“What happened to him!” I screamed as I opened the front door. The men rushed past me, quickly depositing their load onto the couch. Both absently wiped their hands on their jackets as if they were wiping off some foul contaminant. They were both backing out of the house as they answered. I got the gist of the story before their eagerness to be done with this foul deed was completed.
I asked if he had been bitten, but his mere presence within the compound answered that question outright. I could find nothing physically wrong with him except for some tar like substance adhered to his lips. Vaseline, warm water, soap and a face towel finally removed the sticky substance but I couldn’t help but feel that he had been poisoned. By whom or for what reason I didn’t know. What kind of poison can make you speak in a language you’ve never spoken before? The only reason I recognized it was because of the six years I had spent in Catholic school. I had never told Mike about my time there and I had never let him know I could speak and read Latin. What was the point? It’s a dead language, or the language of the dead? My thoughts reared up in one of those ‘aha!’ moments.
Some color had returned to his features, but that was more the flush of the fever setting in than anything healthy. For three days Mike ran to the edge of death and then slowly retreated. Each brush to the proximity of the other side seemed to drain more and more energy from him. The kids and I held constant vigil, each of us at one point or another saying our goodbyes.
Tommy remained silent throughout the entire ordeal. Apparently even Ryan Seacrest didn’t know the outcome. Thankfully, Mike never broke out into prayer again, I honestly don’t think I could have taken it. As close as Mike was to death, was as close as I was to insanity. Our kids were inches away from being orphans, where Mike would be leaving physically I would be leaving mentally. Three times during those three days Mike’s fever spiked to 105 degrees and each time it broke he shouted a word. It wasn’t until later that I thought to put it altogether, and even then I could make no sense of it, at least not until much later. ‘She.’‘Is.’‘Death.’
Mike shouted the word “Death!” and sat up just as the first shot was fired in the fight for Little Turtle. His gaze crossed over the room as he tried to orient himself to his surroundings. How different a normal living room must look like compared with the gates of oblivion. Recognition didn’t dawn on his features until his eyes rested on mine. It was long moments before the glaze peeled away from his visage. “Tracy?” he asked tentatively.
My chest heaved. A sob involuntarily forced its way through my lips.
“Tracy?” he asked again.
He was still a-sea and I had not yet thrown him a lifeline. My throat was clenched closed with emotion. I managed to choke out the words that it was indeed me. I saw a beacon of hope shoot through the fog of the war Mike was battling through. I watched in fascination as Mike clawed and inched his way back from the brink degree by degree. I hugged him fiercely. I kissed him tenderly. I willed him forward, talking softly in his ear, yelling when I thought he might be slipping. Hand over hand he pulled forward, as seemingly eons passed by. Invisibly summoned, all the kids came to bear witness to the unnatural scene unfolding before them. Mike shattered through the veil like a drowning man might come through a thin skein of ice from the depths of a winter lake. A ghost of cold breath issued forward from him, even though the house was at 70 degrees. His lungs were expanding and contracting with the force equivalent to a man who had just completed a 1500 meter sprint in world record time. Sweat seeped into and dampened the covers he was wearing. His teeth chattered for a few seconds. I thought the force would crack them. And then it was over, his eyes fixated on my own and he looked into the depths of my soul. It was Mike, thank God, and it wasn’t. I couldn’t put my finger on it. He had either lost or gained something in the internal war that had raged in him for three days. The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath, just ask Led Zeppelin.
“Thank you,” he uttered and he kissed me softly on the lips. He stood up with not the slightest sign of vertigo or ill effects from his sickness.
“Boys, get your guns.” And that was it. He went upstairs to get dressed.
It would be a longtime before we talked about what happened. He was reluctant to revisit it, that much was for sure. Even still, there were more pressing things happening and we did not find much time to sit down and idly chat about anything. Survival is an all-consuming event within its own right.
CHAPTER 20 - The slaughter begins
Journal Entry - 17
Eventually, I will tell you what happened while I traveled the netherworlds, but that all hinges on what happens in the foreseeable future. I had come out from under my unnatural hibernation in remarkably good shape. There were no ill effects that I knew about; they would manifest later. I had lost weight and I was as thirsty as I had ever been, but after downing three huge glasses of water I felt right as rain, even more so. Now I know this sounds weird, but power is the word that comes foremost in my mind. Maybe healthy would be a better descriptive but not as accurate, or as powerful. I just don’t know and I really don’t have the time to dwell on it.
As I dressed, I peered out the window, appalled at what my vision took in. That alone should have frozen my bowels. Thousands upon thousands of zombies were shuffling their way to our haven. Gunshots that had moments before been sporadic and spread out were now continuous and unrelenting. Hundreds of zombies fell. It didn’t matter. It was like burning ants with a magnifying glass, kill one there’s a thousand more to take its place. It seemed more a waste of bullets. Most of the shot zombies were still moving. Headshots were for trained marksmen and most of these folks were anything but. If they were used to shooting at all it was at center mast on a 500-pound elk, a much easier shot than the 20-pound melon of a human head. Even if they were zombies, it was still unimaginably tough for these people to get over the aversion of shooting a human form. At least if they made a shot to the body it would be less noticeable and therefore more palatable.
The only thing we had going for us was that once the shot zombie hit the deck he was likely to become ground beef from the hordes that would pass over the unlucky soul. I had made my decision. I would stay and fight until it was a lost cause. Regarding the outcome to Little Turtle, I already knew the answer. What remained to be seen was if I could get my loved ones out of this mess intact. I was duty bound, and worse, honor bound to help the residents as best I could. I would not desert them. Justin had managed to get out of his bed although it had cost him nearly his entire reservoir of energy. I caught him as he was putting on his socks.
“Where are you planning on going?” I asked him sternly.
He looked up. I involuntarily stepped back. His features were starkly outlined from the darkness that rimmed his eyes. His skin was pulled tight in some places and slack in others. The effect was disconcerting.
“To help,” he answered, taking a break after putting his right sock on.
“The only thing you’d be able to help with, is getting us in trouble.” I didn’t mean to be so callous, it just came out. If it came down to a footrace with a zombie and Justin, smart money went on the undead.
Justin’s eyes welled up with hurt and rejection. “I just want to help, Dad. I want to make sure Mom and Nicole are going to be all right.”
“That’s what I want too, Justin. But I’m also concerned about you, Travis, Brendon, Tommy and everyone else. You get the point, right? I’m not sure you could shoot a gun without falling over.” I hadn’t appeased him at all. He still appeared dejected. “Justin, if you can carry this ammo can,” which I was holding, “I’ll think about letting you come.” I wasn’t going to anyway but I figured I’d give him a chance.
He eyed the can speculatively. Full of ammo they can top fifty pounds. He was having difficulty with an eight ounce sock.
“Dad?” he said with true remorse.
I felt his pain. “Justin, you need to stay here with Paul and defend the fort.”
His eyes closed in defeat. I crossed the room and grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes to mine. “You’ve seen Paul shoot, right?” I asked him. He perked a little at that. “If everything goes to hell, Justin, I’m going to need you here with all of your strength, for your Mom, for Nicole.”
He knew he was being manipulated, but he didn’t feel useless any more, he had a purpose.
“Okay Dad,” he said as he laid his body back down. “I’ll go defend the house as soon as I get up.”
“Good idea,” I told him with a small laugh as I tousled his hair. His head still felt warm, not the dizzyingly burning heat it was before, but I didn’t think he was out of the woods completely.
Paul was waiting in the hallway as I quietly exited the room and shut the door.
“How’s he doing?” Paul asked.
“I wish we had more medicine and a highly skilled doctor,” I said to him.
Paul’s features furrowed in shame.
“Dude, I only have so much energy to pick people up. Listen, I don’t think he’s going to turn into a zombie, but he’s got an infection of some sort. Who knows what kind of germs the undead carry, I’m sure they don’t use Purell. Listen bud, I told you before, I’m not blaming you for what happened, so get over it.”
Paul looked even more hurt at those words.
“But now it’s time for payback,” I told him.
He looked at me, trying to ascertain my meaning.
“If something happens to me, whether today, tomorrow or any other day for that matter, you” and I emphasized ‘you,’ “are to take control of this family, because that’s what we are now. It’s not just you and Erin anymore.”
He looked at me, absorbing all that I was telling him. I could tell from the time it took him to process this information that he hadn’t thought of it like this yet. Paul had always had an unnaturally high fear of commitment. I still sometimes wondered how Erin was able to get him to marry her. She’d probably had to resort to blackmail.
“Paul,” I said trying to shake him out of whatever thought loop he was in. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
