"Justin, how did Eliza come out past Doc Baker's shot?" I asked.
"Mike,” Gary cautioned.
Justin looked from his uncle to me. “Easter drew her out.”
"Mike, enough,” Gary said forcibly.
That was not normally Gary's role, but I deferred to it.
We drove through the remainder of Virginia without incident and in silence.
"He wasn't wearing gloves when he touched my chest,” I said aloud.
"Mike, I will kick your ass!" Gary shouted.
"You were in the Air Force, how is that going to happen?” I mocked him. He held up one finger right under my nose. “All right, all right,” I told him, more than willing to let it go at this point.
Extra Journal Entry: I stopped at a Barnes and Noble store a few hours after our encounter with Easter and grabbed a Latin to English translation dictionary. I knew it was Latin, seems that only very holy people or very evil use the language anymore. Looking back, I wished I had just left good enough alone. Below is a rough translation of the words he spoke the day Justin was freed from the shackles of Eliza's hold.
"This soul has no inherent stain except for the one you have bestowed upon it, as the Book of Revelations states, you have no claim on this soul and will relinquish all rights to it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO – Tracy, BT and Meredith
"Who do you think Easter Evans was?" Meredith asked.
BT opened one eye to look at the state sign. “Don’t know, but he must have lost his social standing because they crossed it out.” "Or his life,” Tracy said.
"You didn’t need to go there. I was trying to keep it light,” BT said.
Tracy smacked the big man's arm. He immediately sat up. Arm smacking was her signal for danger. “You do know those rings hurt every time you do that, right?"
"Mike used to say that. I always thought he was being a baby.”
"Probably got nerve damage,” BT said as he rubbed his arm.
"BT look,” Tracy said, pointing to a large caravan of trucks, cars and motorcycles.
"They all have their headlights on like a funeral procession,” Meredith said, as they came up on the last vehicle in the line. The young woman in the car was most definitely crying and paid absolutely no attention to Tracy as they passed on by. Different car, same results. A white hearse led the long line of vehicles. A man with mutton chops drove the car, a grim set of determination on his face. They noted that of all the occupants in the cars, he was the only one that did not shed tears.
Tracy punched the accelerator to be rid of the reminder of the fate that awaits us all, although, most likely in this day in age without as much pomp and circumstance as the man in the back of the hearse was receiving right now.
"Mike you think?” BT asked, jabbing his thumb behind him in the direction of the hearse.
"Cause that? Naw,” Tracy said unconvincingly.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE – Paul and Alex
Paul was moments away from getting someone to replace him on watch. It was MJ's turn, but the man had not stopped working on his zombie box in the last four hours. Movement caught Paul’s eye as he swung back around to look out the large dual glass doors.
"Zombies it’s always zombies,” he said softly. “Zombies!" he yelled to alert the rest of the group.
"How many?" Alex asked, hauling half their arsenal to the front of the store.
"I'd say roughly all of downtown Asheville,” Paul said as he moved away from the doors. “MJ come on, we've got to get some heavy stuff in front of these doors.” MJ looked up, smoke from his battery operated soldering iron swirling around his head. In his haste to help he inadvertently put the still hot iron down on his unfinished and delicate circuit board. Paul moved over to an oak chest and hutch set that together easily weighed in excess of three hundred pounds. Moving it was extraordinarily easy over the tiled floor as the three men used their adrenaline testosterone fueled muscles to get it going.
"Wait,” Alex said as they pushed it up against the doors. “If we moved it this easily won’t the zombies be able to also?” "We've just got to keep stacking stuff here until it becomes impossible,” Paul said, already moving on to the next closest item, a butcher block kitchen table that was on clearance because someone had seen fit to drag a key across the surface and mar the finish, deeply in some places.
The thud of the first zombie impact pushed the hutch almost a half inch away from the door it had just been placed against.
"Uh oh,” MJ said, looking at the spider web of broken glass that emanated from the collision zone. “Guys, we'd better move faster.” "What the hell are you talking about?" Alex asked him, “You’re not even moving.”
"The glass is breaking,” MJ pointed out.
"Come on!" Paul urged as he pushed the table into place. “Let's get that book case!"
The thuds kept coming, but each one was of a slightly less jarring impact as the zombies began to run into their brethren that had reached the doors first. Within half an hour, the small ten foot wide hallway that led to the doors was stuffed with more contents than would fit in a standard U-haul truck.
"That’s going to hold them?" Joann asked Paul anxiously.
"It never does,” he told her.
"Maybe we should figure out how to get on the roof,” was Alex's reply to Paul's words.
"Good call,” Paul said, clapping him on the back. “Joann, can you keep an eye on the doors while me and Alex check out the roof?"
She nodded tersely.
"Dammit!" MJ yelled, his sweat soaked back to the trio.
"You alright?" Alex asked.
MJ turned towards them and held up a circuit board with a soldering iron clearly infused with the green plastic.
"Can you fix it?" Paul was concerned. The sound box had saved them once and there was no reason to think it couldn’t do it again if MJ could get it to work.
"I can’t fix this,” MJ said in disgust, pulling the iron away from the plastic casing. “I can rebuild it but I lost all that time.” "Then why are you wasting more time talking about it?" Joann asked.
"You know, not everyone likes a New York attitude,” MJ said to her as he sat back down and began to get the pieces he needed out of his Radio Shack bags.
"I can help,” April told MJ.
"I'd rather you watch the door with Mouth over there,” MJ said peevishly.
April stomped away and Joann laughed. “I think I got under his skin,” she said to Paul and Alex.
"Whatever gets him working,” Paul said. “We'll be right back. Grab a gun, if we hear a shot we'll stop whatever we're doing and be here as quick as we can.” Mrs. Deneaux walked up the main passageway, cigarette in hand as if she were on stroll through the streets of Paris, grabbing a small revolver as she walked past the weapons Alex had deposited on the couch in his haste to help rearrange the furniture.
"You know how to use that thing?" Joann asked her.
"Don’t be silly, I was the State Champion in 1964,” Mrs. Deneaux replied, yellow tobacco stained teeth showing in her attempt at a smile. It looked more like a dog getting ready to strike with her teeth clenched that tightly together.
"That smile looks kind of painful,” Alex remarked.
"Go and find us a way out of here.” She motioned them off with the wave of the gun.
"Got another cigarette?" Joann asked.
"Oh honey, of course I do, but I'm not sharing,” Mrs. Deneaux said as she took another long drag, making sure that the majority of exhaled smoke went in Joann's direction.