'Til Death Do Us Part (59 page)

BOOK: 'Til Death Do Us Part
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As he was arc
ing towards his wife, I was pin-
wheeling my arms violently to keep my balance. I watched as John

s outstretched hands failed to grasp onto the metal railing, Stephanie plucked him out of the air like a little girl chasing airborne dandelions. I had just regained my balance as Stephanie gave me a questioning look. I had snagged her husband and tossed him five feet with no more diff
iculty than if he had been baby-sized—
not that I

m advocating throwing babies.


Momentum,

I lied to her.

She accepted my explanation.

Thank you so much,

she said as she hugged her weeping husband tightly.


I never thought I

d see you again,

h
e told her.

I brought you something.

He
extracted himself f
rom her and showed her a giant Rasta-
joint that I had no idea where he could have had it on his body and kept it so pristine.


Honey
,
you know I don

t smoke,

s
he said as she kissed him fiercely.


More for me and Ponch then,

h
e said turning back.

You coming
,
man?


This is where we part
, my friend.
It
has been both an honor and a trip
to have made your acquaintance,

I told him, I was sure going to miss him.

Azile

s horn blast negated nearly every part of John

s response, but I caught something about meeting again. I hoped so as I quickly climbed back down the truck and in. Azile quickly pulled away. I stared out my window as I wiped an errant tear away from my eye.


You alright?

Azile asked after we had left the bulk of the zombies behind.


Yeah I j
ust hate leaving friends behind,

I told her.


You

ll s
ee him again,

s
he said really not even thinking about how her words were
just placating
platitudes.

I looked over at her.


Sorry,

s
he said.

Just seemed like the right thing to say.


It

s alright
,
you were jus
t trying to make me feel better,

I told her as I dragged my hand across my face. I rolled down my window and maneuvered my face
so I could see it in the mirror;
I was pleasantly surprised to see some facial hair making a comeback.


You looked like you checked out there for a minute. Are you alright?

I asked her as I pulled my head back in.


I...I

ve just never seen it that bad I guess. I was already on the road when the invasion hit. Hardly would have even known it happened on the open roadway. The real first clue I got was obviously the radio news reports
,
then the lack of them. And still I thought it might be some elaborate hoax until I noticed just how little traffic was on the highways. There was just no way that many people could be involved in something like that.


Just count yourself luc
ky.
It
was no bargain on my end. I would have much rather preferred a newscast letting me know what was going on as opposed to living it.

She prodded me for more information
,
which I reluctan
tly gave out in bits and pieces.
The
vast majority of my recent m
emories were still sticky, pus-
oozing sores
,
and I had no desire to peel back the scabs to see if they smelled of rot or not. After a few hours of the sanitized
,
abridged version
,
she realized she wasn

t getting much more and let me stew in everything she had made me stir up again.

I was not sad to see the Pennsylvania state sign become a distant mi
lestone as we cruised into the Garden S
tate. It was a damn shame that it took a zombie apocalypse to make the state not smell like a fermented garbage pail.

The beauty of youth
,
I thought
concerning Azile.
She’d
been thro
ugh a lot in the last few days—maybe as much as me—
plus she was driving and looked like she could go at it
for days. I was fading fast
;
the mile markers were putting me into a trance. I knew she carried a severe hatred for all things Eliza
,
but did it burn so bright inside of her that she couldn

t rest?


Are you sure about this
,
Azile? I know I asked before
,
but if you just helped me to find a new ride and turned this rig around there

s a decent chance you could have some sort of life somewhere.

She didn

t say anything for nearly a mile.

I had no life before
,
and I can

t imagine finding one now. When Eliza killed my mother, the state awarded me to
my uncle
.

I told her I was sorry when I figured where this might be going.

When she understood the origins of my apology she spoke.

No, no it

s nothing like that. It

s just that he was twenty-
four and had absolutely no desire to take care of a kid. He was always decent to me, never did anything i
nappropriate.
No…
probably my biggest complaint was that he just didn

t know what to do. There I was this emotional wreck, crying all the time
,
looking for comfort
,
and he would leave me alone.
He
just didn

t know how to handle it.

She looked over at me to gauge my reaction.


Raising kids is hard when you

re planning for it. B
eing thrown into the mix with
out a clue has got to be brutal,

I told her.


He tried. He bo
ught me more stuffed animals tha
n he could afford
,
and that was another thing, he worked
at a video store
and
was
barely paying his bills before I got there. He had a one bedroom apartment and he gave me the bedroom when I moved in. He tried
,
he really did, but we both knew I was a burden. He didn

t bring dates home or go out with his frien
ds
that much either
.
He
was always afraid to leave me by myself which was kind of funny
,
because he always left me alone in his room while he sat on the couch.

She finished with a faraway look in her eyes.


Where is he now?

I asked.


Bonneview Memorial Cemetery. The night I turned
eighteen
he went out and celebrated with his
friends. He wrapped his twelve-year-
old Honda around a tree six houses down fro
m his apartment. Funny thing is…I heard it.
I was laying in bed thinking about my mother and how much I missed her when the explosion of
metal and glass crashing into o
ak shook my window. I didn

t know it was him, but I did. Does that make sense?

I nodded.


On some level I knew it was my uncle, he had finally won his freedom I guess.


Do you blame yourself for it?

I asked.


I did…
for a while, but it didn

t make sense to. Everything t
raced back to Eliza. She killed
my mother, my father
,
and my uncle and she should have killed me. In a way
, I guess she did. T
here are parts of me that will never function properly
, starved of nurturing as they were. Is that too dramatic?


Not at all, if that

s what you feel.


So back to your original question, Eliza

s death is the onl
y reason I hold on to this life.
Until
I kill her
,
I don

t think I can find peace. So yeah
,
I

m sure I want to come with you.


Fair enough.
Most
people I have this discussion with don

t normally have as much insider knowledge about Eliza as you do. I

m glad you

re coming if only so I don

t have to drive this thing.


I think it was your driving more than anything that got me out of my stupor.


Great
,
another smart ass, just what the world needs.

She stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth at me.


What

s your family like?

She
sounded genuinely curious
,
or she might have just wanted to while away the time as she drove. It wasn

t like she could turn the radio on and listen to
America

s Top F
orty
.

That side thought hurt a
little more than I wanted it to;
I

d loved music since I was a kid and my parents had bought me a Realistic transistor radio. I think the first song I ever listene
d to on it was
While My Guitar G
ently Weeps
, the Beatles version. I knew I was hooked from that moment. Music had been a constant component of my life, from the hundred or so concerts I

d attended
,
to listening t
o it while I worked—
my de
sk job and my construction one—
during the commutes to and from work or errands. It would be safe to say that I listened to mo
re music on average per day than
I watched television. And now my life had another little void in it where music once filled it.


Mike?


Sorry I have a tendency to lose focus every once in a while.


Your family?

s
he asked again after waiting a polite amount of time for me to continue.


Yup
,
sorry, completely spaced it. Well let

s start with my dad, Tony. He

s a World War
Two
vet, saw a lot of action. Sometimes he

s as tough as nails
,
and at other times you can see he

s on the edge.
Wait…
not t
he edge
…that sounds wrong.
I don

t mean of brea
king down or anything like that.
If
you look long and hard at him when he

s quiet
,
you can see what his stint in the war did to him. It fundamentally changed him
,
and at times I think it

s a daily vigilance for him to have it not affect him.
My mom passed a couple of years
ago.
I miss her
,
but she was far from the easiest person to love
. S
he had great difficulty expressing concern for anything that did not revolve around her.

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