Zombie Fallout 2 (27 page)

Tommy was crying as he disengaged from Maggie. “Are you sure Miss Maggie you won’t take some of these?” Tommy asked as he shoved his pillow full of Kit-Kats at her.

“Oh no dear, they just get stuck in my teeth and I never did have much of a sweet tooth.”

Tommy cocked his head to the side, like she had just uttered the craziest thing in the world. “Really?” His earlier distress somewhat relieved.

Tommy and I were the only ones of our gang left upstairs. I went over and gave Greta a perfunctory hug. I could feel her tense up as I moved in. I’ve gripped furniture that had more love in it. Maggie was the complete opposite. She apparently had enough love for the both of them. Her tears nearly soaking through my jacket.

Tommy kept turning so that he could keep seeing the motel. It wasn’t until it was completely out of view that he spoke. “They’re not going to make it through the winter.”

“FUCK!” I yelled as I slammed my hands on the steering wheel. Brendon had a hard time keeping up as I slammed my gas pedal to the floor.

CHAPTER 20

We had been cruising down the highway for a couple of hours, distance doing little to help me forget about the Gustovs (Denmark’s family name). How many times I wanted to turn back around, only to have Tommy’s words bubble to the surface. I could only pray that our visit to him was not what hastened the Gustov’s demise. The ride was passing in a moody silence. Nobody in the car was talking and I don’t think anyone would have listened. So when Tracy offered to drive because she knew the rest of the way, I relented. She’d be hard pressed to find anything worth hitting in this desolate white-blanketed landscape.

A few minutes later I found myself drifting in and out of sleep. Only occasionally being awakened as Tracy would jerk the wheel as if she were just remembering that she was driving and might want to keep the ton and a half van between the painted lines. Sleep grabbed hold and even Tracy’s quick wheel movements could not shake the veil of it from me.

The one good thing about being alive during the age of the zombies was that nightmares no longer had any power. What’s so scary about the boogeyman coming to get you and your legs feeling like lead? That sensation of not being able to run, the fear that pumped through your veins, the monster coming! And then blissful awareness, your mother scooping you up in her arms kissing your sweat-pocked forehead. ‘It was all a dream, everything’s fine.’ She would coo. Not my mother mind you, but someone’s mother would. My mother was too narcissistic to care why I had the nerve to wake her up in the middle of the night when I was child.

No, these days I tended to dream in the idyllic, where a gentle breeze or a beautiful sunset would be punctuated by the appearance of a unicorn or maybe Bambi, only then to awaken in hell. Where monsters were real and no matter how fast and how far I ran they were always right behind me. That was far scarier than any nightmare my mind could have ever imagined. And come to think of it, no matter how many times my legs got mired in deep grass or heavy mud or ultra shag carpeting, the boogeyman never caught me. Not once. Would I be that lucky in real life?

I was coming to alertness in degrees, between the incessant beeping of some asshole’s horn and a not so gentle nudging. I was grudgingly letting go of my tentative grip on being figuratively dead to the world. Tracy’s hand slipped off my shoulder and into my jaw. That concluded what little of my subconscious remained in dreamland.

I sat up fast. No way the zombies could be that close. I dreaded what I would see when I turned around. BT opened his eyes as soon as I had turned around. He looked up at me. He could see my anxiety. “What is it Talbot?” BT asked without turning to look himself.

“Don’t know, don’t see anything yet.” We both let out a sigh of relief.

“Good grief. My two big badasses.” Tracy said.

I puffed out some indignation. And then I saw it. It was far away but it was distinct. “It’s a truck, no its two of…wait no its three of them.” A coldness swept across me. I don’t know why, maybe some of Tommy’s prescience had rubbed off on me, more than likely it was just my heightened awareness of paranoia.

“Yeah and its driving three white Ford pickup trucks, probably F-350’s by the size of them. Travis?” I shook him awake. He came to full consciousness in under a handful of heartbeats.

“Yeah dad?”

“Start handing out guns.” I told him without ever taking my eyes off of the rapidly approaching trucks. He didn’t question me. He didn’t hesitate. Within thirty seconds we were all outfitted with our favorite projectile lobber. I motioned to Brendon through the rear windshield that he should do the same as I pointed vigorously to my rifle. He held his up in response. He was of the same ilk that I was.

“Do you want to drive Mike?” Tracy asked.

There were pros and cons to that question. The pros being that I could have her hide under the dashboard and into some semblance of safety. The cons were my shooting would be seriously hampered and we would have to pull over to make the change. Our pursuers, if that was what they were, would make up some valuable time.

“The road.” He said meekly. “Eyes on the road.” He pointed at his own as if to illustrate the point. “You gonna help me here Talbot?”

“You’re on your own man.”

After what seemed like an indeterminable amount of time she finally relented, feeling that she had made her point, she turned back to the highway.

“Holy fuck.” BT mumbled.

“You say something BT?” Tracy asked angrily as she adjusted the rear view mirror to look at him. “I didn’t think so.” She said. When he didn’t answer immediately.

We waited, not as long as we wanted, but longer still than it seemed due to the tension. Tracy was traveling at a steady 65, our chasers must have been doing a pavement chewing 100 or so with the way they were gaining on us.

“Well they’re survivors alright, but I don’t think they are of the fellowship type.” I knew BT was going to keep piecemealing questions together until he got to the heart of my unease. I didn’t give him the chance. “It’s those damn white trucks, like they all had to get the same damn thing, like a gang. Normal folks just trying to get through the day wouldn’t give a shit about what they were driving, so long as they were driving away from a shit storm. And the way they’re driving.”

“Maybe they just need some help.” Tracy interjected.

“Don’t squash my neurotic obsessions, Hon, they tend to keep us alive.”

The lead truck had made its way to Brendon’s wake. There was no waving, no horn beeping, no headlights flashing, no daisy throwing, no American flags.

The lead truck was pulling up alongside Brendon’s minivan, the trailing two Ford’s filled in the vacant gap, one on each side of the roadway. I saw a yellow gap toothed, mullet donning man, ironically wearing a Chevy hat lean out of the passenger side door. He was looking straight down and into the smaller vehicle. His lascivious grin was evident even from this distance. I watched as he ducked back into the truck, he held up two fingers and laughed. I was sort of impressed that he had the ability to count.

I had been so fixated on the cab I hadn’t looked. How the fuck I had missed them was beyond me. Three armed men were standing attached to some sort of harness device to a roll bar in the back.”

“What the fuck are they doing?” BT asked.

“They’re strapped in to the truck so they don’t fall out when they try to take us over.”

“Take us over? What are you talking about Mike?” Tracy asked, her fear almost ended the confrontation right there and then. She had let her foot come off the accelerator and our minivan was slowing at an alarming rate while Brendon was intent on keeping an eye on the truck next to him was inadvertently pressing down on the accelerator in a vain attempt to get out from the situation. He actually tapped our bumper before Tracy realized what was happening. Redneck number one thought it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. He motioned to the driver to speed up.

Within seconds our newfound guests were along our broadside. Redneck #1 was even uglier up close, his pock marked face must have made him a true charmer in high school. If not for rape, farm animals or his sister I was sure he would have never been laid. He leaned back in. My heart stilled as I watched him mouth the words ‘Only one’, and then he laughed. Before they sped up to get in front of us he leaned back out and made a ‘V’ sign with his fingers, his long tobacco stained tongue flicked back and forth in the base of the sign.

Tracy’s foot turned to molten lead. The Terrible Teal machine for all its ugliness, gave us all she had. Redneck number one was motioning for his driver to go faster. His expression, a cross between wonder and anger.

He was never going to hear me but I said it anyway. It was more of uplifting to us in the car anyway. “You picked the wrong caravan to waylay, dipshit. We’re not your typical sheep.”

He might not have heard me but my crazy grin, I could tell, had unsettled him some. He was yelling at the driver. The truck was inching forward, the cab of their truck was now even with our front grill.