by David Rogers
“Nope. And thanks.” Jessica said. “You hauled that thing back here yourself?”
“Yeah, it sucked.” he shrugged, gesturing with the knife he held in one bloody hand at the boar hanging by its hind legs from the tripod of thick sticks. The animal was well on its way to being fully butchered, with bones showing all over now that a good portion of its flesh had been removed. “Damn thing’s gotta be about a hundred pounds. And Buddy didn’t help a bit, did you boy? No you didn’t, you just barked a little and kept me company.”
A few yards from the tripod, the dog was nosing and chewing his way through a rather disgusting looking pile of internal organs. Buddy didn’t bother to look up for more than a moment, but it wagged its tail before returning to the smorgasbord it had before it. There was also a big bucket though, right next to the tripod, that clearly held other guts and less, or in-, edible bits from the boar’s body.
“Where’d you nail that? Use your .338?” Austin asked as he jogged up to join Jessica and Candice, who were approaching the little butchering and smoking operation Happy had setup. Both of their big barbecue smokers, which had been retrieved months ago but only recently started to see regular use, had been parked near the tripod and table. And both had been lit, though only one as yet had meat and ribs on the grate.
“Over that way some.” Happy said, gesturing west with the knife before he went back to slicing on a piece of meat on the table. “A mile or two from the canal. Wasn’t the only one either, but they’ll be around later when we work through this. And I only use that cannon on bears and gators.”
“Why?” Candice asked.
“Because if I put one of those .338s into something as small as a boar, it’s going to be splashed across half the swamp.”
“Yuck.” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Yum.” Happy said. “Plain old 30-06 Austin, dropped him clean.”
“Good to know. It’s been a while since we had pork. Speaking of drops, Candice just dropped a duck for us. And caught a rabbit to boot, in one of her snares.”
“Good for you Candy.” Happy said, beaming at her approvingly. “Taking care of the family like that. High five.”
“Ewww.” she said, glancing briefly at the bloody hand he held out before looking away again.
“Sorry.” Happy said with a grin, lowering his hand. “Still don’t like some of it huh?”
“Thanks.” Candice said, though she was very studiously looking toward the houses on the opposite side of the road as she approached the smokers. “And no, I don’t.”
“Her and me both.” Jessica said, setting the cooler down. Though, unlike Candice, she at least could hold her reflexive distaste for the butchering process down enough to simply keep her eyes on Happy. He looked like a different person these days. He was a different person now that he wasn’t drowning in sorrow and alcohol.
The beard was still there, but it was trimmed neatly into a close and orderly one that followed the curve of his cheeks and jawline. His hair was cut short as well, and he was clean — both him and his clothes — even despite the blood on his hands and forearms as he processed his kill.
She hadn’t been prepared to hold her breath when he said he was abandoning his ‘plan’ of drinking the apocalypse away. Especially when he requested beer. And not just a little beer either. They’d brought back three cases, and had to go back for three more the next day. But Happy had switched to the beer, stopped opening liquor bottles, and eased himself down from the months-long drunken binge he’d been ripping through.
Now his eyes were clear, his body language straight, and she’d discovered he was actually a pretty smart guy. Smart crossed with a lot of redneck flair, but she’d never minded Southern blue collar. She was a small-town Georgia girl herself. Brett had been cut from the same cloth, even for all that he’d never spent six nights a week at a bar getting into fights or disappeared on the weekends to tractor pulls or hunting trips. Southern she liked, just as long as the Southerner was a decent person.
“That’s alright, not everyone’s got the stomach for it.” Happy said.
“If I get hungry enough I could manage.”
“Yeah, but we ain’t to heroic measures yet. Don’t worry, I got it. Hey, I figure you guys have some barbecue sauce, right? I’ve only got the makings, not any bottled stuff. My wife always made the sauce, and I don’t remember her recipe.”
“Sure we do.” Candice said.
“I actually always liked the bottled sauces more anyway.” Jessica said. Happy had only just started stocking actual necessities into his pantry. Now that he was a functioning member of apocalyptic society, he needed something other than booze on hand. Even with her and Austin and Candice helping on two scavenging trips they’d made just to get him started, he didn’t have a lot on hand yet. “I mean, most of them are better than anything I ever came up with when I tried. Even when I tweaked them a little, I still opened a bottle.”
“I like anything except Kraft.” Happy said.
“Hah, I actually know a pretty good recipe that uses that plus some bourbon and onions. But our onions are going to be a while coming up.”
Happy shrugged. “It’ll work out.”
“Can we squeeze these in there somewhere?” Austin asked, lifting the lid on the cooler and displaying the animals in it. “If you’re throwing a barbecue party? Might as well grill and get some smoke on them before they go in our stew pot.”
“Always room for a duck and a rabbit.” Happy nodded, flashing a grin. “Especially since I’ve got to get most of this into the salt bucket first.” He had another one next to him, one that wasn’t full of offal and bones. There were also several canisters of salt on the table, one of them with bloody handprints on the exterior.
“I’ll open up the house.” Austin said, closing the cooler and looking at Jessica. “You want me to bring a bottle of sauce out?”
When the three of them had gotten back to the house from Belle Glade, they’d found Candice had left one of the back bedroom windows slightly open, with the shutters ajar, and hidden the rope ladder Austin had made in the underbrush near the ‘entrance’ to the little line of houses. Throwing it up and getting both hooks to catch onto the window ledge took a little bit sometimes, but it left the house pretty secure when they were all out together.
“No, just drop the ladder when you’re in.” Jessica said. “I need to pick through the pantry a little, figure out something for at least one side dish. But you can bring down the cutting board and get our catches on the grill.”
“There’s plenty here to chow on.” Happy said as he slapped another prepared piece of meat down on the pile to his right.
“Yeah, but a little variety never hurt anyone.”
“Pig is variety these days.” Austin said.
“The more we eat tonight, the less we’ve got to leave smoking through tomorrow. Though anyway you cut it I’ll be up and down checking on the fires.” Happy said.
“Okay he-men.” Jessica said, shaking her head with a smile. “But when you taste my green bean casserole, you’ll find room for seconds in between the ribs.”
“I smoke a mean rib.” Happy said as he cut up another piece of the pig into thinner slices that would take salt and smoke properly so they’d cure. “I stripped a couple of branches off an apple tree the other day, got some of them chopped into chips and in the fires there. Be better if the wood was more seasoned, but you ever had fresh apple smoked pork?”
“Could we pick some apples?” Candice asked immediately.
“They won’t start growing for a few months yet.” Happy said. “But round September maybe, that tree’ll be ready to give up a couple hundred. Don’t worry, I only took two damaged branches.”
“Fruit.” Jessica said longingly. “Fresh fruit would be nice. Fresh everything would be nice.”
“Ain’t too hard to find some, long as you don’t mind picking and carrying it.” Happy said as he kept his knife moving. “And the best thing now, no one’s go
nna call the damn sheriff or rangers on you. Same as the hunting now; ain’t no bit— uh, complaining about out of season or whose land you’re on.”
“Not everything about zombies is bad.” Candice observed. “As long as they’re not eating you.”
“Damn straight.” Happy said, slapping another piece of meat down on the finished pile.
# # # # #
Afterword
Of all the places I could’ve sent Jessica in her last book, I had to pick Florida. Though, to be fair, Texas was further and would have the same problem. I tried mightily with the few lines of Spanish that appear in this text, including mechanical and reference translations, and hitting up anyone willing to look over and correct it; but I strongly suspect I’ve screwed some of it up.
It’s my fault. I just didn’t want to use the old “Arcelia said in Spanish” and “Jorge said something that no one understood, and all eyes turned to Arcelia” tricks all the time, and so on. My bright idea was to actually put some lines of Spanish in. Hopefully I didn’t completely and utterly end up mangling them. And if wishes were dreams I’d be riding a unicorn. Feel free to send in any corrections, and I’ll update the text; which is one of the beautiful things about ebooks.
Stories come from everywhere. This one came to me when the title popped into my head. I started thinking about it, and decided putting Candice on her own in the middle of the apocalypse had some weight that could be played with. When I began writing though, it further occurred to me that having her drag Happy into it would be more fun than simply expecting everyone to believe she’d walk, or even bike, thirty miles by herself. Plus Happy got a good reaction in his first appearance, so I wanted to trot him out for a longer arc.
Happy is foul mouthed when he’s drunk. No doubt. I trust anyone who made it this far but is still a little annoyed over how vulgar drunk Happy is will have noticed that the bulk of this story’s cursing comes out of his mouth. And that he’s a lot more civil now that he’s sobered up some.
As I finished this and got ready to release it, hurricane Matthew bore down on Florida. I’m glad it seems to have mostly missed the state, but at the same time I was moaning and cursing myself. You see, one of the scenarios I considered when developing what you’ve just read was having a hurricane hit the family. The only reason I didn’t pursue it was it wasn’t the right season; the bulk of the hurricanes hit in mid-summer to mid-fall.
I still think it would’ve made for some great free advertising though.
Also by David Rogers
Visit http://davesworld.info for more information about the author and his other titles
Apocalypse Atlanta – We’ve all seen it on the news every year. A hurricane, a tornado, a tsunami, a flood. A BAD thing happens, and all hell breaks loose.
Some people are caught in the chaos, others are victims, some run, others wait for help, most sit at home watching for everything to be fixed for them, and a few dive in to do whatever they can.
The thing about a zombie apocalypse is whether or not you’re in that initial wave of people who get hungry and start snacking. And where you are as few turn to many. As we all know, when it’s zombies, soon many turns to most. And it’s over when most become all.
Apocalypse Atlanta follows three people as the zombies start eating and bring the world down around them a bite at a time.
One is a retired Marine. The second is a widowed single mother. And the third is a biker.
Are there right or wrong answers when zombies are involved? Do things like morality and decency matter? Is it better to be alive to feel guilty, or dead an honorable? Who decides who’s right or wrong when a single mistake can make you dinner for a ravenous horde of the undead?
The story that started it all, the preceding book to Apocalypse Aftermath.
http://www.amazon.com/Apocalypse-Atlanta/dp/B00D538D6M/
Apocalypse Aftermath – the follow-up to Apocalypse Atlanta, continuing the stories of Peter, Jessica, and Darryl.
When an apocalypse starts, there's always running and screaming. Sooner or later, most of that starts to fade; if only because most of the runners and screamers are dead. Once the end of the world gets going in earnest, the sprint becomes a marathon. You can’t run all the time, can you?
Saving someone is easy. Helping them is what's hard. Heroes happen all the time. After those moments when you become someone's saviour, what comes next? One day turns to two, and then the days are a week. Time keeps ticking by, and if you're going to keep from being ground beneath the clock’s relentless push, you've got to find the essentials for life. Food, water, shelter, safety. Everything else is negotiable.
Apocalypse Aftermath picks up where Apocalypse Atlanta leaves off; following three people, each going in three different directions, all trying to survive the end of the world. The same question faces Peter, Jessica, and Darryl; what’s next? What’s a safe path to follow, one that doesn’t place them and those they’re with at risk of becoming a meal for the zombies? What’s the right move, and how do they see it for what it is in time to act? Which way is the right way?
Because whether you’re an aging retired Marine, a widowed single mother, or a biker who bounces, the problem is the same.
Zombies.
http://www.amazon.com/Apocalypse-Aftermath/dp/B00KKB43E8
Apocalypse Asunder – When zombies show up, the world usually goes to hell. They tend have that effect on, well, on everything. Zombies aren’t good, aren’t bad; they just are. They can’t help themselves. They destroy and consume because it’s what they do. Unfeelingly, unthinkingly, unerringly. But while a hungry corpse will hunt you down and chew you up . . . what people will do can be far worse.
What turns good people bad? It’s really not that hard to figure out. They want something more than you. They need something more than you. Because no one is stopping them. Trust is a casualty of the apocalypse as surely as safety and survival. Not everyone is bad, but apathy and a lack of concern kill the same as malicious intent. An awful lot of people will let a lot of awful things happen if it means they survive. They’ll even do them to you; who cares if they feel bad about it afterwards? Because that’s what it’s all about when everything goes to hell.
Survival.
In the middle of a zombie apocalypse, nothing is routine and nothing is normal. One mistake can be your last. With winter closing in and life stripped of all the things that turn winter from just one more season into something that can kill, Jessica has to decide which is more dangerous for her and her daughter. Do they travel across two states in search of warm shelter, or sit tight and pray for providence to see them through?
One thing Jessica’s learned amid the apocalypse though . . . help comes to those who help themselves.
http://www.amazon.com/Apocalypse-Asunder/dp/B00P07HDNU/
Apocalypse Asylum – In the two months since they brought the apocalypse down on the world, zombies have reduced everything to a shattered scattering of isolated survivor groups clinging to what’s left of their lives. Living day to day, hand to mouth, constantly fighting amid the ruins of what’s left of a civilization that was over seven billion people strong; it isn’t much, but it’s that or become one more monster.
One thing zombies have going for them is persistence. Zombies never give up, never get tired, and are always hungry. Zombies might be clumsy and slow, but humans get distracted and make mistakes. The patience of death will always win out against the imperfection of humanity. The clock is ticking on the living, not the dead.
Peter Gibson has survived some of the worst the zombies could throw at him in downtown Atlanta, and has managed to help his battered squad carve out a safe spot in rural north Georgia for five thousand souls. But squatting in a tent village, spending the days guarding the perimeter and making scavenging runs for more canned food and dry goods, praying that a zombie horde big enough to roll over the humans doesn’t show up; that’s just a holding action. It doesn’t address the real problem.
Zomb
ies.
What’s left of the government has been gathering itself at an Air Force base in the northern Midwest. They say they’re working on holding and expanding a secured area, eventually aiming to retake the entire continent. When his camp picks up those radio transmissions, that’s what Peter’s been holding on for two months to hear. But it’s eighteen hundred miles from Georgia to South Dakota, and between the Atlantic and Pacific are over two hundred million zombies.
Getting there will take a road trip of nightmare proportions.
http://www.amazon.com/Apocalypse-Asylum/dp/B00TD7NS1O/
Bite Sized Apocalypse – an anthology of five short stories set in the universe of Apocalypse Atlanta. The common thread is the zombies. Each story looks at a different little slice of the apocalypse as it gets going for those particular characters. Little bite-sized chunks of it.
Is that a dinner bell I hear?
http://www.amazon.com/Bite-Sized-Apocalypse/dp/B00DUFWNKW/
The five stories in Bite Sized Apocalypse are also available individually.
Better to be Lucky – You've thought about it. What would the first few hours of a zombie apocalypse be like? For one company of military police, it was like almost any other job in the service. Boredom with flashes of sheer, howling terror.
http://www.amazon.com/Better-be-Lucky/dp/B00DENSDNG/
Marching through the Apocalypse – Many things might be happening when a zombie apocalypse begins. For some of the most genre aware people in Atlanta, their survival wasn't so much who or where they were, but rather what they were wearing when people started getting hungry.
http://www.amazon.com/Marching-through-Apocalypse/dp/B00DEKA1IY/
There goes the Weekend – A bail bondsman's, er . . . woman's, day can be boring or interesting. Boring can be profitable, and interesting can be fun. But there is such a thing as too much fun. When Darla goes looking for a wife beater right when the zombie apocalypse kicks off, there goes the weekend.