'Til Death Do Us Part (35 page)

“
He
’
s covered in vomit and brain, he stinks to high Heaven.
”

BT looked crossly at Mrs.
Deneaux
.

“
Fine,
”
she said,
“
b
ut I
’
m smoking more.
”

“
I wouldn
’
t think that was even possible,
”
BT answered.
He
extended his hand for Gary who slowly took it.
“
You alright?
”
BT asked again.

Gary got down off the truck;
he walked a few feet away to the grassy median and deposited a little more stomach sauce. He vigorously wiped as much stain of humanity
of
f
hi
mself as he could with the over
grown weeds
,
and when he felt somewhat decent
,
he climbed up into the cab without uttering so much as a word.

“
I guess he
’
s ready to go,
”
Mrs.
Deneaux
said as she
got in behind him.

BT looked once behind the truck and noticed the zombies were far behind but that they were still following.

A few more miles passed underneath their tires.

“
I miss you
. Mike,
”
BT said
almost
silent
ly
as they passed out of North Carolina and into Virginia.

“
Me to
o,
”
Gary said even quieter. The first words he had uttered in an hour.

M
ike Journal Entry 6

I honestly thought John was full of shit, right until we
pulled up to the gates of the m
unicipal airport. He made me take a right tow
ards one of the smaller hangars;
once we stopped
,
he grabbed the keys out of the ignition and walked over to the
hanga
r where he opened up
a door to
the corrugated steel building.

It was dark
er
inside
,
but the windows high up in the b
uilding let in sufficient light.
T
here it was, a helicopter that wasn
’
t much bigger than some of the ones I
’
d seen hobby enthusiasts remote pilot. John went over to it and be
gan to lock the props in place—
they had been folded in for storage.

“
I
’
ll be honest
,
John
,
this seemed like a much better idea when we were underground.
”
I
was having serious reservations. H
ere was a guy that said he couldn
’
t get his shit together enough to drive a van
,
but could apparently pilot a toy helicopter.

“
It
’
s perfectly safe,
”
John
told me
as he almost took off the top of his head with the blade
, by walking into it
.
“
Help me wheel it out.
”

Me helping ended up, me doing
,
as he went over to the large hangar door and began to pull it open. It was surprisingly easy to move
,
but I don
’
t know why I would be expecting anything else from a helicopter made from
spare
Erector S
et parts. I pushed it some twenty feet away from the building thinking that was plenty of clearance
,
then I went another fifty.

“
You see the checklist?
”
John asked me.

I shook my head.

“
Doesn
’
t matter,
”
h
e told me as he climbed in.

“
Trip
,
I beg to differ. They have those checklists for a reason, like for checking the fuel level o
r
ice on the wings or
shit
,
man
,
like a bunch of other stuff.
”
I was stalling
,
because all of a sudden
,
the tunnel lo
oked welcoming. Well not really…
but at this point it was like splitting very fine hairs.

“
No tim
e to go through the list anyway,
”
John said as he powered the copter on.
“
Might want to duck and get in.
”
T
he blades began to whir to life. He tapped lightly on his instrument panel.
“
Hey do you know what that one checks?
”
h
e asked.

“
I have no fucking idea
,
Trip
,
except it looks like it
’
s in the red.
”
I had been in the middle of getting in and was now in the middle of getting out.

“
I wouldn
’
t,
”
John said to me, never looking past his instruments.

“
Huh?
”
I asked.
I should have known better.

He pointed back and to the right of our present location, zombies were flooding in our direction.

“
Oh shit!
”
I said as I saw the swarm.
“
How long until we
’
re airborne?
”

“
I don
’
t know
,
man
,
I
’
ve never seen the reason to time it. Su
r
e could go for a little Mary Jane.
”

“
Task at hand first
, buddy, task at hand,
”
I said to him
,
trying to gauge how much time we had before we were engaged with the zombies.
“
More than half a minute?
”
I asked
,
trying to press him for information he didn
’
t have.

“
Time is just something the
man made to keep us all in line,
”
h
e said as he pressed more buttons on his console.

“
Trip
,
I understand your frustration with the mythical
man
.
”

“
Oh
,
he isn
’
t mythical.
”

“
Okay
,
sorry, but we may need to ditch the copter.
”

“
Almost there,
”
h
e said.

“
The zombies or being in the air?
”

He didn
’
t elaborate.
I started to get back out.

“
Where you going?
”
John asked.

I had sarcasm all lined up, but I knew John wouldn
’
t catch it and I didn
’
t have time for an explanation.

“
Zombies, Trip
,
I have to slow them down.
”

“
Whoa,
”
h
e said as he looked back.
“
Where
’
d they come from?
”

I didn
’
t have the heart to tell him he was the one that had pointed them out to me.

“
You should make them into mannequins.
”

“
What?
”
I asked looking at the approaching horde and the blades that were lazily spinning, more from the breeze it appeared than any mechanical function.

“
Like at the motel.
”

Why in the hell was I having John the Tripper tell me how to get out of situations? This was like having a dog (not Henry) help me
with algebra. (Who am I kidding? T
he dog could probably do it better.)

I no sooner took my tin foil hat off
,
when
my he
ad was blinded with white noise
to the point where I was placing my hands over my ears in a desperate attempt to keep the noise out. On the periphery of my vision I could hear John telling me to put the hat back on
,
but it wasn
’
t registering as a cognitive thought. I was hearing the words
,
but could not associate them with a meaning.
I was falling out of the copter.
John grabbed me a
nd placed the hat back in place;
blissful, beautiful silence filled the void of confusion
.
T
hat was
ultimately
replaced with the slap of feet on pavement
,
and with that thought came the realization
that
we were still under attack.
John was busy reaching over me and putting on the flight harness so that I wouldn
’
t swoon out again.

The blades of the copter had picked up speed, we weren
’
t moving yet
,
though. And the zombies were a football throw away and not
an
Eli Manning heaving toss it up type of pass, but more the workings of something I
’
d let loose
. I undid my buckle.

“
Where you going
,
man? We
’
re almost up,
”
John
said
.

“
No time
,
my friend. I just want to say thank you.
”

John
’
s eyebrows were pulled tight as he tried to figure out what I was talking about. The blades of the copter reached terminal velocity as the small craft bucked forward.
“
You should get in,
”
h
e said as he placed his hand over the yolk.

I took one quick glance at the zombies
,
confident in the fact that we weren
’
t going to make it and still I jumped in the craft, my weight pushing it back down. It made another ho
p when the lead zombie ran headfirst into the spinning blade—
blood sprayed in a complete
three-sixty
around the craft as the zombie
’
s force pushed us forward.

“
How many more of those can we take?
”
I asked John as a
nother zombie ran into the tail;
the smaller rear rotor caught it underneath the chin and split its head in two from bottom to top. Why I felt the need to watch was beyond me. I hadn
’
t thought that there was anything left on the planet which could gross me out. I was woefully wrong.