Zompoc Survivor: Chronicle: A Zompoc Survivor Boxed Set

by Ben Reeder

  Even humans who hadn’t been infected were preying on their own kind. As much as I wanted to judge myself superior to the two men I’d shot earlier, in truth, I couldn’t say I was that much different. It had been way too easy to pull the trigger the first time, and even easier the second. My gaze went to Sherman as he nuzzled my hand. If there was one difference, though, he was the result of it. My father had always said that you could tell a lot about the character of a man by the way he treated folks around him when he held power in his hands. When we’d had the chance, Porsche and I had helped Sherman out. It was a small difference, but it was enough for me to hang on to my humanity.

  Chapter 7

  Average, Ordinary Heroes

  Unhappy the land in need of heroes

  ~ Bertolt Brecht ~

  We drove along quietly after that, Sherman leaning up against me as I rode in the back of the truck, Porsche quiet in the front. All told it had been only a couple of hours since the world started its one way trip to Hell, but already I was feeling the strain. She wound her way through the back streets, and I could hear the moans of the infected and the distant screams of the dying. Gunshots sounded in the distance, and I heard another Chinook fly overhead. That sound stirred questions in my head. What in the Hell were Army helicopters doing flying over the city without their running lights on?

  “Turn the radio on,” I said. A heartbeat later, static filled the air. Porsche turned the volume down before she turned to me.

  “The Q’s off the air,” she said.

  “Try KTTZ,” I told her. “If it’s news you know they’re gonna be all over it.” She hit one of the presets on her radio, and an unfamiliar voice came over the speakers.

  “…again, evacuation is in progress. Army National Guard personnel and Homeland Security agents are asking all citizens for their cooperation as they evacuate uninfected members of the population. If you have encountered an infected person, please inform the soldiers or agents who are evacuating you and medical help will be provided for you. If you are in a safe place, such as a school or your place of employment, please stay where you are and call this station or 417-555-EVAC. Emergency evacuation is in progress. Stay indoors and do not make contact with anyone who is infected.” Silence followed, then the voice began again. “Citizens of Springfield, please stay in your homes and cooperate fully with your local, state and federal government representatives. Martial law has been declared for the state of Missouri and an immediate curfew is in effect. Looters will be shot on sight. Emergency evacuation is in progress. Again, emergency evacuation is in progress. Army National Guard personnel-” Porsche turned the radio off as it started to repeat what we’d already heard, then turned to me with wide eyes full of questions.

  “Should we…?” she let the question hang in the air between us. I shook my head slowly.

  “No, if this was legit…we’d be seeing running lights on those choppers overhead,” I said. “This doesn’t feel right.” She nodded, and I felt a pang of guilt when she turned her attention back to the road. Up until today, we’d just been co-workers, sharing a few hours at a time, talking about inconsequential things. Now, she was trusting me with her life.

  We made a left, then she took a right down a side street and a hundred yards later, we were turning right on to Seminole. The street was clear ahead, save for a few bodies. When we passed the first one, a man in what was left of a patient’s hospital gown, I saw tire marks across the side of its head in the pale light of the street lamp. Further on, one of the infected in a white lab coat and suit pants had been reduced to crawling along, its legs and hips twisted almost completely around. Tire marks were clearly visible along its back, and there was broken glass imbedded in its face. A third body was splayed out in the middle of the road, with a bloody tire tread running straight up the back of her skimpy yellow minidress. A grim smile creased my face as I let a spark of hope kindle in my heart. Someone had been this way not long before, and I was willing to put good money on my girl Maya. How she’d gotten past Campbell and the St John’s campus was a mystery to me, but if anyone would have been able to figure it out, that person would have been Maya. Glenstone looked like it was still backed up, but I saw an opening a little ways to the left as we got closer. I pointed over Porsche’s shoulder, and she nodded. Moments later, she was taking the left turn into the parking lot of a liquor store, then cutting across the lot of an old gas station that had been converted to an auto glass shop. The driveway out of their parking lot led into the narrow opening between two compact cars that were at an angle to the lane they should have been in. Broken glass and shards of black fiberglass littered the edges of the opening, and I could see two strips of black where someone had left a layer of rubber on the concrete. The rear of another car had been pushed out of the way in the next lane, and then the way was clear. I felt a moment of pity for anything between Maya and Amy as I surveyed what I figured was her handiwork. We sped across the empty northbound lanes, into the parking lot of a shopping center I’d passed a million times without ever going in, and cut behind a motorsport shop. I pointed across Seminole to the street that angled between the big community blood bank and the Brentwood Branch of the library. She followed my directions, and in seconds, she had us heading down Brentwood.

  “Stay on this street. It’ll branch, take the left fork and follow it around to the right after that!” I called to her as she sped along the road.

  “Nice neighborhood,” she said as we rounded the first curve.

  “Yeah, her ex is a lawyer; he specializes in insurance cases.”

  “That explains a lot,” she said with a soft chuckle. She followed my directions to the letter, and in less than two minutes, we were pulling into the driveway of Maya’s ex-husband’s house. Karl had done well for himself, and his house was in one of the older, upper middle class neighborhoods. It was one of the old Federal style house plans, with tall columns in front and a driveway that went past the left side of the house to a detached three car garage in the back yard. My heart leaped when I saw Maya’s battered black car was parked next to the house, and I could hear the faint sound of voices coming from inside as Porsche turned the truck’s engine off. Sherman followed me when I jumped over the side of the truck. Porsche was climbing out as well, and I took a moment to assess the area. Rule seven was to know your terrain, and I was making sure I did.

  “Okay, I need you to stay alert out here,” I told her. “Rule Twelve. Assume that people suck after shit hits the fan, and that they’re after your stuff. If you see anyone, let me know.”

  “I think I figured that one out for myself the hard way back at the park,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah, you did. Dave’s Rule Number Thirteen: Don’t be one of the people who suck after shit hits the fan. I’ll be back out as soon as I can, and we’ll work on getting the hell out of town.” She gave me a quick nod, then stepped past me. Sherman followed me to the front door, his claws clicking on the sidewalk. The front door opened when I was a few steps away, and Amy barreled into me with a hug that made my ribs creak. From behind her came raised voices, easily audible until the door shut.

  “Thank God you’re here!” she murmured into my chest. I put my free arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, then reluctantly let go. Affection was all well and good, and I wanted nothing more than to hug the stuffing out of her, but not when I was carrying an assault rifle. She stepped back and I found myself looking into dark eyes that reminded me of Maya’s. Most of her features favored her mother, in fact, from the wavy dark hair to the high cheekbones her distant Cherokee ancestors had gifted her. She might not have been my blood, but when it came down to it, I loved her as if she was my daughter. She and Maya were the reason behind Dave’s Rule Number Twenty Two: Watch out for your friends and family. No part of my survival prep had been more important.

  “Sounds like they’re really going at it,” I said as I heard the muffled voices even through the door. “How long ago did your mom get here?”
>
  “Like ten minutes ago.” She turned and headed back for the door, leaving me to follow.

  “Man, that escalated quickly,” I said as I heard Karl’s voice from inside.

  “Yeah, they pretty much started yelling at each other the second Mom walked in the door. I tried telling Dad what you said, but he wouldn’t listen. Once Mom showed up, I didn’t even try to get between them.” She opened the door, and we were inundated by Karl’s booming voice as soon as we walked in the house. I noticed the black backpack sitting next to Maya’s purse on the table in the foyer as we headed for the dining room. I felt a sense of pride seeing that she’d had grabbed the bug-out bag from her car. I added ‘good partner for the zombie apocalypse’ to the list of reasons I’d made a damn good choice in her.

  “I don’t care what that crackpot loser you’re shacked up with says, we’re staying here! I’m her father and her custodial parent and my word is the only one that counts! You gave up any right to dictate anything about her life when you walked out on us!” He was looming over Maya with his face inches from hers, shouting at the top of his lungs with a gun in his right hand. With anyone else, it might have been intimidating. Against Maya, it was like water on rocks. In a thousand years, it might wear her down a little. Karl was a big man, standing an easy six feet four inches to Maya’s five and a half feet. Success had turned him from a muscular man into a beefy one, softening the edges of his features and giving his face a rounder, fuller look to go with the perfectly coiffed hairdo. Maya, on the other hand, was still lean and her face held every well-defined line that I’d fallen in love with when I first met her. Her dark eyes were blazing as she looked up at Karl, and I knew he’d made a mistake.

  “I wasn’t the one fucking my secretary!” she hissed. “I wasn’t the one who left his daughter to shack up with the bitch for six months until he could get custody. I didn’t give any of my rights up, you son of a bitch! You stole them from me! And I’m not the idiot who’s going to wait for help that’s never gonna come!” Something in Karl’s face changed, and I saw his hand draw back. My body tensed to move, but Sherman’s low growl stopped everyone in the room cold. Karl turned to face me, and his expression transformed into a sneer of disgust.

  “Get that dog out of my house before I shoot it,” he said as he pointed his pistol at Sherman. I recognized the gun from one of our previous encounters. I’d been on the same side of it then, too. He’d waved the same Colt Python in my face during a drunken tirade the first time I’d brought Amy back home from Thanksgiving three years ago. I hadn’t been anywhere near as well armed then as I was now, and it took him a second to realize that he was on the losing end of the pissing contest this time. The pistol wavered for a moment, then slowly lowered as he gave a barely audible gulp.

  “Yes, Karl, my dick’s bigger today,” I said as I stepped into the room, deliberately keeping the barrel of the M-4 pointed down and away from anyone. “Now, we’re going to deal with this like reasonable people. The guy with the big gun is going to talk, and you’re going to hear him out.”

  “You’re going to jail for this,” Karl said. I hefted the M-4.

  “Big gun. Talking. Now shut up and listen.” I turned to Amy. “Amy, what do you want to do?”

  “I want to leave, Daddy,” she said in a wavering voice. “I’m scared, and I don’t think anyone’s going to come help us and I want you to come with us!”

  Both Maya and Karl wilted at her words, and Maya rushed to her side. Karl might have been a grade A buttmunch, but where his daughter was concerned, he was still a man trying to be the best father he knew how to be. Even if the best he knew how to be was an asshole, I still had to give him credit for the effort. I slung the carbine and closed the distance between us.

  “See, that wasn’t so hard. So, what’s it going to be?” I asked quietly.

  “I refuse to simply flee like lemmings. The roads are blocked, and even if we could get through, we don’t stand a chance of making it past the city limits. Even if we could make it that far, where do you think we’d go?” He tried staring me down from his greater height, but after the things I’d seen and done in the last two hours, five or six inches of vertical advantage just wasn’t enough to get the job done.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got the where covered. And if Maya can make it here from halfway across town, unarmed and alone, why is a big man like you pissing himself over leaving the house?” He puffed up at that, and I knew I’d hit him right where he lived: his pride.

  “The government has imposed martial law. I’m not about to let my daughter get herself shot following you,” he growled at me.

  “Because starvation and disease are much slower deaths for her,” I shot back. “And you want her to suffer for as long as possible, right? Look Karl, there is no help coming. None. This is happening nationwide, and we’re one of the last cities to be affected. There is almost nothing left to spare by now.”

  “But…they said on the radio…they’re evacuating people,” he stammered. I felt as much as heard Amy and Maya come up behind me.

  “Dad, come on,” Amy said with all the sarcasm inherent in her teenaged body. “They didn’t tell anyone what to do or where to go. It’s all just ‘Stay put and wait.’ Where’s the evacuation centers?” If there was one expert in the room on being lied to by adults, it was Amy.

  “Listen to your daughter, Karl,” Maya said gently. “You raised a smart girl…with a little help.” He gave us all a glare that melted against the collected wills of the three people staring back at him, then he sort of deflated.

  “Alright,” he huffed. “Give me a few minutes to get some stuff packed, and we’ll go with you.” He left the room with a long suffering sigh, and I turned to Amy.

  “Way to go there, munchkin,” I told her as I gestured for her to come to me. She gave me a quick, tight hug before she backed away to regain her teen composure.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Got your go bag ready?” I asked.

  “Yeah, it’s by my door. I’ll be right back.” She turned and scampered down the hallway. I held one arm out for Maya, and she wrapped both of hers around me, gun and all. I held her tight and enjoyed the way her form fit against me. I never got tired of the way her body felt pressed up against mine.

  “I was so goddamn worried about you,” I whispered in her ear. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Any answer I had hoped for got shoved to the back of the line when she turned her head up and kissed me hard. Or maybe it was me kissing her hard. Could’ve been mutual, too. My lips tingled as we broke the kiss, and I leaned back down to brush my lips against hers for a moment before letting her get completely away.

  “You look so damn hot right now,” she whispered to me with a mischievous smile. “All rugged and bad-ass.”

  “No, I don’t, and this is so not the time,” I whispered back, but my dumbass grin stole all of the seriousness from my voice. “Phone, didn’t answer it, still not with the why.”

  “Oh, that. The cops took it.”

  “They were at Willow Gardens, too?” I asked.

  “Yeah, right up until the first resident died. They showed up about twenty minutes after I got there and searched us, then the bastards went through our lockers. They took cell phones, tablets, everything. If I hadn’t stashed my Kindle in the med cart, they would have tried to grab it, too.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. We had a cop and a sheriff’s deputy at Prov-Am.”

  “I think ours were Springfield police. Their uniforms were the right color, but they had those vests on, and they cleared out when the first resident coded. I never did get close enough to get a good look at them.” My brain went back to the man in the black uniform I’d seen back at Prov-Am. My guess at the time had been Springfield PD as well, but something wasn’t adding up for me. My brain wasn’t producing any immediate answers, so I let the question slide back to the back of my mind while I focused on the more here and now problems.

  “Well, by this time tomor
row, it’s going to be a moot point. We’ll be half way to Wyoming by tomorrow night,” I said with more confidence than I had any right to have.

  “God I hope so. What happened to your leg?” I looked down at the shortened pant leg that had given me away, then back up at her with a weak smile.

  “I almost got bit. If they’d had teeth, we wouldn’t be having this reunion right now. I cut the pant leg away to get rid of the zombie spit.”

  “We’d better disinfect your leg, too,” she said as she started pulling me toward the hallway.

  “Why not use the first aid kit in your bag?” I asked as she pulled me into the bathroom and pointed at the toilet seat. I sat while she raided Karl’s medicine cabinet. I’d learned a long time ago to trust Maya, and one place I always followed her lead in was anything medical. She’d been a certified nurse’s assistant, a surgical technician and most recently, she’d gone back to working rehab as a certified med-tech. While she wasn’t anywhere close to a doctor, she knew her way around the human body a lot better than I did.

  “Use what’s around you before you start digging in to your own supplies,” she said with a smile as she sat on the edge of the tub facing me. She already had a pair of latex gloves on and was looking my ankle over with a critical eye. “You taught me that, baby. Besides, I’ve been paying that bastard child support for six years, it’s about time I got a little back.” She ripped open a sterile gauze pad, grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the counter beside me and pressed the white square to the opening before she upended the brown bottle. She gently wiped the area around the bruise and then the bruise itself while I winced. Fortunately, I didn’t feel the sting of an open wound as a thin white foam built up under the pad, which made me feel better on two levels when she grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol. One, I knew for sure that I wasn’t infected, and two, it wasn’t going to smart when she wiped the area down with the alcohol. The gauze pad felt cool against my skin, and I noticed tiny gray flakes in the foam on the first pad she’d used.