Eventually, we all settled down and everyone reengaged in our previous routines. If anything, Kira became even more attentive and loving as her pregnancy advanced. The idea of being a birth father was new to me, and I truly looked forward to the birth of our first children.
Kira's fifteen year old daughter Paige slept in a small room next to ours, and she and I got along well. I felt totally surprised and flattered one evening when Paige called me Dad for the first time. After she used that endearing term several more times, I reciprocated by calling her Daughter. She grinned widely, and from then on we were a close-knit family anxiously waiting for our newest members.
We had good reason to anticipate more births at Deliverance over the next few years. Grace Abbot and Martin Radcliff Jr. had been observed spending a lot of time together, and the rumor mill said they'd been seen embracing and smooching on more than one occasion. I was pleased with Grace’s progress over the past year from being a trouble-making hard case to a caring and dependable young woman. Kira and Vivian Alverez played a major role in Grace's transformation by taking her under their tutorage and not backing off until they got the desired results.
Kira told me in the strictest of confidence that Vivian had her sights set on Shane, my best friend. His wife, Janice, died the previous fall during an attack by a group of paramilitary rogues who intended to wrest Deliverance from us. During a heated battle, we lost four good people but ultimately won the conflict in spite of the high cost. I knew from watching Shane's reaction when Vivian was around that he was attracted to her. Kira and I felt a relationship was soon to blossom and be acknowledged by the couple.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The second week of April, Kira and I made a trip to Cedar Rapids with two companions. We were looking for clothing articles for the entire group. Our plan was to accumulate clothing for all seasons including, shirts, pants, socks, shoes, underwear and outerwear. We weren't primarily concerned about sizes because everything was going into a communal storage where anyone could take whatever they wanted that fit. We enforced mandatory exercise programs, and Ira encouraged all of us to control our weight, so we rejected only the XX and XXX plus sizes.
Kira sat in the back seat of the crew cab pickup with me. Verlie Halcom rode shotgun across from our driver Sam Williams. The twenty-foot enclosed trailer behind us was close to half full after two stops at Farm and Home stores. We went after rugged work type clothes, not dress outfits or even what had been considered casual dress. Jeans, sturdy shirts and shoes and boots offered enough style for the fragile existence we all led.
We approached a large shopping mall with three large chain department stores listed on the huge sign near the street. Sam spoke, "Look up ahead. Two people are being attacked by a fair sized group of zombies."
A pickup and trailer sat straight ahead on the far side of the street. As we closed the distance, I saw a scissors-type jack had raised the rear end of the Ford pickup. A tire lay flat on the ground off the hub.
A man and woman stood against the street side of the pickup firing rifles at a group of zombies charging toward us. We stopped in the right lane and exited our truck. Another small mob of undead hustled toward us from straight ahead.
I directed our people, "You three start on the new bunch while I join the other people before they're overrun. Watch your backs." I ran across the two center lanes to approach the middle-aged plus couple. The man heard me coming and drew a pistol as he turned. Gunfire from my companions erupted and blotted out other sounds. He raised the large bore revolver and pointed it at my chest. His beard and hair matched his grubby clothing.
I stopped in my tracks. "Whoa! I'm human, and I'm here to help." My rifle was in my hand at my side. I slowly advanced to stand beside the man. "Let's shoot zombies, not each other."
He didn't speak, but quickly turned to work his lever-action carbine to shoot at the undead. I took a deep breath as I wondered what the hell was wrong with him. Surely, he'd heard our diesel engine truck stop behind them. The woman beside him stopped firing to change magazines, and then the three of us continued to mow down the horde until it was a small group. Finally, all the undead lay immobile on the ground.
Gunfire behind us slacked and finally stopped. I spun around completely and didn't see any more zombies running toward us.
I extended my hand. "Tom Jacobs."
The man gave me a harsh glare before his right hand met mine. "John Mitchell and my wife Bea." He broke our hand clasp quickly and turned to his wife. "I'll go look for a tire. Watch yourself."
Before he could walk away, I said, "I have two spare tires, you're welcome to one. It's dangerous to be out alone or to leave your wife here alone. I'll replace it later."
My crew stood beside me. John scowled and spit on the road. "Don't need no help. I'll go find one." I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Let's go. If he doesn't want help it's time to leave."
Bea yelled, "Damn it John, take the tire so you don't have to leave me here by myself. I'm scared and want to get on home."
John stopped in his tracks, spun on his heels, and stomped back to Bea. He stopped right up against her and she backed up a step. "You don't yell and curse at me like that, woman. You know your place."
I motioned for our group to step away. "We're leaving now. Do you want the tire or not? It's a Ford wheel so I'm sure it'll fit." John broke his glare at Bea and turned on me. "Yeah, throw it out, and I'll get it in a minute." Angrily, he started inserting bullets into the tube of the carbine.
Sam said, "I can give you a hand putting it on, if you like."
John turned to Sam hatefully. "I don't need no damn help putting a wheel on. I'll take the tire, but if you try to follow me, I'll shoot you dead. Leaving us alone is the safest thing you can do for yourselves."
Kira took my rifle when I handed it toward her. The tire and steel wheel were heavy as I wrestled the spare over the side of the bed and let it drop onto the road's surface. It bounced twice before falling over where I left it lie. "Let's go. We've wasted enough time here."
Sam started the engine and drove a short way before he made a right turn into the mall parking lot. Verlie turned to Kira. "How would you like that ole loon for a mate?"
Kira didn't smile. "I'd shoot that old bastard. No one should have to live with a nutcase like that. He didn't even have enough sense to say thanks after we helped with the zombies or offered the new tire and wheel."
I looked at Kira and in a deep voice said, "I'm a gonna have to teach you your place, old woman."
Sam guffawed and Verlie said, "Good luck with that, Tom Jacobs. You'll need it to tame this one."
Kira slapped my leg, and we all had a good laugh and forced the grouchy, chauvinist pig, John Mitchell, from our thoughts.
For the rest of the day we shopped at two major department stores and took our pick of jeans, and every article of clothing and accessories to go with them. When we left we were in such a good mood we even stopped several times to make long distance head shots on zombies up to half a block away. They weren't a danger to us at that distance, but it was a fresh experience to shoot the stinking monsters for the fun of it instead of always reacting to escape their formidable group attacks.
We were all relaxed. A conversation many weeks ago with Frances filled my mind. I relayed it to the other three passengers. "She was adamant on noticing the original rotted zombies simply fall to the ground and stay there." I slowed the truck. "I'm seeing something here that may support what she said. Look out across the ground in this wooded section. A few zombie bodies are scattered out as far as you can see. They're not in groups as we normally find them when they attack us, so I doubt they've been shot. The reason we see them is because few weeds and scrubby bushes grow under the summer canopy of leaves. I'm thinking, if we walked out through the weed covered fields, we'd find zombies without damaged brains lying there where they've dropped."
Thoughtful stares converged on me. "Let's watch closely on the way home and see if we observe the
undead dropping for no reason."
Over the next three hours, we witnessed two zombies drop to the ground without being shot. Neither rose back up.
Shane came to me at the end of April. He was responsible for planting this year’s crops and had the ground tilled and ready. We'd taken over surrounding farm land that lay fallow beside ours for the past three years. Tending a five acre apple and peach orchard, sixty acres of wheat, twenty acres of field corn, one acre of oats, two acres of potatoes, one acre of sweet corn, and a four acre vegetable garden required long hours from all our members, me included. Since there were no longer any grocery stores or farmer's markets, we realized we could work to feed ourselves or we'd starve.
The previous harsh winter froze and ruined most of the canned foods packed in liquid that still remained in grocer's warehouses. In addition, lack of roof maintenance caused leaks that destroyed or badly damaged other dry foods like pasta, cake mixes, tea bags and dry cereals. Now it was up to us to provide as many of the basic cooking ingredients as we could. John Alton designed large root cellars for the storage of root type vegetables like potatoes, turnips, and carrots. We scavenged wooden barrels for storing apples and pears like pilgrims had in the past.
One of the books we borrowed from a library described in a short paragraph the methods of food preservation we would need to employ:
In 1815, most Americans ate what they grew or hunted locally. Corn and beans were common, along with pork. In the north, cows provided milk, butter, and beef, while in the south, where cattle were less common, venison and other game provided meat. Preserving food in 1815, before the era of refrigeration, required smoking, drying, or salting meat. Vegetables were kept in a root cellar or pickled.
As a group, we had our work cut out for us. It was learning by success and failure or go hungry. Luckily, we had an experienced farmer in our midst. Tony Osmond grew up on a family farm in the region and came to us after his parents and a younger sister fell victim to the zombies. I expected Tony and Shana Thompson to move in together at any time and add to the list of potential parents that continued to grow. Since a civil authority no longer existed to record marriage contracts, all of us who desired to mate simply cohabitated with a like-minded person of our choice.
On the third day of May, a Wednesday, Barney "Pops" Halcom, James Butler and Barbara Bales left Deliverance to search for horse-drawn farm equipment. They planned to make stops along route 59 North to Worthington, Minnesota, and then return on Route 71. They would stop at farms along the way hoping some of the farmers had preserved equipment passed down through their families. After recording a list of any suitable equipment they found, trucks and trailers would be scheduled to gather the items.
Before supper time, the Ford pickup they'd left in sped up the gravel drive to Deliverance creating a dust cloud behind it. I heard panic in James voice on the radio. "This is James. Whoever is on the watchtower, open the gate. I need Tom and the leadership committee to meet us ASAP. Pop was shot, he's dead."
Morgan and I were the first to arrive. Shane, Andrea, John, and Ed trailed only a minute behind us. Barbara's eyes blazed red and she began to cry as we gathered. "Somebody shot Grandpa for no reason. They just ambushed us and killed him for the hell of it."
Verlie came out when the committee was requested because Barb was her daughter, and Barney was Morgan's father. She hugged Barbara close and took her inside. Many of our people exited the building and stood by.
James stood by Morgan. "I'm so sorry Morgan. There was nothing we could do. They just shot Pop. We didn't do anything to them, weren't even near them." Tears ran down Morgan's cheeks, but a hard glint shown in his eyes.
"James," I requested, careful to keep my tone firm yet sympathetic, "start at the beginning and tell us everything that happened."
"We'd been stopping at farms along the highway and found a couple of things to bring back. The list is in the back seat. We were near the state line, about ten or so miles south of it when we crested a small rise and saw three stinky smellies standing in the road. They were about two hundred yards off. Pop stopped the truck and grabbed that old Remington 700 he's partial to. He opened the door, dropped the glass and put the rifle through the opening. He dropped all three of those zombies one right after the other, no misses. Then we heard another shot from a distance off, and Pop kind of grunted before he dropped to the ground. A blacktop road ran off the highway we were on and up a ways to a little hill. A dark blue truck sat there, a Dodge I'm sure. Barb and me were on the passenger side of the truck watching Pop shoot. We ducked down as two more shots were fired. I heard air bleeding out of a tire. They shot the front left tire. Me and Barb shot back and both of us emptied our mags before that truck took off and went flying over the hill. I don't know if we hit anybody, but I'm positive that truck's got a whole bunch of holes in it."
We'd just suffered another senseless loss of life to some lowlife outlaw scum. And there wasn't a thing we could do about it. We had no idea who it was or where they were from. The worst part was it could happen again at anytime. There was no way we could stay close to Deliverance and not venture out for items we needed.
I went to the office and told Kira, Vivian, and Elsie Talbot what had happened. It was time to knock off for supper, so Vivian and Elsie left Kira and me alone.
I felt dejected and angry at the loss of Pops. "He was a great guy, always ready to tell a joke, take part in whatever was being done or help think of a better way of doing something. It's unfathomable that someone would murder him for no reason; in effect it was a thrill killing. I didn't know him very long, but I'll miss him."
Kira nodded as she sat in a chair to rest. Being on her feet for long periods was getting harder. "So will his family. They all loved him and looked up to him. He was an outstanding family patriarch. We'll all miss him. That said, you now have to put it behind you and move on."
"I know, and I will. But it's so senseless. I accept death at the hands of the zombies. They're our enemies and we know the danger of encountering them. It's a fact of life today. But there was no reason, except for plain meanness, to kill an innocent man who wasn't a threat to his killer. What the hell goes through the minds of people like that? If I had that bastard here right now I'd gladly put a bullet through his head and the heads of any more like him. That behavior is animalistic and disgusting. The sad truth is we're likely to see more of that kind of stupidity since protective authority is gone."
Kira moved to sit on my lap, and I rubbed her expansive belly. "There have always been people like that, and they'll always exist. They're called serial killers. Law enforcement couldn't prevent them in the past, and now without the law they feel free to do as they please. If there's such a thing as true justice, we'll eventually learn who they are and deal with them."
She kissed me, and I hugged her tightly. "I love you, woman. Thanks for letting me blow off pressure. I'm not real hungry, but let's grab a bite before the kitchen closes."
Barely a month later we were awakened just hours after going to bed when the inside emergency alarm sounded. It was ten minutes after two in the morning by the alarm clock beside our bed. Kira and I each swung out of bed and dressed as fast as possible. The guard in the northwest tower repeated the message that something was going on near the barn: dogs were going crazy, barking and growling and several howls ended in pitiful yelps.
Minutes later, we gathered with the other first arrivals at the north walk-in door. Everyone quieted as I surveyed the gathering and decided a course of action. "Shane, take charge here. Get everyone I don't take to battle stations on the second floor. This could be a diversion to draw us out and then attack. Spread out around the building. Don't let everyone watch us, check the whole area until we get back. When we get near the gate unlock it and then lock it behind us. Be ready to turn on the lights surrounding the barn when I call for it." He nodded. "I want Ed, Marcie, Martin Jr., Vince, Sam, Kelly and Vernon with me. Spread out ten feet apart, and don't bunch up. I don't know w
hat we're up against so be ready to hit the ground in the gardens and crawl back here if we come under fire. Let's go."
We did a fast jog in the dark toward the small walk-in gate. A metallic click signaled that it unlocked as we drew close. The large horse and cattle barn sat two hundred yards off as we started our jog anew. The end of June temperature was mild, and a slight breeze blew from the southwest in the early morning hours under a full moon. Our pack of dogs was still raising Cain. They sounded to be past the barn and near the chicken pen. A hundred feet from the imposing two-story metal barn we stopped, and I closed my eyes as I called for the flood lights to be turned on. Slowly I raised my eyelids and squinted. Figures moving past the end of the barn were now bathed in light. They were near the chicken pen. We were close enough by then to hear the nervous sounds of livestock inside the barn. The presence of something they perceived to be a threat had upset them greatly as they pawed the ground and kicked the restraining boards to get free. My first thought was zombies; humans attacking wouldn't upset them to that degree. But that seemed unlikely since zombies usually only attacked humans.
We split into two groups and scurried around both sides of the barn. I took the west side and skirted the pens attached to the barn. One ornery old Jersey cow no one could control lunged against the pen's fence boards as she tried to escape. Her mooing was frantic and high pitched as she constantly ran and hurled herself at the restrictive barrier.
Near the end of the fence, we spotted the reason for the commotion. Two zombies were actively engaged by six or more dogs. One male zombie had a full grown German Shepherd in its hands gnawing on the carcass as he kicked and growled at the other attacking dogs. I thought of the old Frankenstein movies I'd seen as a boy, but this was real. Both zombies were full-bodied. At the chicken pen, the gate had been forced open, and four more zombies had invaded that pen. Shots rang out as Ed's group opened fire. My group cut loose seconds later, and both zombies under attack by the dogs dropped to the ground. As they fell, the dogs swarmed on them tearing flesh and yapping wildly. At the sound of gunshots, the four undead in the chicken pen bolted for the entrance gate. I vaguely noticed several lumps of feathery globs in the chicken yard as I sighted on zombies. Two of the chicken thieves were slender and naked, a male and a female. As they ran, they bobbed and weaved and streaked to the safety of the dark woods despite the hail of lead we threw at them. The other two zombies succumbed to our hell fire of bullets for a total of four down. The ones we'd stopped were clothed in filthy, tattered, rags.
Outnumbered series Box Set | Vols. 1-6 Page 21