Mark Tufo - A Plague Upon Your Family

“What’s up Alex?” I yelled over the sound of our engines.

“I’m getting tired Mike.” Alex yelled back. Although the words were superfluous, he looked exhausted and he had two small kids up in the cab with him. Young children could make you tired if you were already lying in bed and this was far from that peaceful scenario.

“Getting?” I asked sarcastically.

Something got lost in translation or he was just too tired to grab onto the barb. He just shrugged.

“Any ideas?” He asked.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing Alex.” Alex had been expecting me to elaborate with my plan. Unfortunately I didn’t have one. When I didn’t answer right away Alex took that as a cue.

“There’s a small town up ahead called Vona.” He finished.

Now it was my turn to shrug, "So what.” Vona, Detroit, fucken Paris, where could we go without a flesh eater joining us for company.

“They have a sheriff’s office.” He concluded.

Light and hope began to not so much blaze but at least glimmer. A sheriff’s office should have holding cells and a bit more fortification than the average house. “Lead on, Tonto!” I yelled.

“Who the hell is Tonto?” He retorted.

“Never mind, how much further?”

“Ten minutes at the most.”

“Alright we’ll scout ahead.” I accelerated past him. It would be safer to have my Jeep go in first. It was much more maneuverable and would be easier to vacate a hostile area if the need arose. Five minutes later I was taking the off ramp down into Vona. Alex stayed at the top of the ramp with the engine idling. If I wasn’t back in twenty minutes the plan was for him to leave. I knew he wouldn’t, but that was the plan.

My guts felt like I had swallowed a salamander. As calm and collected as I could, which wasn’t working by the way, I turned to see if I could garner any information from my early warning detection system, Tommy. I was neither alarmed nor relieved.

“Hey buddy, got any feelings?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“I got a bunch Mr. T.” He said with a small smile on his face.

I waited for a second, hoping for some sort of revelation. Then it dawned on me that Tommy’s ‘feelings’ probably had more to do with how much he liked Pop-Tarts than with the outcome of our lives as we entered into Vona.

“Hey Mr. T.”

“Yeah Tommy.” I answered as I slowed the Jeep down to around 15 mph, slow enough to look for trouble and quick enough to get away from it.

“What’s it mean when you put your hand over your mouth?” He asked.

I was about to answer that it generally means to be quiet, but the universal sign for that usually only entails using your pointer finger. “I’m not sure Tommy, why?”

“Well Ryan has one hand over his mouth and the other hand is pointing to his throat and he’s shaking his head, side to side.”

My foot involuntarily slipped off the gas and onto the brake, I stalled the car.

“What’s the matter, Mike?” Tracy asked. “The last time you stalled your car we had almost hit a moose four wheeling.”

“This is worse. Something or someone is blocking Tommy’s abilities.”

As if on command we all stared out the windows convinced that whatever was causing this was within range. But Vona in death was a lot like Vona in life, dead. Why they had a sheriff’s office was beyond me, maybe if they had a rash of cow tipping they could lock the hooligans up. Or maybe if things got real bad and mailboxes started to get smashed they would have somewhere to put the bad guys. Hell we were three quarters through the town and I hadn’t seen a bar or a liquor store, so no real need to even lock up the town drunk. Ah wasteful government spending at its best.

“Tommy can Ryan write?” I asked hoping beyond hope. It seemed like a far-fetched idea, but I was open to suggestions. “Maybe a small note to kind of let us know what’s going on?”

“Oh God!” Tommy moaned.

I ground the starter a little bit in response to his alarm, looking around wildly for what had caused the distress in his voice. I was still on edge but when nothing visible showed itself I relaxed a bit. Just a bit, this was still Tommy we were talking about.

“What’s the matter Tommy?” Travis asked. Even Henry could feel the change in atmospheric pressure in the car as we waited for Tommy to elaborate.

“All of Ryan’s fingers are all crunched up and broken looking.” Tommy said almost silently, a small sob escaped him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” I said nervously.

“What’s that mean Mike?” Tracy asked me, panic beginning to well in her chest to match mine and Tommy’s. Only Travis seemed the least affected, but I noticed his knuckles turning a brighter shade of white as they gripped his shotgun.

“We’re being hunted, I think.” I answered.

Tracy’s tension eased a bit. “Well duh. Zombies have been after us for three weeks now, what’s so new about that?”

“No this is different. This isn’t just about some zombies stumbling across us and trying to eat us. We’re being singled out, purposefully tracked.”

“How? That’s not even possible.” She yelled back, more in defense of her sanity than in any answer to transgression on my part.

“Possible? You’re pulling the possible card out?” I asked.

“Ok sorry. But how?” She said subdued. “And I guess, why? And who?”

“Maybe we taste better.” I said. Tracy glared at me. “Sorry.” I held my hands up to ward off any attempted blows. “Poor choice of words.”

“You think?”

I was scared shitless but I was trying my best to put on a brave face for Travis, Tommy and Tracy and well if I’m being honest, even myself. “I’m pretty sure about the ‘Who’, somewhat sure about the ‘Why’ and not a fucking clue as to ‘How’.” I laid out my concerns about Justin and how he could potentially be guiding every nearby zombie to our location. Tracy wasn’t buying it. I’m sure the majority of her reasoning had to do with plausible deniability, what mother ever wants to think her child could bring harm unto others. Tracy looked over at me, like I had just spit into her Cheerios. “It’s a theory I didn’t say it was fact.”

“Come up with something else college boy.” She said as she crossed her arms over her chest and turned to stare out of the windshield.

Lesson learned. Fact number one – never throw one of your children under the bus in front of your wife. We were almost out of the center of town when we came upon the non-descript sheriff’s office. I passed by slowly looking for any sign of problems. I was really getting sick of the calm before the storm crap. It was quiet, eerily so. The place wasn’t much bigger than your average Laundromat and about as appealing, but it would fit all of us easily enough. The two windows in the front were thankfully barred and the door looked heavily fortified enough. Why I kept remembering the motto for the roach motel, I don’t know. Humans go in but they don’t come out.

“Man, I just don’t like the looks of this.” I said out loud to no one in particular.

Tracy mirrored my unease. “Then let’s just go.”

“Yeah but I like the idea of sleeping in the Jeep, on the road even less. So it’s really the lesser of two crappy situations that I’m contemplating. Vona it is then.”

“You sure?” My wife asked looking around the cabin of the Jeep like all of a sudden it went from matchbox size to palaciousness.

As if in answer I yawned. My non-response was the worst decision I had made thus far. I was prepared to head out when my wife stopped me.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Cooking an omelet.” I shot back, one of these days my brain to mouth filter will work but for now I’ll have to just go back to what I do best, back-peddle. “Aw hell, I’m sorry Tracy, I’m just beat.” Did that get me off the hook? I looked over cautiously, when confronted with a wild animal (in this case a female human) it is best to avoid direct eye contact and make no fast furtive movements. I could tell by the way her hands were folded in her lap that I was in little danger of being struck but as I slowly raised my gaze, the look of fire in her eyes confirmed my suspicions, I was still in the doghouse.