Zombie Fallout: 'Til Death Do Us Part Part 7

The woman ushered her children in and began to doubt the wisdom of her graciousness as Eliza strode purposefully closer.

"You ain't dangerous or nothing are you?" the woman asked with a quiver in her voice.

"My dear we are your worst nightmare," Eliza said as she crossed over the threshold.

"Please," The mother begged Tomas.

"It's too late," he said softly.

"Don't be shy," Eliza said to the mother as she pulled her in. "Some have said I have no heart, but I offer you this," Eliza told the young mother. "Would you rather I kill you first or your children?"

The woman nearly swooned. Tomas reached out and steadied her.

"Momma, should I shoot her?" the oldest boy asked. He was standing bravely in front of his smaller sister and brother.

"Run, Jacob, run!" the woman screamed.

"Yes, Jacob, run," Eliza mimicked. "I love the taste of adrenaline in blood it gives it a slight tang I find pleasant upon my palate," she said as she swept her tongue across her extended canines.

"Not my babies, please not my babies," the mother begged.

"Come, come. What would become of them if I left them to their own devices?"

Eliza spun to her right a few inches as a rifle round caught her in the shoulder blade.

"That is how you treat guests?" Eliza said as she traversed the room in the span of an eye blink.

Jacob was six inches off the ground suspended from his neck as Eliza gripped him tightly.

"Please!" the mother sobbed as she fell to her knees.

"Finish her, Tomas," Eliza barked.

"Let us leave, sister."

"Finish her or I will pop this boy's head like an over ripened peach."

Eliza wrapped both her small hands on either side of the Jacob's head. She was applying so much pressure that the boy's eyes were beginning to bulge.

"NO!" the mother shrieked. The small boy and his sister were screaming as they watched the whole encounter from midway up the stairs.

The sound of the oldest boy's skull crus.h.i.+ng dominated above all the other din within the room. His face fell in as bone ground against bone, his body twitched spasmodically.

"Jakie!" the little girl screamed as she ran down the stairs. Brain matter leaked through her brother's ear.

The woman collapsed. Eliza, in one fluid motion, let the boy drop to the ground and plucked the little girl up into the air. She plunged her fangs deep into the girl's throat and drank heavily. Urine ran in rivulets from the only remaining sibling.

Tomas was straining against his urges as he watched his sister drink her fill. Her eyes never left him as she pulled the life out of the little girl one drop at a time.

"You must eat, brother," she said to Tomas as she discarded the girl like a used juice box.

The mother was moaning in her unconscious state, her head resting up against Tomas' leg. The boy watched as Tomas bent down and almost tenderly placed his lips against her neck. The young boy did not move, he did not blink as blood leaked out from around Tomas' mouth and onto the carpet.

Eliza laughed as she climbed the four stairs to the boy; he placed his thumb in his mouth.

"No, Eliza!" Tomas said forcibly as he stood after getting his fill.

"The mother lives, Tomas, I can smell her stench of life from here. You are doing her no favors by allowing her life."

"We have eaten, Eliza, why must you torment them?"

"Two of her whelps are dead and she will be weaker than a newborn for the next two days. My zombies are destroying this entire city. They are not nearly as efficient in their feeding as we are, the pain these two will suffer at their hands will be far worse than the end I offer."

"You don't get it. You could stop all off it," Tomas beseeched.

"How did father tolerate one with such a dramatic disposition?"

"I'm done here," Tomas said, heading for the door. He waited in the middle of the roadway for another five minutes before Eliza walked out. She wiped the blood off her mouth with her fingers, then licked them clean.

"Don't be so sad, Tomas, they now live eternally. Come, let us go see what other fun we can have," she said as she grabbed his arm.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

BT and Gary It was long moments before any of them had calmed down enough from their close encounter of the girth kind. The city shone like a dying sun in the rearview mirror.

"That's really the end of them," BT said looking back.

Gary's eyes were wet with remembrance.

Mrs. Deneaux was subdued, but it was more out of self-preservation than from any type of respect. To her, Brian's death was a necessity; he died to save her. Paul was an idiot that shouldn't have made it anyway, and Mike's demise was more of a stroke of good fortune. She realized that he had more than a sneaking suspicion that she was in some way involved in Brian's death as well as Paul's disappearance, and he would have kept pressing the matter. Especially since Paul had been eaten-by cats no less. She smiled as she humored herself with the thought. Who dies by cats in a zombie apocalypse? That's like dying from a hangnail during a war.

"Something funny?" BT asked her.

She hadn't realized she'd been displaying her mood on the outside. "I'm just happy to be away from there." she said, recovering smoothly. "I mean safely of course. I am sorry for your loss, Gary," she said as motherly as she could. It sounded more like a pit viper before it struck a field mouse.

Gary did not hear the tone, only the words. "Thank you," he practically sobbed. "I...I don't know how I'm going to tell Tracy, the kids, my father."

"I'll be there with you, Gary, we'll get through it," BT said as he turned to face him.

"It should have been me, BT," Gary sniffed heavily.

"Please tell me you do not plan to cry the entire drive to Maine," Mrs. Deneaux said. When BT turned an evil eye on her she added. "I'm merely looking out for the lad, he won't be able to see the road properly and he will give himself a truly bad headache."

We lose half our number and she survives, the fates are cruel and unjust, BT thought sourly. I am going to have to watch her carefully.

Mrs. Deneaux smiled broadly as Gary looked at her through the rearview mirror.

The Pinto may have been the ugliest thing still on the road, but it ran and that counted for a fair amount. They had just crossed over into Virginia on Route 85 almost to the 95 interchange when Gary noticed that the fuel gauge hadn't moved since they'd left Old Fort nearly some two hundred miles ago.

"I think we might have a problem," Gary said.

BT, who had been lost in his own thoughts, sat up. "What's the matter?" he asked looking around. BT thought Mrs. Deneaux might be sleeping but he couldn't tell; the old bat had one eye open.

"Fuel," Gary said pointing to the dash.

"It says we're three-quarters full," BT said moving his head so he could see.

"Yeah...and that's what it said when we left."

"Then maybe you should find a place to get some. Did I really need to point that out?" Mrs. Deneaux said opening her other eye.

"Maybe if we're real lucky some gas will spill on you, and the next time you light a cigarette, the world will find itself a slightly better place," BT said turning to face her.

She lit another cigarette in response.

"Come on, BT, we're all we have left," Gary said, trying to make peace.

BT wanted to tell him 'And ain't that a shame.' But he could tell the elder Talbot was already hurting enough. He wouldn't swear it on a stack of bibles, but he thought he had seen Deneaux stick her tongue at him as he turned back towards the front. "b.i.t.c.h," he mumbled.

Gary pulled off the highway. BT made sure his rifle was fully loaded as did Deneaux with her pistol. Gas stations, for some reason, tended to be a hot bed of zombie activity.

"Should we siphon some gas or just find another car?" BT asked as they pulled into the service lot.

"Find another car?" Gary asked. "Really?"

"Oh you can't be serious?" BT asked back. "You like this car. This car was a pile of steaming c.r.a.p when it left the factory. They should have saved the metal and made waste baskets."

"I'm kind of attached to it now," Gary said as he patted the dash board where it instantly cracked as a result of dry rot and ministrations of the driver.

"Yeah she's a beauty," BT said sarcastically.

"Well I think she's a darling little car," Mrs. Deneaux said as she hunted for an ally.

Gary pulled up to a pump.

"What are you doing?" BT asked.

"Getting gas, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Do you think maybe you can have the attendant check the oil, too?"

"What's the matter with you, BT, they haven't done that in years," Gary told him. "Oh." The light of recognition coming across Gary's visage. "The pumps aren't working, sorry just habit." Gary was about to start the car up.

"Don't worry about it, we'll just find a can and get some gas, let's try to find a screwdriver, too, the last time I siphoned gas, I drank about a quart of it," BT said.

"What's the screwdriver for?" Gary asked.

"Gonna punch a hole in the fuel tank and just let it drain into the can."

"Kind of wasteful isn't it?" Gary asked.

"You plan on coming back this way again?"

"Maybe...if not to bury my brother than at least to say goodbye properly."

"Sorry, man," BT said meaning it. "We'll find a few cans and make sure we get it all."

"Probably should have left the car running," Gary said as they cautiously walked towards the front of the service station.

Mrs. Deneaux exited the car and was leaning with her back against it. She arched her back, her long aristocratic nose fully turned towards the heavens.

The store had been completely ransacked; what wasn't gone off the shelves had been torn into by rats if the droppings were to be believed. Although they were some industrial-sized rats, Gary thought.

"I hate this part," Gary said as they made their way over towards the far side of the store. "Okay, I'm going to pull this door open and then get out of the way. You shoot whatever is on the other side." Gary got ready to open the storeroom door.

"Ready when you are," BT said.

Gary pulled hard, his hand slipping off of the handle, the door didn't move. "s.h.i.+t...it's locked."

BT smiled.

"Should I kick it in?" Gary asked.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," BT said as he twisted the handle and pushed the door open. The door swung effortlessly inwards, BT stepped back, it was too dark inside the small room to see anything.

"I could have done that," Gary said trying to salvage some face.

"I know, it's alright, I won't tell anyone," BT said as he went into the closet after he realized there was nothing in there. He pulled out a mop and bucket. "That'll work...the bucket is for the gas," BT explained.

"I knew that, I just didn't know what the mop was for."

"Steering wheel," BT said as he pushed the bucket across the floor. "See if you can find something to puncture a tank and either a funnel or something we can make a funnel out of.

Gary came out a few moments later with a broken winds.h.i.+eld wiper fluid bottle and a small knife meant more for display-a tourist's memento as opposed to something that could withstand use, but it was all he could find in such short notice and he didn't want to have to stay in there alone any longer than he had to.

"Here let me see," BT asked as he put his hand out for the knife. "Kind of flimsy, but it might work. I'll make the puncture, you just be ready with the bucket. When it's about half full go use it to fill the Pinto and we'll keep doing that until we top it off."

Gary was nodding as he cut the bottom of the winds.h.i.+eld fluid bottle off.

BT walked over to the end of the gas station lot; a white Toyota Camry was parked on the gra.s.s awaiting a repair that would never be forthcoming. "This will do," he said as he slid under the car. He hoped there was enough gas in it to make it worth their while, he hated being stationary; stationary meant exposed and exposed was not what anybody wanted to be these days.

"That's a nice car," Gary said just as BT was about to try to drive the knife home. "Kind of a d.a.m.n shame to wreck it."