Mark Tufo - Zombie Fallout

“I’ll go first,” Paul said.

He inched down to the edge of the roof and then placed his right foot on the gutter and planted it. This allowed him to turn his body over. He slid feet first on his stomach, ever closer to the edge. I had a momentary irrational fear that I would never see him again. He was now just hands and a face, Kilroy with a beard. Then came the solid thud of contact.

“I’m good, bud. Start sending everyone else, and have them bring the rope,” Paul shouted.

My vertigo had eased but I was not yet ready to stand. Justin came through first, swaying to a beat almost matching my dizziness. Brendon passed Henry to him, nearly toppling him over. I scrambled to help Justin sit down on the roof in a controlled manner. Brendon apologized for his lack of foresight. Travis was next bringing some rope, followed by Tommy.

“Okay that’s enough for now,” I said through my circling haze, my fear being that if everyone was on the roof and someone lost their balance it would look like a bowling alley, and a strike would not be good right now.

“Justin, get yourself onto the truck. I’ll hand the rope down, you two get secured, and then I’ll send Tommy and then Henry.” I wanted Justin tied to something. His ashen features were not inspiring comfort.

Alex was watching over our egress off the roof and onto the truck with apprehension. Zombies had encircled the truck and were making a concerted effort to get into the rear where the survivors were. His wife Marta was sitting next to him and was gazing up at the roof, impatience radiating from her. It was when she spotted someone familiar that all other feelings were erased.

“Tommy?” she shouted.

“Hi Aunt Marta,” Tommy waved enthusiastically. “Want a Pop-Tart?”

I don’t know whose jaw dropped more, mine, Marta’s or Alex’. I just wished I had five full minutes to think this out, but our zombie hosts were not being overly gracious. If we didn’t leave now we might never get out. Within fifteen minutes we were all secured onto the top of the semi, the only close call coming when I tossed Henry down. He did not appreciate the gesture whatsoever and was squirming like a five-year-old in a dentist’s chair when Paul and Brendon caught him. Paul’s left foot briefly hovered in midair. The only thing keeping him from becoming Gravy Train for the zombies was the ½ inch mountaineer rope around his waist.

“See, Talbot!” Paul yelled. “This is just one more reason I hate dogs!”

I looked longingly back at the house I knew without a shadow of a doubt I would never see again. It wasn’t my dream home but it was home. We had shared a lot of laughter and love here. The past was laid to rest, good memories tucked in with bad. From the known to the unknown we would travel. Only God knew the outcome and He was on hiatus.

So ends the first Journal in the Zombie Fallout Trilogy. Look soon for excerpts from the second Journal and the further alternate realities of Michael Talbot.

Epilogue

The Canadian Incident

Just a moment’s preface on this, I’m going to include the actual story as reported in the Denver Post, page 23. (By the way, who reads that far into the newspaper?) I’m going to follow it up with what REALLY happened.

Local Man Accused of Smuggling Booze – Feb 23, 2000

As Reported by Aria Manuel

In what can only be described as an international incident harkening back to the days of moonshine runners and gun toting mobsters, local man Michael Talbot was arrested early Sunday morning on the Canadian – Vermont border. Michael, who was traveling with his wife and three small children, apparently used as cover, was pulled over by the border patrol on the Canadian side for a routine inspection before entering back into the United States.

Eyewitness Captain MacIntosh of the Royal Mounted Police had this to say. “So I motioned the accused to pull over so we could check his vehicle for any undeclared and illegal substances. We periodically choose cars at random to look for contraband. I noticed straight away the accused was extremely agitated and was becoming more hostile by the moment. When Mr. Talbot refused to get out of the car I had two of my deputies assist him. At this point Mr. Talbot became belligerent and punched one of the deputies in the nose, next thing I know he has PM Leonard in a choke hold.”

The Captain is referring to Prime Minister Charles C. Leonard the Third who was returning from New York City after attending a conference to improve trade relations between our two proud nations. The Prime Minister had stopped into the barracks on the Canadian side to see how his troops were holding up in the harsh weather the region had been experiencing recently.

“Somehow in the confusion, Mr. Talbot had obtained one of my deputy’s tasers and repeatedly pressed it into the PM’s side, I guess to keep him from getting away. Eventually some concerned citizens tackled Mr. Talbot from the back. The PM only suffered some minor injuries including a broken nose. Mr. Talbot was detained and his car searched. We found a trailer full of beer and a bag of marijuana. Mr. Talbot is being charged with smuggling, possession of drugs, kidnapping, resisting arrest, and assault. All of these penalties combined could mean a term of 25 years to life in our prison colonies.”

This incident sparked anger and outrage all across Canada as residents wanted to shut all borders to their rude and hostile southern neighbors. After further questioning and removal of the ‘evidence,’ Michael Talbot’s family was free to return to Colorado where they will await a trial date for their head of household who will remain in Canadian custody indefinitely.

Now for the ‘true’ version. Oh and by the way the retraction the Denver Post said they were going to print got bumped for a JC Penney ad, women’s shoes I think, way more important than my exoneration. (They lost my subscription FOREVER, and the Internet is much more up-to-date than that aging newspaper)

Okay, calm down Talbot. I’ll start from the beginning. Ever been in the car with three small children? If so, enough said. If not, just wait your turn, it’s coming. So the ride from Montreal to the border is somewhere in the hour and a half range and the kids in the backseat are going at it like there’s a championship trophy on the line. We’re still a couple of hours drive away from this awesome little bed and breakfast in Vermont where I had made reservations. We were on a family vacation that included stops in North Dakota (don’t ask, relatives on her side. I wouldn’t have stopped there if the car was on fire), Montreal, Vermont and then on to New Orleans before heading home. Tracy and I thought it would be a great experience to have the kids see the country by car ride, dumb asses that we were. So we were approaching the Canadian Border and there is a line easily a quarter mile long. The CRMP weren’t ‘randomly’ checking cars like their illustrious Captain said. They were checking every last one of them. I swear to this day it was a ploy for us to spend our money at their crappy little gift store before we hit the good old US of A. Yeah, couldn’t wait to buy a stupid stuffed moose that cost $22 and is made in China to put on my knick-knack shelf. So we’re sitting in the car for another hour and a half, easy. The kids have ratcheted up their squabbling to new and unusual heights. I’m a half-inch, or if you use the Canadian conversion, 1.25 centimeters away from blowing my stack. I had turned over my right shoulder to tell the kids for the four hundredth and seventy sixth time to SHUT UP. Okay, ‘be quiet’ for you non-capital punishment types. Suddenly Captain Custard comes knocking on my window with a flashlight. It was 10:00 in the morning. The sun was out for Fuck’s sake.