Cajun Zombie Chronicles: (Book 3): The Kingdom Dead
Page 1
Copyright © 2019
Scott L. Smith.
All rights reserved.
Cajun Zombie Chronicles: Book Three
The Kingdom Dead
ISBN-13: 978-1-950782-03-1 (Holy Water Books)
HOLY WATER BOOKS
At the unexpected horizons of the New Evangelization
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the author(s) and/or editor(s).
Cover design by Holy Water Books
Cajun Zombie Chronicles: Book Three
THE KINGDOM DEAD
CHAPTER ONE: SMITHFIELD
CHAPTER TWO: MORNING
CHAPTER THREE: THE FACTORY PLAN
CHAPTER FOUR: THE O. K. CORRAL
CHAPTER FIVE: SLIPPERY SLOPE
CHAPTER SIX: HOME AGAIN
CHAPTER SEVEN: GAS STATION
CHAPTER EIGHT: THE SCHOOL
CHAPTER NINE: THE BOBCAT
CHAPTER TEN: PURSUIT
CHAPTER ELEVEN: CROSSROADS
CHAPTER TWELVE: DEAD AIR
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: RIVER RATS
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE CAJUN NAVY
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE OTHERS
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: AIRBORNE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: AFTER HUMAN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE: SMITHFIELD
Isherwood passed the binoculars to Justin, who soon thereafter passed them to Padre. They were lying beneath the crest of the levee, looking south along the River Road. Stretching out before them was one of the only straightaways on what was otherwise a tightly curving road. The only significant obstruction along the southern horizon, besides the levee itself, was a large home. It wasn’t a plantation-style home, which were so common along the Mississippi River, though it was a plantation. Its gabled roofs, turret, and elaborate façade betrayed its Queen Anne, Eastlake style. At three stories, it towered over the landscape, rising high above the levee. It would have occupied an entire city block, if it wasn’t it the middle of nowhere. It was something of an oddity along the river, but would prove too great a temptation, Isherwood was betting, for a band of survivors traveling on foot from Baton Rouge.
The survivors at St. Mary’s had just returned from a rescue mission to Whiskey Bay to save the family of Isherwood’s wife, when their radio operator received two urgent distress calls. The first was from their outpost in Livonia, which was experiencing increased zombie activity. This was likely the fault of the rescue mission, whose movements had likely drawn the immense Interstate 10 swarm northward to Livonia. The second transmission was from, allegedly, a small group of survivors who had recently escaped Baton Rouge across the “Old Bridge.” This group was headed to St. Mary’s and appeared to offer no ill will, though Isherwood was taking no chances.
For the most part, Isherwood’s band of survivors had encountered only friendly and trustworthy groups of other survivors with a few notable exceptions. One band of religious fanatics had actually kidnapped Isherwood’s child for God knew what purpose. It had been a church group with whom Aunt Tad and Uncle Jerry had once associated. Tad had resolved that situation quickly and ruthlessly. Nevertheless, Isherwood had decided to approach new bands of survivors from a posture of “trust, but verify.”
Isherwood had only brought Justin and Father Simeon, called Padre, to intercept the survivors. He didn’t want to leave St. Mary’s unprotected, so they would also take responsibility for relieving the siege of Livonia, as well. They had left Patrick in charge of defending their home. After their rescue, Isherwood had left his in-laws at St. Mary’s, where they would be nursed back to health by Aunt Tad and the others. He was counting on his father and brothers-in-law to recover quickly from the long term effects of starvation. He knew their fledgling community really needed their help. Besides helping with their nascent attempts at ranching and farming, they could radically alter their ability to reach out and rescue other survivors and connect with other areas.
Isherwood hoped to intercept the survivors along River Road and, if they were friendly, enlist their help with Livonia. This would be a test of sorts, he thought. They had no way of knowing where the “Old Bridge” group was or how far they had come from the bridge, but Isherwood knew that the River Road was the only other route to St. Mary’s besides the path that ran through Livonia. It was getting dark, too. If Isherwood was right, the survivors would likely shelter for the night at Smithfield.
Isherwood had wanted to observe the other group from afar and to listen in on their conversations while they still thought they were alone. But he was wrestling with his decision to lie exposed atop the levee. If he was so confident that the other group was going to stop at Smithfield, why hadn’t he just waited for them inside the house. It would have been much easier to defend themselves inside the house, than out. Or, if a patch of the river dead came upon them from behind, they would be forced to flee down the levee, anyway. Isherwood tried forcing these thoughts from his head. He was having to do that a lot these days. It was too late to change now, anyway, he told himself.
Justin let himself slip down the levee apiece. “So what happens,” he whispered.
“Keep your voice down, Justin.” Isherwood scolded.
Padre and Justin exchanged glances. They would continue to cut their friend slack, but Isherwood seemed to be getting edgier and edgier.
“So what happens,” Justin whispered again, and then thought better of it. “Ish, let’s do this. If they don’t come in the next half hour, I’ll split off and scout the alternate routes on my own. We’ve got the radios. It’s not like we’d be out of touch. Much.”
“We’ve been through this.” Isherwood said, his own voice rising above a whisper. “We’re already too small a group. If these guys attack us, we’re probably screwed as it is.”
“Right.” Justin pressed. “We’re screwed either way if they’re hostile. So let’s just …”
“Shut it.” Padre said suddenly. “They’re here.”
They all grew suddenly quiet and still. It took a while for Justin and Isherwood to see the figures emerge from the evening half-light, as Padre was still using the larger set of military-grade M830r binoculars. They both pulled out smaller, pocket-sized binoculars from their vests. They were walking in wedge formation down the center of River Road.
Padre was already scanning the side of the levee and the far side of the road for other flanking groups. “It’s just the one group, I think. No more,” he said. “Eight total. Well-armed.”
“Women, children, elderly?” Isherwood asked.
Padre was about to respond, when Justin interrupted. “Is that a wheelchair?”
“It is,” Padre answered. “An old woman, I think.”
“They pass the first test,” Isherwood answered. “But it could still be trap.”
“Seriously?” Justin winced, but Isherwood didn’t respond.
“Anything tailing them?” Isherwood asked Padre.
“Nothing yet.” Padre answered.
As they watched, the group slipped quickly off the roadway. The sun had slipped below the horizon and it was beginning to grow dark quickly. Two of them broke off from the back of the group and jogged around either side of the large house. They were moving with precision. Isherwood and his group didn’t see these two come back from behind the house, and they assumed they entered the house from the back door.
Another pair of people proceeded up the front steps of the house. The last four, including the women in the wheelchair and the person who was p
ushing her, remained on the front lawn about fifteen feet from the front steps. They scanned the surrounding area while the others cleared the house.
The work of scanning the house was done quickly and quietly from what Isherwood and the others could tell. The second pair scanned and cleared the porch which wrapped around the front part of the house and then returned to the front doors. They opened the doors quietly without needing to knock them in noisily. Thereafter, from the levee, they saw only one muzzle flash from inside the dark house, but heard no report. “These guys are impressive,” Justin mused. “Got silencers, too. Wonder why they’re coming to us?”
Men appeared from inside the house to give the all clear sign to those still waiting on the front lawn. The one man pushed the wheelchair to the front steps and then moved to the front of the wheelchair and knelt down. The old woman rose from the chair and climbed onto the kneeling man’s back. He hurried up the stairs with the old woman clinging to his back, as if he had done it many times before. Another one collapsed the wheelchair and carried it up the stairs separately.
“Kinda touching, actually,” Justin said with mocking sweetness.
Padre nodded. “I sure hope these are good guys.”
In another couple minutes, the lawn was empty and the house was again quiet. If it weren’t for a small glint of light from inside, the place would look entirely abandoned.
Isherwood tapped his buddies on the shoulder, and the three of them slid down below the crest of the levee. “Look, Ish. I don’t see any way we can get close enough to the house to listen in without being noticed. Maybe we just ought to do the neighborly thing?”
“What’s that? Bring over a Jell-O mold?” Isherwood grumbled in disdain.
“Hey,” Justin said with irritation. “That’s my line.”
A flash appeared in the shadow of the levee. It was Isherwood’s smile. “Yeah, you know, I’m feeling alright about these guys.”
Padre nodded, though the others couldn’t tell. “Me, too. Besides, I don’t think sneaking up on these guys would be too wise.”
“Agreed,” Isherwood said. “Only, you stay back. Okay, Padre? If we don’t give you the all clear sign after a half hour, you do what you think best.”
“I’ll keep my radio on, so you can listen in,” Justin added.
“Good,” Isherwood agreed. “You ready, Justin?”
“Just me and my AR, is all.” He said, tapping his trusty gun and giving it a little kiss.
“Great,” Isherwood said, shaking his head. “Padre, would you give us your blessing, please?”
*****
A minute later, Isherwood and Justin were standing in the front lawn of Smithfield. The stairs rose before them to a height well over their heads. “God, this place is massive.” Justin whispered.
“Would make a good outpost.” Isherwood nodded. “Just have to remove these stairs, and it would be a castle.”
Justin looked at him awkwardly, wondering why Isherwood was hesitating while they were out in the open. Isherwood caught Justin’s look and turned away a little too quickly. “I just, uh,” Isherwood started and then stopped.
“Ish?” Justin looked at him with an uncomfortable grin. “You’re not about to tell me you love me, are you?”
Isherwood wrinkled his brow in frustration. He wasn’t prepared for Justin’s banter just now. “I just wanted to say sorry. I’ve been fraying a bit at the edges recently, and I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
Justin just stared back at him stupidly. “Ah, hell.” Isherwood burst out, louder than he should have. “Forget it. Nevermind. Forget I said …”
Justin cracked a smile. “Dude, don’t be an idiot. You got nothing to apologize for. You understand. I owe you – we all owe you – big time. Besides, if you don’t let off a little steam every once in a while, you’ll pop: eyeballs, entrails, snot – everywhere. It’s cool, okay?”
“Thanks, buddy,” Isherwood said. “Now, let’s shut up and do this thing.” Together, they began walking up the stairs. They weren’t trying to be stealth. The last thing they wanted was to surprise the new occupants of Smithfield. Even if they had wanted to be stealth, it would have been impossible on these stairs. They might as well be setting off firecrackers for all the creaking of the old boards. Isherwood wondered to himself how the other group had climbed these stairs so quietly before, especially the one who had carried the old woman on his back. They should have heard the same cacophony all the way to the levee.
Isherwood stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned over, reaching for the floor of the porch. He knocked twice and then twice again. It wasn’t loud enough to draw zombies, he hoped. It was hopefully enough, however, to alert the occupants to their living presence. Isherwood and Justin stood still at the top of the stairs for a minute or so, and then Isherwood tried knocking again.
“Shh, man,” a voice suddenly interrupted Isherwood mid-knock. “They’re not far behind us. You’ll send them right to the friggin’ doorstep.”
Isherwood jerked his head up in surprise. He wasn’t expecting such instant familiarity between the groups.
They couldn’t see who was speaking, but they now saw that the one of the tall front doors had been cracked open. “Get in! Quick! Before they see you.”
Isherwood and Justin followed the instructions of the disembodied voice blindly. Before Isherwood disappeared inside the house, he turned back to the levee and gave Padre a sign to alert him to the oncoming hoard. Isherwood pointed at his eyes, then down the River Road, then made a ‘Z’ with his left hand. Somebody, Isherwood thought it might’ve been Aunt Tad, had remembered how a ‘Z’ was made in sign language. A ‘Z’ was just swished out in the air, like Zorro did with his whip.
A middle-aged man rushed Isherwood and Justin inside the doors and quickly turned his attention back to the front door. He took great pains to turn the doorknob slowly, so as not to make a sound. Then, he returned a doorstop to its place that braced both doors closed. Justin thought he had remembered seeing something a similar door brace on an infomercial – back when there were infomercials – advertised alongside the “Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” necklace monitor.
“Good God, man,” Isherwood whispered. “That must be some kind of swarm you got on your tail.”
The man still hadn’t turned to face them. He was leaning forward to stare past the thick curtains that covered the beveled glass insets of the door. “Yeah, we used to be three times this many,” the man admitted somberly.
“You, uh,” the man began, finally turning to face them. He looked haggard and clearly had not seen a razor in some time. He looked frenzied, like a man who had been on the run for days. “You signaled to somebody out there, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Isherwood admitted. “I’m …”
“I’m sorry about that,” the haggard man interrupted. “He’s probably dead already. There’s nothing we can do for him now.”
“What d’you mean?” Justin asked in a hush.
“Shh,” the haggard man insisted. “Not so loud.”
“What d’you mean?” Justin repeated a few decibels softer. “I still don’t see anything out there.”
“It’s okay, though,” Isherwood added, matching their hushed tones. “Padre can take care of himself.”
“Padre? Did you say ‘Padre’?” The haggard man asked suddenly. His eyes grew wide and he hurriedly turned back to the doorknob.
Isherwood lunged for the man’s hands. “No, no. It’s okay, really. He’s more than able to …”
“But he’s a priest, isn’t he?” The haggard man said as he forced his muscles to relax beneath Isherwood’s grip.
“Yeah, actually,” Justin said. “How’d you know?”
The haggard man was shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s why we’ve come, that’s why. The old woman, she – well, she’ll have to explain it to you.”
“God,” he said, turning back to the door and trying to shove his eyeball past the curtain. “Y
ou sure he’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Isherwood tried comforting the man. “He’s been through and survived much worse already.”
“Dang,” Justin said as he thought aloud. “Y’all seemed to be so much more confident when we were watching you.”
“Did we?” The man asked, grinning despite himself. “Yeah, I suppose we’re pretty practiced by now. It took us weeks to get out of Baton Rouge, and we only started downtown, not far from the Old Bridge.” The ‘Old Bridge’ was what the locals called the older of the two Mississippi River Bridges. There were actually three Mississippi River bridges in the area now. Construction finished on the Audubon Bridge just a few years ago. About a month ago, Isherwood had blocked off the Audubon Bridge in an effort to make an island out of St. Maryville, cutting off as many routes as he could into the small town. The job was nearly completed, as the town was surrounded by moats of water between False River and the Mississippi River. Before blocking the bridge, Isherwood had led a slow train of zombies over it, like the Pied Piper of Hamlin. He had cleared out maybe three thousand of the five thousand plus zombies staggering around St. Maryville. Even with this success, however, St. Maryville had still been harried by legions of the so-called River Dead. The Mississippi River would periodically belch up swarms of zombies carried by its currents from parts unknown. Isherwood, however, had plans for these water-borne swarms.
“But you seem so on edge for someone with that kind of experience,” Justin continued.
“You would, too,” Isherwood scolded. “If you hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks.”
The man looked back at them. His eyes were wide as though only vaguely aware of their presence. He might have been talking to himself. “‘A good night’s sleep’? Don’t even know what that means anymore.” He swung his head back at them and smiled. “I’m Chet, by the way.” He pushed his hand towards them indicating a handshake, but retrieved it before either Isherwood or Justin could respond.