I’m Tired of Zombies
Book Two
Full Scale War
By James W. Murphy
Copyright © 2019, by James W. Murphy, All Rights Reserved.
Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1987 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society.
Cover and back page photos and cover art copyright by Ann Lauwres, An Artist’s View Photography - 3122 Hillview Drive, Metamora, MI 48455; used with permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank a few people who have helped me along the way. Two books complete now, I’ve been most fortunate to have the full cooperation of my wife of forty-six years, Jean – thanks, babe. I thank Mark, for being the first to read my books and edit - you were more help than you know. Ann Lauwres from An Artist’s View, for her imagination and artwork…wow! And she makes a wonderful Michigan maple syrup, too. And yes, there really are three Marines – Dan, Jack and Jeff – I thank you men for the sacrifices you and your families gave during your service for our great nation, and your ideas for this novel and books three and four. You, along with the millions of men and women who have served, have kept our nation safe – thank you.
My prayers are with you always.
Simper Fi, Marines!
Chapter 1: The Doctor Is In
“Stop...please, God, stop!” I begged Dave Malone, Deputy Sheriff for Albany County, Wyoming, who was driving our Humvee. “Pull over man.”
“You okay, bro?” he asked.
“No. Every bump…even the slightest jar…hurts badly. I just need a moment or two without so much pain so I can catch my breath…please stop.”
“Okay, brother, pulling over now. Doug, you’re really pale, man, are you breathing alright?”
“As good as I can…as good as I can. I can’t take a deep breath. It hurts way too much. I’m sure the rib the bullet hit broke,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Yah think! Geez, man, I could have told you that back at the base when I put that first bandage on you. I don’t need x-ray vision to see that, I could feel it move!”
“Don’t yell, brother, I can hear you.”
“Sorry. I’m worried about you.”
“Thanks. I’ll make it - I just need a few minutes and another swig of that scotch so this pain will settle down.”
Dave Malone and I had been on a mission. A massive Zombie horde, we call them Zs, had moved through my ranch near Centennial, Wyoming, almost a year prior. Several million of the creatures had moved through. We figured they were the population of Denver, Colorado, and surrounding cities, like Fort Collins and Boulder.
Long story short, my name is Douglas Sutton, Doug, and I built my home after family tragedies left me with a great deal of money. I’m a graduate of the University of Wyoming and had decided to live in the great equality state instead of Maine, where my family was from. After a lengthily search, I found a suitable property in a valley near Centennial, Wyoming. It took me three years to complete the place, which rested on my ranch covering a four by six-mile area.
Nestled in a canyon, with a small river and another creek flowing through near the home proper, my place was very protected with mountains on three sides, north, west and south, and a large valley to the east. The mighty Sheep Mountain was just beyond the valley, approximately six miles away. Being single, I had kept myself busy with ranch life when the plague hit the world. Three years after the first reports of a terrible illness and outbreak in Africa, the entire world had been affected. Billions died and reanimated as what the news agencies called ‘Zombie-like’ creatures, only interested in one thing – eating anything warm-blooded they could get their hands on, which included especially live humans.
Through a series of events after the plague had taken its worldwide toll, I was married to a lovely lady named Ruth. We adopted Deputy Sheriff Dave Malone and his lovely wife, Julia Malone, who was a registered nurse. Because of the world circumstances, they moved in with us, thus providing mutual protection and defense against the living horror of the Zs.
The Sheriff of Albany County, Thomas Gerill, had gone in search of his sister, who lived in Scottsbluff, Nebraska, leaving Dave alone to handle the county. I invited the couple to move in with us as we had ample room, as my home was a two-bedroom affair. The kicker to this was what I named the Underground. It was an underground complex I built on the ridge, some six-hundred feet above my ranch home proper. I constructed it out of shipping containers, and it is a marvel. It has hot and cold running water, electricity supplied by four sources of power production - hydro, wind, solar, and gas-powered generators.
It consisted of eight great rooms and one utility room all made from shipping containers. I had used eighteen containers to build, with the complex spanning one-hundred, forty feet, by a fifty-six-foot area, some seven-thousand, and eight-hundred forty square feet of space. That included the tunnel that connected the eight rooms, the eastern and western hatchways we call the east and west portals, and the main entry. The eight rooms are a gym, kitchen and dining room, storeroom, shop, den and three bedrooms replete with bathrooms. The gym has a steam room, sauna, and a two-person, heated jet tub. That was always a real treat.
The Underground is where Julia and Dave lived until we found them a home on the eastern side of the valley. It too, had an underground complex the previous owners had installed. They moved into that home in the spring, about six months ago after the owner died the previous winter, leaving them the complex.
Dave and I had been on a mission to find the great zombie horde that had moved through our area to the north. We had many questions regarding the horde, most important of which was why they moved to the north en masse as they did. Were they migrating? Were they being called or coxed? Was there more food to the north than where they had been, namely, Denver, Colorado? So many questions and not enough answers to go along with them.
Since it was spring, we wondered if they had migrated to the north and would return due to the warmer weather, spring break so-to-speak. If so, we would need to prepare both homes prior to the horde’s return. Julia and Dave had moved into their new home and after a ‘get to know it’ time, began to relax. That is why we were out – to reconnoiter and find out what had happened to the horde. After finding the mass and seeing that it continued to the north, Dave and I had decided to go east to Interstate 25, traveling south to Cheyenne, Wyoming, and look for some additional supplies.
We had found a truck that had wrecked on an Air Force base that held .556 and .308 caliber ammunition. That was a great find because they were the two primary calibers of ammunition we used in our weapons. Our dog, Samantha, a Golden Retriever we call Sam, became agitated and growling at the truck as we approached, a clear sign Zs were about. Sadly, they were in the cab of the truck and during the ensuing struggle with them, I was wounded in the left side from my own rifle. I had used it as a club, holding on to the barrel and swinging it as a bat, hit a Z in the head. That had allowed Dave to have enough time to use his spear and dispatch the creature.
My rifle, an M4, discharged as I hit the beast. The bul
let grazed and fractured one of my ribs and left a nasty groove in my flesh. Dave had rushed me to a nearby clinic he knew of, and after breaking in, he cleaned, sewed, and dressed the wound. I don’t care what anyone says, being sewn up without a local is a trying experience. We had Motrin but it wasn’t doing a very good job with my pain, so on the way out, Dave stopped at a liquor store and was able to not only find enough items to restock our homes but handed me a bottle of upscale scotch for pain relief.
That is where this story begins. I had taken several healthy swigs in Cheyenne, and Dave had turned towards home, going south first on I-25 then turning west on I-80. He had almost reached the summit and had hit a sizable bump in the road causing my pain to increase, waking me. I asked him to pull over so I could recover some.
“Want me to make you a pallet in the back? You might feel better lying down.”
“No, I think that would be worse,” I said with a grimace. “Maybe another, tighter wrap will help and a few more swigs of the scotch.”
“Okay, I’ll get another wrap out of the kit.” Dave got out and opened the back of the hummer, got another six-inch Curlex wrap out of the first aid kit and came around to the passenger door. “Can you sit up just a bit so I can wrap this around you?”
I tried to scoot forward some and the pain was excruciating. At that point, I honestly thought I would have felt better if the bullet had just gone through me.
“Come on, brother, just a little more,” Dave said as he helped me move just a bit forward. I couldn’t help but cry out.
“Sorry about this, Dave.”
“No, you’re not. You did this to torment me didn’t you?”
“No! You’re a jerk sometimes, you know that?”
“You’ve told me that on several occasions. I think I’ve got an expert badge in jerkology.”
“Jerkology – that’s not a word, dude.”
“It is now. I just made it up - the study of jerks – Jerkology that is. I’ve got a master’s degree in jerkology.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, but when I did, “Oh, don’t make me laugh. Oh, that hurts so much.”
“You’re just a big wussy.”
“Want me to give you one of these?” I asked giving him a look out of the corner of my eye.
“Nah, I’ll pass. Okay, let me tie this off,” he said as he finished wrapping my ribs. “Now, just sit there a few minutes, breath deeply as you can and let things settle down some. Want some water?”
“Sure, that’d be great. Can you bring the scotch back up here, too?”
“I’d love to do that for you, hang on.” He gave me a water bottle and the scotch, then started the hummer and picked up the radio mike and said, “Julia…Ruth, either of you copy? This is Dave.” We waited, listening to the static. Nothing, so he tried again, “Julia or Ruth, do either of you copy me, this is Dave?”
We waited several minutes and heard nothing. Dave reached down to turn it off when, “I don’t know whom Julia and Ruth are, but I hear you very well, over.”
We looked at each other in surprise. After not seeing or hearing another live human for…well years, hearing one from out there was a shock. Dave keyed his mike and said, “We read you; I’m Albany County Deputy Sheriff David Malone, and who are we speaking to, over?”
“We, over?” came back from the unknown person.
“I have my friend, Doug Sutton with me, over.”
“Just the two of you is all there are, over?”
“Yes, who are you? Where are you? We haven’t seen another human in quite some time, over?”
“Do you have any of the undead around you, over?”
“Negative all clear. Again, who are you over?”
“I’m Doctor Stephen Roche, over.”
“Doctor…we need a doctor, Doug has a bullet wound and he’s hurting something awful, can you help us, over?”
“Who shot him, over?”
“It was an accident…well sort of. He used his weapon as a club and when he hit a Z on the head with it, it went off and shot him in the ribs, over.”
“What is a ‘Z’ over?”
“Oh, that’s what we call these things walking around, short for zombie…Z, over.”
“Ah, I understand. I am a PhD, not a Medical Doctor, sorry. Lately the PhD stands for ‘pretty helpless dunce’ I’m afraid, over.”
“That’s funny - are you alone, over?”
“Sadly, yes. My last companion was killed several days ago in Fort Collins, Colorado (Dave and I looked at each other). Not all of the ‘Zs’ as you call them have gone north as we planned. Many are left in buildings and enclosed spaces, over.”
“You know why they’re going north? We’ve been trying to figure that out for over a year, over.”
“Yes. My companions and I created a signal that attracts the undead. They migrate to the signal like a dog does to a high frequency whistle, over.”
“Yes, our dog Samantha hears something we do not. I think it drives her up the wall a little, over.”
“That is unfortunate. Tell her I apologize for her torment, it’s entirely my fault, over.”
“I’ll let her know. Where are you? We’re on Interstate 80 heading west, back to our home near Centennial, Wyoming. We’re just east of a place called Buford, over?”
“I’ll look on my map, hold on for a moment, please, over.”
“Doug, can you believe it? Another person and he can explain what’s going on with the Zs.”
“I heard…I heard’ does he need our help?”
“Good question, when he comes back on, I’ll ask.”
“Dave, are you there, over?”
“This is Dave, go ahead, over.”
“I found Buford on the map; I am southwest of you on Highway 287, heading north and have just entered Tie Siding. Do you know where I am, over?”
“Yes, we were there just a week ago. Do you need our assistance, over?”
“Yes, for companionship absolutely - most definitely - I am so happy to hear your voice, over.”
“OK, if you keep heading north on 287, you’ll run into Laramie and I-80. If you beat us there, stop and wait for us on I-80. We’ll be there in about an hour, barring difficulty, over.”
“Very well, I’ll see you there in around an hour, over.”
“We are happy to hear from you, Doctor, by the way. We’ll be there, over and out.” Dave hung the mike back on its holder, turned and looked at me. “You ready?”
“Absolutely, I said. “This will be worth all the pain, meeting a new person. Go ahead, I’ll be all right,” and took another slug of the scotch.
“Ease up on the scotch, dude,” Dave said jumping out, running around and closed my door then jumped back into the hummer and put it in gear. He slowly started out and headed west once again. I suffered through the pain as best as I could and tried to snooze along the way. That was impossible as with every bump I had a stabbing pain radiating across my chest.
We got to the top of the pass and headed down the mountain. Both of us were excited about the prospect of seeing another human, one that wasn’t shooting at us that is, as that is usually what happened. Dave sped up as we bottomed out just east of Laramie. Another fire had broken out somewhere on the northwest side of the town as we could see a thick black smoke column rising to the in the distance.
We knew Doctor Roche would be at the second exit and were excited out of our minds. We passed the first exit and Dave gave the hummer more gas as he zoomed left and right around abandoned vehicles, me complaining with every turn. As we neared the second exit, he slowed to about twenty miles an hour. We didn’t see anyone moving around. Maybe the Doctor wasn’t here yet or staying in his vehicle until we got closer. Finally, we saw him waving a white cloth from the window of a truck parked on the side of the on ramp. Not bothering to use the exit, we pulled off and driving overland and parked behind him. That caused me a great deal of pain.
Dave threw open his door and jumped out and headed for the Doctor. The
Doctor opened his door and got out. As Dave, walked up to him they both had smiles on their faces and Dave held his hand out to shake the Doctor’s hand. The Doctor skipped the handshake and grabbed Dave in a bear hug. They danced around slapping each other on the back and laughing like a pair of long-lost friends.
The Doctor was about five eight or so, one hundred-eightyish pounds, gray-white hair that was a real mess or he had an Einstein hairdresser, glasses covering blue gray eyes that were over-shadowed by nearly white eyebrows that sprouted long hair in almost every direction, and a mile-wide smile. He had a bit of a potbelly and wore suspenders that accented his white shirt, the pocket of which held a plastic pocket protector of all things, with a multitude of pens, pencils and mysterious objects. He looked like Einstein’s baby brother or a very close relative.
They finally separated and the Doctor said, “Where is your wounded friend, Douglas?”
“Back in the hummer - come on, I’ll introduce the two of you,” Dave said turning towards our vehicle.
“Doug, meet Doctor Stephen Roche. Doctor Roche, meet my friend Douglas Sutton,” Dave said introducing us.
The Doctor shook my proffered hand and said, “I shan’t hug you like I did Deputy Malone. I know that would hurt you beyond measure. I am very pleased to meet you, Mister Sutton.”
“Likewise, Doctor Roche, we’re very pleased to meet you,” I answered. “Are you okay, sir?”
“Why yes, yes I am,” the Doctor replied. I’m doing quite well, thank you. I should be the one asking you that question, sir, so I do so. How are you?”
“Now that we’ve stopped the pain has lessened greatly, so I’m doing much better, thank you.”
“I do know quite a bit about first aid so if you don’t mind, I’ll take a look and see what we have here.”
I held my hand up and said politely, “Dave has stopped the bleeding and wrapped me up fairly well. It’s because of his treatment I can breathe better.”
I'm Tired of Zombies | Book 2 | Full Scale War Page 1