by J. W. Vohs
The three council volunteers, Don Crowley, Russell Hewitt, and Marlon Morris, each considered themselves community leaders before the zombie apocalypse, though only Morris could make a claim to civil service. The balding state senator was better known for putting his political foot in his rather large mouth than for any legislative accomplishment, but Russell Hewitt was married to his sister, so he was always a well-financed incumbent when election time rolled around. Hewitt was a commodities speculator and regional real estate mogul with financial connections to several politicians. He wasn’t particularly fond of Marlon Morris, but he believed it would be advantageous to keep his brother-in-law in the state senate. Besides, Hewitt had few opportunities to please his wife ever since she’d found out about his mistress, and he preferred not to go through what would likely be an expensive divorce. The last of the volunteers, Don Crowley, was a local farmer, horse trader, and man of God. He believed that the pandemic was God’s way of “cleaning house,” and that only morally righteous people would be allowed to survive and repopulate the world. Between the three of them, Sheriff Meeks was constantly bombarded with procedural complaints and unreasonable requests whenever the council met.
Despite the deadly efficiency of the new weapons, the inhabitants of the fledgling settlement continued to lose fighters to bite-wounds that spread the infection as the creatures steadily developed into extraordinarily fast, strong, and relentless hunters of flesh. When faced with a large pack of these monsters, the humans would stand shoulder to shoulder and level their pikes in every direction. Most of the attackers would be impaled on the razor-sharp tips attached to the end of the wooden shafts, but inevitably a few of the flesh-eaters would find a way through the wall of long spears and manage to bite some of the defenders before being killed. Again the people changed to meet the new threat, adding hammers and long-knives to their assortment of weapons for close-combat with the creatures that managed to evade the deadly pikes.
After Shiloh Forrester’s son was bitten in his calf during a skirmish near Lebanon, many of the fighters began to seek ways to protect their exposed flesh. Any materials strong enough to stop human bites from penetrating the skin while light enough to allow mobility in combat were tried with varying degrees of success. Eventually, most of the soldiers settled on pants and jackets consisting of leather, strong denim, or canvas, with leather boots and gloves completing their informal uniforms. A scavenging mission conducted on a big high school yielded a large number of football helmets. They were taken back to the growing settlement and stripped of their face-masks, then covered by Plexiglas visors fashioned from materials found at the local home improvement stores. The final result of all these changes was a small army equipped with quiet, but deadly, weapons, and squads of armored soldiers capable of surviving most close fights with the still-evolving infected.
The humans had two great advantages in this existential struggle against the flesh-eaters: the ability to reason, and the monsters’ unwillingness to enter any body of water more than thigh-deep. Under the leadership of Captain Harden, an effective military was established, and the group began to fortify the two loops in the river to maximize their second advantage over the insatiable predators they were now calling “eaters.” Within a month the people had constructed a one-thousand meter-long, fifteen-foot-high stockade at the narrowest point between two channels. A few weeks later, they completed another wall half the size of the first across the loop directly east of the larger one they were already building shelters on. The survivors here numbered over two-thousand men, women, and children, four hundred of whom were fully equipped veterans of the battles waged in the early days of the outbreak. The people lived in everything from campers and tents to log cabins, finding room to spread out with over six square miles of land surrounded by the river and their heavily guarded walls.
Farmers had already planted corn, beans, and wheat in the Tennessee countryside before the outbreak began, so in addition to the tons of supplies being systematically looted from local towns and abandoned homes, the community of survivors had enough food for several years. Most were confident they would be able to rebuild a sustainable agricultural system by the time their existing rations were exhausted. The doctors and nurses among them had been directed to scavenge medical supplies from nearby hospitals, so there was plenty of medicine of all types available to treat the ill and injured. By mid-October, even the more pessimistic members of the small community were willing to admit that they had survived, and that they had an excellent chance of continuing to do so until the pandemic ran its course and civilization was reestablished in North America.
* * *
After the long months of isolation, none of the people in the fortified settlement expected to see a Blackhawk helicopter fly over the horizon one crisp autumn morning, but the chopper lazily circled a few times before landing a hundred meters beyond the palisade as carelessly as it might have done in a world not overrun by flesh-eating monsters. A few minutes after touchdown, a tall, thin soldier in BDUs jumped from the side door of the helicopter and began walking toward the guarded wall, hands held out to his sides to indicate that he had no weapons or ill-intentions. By the time the uniformed man reached the palisade, five members of the leadership council were watching him from the fighting platform. Sheriff Larry Meeks did the talking.
“Hello,” the tall soldier called out, “I’m Major Jackson, from the U.S. Army’s Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. The president has sent us out to spearhead the government’s inoculation and rebuilding efforts.”
Sheriff Meeks spat a stream of tobacco-juice over the wall before shouting, “You mean the government has a vaccine ready?”
“Yep,” the major answered. “Can I come in and speak with you and the rest of your people?”
The sheriff looked at the other members of the council, who all seemed quite excited over the soldier’s arrival and enthusiastically shook their heads in agreement.
Meeks loudly called out, “Head over to the east side of the wall; we’ll have a boat waitin’ to bring you around.”
Ten minutes later everyone who could crowd within earshot was listening to what the impressive-looking soldier was telling six members of the leadership council. Marlon Morris had joined the group, but Captain Harden was out on a patrol of the river. Given the appearance of a conspicuous and noisy helicopter, he was expected to return as soon as possible.
The stranger was anxious to get down to business. “They’re thousands of communities like yours all over the country. Most of them are happy to see us, but a few have decided to refuse our offers of help and turned us away. The president has deemed these settlements to be in revolt every time that’s happened, and all of them have ultimately been destroyed by the infected.”
Sheriff Meeks seemed a bit confused about that and squinted suspiciously when he asked, “If they made out all right until y’all showed up, how’d they end up overrun by the eaters after you left?”
Major Jackson shrugged, “Massive numbers of these predators are apparently attracted by the noises of our helicopters and vehicles. The president has ordered that we can only inoculate and protect American citizens not in a state of rebellion. So far, nobody has been able to stop the creatures we’ve accidentally left in our wake.”
Sheriff Meeks struggled to keep his poker face on, but the veteran lawman had learned to trust his ability to smell a rat. Something didn’t seem quite right about this “soldier.” He wondered why a simple major was representing the federal government out in the middle of nowhere. The president couldn’t afford to send a public relations officer on delicate missions to win back the trust of wary citizens who’d managed to survive the apocalypse on their own? Why weren’t any eaters attacking the helicopter sitting beyond their walls as they spoke? What was the meaning of the thinly veiled threat of destruction the officer warned of?
While the sheriff was considering the possible answers to these questions, Major Jackson abruptly finished his spee
ch with a demand. “We’ll return tomorrow and expect you to have a gate opened to us; something that offers easier access than a canoe trip around the edge of your wall. If we don’t find your settlement ready to receive us when we arrive, we’ll radio Washington and report you as rebels. I strongly recommend that you don’t allow that to happen. I know I seem harsh and demanding here, but plenty of soldiers have died trying to bring supplies and vaccines to suspicious settlements on the east coast. I simply will not sacrifice another one of my men to try to force government control on anyone who doesn’t want it; too much blood has been spilled since the outbreak began.”
As soon as he was gone, the members of the council began a heated discussion about the soldier’s proposal.
Russell Hewitt was the first to speak, “I don’t see where we have anything to discuss other than where to get started tearing down a part of our wall.”
Sheriff Meeks didn’t even try to hide his frustration. “You’re a damn idiot if you think that soldier can be trusted for even half a minute—“
“That soldier represents the United States government,” Marlon Morris interrupted. “For God’s sake, man, he’s offering us vaccines; it’s not like he asked us to turn in our guns!”
“But any fool could tell he was threatening us, Marlon,” Shiloh cautioned. “He gave us a choice between letting him in or being overrun by the eaters. Seems to me that’s a form of blackmail.”
Don Crowley shook his head, “You’re usually a pretty smart little lady, but you’re way off base on this one. Them soldiers have to be careful; there’s no way to tell who can be trusted. The devil’s taken charge of this world, and I expect the only good thing to come out of it is a purge of our federal government. If our military is finally in charge instead of a bunch of corrupt politicians, then I say we’re in good hands.”
The sheriff sighed loudly before spitting a wad of tobacco over his shoulder. “Look here, we don’t know that the U.S. military is in charge—you’re just making up some fantasy right outta thin air. Even that so-called major didn’t say who was running the so-called government.”
Curtis Jones was the type of man who listened more than he talked, and he didn’t venture his opinions without reasonable forethought. He knew how to be a team player, but was he was having trouble figuring out how to make a positive contribution to this dysfunctional “town council.” He had nothing but respect for Sheriff Meeks, Joseph Harden, and Shiloh Forrester, but he couldn’t deny a growing contempt for the other three men. Jones stood up and slowly walked around the table. At 6’ 8” and nearly three hundred pounds of lean muscle, his physical presence never failed to command attention. He stopped and rested his hands on the back of Hewitt’s chair. Crowley sat on Hewitt’s right, and Morris sat to his left; all three men shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
A wide grin spread across the sheriff’s face. “Well, Curtis, what’s your opinion? Should we open ourselves up to this Major Jackson fella?”
Curtis walked back around the table and resumed his seat before answering, “I think we’d better start organizing an evacuation just in case we need to move out in a hurry. None of this sounds good to me. If we do open up an entrance for Jackson and his men, it should be one we can close back up in a hurry. And I’m not saying we should let them in at all. We built these walls for a reason—for protection—and the eaters aren’t the only monsters we should be worried about.”
Hewitt spoke louder than usual when he replied, “Now see here, I know your kind have some sort of innate mistrust of authority, maybe from way back in the slavery days, but you have to recognize that sometimes we need to trust that people in power have the means and the ability to handle extreme emergencies better than the rest of us.”
Shiloh jumped in before Curtis had a chance to respond. “You’re seriously going there? ‘Your kind?’ Are you trying to say we can’t trust Curtis to have an unbiased opinion because he’s Black? I bet you don’t know what irony is—“
“Now don’t get all emotional,” Morris cut in. “Russ is just sayin’ that there are times when we have to rely on the government to do its job . . .”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Shiloh retorted. “I thought you were a big critic of our federal government. Now, all of a sudden, you’re singing a different tune.”
Even though in his heart Curtis wanted to knock a few heads together, he tried to sound calm. “Look, this is no time to argue politics,” he looked at Hewitt and added, “or be a racist jerk.”
Sheriff Meeks concurred. “Curtis is right; we can’t be driftin’ off topic. The plain fact is that I smell a rat. Major Jackson doesn’t represent any American government we’ve ever known. He may be part of some bigger army, or he may be runnin’ a gang of thugs that goes around lootin’ gullible survivors. One thing I know, he ain’t a man we can trust.”
“You can’t know that,” Hewitt objected. “You expect us to trust the folksy feeling of a small time sheriff, but you don’t have any solid reasons to back you up. Major Jackson obviously has resources beyond anything you can understand. Those helicopters don’t fly themselves you know; they don’t run on imagination. Whoever Major Jackson is, and whatever he represents, there is no question that our little settlement could use some friends with real power. Have you thought about what a vaccine would mean to our citizens?”
“Have you thought about what it would mean to be overrun and looted by a pack of armed criminals?” the sheriff shot back.
Don Crowley defended Hewitt’s position. “I don’t think God would save us from the eaters only to have us destroyed by a bunch of human soldiers.”
Morris nodded in agreement. “Besides, we still have plenty of guns, ammo, and folks who know how to shoot. It’s damn unlikely, but if Major Jackson tries any funny business, we’ll be able to stand our ground just fine.”
Curtis decided he couldn’t wait for Captain Harden to return before making his official proposal. “Look, let’s just be cautious. I move that we open up a small section of the wall, but make sure we can seal it up again quickly if we need to. Personally, I’d prefer not to let them in at all, but as I see it we’re three to three deadlocked and wasting time. I’d bet my right arm that Joe won’t want to let them in either, but until he gets here we can’t say for sure. Let’s pick a strategic place to let Jackson and his men in, and prepare for a full-out evacuation in case it comes to that.”
Sheriff Meeks spat on the ground and growled, “We gotta be able to seal any opening up fast and solid, and I don’t care if we’re discreet about it. Shiloh, round up our best engineers and meet me back here in fifteen minutes. I’m takin’ charge of the project, and I’m not listenin’ to any objections.” He glared across the table, and no one said a word. As he stood, he added, “Curtis, you and your wife spread the word about gettin’ ready to bug out. Make sure folks know this ain’t no drill. Maybe it’ll be worthwhile to talk to Jackson again and get a better idea about what’s really going on so this damn council can pull its head out of its ass.” With that, he stomped off, muttering about Harden’s poor sense of timing.
* * *
As it turned out, a section of the eastern palisade was easily “adjusted” to become two sliding box cars that gave about ten feet of clearance when pushed open, with a double-trailered semi on standby to drive up a ramp and drop its load for added height. A hollow-eyed Captain Harden arrived back from his patrol with an almost unbelievable report. He’d seen thousands of eaters massing a few miles away, and he said he wouldn’t be surprised if it was more like tens of thousands. The strange thing was that they were just gathering together passively, seemingly oblivious to the black helicopter that circled overhead. Sheriff Meeks brought the captain up to speed regarding the visit from Major Jackson and the alleged government’s ultimatum. Then he squinted at his friend and asked, “So do you think that the eaters are just attracted to the sound of the helicopters and that’s why there are so many of ‘em in the area?”
Ha
rden shrugged in resignation. “Hell if I know, but when they come chasing after noises we make they’re half-crazed and snarling, ready for a meal. These eaters weren’t worked up at all. I think we need to start getting as many people out of here as possible. If those eaters decide to attack, we won’t be able to hold ‘em off for long.”
“Curtis and Charlotte have been getting people packed and ready to go; we’ve got plenty of boats, but we’ll have to leave some folks behind because they’re too stubborn or stupid to willingly leave this place.” He paused and looked over the sliding entrance. “You sure we couldn’t keep the eaters out? We’ve had good luck killing those bastards lately.”
Harden slapped the sheriff on the back. “My friend,” he replied, “we don’t stand a chance.”
* * *
Curtis and his wife Charlotte sat down for a quick meal, the silence between them only adding to the tension in the air. Finally Charlotte spoke, “I know we should have listened to my brother, but it’s been months since he told us to go to that castle in Indiana. I’ve apologized over and over about not wanting to follow Carter’s advice. You were right; are you going to blame me forever?”
“I don’t blame you; I’ve told you that a thousand times.” Curtis looked at his wife and marveled at how they were opposites in almost every way. His willowy blond spouse was not a trophy wife, though people usually assumed otherwise. They’d faced a few small-minded bigots in public and in their own families, and for a while it had seemed like they shared an epic romance, the two of them against the world. Regrettably, he’d let his growing success and fame go to his head, and he’d succumbed to more than one of the nubile temptations who made a game of chasing after him. When Charlotte found out, she’d kicked him to the curb. Temporarily. They went to counseling, and after about six months she allowed him back in the house. She said she’d forgiven him, but he knew she didn’t really mean it. T.C. wasn’t even in school yet, and he’d always been a “daddy’s boy.” She came back to give T.C. his father, and to prove to the world that their marriage had not been a mistake. They’d even had another child, but he couldn’t say that he’d been close to his wife in years.