Mark Tufo - The End Has Come and Gone

"Three feet max,” MJ answered with a sickly smile.

Alex had come up and was listening to the whole exchange. “That's less than a few inches at most from an outstretched hand.” "Yup,” MJ said apologetically.

Paul's stomach got queasy. “And you're only talking three feet from the transmitter of that box, with all of us huddled around that thing, that three feet is gone.” "Hadn't even thought of that,” MJ said, removing his protective goggles.

"Well,” Alex said grasping on to another hope. “What if he finishes it, we move the furniture, and place it by the entrance so that the zombies will stop trying to get in?"

"I like the idea in theory. But first off he isn’t done, and if the furniture is moving I've got to believe that they have already broken through the doors. We could be speeding up our demise instead of holding it at bay.” "Paul, I do not want to get trapped on that roof,” Alex said. “Sure it's spring and all, but it's still cold at night and it looks like it's going to rain.” "And yet that is the choice before us.”

"That sounded very Mike-like,” Alex said with a sick grin of his own.

"Yeah I liked that, I've been working on it. Listen, while we've got time, let's see how much warm stuff we can get up on the roof and if they have any types of sales banners we can use as tarps to keep the rain off.” Joann was still watching the pile as if she expected an evil leprechaun to pop out at any second.

"How did Mike do this s tuff ?" Paul asked aloud. Alex looked at him questioningly. “You know, keep everyone in line. Get them to doing stuff as opposed to blanking out,” Paul said as he pointed to Joann.

"He's got crazy eyes,” Alex said jokingly, “He made us more afraid of him than the zombies.” "You might be right. Joann, come on, let's grab April and haul some stuff upstairs. Mrs. Deneaux, you alright watching the door by yourself?" Paul asked the old bat.

She waved him off with her cigarette laden hand. “And I'll be sure to put the lounger out of its misery,” she cackled.

“Hilarious,” Paul mumbled as he walked away.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR – Talbot Journal Entry 11

"Gary, slow down,” I told him.

"I'm not even going fast,” he answered back.

"Something's not right, slow down,” I said, sitting up a little bit in my seat to get a better view.

"We've been through this Mike, you do not have Spidey sense,” Gary said with a smirk.

"STOP THIS TRUCK!" I screamed. He damn near threw me through the windshield as he slammed on the brakes. The truck came to a fishtailing halt.

"Happy? You woke the boys.”

Justin and Travis were both removing their faces from the front headrests.

I quickly got out of the truck, rifle at the ready. Our front tires were literally resting on the front edge of a spike strip.

"Damn,” Gary said getting out of the truck. “You saw that from way back there?"

A rifle shot rang out from the tree line fifteen feet away on the driver's side. Gary jumped over the hood and deposited himself on my lap. The boys were out the door before the echo of the shot was complete.

"I take it that was a warning shot!?" I yelled.

"It's twenty feet at the most, how could I have missed?" came the disembodied voice from the trees.

"You could have been prior Army,” I shouted back. Why do I provoke? I don’t know, we all have character flaws, but why do mine seem to always have the potential to get me killed?

"That's funny, just so happens that I am.”

“Always with the snappy line,” Gary admonished me.

"Semper Fi,” I yelled back.

"You don't say? A lot of people know that slogan.”

"Okay how about, ‘this is my rifle, this is my gun, one is for killing and one is for fun.’” "Better,” the voice said. "But Full Metal Jacket is a personal favorite of mine.”

"Alright, how about this, the unofficial Marine Corps motto.”

"I'm listening.”

"Lie, deny and counter blame.”

"Fine, I believe you to be a jarhead now but that sure as hell doesn’t make us friends.” "But maybe we shouldn't be enemies either. What do you want?" I asked.

"That should be obvious, we want your truck. Our car broke down a few miles ago and this walking crap is for the birds.” "Now I know you're an Army dog and all, but what makes you think we carry four spare tires around with us?"

"Well, hadn't really thought it out until you said that.”

"There's gotta be ten thousand cars in the general area, why take ours?"

"Well we DID think of that,” he said defensively, “but we keep coming across these hives of zombies and if you get anywhere near them they get real hungry real fast.” "Been there, done that!” Travis shouted.

"Gary, hold my rifle. I'm standing up! I would greatly appreciate it if you didn’t shoot me.” "I'll do my best.”

"Comforting.”

"Don’t worry we aren’t the Air Force,” the voice said mockingly.

"Hey!" Gary said as he stood up. “I was in the Air Force! It was a very honorable branch of the military!"

"Don't get your feathers ruffled, friend,” the voice said apologetically as its owner emerged from the tree line, rifle in one hand off to his side.

"How many of there are you?" I asked as Gary handed me my rifle and I placed it over my shoulder.

"Four,” he answered. “Two on this side and two on the other. Yeah, you were pretty much goners.” All of the people came out of the woods looking like they had just come from a camouflage expo.

"It's not what you think,” our initial contact person stated. “All of us know about camouflage but we're not those crazy survivalist types.” "You say that as if it's a bad thing,” I told him.

"Yeah, I guess there's nothing wrong with being alive,” he mused, “This whole thing started while we were in cami’s so we figured we should stick to what works. We were up in the hills, a place called Oak Ridge Hollows, it was a company sponsored paint ball event. Hell, we were having a good old time, drinking beer, barbequing, shooting our bosses multiple times with paint balls.” ‘Oh, what I wouldn’t have done to have been able to do that,” I thought wistfully.

"And this one guy, Sully, he starts getting sick. I mean violently. It was shooting out his mouth and his ass. I could see his trousers stained in crap and blood. I just thought the fat bastard was getting sick from running around all over the place. Most exercise he probably ever got was when he squatted on the shitter and made a toilet baby. Somebody thought to call an ambulance, but hell, we were forty minutes out of town, it was going to be a wait. So everyone kind of sat in their cars or branched off in small groups. A few were with Sully, but you didn't need a medical degree to figure out that he wasn't going to make it. I'd seen guys in combat with limbs blown off that looked better than he did. He died twenty minutes before the ambulance even got there. That was kind of the end of the event.” "Yeah, I could see how that would put a damper on things,” I told him.

"You from Boston?" he asked.

"Yeah, the accent gives it away,” I told him.

"No, it’s the sarcasm, had two guys in my unit from Southie. Their accents were a little thicker than yours and just about everything was 'Wicked Pissah.' But the sarcasm man, they just never let up.” "Yeah, that sounds just about right for Southie boys.”

"Still, I was pretty sad when their Hummer got blown up. The camp lost a lot of color when they moved on.” I took my hat off to pay my respects.

"Anyway,” he said, trying to pull himself away from that unhappy thought, “You remind me of them.” "Yeah, but in a live way right?" I said to him.