Zombie Fallout 2 by Mark Tufo Page A

nearly severed what my priest had circumcised 44 years ago. ‘Alright enough with the surprises.’ I walked back towards the rear of the truck to see who would be popping out of the back like a rabbit from a magician’s hat. Mostly to gauge our strength but partly to see what other malcontents might make themselves known. I looked into the murky interior, hoping that Jed had somehow managed to get aboard. Unless he was cowering behind the near catatonic April, this wasn’t going to be the case. In this new reality I would more likely expect to see Fritzy (the zombie rapist I killed in the cat suit) than my unexpected ally Jed. Close to April, pushed against the back of the truck was Little Turtle’s guest greeter, Joann, and she was clutching on to a small group of children, three I thought but I wasn’t completely sure. I wasn’t even sure if they were hers, not that it mattered though, it seemed like a pretty symbiotic relationship. They clutched each other so tightly, I thought it might take acetone to release them. Bad analogy I know, I was going with the whole super glue thing. Anyway, no immediate help from that small scrum. Next was Igor, the Russian gate guard, he was sleeping comfortably against the left side of the truck with what appeared to be a bottle of vodka held firmly in his left hand. That was a welcome surprise, he was a little older and a little overweight, but I thought I’d be able to trust him in a fight. Provided, of course, that he stayed awake. And then my eyes widened.
    “Hi, neighbor happy to see me?” Jen asked.
    ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Besides Alex and his recovering wife, we had five small kids, a waifish woman that was holding on to two of the kids not in Joann's clutches, one uber-bitch, two women Joann and April, that had checked out and most likely needed an intravenous dose of xanax, uber-bitch’s nephew that looked like he would be more comfortable counting zombies than killing them, a giant black man that I was more than convinced wanted to break me in half, a drunk Russian and then the kicker my lesbian neighbor Jen. Don’t get me wrong it’s not that I don’t like lesbians, hell I want to be one. It’s just that Jen had pretty much told me that she no longer had the will to live and to top it off she proved she was useless in a fight, having cowered in the truck on the day we had made a stop at the local National Guard armory.
    Paul pressed on my shoulder as he jumped from the back. “Thanks man.” He said.
    “Yeah any time I can be of help.” I answered never taking my eyes of Jen.
    “Well are you going to help a lady down, or are you just going to keep staring at me?” Jen asked as she held her hand out to me.
    “Why are you in the truck?” I asked. It came out before I could stop it. It sure as hell wasn’t the politically correct thing to say but, man, I really wanted to know.
    She pulled her hand back as if it had been stung. “Listen Mike, I know how you feel about me.” She started.
    ‘Jen if you had any idea of how I felt about you, you’d be over there huddling with the others.’ I wanted to say it, my inner demons screamed to say it, my immature side cried to say it, my socially conscious, higher civility reasoning, stupid jerk other side had a different thought on the matter.
    She continued. “I want revenge Mike.”
    “Jen we’ve had this conversation before.” Her eyes teared up a bit, friggen women they always know which damn buttons of mine to push. Maybe I should stop wearing mine on my sleeve. If I put them under my jacket they’d be a little tougher to get to. I pursed my lips, and shook my head.
    She seemed to take that as an acknowledgement that it was okay to continue, uninterrupted. “When we got back that day, I sat in my and Jo’s bedroom. Most of the time it was with a .32 caliber pushed to my temple.” I involuntarily blew out air. “I just wanted it to be over, the pain, the hopelessness, everything. I mean what