Zombie Fallout 8: An Old Beginning (36 page)

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Authors: Mark Tufo

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“Now you’re fucking with me. The Sharts?”

“It’s not as funny as today’s vernacular would have you believe. It was actually the liquefying of the bowels. Everything, and I mean everything, was destined to leak out. The death was a prolonged agony and misery, with one’s innards dragging behind them. It would have dwarfed the Black Plague. If mankind survived, their numbers would have been drastically reduced to a population that would have teetered on the brink of extinction for years.”

“That’s just gross, man. I could have done without the visual. What happened to his wife? She must have lost the house after Linus became road kill.”

“She actually became a very successful blacksmith.”

“That was allowed back then?”

“Not really, after her husband died she donned his clothing and went to work in his steed.”

“The blacksmith didn’t notice anything strange?”

“Mrs. Talbot was an, umm, robust woman, handsome in her own way I suppose.”

“Did she ever marry again?”

“No, and she also used her maiden name when she opened up her own blacksmith shop. Towns were much smaller back then, the Talbot name was not necessarily held with the highest regard. Probably saved her and the baby’s life though. Had Eliza discovered a Talbot life she would have snuffed it out.
”

“And what of the baby, what happened to him?”

“He grew up most of his life with the Murphy last name.”

“Murphy again?”

“Just serendipity, no true causal relationship.”

“You sure?”

“Mostly…anyway, after his mother passed, he found some letters she had packed away among her things, basically telling him all about the life she was reluctant to share when she was alive. He changed back to the Talbot family name at that point. Lived a fairly decent life as he took up his mother’s blacksmith shop, married and had three children. Fairly uneventful as far as your surname goes.”

“Well, at least that turned out well, I suppose. What about me? Did you ever alter anything in my life besides the crib thing?”

“Haven’t you heard enough?”

“There is, isn’t there? Tell me!”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Add it to the long list of things I don’t like.”

“Do you remember when you applied for that job with AmeriCorp?”

“Sure. I’d been laid off for
months, it was my first big break in a long while. Had two interviews and was told I’d be doing a third. Figured the job was mine at that point and now we were just going to hammer out the details. Never heard from them again…why?” I asked, suddenly suspicious. “What did you do, Tommy?” He stood up, probably to get out of harm’s way. I stood up with him. “Tommy. Tell me, man. What did you do that kept me at that shitty pothole-filling job? I could have made some money, moved the family to a better area.”

“If you got the job, odds were you were going to be away on business. Minneapolis, as a matter of fact.”

“What’s wrong with Minneapolis?”

“Nothing in and of itself, other than you would have been there on December 7th.”

“The day of the outbreak.” I sat down heavily, barely noticing the lump of tile that was attempting to get intimate with me. “Wow, that’s pretty heavy.” I was thinking of what might have become of my family if I’d been a thousand miles away. All roads led to disastrous followed immediately by horrendous. “What did you do to prevent me from getting that third interview?” I was only curious. How could I be mad when he’d saved my family’s life, again.

“I’m sorry, Mr. T. I called their HR department, pretending to look for a contact number. I told them I was your probation officer and you had missed your last check in.”

“Probation officer? What crime had I committed?”

“You were a habitual driver-while-intoxicated.”

“That was enough to not give me a chance to work for them?”

“I also said you tended to pass out nude.”

“Oh,
come on
, you couldn’t have said I robbed a bank or something?” Then another thought dawned on me as I moved a piece of debris away from underneath me that hadn’t even the common decency to take me out for dinner before it went exploring. “Tommy.”

“I’m done Mr. T. I’ve answered your questions.”

“Not quite. What if…okay, let me rephrase this. You said yourself that not everything you see comes to pass, or maybe you don’t quite understand it. What if the zombie apocalypse had never happened?”

“My guess is you’d still be filling in holes.”

And right now, somehow even that most pedestrian of life-styles sounded like heavenly bliss.

Epilogue 2 – The Pull of Mike – As told by Joseph DiPaolo – Knight of the Templar and Rhodes Scholar

The paths of most of our lives, if mapped out with string, would look a lot like
Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s
Flight of the Bumblebee
, as we flitted from random event to random event, making chance encounters with countless numbers of people. Not Mike, though, nor others like him. His path would be as straight as the spoke of a tire; his life trail is inexorably straight, always. He has no choice but to walk this line. Oh, there’s no rule to how one must walk as Mike has proved over and over. As the crow flies is more than just a phrase in his case. Some might think it would be easier to have a path already laid out before you. But I can assure you that is not the case. Have not all of us at certain times in our lives avoided a particularly nasty or distasteful event, person, place? Insert noun here. These are not choices Mike can avert. The crow may be able to fly above the din, but Mike has to plow through it.

Most people intersect with others at various points along their lives and move on, but when our route comes in contact with someone like Mike we are pulled to him, almost drawn. We can’t help it. There is something in the simple honesty of his path that we crave, a way to escape the chaos of life. When I talked to Tracy about this she laughed. I don’t think she was a believer, and neither was BT.

“I hated Mike when I first met him. Thought he was arrogant as all hell,” she’d told me. “I sure wasn’t ‘drawn’ to him like you say.”

“I second that,” BT had added.

“There’s resistance at first. As much as we want order, we also want to have freewill, and we certainly don’t want to walk to anybody else’s tune.”

“Especially Mike’s. Probably has the soundtrack to
Pretty in Pink
running through his head.” BT nearly snorted at his own joke.

“I’ve been with Mike for over two decades. I’ve never seen the man walk the straight and narrow,” Tracy said.

“Like I’ve said, it’s not how he goes through life, it’s the events themselves he has to follow. In this life and every other one.”

“There’s more than one Mike out there? Is this some sort of cosmic joke?” BT was not looking too amused.

“Does he know this?” Tracy asked with a true measure of concern.

“On some level he may.”

“That could explain some of his behavior,” BT joked.

“Indeed it could,” Joseph said, turning the conversation serious. “There are some ‘spokes’, if you will, that cannot handle the strain, and they shatter like the breakable spirits they are.”

“Come on, you’re talking about alternate realities and multiple lives. Do you really think me…we…will believe this?” BT questioned.

“Ask yourself this. Do you feel a strong pull to Mike?”

BT nodded unconsciously as did Tracy, though she knew she was doing it.

“That’s because you’ve both known him, and were meant to be with him through all time, every time.”

“And what about Trip? He’s a part of this grand design you’re talking about?”

“My string was in knots before Ponch came along,” Trip said.

“Well, see that’s the first thing I’ve heard that I believe.” BT was smiling at his own wit.

“Probably not going to like this part then,” Joseph said. “Trip is like a shepherd.”

“That’s why I can smell things so good!” Trip said, touching his nose.

“Not a German Shepherd, honey.” Stephanie put her hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“Come on, Joseph. Him?” BT looked disgusted.

“There are some like Trip who can see the tapestries we all weave, the fabrics of our existence. Sometimes he gently guides us to where we need to be or, in my case, pulls a person kicking and screaming.”

“You really expect me to believe this?”

“I’m not trying to make you believe anything, BT, but that you, that all of us are here… well, that’s proof enough.”

“That we’re here in this field?” Gary asked.

“No. That we’re here, at the end,” Joseph said solemnly.

“Dun-dun-dun!” Trip sang out for dramatic effect.

Epilogue 3 – S.S. Crossbearer – Destination: New York, Port of Origin London

The ship creaked and groaned as it cut through the swells. Heavy winds cracked the canvas sails, billowing them out to catch the might of the blustery weather. Sheets of ocean mist broke over the bow spraying a lone figure who seemed oblivious to the less than favorable weather conditions. Her hair as red as a bonfire at night, she was her own lighthouse; the crew avoided her as the ship would avoid deadly shoals. To approach meant certain swift death. Always she peered forward, expecting to see what she was seeking at any moment.

The men who had been doing the
ir best to steer clear of the woman at the bow shrunk back even further when they realized another was moving swiftly past them, paying them no more mind than if they were ants upon a sizzling roadway. The raven-haired woman was of indeterminable age and had a beauty beyond reproach, even with the hard set of her eyes and the tightly closed lips. A sailor taking more than his rations of rum had learned just how savage she was. When the woman had walked by, he had catcalled and attempted to smack her on the ass. She had turned and caught his hand before he made contact. With one fluid motion, she had separated his shoulder and thrown him overboard. When the other sailors started to launch a rescue, she had told them that the first to aid him would find themselves in the water with him. The man had screamed for help before losing his battle with a swell of seawater. The three mysterious passengers had watched silently.

“Payne
, I have prepared your dinner.”

Payne turned slightly as the woman approached. “There is more going on here
, Charity.”

“This ship? These men are sheep.”

“No, with Eliza. This was no ordinary death.”

“Are you concerned?” Charity asked coolly.

“Intrigued perhaps. I knew Eliza was cruel, even for our kind. When she killed my poor Victor, I should have hunted her down then and there, and yet I didn’t, for she intrigued me then as well.”

“You had your reasons
. I wish you had let Sophia and I take care of her, though. Victor may have been your offspring, but he was our sire. We had a duty to him.”

“She would have killed you.” Payne did not say the words as a
slight, only as a truth. Charity wisely stayed silent. “It seems her brother is in the New World as well.” Payne was once again staring off into the distance to a spot only she could see.

“The half-ling?”

“He is no longer a half-ling.”

“That is interesting
. I wonder her reasons for finally completing his turn.”

“I see so much
, yet not enough to get a clear picture. There was a witch involved, a powerful one and, another, a medicine man. Somehow I feel a piece of Victor himself was implicated in her death.”

“How can this be? My sire has been dust for centuries
,” Charity asked in wonderment, showing some emotion for the first time since they’d started the voyage.

“I have been wondering this as well. We will find our answers soon. Come
, we will dine together.” Payne locked her arm around Charity’s. The crew quickly found duties to perform that would not have them anywhere near the women’s return trip back to their cabins.

The smell of iron
-rich blood beset their senses as they walked into Payne’s room. The meal was naked and tied to a bed by his wrists and ankles. His chest was heaving in fright, lines of blood streaking his arms and legs as a third vampire lightly dragged a knife across his skin, not enough to cause true damage, but with enough force to make blood weep to the surface.

“I see you are eager to feed
, Sophia.” Payne’s canines elongated, her eyes taking on a glazed appearance. She swiftly crossed the room and sank deeply into the man’s neck. Charity and Sophia found their own spots.

The crew did their best to block out the screams of the
forsaken.

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For more in The Zombie Fallout Series by Mark Tufo:

Zombie Fallout 1