Mark Tufo - Alive in a Dead World

“That’s probably what I heard,” Gary whispered.

My heart was sinking, the clothing looked familiar. We were edging closer, keeping a close lookout for the shooter.

Gary had stopped his forward progress.

“What’s up?” I asked him softly, looking around. We were both in crouched positions, trying to make ourselves as small a target as possible. But we were in the middle of the road, so we were pretty much fair game if someone were so inclined.

“I think that’s Brian,” Gary said trying to suppress some gagging.

“I think you’re right. Stay here and cover my back.”

Gary nodded, his mouth closed tightly.

I moved closer, trying to get into as small a ball of humanity as possible. I could see the bullet’s entry into the base of the skull. I dreaded what I had to do next. I mean the body had, I think, the same clothes on as Brian, but I wasn’t completely sure. It’s just not something I pay all that much attention to. I placed my boot under his left hip and kept my rifle aimed at his head. I then turned the body over. The left side of Brian’s face was missing, the only way I knew it was Brian was because the right side was in remarkably good shape.

“Fuck,” I said. It really seemed like the only fitting thing to say.

“Is that him?” Gary asked from his vantage point.

I nodded.

“Shit,” he said.

I agreed wholeheartedly.

When I could tear my gaze away from his destroyed face, I began to take in other details. The one remaining eye was opaque and his skin was gray. Yes, I knew he was dead, but there was a difference to the skin tone of the dead and the undead. I had been around enough of both to unfortunately become a resident expert.

“He was a zombie,” I told Gary as I came back to where he was standing.

“Shit,” Was all Gary had to say again. I’m thinking that if he said more, he would have to keep his mouth open, and any longer, and more than words would come out.

I wondered what happened to Paul and Deneaux? “How the hell am I going to tell Cindy this?”

“We’re still not out of the woods ourselves; you might not have to,” was Gary’s dour reply. He was not accepting this new wrinkle very well and far be it for me to blame him.

“Michael?” I heard from further up the road.

“Deneaux?” I asked, as Gary turned around.

He pointed to a lady standing on a porch step about three houses up.

“Is Paul with you?” I asked as I approached.

I could see her head shaking as I got closer.

“What happened?” I asked as I got to her.

She related her story about how Brian was shot during the initial ambush and that Paul had left them to go get antibiotics. While they were waiting, they had been attacked by zombies, Brian had been bitten and she had run for her life. She had not seen Paul since she had found this house. She had been staring out the window when Brian had come. She had called to him, but when she realized he was a zombie, she had shot him.

***

Her story had holes and the house she was in just about screamed “liar,” but I couldn’t figure out why and I didn’t want to yet call her on it.

“Big fan of peanut butter?” I asked her innocently as Gary and she sat at the kitchen table. I was walking around looking at the counter.

She was playing the part of a grieving woman, but it did not fit the true Deneaux I had come to know and loathe.

“I can’t really stand it, gets stuck in my bridge work,” she said as she turned to look at me, holding the near empty peanut butter jar and oversized spoon.

“Previous occupant,” she said without missing a beat, turning back to Gary.

The spoon was still wet with the saliva of the previous occupant. She was spinning a web and I was willing to let her until she wrapped herself up in it and choked.

I could see the necessity of shooting Brian. He was no longer human, but if she had called to him like she said, she would have had to shoot him in the face, not the back of the head. Why lie about that part? It made no sense.

“You haven’t seen Paul since he left to get the meds?” I asked her again.

“Really, Michael, how often do I need to keep explaining myself? If you weren’t going to listen the first three times, maybe you should have just saved us both some time and told me that,” she said, never turning to face me. She was holding Gary’s hands for comfort.

Something reeked here and it wasn’t even a zombie.

“Gary, will you help Mrs. Deneaux get her stuff and then we’ll head back to Mary’s?”

“Sure what are you going to do?” he asked.

“I want to do a quick once-over through the house and see if there is anything worth grabbing.”

“We should just get going,” Mrs. Deneaux said. “There have been zombies around all night. We might not get away from here if we stay much longer.”

Gary looked over to me. “I’ll risk it,” I told her.

For the briefest of seconds, she sneered at me. If I had blinked, I would have missed it.

I went through the house. It had been ransacked. Someone had been here before, but there wasn’t anything to substantiate whether it was Paul or Deneaux; and besides a few hypo-allergenic pillows, there really wasn’t anything we could use.

“Isn’t this Paul’s rifle?” Gary asked as he handed her the rifle and we got ready to leave.

“He gave it to me when he went to look for the medicine,” she said as she grabbed the gun.

I couldn’t help myself. “Bullshit! He left giving you his only means of defense?”

“I offered him my pistol; he said he was more apt to hurt himself than anyone else,” she said.

“Let’s go,” I said, not wanting to question her anymore. Now we both knew I had my suspicions about her. The question was, what was she going to do about it?

Gary led the way, Deneaux in the middle, and me at the end, more to keep an eye on her than anything else.

We saw one band of five speeding zombies, which we did not engage; we stayed hidden behind a motor home. They were running at a full sprint, in the opposite direction from which we had come. They very much looked like they had dinner reservations and they were running late, I saw absolutely no reason to alter their dining plans.

Within twenty minutes, we were back at Mary’s stoop, once again arguing with her over whether or not she should let us in.

It was actually a good showing from Deneaux that got the door open.

“Oh dear, I feel rather faint,” she said as she began to fan herself with her hand. “I haven’t eaten in days and I’ve just been so scared,” she said, shivering.

She was actually quite good at the grandmother card, although I’m almost completely sure nothing could have survived in that frozen womb of hers to be born, hatched perhaps, but not born.

“You poor thing! Come on in,” Mary said, opening the door and ushering the woman in. “What kind of savages are you two that you would make her carry this heavy rifle?” Mary said, grabbing the gun from an unwilling Deneaux’s hands. I suddenly felt much safer.

Josh, who had been watching from the kitchen, went upstairs when he saw Deneaux come in. I knew the kid was smart; this just proved me right. Deneaux made a great show of sitting down heavily on one of Mary’s chairs.

“Oh you poor thing! Let me get you some food,” Mary said, retreating to her pantry.

“He’s here?” Deneaux asked, pointing to the slumbering BT.

“Does that somehow interfere with your plans?” I asked.

“Relax, Michael. I was merely asking a question,” Deneaux said, smiling, I think happy that she was making me so upset.

“Listen, I know you’re covering something up, and if I find out that something happened to my friend because of you, I’ll leave you on the side of the road. Do you believe me?” I told her, now standing over her, my finger pointing directly at her face.