I
found the water was hot and there was soap in the little, makeshift stall. I
washed away the grime and filth from the road then switched on a tiny cooler in
the bunk area. It wouldn’t cool down the whole airplane but I took a bunk right
underneath it and luxuriated in the cool, dry air pouring in from the vent.
Without that cooler, I’d imagine the plane would become just about unbearable
in the summer heat. I lay back on the soft blankets and quickly fell asleep.
I
woke up a few hours later, ate a nice lunch of canned stew (Again! Yay for
stew!), and went back to the radio station at the rear of the plane. I sat at
the desk listening to the announcements knowing I might be staying here for a
few days. It didn’t matter. There was food and water, a toilet, and a shower! I
couldn’t smell the dead. I had a strong fence between me and the hordes. If I
didn’t draw any attention to myself, they’d never know I was here. Fuck you,
dead people! It was cool and safe and there were even a few old paperbacks for
me to read when I got bored. I’d call Sandia, let them know I was here, and
settle in for the long haul.
With
that thought, I switched over to channel seventeen and pressed the send button,
“Sandia Station, do you read? Over.”
“This
is Sandia Station. We read you loud and clear! Who is this?” said a male voice
I didn’t recognize.
I
was a bit disappointed it wasn’t Greer but figured she must have the late
shift, “This is Thomas Greenly. I’ve called in before and spoke with Georgia Clark.
I have made it to Albuquerque and am now at one of your safe houses. I’d rather
not say which one until you are ready to come and get me. Who’s this? Over.”
“Crazies.
Understood. Thomas, my name is Casey and I can’t tell you how glad we are you
made it and I want you to listen carefully: First, under no circumstances say
over the air where you are located. We know where you are. Second, there are
currently four groups of survivors in the area and two individuals other than
yourself. One of the individuals and two of the groups aren’t coming in to
Sandia. Do you understand? Over.”
I
didn’t understand, “Can’t come in or aren’t coming in? Over.”
“We
won’t let them in and, by all accounts, they don’t want to come in. At least
not for good. They are crazy, Thomas. Fucked up beyond all belief. They like it
out there but they want our food and water. They’d love to just rest up, take
what we have, and move back out into the Wreck. Over.”
These
people sounded like James, “I understand. I met a guy like that out there like
that. I’ll stay clear of them. Over.”
“Yeah,
we’ve had a few individuals as well who preferred to stay out with the dead. So
Thomas, what we want to tell you is that these people have been moving from
safe house to safe house. If the place is empty, they stay there for a few
days, take what they want, and move on. If it is occupied, they pretend to be
other survivors, get inside, and…well, I think you know what they do. Over.”
I
did.
The
radio operator continued, “We have no contact with any other groups of
survivors who are not already aware of these other groups and are locked up
tight in other safe houses so if anyone approaches your safe house, you do not
let them in. Do you understand? Do not let them in. Call us, toss a
radio out to them and we’ll determine if they
are who they say they are. Over.”
“I
understand. Can I ask you a question or do I need to get off the air? Over.”
“Go
ahead man, we’ve got plenty of time. Over.”
“First,
have you heard anything from the people in Las Cruces? And second, can you tell
Greer I made it? Over.”
“I’ll
let Greer know when she comes on shift. And yes, we’ve heard from the folks
down at Las Cruces. They had some troubles with a crazy and lost a few people,
but they seem to be OK now. Did you know them? Over.”
“I
met them on my way here from Los Angeles,” I said relieved that they had fended
off James and terrified who they had lost. Doc? Birch? Marti? “Do you know who
they lost? Over.”
“My
god, you’re the kid who walked across the southwest. Everyone is talking about
it up here!” the operator said, “But, no. We know the Doc is OK so we’re still
planning a trip south during the winter but that’s it. We can find out when you
get in OK? Over.”
“OK,”
I replied. I couldn’t think of anything else to say and I could feel the
exhaustion and stress of the last few weeks pulling me down again, “When should
I contact you again? Over.”
“You
can call anytime you want if you need someone to talk to or anything comes up.
Over.”
“Great.
I think I’m going to sleep for a while. Thanks for being there. Over.”
“Can’t
wait to see you, Thomas. Sleep well. Over.”
I
set the radio down and made my way back to the cot. I lay there wondering who
the other groups were and what I would do if they showed up banging on the door
and begging to be let in. I guess I’d do what the Casey told me to: toss them
out a radio and let Sandi figure out who they were. But if the dead were hot on
their heels? Well, I’d cross that bridge if the time came. With the dead
streaming by outside the fence, I didn’t think I’d see anyone anytime soon. And
with that, I dozed off.
Later
I woke up as the late afternoon sun poured through the widows of the old plane.
I looked outside and the dead, while not running their fool heads off, were
still moving north by the thousands outside the fence. I looked around the
plane and found the light switches, then went around and closed all the metal
shutters that had been installed and closed two metal doors: one leading to the
cock pit and one leading to tail gunner area. When I closed the last door, the
entire inside of the plane was enclosed in complete darkness. I stood there in
the pitch black by the light switch waiting to see if any light would come
through. After a few minutes, I could still see nothing, I flipped on the
lights. I then opened up the cockpit and rear gunner doors, turned the lights
back out, and waited for the sun to go down.
As
the sun slipped below the western horizon, I closed up the doors and window
covers and flipped on the lights. I then made my way back to the radio station
and turned the switch over the channel seventeen, “Sandia Station, are you
there? Over.”
“Thomas!
This is Greer! Over!”
I
had met so few people who sounded so happy to her from me. It filled me with a
rare sense of joy and peace, “Hi Greer. I made it! Over.”
“You
made it! I prayed for you every night and when Casey told me you called in
earlier today I couldn’t wait to talk to you! And now you can just sit back,
relax, and think pleasant thoughts until we come and get you.”
And
talk she did. Greer told me again of the other groups of survivors in the area,
of the millions of dead that had poured into the area, and vast waves moving up
from the south. Then she told me all about Sandia: Electricity, hot water,
food, medicine, and people! She told me how no dead had ever been up in the
mountains but they had patrols on the east side access road just in case and
how they were all safe up on the peaks with plenty of room for every survivor
they could find.
Finally,
after almost an hour she wound down with, “And you’ll be here just as soon as
we can come and get you. Over.”
“I
can’t wait. Do you think you can find me a can or two of Coke? I’m dying for a
coke. Over.”
“We
have cases of them up here. Enough to last just about forever. Over.” She said
with a laugh.
“I’m
beat, Greer. Talk to you tomorrow? Over.”
“I
come on at seven o’clock sharp. Talk to you then. Good night, sleep tight, and
don’t let the…well sleep tight. Over.”
I
hung up the radio and crawled back into my bunk feeling safely tucked away in
the belly of the old warplane. The metal walls surrounded me, the door was
locked tight, and the windows were over ten feet above the ground. Nothing
could get it. And when there was a break in the dead, I would make it to Sandia
Station and be able to live far above this world, out of the reach of the dead,
and out of the reach of James forever.
As
I lay there beginning to drift off I could hear the pop and hiss of the radio.
I had left it on when I climbed into the bunk. I got back up, went back to the
radio station, and reached over to turn it off when I heard him and all my
thoughts of safety and freedom vanished.
“Hey.
Hey? Hey! Nut slapper? You out there? You listening, you little cat fucker?
It’s your old friend James, buddy. Pick up and talk to me,” he said in a wired
sing-a-long voice, “Talk to me! Talk to me! Come on, talk to me you gigantic
coot jockey!”
I
froze with my hand on the radio as thought my arm had turned to ice. Maybe I
was dreaming, maybe this was a hallucination but then the radio spoke again.
“Oh,
I know you’re there, buddy, buddy, buddy-o, friend o’ mine, aren’t ‘cha? All
right, be quiet then and listen up you stinky, bung hole, cow diddler. Are you
listening?” he said and waited a heartbeat or two, “I think you are,” he said
and then he began.
“I
learned a great many things on the road since we left Los Angeles, many things
large and small, but you know the most important thing I learned? Buddy? Pal? I
learned that I have never hated an individual human being more than I hate you.
You hear that? And that hatred? It kept me going, yes sir. It kept me going day
after blistering hot fucking day. Through all the dead heading north, through
all the shit. Just so I could hear your fucking voice and know that god had kept
you alive just so I could kill you. Ain’t I blessed?”
Panic
filled my head like a scream. The range of his handheld radio could only be
what? Five or ten miles. Fuck! I was terrified that James could be that close.
“Oh,
I’m close, all right. Almost at your front door, you might say, but I digress
so let me get you up to speed you little shit ass. After I finished my business
in Las Cruces, and I had a lot of business to finish, yeah buddy! I headed
north again to catch up with you my old traveling pal only to find you weren’t
there. But Old James is
crafty,
Old
James is
sneaky
and I pulled out my
tracking device to see, low and behold, you were headed south! South I say! I
think, ‘what the fuck is that ass doing heading towards El Paso? Looking for
me? Heading back to his now dead little girlfriend? You know, the blond one?
Oh, she screamed a lot little buddy. Just as loud as you like. Said you had
just fucking left her, that you’d betrayed her. But it wasn’t all bad. I think
she about died from all the orgasms she had. God that cooch was tight! And
everything else too. I kept a little souvenir from her just for you when I see
you. I think you’ll like it.
“Oh
and how we laughed at you when we were done! Side splitting, tears running down
our cheeks, huge guffaws over your little, tiny dick and complete inability to
perform in the sack. Yes, sir! Then I cut her open wide and fed her to the dead
before she could bleed out. Double yes, sir! Watched her turn and start humping
her way north. I think she’s probably still heading north with the rest of the
dead. Might even me in Socorro by now. Maybe you can look her up.
But I digress.
So I think, Maybe he’s heading into Mexico? Well, son Mexico was not going to
be in the plans for you so I start hunting you down thinking to beat some sense
into you when I find you and get us back on track headed north.”
“So
I follow you all the way down to Juarez. Do you know how many fucking dead
Beaners are in Juarez? About six hundred fucking trillion. Every last beaner in
the fucking whole world was there waiting for me,” he said then hummed a few
bars of the Mexican hat dance song before continuing, “But I persevered! I
tracked your signal to a bridge that crossed over the Rio. My scanner told me
your signal was at the base of that bridge. I said ‘whooo weee!’ He must be
hiding down there. You weren’t but you know what was? That’s right; thirty
undead mother fucking wetback beaner spics that lunged out at me from under
that bridge. I took them down all right, put a bullet in each one of their
heads then went under to look for what I was sure would be your undead corpse.
The idea pleased me: to find you gnawing on some rotten arm or foot or whatnot.
But guess what? You weren’t there! Fuck a duck. You know what I did find? A
rubber floatation device. And on it? My little tracking device. I sat there
looking at that fucking air filled sea horse thinking that was one sick joke.
Real fucking funny shit, yessireee, and I just knew you were out there
somewhere laughing at me.
“And
then I had a revelation there, squaw boy cunny face. I fell down upon my knees
and the light poured into my head from above and I knew what my life purpose
was from that second on: to kill you. But not just to put a bullet in your head
and watch you die. No sir. Not to torture you for days unit your little girl of
a heart gave out from the agony and despair of it all. No
sir
!
But to do all that and
then let the dead get at you. That was the ticket. Let them chomp at your
vitals and sensitive pieces and parts while you screamed like a pig. Then…and
then
! Kill off the dead fuckers and let
you come back. That was
The Vision
!
Let you come back. I’d cut off your arms and lower jaw, maybe remove your upper
teeth just to be sure and I’d keep you as a pet. You’d follow me around like a
good dog with that eternal hunger burning in your head. And you’d never. Ever.
Leave me. Again. Are you listening? I think you are.
“So
I headed north, out of Hatch and into the great big fucking furnace that is New
Mexico just to find you. But before I did, I had some fun, made some new
friends, had some more fun. But I digress again. You know what they call the
godforsaken, barren stretch of infinite nothing north of Hatch? They call it
the Jornado del Muerto, the Journey of the Dead. And by fuck they were right! I
lost count of how many times I nearly died out there. There were no towns, no
gas fucking stations, no truck stops, and no ever loving water. Not a drop. I
wasn’t even half way to Socorro and I was crawling on my hands and knees, dehydrated
and delirious. And what was behind me? A wall of fucking dead walkers cruising
up I-25 like it was some sort of dead gay fucking pride parade! And even as
slow as they were, they were gaining on me! Every day I could see them closing
in, getting closer. Then I could hear them moaning and bitching every second of
every hour. They hadn’t seen me yet but when I could smell them, that’s when I
knew it was only a matter of time before one of them spotted me and the rush to
get a roadside snack would begin. And I fucking cursed you with every breath I
took.