by B. D. Lutz
It only took a year before he decided his family needed more space; actually, we all needed more space. Our community became the beacon of hope we had always known it to be, attracting hundreds of survivors to its promise of a better life.
The push to grow culminated in our ongoing mission, which is now referred to as The Expansion. Our teams move block by city block, house by house, until the area is free of the dead. Then they quickly erect all manner of barricades around the reclaimed land.
Our roadways receive the same treatment as our newly settled communities—cleared of abandoned vehicles and surrounded by cyclone fencing. We’ve connected every settlement as far south as Olaf’s and north to Lake Erie.
The sound of angry little feet slapping the sidewalk broke my thoughts. I turned to look for the little devil those feet belonged to, finding Devon’s toothy smile instead.
But I heard the tiny bellow of the angry six-year-old fireball those stomping feet belonged to. “Uncle Otto, you got me in trouble again.”
I smiled at Devon, the scar on his cheek reminding me of that fateful day a madman attacked us. “You need a ride home?”
“Thanks, Mister Otto, but I have firefighter training this afternoon. I was escorting Miss Scratchy Bottom to her ride.”
“My name is not Miss Scratchy Bottom; it’s Luna. And I don’t need anyone to walk me anywhere.”
Devon and I shared a laugh as he opened the passenger door and helped the tiny version of Lisa into my Yukon. He was growing into a fine young man who had decided to become a firefighter shortly after we’d lost our first house to sparks from a celebratory bonfire. He was still too young to join the Fire Control Team, but we started training our youngsters early these days.
Devon slammed the door and ran towards a crowd of future firefighters awaiting their instructor’s arrival.
“My teacher’s name isn’t Miss McGillicuddy; it’s Willis, Addie Willis. I had to stand in the corner during recess because of you.” Luna glared at me through her disheveled mop of hair; her resemblance to her mother was frightening. I had no idea how Dillan survived living with the two of them.
“Nah, she’s just testing you. You’ll see, when you finally call her Miss Willis, she’ll say her name is McGillicuddy and make you stand in the corner again. Safer to stick with what I told you.”
“You’re crazy, Uncle Otto, just like my mom said.”
“But be nice to McGillicuddy. Her brother’s a hero.”
“I knew it,” Luna exclaimed. “Her name IS Willis. We talked about her brother during our history class. Whatever happened to him?”
Funny how seven years later, the mention of my friend still made me mist up. “Well, sweetheart, we don’t really know. That stuff he got infected with was wicked. We lost radio contact with him a few weeks after his mission. We had hoped to bring him home; Fort Riley had planned a mission to rescue him. But the last time McMaster talked to him, he noticed a change in Willis, a violent change. It happened two days before the mission was to happen, forcing Fort Riley to scrap their plans. Soon after, he stopped answering our radio calls. Never forget that soldiers like Sergeant Willis made it possible for you and me to live a much safer life. They made the ultimate sacrifice for us. It should serve as a reminder that our freedom comes at the cost of eternal vigilance.”
We pulled around Maxine’s truck, and she gave a big smiling wave to Luna; she went ice cold when she made eye contact with me.
“You need to tell me what your mom said to Mac.”
Luna giggled and kept waving. Just like her mother!
“Speaking of history classes, have they said anything about me? I mean, about FST1?”
Luna went still, but I could see the wheels turning. “Uncle Otto, is it true that we used to have places where people gave you food from a window, and you could eat it anywhere you wanted?”
“Yep, we called it fast food. And I hope it never comes back. That stuff was terrible for you. Except for pizza; we need a good pizza joint. So, still nothing about your old Uncle Otto in history class?”
“Nope, still nothing,” she answered while shaking her head vigorously.
I wheeled out of the parking lot and headed for home. “Do you have homework?”
“No, I have shooting practice. Sergeant Major McMaster said he has something special for us today. I like him; he yelled at Sammy for picking on me.”
“Why was Sammy picking on you?” I had a feeling I knew the answer.
“He said I looked like a mess. I said he smelled and punched him.”
Yep, that’s what I figured.
As we drove up to our main gate, Luna was uncharacteristically calm. We waited for the results from the virus test in silence—no fidgeting, no boisterous objections to the mouth-swab, not a peep from her.
After we cleared testing, I asked her, “What’s on your mind?”
After a dramatic breath, she said, “Miss McGi… My teacher said that the stories you’re telling me are being embel… imbillished. And she told me to tell you to stop it.”
“I’m not embellishing. I was there, kiddo. All the stories I’ve told you come straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Luna’s face scrunched up, and she stared at me like I was crazy.
“No, Luna. Horses can’t talk. It’s just an expression that means the person telling you a story is the person who knows best what happened.
“I’ll make you a deal. Ask me about something that happened. Something you can ask someone else to see if I’m telling you the truth.”
Her expression told me she already had a story picked out and knew the answer. “Why did my mom punch you in the eye?”
I knew it!
“Well, that’s an easy one. I was leading our team home from our first mission, back when MST1 was first formed. Your mom was acting hysterical; I think the pressure was getting to her. I asked her to calm down and told her to have faith in my leadership, that I’d get her home to your dad safe and sound. She snapped and charged me like an unhinged madwoman.”
Luna rolled her eyes and put a tiny hand on her forehead. “My teacher was right.”
“Okay, okay, she hit me because I called her Wilma.”
Laughing her head off, Luna said, “My mom whooped you!”
We pulled up to her house a few seconds later, and I resisted my urge to belittle the child over her statement. And with Dillan standing in his driveway, I couldn’t very well make his daughter cry in front of him.
As he walked to retrieve his bundle of joy, I leaned in close and said, “Do you know why they named you Luna?” Her attention shifted to me, and she shook her head. “Because you’re a Luna-tic. They just shortened it to make it easier to say.”
“I don’t know what that means, Uncle Otto.”
“Ask your mom when she gets home. Don’t ask your dad; your mom knows the answer better than anyone. She’s very smart.”
Dillan leaned through the open window and kissed his daughter. In a flurry of tiny arms and legs, she unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her pink backpack, and gave me a peck on the cheek.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Luna.”
Without replying, she jumped from the Yukon and scrambled towards the house.
“How’s life treating you?” Dillan asked as he watched his wild-child barrel through the door.
“Like it owns the deed to my soul. How about you?”
“Same here.” Dillan turned to face me and let his eyes drift to the cane resting between my seat and the center console. “Knee acting up again?”
“Little bit. I need a new one. It could use a stretch. Got a minute to catch up? I don’t see you all that much anymore.”
Dillan checked his watch. “Yeah, sure. Luna doesn’t have to be to firearms training for another hour.”
Chapter 42 – Those Nine Words
I grabbed my cane, got out of the Yukon, and rested against its front quarter-panel as Dillan walked around and joined me.
“Speaking of firear
ms training, when did McMaster take that over?” I asked.
Technically, Sergeant Major McMaster remained attached to Camp Hopkins, but he spent most of his time helping us build a better home for the hundreds of people now living safely behind our walls.
His military connection had been instrumental in our early negotiations for supplies with RAM’s military. But that role had diminished as we became more self-reliant.
“About two weeks ago,” Dillan responded. “Darline’s the mayor; doesn’t she tell you anything?”
I chuckled at his comment. We’d elected Darline “mayor” of our small community after Pat passed away in her sleep two years ago. We missed our steely matriarch’s commanding presence, but her influence on Darline was clear to this day.
After Pat passed, the community decided it was time to hold elections for our community leaders. We did it by write-in vote, and Darline won in a landslide. She then ordered me to stay out of her business as mayor. Probably the best decision she’s made outside of marrying me.
“Well, Dillan, we have an understanding that my input is not welcome. Meaning she tells me nothing, avoiding my opinion.”
“Ah, smart lady.” Dillan’s posture went stiff. “Then you haven’t heard about the VIP delegation from Hopkins. They want to talk about trading supplies and go-forward strategies.”
“No, they don’t. They want Andy. You’d think after seven years of us refusing to turn him over, they’d get the message.” I paused, shaking my head in disgust. “They need to stop worrying about Andy and start concentrating on killing zombies. Hell, we’ve cleared more land around here than they have.”
Andy was the only person to survive the virus while remaining an actual human. And the government wanted full access to him in the worst way. We all suspected it was less about a cure and more about replicating his enhanced physical abilities.
Andy’s tissue samples and literally hundreds of vials of blood McCune had submitted to RAM were never enough. They wanted to turn him into a lab rat, and we wouldn’t let that happen.
To this day, McCune continued to pore over Andy’s charts, trying to solve the riddle, but his every attempt had failed. In his years of research, his only accomplishment was temporarily curing cancer and several other nasty diseases. His cancer patient later died of complications from the antidote; actually, all the human test subjects had died. A setback McCune never fully recovered from.
Dillan’s voice snapped me back to the conversation. “Do you think they want a cut of our gasoline, or possibly our other outputs?”
My vision went red at the thought. “You mean like a tax? If that’s their intent, they better send bachelors to break the news. We will not give up what we’ve fought for.”
Our conversation stopped when FST1’s aging Hummer and our two confiscated deuce-and-a-half transports rolled to a stop, blocking the driveway. The smiling faces of FST1’s members told me things had gone well.
Lisa was out of her transport before it stopped moving. She glared at me as she walked towards her house. “Did you get my daughter home in one piece?”
“Yes, just like I do every day. You’re welcome.” My smile always annoyed her, so I made sure it was beaming. “And start checking her schoolwork. I’m not sure she’s getting the truth about our history.”
It was her turn to smile, and it shed light on my conversation with Luna during our ride home. It wasn’t Luna’s teacher telling her I was embellishing my stories; it was her mom! Lisa’s just plain nasty.
When she disappeared through the front door, I pivoted to Dillan. “You should keep your distance from Lisa tonight, especially after she talks to Luna.”
Rubbing his forehead, Dillan asked, “What did you do now, Otto? You’re making my life miserable.”
Still smiling, I quickly changed the subject and turned to face the team. It felt good to see them standing together. I hadn’t interacted with them as much after injuring my knee training new recruits.
It happened six months after our mission at the football field. I’d quit FST1 and moved into an advisory role. I finally convinced myself that I was too old, too slow, and tired of being black-and-blue.
In my new role, I helped find and train men and women eager to earn a spot on FST1. I was born to do it. The newbies loved my guidance and appreciated my wealth of knowledge. But a slick spot on a flight of stairs during a house-clearing training session ended my short-lived role.
Nowadays, I manage the gun-cleaning team. The kids on the team adore my stories from my time on the teams. I’m pretty sure they view me as a father figure. Who can blame them?
Randy broke my daydream by slapping my shoulder with his giant paw. “We had a good mission. No shots fired, crude delivered to Max’s refinery, and two trucks full of medical supplies.”
“And don’t forget,” Stone interjected, “no one fell down.”
“You’ve been a smartass since we were kids, Stone. I might hate you.”
“Nah, you love me, brother; you know you do.”
Shaking my head, I made eye contact with Andy. “Look at you! You haven’t aged a day. It still creeps me out.”
Andy smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Good genes, Otto.”
“Speaking of genes, you need to hide yours in the clinic. The Feds are paying us a visit. No doubt they’ll ask about you.”
Andy’s smile disappeared. “What the actual f…. what don’t they understand? When will they be here?”
“Pretty soon. They want a meeting with Darline, council, and McCune,” Dillan answered.
Darline stepped from behind my Yukon as Dillan finished speaking. “What about me? Is Otto trash talking again?”
“Hello, your Royal Highness, I wasn’t trash talking. In fact, I was just saying how lucky we are to have you as our leader.”
Waving a dismissive hand at me, she gave Andy a hug. “I suppose you know about the meeting? They’ll be here any minute, so vamoose. We’ll let you know when they leave.”
Just then, the door to Dillan’s house opened, and Lisa joined us with Luna in tow. I waited for her right hand to reach for my throat, but nothing happened. She was actually smiling. Obviously, Luna hadn’t asked her about being a lunatic. Good, let Dillan deal with them later!
I looked around the group standing in front of me and understood why my dad had always loved the holidays. The people I loved were all here: Darline, Jackson, Dillan, Andy, Tesha, Will, and Randy, maybe even Lisa. I realized at that moment that we had made it, and we were rebuilding our country. The zombie threat would probably be with us forever, but we’d faced it head-on and were no longer merely surviving. We were thriving!
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed them, missed being a part of FST1, until this moment.
“Damn allergies,” I said as I wiped at my eyes.
Darline took my hand and snuggled under my arm when Dillan’s radio crackled to life, ending the moment.
“Main gate for Dillan.”
“Go for Dillan.”
“We have a giant motor coach requesting entry for a VIP. I’ve informed them we are running low on virus tests, and they must submit to a physical bite inspection.”
A smile broke on Dillan’s face. “So, what’s the problem?”
“They’re none too pleased about it. A heavily armed man said they’re here to help us and shouldn’t be asked to follow our protocols.”
My left eye twitched at the guard’s statement, and I asked Dillan for his radio. Darline tried to stop him; she knew what was happening, but she was too slow.
I had the radio to my mouth an instant later. “Son, hand the radio to the VIP, please.”
After a momentary silence, a familiar voice crackled through the radio. “This is President Pace. To whom am I speaking?”
“President? Congrats on your promotion, Pace. Funny, I don’t recall an election for a new president. Also, aren’t you about a hundred years old? Seriously, why would you even want the job at your age?”
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Obviously rattled by my brisk greeting, Pace responded, “I’m sixty-seven. And we don’t have the necessary infrastructure to hold national elections. I assure you, once we do, elections will begin again.”
“That’s odd. Our community managed to hold elections without the necessary infrastructure.”
“Am I speaking to Otto Hammer? They assured me you were no longer a factor in your community’s politics.”
“Mister President, I’ll always be a factor in my community’s wellbeing. Now, I need some clarification. You told our guard you’re here to help? Is that correct?”
He tried to respond, but I really didn’t want an answer. “Sir, have you ever heard the nine most terrifying words?”
“I’m familiar with them.”
“I don’t think you are; otherwise, you would have a clearer understanding of their meaning. So, write them down, and refer to them often. The words are as follows: I’m from the government, and I’m here to help. Those words signify everything that was and apparently still is wrong with government.”
“Otto, I’m not sure what’s got you worked up,” Pace started, “but I assure you we only want to help your community. Don’t say anything to change that.”
“Did you just try to blackmail us again?” I interrupted.
“It’s extortion, Otto,” Darline said while resting her face in her hands.
“Another government official just corrected me. She informed me you’re actually trying to extort us. Either way, I’m unhappy, so listen closely: You work for us, and we won’t allow it to get like it was before. We don’t need you; you need us. Hammer, out.”
Darline snatched the radio from my hand and moved away while attempting to salvage our relationship with Pace.
“Well, that escalated quickly,” Stone started while staring at me wide-eyed. “You know, Otto, we still need them for some stuff.”
“Actually, we need them for a lot of stuff,” Jackson chirped.
I knew where this was headed and wanted to storm off, but my knee hurt, so I fought back. “No, we don’t… name one thing they’re doing that we can’t do on our own?”