ZNIPER: A Sniper’s Journey Through The Apocalypse.

by Ward III, C.

  Victor left them to enjoy their creation. Walking down the street were a couple of older gentlemen he recognized as farm tractor operators. “Hi, guys. What’s happening?” Victor asked the joyous men.

  “We have some fantastic news for the council. You’re not going to believe our luck. Earlier at the distribution center, we were prepping more shipping containers to pull into town for the wall when we found a couple too heavy to lift. Canned goods! Packed full of food that was in transit to a grocery store somewhere. We spent all morning dispersing the pallets into a manageable transportation weight. Our container-wagon train is parked out by the south gate right now with enough supplies to last us at least a few weeks, if not months!”

  Victor couldn’t believe it. The undernourished citizens had been rationing food for so long that there was not a single overweight person in this small town. Starving to death during the winter was their biggest fear, even more so than Grays or marauder attacks. The container could be full of cat food and he’d still have been happy. Lost for words and almost becoming emotional, Victor could only shake their hands in triumph for the magnificent find.

  Lost in a euphoric daydream, Victor strolled toward the wall. He climbed up to the elevated GP9 position, greeted the guard, and then started walking along the shipping-container tops to where the improvement work was being conducted. He was surprised to see Curtis on top of the wall. “What brings you out here?” Victor asked.

  “I have an idea to help with defensive fortifications. I came to ask Raymond his opinion before I begin implementation.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Victor said, raising an eyebrow. “Care to share?”

  “It’s a surprise. You’ll have to wait until it’s done,” Curtis teased.

  “Huh. You know I hate waiting and can’t stand not knowing a secret. Speaking of which, my birthday is coming up. Did you get me a present?” Victor poked his son.

  “I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

  “You’re no fun,” Victor said, joking with his son. “Are you staying up here? I’m going to go down to give those guys a hand for a while. Could you cover us while you are contemplating my birthday present?”

  Victor swung a leg over the edge of the wall and spider-dropped only a couple of feet to the soft ground below. He picked up a lonely machete and began helping the working party by chopping down tall thin poplar-tree saplings.

  “It’s about time you showed up and did some work,” Raymond commented deprecatingly.

  “Oh, please!” Victor rebutted. “I don’t see a tool in your hand. Not a sweat stain on you.”

  “Someone has to wear the white hat. Keep these slackers on track,” Raymond argued back. There weren’t too many people brave enough to argue back with the rugged Raymond. After several years of likeminded military service, Victor understood Raymond’s dry sense of humor. Most of the time, when Raymond made a rude or derogatory remark, Victor knew he was secretly hoping someone would fire insults right back at him.

  “Where are you placing all these punji sticks?” Victor asked, swinging his machete.

  “Anywhere around the wall that doesn’t offer substantial standoff distance. If I were to attack this place, I’d use those abandoned buildings and thick vegetation to mask my movement, to get as close as possible, without being detected. I’m guessing the Grays do the same. That is where we’re placing the impaling stakes. At night, the beasts and raiders will run right into them.”

  “It should definitely help,” Victor agreed.

  “We’ll see,” Raymond said, unconvincingly. “It can’t hurt to try.”

  “Hi, handsome. I thought that you were bringing me some dinner?” Erica asked with a rumbling belly as Victor entered her makeshift hospital room.

  “I brought you something better. This fancy, shiny wheelchair that matches those beautiful sparkling eyes of yours,” Victor said with a wink.

  “Diarrhea! You two are gross,” Zavier said, making a fake gagging motion.

  Victor smiled at them both. “Doc said that your stitches are looking good, with no signs of infection. So you can get out of here, but only if you behave and don’t try standing on it. He prescribed Trioxin 2-4-5 to fight infection and some mild pain-management meds. Would you care to join me at the community dinner?”

  The diner parking lot had a few new shipping containers, side by side, which Victor assumed held their new food supplies. Along with the town’s miniscule winter surplus, these food containers would need to be carefully guarded at all times. He pushed Erica in her wheelchair to the end of a picnic table where Curtis and Michael had saved them a seat. They ate a light meal made up of diluted vegetable-beef stew and a cornmeal-type of bread while casually talking. Glancing up from his bowl, Victor sensed something was wrong.

  Erica felt odd. She felt like she didn’t belong there. After being alone in the woods with only Kevin for so long, the large crowd of people was overwhelming. She felt guilty for being clean, in new clothes, and eating a warm meal that she didn’t have to forage for herself. Her back felt light without her backpack, but she felt comfort when feeling the cold metal of the pistol on her thigh. She didn’t feel safe, and she glanced over her shoulder occasionally to check her six.

  Victor startled her when he placed his hand on hers, looking into her uneasy eyes. “You are safe here. Tomorrow, I’ll show you the security measures we have put in place. We all play a part here, and so will you. All these people need you and your knowledge.” Victor comforted her, seeing right through her anxiety. He’d returned home from countless deployments overseas, feeling the same apprehension.

  Mrs. Cloud, sitting at the next table, was describing to Sheriff Bohner a bizarre scene they had found at the jail a couple of days prior. Victor and Erica turned their heads to better hear the conversation.

  Someone had been in the holding area. A crowbar was found on the floor along with a pile of ashes, which they had assumed to be from the missing blackout curtain. In the exposed holding cell was a deceased Gray. What happened, exactly, was unclear. However it was quite obvious that an unauthorized person had snuck into the jail and was now potentially infected inside the town. They needed to brief the council at tonight’s meeting.

  Erica looked to Victor as if she wanted to say something, but instead, she quietly took in and analyzed the information. She’d get more answers soon enough.

  Afterward, as the sun began to set, Victor wheeled Erica across the street to Art’s new communication station that had been gradually upgraded to offer soft LED lighting, cozy paintings on the wall, and several chairs. The entire town council was seated, plus essential department heads.

  The low murmur in the room quieted immediately when Art unplugged his headphones from the tabletop HAM Radio and turned up the speaker box.

  “Good evening. This is Elizabeth Corrin bringing you another BBN global news report.

  “Parliament has announced that fuel rationing will be discontinued after this weekend. The energy crisis has been thwarted while middle eastern regions begin to stabilize as Russian military focus on providing security for OPEC production. The league of Arabs is rumored to be drafting a multinational cease-fire declaration of surrender.

  “Simultaneously, the IMF and World Bank declared BRICS currency has stabilized, as eighty-five percent of the world’s nations are currently invested in the BRICS monetary system with gold reserves or natural resources.

  “Humanity is ending one historic atrocity only to face another. The viral pathogen plaguing the Americas has crossed the Panamanian-quarantine barricade, forcing Brazil to evacuate continuity of government officials to Cuba. Likewise, South Africa is rumored to follow suit, as the World Health Organization is reporting major outbreaks quickly spreading throughout Sudan, Ethiopia, Kenya, and Tanzania. The WHO and BRICS alliances have requested EU military forces to reposition across North Africa and to increase Mediterranean naval patrols to enforce the largest quarantine in human history.

  “On the West Coast of the U
nited States, Russian security forces now outnumber Chinese aid workers three to one, provoking questions from the United Nations security council regarding the BRICS peacekeeping strategies.

  “Unofficial civilian reports from North America are describing unfathomable, hellish conditions, a complete social and government collapse, which beg the questions: where are the American Atlantic and Pacific naval fleets? And the unsolved mystery of US military forces disappearances in Japan, Afghanistan, Iraq, and Germany?

  “Strategists suggest that some American military units disbanded, then blended into the local populations. There are reports from the Middle-East of rogue US special forces units fighting a guerrilla war against terrorists. Some American service members pledged their service to British and French commanders, while others suggest small pockets of deployed American military units are making their way home by any means possible.

  “Now for some good news: Barcelona has agreed to challenge Chelsea Football Club at Wembley Stadium next week. Manchester United has demanded a rematch after a brutal loss.”

  Jessica was quickly scribbling notes of the BBN broadcast so information could accurately be disseminated to the rest of the town. While the BBN news report was coming to an end, Art was preparing to broadcast the nightly Lake City beacon. Before he could begin, a faint voice broke through the static.

  “Hello. Hello. Is anyone out there?”

  Art tried to respond, then determined they did not have the transmitting power to reach whomever they were hearing.

  “Hello. Hello. My name is Chase Carter. I’m hiding out in the broadcast room at the University of Oregon School of Journalism.”

  Another undecipherable voice seemed to respond to the first. Art continued to twist nobs, trying to tune them in.

  “Listen, if you can hear me. I’m heading southeast toward someplace less populated. I left Seattle a few days ago, just in time too. The foreign-aid missions they speak of on the news are a complete fabrication. Russian planes are firebombing the city and those so-called Chinese humanitarians are mowing down infected crowds with machine guns. It’s complete genocide there! Nowhere is safe; there is nobody to help us.”

  There was another unreadable, scrambled voice.

  “Wyoming? Yeah, I could probably make that. Anywhere has to be better than here.”

  The transmission reception became worse, then eventually faded into static. Art pushed the talk button and began his daily script, notifying everyone of the town’s defense, security, and ability to aid. For the first time, he also reported minor scientific findings of the pathogen and defensive strategies against the Grays. Immediately after signing out, a reply came through loud, clear, and feminine.

  “Hey, neighbors. This is Mayor Madeleine Short, just north of your location. Listen, we’re not interested in relocation or joining your community, but we’d like to set up a trade agreement with you. We don’t have much, as I’m sure you don’t either, but we are in need of a doctor to visit once in a while. We have elderly folks here that could use a checkup. What do you say?”

  Art looked back at the council for advice. They all looked back and forth at each other, not knowing what to say. Even the mayor seemed taken aback.

  Victor stood up and talked into the microphone. “Mayor Short, thank you for the opportunity to trade. Let us consult our council and get back with you tomorrow.”

  “You’re welcome, neighbors. Also, be advised, the surrounding areas have become less friendly than usual. And I’m not referring to the damn zombies running around, if you catch my drift. Careful on the roads. The trouble could be spreading out toward your area.”

  “Thanks for the warning. We’ll contact you this time tomorrow. WGON, out,” Art concluded.

  Half the town had gathered around the lakeside pavilion to hear of the BBN news report from Jessica. She wondered if Art could wire up speakers from his radio receiver to the street so the population could hear the broadcast for themselves. At this time of year, the sun went down early, but with the windmill-powered battery bank, the LED lights around the pavilion offered a soothing glow that represented a hint of a rebound into modern civilization.

  After the crowd dispersed, the nightly town council came to order. “Any idea who our neighbor on the radio is?” Victor asked.

  “Madeleine Short is the mayor of Kalkaska.” The mayor answered, then continued. “She’s a good person. The town’s about thirty miles north of here. I say that we hear what they have to trade; it can’t hurt to form an alliance. I can’t force anyone to go with me, though. It might be worth going to get more information on that threat she didn’t want to elaborate more on.”

  “I agree. I will go with you, Mayor,” said Sheriff Bohner. “Speaking of trading, some local Amish trotted up to the gate today in a horse and buggy. They also wanted to trade.”

  Everyone gave the sheriff an odd glance. “What did they want?”

  “Strangely enough, guns. They wanted guns,” said the sheriff.

  “For what? I thought that they were a nonviolent society? Forbidden to do violence, even for self-protection?” Victor asked.

  “Well, that’s what I thought too. So I asked them, just out of curiosity. They have always kept rifles around their farms—not for protection but to shoot critters and pests in their crops. Apparently they no longer see late-stage Grays as human and now consider them pests who are killing their goats, cows, and even a horse. They’re requesting more modern firepower in trade of produce and livestock.”

  Several eyes drifted toward Stanly, expecting him to say something condescending regarding the killing of the infected. Everyone under the pavilion all wanted to say, See? Even the Amish have figured it out.

  But Stanly only sat quietly in the shadows, looking extremely pale and clammy, his eyes staring straight ahead.

  Sheriff Bohner continued, “I told them to come back tomorrow.”

  Raymond stepped forward, posturing. “So whose guns are you going to trade? The only extra rifles you have lying around are the ones that I brought. Those are for town defense, and they happen to defend me while I sleep peacefully. They’re not for religious nut-job farmers who barely know that we’re in the apocalypse.”

  “Maybe instead of bartering with firepower, we trade the copious amounts of hair gel you obviously have a generous supply of?” Victor grinned.

  “Let’s not get carried away, now. And don’t be envious that I can still look this good during Armageddon.” Raymond rolled his shoulders and crossed his tattooed arms, noticeably flexing.

  “We thank you for the supplies, which you negotiated fairly for the community use. This would be good for our town. The Amish are not a threat, and having livestock could mean more eggs, milk, butter, fresh meat if we’re forced to slaughter, or breeding and trading young calves next year.” The mayor argued.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Raymond said, stepping back to lean against a wooden pole, knowing the mayor had made a good argument. And besides, he had more firepower stashed away at his house in the woods by the river. His gaze lingered over Gaylen, who had cleaned up well since she had been rescued. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a fluffy white winter coat, wearing a ponytail of sandy-blonde hair pulled through the back of a camouflaged baseball hat. He gave her a little wink that was returned with a flirty smile. “If you want their animals, we should just go take them. Those black-hat loonies will be dead or infected by spring anyway.”

  The mayor rolled his eyes, knowing that Raymond was only talking a big game because he wanted everyone to remember who provided the supply. “I say we make the guns-for-livestock trade. But limit the ammunition allotment to force them to come back for more trading. Any other objections?”

  Breaking the long silence, Jessica asked those gathered around the table, “What’s your take on the reports of the West Coast?”

  “Troubling, Mrs. Holland.” Victor paused. “Most troubling, indeed.”

  “Not much we can do about it from here,” said the she
riff.

  “Until the Russians and Chinese reach the Midwest, anyway; then we’ll be needing those guns back from the Amish,” Raymond said under his breath.

  “Just another reason to reach out to the surrounding communities. If it’s true, that the federal government—and most likely state governments have collapsed—that means this town and villages like ours need to band together quickly to avoid power vacuums. The absence of legally elected government has always given birth to brutal tyrants throughout history,” the mayor lectured. “You never know. Maybe we could rebuild our society without a central government through free trade and open communication. That wouldn’t be a horrible scenario.”

  “That’s a good idea, Mayor,” Victor agreed. “The communications part. When you go off to make trade agreements, take Art with you to look at their communication equipment. If more and more communities could pass information freely back and forth using HAM radios, improved antennas with repeaters, the rebuilding process would become much easier and faster.”

  “Wait, there are zombies in Kalkaska?” Zavier asked while curled up on the couch, snuggled into Erica’s side under a thick quilted blanket.

  “No, idiot, they meant the Grays.” Sitting close to the fireplace, Michael made fun of his younger brother.

  “You’re the idiot. They said zombies, not Grays,” Zavier argued back.

  “Children, please! Out of everything we have just learned from the radio broadcast, you want to focus on what our neighbors called the infected?” Victor pleaded.