after the movie and tried to move everything in sight with the Force? Please tell me I'm not the only one. This was like that, I had no real clue as to what I was trying, I was just trying.
Now granted this was all new to me, but it seems like you should still be able to mind-speak with someone while you were eating. I don't know, maybe this was as natural to him as normal talking and he just applied the same rules. Don't talk with your mouth full. Wrong time for a tangent thought.
I knew it was an idle threat but it still struck deep.
I could hear Tommy huffing and puffing. How was that possible?
Neither sounded appetizing if I ever got hungry again and that didn't look like it was going to happen anytime soon. I peered at the macabre fence in front of me.
'Alright we're set.' I said to the group forgetting to realize that they had not been privy to one iota of my previous conversation.
'Set for what, Mike?' Doc asked.
'We're going over.' I told him.
'Over the smooshies?' Rachael asked alarmingly, using Porkchop's descriptor.
That all too apt name rang clearly in my mind as I nearly fell over as my foot slid out from under me. I had stepped on a head that had received its fair share of lead. It completely crushed in on itself as I used it for a stepping stone. Only Justin's quick reflexes kept me from going face first in what appeared to be the eviscerated mid-section of a seventy year old man.
Justin grimaced as he pulled me back. 'That was close.'
I had a smart assed comment lined up, something about 'your mom's meatloaf' but just the thought of opening my mouth to utter words was not a good idea. Jets of saliva were shooting up from the back of my throat, better to coat the walls of my esophagus as I trained to be a super-model.
Gore covered my boots and I wasn't six inches off the ground yet, becoming a zombie was looking better and better. 'Come on Talbot.' I yelled, mostly to psyche myself up. It didn't work so well. Every time I stepped up a foot, I sank half that distance down into a stew of human parts. At this current rate I would be up to my eyeballs in shit. Wow, now there's a cliche I never thought I'd actually experience.
'Dad.'
I was halfway up the pile. 'I know, clocks ticking. Tick fucking tock!' I scrambled the remainder of the way up, thankful that my earlier prediction did not come true. I was only about shin level sunk in. Tommy was about a hundred yards away, waving. I returned the gesture. Even from this far away I could see the 'Well I'll be damned' expression on the Marines' faces within the machine gun nest. The gunner waved a more exaggerated 'Hurry your ass up' gesture.
'Let's go.' I said turning back to our small party. The only one who had a more difficult time scaling the dead than me was Elizabeth and that was mainly due to the fact that she had carried Rachael up. Self-esteem took a minor hit. I was going to try and not beat myself up over it.
We had covered about half the distance to a zone of relative safety when the zombies began to breach the wall made of their own. Guns blazed on full auto. A car could have been made every minute with all the brass that was hitting the ground. Yes I know there are no brass cars, and that it wouldn't have any tires and seats. I was just trying to give you an idea of how many bullets were being fired.
Doc's kids were almost as thrilled to see Tommy as I was. He hugged them all and ushered them upstairs. I leaned against the wall of a home that I would be leaving soon. Even through all the gunfire I was able to finally catch a breath and relax. It was a momentary respite to be sure but as any military person can attest, you take five whenever and wherever you can.
'I'm going up to see Mom.' Justin yelled, he was a foot away and I almost didn't hear him.
'I'll be up in a minute, I just need a moment.' I told him.
'You did good, Dad.' his throat probably flaying from the volume he had to use to make himself heard.
'You too.' I mouthed, and patted him on the shoulder.
I watched as a few speeders halved the distance, but for the most part this was a stalemate. That would change. I'd witnessed that fact first hand. Ammo would run low, guns would jam and misfire, soldiers would fatigue, zombies would break through and eat everything. I'd seen this movie and the sequel, both sucked. I was still a few vials of zombie repellant short, and I was damned well positive that no humans were going to yet try and circumvent this perimeter, not when your ally was a zombie. I couldn't very well ask Doc for the ones I had given him.
The foray had been mostly victorious but I had also come up short. I was still alive to fight another day which counts for something. I tapped on the ammo-feeder's shoulder until he finally looked up. I made the universal sign for 'have a smoke?' You know the two finger 'v' shape up to your mouth and then away. He must have talked to my wife, because he gave me the 'You're fucking nuts' eye roll but then he looked down to his breast pocket where I saw the tell tale bulge of a cigarette box. I reached over, careful to stay out of his line of sight. I was thankful that the lighter was in the pack because I don't think he would have looked up again. I was bummed that they were menthols. I hate menthols. Gotta tell you though, that might have been the best cigarette I ever had in my entire life. I finished it up. Placed the pack back in his pocket and whistled my way up the stairs. I figured at this point and at this pace I had an hour or so left of functioning sanity.
Tracy looked relieved to see me mostly intact, although something in my gaze gave her pause to reconsider just how well I was. True to his word, Tommy handed me a meatball and raspberry Pop-Tart. Climbing the zombie wall again was looking better and better.
Normally this would be about the time Tracy would give me shit about risking my life and the life of her son. But we had saved the Bakers, so that was something on the plus side and she could sense that my soul was pulled as taut as it was going to go before it snapped. What happens at that point? Can one soldier on with a broken soul? What would be the point? I was wrung out, like a dishtowel that had seen better days. The dead were winning.