District: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

by Shawn Chesser

  Pressing a finger vertically to her lips, Glenda shot a glare Heidi’s way and wrapped her arm around Brook’s shoulders.

  “I’m glad most of you are sitting down,” Brook said. She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder in the direction of the girls. Satisfied they were well out of earshot, she again cleared her throat and went on. “What I am about to tell you caught me completely flat-footed a few minutes ago. Matter of fact, I’m still processing it all, but I fear if I don’t get it out in the open now, denial will set in and I’ll stuff it all and maybe put my family and all of you at risk as a result.” She walked her gaze around the semicircle of survivors. Save for Duncan, whose affect was flat, expectant looks had settled on each and every face.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Glenda asked.

  Heidi began to apologize for her rude interruption, but was herself interrupted as Brook relayed nearly verbatim the troubling news Cade had just broken to her over the satellite phone. Minus her husband’s exact verbiage, what Brook said in a low voice was the same thing she had shared with Duncan in private moments before deciding she owed it to the group to inform them as well.

  “Infected?!” Oliver exclaimed, his body suddenly going rigid.

  “The lady said, ‘might be,’” Glenda corrected.

  Addressing the elephant in the clearing, Oliver said, “So she may be infected and it’s OK with everyone here that she gets to stay inside the compound? Good God, she’ll be locked underground with”—he did a quick head count—“at least twelve of us. Any of you want to take a chance of her turning and eating one of us?”

  “Stand down,” Duncan hissed. “She hasn’t turned. And there’s no reason to believe she is going to anytime soon.”

  Daymon was leaning around Heidi and regarding the newest member of the group with a death glare.

  “Oliver,” Glenda barked, shooting a look only a mother could at her child. “You apologize right now.”

  Oliver said nothing as he rose and started off in the direction of the compound.

  “Stop, Oliver,” Brook said. “The last thing I want to do is put you or anyone else in jeopardy. I’ll think of something.”

  Oliver stopped and turned back toward his mother.

  “You can stay in the RV tonight,” Daymon said, tearing his eyes from Oliver. “Consider it yours until Cade gets back. Then you two can decide on what’s best for your family. Figure out where you want to go from there.”

  Duncan bolted up from his chair and nearly spilled his new shotgun and cleaning kit from the low table. “Go?” he said, incredulous, the veins in his neck beginning to bulge.

  Daymon raised both hands in mock surrender. “Figure of speech,” he said. “I was in no way suggesting we exile Brook. That was the last effin thing on my mind.”

  “I was,” Oliver muttered as he turned and continued on his way.

  Foley leaned in toward Lev. “Good riddance, motherfucker,” he whispered. “That big baby was getting on my nerves.”

  Lev nodded. “We put him on notice today.”

  Addressing Duncan as he sat back down, Brook said, “It’s OK. I didn’t take it that way.”

  The flush still draining from his face, Duncan removed his Stetson and set it on the table with the Saiga.

  Brook leveled her gaze on Daymon. “I’ll take you up on your generous offer. But only for tonight.”

  Jamie asked, “What about the girls? What are you going to tell them?”

  “I’ll have Sasha suggest a sleepover,” Wilson said.

  In a funereal voice, Jamie asked, “When and what are you going to tell the girls?”

  “We’ll have a family meeting once Cade returns,” Brook said. She swallowed hard and ran a hand through her dark hair. “I’ll tell Raven the truth once Cade returns. As for Sasha, I’ll leave it up to you, Wilson. You know her best.”

  Wilson said nothing. However, actions speaking louder than any words could, he grasped his boonie hat’s worn brim two-handed and pulled it down tight so that his eyes were barely visible.

  “Settled,” Brook said, forcing a weak smile. “Now I hear someone wants to take a vote on going north to—”

  “Bear Lake,” Daymon said, finishing for her. He produced the matchbook found in the attic and proceeded to give a play-by-play account of the day’s events, leaving out only the brief stop at the sprawling house east of Woodruff and the tests Oliver was subjected to.

  Once Daymon finished, the others added their observations, the most astute among them coming from Wilson, who posited that if those people came south looking for food and supplies, chances were, they were likely to be aggressive and many in number.

  Daymon scoffed first at that. “We can’t let assumptions based on one dissected walker and a couple of booby traps likely set by whoever carved ADRIAN into a windowsill dictate where we go. If we do, we’ll run out of food before winter is over. If that happens … we will be forced to find out their true nature while at half-strength and bogged down by the weather.”

  “I agree with Daymon,” said Lev. “However, if we do wait for the weather to turn, when we do go out, the dead things will be taken out of the equation.”

  Duncan shook his head. “We can’t wait,” he said. “Goes against everything I’ve been taught. If Cade were here he’d say the advantage goes to the one who acts first. Or he’d pull some other Sun Tzu kind of quote out of thin air.”

  “I’ve heard him quote Churchill,” Wilson said. “Can’t remember hearing anything by the other two dudes.”

  “Sun Tzu is one dude,” Daymon said.

  “You can quote me,” Duncan said, again rising from his camp chair. “Let’s quit pussyfootin’ around and put it to a vote. Those who want to go north and claim what ain’t nailed down as our own please raise a hand.” He stuck his hand in the air and fixed each person in succession with a steely glare.

  Daymon was first to indicate his willingness to go.

  “I’m all for it as long as I get to go,” Foley said, raising his hand.

  Tran thrust his greasy tongs into the air. “We need more food,” was his reply.

  Taryn and Wilson looked around and once Lev, Jamie, and Heidi threw their hats into the ring, they also added their votes to the affirmative column.

  Always the voice of reason, Glenda said, “I’m on the fence on this one. Shouldn’t we wait until Cade gets back so he can go with us?”

  “Mother Nature is about to turn on the snow spigot. That road out there”—Duncan gestured toward 39—“it’s normally closed during the winter months. Getting in and out is going to be next to impossible once it starts spitting and decides to stick around.”

  Daymon shifted in his chair so he could lean around Heidi’s cocked elbow. “Even if we did want to travel east after the snow sticks, we’ll not only be giving away our position by the tire tracks, but it’s likely we’ll also find ourselves clearing a bunch of downed trees along the route.”

  “And trucks running on snow in four-wheel-drive burn a hell of a lot of fuel,” Foley added.

  “My arm’s getting tired,” Taryn said.

  After a forced half-smile, Glenda raised her hand. “You sold me.”

  A trio of two-way radios warbled simultaneously. Brook fished hers out and said, “Yes, Seth?”

  “Why is everyone waiting for you to call on them?”

  “We’re taking a vote.” She motioned for everyone to relax then quickly filled Seth in, assuring him his vote would have been solicited had he been needed to break a tie. That being far from the case, she still asked his opinion.

  Voice tinny and marred with a burst of static, he said, “What’s it matter? No one ever asks me if I want to go out on runs anyway?”

  “Do you?” Brook asked.

  “No way. I’m cool running the security pod. Just thought I’d bust your—.” Realizing who he was talking to, he cut short his quip. “I say yay to as many runs as you want to go on. Just keep your eyes out for Cheetos, will you?”


  For the first time since she’d dropped the bombshell on the group, Brook smiled. “Will do,” she said. She scrolled the volume down and looked a question at Duncan.

  Duncan did a quick headcount. “Eleven for going to Bear Lake. Though he’s not here, I’ll count Oliver’s vote as against.”

  “Against going outside the wire for anything,” Daymon quipped.

  With a puzzled look settling on his face, Duncan singled the dreadlocked man out. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Daymon answered. “Around the campfire. Over s’mores.”

  “Bear Lake it is,” Brook said. She walked a few feet away from the group and whistled. “Girls … dinnertime.”

  Tran began heaping plates with generous portions of steaming meat and potatoes.

  Instilled from years of food service, the instinct to jump into the fray struck Heidi and Wilson near simultaneously. Each balancing a half-dozen plates on their outstretched arms, they had dinner and drinks served before the girls had walked half the distance from where they’d been exercising Max at the far end of the clearing.

  “Before the kids get here, I have something else to say.”

  Expecting the other shoe to drop, all eyes settled on Brook.

  “Dregan was elated to hear that Ray and Helen were safe and sound. He just adores those two.” Brook peered over her shoulder at the girls, then went on. “He told me to hug and kiss each and every one of you who went along on the welfare check.”

  Wilson pointed at his pursed lips. Smiling and a little flushed of cheek, he said, “Those two are tough as nails. Hard to believe anything or anyone could get the drop on them.”

  “I’ve been on the wrong end of Ray’s rifle,” Brook conceded. “Just crossing T’s and dotting I’s, that’s all.”

  Silently solidifying the pact they had made earlier concerning their slip-up at the farm, Wilson and Taryn locked eyes.

  Max cut a path through the scattered camp chairs and sat on his haunches at Tran’s feet.

  Tran loaded his plate last and closed the grill lids. He knelt and shoveled a third of his venison onto the ground for Max. “Good boy,” he said, watching the hungry Shepherd wolf down the food. “You get anything I don’t finish.”

  In response, Max’s stub-tail thumped the ground.

  From the west, a cold wind knifed through the clearing, rattling the overhead awning and making the tarps covering the Black Hawk and Humvee snap and pop.

  Good decision, gang, Brook thought, staring at the darkening clouds.

  She said, “Get a plate, girls.” And as Raven and Sasha took their plates to their low-riding camp chairs, she added, “How’s a sleepover at Sasha’s tonight sound to you, Bird?”

  Her mouth full of food, Raven glanced up from her plate and flashed a thumbs-up.

  Brook took a bite of venison, chewed and swallowed. “Good,” she said. “I’m going to stay topside and talk with the adults after dinner. Think you can tuck yourself in tonight?”

  Another thumbs-up from Raven.

  Tweens, Brook thought, her mood suddenly going dark. She took another bite and moved her gaze from face to face, seeing expressions on them mirroring exactly how she was feeling inside.

  Chapter 42

  8:09 p.m. Mountain Standard Time 9:09 p.m. Central 10:09 p.m. Eastern

  Naval Station Norfolk, Norfolk Virginia

  Aboard the Lanzhou

  “Admiral on the deck,” Corporal Meng said, snapping off a smart salute.

  “Stand down, Corporal,” Admiral Qi said, turning to the radio operator hunched over a touch-screen monitor. “Lieutenant Shou, did you intercept any military communications?”

  Shou rose at once, but dropped his notepad onto the floor.

  Waiting for the radio operator to compose himself, Qi shifted his gaze to the steel plating above his head and pressed his thumbs against his temples.

  Embarrassed, Shou collected his notes and stood. He snapped off a salute, then, speaking rapid-fire, brought the admiral up to speed, leaving nothing out, even going so far as beginning to read the random musings of an obviously deranged HAM radio operator he had been eavesdropping on since his watch had started. He rounded out the situation report by stating that the sonar had detected no seaborne contacts and the 360-degree active-phased array radar had picked up no airborne threats since the destroyer had dropped anchor.

  “A simple no would have sufficed,” Qi said dismissively. “I didn’t need to know the details of your long range radio fetish.”

  Wondering what had gotten into the usually stoic, yet even-keeled admiral, Shou looked to the second in command, Jow Yuan, a slightly overweight man with the rank of captain on his uniform.

  Qi was also regarding Yuan with a look bordering on uncertainty. After a few seconds, he said, “Alert the rest of the fleet we are pulling anchor. I want us to be underway in five minutes and steaming north up the Chesapeake in fifteen.”

  Yuan nodded an affirmative then snatched up a red handset and began relaying Admiral Qi’s orders to the rest of the taskforce.

  Still standing at attention off of Qi’s right elbow, Corporal Meng asked, “Shall I alert Captain Zhen that we are soon to be underway?”

  Never one to let a subordinate have the satisfaction of knowing beforehand that he had been second-guessed, Qi shook his head. “Don’t bother. Unless Zhen sleeps like a sun bear, he already knows that preparations to embark are proceeding.”

  ***

  There was a fingernail-thin band of dark purple crowding the starless black void when destroyer Lanzhou, multi-role frigate Yulin, and amphibious transport dock Kunlan Shan, the latter of which carried a dozen armored vehicles, nearly a hundred PLAN marines, and Zhen’s special forces operators, hauled anchor simultaneously.

  And well within Qi’s allotted fifteen minutes, under cover of full dark, the three vessels were steaming a steady twenty knots up the Chesapeake.

  ***

  An hour after rounding Sewell Point and entering the Chesapeake Bay, the Lanzhou’s excursion into enemy territory took a terrifying turn. For three straight miles the three ships were forced to slow to a crawl to navigate a channel clogged with all manner of watercraft. Inside the Kunlan Shan, whose hull rose from the waterline at less of an angle than the frigate and destroyer, sailors reported hearing the eerie keening of fingernails transmitting through the steel plates just above the waterline.

  By the time the warships were clear of the undead flotilla, dozens of the smaller boats and their undead cargo that had been anchored in the path of the much larger warships were either already at the bottom of the bay, or were taking on water and soon would be.

  All through the ordeal, Qi had been focusing a pair of high-powered binoculars on the eastern shoreline, certain the enemy was training a full battery of ship-killing missiles on his tiny flotilla.

  Schriever AFB, 10:09 p.m. Mountain Standard Time

  As it turned out, Ari’s declaration of wheels up in one hour failed to happen. A routine inspection brought upon by an error message had revealed that a vital component of one of the Ghost Hawk’s turbines was close to failing. Thankfully, the compromised part was universal to the UH-60 Black Hawk, and Whipper’s aviation techs were able to come up with a replacement part to install in the Ghost Hawk. However, all combined, the briefing, refuel, rearming, and maintenance on the turbine had grounded the bird and detained the Delta team for several hours more than expected.

  In the big green machine, known formally as the United States Army, hurry up and wait was the norm. Having endured more than his share of the latter, Cade had learned to sleep anywhere and at any time. So he had grabbed a patch of concrete in the corner of the hangar, curled up into a ball with his head on his rucksack, and quickly succumbed to Mr. Sandman’s pull.

  Now, having been rudely awakened by the vibration from a strategically placed kick to his boot sole, Cade raised his head off his rucksack and fixed a death glare on Ari. For the first time in a
long while he saw the aviator without sunglasses or a helmet visor covering his hazel eyes. There was a twinkle of mischief in them and the man’s lips were parted slightly as if he were about to deliver a punch line. Which, when taking the man’s general outlook on life into consideration, didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility.

  “You don’t even have one knock-knock joke locked-and-loaded?” said Cade as he worked at rubbing a kink out of his neck.

  “Saving ‘em all for the long flight,” Ari said, donning his helmet. “We launch in five.”

  ***

  10:15 p.m. MST Leaving Schriever

  Cade had policed up his gear and was strapped into his usual port-side seat in the Ghost Hawk in a little under two minutes. Fact of the matter, he was itching to get the show on the road. The sooner the job was done, the sooner he could get back to Eden and see to Brook and Raven. Best case scenario, Brook was going to have to be quarantined until more was known. However, worst case scenario, grim as hell as it was, if what Nash had told him earlier about how the 4th ID soldier’s death had any truth to it, he could be going home to a freshly filled grave. But for now, there was nothing he could do about it. And where he was going, it would be suicide to dwell on it. So he pushed it all back where it belonged. All of the emotion attached to the slim possibility of the latter had to remain in that black hole of his where a stray thought was less likely to escape. Because stray thoughts had been known to jeopardize good judgment and sound decision-making. Which could lead to him getting killed. Or even worse, someone on his team going down due to his negligence.

  “You’re zoning out like a Zed, mate,” Axe said, waving a hand in front of Cade’s face.

  The turbines fired up off to Cade’s right. He heard the cough and sputter then felt the slight vibration he knew was the rotor overhead beginning to spool up.

  “Sometimes I feel like one,” Cade said.

  “You and me both,” Axe conceded as he buckled himself into a seat near the internally stowed starboard minigun.