Judgment Day: Part 28
Okay, back to this. Here’s part 28 of my unedited novel that I wrote during a drinking binge in 2002. Suck it down!
Azizi dropped back and Daryl waited for Martin to get far enough ahead before he spoke, his voice barely audible over the whispering rain, “Those things can overpower us, outsmart us.”
Azizi leaned forward, “Daryl, We have two choices. We can embrace the change and try to carve out new lives, or we can let the horror overwhelm us and go nuts. Martin and I have been talking alot about this.”
“And what conclusion have you two reached? Something crazy?”
Azizi waved his hand dismissively, “Martin is Martin. We know how to handle him. But these things are on the move, Daryl. We noticed that from hour one. What if we do have a chance to sober these fucking monsters up?”
“This is a mistake, Aziz. We need to run.”
“You’re not going far with that girl in your arms.”
They came up to the front doors, where Martin waited impatiently. “Be sure to get her as wet as possible. I think pneumonia’s better than a concussion.”
Daryl walked into the great hall and Azizi wheeled an uncomfortable antique couch around so it sat in the center, clawed wooden feet against the hardwood floors. Daryl put Molly down on the thin cushions and covered her in the blankets that Azizi handed him.
“I don’t know what to do if she’s sick,” he muttered.
“We have books,” Martin said from the shadows by the side door. He closed it against the rainy night and punched the wall brutally. A row of chandeliers burst to life, bringing the great hall to life. Daryl was frozen for a moment, spinning around, his mouth open. Martin and Azizi had been busy. The great hall was filled with boxes – weapons, camping equipment, foodstuffs. It looked as if the two had spent their time raiding the countryside.
Martin paced over to a stack of crates nearly as tall as he was, his boots echoing coldly. He slapped the plywood and grinned malevolently. “The shit hit the fan, D. One minute, everything’s cool, the next – chaos.” He spoke dramatically, whispering the last. Then, as if monsters weren’t bad enough, we run into a bunch of yahoo good old boy fucks who had decided to pass the time shooting at anything that moves. Really cramped Azizi’s ideas.”
Daryl looked over at Azizi, who stood behind the couch, bent over, cleaning the blood off of Molly’s face. He didn’t look up, but he softly said, “Looting Best Buy.”
“Looting!” Martin shouted. “A great idea. Though, after getting our asses shot at and chased by demons, I rather figured we’d be a bit more constructive with our looting.”
“Apparently, Martin’s been planning the end of the world since he got beat up in third grade.” Azizi said.
Martin rolled his eyes, “Right, laugh it up. I kept my head – you were ready to hang yourself in the shower.”
Daryl knelt beside Molly, put a hand on her forehead, and her eyes opened slightly. “Hello.” He said.
“Dreaming?” she asked.
She exhaled and closed her eyes, then covered them with her hand. “Light.”
“She’s okay,” Azizi said, “Let’s go into the kitchen and let her rest a bit.
Daryl walked over to Martin, heading to the bank of light switches on the wall by the side door, when the words stenciled on the crates caught his eye. He jerked to a stop, turned shakily to Martin and swallowed.
Martin only smiled in return, caressed the top most box and nodded.
“Property of the National Guard, Marty? Those are guns!”
“Serious ones.” Azizi replied, going to the light switches as Daryl had intended and dimming the chandeliers until the great hall was once again a maze of shadows.
“I’ve passed by that National Guard armory on Cherry Hill Road every goddamned day for the last 4 years.” Martin said defensively. “We hit that and the cop station in Glenmont. It’s not as much as you think.”
“You’re dangerously out of control, Martin.”
“What? Because of the guns? We’ll need them. Hell, you were blasting away just 20 minutes ago, me laddo. Or were you not paying attention back there when those things tried to swiss cheese you? Jesus.”
“We have another Humvee and a SWAT van up in the eastern parking lot,” Azizi chirped happily. “We need more drivers, I guess, but I like the SWAT van.”
“We should be hoarding food and water and books on how to live in–”
“You’re right Daryl,” Martin said seriously, “A normal person, when attacked by mutant jellyheads after the apocalypse, usually spends his time saving hamsters.
“Anyway, let your girl sleep. The three of us need to talk about building the new world order.”
“What if she has a concussion?” Daryl asked as Martin led the way to the kitchen.
“I got a book on shit like that. We can figure it out.” Azizi said.
“Does she have one?” Martin asked.
“I don’t know, ask her.”
“You’re a bitch, Daryl.”
“So what’s your crazy plan?” Daryl asked.
“Did I suggest that I had a crazy plan?” Martin said. A set of double doors took them into a full service kitchen that looked able to handle an event with 300 people or more. Martin hit the lights and they blazed on, gleaming off of tile and chrome. The kitchen was in impeccable condition.
“So you’re collecting guns and ammo and hanging out here for…?”
“For fun, Daryl, for fun. Hey, where do you think they keep those battlefield nuclear weapons around here?”
“Maybe put some ice on her head…” Azizi suggested.
“Who?” martin asked.
“The girl!” Azizi snapped.
“I still don’t see how Daryl rates an apocalypse girl.”
“Maybe he got to the store before you did.” Azizi said, “What number do you have?”
“Anyway, the guns. We should be ready for anything,” Martin said to Daryl.
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