How did you get rid of them?”

“It was getting late and one of them had to get ready for bed,” Gary replied.

“How long were they there?”

“Not very,” he said, avoiding the question.

“What does that mean exactly?”

“Fine, Mike,” Gary said, getting a little hostile. “They were there for close to twelve hours! I couldn’t get them to leave, I even started vacuuming so I didn’t have to hear them proselytizing. Did it for so damn long, I thought my arm was going to fall off.”

“Well, at least your carpet was clean.” What the hell else could I say?

“It was horrible,” Gary rued.

“Well, then maybe you’ll appreciate my story. I had no sooner opened the door when crazy lady number one started her spiel, then the second one tried to hand me a Watchtower. If I had had the presence of mind and knew who was at the door, I would have brought a lighter and burned the pamphlet as she held it. I started yelling at them, saying, ‘I’m an atheist! Do you want to talk about life free from religion?!’ They started to back up. I think the first lady might have actually even begun to cry a little bit, but what really put me on their ‘Do not solicit’ list was, as they were trying their best to get the hell out of there, I came out of my house and got all up in the man’s face. Reeking of booze, I screamed. ‘I’m one of the four horsemen, motherfucker! And if you don’t get the hell out of here, I’m going to ‘rapture’ your ass!’ They started screaming, running as fast as they could to their Ford Taurus.”

“Wow! Maybe you’d better hope the Big Man doesn’t favor their religion over every other, or you are screwed! And what’s with the Ford Taurus? Is that somehow relevant?”

“Not really. I just think that car is the preferred vehicle of religious zealots everywhere.”

“Mike, I’m kind of surprised you didn’t have a cabin in upstate Montana, all by yourself.”

“Would have, if I could have afforded it.” I stood up, feeling marginally better. I didn’t think God had anything specifically out against me, just mankind in general. Way better. Misery loves company.

Paul and BT were coming out of the house with a small cache of weapons. The pistol from the father’s hand was noticeably missing, which was fine with me. There was the 30-30 rifle with a beautiful Leopold scope, another damn .22 and a shotgun. My eyes grew wide, looking at the beauty.

“Twenty gauge,” BT said, deflating my spirits.

Twenty gauges were a blast to shoot, but anything bigger than a turkey and you’d have to be a foot away to kill it. Might as well be swinging a machete at that point.

“Damn, I was hoping for a little more,” I said, picking up the 30-30.

“There’s another room upstairs we didn’t check,” BT said.

“Master bedroom, most likely,” Paul added.

“You two both know there’d probably be more guns there, right?” I asked. BT and Paul shared a knowing glance. Of friggin’ course, they knew that. “Someone’s in the room?”

BT nodded. “My guess would be the mother.”

“Yeah? Why would this nightmare have any other kind of conclusion? I’m going in.”

“Why?” Gary asked me.

“This family deserves to be together.”

“You need a wingman?” BT asked.

“If I’m not out on my own in five, could you maybe pull me out? And I’ll take a bottle of Prozac, if you come across any,” I said, trying for levity. I think it came out more like a grumble mixed with a dose of grim determination.

“This isn’t necessary,” Paul said.

“You’re probably right, but if that zombie upstairs is somehow still holding onto a soul, I’d like to think that I’m putting her to peace and they can finally all be together.”

“Aren’t they already dead?” Gary asked. “They’re souls should already be gone.”

“I’m not dead,” I told Gary. He looked like he just swallowed a grapefruit. “Relax brother, I’m not mad. You would think not having a soul would be liberating,” I said. “I mean free from guilt, what more could a Catholic boy ask for?”

“I would appreciate you not talking like that,” Gary said, truly hurt.

“I’m the walking abomination, Gary. I’ll talk any goddamn way I want to!” I yelled at him.

“That ought to get you in his good graces,” he retorted hotly.

“My bad. Probably not going to make it through the pearly gates now!”

“I’ll send you to a neutral corner, Talbot, if you don’t shut the hell up. We all know this is a bad situation. You’re just making it worse!” BT yelled.

“Which Talbot are you talking about?” Gary asked as an aside.

“The other Talbot-hole!”

“That’s what I thought because he really kind of started it,” Gary said.

“Gary!” BT shouted, “You’re not making this any better either! You do realize you’re his older brother.”

“I’m good, I’m sorry,” Gary said, composing himself better and quicker than I was able to.

I had left the scene completely to go back into the house. BT or Paul had pulled the father totally into the crib room and shut the door. One more nightmare locked away tight. I looked up the staircase, wondering if salvation might lay up there. I had my doubts. All this talk of lost souls had me thinking as I ascended, about all those people that believed in past lives. Why would God reassign souls? Was there a finite number? But that would only make sense if there was a set number of people on the planet. There were way more people alive in 2010 than in say, Biblical times. And would God go green? I mean with the whole recycling thing? It just didn’t make much sense. To believe in reincarnation, you would have to accept one of two things: either only certain people got to get “used” souls or the vast majority of us running around didn’t have one. Or maybe there was a third alternative. Maybe the finite number of existing souls was divisible. That could explain why the whole world had become so corrupt and evil. As more of us were born, we each got less and less of God’s essence.

Maybe this whole damn zombie-pocalypse was just a way for God to collect back his broken pieces to finally make them whole, something Humpty had never been able to accomplish. But if that were the case, wouldn’t those of us still around be feeling “wholer” or “holier”? How many soulless people had I come across since this all happened? How could anyone with any allegiance to the Big Man align himself with Eliza? The new root of all evil. My thoughts were flawed…Well, there’s something new and unusual. I was at the top of the stairs and I couldn’t even begin to remember how I got here.

The master bedroom was at the end of a hallway that wasn’t nearly long enough. I figured it was where I wanted to go because of the three doors up here, it was the only one not open.

I took a deep breath, and before I could engage my legs into moving, I heard Gary down at the bottom of the stairs.

“Wait, brother. I’ll come with you,” he said, taking the stairs two at a time.

I thanked him. This might singularly be the most difficult thing my brother had done to date and he was doing it for me.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked. “I said I’d come; I didn’t say I’d lead.”

I snorted, it was a little undignified, but he let it lapse. I could see the shadow play of someone moving in the gap between the door and the floor. Back and forth it moved rhythmically, at least it wasn’t banging up against the door, but we’d learn why in a few more seconds.