And apparently wearing them ever since, Jack thought.
“Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick. Jack, get us the fuck out of here,” Mike said.
“Okay. Let’s shimmy down. Weapons ready. And, John, it would be much appreciated if you didn’t launch that thing into my back,” Jack said, nodding toward Trip’s slingshot.
Jack secured his M-4 by his side and swung his legs onto the ladder. Looking down, he saw the milling group of zombies below become agitated as darkness settled firmly upon the land. The distant shrieks carried on the night air, drawing closer by the second. Night runners approached from the surrounding trees. The plan looked a lot different and a lot less appetizing as they descended the ladder with the inky blackness of night all around.
This looked like a much better plan during the day, Jack thought, visualizing the shake of Lynn’s head.
“I wish the moon was out so we could see a little better,” Mike said so softly that no one else could hear. “What is it about the daytime that makes plans seem all that much better? Because right now, I’m heading towards a shitload of zombies and night runners with dirty fucking underwear in one of my hands. How did that ever sound like a good idea?”
Jack looked upward, past John to where Mike was.
Can this fucker read minds? Mike thought.
“I was just thinking that.” Jack confirmed Mike’s fears.
Jack opened up and casted outward, sensing a pack of night runners closing in. He wasn’t really sure that holding up on the tower for the night wasn’t actually the better option but, here they were, and they might as well give it a try.
“We have about twenty-five night runners about to interrupt our little get-together. Are you ready for this?” Jack asked.
“No,” Mike answered honestly. “Just tell me when I can heave this thing, and we’ll go from there.”
Jack stopped about twenty feet from the ground. The reek of the dead below threatened to bring tears to his eyes, and he felt bile rise in his throat from the stench. Taking a few shallow breaths to calm himself, he sensed the pack of night runners drawing closer. They were still hidden within the dark folds of the trees, but their high-pitched screams mixed with the moaning of the zombies just beneath his feet. Hooking his legs in the rungs, he took the block of C-4 from his pocket. He then took the fuse pencil and held it at the ready.
“They’re close. Anytime will do,” Jack replied.
“Hey, Trip, can I borrow a couple of marbles?” Mike asked.
“Why? Do you just want to toss them, too?” Trip asked, still a little saddened over the prospect of losing his beloved underwear.
When Mike didn’t immediately reply, Trip began anew. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re going to toss my marbles as well!?”
“Trip, man, first off, I think you’re marbles were tossed out a long time ago, and you need to keep it down a bit. We’re kind of in a life or death situation here,” Mike said, trying to placate the man.
Mike felt a hand hit the bottom of his foot. He reached down and grabbed the handful of marbles that Trip had reluctantly handed over. Mike wrapped the underwear around the marbles for weight.
“I swear to God, if I get pink eye or something from touching these things, I’m going to be really angry. Here goes nothing.” Mike hurled the package.
The shorts, carrying the stains from years of concerts, motorcycle rides, and partying, launched into the night air. The ends not wrapped around the marbles fluttered as they sailed. They flew over the heads of the waiting zombies and came to rest just beyond the agitated horde. Night runners broke into the opening, their excited shrieks rising and their pale faces seeming to glow in the darkness. They came to a stop, lifting their noses to the night air. As one, they turned slightly and, with a scream, streaked toward the marble-filled shorts. Jack readied the fuse pencil and C-4.
Mike watched as the shorts arced into open space. The zombies, which had been mostly looking upwards as their meal came to meet them, were now somewhat distracted. They had caught scent of the stained clothing…and also something else. The night runners were coming into range. The zombies seemed torn. The trio on the side of the water tower they could still see, but they could not get. Some of the zombies peeled off, heading toward the underwear. Others ranged farther out trying to get a line of sight on the new food source.
Seeing some of the horde below streak off toward the night runners emerging from the woods, Jack slammed the pencil against one of the rungs in order to activate it. He then placed it into the block of C-4 and brought his hand back, ready to toss it.
“I’m going to get my slingshot ready,” Trip said, not really talking to anyone. With his hand, he reached in to grab a couple of pieces of his ammunition.
Jack threw the block away from the tower in the opposite direction than their intended route of flight. With the strong scent and noise from the C-4 going off, he hoped that enough of the zombies and night runners would be drawn off, allowing them to escape. There were already signs of the night runners and zombies tangling with each other near the pair of downed shorts.
“PULL!” Trip shouted.
“What the f—?” Mike began, hearing Trip shout.
He watched as Jack tossed the C-4 and Trip honed in on it with his slingshot, like it was a clay pigeon
“NO! Trip!”
But it was too late. Mike knew the second Trip released that marble that he’d strike the explosive. The guy was nearly flawless with the weapon. The marble made a solid ‘thunking’ sound as it slammed into the side of the C-4. Mike braced for the explosion he figured was coming entirely too soon. He would count his blessings if a brilliant flash didn’t melt their faces off.
“Damn, that was close.”
Mike watched the fall of the explosive as it landed by one of the support legs for the tower.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Jack said, watching the block of C-4 get knocked out of the air. “Cover yourself,” he shouted, and buried his face in his arms.
A blast shattered the air around them and the ripple of the explosion threatened to tear them from their moorings on the ladder.
“WHOA!” Trip shouted. “What a rush!”
Mike could see little more than a bright flare in his field of vision, but once his ears stopped ringing, the groan and creak of metal stressed to its capacity dominated.
“Jack, man, the tower’s gonna go! We have to get off this thing!”
“Too late. Hang on,” Jack cried out.
“You’re kidding, right? You and Trip think this shit up?” Mike asked. The tower began to lean. It was minute at first and then it became a full-fledged list. “Shit,” Mike muttered. “I always hated those dreams where I fell.”
With a shrieking twist of metal, the tower leaned farther. The support structure snapped with a loud clang. The group wrapped their legs and arms tightly around the rungs as the list became a free-for-all tumble towards the ground.
Michael Talbot — Journal Entry 7
The next twenty-four hours for me involved a death and a rebirth of sorts. The last things I remember with any clarity are Jack’s and my hastily laid plan to escape the water tower. Kind of had to like the guy, he ‘winged’ things about as much as I did. We were on that infernal ladder heading down towards a multitude of gnashing mouths. I thankfully swung Trip’s nasty pre-Reagan era underwear as far away from me as was humanly possible. It was just bad luck there was a prevailing wind that let me get one final intake of his crotch area. My last few cognizant thoughts, and one of them was going to be this? How bad must I have been in a former life that this was partial payment?