The Rabid (Book 1) (8 page)

Whatever it takes.

I turn this phrase over in my head, steeling myself up for whatever stupid move Lee is going make next. If he runs down there waving his kitchen knife, we’ll both die. Momma and Bethany will probably die. These
things,
the Rabid, they’d most likely track our path right up to the front porch and rip the girls apart in the middle of the living room with Lee leading the pack.

Not on my watch.

Not over Lee’s boy-scout ideology.

Survive or die,
that is my ideology, it’d gotten me this far, and I am not about toss it out over my momma’s neck beard boyfriend. But, he doesn’t move. As quickly as he’d tensed, his body relaxes back into the earth and he just lies there, looking at me with
that look.
I’ve seen it a few times in my life, mostly from my dad when the report card wasn’t up to par, or when I’d torn up a new pair of jeans gallivanting through a briar patch.

“It’s no way to live
, Two-Step, no way to live at all.” Lee finally says, resigned to my course of action.

The Rabid are through the windows of the small red car now and the terrified woman’s screams grow mercifully silent
, as the monsters carry on their unpleasant business. The child doesn’t make a sound. It is over and done quickly, the deed shrouded by the cramped quarters of the backseat and the cover of night, but it does nothing to minimize the emotional upheaval we feel from having to act as simple spectators to such tragedy.

We lay there, watching them feast, waiting for them to disperse, wanting to make sure they aren’t going to point their noses in our direction. It is some time before the man, his stomach cavity discarded across the black top, rises from the front of the car and joins the pack chewing on his female companion. She follows suit shortly thereafter, rising among the pack, bright eyed and bushy tailed, torn flesh sagging from her bones, and vaporous eyes protruding from her partially exposed skull.

Minutes tick by as they just stand there, basking in the pre-dawn light, sort of wobbling back and forth like a pack of Chinese stacking dolls, sounding off that foamy growl. Then, with no apparent queue, as if operating to the beat of some invisible drum, they group up (in a rather orderly fashion considering their physical condition), and begin their awkward shamble down the road towards the county line.

The moonlight is now fading and the first golden wisps of dawn are blowing in with the turn of the hour. I yawn and prepare to turn back towards the house
, when Lee loops his hand across my wrist.

“Do you hear that?” He whispers.

I pause, on one knee, fingers buried in the clay. I do hear it, that low gurgle. The call of the Rabid.  But more incomplete…less sinister somehow.

A cooing…almost.

“The baby,” he groans, dropping his face to his hands.

“Yeah, the baby,” It turned, just like the rest.
Rabid.

He drops his head into his hands, muffling the tears and profanity.

14

Lee and I don’t speak during the walk home. Our pace is slower and less deliberate than our journey in had been. The orange sun has staked its claim and extinguished the chill that had been nipping our necks. I lead the way and hold back spring-loaded branches, allowing Lee welt free passage. There are no
thank-you's
or
‘appreciate-ya's
He simply brushes past, quiet, almost angry-like.

It is the end of an era.

I am no longer the Two-Step of mythos and lore, slayer of the undead. My legend has been called out, and verified as false. When put to the test, I tore up the pages, tucked my pencils, and sheepishly exited the rear of the classroom. I am a coward. I am the kind of guy that allows the slaughter of infants in order to preserve his own skin. Lee doesn’t say it. But I can feel it. I can see it. It is the way he refuses to hold my gaze and recoils every time we bump elbows. I know what he is thinking.

Two-Step, big
ol' pussy.

I know it.

Psychic-sixth-sense sorta stuff.

The trade craft of mothers and suspicious wives.

The realization hurts, a bit. I enjoyed being on the mental mantel of someone located outside my immediate family. Being the hero. The proverbial tough guy. But I can take the fall, if only because his presumptions are based in ignorance. I’d gone toe-to-toe with em, he hadn’t. Lee’s proposed approach was reckless; it was bravado for bravado’s sake. Throwing yourself on the grenade is worthless, if the rest of your unit still dies from the explosion.

Momma is waiting for us on the front porch as we break into the yard. All she needs is a knee length sundress and a bonnet
, and she’ll be the opening credit sequence for a classic prairie drama. I half expect her to come charging down the steps into Lee’s arms. He’ll catch her and they’ll twirl and kiss to the swell of some obscure violin score.

We kick dew from the blades of grass with the shuffling of our boots (well, my boots, his off brand sneakers) as we approach. The
bottoms of my jeans are stained dark blue by the time we reach the steps.

“Oh my, I was so worried, what happened
?” She wraps her arms around Lee’s neck with a suffocating intensity, and then it’s my turn.

“Why don’t you ask Two-Step, I’m
gonna try to grab a few winks.” He gives her a lazy kiss on the cheek and disappears through the screen door.

“What happened out there?” She grips my shoulders, holding me in place.

“People died. We didn’t. That’s pretty much it.” I answer flatly.

She doesn’t try to stop me as I walk inside.

15

I sleep. Face down, on my bed, stripped to my boxers, still smelling like dirt and pine needles
. I tumble through a nightmarish oblivion. The collage of barbarism that’s been committed to the back of my mind over the past few days plays itself out in vivid splashes of red and white. It is a sacrifice I am more than happy to make in exchange for a dose of rejuvenation.

I awake with one arm sagging from the bed, and the other curled beneath my stomach, tingling like a live wire from the lack of blood flow. A cartoon size puddle of drool has formed around my mouth and spread out beneath my cheek. I sit up and rub the moisture from my face. I pull a raggedy pit stained
v-neck from the closet before salvaging my crumpled pajama pants from the top of my dresser.

By my
watch, I’ve achieved five solid hours of listless slumber. Aside from the whole end of humanity thing, I feel pretty good.

Momma and Bethany are out back, their voices streaming in on the bands of sunshine seeping through the blinds. Most likely cooking lunch
, judging by the height of the sun and the faint aromas I'm picking up. They’ve probably been waiting for me and Lee to stir from hibernation. The last time I saw him, he was laid out across the couch with a pillow over his face.

The sudden pounding at the front door has the same effect on me as a cold splash of water across the face. I don’t move. I listen. I need another good dousing, just to be sure.

There it is, swift and solid,
pap pap pap!

Certainty, icy cold certainty.

A police knock. The same one you hear before they take your door off the hinges with a boot heel. At
first, I think that perhaps, Lee has locked himself out of the house and he is too lazy to walk around back to where the girls are. That speculation is crossed off the list almost as quickly as it’s written. I can hear him clattering around in a state of panic in the living room, knocking things over, moving with all the vigor and grace of a blind man on a sea of thumbtacks.

Lee is in the foyer by the time I exit
my bedroom, crossing towards the front door, Broomspear 2.0 leading the way (I’d left it propped against the wall near the television).

It looks better on me.

“Hang back, Two-Step, I got this.” No hesitation. No tact. Just Lee, eager to play the hero. Over compensating for last night perhaps? There is no time to protest. His hand is already turning the knob while the other holds Broomspear 2.0 at the ready behind his left ear like a javelin, taking shaky aim at whatever lay in wait.

He gives up on the slow and steady and throws the door open.

His target is dressed head to toe in dark woodland camouflage and is sporting an unkempt beard, an overfed belly, and leather skin. He also has an empty holster on his hip and a long barreled silver revolver pressed against Lee’s forehead.

I prepare myself for the trigger pull, readying my hands to catch the back of Lee’s skull. Perhaps afterwards
, I can talk some sense into hillbilly Santa Clause and we can glue the pieces back together while we share a laugh.

“Bo, you scared the hell out of me.” His shoulders sag as he exhales sharply and relinquishes
Broomspear 2.0 to the tile.

“Zombies don’t knock,
ya dumb hippie bastard.” Bo spits something dark and stringy onto the porch, releases the hammer, refills the holster, and wobbles past Lee like he owns the place. “I'll be fucked sideways; this place has got the touch of a woman.”

“Well…I mean
, it’s my girlfriends place, not mine. My place…it’s too hot there…ya know.” Lee stands back with his arms crossed over his stomach, looking as if he’s just been caught shoplifting by the town friar.

Bo looks down at the stack of paintings and laughs.
“Who painted a picture of the faggot?”

“
Um, that's Freddy Mercury.” Lee mounts a hesitant defense of his work.

“
I know who the fuck it is, like I said, who painted the faggot?”

“
Well, I did.” The pride Lee had shown for his work previously is nowhere to be found. There is a thick sense of shame that develops in the presence of his brother.

“
Leave it to you, to immortalize queers. You gonna do one of him getting rammed in the ass by a groupie?”

“So, this is your brother
, I’m assuming?”  

Lee nods apologetically.

“How about you show a little bit of respect and leave your bigotry at the front door fatman.”

Bo turns towards me, standing next to the entertainment
center where he is now busy fondling the fake floral arrangement my mom had put together last year during Thanksgiving. “Shit kid, ya got the frame of a Vietnamese she-male.” He belly laughs, his thick grey beard shifting and stretching around his abundant face like a cat waking up from a noon nap.

“
Ol’ Two-Step here, he…he’s—a—a dancer, good one too, like really, really, great.”

“Oh really?
Like table tops and breakfast buffets?”

“Yes, exactly like that.” I scratch at my forehead with my middle finger.

“Unclench your cooch kid; I’m just bustin’ your nut.”

I force a smile.

“Bo was in Vietnam.” Lee announces as he walks over and gives his brother a
see-he’s-not-so-bad
pat on the arm.

“3
rd
Marines, fuckin' Da Nang. Ya know what this lil’ shit here was doin’ while I was over there fendin’ off boo-koo slants?” Bo digs his thumbs into the belt of his holster and rocks up onto the balls of his feet, cocking one eye towards me. He looks like a lazy chipmunk with that one distended cheek full with black chew. “This lil’ hippie faggot was marchin’ around some commie liberal campus with a buncha’ peacenik pussies smellin’ like patchouli wavin’ around cardboard signs chantin’,
hey, LBJ, how many kids did ya kill today.
”
Bo mimes out the story, marching circles in place with his eyes rolled back and his tongue sagging from his mouth like a St. Bernard, while Lee looks on sheepishly.
“And all the while, I was over there getting’ my ass shot off.”

“We were conscientious objectors.” Lee composes a flustered laugh, trying to play as if it is all just
good-natured fun, his face flushing cardinal red in the process.

“You were a hippie faggot, Jane Fonda with a cock
, c’mon just admit it you commie fuck.” Bo pulls him in, ruffling his hair, and cradling his neck in a way that is more death grip than it is
good-natured fun
. “Yer lucky that yer my goddamn brother and I love ya. Otherwise, I’d cut ya open and empty ya out right here on the carpet.”

Fat Santa Clause is serious.

“Well, thank God for family ties then, eh?” I offer with open arms.

Bo releases him with one final rowdy hair tousle. “So I got the email and hauled my ass down here, what’s the situation?”

Lee and I exchange glances, trying to decide who’ll play the squire. Before we can settle our impasse, the backdoor swings open and in walk Momma and Bethany carrying four plates of spam and eggs. The soul soothing scent of burning timber races past them to massage our nostrils.

“Oh my goodness, I didn’t know we had company.” Momma drops the plates on the dining room table and brushes her hands off across the front of her
rainbow-adorned apron. “You must be Bo; Lee has told me so many great things about you.”

“Gods lips to your ears
, ma’am, of that I assure you.” Bo is a chameleon, everything about him softens the instant female company enters the picture. The profanity, it is non-existent. Even the way he carries himself seems to transform, as if he’s been given wings. He soars across the living room to meet momma, kissing her hand before he wraps her up in his raptor length arms (short and fat, just like the rest of him). “My brother is a lucky man, Ms.” I keep waiting for the guy to break into a groin thrust or to pinch her butt.

“Debbie, just call me Debbie.”

No one calls her Debbie.

“Well, I thank
ya for having an ol’ back woodsman like me under yer roof. You got ya’ a lovely home, Debbie, beautifully decorated; a reflection of the artist, no doubt.” Bo hunkers down to meet Bethany eye-to-eye. He doesn’t have to go far, but he creaks and heaves nonetheless. “And who’s this little lady?”

She takes up shelter at Momma's back. 

“This is my daughter, Bethany, she’s shy, obviously. Say hi to Bo, sweetheart, he’s Lee’s brother, he came all the way here to help us.”

Bethany doesn’t utter a sound.
Instead, she stares wide eyed at the gun on his hip.

Bo crooks his index finger and pulls an invisible trigger. “Don’t
ya’ worry bout’ him lil’ lady, he don’t bite, I got his leash right here.”

“She’ll come around.” Momma cocks her hips, rubbing Bethany’s back as she buries her face in the fabric of her ankle length dress. “She’s just sort of in shock after everything that’s taken place.”

“Oh don’t I know it, trust me, I’m in shock. I can only imagine what it’s like for a lil’ sweetheart like this.” He smiles and touches her arm lightly with his fingertips. “Uncle Bo is here now, so no need to fret.”

Uncle Bo?

Give me a break!

“I didn’t know we were having company, but allow me to make you a plate.” Momma hurries to the kitchen to fetch two more eggs and a 1/3 full can of saran wrapped spam. “With the situation and all
, we’ve just been living meal to meal, no room for leftovers, you know.”

“No, of course, of course, conserve. That’s smart
thinkin’. Survivor thinkin’. What’d you boys need me for when you got this trooper here?” He turns on Lee and me with that hearty belly laugh, the camo jacket sliding a little further up his beach ball gut with each vibration.

“Oh you,” She gives him a
lighthearted swat across the chest with a paper plate. “Lee, this one here’s a charmer. Just give me fifteen minutes and I’ll have your food right up.”

“No rush
, Deb, I got some stuff in the truck that needs unloadin’ anyhow.”

After the back door pulls
shut, the switch turns and the wings disappear. “Alright, you two queers, outside. Got some stuff to unload that’s gonna help keep yer hind quarters outta the furnace.”

***

“I tell
ya, those hot plates in there, like a fuckin' mirage in the fuckin' desert.” Bo hocks another black slug over the edge of the porch. We lag a good distance behind, loathing the prospect of his company. “Been livin’ off beef jerky and soda pop for the past three hundred miles.” He’d backed his truck up the driveway, parking at a slight angle behind Lee’s van. “You see how I parked Lee? How I got my front bumper pointed in the direction I want to make my escape in? Survival 101, brother. I wonder sometimes how you made it out of the goddamn womb.”

Lee is all defeated, like a deflated balloon. He stares into the sky, into the treetops, anything to avoid eye contact with Bo, or maybe it’s me he’s trying to avoid eye contact with? He’d gotten dressed down, repeatedly now, in front of his girlfriend’s kid. It has to make a man feel small. Momma and daddy never yelled at me much, only one time in particular that I can recall. I remember Bethany standing there in the living room while they sat me down in the kitchen and took turns scolding me. I could have taken the scolding all day every day, but with Bethany standing there, witnessing the dismantling of her big brother—it was a moment of shame. The tops of my ears had burned hot, my throat had clenched up, and I’d wanted to curl up inside of myself. That’s how I imagine Lee is feeling.

Bo is right though. Not with the whole Lee making it out of womb
comment; that was unnecessary. But his strategy, backing the truck down the drive, that is some smart thinking. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like the guy, but he seems to know a thing or two about surviving.

“Hey
, Lee, it’s alright man.” I offer quietly, giving him a gentle pat on the back.

Hang in there champ.

Bo picks up my utterance of support. “No, kid, it’s not alright. It’s the
nitty gritty. Now I know I’m kind of a shit. Lee here, he knows I’m kind of a shit, so I’m not sure where this hurt feelings routine is comin’ from. But, be that as it may, these are harsh times, and they call for harsh men. So, if you two would like to survive, I suggest you sack up right here and now.” He stares at us expectantly, his eyes pacing back and forth between our faces, obviously waiting for a response, but neither of us knows what to say. “Okay, let me put it to you a different way, if you want those two fine pieces of ass in there to survive, sack up.”

Now I have something to say. “Mister, you speak like that about my momma or sister one more time and I’m coming at you. You may find yourself on top, seeing as how you’ve got the gun, but I’ll chance it.”

“And I’ll be right there with him.” Lee adds, without hesitation.