The End Has Come and Gone

BT and Meredith

“Did she see us?” BT asked as he tried to fit his immeasurable bulk under the console. His success rate was much, much less than Angel’s.

“Umm let’s see. She just crossed over the grass and is now heading this way, so my guess is yes.” “Does everyone in the Talbot family have to go to a special ‘smart ass’ class before they can be considered an actual family member? I mean, do you guys have to get certified or something?” “I don’t think you’re going to fit,” Meredith told BT.

“Is she still coming?” BT asked without turning around.

“No, no, she thought better of it. It looks like she’s heading the other way.”

“Really!?” BT craned his neck around to confirm this new information. “What? She’s not turning around!” BT said, more than a little miffed.

“You’ve known my uncle how long?”

“Hilarious, drive. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I am not driving away from my aunt,” Meredith said as she pulled over, placing the car in park and getting out.

“What are you doing? We have to leave!” BT said in alarm.

Meredith peeked her head back in. “You scared of Aunt Tracy? I mean, you should be, she’s probably a good buck ten, buck fifteen tops.” “How long you known your aunt?” BT asked in disbelief.

Meredith actually stopped to think about that point. “I guess you have something there. If she has to deal with Uncle Mike then I guess she must have some serious brass tacks.” “Of that I can assure you,” BT said, slowly getting out of the car, dreading the confrontation that was about to ensue.

“Meredith, BT?” Tracy asked as she pulled the car up alongside them and quickly hopped out. “What are you guys doing here?” “I guess we could ask the same of you,” BT said. “Is everything alright, where’s Mike and the boys? Okay I get it now,” he said after looking over the precious cargo she was hauling in the small hatchback. “Where’d you pick up the vagabonds?” “We are not bagavonds!” Angel said coming out of the car, yelling at BT’s knees. “Mommy says we’re Protestants!” “Holy crap mister, you’re huge!” Dizz said, slowly approaching BT as if he were a carnival attraction. Ryan grabbed his sister before the giant inadvertently stepped on her.

“You first,” Tracy said, circling back to her original question.

“What do you think?” BT said.

“I wanted to help, Auntie,” Meredith said. “I was kinda also hoping that we’d come across Melanie and I could let Dad finally grieve instead of holding onto any false hope.” “And you, BT?” Tracy pressed.

“I owe your husband my life Tracy, probably a couple of times over.” BT looked at her defiantly for a moment then off into the distance, obviously hoping she would let it slide.

Tracy immediately looked away when she noticed a stubby tail wagging from the rear of Meredith’s car. “Henry?” Tracy walked over to open the door and pet the dog.

“See, I told you he was supposed to come,” BT said, nudging Meredith. “He just saved my ass.” Henry licked Tracy’s face, leaving a trail of saliva down her cheek.

“Oooh gross!” Angel exclaimed as she came up to pat Henry’s broad face. Henry turned his attention to the girl’s sticky fingers. Angel squealed in delight as Henry began to clean up all the sugary goodness left behind.

Tracy stood back up, wiping the slime from her face.

“We didn’t know he was in the car when we left,” BT said, preempting the next question Tracy was sure to ask.

“Yeah we didn’t realize he was there until I just didn’t think any living human could possibly make that stench, not even BT,” Meredith said, pointing towards the big man.

“The more I get to know you Meredith, the funnier you get,” BT said.

Meredith did a small curtsy and grinned at him cheekily.

“How do you know where to go? Tracy asked.

“Ron gave us a radio. The plan is to have Mike do his nightly call and then Ron lets us know where he’s at.” An idea rapidly began to formulate in Tracy’s head. “Meredith, I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to, but I can ask you.” Meredith’s attention was rapt, but Tracy hadn’t even begun to ask before Meredith had figured it out. “You want me to take these kids to Dad,” she said, her voice full of resignation.

“My kids and husband are out there,” Tracy pleaded. “I can’t leave them, I can’t.” “I understand, Auntie, my sister is out there too though. Even if I don’t think she’s alive I want to find her.” “I understand, I do. I’m sorry,” Tracy said with the full impact of reality striking her square on the shoulders.

“Why don’t we all take these kids back and with the two of you driving we’ll be able to catch up in half the time,” BT reasoned.

Tracy and Meredith both thanked the big man enthusiastically for his idea. Meredith could rid herself of the guilt and Tracy could latch on to hope. Within five minutes they were both heading east on I-90 back towards Ron’s.

CHAPTER ELEVEN – Talbot Journal Entry 7

We had been on the road for an hour or two. I was feeling much more subdued than I had been in a long while. We were now a lean band of four, a high powered fire team. I mostly had what I wanted, my wife, daughter and Henry were safe. That stupid adage, be careful what you wish for, came to mind. The dramatist within me always thought Tracy would be stroking my head as I lay dying on the battlefield. Strange thought, obviously, I just figured that would be the way it would play out. The thought of Gary filling in for Tracy just didn’t have the same dramatic effect.

“Dad, I really have to piss,” Travis said from the back seat.

“How many Dews did you have?” Justin asked his brother.

“Three maybe. I was VERY thirsty,” Travis told him.

“Alright,” I said noncommittally. I should have just pulled over, there wasn’t another car for days and there were plenty of trees. But old habits don’t die easily, especially when you aren’t paying any attention to them. I drove another five miles to the next rest stop.

Travis nearly popped the hinges off his door in his haste to relieve his floating bladder. Gary got out of the passenger seat. There was an audible ‘pop’ from his back as he stretched.

“Getting old, huh?” I asked him.

“Why Mom didn’t put you up for adoption when she had the chance, I’ll never know,” he said as he walked away to investigate our surroundings.

“That’s not funny,” I said to his back.

“Wasn’t trying to be,” he retorted as he made his weapon ready.

“Nothing quite like family to put you in your place,” Justin said humorously, noting our exchange.

“Go keep an eye on your brother before I kick your ass,” I said good naturedly.

“DAD!!!” Travis screamed.

Justin and I paused for a second to look at each other before we bolted in the direction of the cry. Gary was already at full tilt. I flipped the safety and placed my finger outside the trigger guard. Something was about to die in a most unnatural way.

My gut was sinking as I ran. I had not heard Travis scream like that… ever. Two football seasons ago he broke his collar bone and fractured his nose all in one play. Blood had streamed from his face and the bone in his collar had been protruding outwards once his shoulder pads had been removed. I had waited by the sidelines, anxious as any parent that watches their child injured on the field. The team trainer had brought out the dreaded golf cart to bring my son to the sidelines to be worked on further.

Travis had shook his head in the negative when they tried to get him to sit on the cart. He walked off the field in an ovation to the injured. His first question to me while we were in the car driving to the hospital was how many games did I think he was going to miss. The bulge in his collar told me the rest of the season, but I let the doctor break the news to him since I had still been within arm’s reach of his unbroken side. Even with the broken nose, the broken collarbone and the heartbreak of his season coming to a crash, he hadn’t so much as shed a tear. I knew he was bummed by the way he threw his cleats across the waiting room once his x-rays came back, but other than that he took two Advil a day until the pain went away.

Gary was first on the scene. I saw him grab Travis by the shoulder and physically pull him out from the entrance to the small gas station.

“Oh boy,” he said as Justin and I met him there.

That I was breathing hard was really bad, the smell that emanated from that open door was a physical assault upon my senses. Why Gary hadn’t toppled over I don’t know. I veered away before I took in one more pull of the obnoxious odor. The one guy that had survived Armageddon and who arguably had the weakest belly stood there, mouth wide open to the scene laid out before him, and he wasn’t puking. Travis walked past me possibly in shock. His face was pale and I don’t imagine that he was thinking about the piss that had presented such an urgent need mere moments before.

“You alright?” I asked him, my hands on my knees in the classic, ‘I’m about to heave’ pose. Jets of saliva weren’t quite coating the back of my throat yet in preparation for stomach evacuation but they were calling in all available volunteers to man the pumps.

He waved his hand back at me as he walked slowly towards the truck. He had already gotten back into the truck and was vacantly staring in our direction before I was finally able to stand upright without the immediate impression that I was going to let loose a torrent of bile. Justin had also decided he had seen enough, either that or he wanted to console his little brother. I’m not sure which but he was hightailing it back to the truck too.

“What do you make of this?” Gary asked from the doorway.

I could not get enough air or nerve for that matter to get much closer than the ten feet distance I had now. “I’ll be right back, I’m getting the Vicks.” Gary waved at me much as Travis had earlier, but he did not move away from the scene in front of him.

I don’t know what I was thinking, the only way Vick’s was going to mask the smell from the gas station was if I swallowed the entire container, choked and then died on it. No, this was primarily a futile exercise in stalling. The point seven five seconds during which I had seen the gruesomeness on the floor was all I would ever need or want to see of that.

Tens, dozens, maybe a hundred, (I’m not Rain Man, I can’t count that quickly) zombies were piled like cordwood. They were neatly stacked like a farmer would lay out his fire wood for the upcoming harsh winter. They alternated head to toe. What were once men, women and children were laid out like the world’s largest funeral pyre. Thick black viscous fluid at least an inch thick lined the entire floor, the only thing keeping it contained within the gas station was the door stop.

“Could you hand me the Vick’s?” I asked Justin.

He was leaning in the truck talking to Travis. “You’re going back?” he asked as he fumbled around in the first-aid box for the smelly concoction.

“Definitely not out of morbid curiosity. I think there may be some answers there,” I told him.

“Let me know what you find out,” he replied. He was the smart one that wasn’t going back.

I’m pretty sure the label on Vick’s warned against what I was about to do, but I’d take my chances. I shoved a wad of it up each nostril. It burned like hell and I was pretty sure I would never smell anything ever again and right now that was just fine with me.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said to psych myself up.

Gary took one step in to give me access to the doorway. Corroded humans melded into each other, it was difficult to tell where one zombie ended and the other started. Blood, muscle and tendon were all intertwined with their neighbors.

“You think people did this?” Gary asked me. “I mean as a message maybe?” “A message to whom? Zombies don’t care about their brethren. Who would take the time to stack them so neatly?” ‘Neatly’ just didn’t feel like the right word to use. I mean if I was to save Henry’s shits and then one day stack them all on top of each other, would you use the word ‘neatly’ or would you just say, ‘Hey there’s a huge pile of shit!’ I know Henry would have a different take, to him it would be his ‘life’s work!’ his ‘Grand Masterpiece.’ But that’s a different story.

“Eliza then?” He asked.

“It seems like something she would do for some reason. But I don’t know, she cares about them less th a n they care for themselves. I think we’re missing something here,” A small tremor spread through the molasses thick semi-congealed fluid on the floor, a ripple spreading out like a pebble had been thrown into split pea soup. I was watching the small wave as it gently washed over the tow of Gary ’s boot. “Did you move your foot?” I asked him, looking up at his face.

“No,” he said, never taking his eyes off the meat pile in front of him. “Do you think they died? Wait, you know what I mean, did they expire?” “You sure?” I asked.

“About what? Asking you a question?”

“No, your boot.”

“What about it?” he asked a little peevishly because I was not responding to his repose query.

“You didn’t move it?”

“Mike, what is wrong with you?” Gary asked, tearing his gaze from the macabre view in front of him. “What the hell is up your nose? You did not shove Vick’s up your nose did you? Did you read the damn label? It’s people like you that made McDonalds have to put ‘Caution , Contents Hot’ on the outside of their coffee mugs for Chrissakes.” Another ripple crashed into Gary’s boot. “Did you see that?” I asked him as I pointed to the floor.

“I think the Vick’s is eating your brain away,”

“Great, maybe the zombies will stop chasing me then,” I told him, never peeling my eyes from the floor. “ Gary , I think we should get out of here, um probably now. I think they’re moving.” “Come on little brother,” he said with a condescending lilt. “They’re done for, it’s just bloating or decomposition, or most likely both of those processes together.” “Would decomposition make an eye open?” I said, taking a quick step back and pointing at the one rheumy gray eye peering longingly up at us.

“Well, maybe,” Gary said, matching my hasty withdrawal.

By the time the zombie’s arm reached up, Gary and I were in full on retreat.

“Get in the car!!” I yelled to Justin.

“What’s going on?” Justin yelled back.

“Is anything behind us?” I yelled to Justin, running at the same time. I was entirely too spooked to look over my shoulder to verify it for myself. “Wish there was a Jumbotron I could look up at to check.” Gary looked over at me but did not question my statement. Running for one’s life tends to take precedence over asking questions that aren’t directly involved to said Life.

“No, nothing is… ummm, yeah, you guys should run faster!” Justin yelled, hopping in to the truck cab.

We reached the truck. I fumbled with the handle for a split second, long enough to imagine the deep seated pain involved with a bite to my shoulder. The windshield picked up the reflection of zombies hurtling in our direction. No deaders in this chase. As I opened my door I peered back towards the gas station to see tens, dozens, maybe a hundred zombies heading our way. They were in such a rush to get to us that they were jamming up in the doorway like an old Three Stooges scene that took this inopportune time to come to the forefront of my mind.

The truck started and I hauled ass out of that parking lot just as Gray Eyes slammed into the front quarter panel. “You tell Ron about that and you’ll be walking home,” I stressed.

Gary was too busy white knuckling onto the truck off-road grips to pay me much attention. Within a hundred yards we were safe, but none of us visibly relaxed for another ten miles. Travis kept looking in the rear window, apparently convinced that the zombies were somehow going to be able to keep up with us. I’ll be honest, I kept stealing my own glances. I was under the distinct impression that we had just encountered Zombies 3.0 and we as of yet did not know their new and improved powers. Hopefully it was more like most household products bought at a grocery store that promised new and improved features but delivered only a higher price tag.

“Dad, what was that?” Travis asked, turning back around from another peek through the looking glass.

“I think they were in stasis,” Gary answered, never taking his gaze off the road ahead.

“Hibernation?” I asked for clarification.

“Maybe, that’s my guess,” Gary said.

“What would make them do that?” Justin asked. Travis was busy looking back again.

“Well bears do it for food, or lack thereof,” I said, more talking out loud than to answer his question. Once I friggen said it, I wished I could have pulled it back in.

“Lack of food?” Travis asked, paling. “People you mean? There’s not enough people left for them to eat?” I nodded, sorry I had opened this can of worms.

“How long can they hibernate?” Travis asked.

“Bears can go about three to four months. But fleas can go for like six months and then I think that bedbugs can stay in a stasis state for years, and then there is the Moroccan…” Gary pontificated.

“Enough,” I told him. “You’re scaring the boy and you’re freaking me out.”

“Is there any way we can use this to our advantage?” Gary asked.

“Well, the obvious is that there will be less of them just roaming around. And if we can stumble on an orgy of them, we have a couple of minutes of opportunity where we could burn a ton of them, I mean before they awaken and chase us.” “Burn them. Sounds good,” Travis said with a slight shiver, as if he wanted to heat himself over the roasting of the zombie pyre.

“What now?” Gary asked me.

“Well, now we find a gas station that is not inhabited by the dead and we use Ron’s handy dandy hand pump to fill up a bunch of gas containers. So the next time we’ll be prepared,” I told him determinedly.

“That’s as good a plan as any,” Gary said.

“It’s about time I had one,” I told him.

“Amen to that,” Travis said, stealing one last backwards glance.

CHAPTER TWELVE – Alex and Paul

North Carolina was a balmy 58 degrees, and the trees were resplendent with early spring greenery. Life was burgeoning. Well, that’s an untrue statement, plant life was doing wonderfully and would absolutely flourish in this new world as man’s poison-laced waterways and smoke filled air finally gave way to the pristine, as nature had always intended. Man’s brains had removed him from nature and now ironically it was this very same brain that was going to return the earth back to its rightful owners.

The small band of survivors had wisely avoided Charlotte , instead taking the beltway to the outer limits of the city. Paul knew of what he thought would be a perfect haven. Furniture City Warehouse turned out to be just that. It was a large corrugated blue steel building, one main entrance for customers and then loading docks in the rear for them to pick their purchases up.

“It’s locked,” Paul said, turning back to the throng.

“Were you expecting a ‘Welcome’ sign?” Mrs. Deneaux asked him in her usual acerbic manner.

“You really are tough to get along with,” Mad Jack said, stooping to get a closer look at the lock.

“Do you have a hammer?” Alex asked Mad Jack.

“Even better,” Mad Jack told them. He patted down all of his pockets until he came across what he was feeling for. It was a lock picking device that looked much like a small pistol. “Working for the DoD sure had its perks,” MJ said, placing the picking device into the lock. He began to rapidly pull the triggering mechanism.

“That standard issue?” Paul asked skeptically.

After another ten seconds of fiddling with the device, Mad Jack stood up with a satisfactory ‘Aha’ sound.

“Is it open or not?” Mrs. Deneaux asked. “Do you need all the theatrics?”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” Joann told Mrs. Deneaux as she pulled the door open.

“Hold on!” Alex told her. “We don’t know what it’s like in there.”

“It’s a furniture store. And an inexpensive one at that. So unless zombies have started eating vinyl we should be fine,” Mrs. Deneaux said, although she did not volunteer to go in first.

Joann’s initial haste to get indoors was quelled at the idea that the dark store could be hiding a variety of nightmares.

“We should be safe,” Paul stated. “No food means no people, no people…”

“No zombies,” Little Eddy finished the sentence.

“You got it,” Mad Jack said, pulling a flashlight off the utility belt he was wearing and heading into the murkiness.

The majority of the group huddled behind that one light as they checked furniture display after furniture display looking for anyone or more importantly anything that didn’t belong. The only notable exceptions were Joann and April who were standing guard by the front doors and Mrs. Deneaux who had found a Lazy Boy Recliner and had fallen fast asleep.

It took over an hour to go through the entire showroom floor, the loading bays and the offices, but it was well worth it. There were four fully stocked vending machines with all sorts of snacks from nuts to licorice. Eddy was at first ecstatic to come across an ice cream machine and then severely depressed when he realized he was standing sneaker sole deep in the melted treats.

“Do you think anything’s still in there?” Eddy asked Erin .

“Oh honey, I don’t think so,” she told him and then hugged him before he started to cry again, something he had been doing a lot of since his mother had executed his family and then turned the gun on herself.

“You going to use your fancy lock picking device on this?” Paul asked, pointing to the vending machine.

“Step aside,” Mad Jack told him. The loud splintering crash as he threw a display vase through the glass awoke the slumbering Deneaux.

“What the hell is going on in there!” she yelled from across the floor.

“Everyone’s fine!” Paul yelled. “You old bat,” he said much more softly.

Mad Jack giggled like a schoolgirl. “She really is, isn’t she?” he said, stating a fact more than formulating a question.

“See,” Paul started. “Mrs. Deneaux is proof to me that God has one hell of a sense of humor. End of the world, and the crankiest 75 year old bitch that can’t shoot, can’t run, can’t fight, couldn’t make a friend in a whorehouse on payday and she survives. Armies of the finest men and women on this planet have been ground to dust and yet that cantankerous hag still mouths on.” “Don’t hold back Paul. Tell us how you really feel,” Alex said, coming up to pat his friend on the shoulder.

“She just gets under my skin.” Paul shook his head.

“Like a rash?” Eddy asked.

“A lot like that,” Paul laughed. “Come on kid, grab the stuff you like the most,” he said as he lifted Eddy up to a bird’s eye view of the treats in front of him.

“I think we’re safe for the time being,” Mad Jack stated. “I’m going to lock the front doors, unless anyone has an objection to that.” He waited for a few beats before heading off.

Alex cleaned up some of the stray glass around the machine and started surveying what his kids might want and that might be somewhat healthy, not an easy task when dealing with vending machine food.

“Alex, can you hold the baby, I’m not feeling so well,” Alex’s wife Marta asked.

Alex was midway between deciding on licorice or peanuts when he turned to honor his wife’s request.

“Marta, what’s wrong?” Alex asked in alarm. The lighting was not good but it could not hide the fact that his wife was as pale as a cold winter moon. Black crescents ringed the bottom of her eyes, and her eyes themselves were as dark as craters.

“Mi Dios!” Alex exclaimed as he grabbed the baby and almost simultaneously his wife as she very nearly collapsed.

Erin quickly took the baby as Alex eased his wife to the floor. “Marta, what’s the matter?” Alex fairly cried. Marta did not look well and the transformation from bad to worse was happening right before their very eyes. Paul was watching it too, he thought it looked like those time lapsed photographs they sometimes showed for some special effects make-up make-over. This was much scarier than watching Lon Chaney become a werewolf, this was real.

“Alex, let’s get her to a bed,” Paul said.

Alex looked up and nodded, then picked his wife up in his arms. “You’re so cold, Marta. Talk to me mi amor.” “It’s in my head,” she whispered in his ear.

A spike of iciness plunged down the middle of his back. “Who’s in your head Marta? Eliza?” She shook violently, with a force that almost caused Alex to drop her. “Much worse, it’s Tommy!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Tracy’s Car

“That guy was huge!” Dizz was telling Sty, as if Sty hadn’t been there to witness it himself. “His bicep was bigger than my thigh,” Dizz added with amazement, as he sized himself up.

“Yeah, like that’s hard to do? Mrs. T’s arms are probably bigger than your spindly legs.” Tracy and Dizz simultaneously yelled out, “Hey!”

“I meant no disrespect to you Mrs. T,” Sty added slyly, leaving Dizz out of the response.

“Hey pretty lady we should have taken the doggie,” Angel said to Tracy . “I would have been able to hold him in my lap.” Tracy looked over to the small girl. “Honey, I think he’s bigger than you. You would have had to sit in his lap.” “Dogs have laps?” Angel asked in wonderment.

“It’s a figure of speech,” Ryan said from the back seat.

“I’ve got your finger of speech right here!” Sty said, flipping his friend off.

“Oh, I’m telling!” Angel said, catching a glimpse of the ‘dirty finger,’ as her mom used to call it. When she realized there was no one she could tattle to even though she was only playing, she started to go back down the path of sadness.

Tracy watched the girl’s head bow. “Plus it wouldn’t have been safe to bring Henry in this car,” Tracy told her.

“Why, is he mean?” Angel asked. “Does he have big teeth?”

“No, way worse.”

“Way worse?” Dizz asked with concern. “Does he have rabies or something?”

Tracy shook her head in the negative.

“Come on Mrs. T, what gives, does he turn into a werewolf or something?” Sty asked, getting sucked in.

Angel sat up straighter so that she could look through the windshield at the car they were following. Henry was seemingly staring straight back at them. Angel ducked down under the dash to be out of his line of sight. “I think he knows we’re talking about him,” she whispered to Tracy .

All three boys followed Angel’s lead and peered into the lead truck. “Does he know?” Dizz asked, getting himself a little spooked.

Tracy was a moment away from dismissing the thought, but the more she looked at Henry the more she thought that maybe on some level he did know.

“Is that why he’s dangerous?” Angel asked. “Because he can read thoughts? If I think of dog biscuits will he like me?” Angel scrunched up her face. Tracy imagined that she was thinking hard about dog cookies.

“Henry’s dangerous because of his farts!” Tracy said, emphasizing the last word.

Angel’s deep thought lapsed as she started to laugh out loud. The desired effect Tracy was shooting for was met.

“Really?” Dizz asked. “Because right now he looks mad,” he added, pointing to the back of the truck.

Of course they couldn’t hear him but Henry was barking up a storm. Tracy was left to wonder if maybe the dog had another trick or two up his sleeve.

Meredith’s Car

“We really should have made Henry ride in Tracy’s car,” BT lamented as he pulled his shirt over his face. “You should call your dad and let him know we’re coming back.” “You do realize I’m driving, right?” Meredith told him through clenched teeth, hoping that she would be able to filter some stink that way.

“Fine, but if I pass out from the fumes, it’ll be on you,” BT said, turning around to fumble with the radio.

“I’m willing to take that chance,” Meredith told him.

“Yo, crazy Talbot number one!” BT yelled into the handset.

“Damn! You get any louder and he’ll pick up your echo.”

“Sorry,” BT said sheepishly.

“BT? This is Ron, you’re early, everything okay?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, Tracy found us out and is bringing some kids back,” BT told him.

“What? Okay BT, let’s start as if I’m not there and I have no idea about what you’re talking about.” BT spent the next few minutes laying out all that had transpired that day.

“Man, I’m glad you’ve got Henry,” Ron said.

“I’m not,” BT said.

“I’ve been looking for him for hours. Mike would have killed me. How long before you get back here?” Ron asked.

BT turned to Meredith for an answer. “Three hours tops according to your pain-in-the-ass daughter.” “Yeah, try living with her for the better part of twenty-three years,” Ron voiced.

“Dad?!” Meredith exclaimed.

“Love you honey,” Ron said. “See you guys in a few hours. Out.”

“I think I can come to like that guy,” BT said with a smile on his face as he sat back down. “Wake me when we get there.” He folded his arms and rested his head against the headrest. As his eyes closed he was nearly asleep, Ron’s pain pills taking full effect.

“BT, wake up!” Meredith said, shoving his arm as hard as she could. He barely moved. “BT, get your ass up!” Meredith yelled this time.

“Damn girl, you made good time, we there already?” BT asked as he stretched his arms out.

“Not quite. We’ve only been driving about an hour and a half.”

“Why isn’t the car moving?” BT sat up straight. He followed Meredith’s line of sight. About a quarter of a mile up the roadway was a roadblock.

“It’s cops,” Meredith said.

“Doubtful,” BT finished.

Tracy had pulled up alongside Meredith’s car on BT’s side. She rolled down her window. “What do you guys think?” Tracy asked. Angel was peering over Tracy ’s lap to get a better look at the mountain of a man.

“Even if they were cops once, which I’m not inclined to believe, I don’t think that they are out right now ‘to serve and to protect.’” “Kind of what I thought,” Tracy agreed.

BT thought she looked scared. ‘Makes sense,’ he thought, ‘I am.’

“Any ideas?” Tracy asked hopefully.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Meredith asked.

“I know you didn’t just ask that,” BT said.

“BT, I don’t want to go guns all a blazing with the kids in the car.”

“Hey pretty lady, the policeman turned his lights on,” Angel said, pointing up the road.

“Yeah and the other one is waving for us to come up there,” Meredith noted.

BT turned to the backseat and grabbed a rifle to make sure it was loaded, then turned the radio back on. “Ron, this is BT, over.” A few moments later a response came forth. “Hi BT this is Mark, did you find my sister yet?” Ron’s youngest asked.

“Not yet buddy, is your dad there?” BT said, looking over his shoulder to see if the police were advancing.

“We had another zombie come up this morning, almost got to the house because Gary wasn’t there to guard anymore,” Mark said.

“Yeah, I heard that before,” BT answered, paying absolutely no attention to Mark. “Hey Mark, I need your dad, it’s pretty important,” “He’s outside, he’s setting up some fencing.”

“Don’t care kid, GO GET HIM!” BT said with force.

“Ass,” Mark said as he let the mic drop and hit the floor. BT and Meredith jumped from the loud noise in the cab of the car.

“The second cop just got in his car,” Tracy said with alarm.

“Meredith, grab the binoculars and see if there are other people in those cars,” BT told her, clutching the microphone. Any harder and he was going to have a handful of plasticized dust.

It was a stand-off at the moment, Tracy and Meredith’s cars versus the two cop cars.

“Twice in one day, to what do I owe this honor,” a slightly out of breath Ron asked.

“Got some issues Ron. We’re about an hour and a half away from the homestead and we’ve come up on a roadblock.” “Military?” Ron asked.

“I wish, cops or at least guys pretending to be cops. They have the cars and they have the uniforms but it doesn’t feel right.” “Dad,” Meredith said loudly. We just got off of 95 at Augusta and we’re on Route 3.” “I know where you’re at honey. Listen BT, that’s a great place for an ambush, there’s nowhere to turn off. Have they seen you?” “That would be an affirmative,” BT said.

“Okay, how far away are you from them?” “Quarter mile tops, and they’ve both entered their cars, so by the time we whip a U-turn and get out of here, they’ll be right on us. And to make it even funner, they look like they’re driving the old school 442 Interceptors, we can’t outrun them,” “Why would we want to outrun the cops?” Angel asked BT.

“Ryan, get your sister’s seatbelt back on, please,” Tracy requested quietly.

“Come on sis. Sit back down.” Angel fidgeted and squirmed but finally acquiesced to her older brother.

“This is so cool, we’re going to run from the cops,” Sty said with a glint in his eye.

“Shut up you idiot,” Ryan said as he punched his friend in the arm.

“You’re on a straightaway BT, they did it on purpose,” Ron said. “My suggestion is to go straight at them. I’ll get in my truck now and head your way. With the speeds we’re going to be going you only need to hold them off for forty minutes before some help gets there.” “That might be thirty-nine minutes too late. They’re rolling, Ron.” BT said softly.

“I’m leaving now,” Ron said. “I have a radio in the truck, stay in touch, tell Meredith to stay on Route 3 even when she gets to the Route 1 turn off. Let’s see if we can give these assholes something to think about. Out.” “You hear that, right?” BT asked Meredith. She nodded. “Glad you came now?”

“Not so much,” Meredith told him honestly.

BT turned to Tracy. Her knuckles were glowing stark white on the steering wheel. “ Tracy ,” BT said. She turned towards him. “When they get within a hundred feet or so, I’m going to give you the signal to go. Once we get past them, I’m going to have you stay in the lead and Maria Andretti here,” he said tapping Meredith on the shoulder, “is going to stay between you and the cruisers. You got that?” Tracy nodded imperceptibly. “Just stay on Route 3, don’t slow down for anything. If anything happens to us you keep going, you understand? You keep those kids safe.” Tracy ’s face nearly matched her knuckles. “This might be nothing,” “Do you believe that?” Tracy asked BT.

“Not at all,” he answered.

The two cop cars rolled to a halt within a hundred or so yards from Meredith and Tracy. “Citizens. this is Officer Gibson of the Portland Police Department, I am going to need to have all of the occupants of those two cars exit and lay flat down on the pavement,” the authoritative voice issued forth from the megaphone mounted under the hood.

“I can see the barrels of a couple of rifles in the first car,” Meredith whispered. “It’s like they’re hiding or something.” “I’m pretty sure they can’t hear you,” BT said. “But on a worse note, only people that are doing something wrong need to hide.” “Citizens,” Officer Gibson’s voice said again. “Flash your headlights if you heard and understand my instructions.” Meredith looked over to BT. He nodded. Anything that bought them a few extra moments was fine. She flipped her headlights on, as did Tracy .

The first car crept up another hundred yards. ‘Officer Gibson’ stepped out, the car microphone still in hand. “Red Subaru, I want you and your occupants to exit first. Slowly,” he added.

Tracy looked over to BT. He nodded in the negative.

“NOW!” Officer Gibson shouted through the megaphone.

BT got out of Meredith’s car, puffing himself as large as possible trying to impose fear. It worked. Officer Gibson took an involuntary step back and placed his hand on the hilt of his holstered weapon.

“I said the Subaru first,” the officer said sharply.

“Yeah, they aren’t much in a complying mood!” BT shouted.

“This isn’t a request!” the officer shouted, putting his microphone down. “We are the law!” BT laughed. “Where have you been, man! There IS no law!”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” the cop shouted in warning.

“And then what? You gonna take the law into your own hands?” BT mocked him.

“This is a checkpoint and we are authorized to search every car that comes this way.”

“Then I can solve all of our problems, we’ll just turn around and you can search the next citizen that comes along!” “I’m not going to tell you again, NIGGER, get your ass on the pavement.” “Go fuck yourself pig wannabe,” BT answered, remarkably calm. “I think that went well,” BT told Meredith as he reentered the car.

Meredith’s eyes were huge. BT was under the impression she didn’t think it went quite as spectacularly.

“You ready Tracy?” BT turned and asked her.

“Kids, you keep your heads down,” she said, staring at each one of them until they gave her a sign that they would do what she asked.

“Meredith when I tell you, I want you to head right for the illustrious Officer Gibson and hopefully we’ll get lucky.” "You… you want me to hit him?"

"Oh no hon, I want you to run his cracker ass over," BT told her with a smile on his face.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"First things first. GO!" He shouted at Meredith and Tracy simultaneously.

The rear tires on the truck momentarily spun in place before leaving black skids. Tracy 's Subaru struggled to meet the initial thrust of Meredith's truck. Meredith started to creep over to the right to avoid the cop car. "Hit him Meredith," BT said calmly.

Officer Gibson was a doughnut away from becoming road kill. As it was, he was fairly certain his ankle had been shattered as the giant’s girlfriend's car slammed into his door and slammed it into his leg as he dove in a futile attempt to get out of the way.

“FUCK!” Officer Gibson shouted.

“You all right Aaron?” the lone male occupant in the back of the car asked, sitting up.

Gun shots rang out as the two cars sped past the idling cruisers.

“I think my damn ankle is broken,” Officer Gibson gritted out through his teeth as he plowed through the contents of his middle console. He found the prescription bottle he was searching for and immediately downed three Oxycontins, courtesy of the last car they had pulled over. The occupants of that ill-fated voyage now found themselves lying face down in the grass not a mile from this exact location. The bitch had wailed when Officer Gibson had taken her pills, something about chronic back pain. ‘Yeah, well, now you’ve got chronic face pain,’ he’d said as he drilled her hard in the face with a right hook. The four men he was with had all laughed as Mrs. Pinchant fell to the ground, blood flowing profusely from her split lip and the gap where her tooth used to reside. Her husband cried equally as hard after the third member of the rogue police force lined up and punted his balls up into his sternum. After Mr. Pinchant died from the blunt force trauma, the men proceeded to piss on his body.

The real ‘fun’ came as they placed his head by the rear wheel of the cruiser. Two of the men held Mrs. Pinchant’s heaving body still so that she could watch as Officer Gibson slowly ran over Mr. Pinchant’s head. The tire gripped the front portion of his face, and his cheek and nose began to pull away from his face under the pressure. For a moment the heavy car started to ‘climb’ up his face, but gravity was not on Mr. Pinchant’s side as bone after bone began to crack and shatter from the pressure. The back of his head started to swell to almost twice its normal size before it burst under the strain. Brain matter shot nearly 30 feet away from the back of the cruiser and the men laughed. Mrs. Pinchant had long since passed out from the strain. The two holding her released her. Her head bounced off the ground teeth first, shattering four or five of them in the process. She regained consciousness five minutes later, shrieking in pain and horror as she was placed next to her husband’s deformed, deflated head.

“Job! Shut her up!” Officer Gibson said as he cupped his hands over his ears. “She’s louder than that stupid Cockatoo my wife just had to have.” Job walked over to her and placed one round through her right ear. He stared for a few seconds longer before commenting, “I guess what they say is true,” then turned and walked away.

“What’s true?” Kyle, the third member of the gang asked.

“That the longer a couple stays married the more they start to look alike,” Job said with a wicked grin.

Kyle walked over to the dead pair and tried to find any similarities. “I don’t see it Job.” “Don’t worry about it,” Officer Gibson, the man in charge said. “Drag these two off the street and let’s see what this car has to offer.” Kyle did what he was told, studying both people as he did so. When the task was finally complete he went over to a lounging Job. “I get it now, it’s because both of their heads are blown up.” Job winked, clucked his tongue and tapped his head.

“I knew it!” Kyle said, happy he had figured the puzzle out.

“What now, Boss?” Wes, the fourth of the deadly horsemen, asked as he piled up the belongings of the Pinchants’ car into the trunk of the cruiser for sorting, “This is sure easier than going house to house looking for s tuff .” “And funner,” Job added.

“Now we wait,” Officer Gibson said, getting back into his car. He slowly rubbed his temples as one killer of a headache began to let its true intentions be known. “And find me some damn aspirin!” he barked.

“Even better Boss!” Wes said as he shook the bottle of pain pills in front of the quickly blurring vision of the officer.

“Give me those,” Gibson said, grabbing the bottle out of Wes’ hand before the rattling noise threatened to split his skull. “And stop calling me ‘Boss.’ You’re not on a Southern chain gang!” “You got it Bos… Aaron,” Wes said as he left before Aaron could let lose a tirade.

Wes was already forgotten as the officer opened the bottle of meds. He couldn’t see clearly enough to make out what the medication or the dose was, but he figured two seemed like a safe amount on top of the three somethings he had taken earlier. Little did he know that there weren’t enough pills in the bottle to cure the true cause of his pain, arteriovenous malformation, unless of course he took ALL of them at once. The good officer’s head was leaking internally and without some serious medical attention he would be dead in three weeks. The pain pills did what most good pain pills do; they allowed him to drift off into a pain free sleep environment. But even his sleep was haunted with pain, pain of a different kind, but pain nonetheless.

“Hey hon, I’m home. Left a little early, that friggen’ headache was starting to come on. We got any liquid pain killer?” This was Officer Gibson’s joking way of referring to beer. “Hon?” he asked as he placed his duty belt on the hook by the door. The house was quiet. That wasn’t too unusual, his wife Wendy was often out with their 4-year-old son Aaron Jr. But he could hear the television in the family room and the kitchen light was on. Wendy was very particular about conserving power, her contribution to the green movement. She would even admonish him if he stared into the fridge too long without grabbing something.

Cops are nothing if not paranoid, and that quality had saved more than one during their careers. Aaron grabbed his 9mm Walther out of his duty belt. He quietly chambered a round and slowly walked towards the family room. He attempted to regulate his heartbeat as he moved past the kitchen, but this wasn’t some punk perp’s house, this was his home. Wendy and AJ were his world; he was a cop so he could do his part to make the world a better place for them. But if the scum of the planet had somehow made way into his private sanctuary, h ell would not have enough in its coffers to pay the note.

“Wendy?” He asked softly, barely loud enough to be heard past his mouth. The sound waves would never make it down the hallway, much less around the corner and into AJ’s bedroom where more light was spilling from. He decided to forgo the family room and check AJ’s first. “AJ?” Aaron’s heart was now threatening to rupture through his rib cage. His cop sense was pegged out; all was not right. He slowly maneuvered down the hallway, keeping his pistol in front of him. Silently he moved his feet forward, hoping he would find Wendy rocking their child to sleep, instead of the images of so many crime scenes that kept flashing through his head.

“They’re both asleep,” he said softly, his right foot moving ahead of the left. “He was cranky and just needed a nap.” His left foot pushed past his right. “And Wendy was tired also.” His right foot came to rest by the entrance to AJ’s bedroom. “So she took a nap too.” He took a big breath to try and quell the panic that threatened to overtake him. Small sounds were escaping through the doorway. They were not the comforting sounds of Wendy’s heavy sleeping breaths or the mumbling chatter that AJ sometimes made during his naps. It was a clacking noise that reminded him of the old toy monkeys that would crash the little cymbals together. But that wasn’t it exactly, that noise was too tinny. This had a sound more like two dice crashing together. Officer Gibson took that final step from the hallway into the threshold of the bedroom and out of the realm of sanity forever.

“AJ?” Aaron asked. His 4 year old son was standing with his back to his father over the prone body of his mother. Wendy was lying face down on the floor; an ever expanding pool of blood encircled the pair. The fatherly part of Aaron wanted to put his gun down and rush to the aid of his wife and son. The cop part of him hesitated. “AJ?” he asked again. AJ acknowledged his father’s presence this time. He turned, his face bathed in blood, strips of flesh hanging from his mouth. His hands were covered elbow deep in gore.

“AJ, what did you do?” Aaron asked his son. AJ took a step towards his dad. Aaron backed up until his back was against the far hallway wall. AJ kept coming. “AJ, please. Please stop,” Aaron said, his gun shaking wildly. AJ teetered a step, almost losing his footing in the slick liquid that coated the flooring. “That’s a bad boy,” Aaron said. AJ was beyond caring about his father’s approval and relentlessly pressed on.

Aaron closed his eyes as he sprayed the immediate area with three pistol shots. The first shot popped into the doorframe sending a shower of splinters into his child’s room. The second shattered his son’s left leg and the third completed the deed. The round entered to the left of the child’s nose and exited at the base of his skull. The sound of the bullets being shot could not compete with the solid thud of impact as AJ’s body met the floor. Aaron spent a few more seconds looking past the lifeless body of his son to that of his wife. There would be no recovery from the 3 inch wide, 2 inch deep wound in his wife’s neck; blood had already ceased to flow.

He shut the bedroom door, walked down the hallway, grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat down in his favorite chair. His headache had begun to crystallize into a white hot inferno of pain. He pressed the cold container against his head before taking long pulls to quench the sickness that begged to issue forth. Within minutes he had fallen asleep. When he woke, Aaron Gibson, respected policeman, loving husband and doting father would never view the world in the same way again. The bleeder in his head, his dead wife and the son he killed would never allow it. He didn’t remember lighting his house on fire, but as his police cruiser pulled out of the driveway and he took one last glance at his house, it sure did seem like the right thing to do.

“Company!” Wes said, startling Aaron out of his drug coma.

“Why they sitting there?” Kyle asked.

“Because they’re smart,” Officer Gibson replied as he took out his binoculars and looked at the car and truck that were a quarter of a mile or so away. “Looks like they got plenty of stuff in there too.” “Any women?” Wes asked.

“Hell,” Job said. “If you were so horny why didn’t you hook up with that lady?” he asked, pointing to the approximate location where Mrs. Pinchant’s body rested.

“I’ve got my standards,” Wes said sardonically.

“What about the women’s standards?” Kyle asked, laughing.

“Shut up. All of you,” Officer Gibson said. The constant talking got to him sometimes, but when his head was throbbing like it was now he couldn’t take any of it. “It looks like there’s at least two of them and plenty of stuff from what I can tell.” His vision had cleared somewhat since his nap but it wasn’t the 20-20 he was used to.

“Let’s play this cool.” Job told Wes. “And maybe you can fuck a live woman this time.”

“She was still warm,” Wes said in his defense.

At one time Officer Gibson would have just put a bullet in the degenerate’s head. Now, he just didn’t care. The world was anarchy and he was doing his part to keep it that way.

*

BT had tried to place some well-aimed shots in the second cruiser as they passed it by but Meredith had nearly lost control of her car after she slammed into the police car.

“Okay, I know you act a lot like your uncle, do you need to drive like him too?” BT half wailed as he pulled the rifle back in.

“Sorry,” she replied softly. “I… I just tried to kill a cop.”

“No you didn’t, you tried to save our lives. Now drive faster!”

Tracy had passed on the left as Meredith fought to regain control. The two cars came close enough that sliding anything thicker than a folded piece of paper between the two vehicles would have been impossible.

Dizz’s eyes had grown to twice their size as he watched BT get closer and closer. “That would have been bad,” he said as Meredith slid further back .

“I think I crapped myself,” Sty revealed.

“Please tell me he’s trying to be funny?” Tracy asked as she pressed harder down on the accelerator.

“Not so much!” Ryan yelled as he pinched his nose closed.

“Sty pooped himself!” Angel said happily from underneath the dashboard. “Poopedy-poop!” And then she went into her own made up song that was drowned out by the sound of the wind whipping through the car as all four windows were opened to capacity as they sped down the highway.

It took five full miles, but even at speeds in excess of 100 miles per hour the ‘cops’ soon caught up to their prey and they were pissed.

Shots began to ring out but at these speeds nobody was in a rush to stick their head out for too long and take a well-placed one . Meredith had scooted so far down she looked like a 99-year-old osteoporosis sufferer.

“There is no way you can actually see where you’re going,” BT told her.

“I can see enough,” she answered, her hands almost above her head on the steering wheel.

“Meredith, BT! This is Ron, what’s your status?” blasted from the radio.

BT reached his arm over the bench seat to grab the handset. He took the cue from Meredith that maybe a low profile was a good idea.

“Hey, Ron!” BT yelled over the noise of the road and the percussions of the bullets. “We’ve got two very angry cop cars on our ass, we’re topped out at about a hundred and five and I don’t think their cars are even laboring. We won’t be able to do this for very long, her heat gauge is already starting to move up.” “How far until you get to Route 3?” Ron asked.

BT looked over to Meredith.

“Twenty minutes Dad!”

Ron’s heart dropped as he listened to the anguish in his daughter’s voice. “When you get to Route 3 remember to keep going straight, but you’re going to have to slow down, I’ll never be able to catch up.” “Speed is the only thing keeping us in the game, Ron,” BT explained. “How far are you from there?” “22 to 25 minutes,” Ron said. Even over the airwaves BT could hear the rev of Ron’s truck tach up an extra thousand or so revolutions.

“What if we start to slow down now?” BT asked.

Ron immediately grasped the implicit meaning.

“Ambush?”

“You got it.”

“Dad, hurry!” Meredith threw in at the end as if that wasn’t already a foregone conclusion.

“I’m coming honey,” Ron reassured her.

“Ever watch Nascar?” BT asked.