by Mike Fosen
“Stop right there, buddy,” the guard growled. "Father Kettle knows you are coming? He is a very important and busy man.”
“Your Father Kettle is my little brother Charlie, you idiot!” Lewis yelled. “Get out of my way!”
“Look here, little man; I don’t give a shit who you are. Nobody gets past here without the good father’s say so!” the guard continued as the other pulled back his shirt to reveal a large handgun tucked into his beltline.
As Lewis stood waiting, the guard with the gun knocked and entered the office where Kettle was finishing up a meeting with a few of his followers.
“Excuse my intrusion,” the guard said, “but your brother is outside, Father. What do you want me to tell him?”
“I can see him,” Kettle responded, and intently looked back at his followers. “My men have their assignments for the day. Are we clear on our plans my children?”
“Yes, Father,” they chorused and prepared to leave.
“And we don't need my brother knowing everything we have going on here," Kettle added. "He is not yet a full believer in our Lord."
"Yes, Father!" they again replied in unison.
“Then you may go,” Kettle said, “the Holy Father shall watch over you all this day.”
As the men filed out the door, Kettle heard arguing right outside the doorway. Hearing his brother Lewis’ voice, he called for him to enter.
“See assholes? I told you to let me in,” Kettle heard him say to the guards outside the door.
“What a dick,” Kettle heard one of the guards mumble as the door closed.
Lewis ran up to his brother and before Kettle could stop him, wrapped him into a hug.
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” Lewis sighed. “We’ve not had much of a chance to talk.
Releasing his brother, Lewis stepped back and looked at him. “Care to explain how you came to be dressed as a priest in the middle of a pandemic and not rotting behind bars serving a life sentence?”
“Not at all, big brother, please sit down,” Kettle said pointing to a spare chair.
Easing back into his leather desk chair, Kettle poured himself and his brother a large glass of ice tea. After handing a glass to Lewis, Kettle leaned back and looked at his brother. He looked old and worn out. The years had not been kind to Lewis.
“You know I was innocent, brother?” Kettle asked.
“Uh, well yeah of course,” Lewis replied unconvincingly.
Kettle’s face took on a more somber expression. “Well the Lord knew it, and finally intervened.” Kettle smiled. “My fortunes changed for the better when the State’s prison system began moving me from prison to prison due to overcrowding. After the unfortunate death of the individual who attacked me over his little sister’s sexual allegations against my church, I hadn’t made any waves or caused any grief among the prisoner population. I became a model inmate, even helping prisoners find the Lord.”
Kettle stood, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked to a window to looked out, not seeing but reliving his past.
“Finally ending up at Statesville Correctional Center was an act of God. The administration kept me in general population and also eventually allowed me to be the prison chaplain. For the last few years I worked my persuasion on a select few guards, mostly female, as well as some of the more aggressive inmates.”
Turning back towards Lewis, Kettle walked to the desk and sat on the edge.
“I prayed for years, schemed a hundred times over for the one chance, no matter how slim, to escape that wretched place. When I observed the current epidemic sweep the entire world, I knew this was a sign from above and probably my only chance to be free!”
Lewis just nodded as his brother continued.
“It did not take long once the prison was placed on lockdown for a few well-placed disturbances to escalate into an uncontrollable riot. I, along with several of my most loyal followers, escaped with a few guards who I had befriended inside the facility.” Kettle moved back to his chair, sat down and smiled at his brother. “You see, it was deemed by God that I am here in this time of tragedy to save His children before the end of days.”
“Damn lucky I found you,” Lewis offered. “I was in bad shape.”
“Enough of me, tell me your story big brother,” Kettle asked. “I wasn’t able to get much information from prison. I was discreet about our bond, per your requests, although it didn’t appear to help your career much.”
Lewis took a drink of his ice tea and scowled at his brother’s remark.
“I started from scratch once Mother was killed by the callous actions from those ignorant police officers. Eventually I was able to get elected as a Councilman of this city by fooling the smart ones and playing on the hatred for law enforcement among some of the low income population.” Lewis cleared his throat of his rising anger. “I even tried to get elected as mayor a few times, but the current mayor was embedded in the community and I was unsuccessful.”
“I’m deeply sorry for all that you endured, brother,” Kettle remarked, trying to calm down Lewis, who was turning red. “Look who is in charge here now. We are, together.”
“I knew that this epidemic was going to get out of hand as soon as I saw the first news reports,” Lewis said, “and I took the steps necessary to seize control when the time came while everyone else just froze in fear.”
Now Lewis stood and began pacing back and forth across the room with clenched fists. “I had it all!” he cried. “I was in charge of what was left of civilization in this dumpy city. My safe zone was heavily stocked with supplies and everything was going along perfectly until…until…” Lewis trailed off, choking on his anger.
“Until what?” Kettle prodded.
“Until those fucking cops showed up and ruined it all!” Lewis roared. “Since the moment those five cops showed up, all they did was ignore my authority and undermine the loyalty of my people!”
Kettle jumped to his feet.
“Did you say five police officers showed up? Together?” he asked.
Lewis stopped pacing and looked at Kettle. “Yes, there were five of them. There were four men and one woman, why do you ask?”
“Don’t stop with your story,” Kettle decided. “We can get back to them.”
Lewis grabbed his now empty glass and filled it from a bottle of wine Kettle kept on his desk. He quickly downed a full glass. “Ahh, much better,” Lewis said with a smile as the alcohol warmed his belly. “Where can we get more of that? Anyway, it wasn’t long after the cops arrived that these infected bastards started showing up in force. Almost as if the cops lured them to the safe zone so they could take over in the confusion of battle.”
Kettle offered a confused half-nod in reply.
“It all came to a head when the big cop, Mike, attacked me in my office and stole all of the extra ammo,” Lewis said. “He said it was for the guards, but I know he threw it away so they would run out! When I saw an unbelievably large group of infected people attack and overrun our perimeter wall, I called in the air force and they destroyed the entire thing, after I barely escaped with my life. I spent several days trapped inside a fucking attic until I managed to escape. While on my way here, I saw those same damn cops stealing and looting supplies all over the city! I had it all, and they destroyed my career, my safe zone, and my life!”
Kettle sat there silently a few moments then leaned forward. “Sit down, brother,” he ordered, pointing to the chair.
After Lewis sat, Kettle looked at his brother thinking how he could capitalize on his anger.
“I think we have a common enemy, my brother. These same cops have a stronghold set up at the old Collins prison not but a mile from here. They are becoming a nuisance. Plans have been set into motion to rectify that situation.”
“I think that is the most wonderful thing I have heard in weeks,” Lewis said laughing.
“Just one tiny thing,” Kettle continued. “If you come across the woman— I think her na
me is Mattie? – if you see her, I have given the strictest orders that she is to be captured unharmed at all costs.”
“Captured?” Lewis was confused at this. “Why do you want any of them captured? They ruined my life!”
Kettle stood, cold anger leaking from his eyes. “Don’t push me on this. You would not like the results.”
“Okay, okay…I won’t harm a hair on that whore’s head!” Lewis said with dismay.
“Wonderful,” Kettle said, smiling again. “Now why don’t we go find some food?”
* * * * * * * *
The heavily loaded convoy pulled into the prison, and once all were inside, the huge steel doors slammed shut just as darkness was setting on another day. Exiting Chris’ truck, I wearily grabbed my gear and shuffled towards the command center. I had a list of supplies gathered from the most recent raid and needed to have the girls enter it onto the spreadsheet. Stephen and Dan had finished erecting their HAM radio tower on the roof with several antennas hanging on it, and were busy running cable down into the command center’s new communication room, to be staffed 24/7. Behind me I heard Chris give orders for unloading the day’s haul into the prison gymnasium for sorting and distribution. We had been pulling empty shelves from stores and houses and were using the vast open space of the gymnasium to better organize our supplies. Only spare weapons and ammunition were not stored there, those being kept in our armory, a storage room located in the command center.
Seeing Stephen and Dan huddled around their HAM radio console, I plopped my tired ass down next to them.
“Hey guys, any luck with the radio?” I asked, feigning interest.
Stephen looked up at me. “Man you look like shit, and yes. We almost have the new stuff up and running. How did the raids go?”
“Gee thanks, asshole,” I responded. “The raids were good as far as supplies went, but we seem to have burned through most of the ammo we took. Had some guys who got excited and ran through magazines as fast as they could pull a trigger. Also had some heavy contact at the end.”
“That could be a problem,” Stephen remarked. “We don’t have an unlimited supply, unfortunately. Our guys will need reminding of that again.”
“They were reminded the hard way when they ran out and had to fight hand to hand,” I replied. “Hey…I would also like to send raids to any surrounding farms and see if any livestock are still alive and bring them back here. That would help our food stores go a long ways.”
“Excellent idea, I’ll get some people together to plan something out,” Stephen said with a nod.
“I’m going to get some chow. Is there any lunch left over from earlier?”
“Not sure, and trying to get a snack from the ladies who work in the kitchen is like stealing gold from Fort Knox,” Stephen said with a chuckle. "It's a good thing I stash away some of my own shit. My cupboards are stocked. Always pays to stay prepared!"
Dan, who had been quietly working away, entered the conversation on my side. “I tell you what buddy,” he offered. “We can finish this later. Why don’t we go take a look at the loot you got today and see if I can work some magic on my lady friends in the roach coach and get you some dinner?”
“Okay big guy,” I laughed. “Let’s see your game!”
I dropped off the list to one of the secretaries after explaining what some of my chicken scratches meant. By the time I got back over to the gymnasium, Dan was holding a plate of fresh tamales.
“I take back everything I said about you,” I joked while digging in.
As one group of workers started unloading supplies from a moving truck we were using, Dan suddenly stopped and stared, looking like the kid from A Christmas Story after he got his Red Rider BB gun. Only he was not looking at a BB gun, rather a Remington Model 700 in .375 H&H. It was a beautiful rifle with a walnut stock and chambered in a cartridge suitable for an African Safari. It was topped with a high end Leupold scope, and they had found five boxes of rifle cartridges along with it. Dan grabbed the rifle and ammunition.
"None of you pantywaists can handle shooting a hard hitter like this, let alone know how to utilize its power and precision.” With a greedy look in his eye, Dan clutched the rifle like a small child. “I will take proper care of Betty.”
He named the rifle Betty. Sometimes he makes me wonder if he’s still with us.
44
October 12
Day 48
Dan and Stephen were up late into the night, finishing their scan of the HAM radio frequencies. The communication room was starting to look like a room from a modern aircraft carrier. There were radios, amplifiers, tuners, SWR analyzers and speech equalizer/conditioners along with a mile of wires and adapters that made it all come together. Stephen was very persistent in letting everyone know that without communication they were all sitting in the dark, and had spread the word that the HAMs were up and running. People would spend some of their hard-earned free time sitting at the far side of the shack, not wanting to get in Dan’s way, but enjoying listening to him communicate with people from all over the state and around the nation. It was a relief for many to know that they were not the only survivors still in the fight. Dan was spending more and more time gathering and relaying information from contacts, as well as training interested members of the group on the operation of the radios.
"One of those fucking neck biters might get a hold of me some day. Better teach someone else the art," he would joke.
There were several large dry erase boards up on the wall along with county maps of northern Illinois. Dan would put a red marker up on the map each time he made a contact, and then they would list on an eraser board the time and date they made contact. It was encouraging to see all the different groups still up and running in the Chicagoland area. Stephen went so far as to have Dan put on a separate board any special items or supplies that these local groups had or needed. It was decided that if possible we would make runs to trade supplies and equipment in the future.
Just as Dan and Stephen were finishing up for the night, they got a much welcomed call over the radio from Dan’s brother Dave and Sgt. Ogle from work. They had their normal conversation, telling each other the progress they were making at the prison and the hunting cabin. The Peoria clan was in amazement at the advances being made at the prison.
“Have to admit, the RV is nice,” Stephen said with a chuckle. “But it’s the extra manpower that’s getting it all done. We’re blessed with a bunch of hard working guys.”
Ogle told Dan about the water collection system he had built using the gutters from the roof off an abandoned shed down the road.
"No use wasting what God gives us for free," Ogle said.
Dave told Dan about a shot he made on a deer from about 350 yards with a .243 bolt gun. Dan called it bullshit and pissed his brother off enough that Dave wouldn’t talk with him anymore. What Dave didn’t hear was Dan turning to Stephen.
"That’s nothing!” Dan whispered. “I saw my brother hit a coyote with that same rifle at about 400 yards, dropped him dead in his tracks."
Ogle told Dan that things had been going well otherwise. They were having very little contact with the zombies on the property and had fallen into a routine. They were busy hunting, fishing, gathering food supplies from the woods around them, dehydrating the meat for winter and canning items left in the garden.
“I do wish we had more canning supplies,” Ogle lamented. “We just don’t have the bodies to go on many supply runs into town.”
“Can’t you band together with some neighbors?” Stephen asked.
“Some people have stopped over, and we’ve exchanged a few things, but we really just don’t have the ability to venture out.”
“Once we get fully situated here we are going to have to get down there and change that for ya,” Stephen replied. “We could spare a few AR-15 carbines and ammunition in exchange for some fresh venison.
As they finished their conversation it sounded like they were going to make it through this as
well as anyone. Out away from the larger cities was definitely the place to be when something like this happened. Dan told Ogle that he would get a hold of him tomorrow and the pair turned in for the night.
* * * * * * * *
The next day brought a new set of priorities. After my morning exercise, I met Stephen in the newly opened cafeteria for breakfast, and we laid out the plans for today. Our new home, with its large diesel generator and growing vehicle fleet, had an unquenchable thirst for fuel. Thankfully, our smaller RV generators ran mostly on propane, which stayed stable almost indefinitely, and it was in abundant supply for the time being. Our supply runs over the past week were barely keeping up with demand for fuel and something needed to be done. Dan and Stephen grabbed all five of the 285 gallon fuel storage tanks from a tractor supply store on a raid a couple days ago, placing them along the outside wall of the motor maintenance building. Next to these was a large void where we hoped to park two 8000 gallon tanker trailers. This would provide us with a vast head start in the fuel department going into winter. We were also trying to round up as much fuel stabilizer as possible to treat the gas, and hopefully keep vital equipment running through the next year or two.
Among the eight refugees taken in yesterday was a trucker who used to haul tankers for a living, and he readily agreed to get the ball rolling. I even got Mattie to reluctantly let him out of his cell early. Stephen and Chris were going to lead another large supply run while Dan and I took care of the tanker trucks. After briefing the crew in the command center, Stephen and Chris’ large convoy left out the main gate, drawing any zombies in the area down Collins Street in pursuit. Dan fired up our vehicle for the day, a newer green F-150 that had an upgraded brush guard and larger tires installed. We slipped quietly out the west gate a couple of minutes later. This was to be a stealth run with hopefully very little attention drawn from the zombies.
Casper gave us a wave on the way out. “Good luck fellas!”