Mark Tufo - The End ....

“It was my middle kid Blake that finally got me going. He’s asthmatic and the smoke from the fires was really starting to affect him. Waiting it out was rapidly losing any appeal it may have contained. We grabbed everything we could carry, blankets, food, Xbox 360.”

“What?”

Doc shrugged his shoulders. “My oldest son Jesse said he wasn’t leaving without it. I figured what the hell, I couldn’t ever picture a time when the world would return to a state of normalcy again but for him I think it was more of a security blanket.”

“To each his own.” I personally however like the security that a Mossberg 12 gauge shotgun provides over that of a wireless game controller, but who I am to judge. Porkchop for one would see the validity of a game controller turned defender.

“We ran out to my car. Mike, if just one zombie had got in our way I think we would have been finished. All of our hands were full. I hadn’t even thought to grab a weapon. Looking back the best I would have had to offer was a steak knife or a golf club and I don’t think I could use either one except for its intended purpose. It was a tight fit with the six of us and Buddha but we made it. We weren’t 5 miles out of Gary when we ran into a military convoy. When they found out I was a doctor, I was instantly drafted. I tried to explain that I was a General Practitioner and not a surgeon but when you’re in a desert and somebody offers you something wet to drink you don’t stop to question what it is.”

“Well you did right by me, Doc.” I said, alluding to my shoulder surgery.

“So that’s my story. We’ve been here ever since. I’ve done more surgeries in the last few weeks than I care to count and not all have been as successful as yours. So I would greatly appreciate it if you take care of that shoulder so it heals properly.”

Porkchop had for the most part recovered from his remembrance of his parents' demise. The runny nose and bloodshot eyes, the tell tale signs of getting a good cry-on would however take a good fifteen minutes or so more to diminish.

The doc turned to Porkchop who had just finished wiping his nose on a rapidly snot-hardening sleeve. “Porkchop, could you please track down Rachael? I’ve got some work for her to do? Thank you.” Porkchop headed out the door, his normal cheery self rapidly coming to the fore.

We said nothing for long moments after the door closed.

“You did good Doc. You did right by Porkchop and by your own family.”

“Taking Porkchop in was as natural as if he was my own. He spent more time at my house than his own. I just feel like I should have done more.”

“How many kids do you have Doc?”

“Huh?” The Doc asked pulling back to the present from his own thoughts. “Uh three, well four now.”

“They’re all here right?”

“Well not right here, but yes on this base.”

“And your wife?”

“I see your point.”

“That’s all I’m saying Doc. You kept your family safe. There’s nothing more you could have done.” I was getting the distinct impression the doc wasn’t fully convinced. “How old are they?”

“Well I can’t tell you my wife’s age.”

“Wasn’t asking.”

“ Jesse is my oldest son, he’s 15. He's kind of quiet around strangers but warms up like vinyl seats in July when he's around friends and family. He's got a little bit of a mouth on him and is definitely the family's prankster. He’s addicted to video games.”

“Yeah I got that when he took his 360 with him.” We both shared a laugh over that.

“ Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2 is his poison and he can tell you the stats on every gun available in the game. He despises his younger brother and sister but doesn't tolerate ANYONE screwing with them (except for Porkchop). He's kind of wise beyond his years in his ability to understand the human condition even if he can be a bit emotional himself. He’s a big kid and loves guns. He spends most of his spare time training with some of the other kids. The military has set up an ROTC type program. They get the kids some combat training in fire arms safety and marksmanship skills. It worries me Mike.”

“Those aren’t bad skills to have right now, Doc.”

“I just had so much more planned for him in life than one the military has to offer.”

The doc was a good man, and saved my life at least twice that I knew of so far, but he was definitely more of the small picture ilk. The world had dramatically shifted on its axis and he had not yet caught up. “Doc, learning those skills now might be his best chance to stay alive and have a different life!”

“I…I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

That seemed to perk him up marginally.

“Next is my middle child Blake, he’s 13. Unlike his older brother, he's very outgoing and has an IQ that puts the rest of us to shame. He's not as physically intimidating as Jesse but he can make you look like a fool if you want to argue with him.”

I figured that had something to do with the limiting factors associated with being an asthmatic.

“Where Jesse is more of a warrior, Blake is the thinker, the artist, his obsession is books. Being the artistic middle child and kind of a mama's boy, he takes a lot of crap from the rest of the guys in the family. I figure he's the one who will be able to pay for my nursing home should I make it that far so I’ve decided I’d better be nice to him. Rachael is 10 and she is my only daughter.”

“Be thankful for that.”

The doc wouldn't understand the backhanded compliment at least not for another two and a half years when his daughter turned from a sweet daddy’s little princess into a multi-headed demon from hell, as all teenage girls must.

“She is without a shadow of a doubt, the strongest personality in our house. She is the most wonderfully devious of children. If there is trouble to find, she's not only in it but in it to win it.”

I had learned the hard way after punishing my own boys way too much, that my daughter not only sought out trouble but was usually the root cause of it.

“Rachael's very smart but loves to tell you that she's not (the better to get away with things). She is a mini version of her mom, entirely too cute to be as cunning as she is. She scares the hell out of me because she is going to need to be locked in a closet VERY soon.”

Maybe that secret desire of all fathers to be able to lock their daughters away from testosterone infused boys could now be realized. So maybe a zombie invasion wasn’t all bad.

“Doc you did good. Now if you could up my Demerol, I’m in pain and really tired.”

“Thank you Mike, I take my quip about you being friendless away.”

“Don’t be so hasty Doc, wait until you really get to know me.” My eyelids began to slide shut as the Doc pumped some pain killing juice into my IV line. “One more thing Doc.”

He was checking my pulse. “What is it?”

“Don’t let her out of that closet until she’s about 18, the demon spawn in her will almost be gone.” And with that came blissful pain free sleep.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - JOURNAL ENTRY 9 -

I had been in a hospital bed for nearly two weeks before Doc Baker thought I’d most likely be alright to stay in my own bed in the quarters assigned to myself and my family. The quarters were nice enough. They harkened me back to my Marine Corps fleet days. The barracks were basically a no frills apartment complex. Square non-descript buildings with a square non-descript room, with an off-shoot bathroom in each apartment. In my Marine Corps days we had been stuffed 4 jarheads at a time into a 15 by 15 foot room. Honestly didn’t care about it at the time, pretty sure I’d go nuts if that was the case now. Turns out there weren’t enough survivors to merit any sort of over-crowding. Tracy, myself, and the ever stinky Henry had our own room. Nicole had the apartment next to us by herself, and Justin (when he was released from the hospital) had a room with Travis, on the other side of our room. Carol was actually down the hall, by request, go figure. It was my first night back and I couldn’t sleep to save my life. The kindly doctor had begun to wean me off the pain meds I was on. I might add that I thought it was entirely too early in the healing process to be put on aspirin. Oh what I wouldn’t do for a nice Percocet.