Beginning of the New Beginning, Vol 1

by Taylor, W. Joe

  “Cover me. I’m going up to flank them,” he said to Charity. When he looked over, she just nodded her response. He could see the fear in her eyes.

  “It’s going to be OK. Just keep their heads down long enough to let me get around the other side.”

  She just nodded again. With a churning in his gut from the fear of the unknown, he could feel the stomach acid burning its way up his esophagus. He had never done this before, but he couldn’t let everyone down now. They had to survive.

  He pushed open his door and stole a quick glance at his fender as he ran past. Anger began to burn out the fear—now he was pissed. Nobody fucked with his 4Runner. In fact, Charity had been the only other person to drive it since he’d bought it brand new just over a year ago. He crouched and ran as fast as his aching knees would allow. Then he rounded the corner where Old Guy had emerged from. He surprised the first man and got him clean through the chest, but the second guy dove to Bill’s left. He readjusted his aim and shot guy number two twice through his left side, but he did not have time to aim on the third guy.

  There was a searing pain on the left side of Bill’s face as he heard the zing of a bullet whiz by. Bill threw himself to his right, slamming his shoulder into the driver’s side rear passenger door of the car used for the road block. The next thing that registered in Bill’s mind was a burning, stinging sensation in his left shoulder. His vision tunneled, making it difficult to find the next target. He finally saw the man rising from a hiding position in the back seat of the middle car, his gun pointed at Bill.

  Jane did exactly as D had taught her: inhale, exhale, pause, and squeeze. The round punched a neat little hole in the screen that covered the windows, found its intended target, and ended in a pink mist. She readjusted her aim in time to see a few other pink mists rise from the grass. Then she saw one guy stand up and run into the forest as fast as he could, but she didn’t have the gumption to shoot the man in the back. She had just killed her first live human. Practicing on thrillers yesterday was one thing, but she knew that killing a breather was going to show up in her dreams later. Jane had done counseling sessions at the prison during her internship for college. She knew now the adrenaline rush they’d spoken of, and she understood for the first time how it could become addicting. She said a quick prayer that she would not turn into a psychopathic killer lusting for more blood.

  Hearing Bill’s grunt as his body slammed into a car broke her reverie and snapped her back to reality. Refocusing out the window, there was no movement, but she heard the RV door slam open behind her as someone exited.

  Sam waited for a five count after the first shots and then ran out of the RV. Her dad was in trouble, and if she only had a little longer to live, she wanted to go out a hero. She ran sighted down her M4 like he’d taught her and crouched past the other RVs and camper trailers. She made sure to stay below the windows because that would be her luck, getting shot in the head by her own people. Running past her dad’s camper, she saw Charity flail out of the 4Runner with her M4 in tow. When Sam reached Charity’s side, it was a race to the roadblock when they both saw a man stand up with his rifle pointed at the ground to their left. Both Sam and Charity fired at the same time, hitting the man with multiple rounds.

  “Go right. I got left,” Charity said as they ran.

  Sam didn’t slow. She ran around the right side of the blockade, sighted in on a guy laying there, and realized he was already dead. She repeated this process a few times until she got around to where Charity and her dad were.

  “Daddy!” Sam screamed as she slid on her knees up to her father and threw her arms around him. She felt the skin on her knees tear from the road through her jeans, but she didn’t care. Her dad was alive, and that was all that mattered right now. Out of breath from the run, the fear of dying, and the fear of her dad dying, her body was wracked with sobs. It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. She couldn’t breathe, and her chest hitched up and down repeatedly, but no air went in or out. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell that she was losing consciousness. “Sam. Breath, baby. I’m ok. Sam. Sam?” was the last thing she remembered.

  When the shooting subsided, Q hopped out of his truck and also ran ahead with his M4 to see where he could help. By the time he got to the blockade, Sam had already passed out, and Charity was holding a strip of her shirt to Bill’s ear. Q could see that it was soaked through with blood.

  “What happened to her? Is she hurt? Is she ok? And what the fuck happened to your ear?”

  “Yea, she’s fine for now. I think. She was hyperventilating and passed out. Let’s get her back to Memaw so she can look her over and see how she’s doing with the antibiotics.”

  “Rog. Let me carry her. I feel bad because I just sat there the whole time. I couldn’t get my weapon out fast enough, and by the time the festivities kicked off, I didn’t want to get in the way. Getting hit by friendly fire is not fucking funny.”

  “HAHAHA, yea, it would be pretty terrible. Don’t worry about it, bro. We set up everyone in the places they were needed the most. I just need you to look mean and intimidating when shit like this goes down.”

  Q lifted Sam up, and as Bill stood, Q noticed for the first time that Bill’s shoulder was bleeding too. “Dude, did you know your shoulder got hit too?”

  Another gunshot went off from the tree line, followed by three retorts from the convoy.

  “Yea, but now is not the time or place. We have to get the fuck out of Redneckville. Papaw, how does the back look? Do you think you can turn that thing around, or back up to a good spot?”

  “Yea, I’m going to back this thing up until it’s wide enough to flip a bitch.”

  “Sweet. We’re going to put Sam in my car for now. Get that thing going. We don’t have time to bring her all the way back there.”

  Bill opened the back door, and Q slid Sam into the seat and belted her in.

  “Charity, you’re going to have to drive for a while. The adrenaline is wearing off, and shit is starting to hurt.”

  “No problem. I got you.”

  Bill dug out his first-aid kit from the back seat and bandaged his shoulder the best he could by himself while everyone else worked on getting the hell out of there. The convoy reversed a few hundred yards to where there was a driveway they could turn around. Next, he grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen he kept in the center console and popped twelve hundred milligrams.

  “Jesus, you need to be careful, or you’re going to OD on that shit,” Charity said with a concerned look on her face.

  “Nah, the military hands out fucking Motrin like its God dammed candy. Besides, it takes a lot to mellow all this sexy down.”

  Charity bust out laughing, which led to him laughing as well. “Oh God, it hurts to laugh,” he said, sending him laughing harder.

  Once they were pointed back the way they came, Bill set his Sig between the mirror and the A pillar. His left shoulder hurt like a sonofabitch, but he figured he should be ok to shoot from the passenger seat.

  “Where to next, boss?” Q asked when they were heading back the way they came.

  “Man. Fuck. Ashville. We’re going in guns blazing, and were going to fuck that place up. That cocksucking Airborne assclown shot my ride.”

  “Don’t drive angry.”

  “HAHAHAHA, good thing I’m not driving, then.”

  Ashville was a cute little town with the courthouse in the center and the main roads through town going around it. It was completely deserted: no roadblocks, no shots fired, no re-dead lying around. Completely deserted.

  “Let’s keep going, everyone, and get the fuck outta here. We obviously—no, I—I will talk full responsibility for leading us into that trap. I’m sorry everyone,” Bill said with a heavy heart.

  “No, you don’t get to take full blame. Nobody said anything, so we all get a small portion of that too,” D offered.

  “Thanks. Now, let’s get to our destination for the night. We still have a few hours of daylight lef
t, so we need to make the best of it.”

  They finally merged onto Interstate 59 and blasted north. They crossed into the northwest corner of Georgia, thirty minutes later, they turned west on Interstate 24 and crossed into Tennessee. Exiting off the freeway, they pulled into a truck stop like the others they had been to before. The nearest town was about three miles away, and the only thrillers they had to deal with were the customers that had been there on ZomPoc day: mostly truckers and a family that had been traveling with North Carolina plates. This stop went as routine, and per usual, they made sure they cleaned out all the beef jerky and all the other nonperishables they could.

  The campground they had spotted on the maps yesterday was just a mile east on the Dixie Highway. It was on a peninsula in the middle of the Tennessee River, and they figured that would be a fairly defendable location for the night. Plus, it would give them a place to dump all the holding tanks and refill the freshwater tanks.

  They pulled into the campground, scouted it out, and dispatched twenty-seven thrillers that had been camping on that fateful day. They parked the convoy facing out to the highway so they could make a fast getaway should they need it. There were a few trucks with boat trailers at the loading ramp when they got there. They used them to block off the thin strip of land that connected the peninsula to the mainland. They parked the trucks in such a fashion as to form a fatal funnel in the grass next to the road. In the morning, all they had to do was move the one truck, and the road would be free and clear. Once everyone was settled, Memaw removed the haphazard bandages from Bill’s shoulder to have a look-see. It was a clean shot that had gone through just barely under the fat layer of his shoulder. It would be easy to stitch, but he would have to be mindful of it for the next week.

  “Well, you did quite a number on that thing. It’s already swollen and red around the edges. Take these.” She handed him a couple of antibiotics they’d grabbed just that morning.

  “This is going to sting a bit,” she said with a smirk on her face.

  “You’re going to enjoy hurting me, aren’t you?” Bill replied as he took a swig from his Scotch bottle to wash down the pills.

  “Well, you did break my daughter’s heart a few years ago.”

  “That was ten years ago, and when we got married, you didn’t really think it would last for ev— Aaaaaggghhhoowwwe, damn. Holy shit that hurt.”

  “I warned you.”

  “Yea, but you don’t have to— OOOWWW CRAP!” Then Bill’s teeth clenched together so tightly his molars ached from being pressed into his jawbone. She continued to swab the area with alcohol.

  “Yes, dear, I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I actually admire you for sticking with it for so long. But you have to side with family, and so, you’re the bad guy.”

  “Thanks for that, but I did save your lives.”

  “That remains to be seen. Once we get settled in Washington, I’ll give you your thanks for saving our lives. In the meantime, we’re traipsing across the country shooting up bad guys while you run out and try to prove you’re a hero. What your children need is a father that’s going to be there to show them how to live in this new world. You’re smart, Bill. Always have been, but you can be so dumb sometimes too.”

  “Uh, thanks, I guess? I feel like I’m doing what any decent human being would do: trying to make a better life for those that he cares about. Look at Shane and Anna, also good people. We just seem to attract all the assholes that think now is the time to unleash their sickest dreams.”

  “All I’m saying is be more careful. There’s a lot more riding on us getting to this ‘Sanctuary’ you speak of than just your pride.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Ok, shoulder looks fine. Should have started antibiotics a couple of hours ago, but I think the risk of infection is pretty low. I’m going to throw a few stiches in the front and the back. Then we will clean off what’s left of your ear there.”

  “Sounds good. So, what’s your analysis on Sam? It’s been about twelve hours since she was bitten.”

  “So far, there is no fever, and the bite wounds don’t look like infection is setting in. We cleaned them again just a little bit ago while y’all were setting up camp for the night.”

  “Sounds promising, but for tonight, I think we need to restrain her in case she takes a turn for the worse. Don’t look at me like— Oowww, damn it. Look I know it sounds dickish, but for the protection of everyone else, we need to restrain her. She will be with me in my trailer tonight, so I can deal with anything that may happen.”

  “Fine. I know you’re right. I just hate to see one of my grandbabies treated like a prisoner.”

  “Not a prisoner, a patient capable of hurting someone. And if it happens, she won’t even know she’s doing it.”

  The night went by without a hitch from mouth breathers, but a few hundred thrillers were walking along the Dixie Highway, looking for the meal they’d heard a few hours before. Whoever was on watch had their turn of shooting quite a few. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. For the first time since ZomPoc, they really learned that thrillers had terrible night vision. It wasn’t that great in the daytime, but they were completely blind at night. Their senses of smell and hearing were apparently unaffected by the conversion from living to undead. After sunup, everyone awoke, even Sam.

  “How do you feel, baby?”

  “Like a cat shit in my mouth. I need to brush my teeth so bad.”

  “HAHAHAHA, well, at least you’re still lucid and can form cohesive thoughts.”

  “Please, can I get up now? I have to pee so badly. Memaw made me drink, like, three gallons of water yesterday.”

  “Yes, of course. At least you’re not running a fever. That’s a good sign.”

  When she returned from the bathroom, Bill had already begun cooking some bacon, eggs, and toast for her and Charity. “Here, drink some OJ and take your antibiotics.”

  After a hearty breakfast, everyone gathered outside to discuss the day. The plan for day ZP7 (ZomPoc day 7, they’d coined the new term the night before while planning the route they wanted to take) was to make it to Charity’s parents in Ft Wayne. They lived on the western side of the city in the Sycamore Hills Golf Course development. Much to everyone’s relief, they would not have to drive through downtown Ft Wayne—or any other major city for that matter. The main concern for the day was passing the outskirts of a few smaller towns. They would stay the night there whether anyone was alive or not, because it would take all day to get there. They wanted to make the big push because they’d lost so much time in Montgomery. Bill didn’t want to remind anyone (or himself for that matter) that they still had at least two more major stops to rescue friends and family before Washington.

  They put in five hundred miles that day and stopped for gas at least twice. Charity continued to drive because Bill’s shoulder was still throbbing and he didn’t want to endanger anyone worse than he already had. He watched the countryside roll by from the passenger seat. A whitewashed farm house set in the middle of a green field with a classic styled red barn next to it was a rather common sight along the country roads they traveled to avoid large population centers. Bill had flown into Lexington, Kentucky, once and left the next morning, but he had never driven across the state. The countryside was very picturesque, and he wondered why more people didn’t live there.

  Their first stop of the day was Campbellsville, Kentucky. They’d travelled barely two hundred miles, but it had taken them almost four hours to get there. The convoy pulled into the usual truck stop, and after Bill started the pump, he looked northeast and saw black smoke rising from what he figured was a mile away towards the center of town. He hoped that it wouldn’t be a problem for them, since they planned on taking a side street that skirted the edge of town. The vehicles were filled, but the store had already been raided of most of the good stuff. They picked through what was left quickly, since no one wanted to spend a lot of time being stationary today.

  B
ack on the road, they headed up S. Columbia Ave. until it merged with Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard. The origination of the smoke neared, and the streets became filled with thrillers. Obviously, the fire had attracted them from all over town. He was also concerned because the fire was fairly new and probably set intentionally; that meant mouth breathers. Bringing the convoy to a halt, Bill conferred with the others to get some opinions.

  “Y’all think we should press through the throng or find an alternate route?”

  “If we head to the south, it will put us a few blocks’ distance from the fire and further away from the main drag. We’ve been looking at the map since before we stopped just in case something came up,” D replied.

  “Sweet. Let’s give it a shot and hope for the best.”

  They weaved their way through a neighborhood that was relatively deserted until they got almost to Walnut and South Central Avenue. Bill noticed up ahead that the road was blocked by a school bus, so he told Charity to turn right and head further south.

  “Man, what the fuck is going on around here? This place is starting to give me the creeps, and I don’t like it.”

  “Yea, same here,” Q agreed.

  Three blocks later, they were able to get back on South Central Ave., and they continued south until they intersected with Highway 35/18. The convoy turned north for two miles and got back on track. Heading northeast on Highway 68, they passed an airport on the left and a church on the right.

  “Holy shit. Did anyone else see that? Please tell me someone saw a plane just land,” Bill exclaimed as he pointed to where he’d seen it. He looked over at Charity, and she nodded with her mouth agape.

  “Yup, sure did,” D replied.

  “Me too,” were several other replies from those on headsets.

  “Hang onto your butts, everyone. We’re going to make a hard push. Papaw, let us know if you’re falling too far behind. These could be good folks, or they could be mouth breathers. If it’s the latter of the two and they have aerial surveillance, I don’t want to be on their radar.”