Mark Tufo - Zombie Fallout

“… Mom’s meat loaf,” he concluded.

And then I rushed over and hugged him for all he was worth. Not even a desperate zombie would be prepared to eat Tracy’s meat loaf. I wailed in his arms. I should have been the one comforting him but I found solace in his embrace. Tracy must have at some point in the night wandered back into the hallway because she flew into the room like a mom on a mission. How had she gotten through the lock? When she saw that her son was still alive and not chewing on his father’s face she joined in the embrace. I still had the Glock in my hand, when I finally put it down, it felt dirty. I couldn’t get rid of it quick enough. Within moments the room was once again filled to the brim, only this was a much more merry occasion. We probably could have restocked our water supply with the faucet works going on. I was wrung out when I finally disengaged myself from the fray. My face was puffed out like I had been stung by a hive of pissed off bees. Although that doesn’t make any sense, I mean if a bee stings you then by nature he’s pissed off right? Like I said, I was wrung out. I left the array of family and friends tending to Justin’s needs. I staggered to my room and fell face first onto my pillow. I won’t lie and say I fell asleep before I made contact. I was, however, unconscious before I was able to register the pain of drilling my nose into my ultrathin pillow.

CHAPTER 16

Journal Entry - 14

I awoke about ten hours later, more so because of the overwhelming thirst that had even permeated my dreams than from the loud incessant snoring next to me. Now don’t get me wrong, after twenty-something years of marriage this wouldn’t be the first time Tracy had sawed a log, but it was usually few and far between and usually related to a cold or allergy. This sounded like Paul Bunyan was going for the world record in tree felling. I reached out my hand to gently shake her when I was mildly surprised to make contact with fur. I couldn’t figure out which amazed me more, the fact that a 65-pound dog that didn’t stand more than a foot tall could somehow jump onto my king-size bed or that the impact of his landing hadn’t woken me up. Henry sneezed in my face for my effort. Not the ideal way to be awoken and I let him know as I pinched his face gently. Henry again sneezed but I was already on the move. He bounded down off the bed next to me as I groped for the doorknob, doing my best not to wake Tracy. Henry’s stub of a tail began to rapidly sway at the offer of a cookie. That is, if he stayed awake long enough to get downstairs with me to retrieve it. The house was quiet, not the preternatural quiet before a loud escalating disruption, but one of peace. It made for a nice change. Henry silently padded alongside me as I went down the stairs and to the kitchen, him for his cookie, me for a drink of water. Henry seemed nonplussed as I turned the kitchen light on to find Paul at the table working on what appeared to be his seventh or eighth beer. He startled the hell out of me. Henry was upset about how long it was taking to get his proffered biscuit.

Paul looked liked shit, but what was much more disturbing was how fast he was going through my rapidly diminishing beer supply. Paul offered me one of my own beers. ‘What the hell, it’s mostly water,’ I thought as I said my thanks and sat down at the table with him. Henry barked indignantly. Oops, I got up and got him his cookie; he was asleep before he finished it. Half the biscuit fell to the floor as his head drooped and his body followed suit.

“Too tired to eat, Henry?” I laughed. “That’s a new low even for you.” Paul took no notice. I sat back down with him.

“Dude, I am so sorry,” he half sobbed. I wanted to simultaneously kick his ass, hug him, tell him everything was all right and tell him he was an idiot. If I could have somehow pulled all that off I would have. Instead I kept quiet, taking a long pull from my beer. He wasn’t finished talking, and I wasn’t finished listening.

“Man, I knew something was going on when I stopped for gas on the way home from work. I was just about to start pumping my gas when I saw what I thought was a homeless guy heading my way. All I could think was that this guy was ‘effed’ up, I mean he was staggering and even from twenty feet away he reeked. I was like ‘hurry up and accept my credit card already.’ I didn’t want the guy to come up and ask for change. If his breath was anything like his body odor I would have puked. So the guy is still stumbling my way and the pump finally authorizes my card but I said ‘screw it’ and hopped into my car to get away from him. I didn’t even care if the next guy to get gas used my card, that’s how spooked this guy had me. I was so happy to be done with him, I figured as soon as I shut my door he would veer off and go bother someone else, but he didn’t. He walked straight into my door. I was about to get out and give him a tongue-lashing but I…I couldn’t get out of the car. This hobo bum, 120 pounds soaking wet, scared the crap out of me. Something wasn’t right about him. He never asked for change, he just kept looking me in the eye. His mouth was moving but no words were coming out. And his…his skin, I couldn’t tell if it was from the twilight or the crappy lighting at the gas station, but his skin looked blue and streaked with veins. His eyes looked like every capillary in them had burst at the same time. I couldn’t get my keys in the ignition fast enough.

When I finally sped away he started walking the way I had gone, like he was going to follow me. I was still shaking when I got to the house. Erin was in the shower and I had time to collect my nerves and get some liquid courage (cognac) in me. By the time Erin had got out of the bathroom, dried off and changed, it all seemed like a bad nightmare that was rapidly diminishing from my memory. You know we don’t have a television in the house.” (I so wanted to stop him there and ask him how in the hell that was possible, hadn’t he ever heard of ESPN? How do you not have a TV in this day and age, that’s like a stone age man not having a cave. It’s just not natural, but again this didn’t seem the appropriate time to interject.) “So we didn’t get any news reports. We were just sitting in the living room talking about the day and listening to one of my CD’s, when I heard this thud.” (I knew that thud.) “It wasn’t at the front door, it was at the living room window. So I’m figuring it’s some bird that smashed into the window, but how stupid does the bird have to be to smash into a shade drawn window? I guess that’s why they call people bird-brained.” He strained a small laugh through his teeth.

“It wasn’t a bird though,” I finished for him. The memory was traumatic for him and he was having difficulty relating it.

“No,” he choked out. “It was the guy/thing from the gas station and he was holding what was left of Rebel.” Rebel was Paul and Erin’s beagle, about as mellow a dog as ever lived, quick to wag a tail and give a lick. I felt bad for his loss. “I could hear Erin screaming behind me as she was looking at the same thing I was. At first I wasn’t sure what he was holding. It was just a jumble of fur, splintered bone and blood. It could have been anything, I guess,” he sobbed. After a few minutes he continued. “I had just let him out. He...he was adamant about going outside. I thought he really had to pee, so I let him out. Even with Erin screaming and the horror of what that thing was holding began to dawn on me I was still with it enough to notice there were about six or seven more things rummaging around in my yard. My blood was boiling, I wanted to go out and start swinging a bat at these people to get out of my yard, and then Gas Station Guy took a big sinewy bite out of Rebel’s back, he was eating Reb like he was a corn on the cob.” Paul stopped and sobbed for a moment, then gathered himself together to finish his story. “Dude I FUCKEN heard him crunching Reb’s spine, he pulled strands of fluid away from Reb’s back. My blood froze. I pulled the shade so hard I ripped it off its moorings. Gas Station Guy was looking right at me. Erin had gone to get her gun. She came running back into the living room waving the thing wildly around like the thing was on fire and she was trying to put it out. I turned to grab her gun hand before she put a bullet in my ass. She was sobbing about how she had to save Rebel. That train had already left the station minutes earlier. Dude, I couldn’t think of what to do. I was shaking like a leaf in a gale. I turned off all the lights on the main floor and half dragged Erin upstairs. I was able to finally let her arm go when I realized in her haste she hadn’t even put a clip in the damn thing. So for about half an hour we’re up on our bed in the dark just holding each other. Every couple of minutes I start thinking to myself that we need to get out of here, we need to go be with Mike.” At this point he looked up at me and gave me an anemic smile. “But dude, every time I thought of leaving, my next thought was of opening the door to the Gas Station Man. Staying at the house seemed like a much better and much easier thing to do,” he admitted reluctantly. “After a while the thudding on the house got more and more frequent, it was to the point where the house was vibrating from the impacts. By the time the glass started breaking downstairs it was way too late to leave. I grabbed Erin and pulled the attic stairs down and that’s where we’ve been since I called.”