Mount Weather: Zombie Rules Book 5

by David Achord

  Savannah focused on the RV, trying to figure out what her crazy savior was trying to show her. She looked it over slowly, wondering what little clue caused Melvin to stop. It was dirty, and the front right tire was missing, propped up on a jack and some big rocks.

  “Uh, it doesn’t have a tire,” she said. “Whoever was driving it knocked the dog shit out of something and got a flat, so they took the tire off and, I don’t know, went looking for a replacement?” She phrased it in the form of a question.

  “Yep, I’d say you’re right. How long ago, do you reckon?” he asked.

  Savannah could see a little gleam in his eye, so she knew it was a trick question. She refocused on the RV. It took her almost two minutes, but she finally saw it. She pointed excitedly.

  “The fucking front windshield!” she proclaimed loudly.

  “Shh,” Melvin chastised. “Don’t be loud.”

  Savannah closed her mouth and her lips tightened.

  “Okay, don’t get all out of sorts. Now, what about the windshield?” Melvin asked.

  “It’s cleaner where the windshield wipers swiped across the windows.”

  “And what does that tell you?” Melvin challenged.

  “The wipers have been used recently. It’s been raining a lot the past couple of days, so it hasn’t been here very long.”

  Melvin nodded and held up his hand. “Fist bump,” he said. Savannah made a fist and bumped it with Melvin’s. He noticed she was grinning. It was the first time he’d seen that since he’d met her.

  “You need to learn these things if you’re going to hang out with me,” he said.

  “I will.”

  “Alright, let’s give it a look-see.” He drew his handgun and opened the side door. They were immediately overcome with the stench of putrefaction. Savannah gagged and coughed.

  “Gross,” she said when she saw the source of the odor. There were two small children in the back, still strapped in their booster seats. Melvin assessed the decomposition and it jived with his estimate the RV had only been there a few days.

  “What the fuck happened?” she asked. “Where are the parents?”

  “If I had to guess,” Melvin replied. “I’d say they went off looking for a tire and got themselves killed somehow.”

  “That’s fucked up,” she said.

  Melvin nodded in agreement. “It’s a messed-up world these days. You can’t dwell on it; otherwise, it’ll drive you crazy.”

  “I guess you’ve seen a lot,” Savannah said. He wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not.

  “You might say that,” Melvin answered. “Alright, I’ll get the kids out to help with the smell. You do the searching, top to bottom, and don’t forget to look for hidden compartments.”

  Melvin was careful unhooking the safety seats and gently carried them outside. He’d seen a decomposed body bursting open one time when one of the Mount Weather Marines got a little too rough moving it. It was nasty.

  He set them off to the side, and while Savannah searched, he looked over the dead female zombie. She had a wallet attached to a chain in the back pocket of her soiled jeans. There was maybe fifty dollars in it, along with some credit cards and a driver’s license. All worthless artifacts of a dead civilization. Her other pockets were empty. He knew a biker chick once who kept a knife hidden in her crotch. He wasn’t going to bother checking this one.

  Savannah’s efforts rewarded them with several cans of spam and a fifth of Jack Daniels. She handed the bottle of whiskey to Melvin and inspected the cans.

  “They expired over a year ago,” she said.

  “Are the cans dented or swollen?” he asked. Savannah inspected both and shook her head.

  “Canned spam is like fruit cake, it doesn’t expire,” he said. “Try one out.”

  Savannah opened one of the cans and dug her finger into the meat. She chewed on it for a few seconds and swallowed.

  “It’ll probably give me the raging shits,” she said as she got some more and handed it to Melvin.

  Melvin gave a short guffaw and pointed up at dark clouds. “If that happens, at least we’ll have plenty of rain to wash up.”

  “Do they have hot water at Mount Weather?” she asked.

  “Hot water, indoor plumbing, electricity, even hot food.”

  Savannah looked at him like he was lying. “Bullshit.”

  He chuckled again as he took another sip of whiskey. “You’ll find out when we get there.”

  Melvin looked over the Winnebago. “Anything else in there?”

  “Yeah. There’s a big toolbox. It’s too heavy for me to lift, and there’s four or five bottles of water. Oh, and a couple of used toothbrushes and some dirty clothes. That’s it.”

  Melvin thought about it a moment. He had plenty of tools, but he hauled the toolbox out anyway and put it in the back of the truck. He explained his thoughts to Savannah.

  “I’ve got plenty of tools, and there’s more tools than we know what to do with back at Weather, but we’re taking these anyway. Do you know why?”

  “For trade?” she asked.

  “Exactly.” He gestured back at the RV. “We’ll leave the water and clothes; somebody’ll come along who’ll need it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Alright, let’s get moving,” he said and the two of them got back in their truck. Melvin continued to lecture as he drove.

  “Scavenging is a unique talent these days. Not only do you constantly have to be on the lookout for zombies and bad guys, you have to be able to search places that’ve already been searched in hopes of finding something the other people missed. And, you always think repurposing. A washing machine, for example. Pretty worthless without water and electricity, right?”

  “Yeah,” Savannah answered uncertainly.

  “You’d think so, but if you know what you’re doing, a washing machine motor can be repurposed as a generator.”

  Melvin paused and nodded smugly at his knowledge. “I think we’re going to do a little bit on our way back. It may add a day or two, but we still have plenty of food, water, and fuel left. Besides, this route hasn’t been scouted in a while.”

  “Do I get to help?” Savannah asked.

  “Of course. Consider it on the job training.”

  “Fuck yeah,” she exclaimed.

  They were silent for several minutes now before Melvin broke the silence.

  “Alright, let’s talk about another issue.”

  “What?”

  “Your language and manners.”

  “What about my language and manners?” Savannah asked.

  “The people at Weather can be rather persnickety.”

  “Persnickety? What the fuck does that mean?” she asked.

  “It’s a word used to describe people who are snotty and place too much emphasis on minor issues, like clean language. Your overuse of the word fuck, for example.”

  “Well, fuck that,” Savannah said.

  Melvin sighed. “I just want you to fit in.”

  “Persnickety?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where did you learn a word like that?”

  Melvin shrugged. “I don’t know, college maybe.”

  “You went to college?” she asked. Melvin nodded. “Did you graduate?”

  “I did. I have a Master’s in Military History, not that it matters anymore.”

  Savannah stared at him thoughtfully. Finally, she gave her own sigh.

  “Okay, I’ll work on it. What else?”

  “Do you know how to shoot?”

  “Uncle Ray taught me with a twenty-two rifle a little bit. I got to where I could shoot rabbits if they weren’t too far away – and standing still.”

  “Okay,” Melvin said, pointing toward his assault rifle. “That’s a military issue M4. It’s kind of like a twenty-two on steroids, but I think you can handle it. When we get a chance, I’ll give you a quick lesson. We’ll do some serious training when we get back to Weather.”

  “Can
we shoot it?” she asked.

  “Not now, we don’t want to make any noise. We’ll shoot it later.” He took another swallow of whiskey.

  “Do you drink a lot?”

  “Probably.”

  “Lonnie drinks a lot. He’s mean when he’s drunk.”

  He gave her a glance. “I’m not Lonnie.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  He glanced at her again, wondering if she was being sincere.

  “So, what happens when we get to Mount Weather?” she asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about it, and you’ve got a few options.”

  “Is staying with you one of those options?” Savannah asked.

  He glanced at her again. She was staring out of the window and the look on her face was of – apprehension. Melvin realized she was afraid he was going to dump her at his first opportunity.

  “I think that’d be the best option,” he said. “Now, I’m not telling you what to do. You can go off on your own if you want, and I’ll help you get set up, but I think you should stick with me, at least for now.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  If she was pleased, she didn’t show it. But then, she surprised him by reaching over and gently squeezing his arm.

  “What’s that for?” Melvin asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh.”

  “I mean, you’ve been nice to me, Melvin. When I first saw you, I thought, here we go, I’m about to be beaten and raped again. But you…”

  She didn’t finish. Melvin glanced over and saw she was quietly crying. He reached over, found her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he mimicked. She gave a short laugh as she cried. Melvin handed her the bottle of Jack Daniels.

  Savannah had taken all of three swallows. Ten minutes later, she put the seat back and passed out. He drove slowly through Bristol, wondering if they were going to encounter those people he’d met before, but he only saw zombies. Some got close enough to bump into the truck, most simply stared as they drove by.

  The rain held off until they reached the outskirts of a city named Abingdon. Melvin spotted an airport off of I-81 and took an exit. His intention was to park in one of the plane hangars, but there was a Presbyterian church on Route 11 that had a drive-thru carport. It was perfect.

  While Savannah slept, he parked under it and searched the church. There was a solitary corpse slumped over in the front row. A revolver was grasped in his decomposed hand, and Melvin saw the white collar affixed to his shirt.

  “You gave up, huh, Preacher-Man?” Melvin murmured. He worked the gun out of the pastor’s hand and opened the cylinder. It only had two cartridges and one of them had been fired. He wondered if the second bullet was meant for somebody else. He stuffed it in his backpack and carried a folding metal chair outside.

  Obtaining water was a never-ending job. Melvin could get by on a gallon a day if he didn’t do anything too strenuous, but now he had Savannah to worry about. After taking another long look around at his surroundings, he placed a bucket out in the rain and set up the water filter. He then unfolded the metal chair and sat beside Peggy. Cradling the M4 in his lap, he took a long swallow from the bottle.

  “Oh, yeah, good stuff,” he said and looked at Peggy. He saw the helmet turn toward him, so he got up and raised her visor.

  “That better?” he asked facetiously, sat back down, and looked thoughtfully at the bottle.

  “You know, I believe I was drinking the same flavor the night I met you.”

  He gazed out toward the airport as he drank. The rain was a steady, dreary, a slate-colored curtain. He wondered how the fall crops were doing back at Weather. Too much rain could cause problems.

  The bucket filled quickly. He poured the water in the Berkey, set the bucket back out in the rain, and watched the filters start to drip clean water into the bottom container.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  He watched for a moment more, took a swallow, and then his gaze wandered back to Peggy.

  “Reminds me of the time you came down with that nasty yeast infection,” he said. There was a muffled snarl from beneath the helmet.

  “Yeah, I remember. You blamed that on me. You blamed everything on me,” he muttered and took another long drink.

  Melvin had been going on a four-year bout of depression. As he drank, he thought about the tumultuous relationship he had with his beloved wife, starting the first time he saw her. It was at a strip club. Peggy was on stage when he and his buddies walked in. She was a twenty-three-year-old version of that petite blonde bombshell, Pamela Anderson. They could’ve passed for sisters, complete with the tight ass and enormous breasts. When she left the stage, Melvin immediately asked for a lap dance. The both of them were smitten before the song ended. He went home with her that night and the two of them were married a month later.

  Melvin had no idea what kind of person Miss Anderson was, but Peggy was an emotional rollercoaster who had a proclivity for drugs. Cocaine mostly, but she wasn’t particular.

  “Remember the plans we’d made?” he asked her.

  Melvin had eighteen years in the Army when he met her, thirteen of them serving on a Special Forces A-team. He only needed two more years to get a full pension. He was going to retire at the ripe age of thirty-eight.

  She’d kept working at the club after they’d married. Melvin didn’t like it, but the money was good. One night, he was hanging out there and Peggy introduced him to one of the regulars, a five-hundred-pound fat man that had more money than he knew what to do with.

  When he found out Melvin was in the Special Forces, he became enamored. He’d buy drinks all night, all the while begging Melvin to tell him war stories. Melvin tolerated him. After all, the alcohol was free. One night, Melvin told him of his retirement plans. The jolly fat man immediately volunteered to bankroll him.

  Opening a gun store, that was Melvin’s post-retirement dream. During most of his military career, he’d been the team’s light weapons specialist and had a thorough understanding of all firearms. Place a weapon in front of him, any weapon, he could completely disassemble it and put it back together while you watched. He loved them. He loved working on them and shooting them. He loved the smell of gunpowder, gun oil, even cordite. It was like aromatherapy. Opening his gun store was all he thought about.

  And then, it all changed.

  He took a drink and stared at his wife. Yeah, she’d done an excellent job of messing his life up. He scoffed at himself, knowing he was equally to blame.

  Their relationship was passionate, fevered, but not without many episodes of intense arguments. One time, a buddy told him she was his kryptonite and he should run far, far away. Melvin didn’t listen. The arguments always led to freaky makeup sex, and that made it worth it, he contended.

  Unfortunately, they’d gotten into one of those heated arguments one night and it didn’t end well. Melvin’s emotions were fueled by whiskey, Peggy’s by crack, and the neighbors called the cops. She claimed Melvin hit her, which he had, but only after she attacked him and tried to claw his eyes out. Long story short, he went to jail, and later, got kicked out of the Army with a general discharge.

  Goodbye pension.

  His jolly fat friend lost interest too, moved to Florida, and bought a strip club with the money he was going to finance Melvin’s dream with.

  Goodbye gun store.

  He was lucky enough to know people and got a job at Mount Weather. Not as their armorer though. He was the caretaker for the grounds, a fancy way of saying he was the guy who cut the grass, trimmed the bushes, and picked up trash.

  It was dark now. Melvin looked at the bottle. Grudgingly, he put the top back on. He stood, stretched, and looked at his Casio. It was only nineteen hundred hours. He wasn’t tired. He grabbed his sword and hopped on his bicycle.

  Chapter 15 – Fort Detrick

  Justin had his Marine contingent split up
into the two armored Strykers. He would have preferred a couple of MRAPs, but Mount Weather did not have any. The Strykers were incredible vehicles, but they were full of computerized equipment. Justin knew from experience, the more complex the piece of equipment, the easier it was for it to break.

  But, you went to war with the equipment you have.

  He was in the lead vehicle, followed by the second Stryker commanded by Sergeant Crumby. Major Fowkes followed in a Humvee occupied by Sergeant Benoit and the two civilian electricians, Briscoe and Stallings.

  They travelled in tandem and would have made good time, but each vehicle was towing an item they were going to need. His Stryker was towing a trailer full of decontamination equipment. The second Stryker had a four-hundred-gallon water tank, and Sarah’s Humvee was towing a tanker of diesel earmarked for one of the lab’s generators.

  Eventually, they exited the freeway and soon came to Porter Street where they had to stop suddenly.

  “Well, this wasn’t on the satellite feeds,” Justin muttered. Standing in the road and in the surrounding parking lots were zombies. A lot of them. Justin estimated at least four hundred.

  “Alright,” he said. “Here we go.”

  The Marines crowded into the open hatches and began firing. As planned, Justin had the Strykers drive in circles, the Marines shooting at everything that moved while the drivers ran over zombies who were too stupid to get out of the way. With eight large heavy-duty tires, there was little risk of damage to the vehicles.

  Rachel had stopped the Humvee, and while Briscoe and Stallings watched from the backseat, she and Sarah casually picked off targets of opportunity with their M4 assault rifles.

  It took slightly over an hour to kill them all. Some of them seemed to sense they were in a losing battle and loped off, avoiding being shot by zigzagging between abandoned cars. Justin ordered a cease-fire and reached for the microphone.

  “Sergeant, is the drone ready?”

  “Aye, sir,” Sergeant Crumby responded. Seconds later, Privates Kirby and Jenkins exited the rear Stryker. It took them a minute to assemble the drone and then launched it.