“Are you putting on new socks?” I asked him, shielding the sun from my eyes.
“Yeah, Brian gave them to me. They’re real nice.”
“They make socks in your size? I just figured you used old canoe covers.”
“Have I told you lately how funny I think you are, Talbot?” BT said, muscling his left sock over his foot, stretching it well beyond its capacity.
“You’ve got those things stretched so wide, they look like fishnet,” Gary said as he walked by to set up a tripod with a spotting scope.
“Two Talbots, half the fun,” BT roared.
To answer your question, we’ve got maybe two days,” I told him, turning back to the roadway. I was almost able to see the leading edge of the evil that was coming.
“You know, I love me some good plinking, but don’t you think we should maybe up our arsenal a little?” BT asked as he put his shoes on. The image of BT wearing fishnet stockings gave me a smile that I made sure to hide before I turned to talk to him.
“Yeah, the Big 5 didn’t pan out quite like I had hoped. If this one is dry, it’s a good chance that everything in this vicinity is pretty much tanked.”
“So I hate to ask, but what’s your plan?”
“You’re not going to like this,” I told him honestly.
“Again with the shockers today.”
“House to house.”
“What! Are you insane, Talbot?” Wait, don’t answer that. I’d rather not know the answer. You know that’s a good way for us to get our heads blown off.”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Deneaux said. She had been resting in the front seat. “I’m nearly out of cigarettes.”
“Great! I’ll grab the Camels under a hail of fire!” BT yelled.
“That would be wonderful, dear,” Mrs. Deneaux answered him in all seriousness.
“You two deserve each other!” BT said, pointing between Mrs. D and me.
Deneaux winked at me. I was two parts amused and one big part scared shitless.
BT stormed off, digesting my words.
“He’s very dramatic for such a large man,” Mrs. Deneaux said, looking at his retreating back.
“I thought I was the only one that didn’t think before they spoke,” I laughed.
She “pahhhed” at me, but she had a merriment in her eyes that I had never seen before from her. Strange times we were living in.
Chapter Four – Mike Journal Entry 3
“Hello occupants of this house!” I shouted. “We are friendly!”
“Very convincing,” BT said sarcastically from the front seat of the truck. I didn’t want him to come out. Just the sheer size of the guy made him look like hostility incarnate.
“I’m trying to establish a repertoire, BT,” I yelled to him.
“Bullshit, I bet you can’t spell the word and probably don’t even know what it means.”
“I most certainly know what it means,” (He was right on the spelling part though.) “You’re a pain-in-the-ass,” I told him.
“Hurry up and get your ass shot at, will you? I need to get out of this truck. My leg is starting to cramp up on me,” BT said.
“Hi occupants.”
“What are you? Junk mail?” Gary asked.
“Really?” I asked my brother, who was standing next to me, looking at the windows to see if any of the drawn shades moved.
“I just think that you could use a more personal touch,” he suggested.
“Give it a go,” I told him.
“People of Seventeen Georges Road!” he shouted.
“Much better,” I told him. He nodded in agreement.
“We are here looking for supplies, only from unoccupied homes. If you are home, please let us know and we will move on to the next house. We do not wish any sort of confrontation. Again, we are only looking for supplies,” Gary finished.
It sounded reasonable, but would anyone believe us? I wouldn’t, I’d be thinking they were looking for people. I’d no sooner open my door for strangers than I would a pack of zombies. This was more dangerous than taking Eliza head-on, yet here we were on both counts.
“I think I saw the shade move,” Gary said to me, I think he was full of it, but we turned around and addressed the next house.
“People of Eighteen Georges Road,” Gary said.
“How much time did you say we had?” BT asked, stepping out of the truck.
“Oh, will you shut up that racket!” the person from Seventeen Georges Road said. “Been trying to sleep in a little bit and then you band of idiots comes traipsing through the neighborhood. Should have brought one of those stupid ice cream trucks with the music going too!” he yelled out from his front screen door.
He stepped out and appeared to be in his late fifties, early sixties, plaid pajama bottoms, old brown slippers, and a threadbare terry bathrobe, that had filled more than one moths belly. The perfect picture would have been if he’d had a pipe in his mouth and an over-under shotgun in his hands. Both elements were noticeably missing.
“What do you need!?” he yelled. “The sooner you dolts get what you want, the sooner I hope you’ll get out of here.”
I was a little dumbfounded. It was not often these days when I got berated. Shot at? Sure. Dressed down? Not so much.
“Damn! I thought Deneaux had crotchety all sewn up. She’s got nothing on him,” BT said. Then he sheepishly turned around, realizing that Deneaux was only a few feet away. “No offense,” he said to her.
“None taken,” she said as she stepped from the cab. “We need cigarettes,” she yelled right before she began a coughing fit I was sure would dislodge a hot, blackened lung from her thin chest.
“Plenty of those,” Crotchety said. “More than I could smoke in this lifetime. Never smoked before, but when I was in that empty convenience store, it seemed like something I wanted to start. Smoked one of them damn things when I got home and realized I couldn’t stand them. Didn’t really see a need to bring them back.”
Mrs. D was already on the move.
“I’ve got some food, but I’m not in the sharing mood. Plenty of other houses you can get that from.”
“Sir, we don’t need any of that, we’re looking for guns and ammo.” I told him.
“What do you need that for?” he asked in all seriousness. I thought he was dead panning a killer joke.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked him when he was still looking at me for an answer.
“I have never carried a gun, so I saw no sense in starting now. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those bleeding heart liberals; just always afraid I’d kill myself figuring out how to use them. I have a knife, but I only use that to cut open packages of stuff.”
“Wait,” Brian said, not believing a word he was hearing. “You’re telling us that you’ve survived all this time not having to shoot or kill anything?”
“Oh, I didn’t say that I didn’t kill anything. About a week back, had this mean old raccoon trying to get into my basement, threw a brick at him, but he didn’t get the message. Took two slugs with the shovel before he finally died.”
“You’re…you’re playing with us, right?” Brian asked, still not believing a word he was hearing.
“I don’t know you from Adam, son, and I’ve never been known to play.”
Mrs. Deneaux pushed past the man and into his entryway.
“They’re in the cabinet in the kitchen next to the fridge,” he told her, pointing back into his house. A few seconds later, I could hear what could only be described as a cow getting its milk-fattened udders caught in multiple mousetraps, it was that unsettling.