by Mike Fosen
“I have someone you need to talk to, Father,” Jonas stated.
“By all means, my son, please come inside,” Kettle said, setting aside his paperwork.
Jonas entered the office, followed closely by a very dirty and judging by the stench, smelly man. Jonas closed the door and stood behind and slightly to the side of the newcomer. Kettle sat motionless and stared at the man. He was of average height and build. He also had a scraggly beard and greasy hair. Lewis’s face scrunched slightly as the foul odor from the man filled the room.
The man began to fidget nervously as Kettle stared wordlessly.
“Tell Father Kettle what you told me outside,” Jonas quietly said from behind the man.
The man started at the sudden noise and looked Kettle in the eye.
“My name is Blake…Blake Gooden. I have been staying at the prison for the last few weeks, and I have had my fill of that place!” he blurted. “They make everyone do some form of menial work, or they show you the front gate and kick you out if you don’t agree with what they say. For the last week I was forced to work on the corpse burning detail. Every day I had to pile up heaps of rotting undead corpses and burn the bodies! That’s why I fucking reek like week old dog shit! It clings to my clothes, my hair; the stench is even stuck on my skin! Today was the final straw when a rotten corpse burst in a burn pile, and zombie shit splattered all over me. I just snuck off and came to this place, figuring to see what life was like on the other side of the tracks.”
Kettle leaned back into his chair and folded his hands in front of him, deep in thought.
“Here at our camp, we do not turn anyone away. You are most welcome to join our flock. If you prove yourself in battle against Lucifer’s army that has taken over the streets outside our walls there is much reward to be gained,” Kettle replied. He then leaned forward and put his elbows onto the desk top.
“We do ask that those with information or skills that would strengthen the group as a whole take it upon themselves to help.”
“I really don’t know how I could help other than guard duty. I used to be a cashier at Taco Bell before the world went crazy,” Blake said bluntly.
Kettle smiled, “Oh I don’t believe that. Surely you have information regarding the prison where you claimed to have lived and worked for the past few weeks. We’ve been having problems with them, and anything you know would be of great help.”
Blake looked around, uncertain where to start. “Well… the people that run the prison, mainly Stephen and Mike, don’t stand for any bullshit. They give you one chance to make amends, and if you don’t agree with them, they throw your ass out.”
“Fucking assholes,” Lewis muttered.
Blake glanced over and nodded in agreement. “And they have people patrolling all day and night, with several that do nothing but shoot the zombies from the prison guard towers. That is why I and several others are forced to gather the new dead every day and burn them. The camper I use is small, and although it has a kitchen and shower, I am still forced to fill and empty the water and waste tanks by hand after busting my ass all day. Plus, there were several very fuckable women inside those walls, and we were told that any unwanted sexual contact was an immediate death sentence if found guilty! Who the fuck do they think they are? Judge, jury and executioner? A man has needs, you know?”
Kettle nodded and shook his head. “Only the Lord can judge your soul, my son. And He sends his orders through me.”
Blake paused momentarily, reached into his front jacket pocket and retrieved a hand held Motorola radio.
“I do have this. When we are outside the walls we keep in contact with these. It is already set up with the correct frequency. They use different channels for raids and such, and I know most of them. They are nothing if not organized. ”
Blake, seeing Kettle’s eyes light up at the news of the radio, began talking in a rush. “Hey, I could probably get you a man inside if you want. My camper is just sitting there. It’s a small Rockwood. They have a kind of campground going in their yard, and I’m in row C plot 2. New arrivals get interviewed and quarantined first, though, by that bitch Mattie. I would have given my left nut for a piece of that sweet ass. Hell, I should have just raped her then and taken off for here right away. She turned down my offer for sex several times, and when I grabbed her ass, she slapped me so hard I saw stars. Her tight ass is enough to make a priest forget his vows!”
Blake eyes widened as he realized who he was talking to as Kettle sat there in his church vestments, “I’m sorry, Father. I meant no disrespect!”
Kettle’s eyes hardened and he gave Jonas a subtle nod, “None taken. I have heard of this woman called Mattie, and I do believe we have learned enough to make our decision. Why don’t you remove your jacket, the smell is starting to make my stomach turn. We can find you some new living quarters and see that you are properly rewarded for your information.”
Blake grinned widely and shrugged out of his smelly jacket and began to reply as he turned to hand it off to Jonas.
“This is fucking fantastic! I knew I made the right choice coming here. When do you think I can get a piece of assuuuhh?“
Blake stopped and looked down to his chest, staring in confusion at the long knife that was sticking from his body.
“Wha… wh.. why?” he stuttered as he looked into the ice cold eyes of his killer.
Jonas did not reply with words. Instead, he yanked the knife free and sank it yet again into Blake’s stomach and twisted. Blake dropped to the floor with a sickening thud. Dark red blood gushed from his wounds, spilled out onto the floor, adding to the crimson stain that already permeated the old wood planks.
Kettle gazed at Jonas with approval. “Take his jacket, and radio and use the knowledge we gained to infiltrate the prison. You know what needs to be done.”
“Yes, Father!” Jonas replied.
Lewis backed away from the fallen man in stunned amazement as the life faded from his eyes.
“I-I’m gonna be s-sick, I’m out of here.” Lewis stammered, with his face whitening. “Did he really have to do that in here?”
Kettle waved his brother away and kneeled over the fallen man, who still had the look of shock on his face as he bled out.
“You could have thrived here my son,” Kettle whispered into his ear, “but not with your bad attitude, you would just get in my way.”
46
October 24
Day 60
Dallas, Texas
Matvei was exhausted, having been awake for the past 35 hours, but still the chance at sleep eluded him. The situation that greeted Matvei upon his arrival in Dallas was not a good one. All three of his battalion-sized groups had set up perimeters and then fanned out into the surrounding area but immediately began acting more like looters and thieves than a disciplined invading army. The rapes of the women and murders of their husbands and boyfriends did not endear Matvei's men to the local population, who had lived up to their reputation as a well-armed populace.
“Fucking Texans!” Matvei cursed.
Matvei left Lt. Calderon in command under strict orders to curtail such activities, but hired mercenaries were hard to control, especially when money was worthless. A sizable militia group had formed in Fort Worth, with a large perimeter being held around a mail order warehouse facility stacked with ammunition. There was a lot of radio traffic coming out of their compound, and they were in contact with several other safe zones operating in the immediate area of Matvei's mercenaries.
Matvei himself was in Duncanville, and there was a large safe zone operating at the Duncanville High School. They were also less than receptive to Matvei's overtures and considered him an invading foreign army, which Matvei had to admit that he was. Matvei did not wish to waste the time or resources on attacking the safe zone and would try to just wait them out.
However, the biggest problem facing Matvei and the safe zones was the infected. The Dallas-Fort Worth area had a population of over 6.5 million people, an
d from the looks of it via his command helicopter, at least three to four million infected, lifeless souls where milling around in the ravaged urban setting. To make matters worse, a pattern was emerging in which the zombies would naturally gather around pockets of living humans and eventually overrun them. Just yesterday a rather large safe zone in nearby Lancaster had been overrun, and Matvei also lost contact with a platoon-sized element of his mercenaries operating in the area. Downtown Dallas itself was in flames and more and more infected were being pushed his way. His men were now constantly engaged and taking losses holding the line.
And for what?
That was the question Matvei asked himself after what was now weeks of constant pressure from both the infected and local populations. Since being pushed north early, Matvei had felt his plans of a small empire slowly burn out. Now he felt like this was his last chance. He was beginning to doubt it was going to be possible to hold his small army together. Yet he must try; his ego and sense of duty demanded it. He was confident in his abilities as a leader and had never left the field to the enemy during his military career and refused to do so now. He also decided to pull the three hundred men from the Houston area, hoping for safety in numbers. They also become heavily engaged and only half of them ever showed up to augment his command.
Eventually, a plan began to develop in his head. Matvei approached his radio operator, a beautiful young woman who had lost her family to the cartel and in the process had become very loyal to Matvei and his men, who saved her from being sold off in the States for human sex trafficking.
"Send out the following message to Lt. Calderon: have all of our forces from Mesquite and Hutchins fall back in an orderly manner to this location," Matvei commanded. "And tell them to bring as many of the locals as they can and bring them by force, if necessary. They are to fall in line from this point here and fan out to the east, using this position as our flank. We are going to move to the west and use the safe zone operating at the Duncanville High School as our left flank. They may not like, it but they won't be able to stop us. They will need us just as much as we need them if as many of the infected bastards show up here as I think will."
"Yes sir," the young woman answered briskly, only allowing a brief look of concern in her eyes.
"Don't worry, Elma," Matvei said while placing his hand on her shoulder in a reassuring manner. "We’re only going to hold this new position long enough to get the hell out of Dallas without getting everyone killed. We’re then going to try and get around the city and head north. I’ve heard good things about the mountains and lakes in Missouri, and I think if we can get up there we have a chance. It's sparsely populated and is very richly supplied with natural resources. The Cartel cached some supplies up there as well, and I’m hoping that the cold winter months will kill these creatures off."
Matvei's strong presence did help to reassure Elma that he would be able to protect her and the others, and when Matvei told her that he was heading to his private quarters for some rest, she saw the invitation in his eyes, even though he said nothing. Radio duties were handed off, and Lt. Calderon would have to oversee Matvei's plan come into reality. As she undressed, Matvei told her of his ranch in Arizona and his small command in New Mexico that was faring much better. He explained that he did not want to send the bulk of his force that direction, but if things got bad, he would take her there. As she removed her bra and drew close, she thanked him again for his concern. As they embraced, Elma felt all worry leave her body. Matvei consumed her ravenously before exhaustion finally drove them both into deep sleep.
* * * * * * * *
Matvei awoke to the sound of heavy gunfire and slowly rose from his empty bed while glancing at his watch. He had been asleep for six much needed hours and dressed hastily before exiting his quarters. He saw that Elma had already returned to her post. Matvei was still strapping on his USP .45 as he asked for a situation update.
“The lead elements of our returning columns are arriving, sir,” one of Matvei’s men reported, “and they have brought a lot of company with them.”
As Matvei exited the command center, he saw that trucks loaded with men were pulling in with the occupants dismounting and running back in the direction from which they came. Turning back for his rifle, Matvei followed the men the short distance back to the wall.
He was stunned at what he saw. Trucks, as well as men running on foot, were streaming in while a horde of infected so large it reminded Matvei of an avalanche descended upon them. There were far more than he could have imagined. His mind racing, Matvei stepped up and emptied his rifle into several targets who had pressed to within fifty meters of the gate. The noises and smells of combat brought Matvei back to his days in Chechnya, and he instinctively reloaded and emptied another magazine, striking seven or eight of the lead infected in the head. As he paused to reload again, Matvei came to grips with the situation and called up a courier.
“Tell Alpha Company to round up all the supply vehicles that are coming in and get ready to move out. I want them on the highway moving north within the hour,” Matvei ordered as he aimed his rifle and squeezed the trigger. “We will stay to the west of Mountain Creek Lake and hopefully be north of the city in a few hours. We have to hold here so they can break contact. Once they break through, others will follow.”
When the courier left, Matvei called another courier and snapped the next order while firing on yet another horde who pressed home the attack.
“Tell Bravo and Charlie Companies to shift to our left and get in close to the Duncanville Safe Zone. We need to get some of the pressure off us and on to them!” Matvei yelled over the report of his rifle.
As the second runner took off, Matvei ran towards the gate and waved in another group of arriving trucks. They pulled into the compound amidst a hail of gunfire, and Matvei rallied his men with words of encouragement and sent them directly into the fight.
“Hold to the last man,” he urged, “or we are all dead!”
Returning to the Command Post, Matvei ordered Elma to get Lt. Calderon on the radio.
“Where are you, and what do you got?” Matvei asked into the microphone as soon as his lieutenant spoke.
The return traffic was badly distorted, but Matvei could make out that Lt. Calderon was in trouble. After the battalion in Mesquite had linked up with the battalion in Hutchins, they realized that they had dragged approximately a hundred thousand bad guys along with them. Lt. Calderon stayed behind to fight a delaying action in order to allow the main force to break contact. While being only partially successful in allowing the column to escape, Lt. Calderon and his men got cut off and completely surrounded. Thousands of undead were now on top of them, pressing ever closer. Over the radio, Matvei could hear the screams of men as ammunition began to run low and the infected broke the perimeter. The radio then went silent and Elma was unable to raise them again.
“That will be our fate as well if we stay here much longer.”
Looking back to Elma, he made yet another executive order. “Send out a message to all of the men. Tell them we need to make a stand here until we can clear a path out to the north and then we will get the hell out of here. That will take a day or so, and we are going to need to be stubborn.”
Matvei knew that to fall back immediately would probably lead to a disorganized retreat that would in turn most likely lead to a massacre. Already, numbers were coming in that he was down several hundred men. Matvei then began to walk the line offering encouragement to the besieged defenders, stopping to fire his G36 into the horde that kept coming relentlessly. The cowards and shirkers were long gone by now and only the true fighters remained. This was all that was keeping them alive.
* * * * * * * *
The night flew by in a hail of gunfire, and with the dawn of a new day, the infected pressed the attack on all fronts. The hastily prepared defenses of vehicle barricades and trenches succumbed to the avalanche of undead that descended out of Dallas. Matvei received word just after noon that
the infected had turned the right flank of his line and were pouring into the perimeter of his command. He had just sent the last supply convoy north, and it appeared just in time. Matvei himself had moved in close to the Duncanville safe zone at dawn, and the high school was also now besieged and looking as if it would collapse as well. Matvei ordered his pilot to prepare his helicopter. He then went and found Elma manning the radio and told her to order all remaining men to withdraw to the northwest along the prearranged route. She looked terrified but immediately carried out the order.
“It’s every man for themselves,” Matvei relayed that last order personally over the radio.
As the men began what was to be a fighting retreat, part of the line directly in front of Matvei collapsed without warning and a flood of howling, shambling infected poured in around him. All along the line the organized fighting withdraw turned into a chaotic fight for survival. Clutching his rifle, Matvei fired at three large men with yellow skin and shredded clothing who suddenly popped up between him and Elma. He grabbed her and headed for the helipad. Several more infected came out of nowhere, and Matvei fired wildly. The shots would have been fatal for mortal humans but not to the infected. One of them sunk his teeth into Elma’s arm, and she screamed in terror and shock. Matvei was transfixed momentarily by the look on her face. His rifle dry, Matvei let it fall on his chest, hanging from its single point sling, and transitioned to his pistol, shooting the attackers in the head before hesitating briefly, and then blasting a round into poor Elma’s skull as well. He heard cries of terror all around him as his men realized they were doomed.
“They shall feast today, the demons,” Matvei hissed. “But not on me.”