“He's off his rocker,” said the short woman guarding him. Her rifle was pointed at the floor.
Liam wandered around as they talked. Hallways departed in several directions from the main entryway of the front door. The story was the same in every direction. Boxes and more boxes.
“This could feed a lot of people over in the park,” Victoria whispered to him.
“Or a small group, for a long time,” he replied while wondering if that made him sound like a greedy bastard. Her only response was a head nod. Suddenly life had gotten a whole lot more complicated. Was their responsibility for the snowballers in their little group, or the large camp of survivors outside their front door. And, it wasn't even theirs. Hans still owned it, and to take it from him—no matter how valid the reason—would be an injustice.
“I say we get him over to the hospital where they can study him, or whatever they're going to do, and the rest of us stay here and keep watch over his supplies.” Jason turned to Hans. “And we might help ourselves to a few things as payment for shooting me.”
Hans seemed really put out. “But you broke my window. I had every right to defend myself.” Emotion washed over him, and he shed a few tears. Liam was unsure how he felt about what was happening.
“You can't take me. I have to wait. They are coming.”
Liam needed more information. He didn't think he could tell these men and women what to do, but maybe if they learned more about the man they'd reconsider.
“Sir, who are you? Why should we trust you? Who's coming?”
Hans sat up and brushed aside his tears. He perked up and was almost cheery in a flash.
“Yes, yes. These are good questions. Come, let me tell you my story.”
Liam sat in a nearby chair. Victoria found a small sofa a bit further away from Hans. The others stood nearby. No other chairs were free of the crates stacked all over the mansion.
“Yes, my story...”
4
“I was born in 1911. Germany. My family was wealthy, but even that didn't prevent us from feeling the effects of the wars. The First World War was a time of hunger—even as a kid I remember being hungry—and the diseases afterward were horrible. I lost two brothers to Influenza. I carry their memory with me, even today.”
The old man shifted.
“World War II was the same. Deprivation. Hunger. Destruction. Again my family was wealthy. We ran factories that made ball bearings and other parts for war production. I was too old to fight by that time, though I was in the military—every healthy man was, in the end—but my military police unit was in charge of protecting my family's property. An advantage of money, even in the world of National Socialism.” He winked at Liam.
“After the war, my family, ah, how do I say this? We prepared for the next war. We used our money to always prepare.” He waved his arms around the tight room, as if it were obvious how all the stuff fit into what he was saying.
“Later we moved to America and brought all our toys with us...” He looked at the supplies, and said in a distant voice. “But I missed the boat, in the end.”
Liam looked around. They had to be thinking the same thing he was.
“Sir, you're here. You made the boat to America.”
“America? No, I'm talking about the next boat. To the one beyond America.” After he said it, he began to laugh, as if he were catching his own joke after the fact.
He wants to go to China or something…
Jason had his shirt back on. “All right. Lana and your family can take Hans here up into the medical tower. I'll go with you, but my people are going to stay here to keep the place free of looters. We can't afford to lose all this.”
“Sounds fine,” Lana replied.
“Hey, boss. There's ammo back here. I think you should see this.”
Liam followed the voices into Hans' back porch. It was covered by a roof and had glass windows around the large space, but currently it was stacked twenty-high with boxes of ammunition. He couldn't even guess how many rounds were packed in.
“7.62, 5.56, .308, and some others. Whoa! 7.62x54. Someone has some old weaponry,” a man's voice came from in the room, but he was behind some of the pallets and couldn't be seen.
“Where do you keep the guns, Hans?”
“I keep no guns, save the one I used on you.” Liam thought he saw the man smile, but it was hard to tell.
“Check the basement.”
Lana walked over to him and spoke in a low voice. Liam could barely hear her. “This isn't right. We can't take all this.”
“I appreciate your opinion, I really do. But you weren't starving out there. The movement was in danger of dying on that cliff edge. We can't afford not to take this. All of it.” He seemed to appreciate that he was overheard. “And besides, he shot me...”
“Just keep in mind, my son saved your movement. If we're willing to do anything to survive, we aren't any better than what's coming down the highway.”
“We have guns, Jason. A shit-ton pile of guns down here.” One of the men shouted from the basement. He sounded distant as his voice echoed through the walls of boxes.
“Well, this is interesting. A man of German origin sits alone on a pile of supplies across the street from a major refugee center. Does this smell fishy to anyone else?”
That seemed to even get his mom's attention. All eyes were on Hans.
“I already told you. I was supposed to be gone. They were coming to take me, and my contribution, to safety. But things happened too quickly. The timeline was early by about a year. And, once I figured it out...it was already too late. I guess they came while I was in the hospital for a couple days for some pain I had in my head. Now I have to hope they return once more.”
“Who's coming back?” Liam inquired, for what he felt was the fifth time.
Hans looked at him sadly. “You've broken my window, pushed me down, pointed guns at me, stolen my supplies, threatened to take me away, and now you want me to answer your questions? You are worse than the SS back in Germany.”
His father watched lots of history shows on television, though Liam only tuned in when there was something “cool” happening, such as tank battles or recreations of battles from history. That's why he knew the SS were Hitler's elite troops—and the most feared. They were the guys killing partisans and throwing the switches on the ovens of the Holocaust. To be compared to them was insane. The man was crazy, after all.
“You have us all wrong you old coot. We're the Polar Bears. We're the Patriot Snowball. We are the absolute furthest thing from the SS you can possibly imagine.”
It was the first time he described himself as a patriot, even though he'd been caucusing with them since he was old enough to understand the principles his dad supported. Those of freedom and individuality. Those were aligned completely against the fascist and statist views of people like Hans. Liam figured he'd have his whole life to explore how much he wanted to be a part of the same political views as his father, but the zombies forced his hand.
Securing all this as booty for the group would allow them to continue to operate outside the reach of the government convoy now crossing from West Virginia to Kentucky. That was more than 99.9% of America could claim right now. If they trampled on the rights of one dubiously sane man, was it really that bad?
He was still sorting his feelings as they walked Hans along the tree-lined street toward the hospital.
5
As they walked, Victoria spoke to Hans. “How come you don't share your stockpile with those people?” She nodded to the fields nearby, still packed with people.
“Why should I? I spent my whole life preparing. They didn't walk out their door with a damned thing. What do I owe them?”
Liam had faced a similar dilemma back in his own home when another group of refugees flooded his suburban street. His dad had the foresight to stockpile food and ammunition in their basement, and they all decided—including his father—not to pass out the food to those outside. Back t
hen, their reasoning was that it would only feed the crowd for one night, or it would feed his own family for weeks or months. The good of the many or the good of the few? They'd chosen the good of the few. Was this the same scenario?
He didn't see the difference, but said nothing. If there was an inequity here, Victoria or his mom would surely call it out.
“You don't feel sorry for them?” Victoria continued.
“No. Bear with me as I explain.” He leaned on Liam and Victoria as they walked him. Much like they walked Grandma days ago. It all felt oddly wrong to him.
“Once you live through calamity, you never forget it. This is why people who survived the Great Depression seemed to save their money no matter how good the economy got. They knew it could always get worse. Sadly, most of those people were so frugal they didn't spend their money to prepare for this situation.” He moved a little faster than Grandma. His legs were longer, and his back was a little straighter. Still, he had trouble talking and walking at the speed they were going.
“People who survived starvation will never let their larder get down to nothing. People who have had their guns taken away will never let that happen again. In my case I was the one taking the guns away,” he laughed, but it carried more sarcasm than humor. “People who have been wronged can never forget it. That's why I have to wait for them. They are going to fix things for those of us that remain.”
He turned to Liam and whispered. “One phone call and I can have my rescue. Will you let me call? You have a phone, no?”
“Why would you need a rescue? Where would you go?”
Hans didn't seem to like talking about it. Liam realized, too late, he replied in full volume to the man's whispered plea.
Later, as they walked, Hans finally answered. “They're going to wipe them all away. Then we can take over.”
The man had talked about Germans, the SS, and the military. He suspected the man was some Nazi holdover, waiting for his chance to build a German army or something similarly crazy, but when he asked the man if he was a closet Nazi he only laughed.
“You are too young to know what I'm talking about. Don't let it trouble you, my son. You two will be needed to help repopulate the earth when this is all over. It will turn out well for you.”
This time his face didn't turn red—he didn't think—as Hans was the second person today to mention having babies with Victoria. He did look over to her and saw the concern. Something wasn't right with the guy. It would be the ravings of a madman, except that he had a fortress full of ammunition and supplies. Either he was a rich crazy person with a hoarder's attitude, or a rich man who prepares for the worst. And, apparently, he knew the worst was coming.
Except he's left behind, like us.
He wrestled with all the pieces as they neared the front entrance of the hospital. For all the chaos inside the park, the roads ringing the green parts of Forest Park were kept remarkably clear. While he thought the roads were empty, they came to understand the roads were used by emergency vehicles and police cars. Several went screaming by, to somewhere down on the other end of the park.
“I just need to make a call.”
Liam stopped. Victoria and Hans stopped with him. Lana, with no such burden, walked a few more paces before also stopping. The four of them huddled on the empty street.
“Hans, you have to tell us. Who are you going to call. I have a phone right here. Just tell me. Please.” He didn't really know if the man could say anything that would give him the confidence to pass his phone to him.
“My family was wealthy.”
So you keep saying!
“In Germany we owned lots of land in Bavaria. Mountains, you see—”
Liam interrupted. “Is that in the Alps, by chance?”
“Yes. Of course. Not as famous as the vaunted Eagle's Nest where Hitler took his vacations, but we liked it that way. When the war ended, we packed away our treasures pilfered from the war effort. Local officials were eager to help such an esteemed businessman as my father. The tunnels were used, much like my home is today, to store everything we'd need if war came again. He wanted my family to survive, you see. Our fortune bought us the ticket we needed to ride out any calamity. I carried on his legacy here in America, though we are now even more wealthy than we were back then. But...wealth means nothing when you're 105.”
He thought back to his dad's letter. The block-lettering words populated the crumpled paper that was even now in his pocket—far from destroyed, as his father requested. But the word “Alps” resonated.
“Please, sir, who are you going to call.”
“A lifeboat. Maybe you two help me and you can still have your children, yes?”
Liam searched all around. The looks of his mom and Victoria mirrored the confusion on his face.
War effort. Germans. Tunnels. It was long shot, but Liam saw a common thread emerging. A troubling association that would be terrible, if true.
He ventured to ask his question, though he tried to keep his tone neutral.
“Mr. Grubmeyer, you said your family owned a ball bearing factory. I'm curious what the ball bearings were used for.”
Hans looked at him, like he just asked an important question. “Tanks, my son. Lots and lots of tanks.”
One glance at Victoria and he was sure she was thinking of the same deep, dark cavern full of vintage tanks.
6
Liam and Victoria were alone. He asked his mom to sit with Hans on a park bench near the hospital.
“I have an idea, but I don't know if it's smart.”
“Let me hear it,” she replied.
“I think we should let him make his call. I think he's for real.”
She watched Hans from a short distance away, while he spoke. “Mmm hmm. Why do you think he didn't call his life boat, or whatever, until now?”
“Maybe the phones don't work. Maybe he forgot? Who knows.”
He studied her face, but didn't see her usual agreement.
“I don't know. It seems dangerous.” She shifted to face him. “You know, this is a pretty good place here. I'm even pretty close to my dorm room.” She'd talked about going back to her dorm since they'd met. It was step one in her own journey home. He felt the twinge of jealously he'd felt back then when she mentioned going home. Like he wanted her to find her own family, but he didn't want her to leave just yet. It was ludicrous to think she was going to get home now, especially as a result of checking into her dorm room, but he couldn't shake the feeling as she warmed herself to the idea.
“I really could go to my dorm room. Get that change of clothes I mentioned,” she quietly laughed with him.
“You could get the Bible you were after,” he said tentatively.
That was a loaded statement. She carried the tiny travel Bible he had given to her, and that same Bible had literally taken a bullet for her.
“My parents gave that to me. I wouldn't leave it behind if I ever went home, but how would I carry it around with me? Can you imagine how silly it would be to carry a big book when running scared from those zombies in the sewers?”
Were things getting back to normal? The hospital was working—supporting the living in the park. He'd just been inside a veritable supermarket of consumables stockpiled by Mr. Grubmeyer. The destruction of the zombie plague was outside their view at that moment. It wasn't hard to imagine the world as it was. All except for the huge numbers of refugees taking shelter in the park, but currently they were shielded from most of them by the thick tree cover in their corner of the greenspace.
“I hope you don't go home.”
“Uh, thanks.” Her curt tone woke him up.
“Oh, no. I don't mean it like that.”
“You want me to stay here and help your family, forever?” Her arms were on her hips. “How am I supposed to take that? Is this about going back to my dorm?”
“No, no, no. I shouldn't have said it like that.” He took a deep breath to think how he wanted to defuse the bomb.
“
When we first met, you said you wanted to go back to your dorm, then get on a plane and go back to Colorado. I can't explain why I felt it, but I was jealous. Here's this great girl I met under the worst possible conditions, and she not only gets to fly out of it all, but she gets to go back to her family. I had so many commitments.”
They both knew his whole focus of getting Grandma out of the city was to get to his mom and dad so he could put her in the hands of the adults.
“I guess I still see your dorm as step one in taking you away from me.”
“Liam Peters, you are the dumbest boy I've ever met.” She frowned, but Liam saw a trace of a smile as she turned away and walked back to his mom.
He ran up as Victoria spoke.
“If we give you a phone, what exactly will happen?”
Hans sat hunched over on the bench. Lana had her hand on his back, like she'd been patting him. She motioned with her free hand using her pointer finger. “Just a minute,” it said.
Victoria's face was hard to read. She waited patiently, but didn't speak.
Finally, Hans was able to respond. “Sorry. I'm a little winded. I think I've been playing bunker soldier for too many days.”
“What happens when you make your call,” Victoria repeated.
“If we're lucky, someone will answer the phone. After that, it all depends on luck.”
“Liam and I don't do well with luck. You are going to tell me exactly what you expect to happen. If not, so help me, I'll march you back to your bunker and put you in one of those boxes.”
She kept her eyes on Hans, but she turned slightly. “I'm sick and tired of being the victim of circumstance in the Zombie Apocalypse. I was caught out on day one. I was shot on day five. I lost this tooth on day eight,” she pointed to the gap in her top row of teeth, “and I crawled out of a soldier's grave on day six-freaking-teen. Now my husband here thinks I'm ready to pick up and leave him. Dang it, I'm sick of it. This is going my way or the highway, mister!”
Liam was in shock.
Hans was less perturbed. “Aren't you two a little young to be married?”
Victoria's eyes burned. She almost said something, then calmly walked off waving her arms, like she would after a long run to get blood flowing in them.
Since the Sirens: Zombie's 2nd Bite Edition: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Books 4-6 Page 40