“Ready?” he asked after tucking the papers away for safe keeping. Again, he took a quick breath before opening the door. They stepped over the carnage outside their door and made it to the door leading to the stairs. Franklin opened it and listened. The howling was barely audible, it meant zombies were far from them. With luck, they could descend the stairs and only come across a few of the creatures. That would be preferable to wading through an army of the foul beasts. Franklin took out the key to the stairwell door. He opened the door and down the stairs they went.
The family made it safely to the ground floor. When Franklin opened the door, they were met with only a handful of zombies who were busy eating fallen tenants. He praised god for his luck and eased his family by the marauders while they fed on their current meal. Outside, they rounded a corner and their luck ran dry. Before them, there stood too many zombies to count. If not for the thumping of his heart in his ears, he might have heard them before rounding the corner. The shock before him dashed his hopes. Odds of them getting to safety dimmed. He thought to formulate a plan. Before he could complete his thoughts, zombies saw them. They screamed and ran at the family of five.
“Spearhead!” shouted Franklin.
They immediately went into battle mode, acting as a unit to face the red-eyed menace. They spread apart to give themselves fighting room. As the zombies approached, Franklin lunged at the fastest two, his wife ran to assist. Each let out a battle cry as they swung heavy blades into the horde.
Hanya and her brothers knew what to do. They had used the same tactic many times. She and her brother took aim and waited for the flesh eaters to come to them. Neither was a great shot, but if the beast is directly in front of you, you need only point and squeeze. Each was old enough to carry out that task. They stood tall, brave, with an unwavering aim. As the zombies opened their mouths and lunged at them, they took aim at their heads and fired. A scowl was upon each face. They jumped back to avoid the creatures’ fall and took aim at the next three.
Franklin and Mirinda tore into the horde. They swung as if their life depended on it. Each blow was full force and decisive. The creatures fell at their feet as they twirled forward to engage the next.
“Come on!” yelled Franklin to his children.
As the parents sliced through the horde like a hot knife through butter, the children slowly moved forward, shooting zombies on each side as they advanced. The family formed the perfect spearhead: father in the lead, slashing to his left, wife to his right slashing to her right with each child advancing from the rear, Hanya behind and to the left of her dad and her younger brother in the center and older brother behind their mother.
No one knew how many zombies they killed. Franklin had told them their life depended on their ability to kill zombies. Each took the words to heart to ensure their survival.
Once free of the horde, Franklin led his family down and alley to a waiting vehicle. He and Mirinda placed their machetes on the concrete. They lifted the tarp covering the car, flinging it to the side. All stared at the vehicle that would take them to safety. Before they could enter, a zombie leaped from a high window onto the elder son. Another fell on the younger next to him, both boys yelped as they fell to the ground. Another zombie fell on the mother. Franklin grabbed his machete and killed both zombies on the sons. He hoped he had been in time.
He heard noise behind him. Lifting his machete, he turned. His wife was finishing the zombie that attacked her. She looked unsteady. He went to her. “Are you okay?” his frantic words to his wife.
She motioned him away, finding it hard to catch her breath. “Yileen! Check Yileen. I’m fine.”
“Yileen?”
He went to his youngest son. The boy had a gash taken out of his shoulder, but looked relatively healthy. He knew he shouldn’t consider it, but there was hope, if they could make it to the others. Franklin smiled at him. “You okay?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he said. He managed a small smile through his grimace.
Trusting him was wrong, but Yileen was standing, talking. It would take hours to get to their rendezvous, but he could make it. He nodded at the boy and moved on to his daughter, she too was standing. Ignoring her, he turned his attention to the last, Jamar.
He went to him and knelt beside his crumbled body. He shook his unconscious son. His face was bloody. A torn shirt proved he hadn’t been in time. Franklin saw deep scratches across his son’s chest. Heavy amounts of blood flowed from a deeper gash to his belly. Franklin was heartbroken. Still, he had hope. He shook him again. “Jamar?” he shouted.
“Daddy?” Hanya said. Her little face near tears. “Daddy?”
Franklin put his ear to his son’s chest to listen for a heartbeat. Sorrow showed on his face. He heard his daughter call his name again, but it was an echo, a sound on the wind he dismissed.
Wailing brought him back to reality. Not only was he clutching his son, so was his wife. His daughter held her hand over her mouth, crying silent tears. A feeling of foreboding came over him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
“To the car, quickly,” he shouted.
“What?” asked Mirinda, in disbelief.
“We have to go now. Hanya, go get your brother’s gun. I want you and Yileen in the back seat. Come on, Miri, we have to go.” He pulled her away as she screamed and cried. Zombies were howling and running down the street toward them. Without a second to spare, he broke her grip from their son and got her into the car. Franklin ran around the other side and sat in the driver’s seat. He turned the key and was grateful the car started with no trouble. He shoved it into gear and made the tires screech as he took off.
Franklin looked through the rearview mirror. There were only four zombies giving chase. He brought the car to a halt, throwing his passengers forward. He reversed the car and ran over the chasing zombies. The swishing sound felt like music to his ears. He continued driving backward a bit further. Then, he stopped the car. He grabbed his machete. Looking deeply into his wife’s eyes wasn’t easy. If she said no, he would stop. She hung her head low, giving him permission without uttering a word. Franklin exited the car with his machete. He wasted no time. It had to be done and zombies were on the move. He ran to his son’s body. With one swing, he severed his sons head in the nick of time. As he brought the machete down, Zombie Jamar opened its eyes. Franklin couldn’t have stopped his blade if he wanted to. He beheaded the zombie with a single strike. He picked the head up and threw it into one of the garbage bins in the alley. With no new zombies in the alley, he began his walk back to the car. He hoped his young daughter and son hadn’t seen what he had done, odds are they had. Suddenly, a shot rang out. His heart pounded. He ran to the car.
“What is it? What happened?”
The back seat revealed all. His remaining son was dead, a bullet hole in his forehead. The boy had distorted features and his bright-red eyes were open.
“He tried to eat me,” proclaimed Hanya. Tears welled in her eyes as she gave her explanation.
Franklin looked from her to his wife. His wife’s hands covered her face as she softly cried into them. He closed his eyes. Something had to be said. Hanya’s hands shook as she trained her gun at the dead zombie that once was her brother. Her father swallowed hard, then opened the rear door. “You did the right thing, Hanya. I’m proud of you.” He dragged the corpse out of the car and gently laid it on the ground. He took the gun out of Hanya’’s hands and laid it in the floor next to her. Franklin kissed her cheek to comfort her, she showed no reaction. She was far away and he knew it. He thought it best to leave her alone so he shut the door and took his seat behind the steering wheel. Putting the car in gear, they moved away from the scene.
He was so worried about his children hearing or seeing what he had done, it never occurred to him that they may be facing their own challenges. Franklin decided it was best not to mention it, at least for the time being. They all needed time to process. Silence would be golden.
As he turned the
car onto a main street, he took in a shaky breath at the scene he saw. Cars and trucks were overturned and lying on the road as well as the sidewalk. Some were on fire, most had their doors torn off and all were smeared with blood. Everywhere they looked they saw people. Some of them were fighting the flesh eaters with what weapon they found, others were being chased. Most lay in the road near their cars—those unfortunates were being devoured by a swarm of flesh eaters. None would join him and his family at the rendezvous.
Franklin maneuvered through the chaos at an accelerated speed. The gruesome shrieks he heard were painful. He couldn’t take it for too much longer and knew his young daughter and wife were at their breaking point. He drove with reckless abandon, trying to clear the area quickly. They smashed into several cars, careening out of control. With a prayer and skill, Franklin was able to keep the car upright. He ran over his last zombie before approaching open road.
* * *
It took twelve hours to make it to Albuquerque, New Mexico. They would meet with one of his college friends, John Blake, who was on his way from Wyoming. They stopped outside a lone diner at the edge of town. Franklin was familiar with the area and chose it because of its isolation.
An armored truck pulled up next to his car, a bus followed. Soldiers exited from the rear. From the other side, a man in army fatigues came out carrying a black medical bag. He was a tall black man and was smiling. The smile alarmed Franklin. Something wasn’t right, he knew it. Their news was bad enough; he didn’t have strength to hear this man’s bad news and prayed he was wrong. He returned the smile with vigor, it would be all right, he thought.
“Hello, old friend.”
Franklin shook his hand. “Blake, how are you?”
The man’s face saddened. “Not well.”
Franklin regretted asking the question. He was right, the man’s eyes held no light. Whatever it is, it’s bad. “Sorry!”
“It’s okay,” said Blake. “Get aboard so we can go.”
“We lost Jamar and Yileen,” he said. Something about sharing a loss always brought people together. Blake closed his eyes and shook his head.
“I’m sorry.”
The two men hugged, appreciating each other’s patience.
The hug was interrupted when his wife and daughter came out of the car. The look on Blake’s face was startling. Franklin wanted to ask, but didn’t. Franklin looked at his family and assumed his friend had the same reaction every man had. For men, being covered in dried blood is normal and dismissed with the times. But to see it on women and children, it brought reality to the turn life had taken.
“We have to put you all to sleep for the journey,” said Blake. His tone was flat, lifeless. Franklin considered asking, but knew his friend to be private. If he wanted him to know, he would have told him. He thought what to say, and in the end, only said two words.
“We know.”
“Let’s get you on the bus and get you something to eat, then, lights out.” Blake tried smiling, but it made no impact on none of the three.
“Did you bring the serum?” he asked Blake quietly so others couldn’t hear.
Blake gave a pained looked.
Franklin pulled a paper from his pocket. With shaky fingers, he extended it to his friend. “This is our lineage. Hanya is the strongest of us all, she must be saved. If it takes the serum . . . she has to have it for the future.” Franklin grabbed a hold of the man in desperation. He pleaded with Blake.
“Don’t worry, old friend, she will be okay, all of you will be okay. Go into quarantine and when you emerge, we will discuss the plan in greater detail.”
“Promise me, Blake. Promise me you will look out for her. If we turn,” his breathing became erratic, “the serum, she must have it for the future. Promise me you will give it to her and you will keep her safe. Promise me!” he didn’t care that he looked undignified tugging on the man’s shirt. He had to get his point across, just in case.
“I will keep you all safe. Now go, we will talk later.”
Before the guards could take him away, Franklin shoved the folded paper into Blake’s hand. “For the future.”
“The future.”
“Hanya knows everything, I made sure to prepare her, if for some reason . . . well, you know.”
“I know old friend, everything is waiting for us at our new camp.”
Blake smiled as the man was carried away.
Franklin could only sigh. He thought of his grandfather, Running Bear, and then smiled. Ancestors always protect you, the old man used to say. He prayed to his forefathers that it was true. As he neared the door, he saw the image of a proud stag, smiling at him. Franklin smiled, all would be fine.
They walked to the back of the bus and climbed aboard. After the soldiers returned from their raid on the restaurant, the caravan took off for Camp Vix. Hanya wanted to meet the other children, Blake would not allow the contact. He gave them a shot after they ate and the family went to sleep.
* * *
Hanya Mutton slowly woke to the quiet around her. Her hearing could decipher a slight hum but nothing more. She opened her brown eyes to have a look. As the room came into view, she saw Doctor Blake standing over her. She returned his warm smile.
“Are we safe?”
“As long as you stay here.” He grinned.
“The zombies?”
“They are outside the walls and can’t get in. This is your home now. All that stay within these walls is safe. How are you feeling?” he asked.
With his assistance, she was able to rise and view several who had gathered for her awakening. “I’m okay.” Looking about, she saw no family around her. Was she the first to be awakened? Her father had described the procedure on their drive to the diner. So far, it went according to plan. “My parents?”
Blake motioned with his head. Those in attendance filtered out of the room. Though his eyes gave nothing away, Hanya felt fear building in the pit of her stomach. Why were they leaving?
“Your father told you of the quarantine procedure?”
“Yes,” she said. Then added, to make sure he knew that she knew. “We’re the future.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t lie to you. Your father and your mother didn’t make it.”
Hanya was strong. She stared at him intensely. It would not last long. Eventually, under the weight of his stare, she cracked. The dam burst and tears fell. Doctor Blake hugged her tightly and let her cry. “It’s all right, child, let it out.” That made her cry all the more.
She was grateful for the privacy. After a time, she wiped her eyes. How could she, the future, behave so? She was stronger than that. She had proved it by killing countless zombies, including the boy from her school who used to tease her because she was mixed. No more tears for her, she was strong, the future. She wiped her eyes again and faced him. “How many of us will there be?”
“Don’t worry about that right now.”
“No! Daddy told me what to do and I am ready. I am not going to let them down. They died to get me here and I am going to save the world. I’m ready. Did he give you the papers?”
“Yes.”
Her small face held a fierceness she hadn’t known before. “My brother, Jamar, was to be the first. I will take his place. I’m ready to start. They laughed at me and called me Indian Princess. They said I was nothing. Daddy said I can save the world and not to listen to them. He said that I was special and the world needed me. I’m ready.”
Blake smiled. “Then you are indeed an Indian Princess and I am glad to meet you. Welcome to Camp Vix, Princess.”
“Thank you,” she said with smugness. Right then, she knew she had a mission. For that new mission, she would start life anew with a new name. She looked at him sternly. “My name is Hannah, Hannah Mutton.”
“Well, whatever you want to call yourself.” He was a longtime friend and new her real name. “God save the Queen!”
They chuckled.
Chapter Thirty: Homefront
Zora
Baker fared better than most. She and her small community living on the edge of Columbia, Missouri escaped the zombie plague. Farm life was tough but it came with its own rules. Children learned life lessons early. Zora was driving down country roads at the age of twelve. At fourteen she could work a modern tractor. At sixteen, she could shoot vermin one hundred feet away with no difficulty. These were essential skills learned on the homestead. They were in addition to her learning baby care and cooking, starting at age seven—her real job in life.
Zora was nearly nineteen when she left home. Her sheltered background put her at a disadvantage. Leaving home was the only way she believed she could gain equilibrium. Life on the farm was difficult and as long as she stayed, she would be treated as inferior to others and never gain acceptance. In their eyes, she was Zoraphena, the worthless freeze queen, killer of small animals and the innocent. She could never break free from her past around them. The decision to leave came easy; it was convincing her mother that proved difficult. Her father gave the argument that her growth was stunted on the farm and she was becoming a petulant child and no man would marry her in her current state. In the end, her mother gave in and allowed her to leave, but only if she moved to the outskirts of the city, so she could be watched. Not only did her mother worry about people, she worried about how her daughter would fare against zombies.
Zombies had been in the world for a year, yet she had only seen one of the creatures, a withering old man. She and her family blasted it to hell as it came over the horizon. They gawked at the deformed creature and invited neighbors to a party so they could see a real live zombie for themselves. Everyone praised Simon, her young brother, for spotting the demon in the field. He received the honor of lighting the bonfire to dispose of the carcass.
After settling in her new apartment, life was improving. No longer was she the outcast or dysfunctional creature. People in her new world had little clue of where she came from or her background. With a steady stream of halftruths, Zora kept it that way. The young butterfly was emerging from her cocoon. She stood tall, confident, a new creature.
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