"Hey, maybe work on improving that low battery indicator,” Paul said to MJ before turning back to Alex. MJ was too deep in thought to catch the slight.
"Marta says that Justin spoke to her, and that Mike is heading this way,” Alex reported, looking at his friend. It sounded much less sane when spoken out loud and to one that had not witnessed the event.
"And she's sure it was Justin?" Paul asked, not willing to believe just yet.
Alex nodded.
"And she was sure of Justin's intent?" Paul asked. He didn’t say it, but they were both thinking it. When they parted company with Mike, Justin was already feeling the effects of Eliza’s power and was slipping further away every day. It did not seem that the elapsed time could have done him better. The exact opposite was more likely the case.
"Paul, she looked happy after she 'talked' to him.” "Far as I know Alex, Justin was not born with the ability to speak psychically. I think that's Eliza's specialty.” Alex bowed his head. “But why, Paul? Why bother?"
"To keep us off guard, maybe just to raise our hopes so she could be there when she smashed them. I don’t know, who can tell what such a malignant mind might find worthwhile.” Paul's thoughts ran deeper and darker. 'If,' and Paul truly believed that was the case, 'If Justin was now an agent for the enemy, that meant that more than likely Mike had not made it to Maine .'
"If Justin is one of them,” Alex said, verbalizing Paul's thoughts, “then Mike is dead.” Paul's knees suddenly felt weak, and he sat down next to Alex. A torrent of memories flooded through his senses, from the first time they met, through high school, college and ultimately until they parted. “I'll miss you my friend,” Paul said to the heavens. A more pressing thought came to the fore. “We've got to leave,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I'll start rounding people up,” Paul said as he stood up. Alex still had his head in his hands. Even false hope hurt when it was ripped from your soul, like a fish hook through a cheek.
Erin was walking down the aisle way when Paul stood. “Hi baby,” she told her husband, glad to see that he was safe. “Marta woke up for a second,” she told Alex. He turned to see if it should be anything to be concerned about. “Now this may sound weird, but I'm only repeating what she said.” Paul and Alex looked expectantly at her. “All right here goes. ‘Dad wasn't sure if Paul is still with you guys, but if he is, ask him what he thought of Pete Townsend's piss.'"
Paul damn near choked on his laughter. “Mike's alive!" he said, pumping his fist in the air.
"How… how do you know?" Alex asked, not quite yet willing to grab onto the thread of promise.
"Inside joke,” Paul said beaming.
"Referring to…?" Erin asked.
"Uh,” he stalled, “College, window pane… acid," he coughed out. “A case of beer and some unbelievable amounts of laughter.” "That doesn't really explain the reference to the Who's lead guitarist’s urine,” Erin said quizzically.
"Didn't you catch the part about the acid?" Paul said, still smiling.
"Fine,” Erin said, "but some day you are going to fill me in.” "And this isn’t a trick?" Alex asked.
"No way,” Paul said, “There's no way Mike told any of his kids about that night.”
"Please, just tell me that it had nothing to do with that man's piss,” Alex fairly begged.
Paul started laughing again. “No, no, nothing like that… well kind of… but not what you’re thinking. We were talking about Pete Townsend and how he probably had fans who worshipped his piss.” Alex had a blank stare, but Erin walked away. She decided she'd heard enough. “Trust me,” Paul said slapping his friend on the shoulder, “It's hilarious when you’re tripping your trees off.” "I'll take your word for it,” Alex said, “So we're staying then?"
"I guess for now, this place is a little bigger than I'd like it to be, but as far as defending against zombies our only real concern would be the front door. We picked up some canned goods while we were out, so food will be a non-issue for a few days. What the hell, I say we hunker down for a bit, recharge our batteries, and let Wonder Boy over there finish up his zombie stopper,” Paul finished off by pointing over towards MJ.
"Will she let him?" Alex indicated April, who was nearly tripping over her tongue as she hovered around MJ.
"It's kind of funny the 180 he's done since he first laid eyes on her. The more she talks the less interested he becomes. April has yet to figure that equation out. She rambles on like a meth-head at a rave. All that beauty and not an iota of brain to go with it,” Paul laughed.
"Meth-head at a rave? That gives me a headache just thinking about it. I like the idea of resting for a few days. I don’t, however, like the idea of my wife being the human equivalent of a cell phone. And I'm having a hard time reconciling how close in proximity Tomas' message was to Justin's.” "It does make for some interesting pondering, I'll give you that. But I'm telling you Mike would no sooner tell his kids about his drug experiences than he would tell his wife about his sexual exploits.” "Oooh, I get your point.” Alex cringed just thinking about how that conversation would go do with his own betrothed. He inadvertently covered his testicles.
"Yeah, pretty much just like that,” Paul said, catching the involuntary motion.
"We wait then.” Alex rose from his chair and headed back down the aisle to where his wife was resting.
Paul headed back to the front doors. “I'll keep a watch out,” he told Joann, who was all too happy to let him.
"Storm's brewing.” She pointed up to the blackening shroud of clouds.
"Sure is,” he told her. ‘And I don't think it’s the only one,’ he thought. ‘Hurry up Mike.’
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE – Talbot Journal Entry 10
I drove most of that day alternating between looking at the road and readjusting my rear view mirror to keep an eye on Justin. This was a dangerous game we played with a lethal enemy; it was the equivalent of playing with a Black Mamba and seeing if we could inject the anti-venom before the neurotoxin had an opportunity to stop the beating heart. Justin noticed me looking on occasion when he wasn't resting. I saw no sign of the duality from before the shots, but he still did not look well. The expense of that call might not have been worth it, even AT&T in their heyday didn't charge that much.
"I'll be fine, Dad,” Justin said as he smiled weakly. “And stop looking at me, you’re kind of giving me the creeps.” "All right, but you let me know if you need anything,” I told him as I adjusted the mirror back to its intended view of the road behind me.
"Who is Easter Evans?" Travis asked.
"What?" I asked him back.
"The sign right there says welcome to Virginia, home of Easter Evans,” he clarified.
We almost passed it by, it was your standard State sign, but painted very neatly below it was ‘Home of Easter Evans.’ This wasn't your standard issue graffiti, someone had taken painstaking detail to make this look as professional as possible, and I didn’t like it. Anyone that thought themselves important enough to make sure everyone knew about them was not anyone I wanted to know.
"I don’t like it Mike,” Gary said.
"It's just a sign,” I said, half convincingly.
"Yeah, so is that.” He pointed to a much different ‘sign’ a few hundred feet further down the road. Hanging from a highway exit sign were the bodies of three people.
"What does that sign say?" I asked, squinting my eyes to try and get a better look. I knew it wasn't going to be anything good. I mean it wasn't going to say, ‘These were very bad people that did very bad things.’
Gary pulled out a small pair of binoculars. “Sinners, it says sinners.” Well, maybe I was wrong. It actually did kind of say what I thought it might. Now the question was what kind of sins did Easter Evans think were hanging offenses. You would have to step very far out of bounds with me to get that type of response, but who knows if Easter might be of the ilk that thought chewing gum was a hanging offense.