Zombie Rules (Book 7): The Fifteens

by Achord, David

  “Give us thirty minutes to do a head count. We’ll know if anyone is missing.”

  We all reconvened in Roscoe’s office and waited. Clay and I had limited interaction with each other in the past, but we’d gotten along. I would have liked to have talked to him, but with Rochelle present, I thought it better not to say anything. Several minutes later, Johnny G entered the office.

  “All are present and accounted for,” he said. Fred and I stood.

  “Alright, we’ll be going then. Please try to reassure everyone that Clay will be treated right and will get a fair trial.” And if he’s guilty, he might be hung. I did not say it aloud.

  We each put a hand under Clay’s shoulders and hoisted him into the Stryker.

  “I’ll drive,” Fred said.

  I saw they’d refueled our Stryker, thanked them, and secured the hatch.

  “I’ve never ridden in one of these,” he said. “It rides a little rougher than I would have thought.”

  “Yeah, definitely not built for comfort,” I said in agreement. “We would have brought something more comfortable to ride in, but when we heard of the possible attempt to break you out, well, you know.”

  “You two could pull over down the road and let me out. I’ll be okay,” he said.

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Clay,” I said.

  Clay’s eyes dropped to the floor of the SUV before staring back at me defiantly. “What would you have done if your daughter was raped, Zach?”

  “I’m not sure, but this isn’t about me or how I would react,” I said.

  “Well, you may not know how to react, but I’ll tell you this, no self-respecting man would have sat on their hands and done nothing.”

  I did not respond. He was right though, if someone raped my daughter, I would not hesitate to kill them. The question of the day though, was it rape? I did not know the whole story and kept my opinion to myself.

  “Let me ask you something, if you don’t mind…how did you decide to hire Senator VanAllen as your lawyer?”

  “When I was arrested, she approached my wife and offered her services.” He frowned slightly. “My wife turned her down, but then she came to me and guaranteed I wouldn’t be connected.”

  I frowned. “Do you mean convicted?”

  “Convicted, yeah.”

  I realized the man did not know much about the law but did not mention it.

  “Did she tell you specifically she was a lawyer?”

  “Yeah,” Clay answered. “She said she went to George Mason over there in Arlington.”

  “George Mason, huh?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that was supposed to have been one hell of a law school, back in the day,” he said.

  One of my hands found my chin and rubbed it thoughtfully. Somehow, that little item was not discussed when Rochelle and Gil VanAllen were brought to Mount Weather and debriefed. In fact, she had said little about her career prior to the apocalypse, but one thing I do remember is that Gil stated he graduated from the University of Virginia and that he met Rochelle in college where she was a cheerleader. I suppose it was possible she went on to law school after graduating UV. I made a mental note to follow-up on it later.

  We did not talk much after that and rode mostly in silence. We made good time and arrived at the front gate a little before twenty-hundred hours. After running the Stryker through decontamination, Fred parked it in the motor pool and the three of us walked to the main building. We headed straight for the cafeteria.

  Most people had eaten, but there was still a dozen or so hanging out, drinking tea and conversing. They lapsed into a collective silence when we walked in with Clay. I saw Rachel sitting at our table. When Fred spotted her, she smiled and waved. I pointed toward the food line.

  “C’mon, let’s get something to eat.”

  Clay did not argue and was in such a hurry almost tripped. The three of us loaded up on beef cuts, mixed vegetables, and surprisingly, they had a couple of baskets of bananas sitting out.

  “Bananas?” Clay asked. “I haven’t had any bananas in a long time.”

  “There’s a fruit farm a few miles from here. A couple of families are running it. They must have had an early harvest,” I said.

  Before sitting, I felt I needed to address our audience.

  “Everyone, this is Clay Fleming. As you already know, he’s going to stand trial for murder. Nobody is allowed to ask him any questions about his pending case. I hope everyone understands this.”

  Sitting, I introduced Clay to Rachel.

  Rachel smiled cheerily. “Fred is my sugar daddy.” She then leaned close to said sugar daddy and kissed him on the cheek. There were a few chuckles from other tables.

  I waved my hand. “This is the unofficial Tennessee table.”

  “Why is that?” Clay asked between forkfuls of food.

  “We’re the ones who came here from Tennessee, back, let’s see, almost five years ago now.”

  “Seems like a lifetime ago,” Rachel said. “Where are you from originally?”

  “South Philly,” he said. It seemed like he was going to say more but decided not to and instead dug into a banana. As we ate, Cutter walked in. He grabbed a cup of tea before joining us and sitting.

  “Heard you guys were back,” he said and then stared at Clay. “So, you killed the man who raped your daughter, huh?”

  I quickly admonished him and repeated what I had said to everyone else less than five minutes ago. Cutter tended to be crass, but he had matured a great deal over the past few years and for that I was thankful. He’d come through in tight situations over the years and had finally learned how to be a team player.

  “Whatever,” he said with a half-shrug and changed the subject. “Guess what I heard when we went up to Fort Detrick this morning?” He answered his own question before anyone had a chance to say anything. “They said Patient Zed is saying words. Not a full conversation, mind you, but she’s saying words.”

  That was not new to me, but it was confidential information. I don’t know how it had leaked out, but I wasn’t surprised.

  “How’s the zombie baby doing?” Rachel asked.

  Cutter shrugged. “Mum’s the word on the baby. Most of them think it’s dead.”

  “Zach, I bet you know all about it, don’t you,” Rachel said.

  I noticed the conversations around us had once again grown silent. Everyone was listening to us and wanted to know what I knew.

  “Yeah, what about it, Zach?” Cutter asked.

  “Mum’s the word,” I replied and stuffed a forkful of food in my mouth.

  Chapter 9 – Team Flash

  The route was rather simple. Take I-66 to Fredericksburg, get onto I-95 to Richmond, and then back onto I-64 to Virginia Beach. It was a total of 226 miles. Back before, it would have only been a four-hour trip. Flash knew there were going to be issues; bad roads, unforeseen hazards, and most of all, zeds.

  They were not issued a lot of ammo—two hundred rounds each for their long guns and an additional two hundred rounds for their handguns. A total of sixteen hundred rounds. It sounded like plenty, but he would have gladly taken another five thousand rounds, if only they had it to give.

  While Sully drove, Flash dutifully began jotting down the make and model of every derelict vehicle within eyesight. A scavenging team had found two boxes of notepads, so now every scout team leader was required to write lists of things like motor vehicles. Jorge would review the list and if he saw a vehicle that they could use for parts, he’d come get it with a tow truck. His thoughts were interrupted by Erin sighing. She’d done it a couple of times now in the past hour.

  “Is something wrong?” Flash asked.

  “She’s fretting about Kirby,” Sully said with a slight smirk.

  Flash frowned at Sully’s statement. Shortly after arriving at Mount Weather, Erin met Gunnery Sergeant Kirby Jenkins. Erin later confided to Flash that it was lust at first sight. Flash suspected the lust had turned to love, and he was happy for her
. Kirby was a nice enough guy, easy going with a ready smile, but all business when necessary. So, it was a surprise to him when she volunteered for this mission.

  “Are you guys having trouble?” Flash asked. “I mean, I don’t mean to pry, if it’s none of my business, just say so.”

  She took a few seconds before answering. “No, it’s all good.”

  Flash nodded in seeming understanding. He knew it wasn’t all good but didn’t push it. She’d talk to him about it when she was ready. The one thing about the apocalypse, it brought people together. Erin was both a best friend and a surrogate big sister to him. They confided in everything together. At least, he thought they did.

  “We’re coming up on Richmond,” Sully said. “Remind me again what our decision was?”

  Flash glanced at Sully in mild annoyance. They had already gone over this. He gestured at the map.

  “We’re going to clear those neighborhoods, like we planned,” he said.

  “Just checking,” Sully said and pointed. “Big jam up ahead.”

  He was pointing at a massive snarl of wrecked and rusted vehicles; a mixture of cars and semi-trucks.

  “Yeah, take the next exit. There’s a back way to those neighborhoods.”

  Flash smiled to himself. He already had this detour written down in his route notes. It was his first major test as a team leader, and he felt like he passed with flying colors. He checked his watch. They’d been Oscar Mike for a little over three hours now and were coming up on Richmond.

  “We’re making good time,” he commented.

  “Don’t jinx us,” Sully grumbled.

  Chapter 10 – Team Joker

  They stopped on the side of the interstate not too far from the truck stop. Trader Joe had the notebook in his lap. He referenced a page and then pointed toward the west.

  “A little community called Lacey Spring over there,” he said. “I see a pond over there, so I guess that’s where the spring is. There is a notation here saying it’s a Mennonite community.”

  Joker nodded as he scanned the other side of the interstate. “Lots of farmland. I’d say this is definitely Mennonite territory. Alright. If anyone can survive this stuff on their own, it would be the Amish and the Mennonites. The next couple of exits are to Harrisonburg and the last time I went through there, there were a lot of zeds.”

  “Are we going to check it out?” Little Joe asked. “Could be a lot of loot.”

  “Yeah, but like I said, the roads have been heavily damaged. If we get surrounded, we can’t simply speed up and drive away. We’ll have to fight our way out, and I don’t want to burn through our ammunition before we even reach our primary objective.”

  “So, we bypass Harrisonburg,” Trader Joe stated.

  “Yeah. If Holston’s a bust and we still have plenty of ammo, we’ll probe some of the buildings near the interstate on our way back,” Joker said.

  Trader Joe nodded. “I like that thinking.” He looked over the maps. “Let’s see, the next exit out of Harrisonburg appears to be at the 240-mile marker. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

  Joker drove slowly, allowing Trader Joe to scan Harrisonburg with binoculars. It took them twenty minutes before they reached exit 240.

  “Lots of acreage, but it all appears overgrown,” Trader Joe said. “Maybe the Mennonites didn’t make it after all.”

  Joker did not comment. Mennonites weren’t dumb. If any of them survived, he doubted they’d continue to farm next to an interstate. Their homes and farming would be tucked away, out of sight of any major thoroughfare. He had no doubt they were out there.

  “The map says there a Walmart Distribution Center here,” Trader Joe said. “Has it already been looted?”

  “It has,” Joker replied. “But there must be a hundred trailers in the lot. I don’t think all of them have been searched. We’ll spend an hour or two with them and see what we can find.”

  That is exactly what they did, and, no surprise, the place was barren of all goods. The only thing left was trash and a couple of zeds wandering around. They took photographs and sent a satellite radio message back to Mount Weather, informing them of their progress.

  The distribution center and the multitude of trailers took the entire day.

  “I guess we’re staying here the night?” Trader Joe asked.

  “I don’t know about you, but I don’t like traveling at night without night vision gear,” Joker said.

  “Yeah, about that. Why weren’t we issued any?” Little Joe asked.

  “The ones we have that are still functional are reserved for the guard posts and the QRF,” Joker replied. “I don’t like it either, but it is what it is.”

  Little Joe frowned. He knew Joker was right, but he still didn’t like it. He didn’t like being volun-told to go on this mission either, but his dad told him to keep his opinion to himself and roll with it. He stretched and looked up at the sky.

  “Not a cloud in sight. Let’s make camp on the roof,” he suggested.

  It was a unanimous agreement. The roof afforded an immense field of fire and prevented zeds from sneaking up on them in the dark. In addition, it’d be difficult for anyone to trap them up there. The distribution center was vast in size and there were multiple access doors to the roof.

  After dinner, the men laid on their blankets and stared at the sky. They’d rigged each door with noisemakers, so unless someone had a ladder truck, they considered themselves safe.

  “You know, this is about the only good thing that came out of the end of the world,” Trader Joe said.

  “What’s that, Dad?”

  Trader Joe pointed toward the sky. “With no smog and no artificial lighting, you can see damn near every star there is. There must be millions of them. It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, it is,” Joker agreed.

  “I read a paper once about the Hubble telescope. Based on the data gathered from the telescope, the author estimated there was somewhere around two trillion galaxies in the universe. It said there were approximately a billion stars in the Milky Way. So, if you multiply a billion times two trillion, that must be how many stars there are.”

  “I think I only see a gazillion,” Little Joe said.

  Joker chuckled. After a couple of minutes, he changed the subject.

  “So, tell me about Bristol,” he suggested. “What was it like living there?”

  Joker continued staring at the stars. He’d been directed to get more information about their past lives, if he could. Apparently, they’d been vague about many aspects of their lives.

  “I suppose it’s the same story told over and over across the world,” Trader Joe replied. “It wasn’t easy. The first year was the usual stuff; zeds, the breakdown of society, desperate people killing their neighbors for scraps of food. And of course, there were some people who only needed a push in a certain direction to bring out the evil inside of them.

  “A few of us banded together and made a go of it. There were fifteen of us at first. Three of our group became infected during the first week somehow.”

  “What did you do with them?” Joker asked.

  “What else could we do?” Trader Joe replied. “We killed them. It was for the best. We were neighbors, back before. Each of us had farms. Ours was nothing fancy, only twenty acres, but our next-door neighbor had a larger farm.”

  “It sounds like you guys lived outside of the city.”

  “Yeah. On a normal day, it was a fifteen-minute drive to downtown Bristol.”

  “How was Bristol?” Joker asked.

  Trader Joe emitted a small laugh. “Back before, Bristol was a quaint little town of about thirty thousand.”

  “When the race wasn’t in town,” Little Joe said.

  “Yeah, we had a big race every year and usually a big football game. Then, the city would swell to over a hundred thousand. And guess what? We had one of those brouhahas when the plague came to town.”

  “It was scary,” Little Joe said. He stood and walked over to
the safety wall on the roof and looked out.

  Trader Joe turned his head and watched.

  “My kids were teenagers when it went bad, Sergeant. They had to grow up quick, as you might imagine.”

  Joker nodded. “So, Bristol was chaos.”

  “Yes, it was. Suddenly, there were over a hundred thousand outsiders and it seemed like all of them had become infected. The city was a gold mine, ripe for the picking, but all of those outsiders, all they were doing was wandering the streets, looking for something to ravage.”

  He paused several seconds and watched as his son bent over and rested his elbows on the wall.

  “So, anyway, our luck went sour. A fire happened and what not. We had no fuel, only a couple of horses, and it wasn’t looking good. So, we loaded up what we could carry with us and came to Mount Weather.”

  “You guys already knew about the place,” Joker surmised.

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve known about it for years,” Trader Joe answered. “I don’t know if you’ve been told, but I went to college with the late President Richmond.”

  “There’s a rumor you were once involved in government work,” Joker prodded.

  “I was, but that was a long time ago and a closed chapter.” Trader Joe adjusted the blanket he was resting his head on.

  “Alright, I’m going to grab some shuteye. Son, give me three hours and I’ll spell you.”

  “You got it,” Little Joe replied.

  Joker wanted to ask more, but he realized the conversation was over. At least, with Trader Joe. He got up and walked over to Little Joe. When he neared, Little Joe pointed.

  “Do you see him?” he whispered.

  Joker looked out into the darkness. After a moment, he saw a lone zed aimlessly wandering.

  “I think he knows we’re here,” Little Joe said. “He’s walked back and forth a couple of times now, but he hasn’t come any closer than the road.”

  “Hmm. We might need to kill him in the morning, but I suppose we’ll leave him be for now.”

  “Don’t waste ammo, right?” Little Joe asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Where’re you from?”