eat me. I finally pulled the door shut when the zombie fell on its ass. Three new
ones were at the window before the echo of the shutting sound died down in the cab.
A couple were looking at me through the passenger side, and at least four were climbing
up the front bumper and onto the hood.
“This is horrible,” I said, looking at all the angry faces that wanted nothing more
in their existence than to end mine. In man-versus-man war, the general mindset, contrary
to popular belief, isn’t ‘I hate them and must destroy them!’ it’s more like ‘I need
to protect myself and my friends.’ Very rarely will you find a soldier who wants to
fight, they are few and far between—
anomalies amidst the regular. It’s always the men in power, those that have not been
to war, that are willing to wage them.
“Ma-maybe you should come back here.” BT gazed upon the same thing I was.
“Yup, on this we are in agreement.” I handed him my rifle. “Thank you,” I told him
when I was back in the ‘safe-zone’ and the Plexiglas was locked in to place.
“At this point, Talbot, I don’t know how I’d get through my day if I wasn’t somehow
pulling you out of your latest scrape.”
“Thanks, man. Now sit down, you look like shit.”
He didn’t protest; that was how I knew his condition was worsening.
“Mike, he’s burning up,” Tracy said, feeling BT’s forehead.
I had figured that out by the cherry-sized beads of sweat on his forehead.
“I’ve got something for that,” Trip said, reaching into his fanny pack.
BT grabbed my arm. “Please don’t let him medicate me,” he begged.
“Dude, you’re being much too judgmental. There’s nothing quite like tripping your
trees off during a zombie invasion. Expand your mind, man,” I told him.
“I’ll fold you up like a paper airplane if you let him near me.”
Trip stepped up next to us. Two white pills in his outstretched hands. “Aspirin,”
he said, smiling.
BT looked up at him suspiciously, when he seemed satisfied all was okay, he grabbed
them. “That I can deal with.”
I handed him a bottle of water. With some difficulty, he swallowed the pills.
Trip was looking at us funny. “Why’d you take those?” he asked.
“What do you mean? You said they were aspirin,” BT said in alarm.
“I figured you needed some, but you just took my last two Quaaludes,” Trip said.
“I’m gonna kill him,” BT threatened as he began to stand. I grabbed him around the
waist to halt his progress.
“Steph, the Indian took my last two ‘ludes,” Trip said, turning towards his wife.
“Oh, there’s the aspirin.” He pulled his hand out of his pants pocket. “Need some?”
he asked a cheek puffing BT.
“Well, at least you’re not going to feel anything for the next couple of hours,” I
told BT.
“And if we need to run?” he asked.
“Ludes or not my friend, you’re in no shape to run,” I said to him.
We were running out of time. Even if we made it through the night, I wasn’t convinced
he would. And honestly, I couldn’t feel any more fucking helpless. Then there was
going to be the unenviable task of putting a bullet in his brain before he could harm
anyone in the truck, and knowing BT, he’d make me do it while he was still human.
Running from this and getting dragged down from the zombies sounded like a much better
option.
Then, after I blew my best friend away, then what? I got to watch my oldest son slowly
decline into the abyss of zombie-dom. Maybe this was the rapture, maybe the good souls
had died those first few days and the rest of us were now dealt with this hell on
earth.
Is that it, God? Am I being judged for past sins? That’s fucking fine, really it is.
But what the fuck did Tracy or my kids do? Are they guilty by association? If that’s
the case, you can shove the whole thing up your—
The ripping of the tarp interrupted my sour thoughts.
“Um, Mike?” Gary said.
“Told you to use sheet metal on the roof,” I told him.
“No you didn’t.”
“I should have then.” I looked up to the corner where the sound was coming from. As
one, we all spun to the front when we heard a window shatter.
“Natives are getting restless,” BT said with a slight slur.
At least one of us was going out with a smile. And that actually made me slightly
happier. All of us dying at the same time was alright as well; at least it would save
me from the nightmare of shooting BT. The truck was rocking as dozens of zombies piled
on, either on the roof or up by the cab.
“Mike, I’m scared,” Tracy said, grabbing my arm, her eyes wide.
“Well that makes all of us.”
“Ponch, you have a real bad squirrel problem here.” Trip was sitting on the bench
seat behind BT and would from time to time lean over and look at the big man. “Anything
yet?” he asked.
“I’m going to pop your head off like a Barbie doll,” BT would tell him every time
he asked. I did notice that the response got a little mellower with each retelling.
I think the last time I heard it before the zombies started smashing the plywood in,
it was ‘Barbie’s hair is soft’ I could be wrong, there was a lot going on.
As I heard fists smacking against the Plexiglas, and three-quarter inch plywood cracking,
I was wishing that we had just about any other mythical creature attacking us rather
than zombies. Werewolves were only a monster during a full moon, vampires couldn’t
be out in the day, and clowns were only at circuses. Sure, I’d find out eventually
that all of those misconceived notions from my youth and Hollywood were wrong, but
they still seemed better than the relentless tenacity of the zombies who would never
stop. They were the undead version of the Terminator. Night, day, cloudy, clear, full
moon, new moon, snow, sleet, rain, earthquake, tornado, yup…they’d still come.
“Travis, you stay on the Plexi. Don’t fire until they get through. Gary, Tommy, you
ready?” I asked as I trained my rifle up towards where the loudest cracking sound
was coming.
Our shots, coupled with the zombies on top, were going to cave the structure in quicker.
There were no other options that I could see. And then I did. It wasn’t great. (More
like decent, or maybe just adequate, but it would buy us more time.) And time was
the most precious commodity ever allotted.
“Tommy, help me,” I said as I got over to the right side of the truck and placed my
hands flat against the wood.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Gonna flip some pancakes.”
“What? Did Trip get to you too?” he asked.
“I want to push the roof off.”
“Mike, there’s probably fifteen hundred pounds of zombies on that thing,” Gary said.
“Not to mention the two-inch roofing nails I used to secure that thing.”
“Well then you’d better get your ass over here,” I told him.
“I’ll help too.” Trip put one hand on the roof. In the other he was holding a joint
to his lips. “Let’s get this show on the road,” he said around a plume of smoke. “I’ve
got a concert to get to.”
“Whoosh p
laying?” BT slurred.
I bent my knees and pressed against the wood. I slowly flexed my knees, attempting
to keep my elbows from buckling as the wood groaned. Tommy was standing like Atlas
as he tried to push the wood off. The wood started to bow and groan as we put more
pressure on it. My initial concern was that Tommy was going to end up putting his
hands through before the nails gave.
I swallowed hard as I heard a loud pop; at first I thought it was my left nut rupturing.
Then, thankfully, I realized it was the nail closest to us finally yielding its prize.
When we had that one up a good inch, I stayed where I was, bracing to keep the accumulated
weight of the zombies from pushing it back down. Tommy went to the next support and
began the same routine. It was the first time I’d ever seen him not lift something
effortlessly. Beads of sweat to match BT’s broke out across his head. His shirt was
soaked as if we were involved in a water fight and not a fight for our lives.
I had locked my knees in place and was doing my best not to have my spine blow disks
out through the back of me. I was wholly unprepared to see zombie fingers trying to
poke through the stretched tarp. How had they known there was an opening? The board
above me began to dip down as zombies rushed over.
“Hold it!” Tommy shouted, maybe in encouragement.
Trip still had one hand wrapped around the bone in his mouth, the other was still
above his head on the wood, although I think he had completely forgotten what that
hand was doing.
“I’m moving to the last support…going to need everyone to hold this up,” Tommy said
through clenched teeth.
Steph, Gary, Tracy, and Justin rushed in to take his spot. I don’t think they realized
how much weight he was actually pushing. They visibly sagged as he moved.
“Trav, help them,” I croaked.
He didn’t look too thrilled about leaving his station. Three zombies were peering
through the glass trying to figure a way in. BT, who I figured had by this time passed
out, got up off the couch. I was going to tell him to get his ass back on the seat,
but whatever he could muster might be enough to turn the tide. BT with a fever and
stoned was probably stronger than any two men.
BT propped his shoulder against the wood and pushed up. His legs were shaking, and
he was grunting, but I’ll be damned if he wasn’t raising the roof.
“I’m glad we’re friends,” I told him.
“I’m not,” he said.
Tommy had pushed the third and final support up and free. We still had the tarp, which
was secured outside with bungee cords.
“Justin, get my knife cut the tarp…and hurry,” I said.
Within thirty or so seconds, daylight was pouring into the truck, followed by dozens
of fingers.
“Ready?” Tommy asked.
None of us could wait until the count of three. We just started walking from left
to right in the truck bed, pushing up on the roof as we went. The first foot was sheer
agony, and I did not think gravity was going to give it up, but we finally hit the
point of equilibrium. It started to get marginally easier the further we went. Zombies
began to spill off the slanted roof as we went. Justin ran back and forth to keep
pace with the cutting of the tarp.
Travis literally saved my ass. I was closest to the front of the truck, and a zombie
had climbed onto the roof of the cab. It was getting ready to pounce when he had enough
room. The bullet from Travis’ rifle wasn’t more than six inches from the back of my
head. I was always thankful I’d never spanked him much, because who knows when he
might have felt the need for a little payback.
More zombies were clamoring up the roof as we pushed the wood over, sending any remaining
hangers-on tumbling to the ground, although we’d given them a decent ramp to come
back up on. I flipped my rifle off my back to help Travis as BT and Tommy pried the
wood free from its moorings, sending the sheet to the ground. We were a small oasis
of humanity adrift in a sea of zombies. And like Z-day, they were making a beachhead.
The roof was easy enough to defend for now, we had ammo; once that factor was taken
out of the equation, then it would become exceedingly difficult.
The zombies for the most part seemed much more intent on coming from the front than
the sides. Oh, to be sure there were a few mavericks, but most were busy knocking
each other out of the way on the hood in an attempt to get to us. Travis and I were
on the balls of our feet, spinning and twisting to keep up with the onslaught. The
zombies seemed to be redoubling their efforts once we were spotted.
“I’m out!” I shouted. Tommy immediately stepped in and started firing. Justin stepped
in for Travis a few moments later. We were furiously reloading, and Gary would shoot
from time to time as a zombie would step on the rear tires and throw his or her hands
over the lip of the truck.
“I’ll load,” Tracy said, dragging the ammo cans to one of the seats.
“I can help,” an exhausted BT said.
Trip still had one hand in the air. Now it just looked like he was trying to get a
bored, distracted teacher’s attention. I looked up in time to watch him as his gaze
followed his arm in the air to his hand. A confused look came across him as he tried
to figure out what he was doing.
Good luck with that, I thought.
I stood up and got ready to get behind Tommy when he ran out, although it ended up
being Justin who did so first. He tossed his mother his magazine, pinging her on the
side of the head. I thought she was going to blow a gasket. For once I was grateful
I was on the front lines.
“How long can we do this?” Gary asked.
“As long as we have to,” was what I told him. The only other way to have answered
this would have been ‘Until we die’. In the end, though, they very well could be the
same.
Even Henry got in on the action. Whenever he saw a hand come over the lip, he would
run under it and bark his strange seal-like sound until someone came over and got
rid of it. At first I may have assumed he thought it was a game with the way he was
enjoying himself, but the sheer amount of time he ‘played’ let me know that Henry
knew the stakes were much higher than getting a cookie or not. Henry’s ideal play
revolved around lying around and having people bring him things, whether food or tummy
rubs—both of which he would accept with equal gusto.
We were on the losing side; that was pre-determined. The harder we fought, the more
zombies came to see what all the fuss was about. Zombies were crowding around the
truck, completely overrunning the street and spilling onto the neighboring yards.
Fighting our way through them was not a possibility.
“This can’t be happening,” I said as I looked out over all of them.
Trip stood on one of the seats and was looking over the same scene as I was. He lifted
both of his hands in the air, spreading them wide. He threw his head back and screamed.
“I am the Lizard King!” Harkening back to the days of Jim Morrison and The Doors,
I would imagine, or he truly thought he was the king of lizards; with Trip, it’s always
difficult to te
ll.
Stephanie was looking up at her husband. She wore the worrying like a cloak, probably