Zombie Fallout 5: Alive in a Dead World (24 page)

“Any time you want to join in is fine with
me,” BT growled through heavy breaths.

“Right,” I said, bringing my gun up. There
was just something so visceral, so raw, so fluid in BT’s motions as
he killed the zombies. It was like he was doing a Tai Chi
demonstration.

“Mike, my bat cracked. You should probably
start doing something,” BT’s arms rippled as he cracked another
head like an eggshell.

He had taken out six zombies before I fired
my first shot. I wasn’t thinking about it then, but on some level,
I realized that I had about a five-foot, zombie-free bubble around
me. I just wasn’t under attack. I started picking off zombies, four
out of five fell from my cartridge. Now the fun would really begin
as I had to reload the magazine. The barrel of BT’s bat whistled
past my head.

“Ooh! Sorry about that,” he said as he thrust
the wooden-sharded handle into a zombie’s eye socket.

I was three rounds into my reloading
procedure when shots began to ring out.

“Been waiting for the damn cavalry!” BT
yelled as he roundhouse-punched a zombie in the temple. It hadn’t
died, but it did drop to the ground, dazed. The rest of BT’s bat
was lodged in the neck of a zombie that was desperately trying to
pull the foreign object out.

Now that BT had stopped using the bat, I got
closer to him so that we could defend each other better. I popped
the clip into the rifle and got ready to acquire a target.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“They stopped attacking,” BT said.

Eight of the ugliest zombies walking the
planet were just staring at us. They saw food, but something was
holding them at bay. I more than half expected to see Eliza or
Tomas walk out from one of the nearby houses.

“What are they doing?” Gary yelled from
across two front yards.

A zombie looked to the new sound and
immediately began chasing Gary down.

“Oh shit,” he said, not wanting to shoot
because of his angle to the zombies and then us beyond. “I’ll see
you in the house!” Gary yelled as he retreated back to safety.

“I do not want to die, Talbot,” a heaving
chested BT said to me as we watched the zombies chase after
Gary.

“You just took on eighteen zombies with a
wooden stick, I’d say your actions speak differently.”

“No, just because I’m pissed off shouldn’t be
construed as a suicidal gesture.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, let’s see if Mary
can do anything for you.”

I know BT wanted to tell me we were wasting
everyone’s time thinking a nurse in a North Carolina suburb had the
only known cure for the virus that was systematically taking out
mankind. But when you are thrown a lifeline, it matters not that it
is made from smoke. We are hard-wired for hope, plain and
simple.

“What was up with the zombies?” BT asked as
we walked back to Mary’s.

“Damned if I know,” I said as I took two
shots. Two more zombies went down, but that still left half a
dozen. The remaining zombies did not even look in our direction as
we approached. They were too busy sniffing around the front door.
Probably picking up on the stink of Gary’s grievous injury.

“Is your brother alright? I saw a bandage
around his head.”

“I shot him. I was saving his life!” I added
when BT stopped to look at me.

“How much time you think I have left?” BT
asked as we walked into Mary’s front yard. The zombies still didn’t
care about us, but they were exactly where we needed to be.

BT doubled over as painful spasms racked
through his abdomen.
Less than I hoped,
I answered him, but
only in my thoughts. I rubbed the man’s back as he bent over, I
noted that my hand was almost level with my ear as I did so. I
didn’t know what to do. I was exposing everyone to a zombie if I
brought him into Mary’s home and there wasn’t anything I could do
for him anyway. It was a pipedream to think that Mary could either.
I’m sure one of the topics she might have brought up while we were
in her house was how she had developed this incredible cure for the
zombie disease and had been waiting for some nice men to come and
help her disseminate the medicine. Yeah, you would think that would
be the conversation starter.

I could not shoot my friend. The alternative
was to leave him out here to fully become what was already
happening. My hand immediately fell away as BT dropped to his knees
and blood flowed freely from his nose while his head sagged down.
His chest was covered in snot and blood from the discharge.

“Oh my dear God,” I said as I placed the
barrel of my rifle against the side of his head.

“Please do it,” he begged. “I’d do it for
you.”

Chapter Thirteen – Paul

Paul had found two emergency candles in a kitchen drawer next to
the oven. The drawer was too close to the heat source as they had
semi melted out of shape. Paul had to cut the bottoms off to enable
the misshapen candles the ability to stand on their own. Even then,
he had to let some wax drip onto the tabletop to make them
stick.

Paul decided that he did not have eight hours
left like the wrapper on the candle bragged about, and he lit both
of them. The small room was nearly entirely lit up. Paul popped one
more pain killer. The wound in his foot was completely forgotten as
he gazed deeply into the fire of the two light sources. He was
certain he had discovered the meaning of life in those flames. It
was a pity he did not have a notepad to write down his
findings.

“I wonder what it will feel like?” Paul had
turned around and was having a conversation with his cast
shadow.

“I bet it hurts,” he said, as his shadow mate
nodded in agreement or it could have been the flicker of the
flame.

Paul was mesmerized as his companion picked
up a gun and held it to its own head.

“I know that’s what I have to do,” Paul said
as he scratched behind his ear with the long-necked lighter he had
used to light the candles. “But I’m afraid.” The shadow man put
down the gun at the same time Paul’s itch was sated.

“I’m not really religious, but I’ve always
heard that suicide is instant damnation. Would God make an
exception, you think?”

The shadow shrugged its shoulders in
indecision just as Paul shivered.

“You sure don’t talk much,” Paul said,
turning back towards the light.

“I should leave Erin a note. Yeah, and how am
I going to get it to her? Well, that’s not really the point, is
it?”

“Man, I am messed up. I would swear there
were two candles on that table.” Paul snorted as he realized there
were. “My mouth is so dry, I sure could go for a beer.” Paul took a
swig of the diet Sprite and almost threw it up when he realized it
wasn’t the beer he had been hoping for.

“Hey that’s pretty good,” he decided.

***

“Mike, I could sure use your help right about
now!” A much younger and somewhat skinnier version of Paul echoed
his older self. Paul was pinned tight in his smoldering car, the
steering column nearly crushing his sternum. The thickening smoke
was making vision difficult, but it was not so dense that he could
not tell what happened to his missing shotgun seat passenger. That
and the hole in the windshield left little doubt.

I need to check on him
, Paul thought.
Where’s Dennis?
Paul’s mind raced, trying to locate their
third friend who had also gone to the Cheech and Chong Drive-In
festival. Paul could not turn his neck far enough to look into the
back seat of his 1970 Buick Century and determine the fate of his
friend.

“Help!” Paul thought he shouted, but the
weight on his chest and the choking smoke might have seriously
hampered any volume. Someone must have heard it as the passenger
door opened and Mike peered in.

“Paulie, you alright?”

“Yah, except for the broken ribs and
potential barbecuing, I’m doing dandy,” Paul wheezed.

“Paul, I’m going to get Dennis out first,”
Mike said.

Paul figured Dennis was either not quite as
stuck as him or in worse shape, so either way, it made sense that
Mike would try to get him out first. Paul, however, was not looking
forward to burning alive. He had read once that it was the most
painful way to die although, whoever had done the study and who
were the test subjects, he just wasn’t sure.

“Dude, just hurry! Barb’s (Paul’s mother)
gonna be pissed if I ruin this new shirt she bought me.” Paul tried
to laugh at his poor attempt at humor, but it came out more as a
grunt.

“Dude, save your strength. I’m going to need
your help when I get to that steering wheel,” Mike said, lifting
his broken arm up with some difficulty.

“I didn’t know you were double jointed.” Paul
swooned a little at the sight of the broken, bent appendage, but
would later remember it as smoke inhalation poisoning.

Paul sat for time un-recordable as the heat
in the car began to turn up. The back door opened and Paul could
crane far enough to see Mike climbing into the backseat. Mike’s
heavy grunting dominated all. It was even louder than the crackle
of vinyl seating on fire. When Paul heard the heavy thudding off to
his left, he figured Mike had extracted Dennis.

Paul watched a line of flame traveling closer
and closer, as if seeking him out. “Umm Mike, it’s my turn, buddy,”
Paul said, pissed at himself that he was letting fear put a quaver
in his voice, but he’d take that over frying in his car any
day.

“Mike?” Paul asked. No answer. “Dennis? Guys?
Come on, man, what the fuck?” Paul pressed up against the steering
column, but his fractured ribs prevented him from giving the thrust
he needed to escape his fiery prison.

Paul turned to his left as far as he could.
He could just see two sets of legs on the ground. Mike must have
passed out. “Mike! Wake up! Mike! Help!” His crying out was as much
for his rescue as for his friend’s. He thought that Mike and
possibly Dennis were suffering from more grievous injuries than he
knew.

Paul started to make his peace with God, and
was doing fine just up until he caught on fire and then all bets
were off. “Talbot! Get up!” Paul screamed in a last ditch effort to
get some assistance.

Paul finally heard some rustling on the
ground. “Thank you, God,” he whispered.

Paul turned as Mike stuck his head back in
the car door. “Paul, I just want to get him clear.”

Paul understood the necessity of the act, but
he wanted to be clear of the burn zone too. Self-preservation is a
powerful instinct. It’s not called friend-preservation for a
reason. “Hurry up,” Paul ground out. Mike did not hear it as he was
already dragging their friend to safety.

“Paul, I’m going to need your help,” Mike
said as he climbed back into the car, quickly slapping out the
flames that had crawled onto Paul’s leg.

“Mike, I don’t have much left.” Paul was mad
with himself that he felt defeated, but the smoke, fire and pain in
his chest were quickly draining him of fight and life.

“Bud, use whatever you got, because we either
both get out of here, or we’re both going to be on the school lunch
menu tomorrow.”

Paul didn’t think this was the right time for
a joke, if that was even what it was, but it had the desired
effect.

“Fuck that,” Paul croaked, thanking anyone
that would listen that he hadn’t started coughing when he pulled in
a particularly nasty influx of polluted smoke.
Although we’d
probably be the tastiest things they’ve had in a few years,
Paul thought. He wanted to tell his friend the joke, but the pain
was too intense and he didn’t think he could afford to inhale any
more noxious gases.

“When I say three.”

What about three?
Paul thought.
Consciousness was becoming as elusive as a Vaseline-coated eel.

“Three!” Mike said.

Where was one and two?
Paul
wondered.

Air seemed to rush into Paul’s lungs as Mike
pushed up on the steering column, and lucid thought came back in a
hurry. Paul began to fight back for the life that Death was in such
a hurry to get its greedy hands on. The steering column moved by
minute fractions of an inch. What made the rescue attempt even more
infuriating, was that as the column moved up, so did Paul’s
compressed chest. For all their straining, it did not appear that
they were making any headway. Death had parked its ass on top of
the steering wheel, its sightless eyes peering deeply into Paul’s
face. Paul could just see Death’s silhouette and the light that
shone through it and beyond it.

“I’m not ready for you,” Paul told Death.

“Most aren’t,” it answered back.

Paul hadn’t been expecting a response. Now he
knew how close he truly was, and with every last ounce he had left,
he pushed up.

“Dude, this isn’t going to feel good.”

“What?” Paul asked, not sure who he was
asking the question to, and why Death would hurt him?