Dead Country

by Bonnie Dee

  “We haven’t exactly had volunteers. But we’ve got the cattle so maybe we won’t even need human bait. We’ll cut the cows before we drive them into the water so their blood will attract the zombies.”

  “Poor cows,” I sighed then studied Brian. His skin was pale but his cheeks flushed. I reached across the table and felt his forehead. “You’ve got a temperature.”

  “I don’t have time to be sick so I can’t be.” To prove it, he began eating his soup and bread instead of toying with them.

  “You should take an antibiotic. Fight off whatever it is.” Naturally I was thinking of the bite on his leg and A7, but there didn’t mention it. I was sure he’d considered the possibility too. Better to think he was coming down with strep throat or something.

  “I already took a cold tablet and a bunch of vitamins. I’ll be fine.” He brushed off my worry and took another bite of his roll. “So, you’re a baker’s apprentice today?”

  “Yeah. I must admit it’s pretty relaxing working in a kitchen. Very low stress. You should try it.”

  He smiled. “Wish I could. All this decision-making makes me appreciate Janice’s leadership despite her flaws.”

  “You’re doing fine. Everything will come together. Don’t worry.” I did the cheerleader ra-ra to boost his spirits. “Is there anything I can do to help? I feel kind of useless playing with dough while you guys are gearing up for war.”

  “What you’re doing is every bit as important. People have to eat. You should stay here.”

  My radar pinged. He was trying to keep me out of harm’s way, which was sweet, but I wasn’t going to sit back and let the boys do all dangerous work. Not anymore. I didn’t argue but decided I’d volunteer for a more important duty after he left.

  When our lunch was finished, I walked Brian to his scooter and hugged his overly warm body. “Take care of yourself and if you feel too feverish you should rest and let Daylon take over. You know he’s got your back. Now that he’s committed to helping out, you can trust he’ll stick by you.”

  “You were right about Daylon. He comes on strong but he’s a good guy.” For a few moments, Brian looked down into my face with a gaze that heated me through. “I’m so glad you came back. You were only gone a day but I thought it would be forever. Missing you made everything bleaker if that’s possible.”

  “I felt that way too. Every mile we rode, I was more certain I was making a mistake. I wanted to turn around sooner but it took Steve’s death to make me realize I didn’t want to waste any more time heading the wrong direction.”

  He brushed his lips over mine, a soft little kiss that made me all swoony, and then he left. I watched until the scooter turned at the corner, then I popped my head into the shop and told Becky I was going to take care of some business and might not make it back for a while.

  I followed the trail of manure to the patch of park where the cows were corralled and eating grass. I patted the rough hide of one big, smelly animal. It turned toward me and stared with huge brown eyes as it continued to chew. A girl of about eleven was looking after the animals. When I asked her where Fes was, she jerked her thumb.

  “Over there in the bar having lunch. I’m in charge of the cows.”

  “You’re doing a great job.”

  I found Fes and some other men sitting around a table, laughing over a joke. I smiled at the men, who stared curiously at me. “Hey, Fes. Can I talk to you?”

  “Um. Sure,” he answered. I hadn’t run into him since I’d been back and he seemed as embarrassed as someone would be who’d told a person that she wasn’t worth shit and to get out of town.

  When we were out of earshot of the group, he asked, “What’s up?”

  “I want to help with the cows tonight. I want to be part of that team.”

  “Why? It’s dangerous and it’ll be bloody. You know we’re slaughtering them not herding them to pasture.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I know what the risk is and that it’s a job nobody wants to do. You need help. I’m volunteering.”

  “What does Brian have to say about it?”

  “It’s not his decision. It’s mine. This is what I want to do.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  I already felt queasy before the helicopter left the ground, and by the time the copter swayed and dipped a few times, I was ready to hurl. I clutched the edge of my seat and forced my stomach back into place then glanced at the pilot, old Bill Burnham—the operative word being “old”. The man probably hadn’t flown a craft since the nineteen fifties when he’d served in Korea but he was the only person in town who could fly the crop dusting helicopter we were using for reconnaissance.

  Bill grinned at me and his voice sounded in my headphones. “Doing okay? You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m all right.” I risked a glance at the ground below and another wave of nausea rushed over me. Flying was better in a jet, high up in the air where the ground was just a patchwork quilt of colors. This close, trees and fields and buildings rushed by, adding to my motion sickness.

  The main route to Topeka was laid out straight and narrow below us. There were a few stalled or crashed cars but mostly the way was clear. The fields were burnished gold by the late afternoon sun and spots of autumn color marked patches of trees. It would’ve been a pretty view for a sightseer, but we were on a zombie hunting mission.

  “If you’re going to puke, there’re probably airsick bags under the seat.”

  “Got it.” My stomach lurched again at the mention of vomiting. I focused on the horizon to get my bearings then scanned the land below. Soon after taking off from a farm where the helicopter had been housed, I spotted a few undead walking along the road.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a gunner. Mow down these bastards,” Burnham said. “Christ, look at ‘em all.”

  Suddenly the countryside was alive with movement, not just small clusters of zombies such as we’d been seeing but a swarm flowing through the fields and along the road like famine refugees. Had they consumed everything there was to eat in the city and been forced to range farther afield? We might never know the answer. What mattered was that they were coming.

  “Fly lower. Let’s make sure they’re really dead,” I said, but I already knew the answer. Living people would’ve look up at the helicopter, maybe raised their arms to try to get our attention. They wouldn’t simply plod on. “How many do you estimate?”

  Bill was silent a few moments. “Well over a hundred. Looks like they’re migrating or something.”

  “And picking up more in every town they pass through, whoever’s infected after they’re done feeding.” I’d seen enough to terrify me. Faced with these numbers, perhaps retreat was the only choice.

  “We can take ‘em,” the old man’s voice crackled along with some static in my headphones. “Don’t let facing your enemy demoralize you. That’s what our C.O. used to tell us. You see numbers like that and it seems hopeless, but you’ve got to trust in your strategy.”

  “What if it’s flawed? What if they overrun us and invade the town?”

  “We’re not going to let that happen. We’re going to contain the situation and direct ’em where we want ‘em to go. Hell, it’s not like they have brains to think with. These are no kind of enemy soldiers at all. Don’t second guess yourself.”

  I wanted to thank him for the pep talk but just then my gorge rose for real. I grabbed a bag from under the seat just in time to catch the contents of my stomach. But I felt surprisingly better after that and was almost able to enjoy watching the setting sun color the sky. I figured I’d better enjoy the view because it could very well be my last sunset.

  After circling and heading back to town, Bill landed the helicopter in the parking lot of Braverman’s Carryout. As the rotors whirred to a stop, we climbed from the cockpit.

  “If you got any use for the copter, I can fly at night,” he offered. “Let me know. And, son, don’t think too hard, just act and you’ll be okay.
”

  “Thanks, Mr. Burnham.”

  I left the old man tinkering with the helicopter and went to find Daylon. We’d moved the tanker to the reservoir earlier in the day and soon it would be time to drive out there and create our slick. After that, there was nothing to do but wait for the zombies to arrive to the party. We’d keep in contact with the other teams and with any luck we’d all survive the night.

  When I passed the restaurant, I stopped to see Ashleigh but Becky said she’d left after lunch and not returned. “Nice girl.”

  “Yeah, she is.”

  I walked toward the guard tower where I’d left the scooter before driving out to the farm where the helicopter was housed. I might have just enough time to find Ashleigh and say a last goodbye before heading out—although we’d shared our feelings earlier, so maybe that was a good final memory to have. Morbid thought. I had to banish the pervasive dread whispering I’d never make it through the night. Feeling feverish and ill didn’t help cure my sense of hopelessness.

  My window of opportunity to look for Ashleigh vanished as a van pulled up and Daylon leaned out the window. “How’d it go? Did you get an estimate of numbers?”

  “More than you want to know about. Maybe over a hundred and there aren’t any towns left to distract them between here and where they are so I guess they’ll be here by early evening like you said. Are all the teams set to go?”

  “Ready as they can be.” Daylon’s fingers tapping the steering wheel were the only sign he was nervous. “The important thing will be keeping communications open so we don’t lose control of the situation. You’re command central.”

  We neared the front gate where people were gathered, ready to be deployed to various locations. The area was busy with vehicles and armed people coming and going. We hadn’t field tested all the flamethrowers and I prayed they wouldn’t explode in the operators’ hands.

  Daylon brought the van to a stop. “You should say something before we head out. You’re the general.”

  “Why? You mapped a battle plan. This is as much your idea as mine.”

  “I’m a stranger. They don’t want to hear from me. They’re following you, Brian. Go up on the guard tower and say something inspiring about how we’re all going to make it through this if we pull together. Be a coach.”

  “Too bad I suck at public speaking,” I muttered as I opened the van door.

  I climbed the steps of the tower and looked down on the milling group—people I’d known all my life but many of whom I’d never talked to before this summer. Now they looked to me for some sort of guidance? It was more than ironic. It was some kind of cosmic joke.

  Kevin Wording handed me his bullhorn. When I clicked it on, the amplified sound of me clearing my throat boomed out. I felt suddenly more scared of delivering this little speech than I was of facing zombies. What could I possibly say?

  “Hey, everybody. Good luck tonight. You all know what you need to do and what our goal is. I’m not going to lie to you. It’s dangerous, but if we work as a unit I think we can do it. Keep in touch with me. If things change and you have to alter the plan be sure to let me know. Communication is key.” I repeated Daylon’s thought.

  I paused, trying to think of something uplifting to add. “I guess that’s all I have to say. You’re all survivors. You’ll survive this too. Be careful and again, good luck.”

  I handed back Kevin’s bullhorn and moved toward the stairs. It wasn’t much of a booyah speech but light applause greeted it and then more as people cheered and clapped—for themselves, for all survivors. I guess they needed to get pumped up for the big game, a pep rally ritual I’d never understood until now. I accepted slaps on the back and congratulations as I made my way back to the van, but I hardly felt heroic.

  The gates opened and Daylon drove through. More zombies than ever were wandering the perimeter, looking like dementia patients trying to find the way back to their rooms. Rifles boomed behind us as the creatures headed for the open gates. A few zombies blocked our path and we bumped them aside with the van. Undead hands slapped the window beside me. A decayed face peered through the glass, and then we were past the cluster of corpses and driving down open road.

  But the route to the reservoir wasn’t as clear as it had been earlier in the day when we’d transported the tanker. Daylon swerved around more zombies and occasionally hit one with a teeth-jarring bump.

  I looked through the rear window at the other teams driving out of town in other directions. They’d be stationed at intervals determined by the grid of roads, but we also had some off-road vehicles to ensure the undead didn’t slip through the gaps.

  By the time we turned onto Reservoir Road, long shadows cast by the corn turned the road into an ominous dark tunnel through which we traveled. The battered van went around a curve and we were confronted by several zombies in the road, eating what appeared to be an animal. All three looked up, their eyes reflecting the headlights as we bore down on them.

  “Move,” Daylon muttered. When the creatures didn’t scatter, he swerved around them. I looked through the rear window and the three had resumed their feast.

  We reached the reservoir and parked near the rectangle of dark, still water. This wasn’t the town’s main water supply. The water was mostly used to irrigate the surrounding countryside. Limestone had once been quarried there, leaving behind a pit where water from underground sources collected. The water level was also determined by rainfall. Currently it was low, which was good for our purposes. Sheer stone walls rose several yards on every side, creating a natural prison for our zombies.

  If there was danger in using the old quarry as a swimming hole, adults tried not to worry too much about it. After all, they’d enjoyed swimming here too in their youth. There was a single narrow path down to the water and rudimentary steps cut in stone—the only way out once a person had dived in. If any of the undead managed to find the way and climb out, we could eliminate them one by one.

  Daylon and I headed for the tanker which we’d backed up to the edge of the reservoir. Daylon had his shotgun ready and turned in a slow circle, scanning the grassland around us. I headed for the release valve, attached the discharge hose as Kevin had shown me and turned on the displacement pump. The entire start-up process took only minutes and soon diesel fuel gushed from the hose I’d placed over the edge to pour into the reservoir about twenty feet below.

  Daylon turned on the battery-powered floodlights we’d set at strategic spots. The lights illuminated the shiny slick that slowly spread across the water’s surface. I didn’t know how much oil it took to make a fire that would burn on top of the water. If it flared fast then went out, we wouldn’t want to light it until we’d enticed as many zombies as possible into the water. On the other hand, if the oil dispersed too much, would it even light? I wished I’d run tests in a bathtub, but the idea hadn’t occurred to me. So much for the super smarts Ashleigh was so sure I possessed.

  I shut off the pump, closed the valve and put the hose back on the side of the tank, then stared at the water.

  Daylon joined me. “Looks good. I think it’ll work. If not, you’ll still have them trapped and we can pick them off at our leisure… or leave them and see how long they survive.”

  I winced. Although the zombies were no longer human, it seemed awful to deliberately prolong their pathetic existence.

  “I’ll move the truck. Wouldn’t want it too close when we start the fire,” Daylon said.

  One of the phones in my pack rang. Since there we didn’t have two way radios, we were using cell phones, plenty of which were available. Each phone I carried corresponded to several different groups. This call came from Fes.

  “What’s up?” I asked. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about anything except our plans for the cattle. There’d be time enough later to tell him how angry I was about his nearly driving Ashleigh out of my life.

  “We’re about to drive them out of town. We’ve tethered each animal to the back of a truc
k so they can’t get spooked and run if zombies attack them.”

  “Good idea. Keep me posted.” I ended the call and took a deep breath of air that was getting colder by the second since sunset. I still felt headachy and chilled, but adrenalin made up for it, leaving me charged and alert. But evidently not on the ball enough as Daylon suddenly shouted, “Watch out!”

  I spun around to face a man with skin the color of oatmeal and empty sockets where his eyes used to be. He didn’t need to see me. He could smell his dinner and lunged at me, mouth wide open.

  I spun aside and Daylon blew a hole through the zombie’s head with his shotgun.

  I raised my axe as a pair of zombies came out of the long grass and rushed me. The reservoir was right behind me. There was no time to swing the axe so I did a last minute sideways move. The pair lumbered right past me and over the edge. There was a splash when they hit the water.