“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.
