anything truly foolish.
'Okay, original plan. Get some rope, we'll tie you and your sister up and we'll go get your dad, my family and get the hell out of here.'
A couple of minutes later and we were ready to go.
'Geez we got it, Mr. Talbot, these are slip knots. If we run into any problems we pull on the piece of rope in our hand and the knot will fall away.' Rachael said with the disdain that only a pre-teen girl can pull off.
'And then what?' I'd been drilling them the whole time I had been tying them up. It was bad enough when I had my own kids to protect. This was brutal.
'Then we run.' Blake said nervously.
'That's the plan, Mr. Talbot?' Jesse asked.
A little thin on the meat side. In fact, 'the plan' was mostly filler, McDonald's would be proud. I shrugged. 'It's all I've got.'
'Eh, okay.' Jesse said stamping his approval on the whole venture.
'Dad, we should get going, the last of the enemy is coming and then it’s the giant truck and I'm pretty sure she's on it.' Justin said as he visibly paled.
'Who's she?' Rachael asked.
'The bogeywoman.' I said stepping up to the door.
'There's no such thing.' She shot back.
'I wish you were right sweetie. Justin, Jesse you two out first, then Blake and Rachael, I'll bring up the rear.'
'Dad, aren't they going to wonder why the zombies aren't attacking our prisoners?' Justin asked.
We were actually plus one in the 'Zombie Off' department. 'Let's just hope the zombies are far enough ahead that's not going to be a problem.' A heavy vibration began at my feet and worked its way up. The Terex was getting close. 'Let's go, and stay close.'
There was a time when the world was still 'normal.' I had been driving with Tracy to check out a Black Friday sale. I was going 60 miles per hour in the fast lane and still a black Hearse was crawling up my ass. I immediately moved over two lanes because it felt like death was fast approaching, that was how I felt right now. That same unsettling churn of bile in your guts, the kind that threatens to make hot butt mud. Sorry about the graphic nature, the truth is gross sometimes. There was, however, no way to change lanes this time. We were on a one lane highway and it seemed like this one had two way traffic.
I took a deep breath before I stepped out the door and carefully shut it behind me. I hoped no one else would go in or we might become immediate suspects in the death of those five soldiers. I use the term 'soldier' loosely. Maybe I should call them combatants, or traitorous scum, that seems to fit better, but uses more of my pencil lead. Pieces of shit it is then.
I was happy and dismayed at the same time to realize we were not the only hunting party that had acquired prisoners, although ours seemed to be in the best condition. More than one had been bloodied and beaten by their captors. Some had that glazed-over look of the defeated, and then there were those that were suffering from shock who had just witnessed or been party to some form of atrocity that only the cruelest animal on the planet can bring to its own kind. Man was a plague upon itself.
I have first-hand experience knowing that war brings out the absolute worst in the two opposing sides. Even that can't hold a candle to what happens to the human mentality of the victor over the conquered. It is something about having absolute power over another being that drives men to incomprehensible acts of cruelty. People who would normally avoid stepping on an ant hill for fear of killing some of the creatures will rape a screaming woman merely for the fact that they can. It has absolutely nothing to do with lust and everything to do with control. I don't know what evolutionary purpose this depravity serves but it has existed in the human genome from the beginning. Maybe it would have been better if the Neanderthals had won out. They seemed a much more 'civilized' people, except for that one asshole in Clan of the Cave Bear. What was his name? Glar? Blug? Dammit. Broud! Yeah that's it!
Most of the combatants seemed content to stay where they were in relation to the zombies. There might be a truce between the two but that didn't make them friends. We, however, had an agenda laced with time constraints. We looked a little out of place outdistancing the others but nobody questioned us. Rachael did vomit as we got closer to the zombies and their odiferous ways. This brought on some cheering from those behind us. Rachael did her best to flip them off with her hands tied behind her back. Luckily, this act of defiance was shielded by my body.
'You trying to get us killed?' I asked her.
'No, I figured that's what you were doing.' She shot back.
'You're good.' I said with newfound amazement for the kid's wit.
I was not comfortable walking among the dead, even with the Zombie Off. Hell, anything less than being surrounded by the four-inch thick steel metal of a tank wasn't going to make me feel secure. One overly hungry zombie could ruin our day. I know it made absolutely no difference but I made sure that we stayed away from the fatter zombies. I figured if any of them might be a little hungrier than the rest it would be them. I guess I was being a sort of zombieist. I had always prided myself on not being any sort of racist bigot. I figured I should be able to gain absolution for this transgression though.
The zombies paid us no attention. We might as well have been white trash entering a Neiman Marcus and the zombies were salespeople. If anything, they unconsciously avoided us which made sliding through them a near effortless proposition. If not for the smell, this would nearly be pleasant. Well not really, but you know what I mean, at least we weren't cutting, slashing, shooting and just generally blowing stuff up in our way to get out, this was vaguely acceptable.
'The hospital's coming up, Mr. Talbot!' Porkchop nearly shouted.
Now I'm not so vain as to think that every zombie and bad guy in the region has reason to look out for me, but at the same time I don’t see any reason to take any more undue chances than I already do. 'Hey, Porkchop, for now just call me Mike, and are you sure that's where they went?'
'That's what they said. Dad wanted to get some antibiotics for mom. She said she wasn't sick, that she only had allergies, but my dad said she always got bronchitis this time of the year and he wanted to be prepared especially since supplies were so low.'
'Alright, let's get there.'
'Dad, do you want me to go and check on Mom?' Justin asked.
With all my heart I wanted to go, and if not me I wanted to send Justin, but splitting up was never a good idea and it was something I was already guilty of. I thought with dread of everything that was important to me still a half mile away and in enemy occupied territory.
'No, we finish this and then we all go.'
Justin looked dismayed but he did not question my decision.
Within minutes we were at the front entrance to the hospital. By the strewn wheelchairs and gurneys, it was easy to see that we were not the first to get here. A blood trail led behind the nurse's station where a zombie merrily chewed on the lower calf of a nurse that I had come to think of as Nurse Ratchet. It wasn't that she was mean. On the contrary, it was just that she had her hair up in the style that reminded me of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. I did not blow the zombie's head off like I wanted to, some things in life have to wait.
'Alright Blake, Rachael take your ropes off. Let's find your mom and dad and get the hell out of here.' I said.
'Are they alright?' Rachael asked. I didn't answer.
Blood was everywhere but not in vast quantities. It was almost as if someone had a small paintbrush dipped in blood and kept continuously shaking it over their head. It glistened dully in the fluorescent lighting. Blood was dripping down from the ceiling like a soft violent rain. The kids looked to me as I looked to the tiles above us coated in potential disaster. Was the blood that of the infected? Probably not, but when the ante to play is your life it takes a lot more thought before you go 'all in.' A blood-curdling scream ended my inner hesitation.
'That's my mother!' Blake said as he charged down the hallway.
We all followed. I cringed when I felt a warm patter strike the top of my ear and splash down the side of my face. I was doing the calculations of when I had last shaved and if I had any open wounds on that side. By my reckoning it had been three days since I last dragged the medieval torture device across my face, so all should be
