Mark Tufo - Alive in a Dead World

“Ooh! Sorry about that,” he said as he thrust the wooden-sharded handle into a zombie’s eye socket.

I was three rounds into my reloading procedure when shots began to ring out.

“Been waiting for the damn cavalry!” BT yelled as he roundhouse-punched a zombie in the temple. It hadn’t died, but it did drop to the ground, dazed. The rest of BT’s bat was lodged in the neck of a zombie that was desperately trying to pull the foreign object out.

Now that BT had stopped using the bat, I got closer to him so that we could defend each other better. I popped the clip into the rifle and got ready to acquire a target.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“They stopped attacking,” BT said.

Eight of the ugliest zombies walking the planet were just staring at us. They saw food, but something was holding them at bay. I more than half expected to see Eliza or Tomas walk out from one of the nearby houses.

“What are they doing?” Gary yelled from across two front yards.

A zombie looked to the new sound and immediately began chasing Gary down.

“Oh shit,” he said, not wanting to shoot because of his angle to the zombies and then us beyond. “I’ll see you in the house!” Gary yelled as he retreated back to safety.

“I do not want to die, Talbot,” a heaving chested BT said to me as we watched the zombies chase after Gary.

“You just took on eighteen zombies with a wooden stick, I’d say your actions speak differently.”

“No, just because I’m pissed off shouldn’t be construed as a suicidal gesture.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, let’s see if Mary can do anything for you.”

I know BT wanted to tell me we were wasting everyone’s time thinking a nurse in a North Carolina suburb had the only known cure for the virus that was systematically taking out mankind. But when you are thrown a lifeline, it matters not that it is made from smoke. We are hard-wired for hope, plain and simple.

“What was up with the zombies?” BT asked as we walked back to Mary’s.

“Damned if I know,” I said as I took two shots. Two more zombies went down, but that still left half a dozen. The remaining zombies did not even look in our direction as we approached. They were too busy sniffing around the front door. Probably picking up on the stink of Gary’s grievous injury.

“Is your brother alright? I saw a bandage around his head.”

“I shot him. I was saving his life!” I added when BT stopped to look at me.

“How much time you think I have left?” BT asked as we walked into Mary’s front yard. The zombies still didn’t care about us, but they were exactly where we needed to be.

BT doubled over as painful spasms racked through his abdomen. Less than I hoped, I answered him, but only in my thoughts. I rubbed the man’s back as he bent over, I noted that my hand was almost level with my ear as I did so. I didn’t know what to do. I was exposing everyone to a zombie if I brought him into Mary’s home and there wasn’t anything I could do for him anyway. It was a pipedream to think that Mary could either. I’m sure one of the topics she might have brought up while we were in her house was how she had developed this incredible cure for the zombie disease and had been waiting for some nice men to come and help her disseminate the medicine. Yeah, you would think that would be the conversation starter.

I could not shoot my friend. The alternative was to leave him out here to fully become what was already happening. My hand immediately fell away as BT dropped to his knees and blood flowed freely from his nose while his head sagged down. His chest was covered in snot and blood from the discharge.

“Oh my dear God,” I said as I placed the barrel of my rifle against the side of his head.

“Please do it,” he begged. “I’d do it for you.”

Chapter Thirteen – Paul

Paul had found two emergency candles in a kitchen drawer next to the oven. The drawer was too close to the heat source as they had semi melted out of shape. Paul had to cut the bottoms off to enable the misshapen candles the ability to stand on their own. Even then, he had to let some wax drip onto the tabletop to make them stick.

Paul decided that he did not have eight hours left like the wrapper on the candle bragged about, and he lit both of them. The small room was nearly entirely lit up. Paul popped one more pain killer. The wound in his foot was completely forgotten as he gazed deeply into the fire of the two light sources. He was certain he had discovered the meaning of life in those flames. It was a pity he did not have a notepad to write down his findings.

“I wonder what it will feel like?” Paul had turned around and was having a conversation with his cast shadow.

“I bet it hurts,” he said, as his shadow mate nodded in agreement or it could have been the flicker of the flame.

Paul was mesmerized as his companion picked up a gun and held it to its own head.

“I know that’s what I have to do,” Paul said as he scratched behind his ear with the long-necked lighter he had used to light the candles. “But I’m afraid.” The shadow man put down the gun at the same time Paul’s itch was sated.

“I’m not really religious, but I’ve always heard that suicide is instant damnation. Would God make an exception, you think?”

The shadow shrugged its shoulders in indecision just as Paul shivered.

“You sure don’t talk much,” Paul said, turning back towards the light.

“I should leave Erin a note. Yeah, and how am I going to get it to her? Well, that’s not really the point, is it?”

“Man, I am messed up. I would swear there were two candles on that table.” Paul snorted as he realized there were. “My mouth is so dry, I sure could go for a beer.” Paul took a swig of the diet Sprite and almost threw it up when he realized it wasn’t the beer he had been hoping for.

“Hey that’s pretty good,” he decided.

***

“Mike, I could sure use your help right about now!” A much younger and somewhat skinnier version of Paul echoed his older self. Paul was pinned tight in his smoldering car, the steering column nearly crushing his sternum. The thickening smoke was making vision difficult, but it was not so dense that he could not tell what happened to his missing shotgun seat passenger. That and the hole in the windshield left little doubt.

I need to check on him , Paul thought. Where’s Dennis? Paul’s mind raced, trying to locate their third friend who had also gone to the Cheech and Chong Drive-In festival. Paul could not turn his neck far enough to look into the back seat of his 1970 Buick Century and determine the fate of his friend.

“Help!” Paul thought he shouted, but the weight on his chest and the choking smoke might have seriously hampered any volume. Someone must have heard it as the passenger door opened and Mike peered in.

“Paulie, you alright?”

“Yah, except for the broken ribs and potential barbecuing, I’m doing dandy,” Paul wheezed.

“Paul, I’m going to get Dennis out first,” Mike said.

Paul figured Dennis was either not quite as stuck as him or in worse shape, so either way, it made sense that Mike would try to get him out first. Paul, however, was not looking forward to burning alive. He had read once that it was the most painful way to die although, whoever had done the study and who were the test subjects, he just wasn’t sure.

“Dude, just hurry! Barb’s (Paul’s mother) gonna be pissed if I ruin this new shirt she bought me.” Paul tried to laugh at his poor attempt at humor, but it came out more as a grunt.