Mark Tufo - Zombie Fallout

“No,” he answered as he shook his head. His eyebrows creased as if to say I was nuts.

“Jesus?”

He shook his head again.

“The archangel Michael?”

“Who?” he asked, a look of disfavor crossing his face as he pulled a green one out of the bag.

Well if that wasn’t the voice then there was no real reason to explain who Michael was. “Tommy, who does the voice belong to?” I asked.

Tommy leaned in real close and whispered in my ear, making sure no one else heard.

I sat back in my chair hard when he told me. I was searching his face for any signs of deception or amusement. I found neither. The voice Tommy heard in his head belonged to Ryan Seacrest. ‘Oh that’s rich,’ I thought to myself. I had just moments earlier been locked in a life-or-death gun battle and I now found myself on the verge of laughing hysterically. I knew the voice wasn’t actually Ryan Seacrest’s, but that didn’t stop Tommy from believing in it wholesale. Something was going on. I couldn’t wait to see what Ryan had in store for Tommy next, as long as it didn’t get the kid hurt. I gave him a big hug which he reciprocated in spades, and went to get something to eat before the meeting, shaking my head and muttering “Ryan fucking Seacrest” all the way to the kitchen.

CHAPTER 11

Journal Entry - 11

The mood at the meeting was, in a word, depressed. We had lost eight of our small community and none of them were Mrs. Deneaux, I thought sourly. There had been five raiders, four were killed, one wounded and subsequently captured. You guessed it, my old pal Durgan had lived.

“Okay,” Jed began. “So now the question is, what do we do with the prisoner.”

“Kill him! Shoot him! Put him outside the gates!” came an assortment of angry replies from the group.

Jed was trying his best to restore order, but the crowd (mob) wanted nothing to do with it. Eight of their own had been killed and they wanted good old-fashioned Western justice.

“Talbot, this is the second run-in you’ve had with this guy. What’s your opinion?” Jed opted to turn the discussion over to me.

‘Thanks so much, Jed, for dumping this mess on me,’ I thought sourly as I stood up. “Jed, Durgan is dangerous and probably insane, but there isn’t anywhere here that we could lock him up. Even if we did we would have to spread our already thin resources to guard him. I’m also not much for cold-blooded murder, so I guess I haven’t solved anything,” I sat down dejectedly.

Jed scowled at me as if to say ‘Thanks for nothing.’

I shrugged. I wasn’t getting paid the big bucks to make the difficult decisions.

“Well then, we’re just going to have to set up a court system. I know that man killed our friends and neighbors,

but I will not condone a lynch mob.”

“What gives you the right? He killed my best friend!” More than one resident yelled their agreement with Don Griffin, the man that had shouted out. “We know the outcome of the trial already, let’s just skip the formalities.” The yells of agreement were louder and contained more voices; it appeared to me that Jed was quickly losing ground and his tenuous hold on power.

I don’t know why I stood again, part of me thinks it’s because my whole life I’ve bucked the system. Society says go ‘right’ I go ‘left.’ I’ve always been a rebel even if only in my mind.

“LISTEN!” I shouted. I waited a few seconds for the murmurs to die down. “You know Jed and I don’t always see eye to eye.” That received some laughs, most people remembering an easier life when the biggest problem was the correct time to put out the trash. “But he’s right - THIS TIME,” I emphasized. “I would like nothing more than to kill Durgan but not like this, not in cold blood. Mr. Griffin?” I asked. “Could you, even now, as mad as you are, walk up to that man and kill him?” I didn’t want him to have enough time to ponder the question. He was still pissed so I hastened on. “Of course you can’t, you’re not a murderer. I know it’s cliché but do you want to step down to the level of that man ?” I spat out the last word. It tasted funny on my tongue even as I was saying it. “Jed’s right,” I said with less vehemence. “We have to hold onto our civility or we just become a pack of rabid dogs.” The crowd wasn’t overly enthused with my speech but the dissension had died down and I think if put to a vote even Don Griffin would acquiesce.

Jed thanked me with a slight nod. “All right, we will meet tomorrow to discuss who will preside over the trial, who will defend the accused, who will prosecute and who will sit on the jury.” There was still some grumbling in the audience but it didn’t look like Jed was going to have his power usurped tonight. Jed continued. “Okay, now we have the more pressing concern of having to figure out how to defend against invaders. I honestly thought that zombies would be our only threat, for that I take full responsibility. I had the misconceived notion that any survivors would be thrilled at the prospect of joining our small society, not destroying it. If five armed men can cause this much destruction, we have to come up with another plan.”

“How about putting their severed heads on pikes outside the gates,” Griffin griped. Apparently he wasn’t quite done. Jed did the best thing he could. He ignored the comment.

“Listen folks, I made a mistake,” Jed said dejectedly. “We are going to have to be more vigilant, and more vigilance means more guards.”

That did not sit well with the natives. “We already spend most of our day doing guard duty, what’s the sense of living if all we’re doing is defending against dying?” said one of the gentlemen I had seen around the complex walking his Bassett Hound during better times. There were other irritable words but Basset Hound man had pretty much hit the nail on the head.

Jed put his hands up in a placating manner before he began. “This is just temporary, I’ve already been talking to Alex and he has come up with plans for guard towers, and thanks to Talbot we now have the equipment and supplies to build them. They will be about fifteen feet tall, with a retractable ladder, armor plating and lights. Because of their height, the guards on duty will be able to cover a wider range. This will mean less guards in the foreseeable future. We have also had ideas about heightening the wall but materials are going to be a factor. So if anyone can think of something, I’m all ears.”

I stood up again. I didn’t get the same reproachable look from Jed I had received the first time. “I think I know what we can do, although I’m not all that thrilled about it. There’s a National Guard armory about seven miles from here. Their entire enclosure is surrounded by Dannert wire. We could cut it down and place it here. It will be close but I think there will be enough.”

For those of you who don’t know what Dannert wire is, picture it as beefed up barbed wire. This stuff is nasty. It literally has razors positioned on it every few inches. The team that was going to have to retrieve this stuff was most likely going to need blood infusions when the task was completed. Like a dumb ass, I had volunteered. Why didn’t I listen to my drill instructor from boot camp? He told us flat out, ‘Don’t EVER volunteer for anything! If you’re picked you go, but don’t EVER volunteer your worthless lives!’ Words to live by. Nice going Talbot.

“All right, now that we know I’m going, we’re going to need a few more people, some to guard and most to help haul this stuff.” Clearly these people had never been to boot camp, because I got more than enough volunteers without any serious cajoling. “A couple of things. Bring the heaviest gauge clothing you can. This stuff will slice through denim like a shark through water. I’m not kidding. Next, does anyone know how to drive a truck?” Thank God someone answered because just thinking about driving that behemoth again made my stomach turn.