Zombie Fallout 9 by Mark Tufo Page A

asked.
    â€œFannie is scorched earth. Erin has snapped. Paul’s death broke something inside of her. She’s not the first person to turn to religion in times of great need.”
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with turning to religion, but not with a blind eye.” BT said with a fair degree of wisdom.
    â€œNow what?” Ron asked.
    â€œNow we go the fuck home, I suppose.”
    â€œDon’t seem so depressed about it, little brother.”
    â€œI’m not, just trying to wrap my head around what just happened. Of all the scenarios that played out in my head, this wasn’t one of them. And that’s not even taking into account the phantom phone call.”
    â€œWhat?”
    BT filled him in. I was still trying to come to terms with just letting my best friend’s wife go with a religious cult to the God-friendly, zombie-free country of Cuba.
    â€œPhantom, my ass.” Ron had gone to the shed after we watched Fannie and her flock leave. An entire wall was devoted to electronic equipment. Must have been some sort of way to communicate with other parks or something.
    â€œWhy lie about it?” I asked, turning the power knob just to make sure it worked. It crackled to life like only a piece of equipment with tubes can.
    â€œCome in Talbot household, or I will use the force on you.” I used my best Darth Vader impression, which left a lot to be desired. Should have went with Rambo; at least that is passable.
    â€œUncle Mike?” It was Melissa, Ron’s daughter. She was apparently tending the radio.
    â€œMelissa, I am your uncle.” I kept continuing with my charade.
    â€œYou all right? You sound like you got a bad cold. Maybe you should gargle with some salt water.”
    â€œForget it. Everything all right up there?”
    â€œYeah, everything is good, although Meredith called me a be-otch, so I was just about to smack her arm, and then my mother came in and she shouted at us to behave like young women….”
    I’d forgotten Melissa’s proclivity to talk at ninety words a second and for stretches of ten minutes or more at a time. If I didn’t sneak in our status soon, I could be here for the remainder of the day looking for an opening.
    â€œEverything’s fine. Heading home now!” I shouted and put the microphone down and backed away quickly.
    Ron grabbed the microphone. “Love you!” he said real fast and did the same as I did.
    We could still hear her talking. “…and then there was the cat. She went….” I walked out of the hut.

7
Mike Journal Entry 7
    F or all the crap we’d gone through just to get to Erin and then semi-rescue her, we’d somehow been given a pass to get back home. The only part that was relatively disturbing was the large bloodstain and discarded bones of the man I’d previously set free. I could only hope I hadn’t sent Erin off to the same fate. It was late by the time we got back to Ron’s. I’d say after midnight, if I had to guess. We were halted by a spot light that I’m sure was baking my face and that authoritative voice of Arnold Schwarzenegger telling us to halt.
    â€œIt’s Gary, right? It has to be Gary,” I said.
    â€œIt’s us!” I said, getting out of the car, making sure my hands were high over my head, although Gary was more inclined to ask a bunch of questions before he shot, so I was somewhat safe.
    â€œWhere’s the truck?” It was that same Arnold, halting, accented language, and it was amplified to ear shredding decibels.
    â€œDon’t ask.” Ron had got out as well.
    â€œI did not say move.”
    â€œYou’d better shut off whatever the hell thing Mad Jack gave you. And that light, feel like I’m getting a sunburn.”
    â€œYou are no fun.” He said into the Arnold translator before we heard the squelch of the electronic equipment being switched off. His spotlight dimmed but had not