'Til Death Do Us Part

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

D, G & BT

“I’m running low on cigarettes,” Deneaux said.

“Good, because I don’t know how much longer I had before black lung kicked in,” BT said as he drove the big truck down the near empty highway.

“We need to stop for fuel and clothes for Gary anyway,” Mrs. Deneaux pleaded.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Gary asked.

“Please, I’ve smelled dumps on hot summer days that are pleasantly aromatic compared to you,” she told him.

“I can’t imagine you ever going to a dump,” BT said to her.

“I’ve had reason,” she replied flatly.

“I don’t even want to know,” BT said.

“I wouldn’t tell you anyway. All I know is that if I run out of cigarettes I plan on making your life a living hell,” she told him.

BT laughed. “Ah, as if I’m living the dream right now.”

“I do kind of smell bad,” Gary said, pulling his shirt up to his nose.

“I know you do, buddy. I just didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.” BT paused before speaking again. “I hate pulling off the highway, all the shit happens when we do.”

“Beats walking,” Gary said.

“Barely.”

“We’re coming up on some gas stations,” Mrs. Deneaux said with some excitement as she pointed to the blue information highway sign.

“Everyone locked and loaded?” BT asked as he got over to the right lane and put his blinker on. “Habit,” he said aloud when he noticed Gary and Mrs. Deneaux looking at him. BT got to the bottom of the exit ramp; there were two stations to the right and one to the left. “Any preference?” he asked the group.

“More chance of supplies with the two stations,” Deneaux said.

“And more chances people have been there,” Gary answered.

BT put his blinker on, signaling his intention of going left. “Sorry, it’s difficult to break a twenty-year old habit.” BT stayed on the roadway, with the truck idling as they looked closely at the gas station.

“It’s definitely had visitors,” Gary said, looking over Deneaux’s shoulder.

“Would you mind not getting too close?” she asked him with no small measure of venom in her voice. She had smoked her last cigarette over five minutes previous and she was already feeling the effects of withdrawal—whether real or imagined—it didn’t matter. She was getting as angry as a republican at a tree hugging ceremony. “You just going to sit here?” she asked BT, not hiding her hostility. Before he could even answer, she had opened her door and was climbing down. When her feet hit the ground she pulled the revolver from its harness.

“I feel sorry for whatever poor bastard gets in her way,” BT said.

“I think I see some t-shirts.” Gary peered into the store’s smashed front windows. The gas station was more of the variety store that just happened to sell gas than an outright petrol server. It was resplendent with cheap souvenirs made in China reminding travelers that they had visited the great state of Virginia. Gary climbed down also.

BT swung the truck into the station. When he shut it off, it was the quiet more than anything that unnerved him. It just wasn’t a natural silence. “Gary. Diesel?” he asked when he got the other man’s attention.

Gary pointed to the large side tank on the truck, outlined in crisp yellow letters was the word ‘diesel.’

“Yeah you can kiss my ass, too,” BT said as he went over to the underground filling tanks. Maybe we should just steal a damn fuel truck, he thought as he pulled the small metal disc up. Then he remembered the old Mel Gibson movie Road Warrior and rethought his plan. “Yeah that didn’t work out so well either.”

BT walked into the store. It looked a lot more intact than he would have expected. Not perfect, but there were still some supplies left and at least half of the shelving was still up. Gary had found a five gallon jug of water and a bar of soap. He placed the water carefully on top of one of the remaining standing shelves. He then stripped off most of his clothes before popping the top on the water. BT turned away quickly when he realized Gary’s tightie-whities were going to be see-through as soon as they got wet.

Deneaux was rummaging in the back of the clerk counter. “They only have fucking menthol!” she fumed. “Do I look black!” she was full-on shouting now.

“That’s kind of racist don’t you think?” BT asked.

“It’s not racist if it’s the truth,” she said looking up. “Why you black people like to smoke them is beyond me.”

“First off, I don’t smoke.”

“Oh I was just using generalizations. Help me find something for a more civilized palate.”

BT walked away. He went into the service bay looking for something that would help him get some gas out of the ground. I wonder? he thought as he unscrewed a hand pump from a fifty gallon drum of what appeared to be waste oil. He found a large-throated hose that screwed on to the assembly. “Glad no one else thought of this,” he said, going out the garage door instead of going back past Gary and the vitriol spewing Deneaux.

He silently cursed himself when he walked past the window and looked in. Gary had thought better of keeping the underwear on and was now completely unclothed except for his untied boots.

“Well there’s something I’ll never be able to unsee,” BT said, heading towards the tank.

He dropped the hose into it and then unfurled the rest so that he was sitting at the tank of the truck before he started pumping. He was twenty cranks in and was about to call his idea a ‘flub’ when he felt the diesel pulsing through the line.

“Sweet!” He said as he quickly got the spigot into the tank opening.

After a few moments, Gary came out wearing a pink ‘Virginia is for Lover’s’ t-shirt and a pair of surfer shorts.

“Nice duds,” BT told him.

“Better than what I had on.”

BT could only agree.

“I’m gonna grab anything I think we can use,” Gary said. “Do you need anything?”

“Deneaux still going nuts in there?” BT asked between hand cranks.

“She seems to have calmed down since she started smoking. She keeps saying something about black people and their uncouth tastes. I’m going to grab some cleaning stuff, too, and see if I can get the back of the truck clean enough to get back into.”

“You’re going to leave me alone up front with Deneaux?”

Gary shrugged and headed back into the store. “Better you than me.”

BT pumped as fast as he could, he was waiting for something to happen; Zombies, gangs, rednecks, evangelists, or even rogue cats. It was unnatural to be in one place for so long and have absolutely nothing happen. He wasn’t complaining…he was just vigilant.

Deneaux was shuttling small plastic bags full of smokes to the truck. Gary had found a dolly and two five gallon jugs which he was using liberally to get rid of the majority of gore in the back of the vehicle. When BT had finally finished topping off the tanks, he went to the back of the truck to put the hose and pump up. Gary was in the back sweeping the human debris onto the ground. BT could not help notice—although he wished he hadn’t—that the ground behind the truck looked like the world’s largest afterbirth. He skirted around the worst of it and handed the hose up to Gary.

“You alright?” BT asked.

“Fine,” Gary said through tight lips.

“This seem strange to you?” BT asked Gary.

“Which part?”

“The part where we’re not under attack.”

“Helps break up the monotony of survival.”

BT walked away. He could imagine Mike having delivered that line, although it would have been more dry pan and less serious. He could not shake the feeling that this was too easy. Nothing they had done since the zombies had come was easy and he just couldn’t fathom why, now of all times, they were getting a break. It was welcome to say the least, and he hated to look a gift horse in the mouth—not that he had ever received one—but he understood the saying.

If this is a trap they sure are taking their time springing it, he thought as he again walked around the truck looking for signs of trouble.

Deneaux was now shuttling some food and bottles of soda that she was able to recover. “Going to eat well tonight.” She held up a can of macaroni and cheese. She was smiling around a cigarette. “These really aren’t so bad once you get used to them. Maybe you colored folks are on to something,” she said as she took another puff of her menthol smoke.

“I told you already, I don’t smoke and menthols aren’t a ‘colored’ thing,” BT said angrily.

“I’m sure you don’t eat watermelon either.” She laughed as she threw her booty into the cab.

“You old bat, who doesn’t eat watermelon?” BT asked.

“I love watermelon,” Gary said behind the canvas.

“See?” BT said, pointing towards Gary.

“Coloreds and white trash…I guess they’re close enough to be the same,” she said as she was trying to reason out this new information.

“I can’t believe that you even associate with us.” BT said to her.

“Zombies make strange bedfellows.” She laughed at her own take on the old cliché.

“Could we not mention Deneaux and beds while I’m in the back of this nasty truck cleaning up?” Gary nearly gagged.

“Let’s finish up here. I haven’t seen so much as a fly, but this place gives me the willies. I’m ready to go,” BT said, extracting himself completely from the conversation.

Deneaux made one more trip into the store. She thoroughly searched every nook and cranny lest any pack of cigarettes go unsmoked. Gary poured the remaining water in the jug onto the bed of the truck, the bigger pieces of anatomy had already been pushed to the ground. All that was left was to sluice out the remaining blood which drained down the open tailgate. The pink fluid looked more like something that would be dispensed at a Sonic restaurant than the diluted remains of life-giving blood.

“I’m ready when you are, BT,” Gary said as he tossed the red-stained broom out the back of the truck. He shut the tailgate and laid down on the hard wooden bench as BT pulled out of the station.

BT still couldn’t get over the fact that they had got just about everything they needed and hadn’t had to fight even a mad mosquito to do it. He shuddered when he finally came to the realization of why.

“Calm before the storm,” he said prophetically.