by Steven Pajak
Being furthest from the hub of the community, we felt it a liability. If anyone were to make it over our wall, they’d go unnoticed until they were well into the community. Bob felt the playground and its small field house would make an excellent second sentry post.
“Whoever draws duty will have cover from the elements as well as some protection against small arms if attacked,” Bob said. He was still excited and his hands moved all over as he talked. “One of the first things we need to get when we go for supplies are radios and lots of batteries. Communication is key for security.”
“First thing tomorrow we need to form up and start training. It’s time to stop talking and start doing,” Brian said. “There’s no way we can make supply runs until I can train a group to work as a team. They need to learn to shoot among friendlies, to move as a team, learn offensive and defensive formations... damn we have a lot of ground to cover.”
I slapped Brian on the shoulder. “You’ll get it done. I have faith in you, brother.”
We neared the main gate and I halted our group.
Tomorrow things are going to change. Bri is absolutely right. Time to stop talking and start doing. I’m anxious to get things moving, too. And I know we have so much to do I find myself wondering where the hell to even start. But the answer is obviously with the basics.
“Tomorrow morning we muster the community and we start selection. We’ll each interview these people and see what types of skills each person brings to the table, and gauge their ability to learn more important survival skills. This is how we’ll begin to pick our soldiers and our peacekeepers and our support staff. Remember, everyone here can do a job, and every job, no matter how small, will be important in the coming months if this situation is as bad as people seem to think it will be.”
“We’re with you,” Bob said. “I have no doubt we made the right decision in putting you in charge.”
“What the hell are they doing over there?” Brian asked suddenly.
I turned to him, saw that he was looking in the direction of the gate, and shifted my gaze. The front gate was open and three men stood just outside of the threshold, staring off into the empty cornfield immediately across Route 20.
“Don’t know,” Bob said and started toward the men.
I could see in his face that he already felt this was his responsibility, and I was glad to see he was ready to step up and handle the situation.
Brian and I followed our friend. As we closed the distance I got a better look at the men at the gate. The first guy was tall, about six-five, with a shock of windblown blond hair. I recognized him but didn’t know him. I often saw him walking his black lab early in the morning before I left for work. He wore a quilted flannel jacket and black jeans. I saw he held a pistol in his right hand, which was currently aimed at the ground.
To Blondie’s left was a shorter, stocky man in his mid-thirties wearing a desert camo field jacket. His name was Randle, and he lived in the house closest to the gate. There was always a large pick-up truck with ladders in his driveway; I think he worked in construction. He held a shotgun at port and seemed very interested in whatever was going on over there.
The last guy was Charlie Pruett. He had light brown hair and bright blue eyes, was about average height, and he was wearing a dark green fleece and a khaki colored baseball cap. He had no weapon that I could see.
Bob reached the men first. “What’s going on... ” he trailed off. A moment later I stood beside him and saw what they were all gawking at.
Across the road, a solitary farmhouse stood, long-ago abandoned. Jutting into the sky beside the dilapidated barn stood a grain tower that definitely had seen better days. The original owner sold the land to housing developers early on at great profit, but in the last three years the housing market had taken a dive and the developer had yet to build on it. What had been a cornfield when the farm was still operational was now just empty level land.
About one hundred yards away, in the middle of the dead field, one of the infected hunched over a body and was having dinner.
“What the fuck... ?” said Brian.
Randle turned toward him, a bit surprised by our appearance. “I ain’t never seen nothing like that before.”
“No one’s seen nothing like that before,” the tall blond said without taking his eyes off the gore.
“They’ve seen stuff up the road,” Charlie Pruett said. “We haven’t seen anything like that here. Well, until now.”
I unslung my bag and put it down beside me, moved to the right of the group about three yards, and got down on one knee into my favorite shooting position.
“How the hell did he get there?” Bob asked.
“Who’s he munching on?” the blond asked.
“Why don’t you go find out, David?” Randle asked.
“We should probably do something,” Charlie Pruett said. He turned to David and said, “Give me that gun.”
I fired the SKS then, shattering the late afternoon silence and scaring the shit out of the five men.
“Holy shit!” Bob said as he watched the crazy fall back from his lunch.
Brian turned to me. “Damn, dude, you blew his freaking head off!”
“Not quite.”
I stood, brushed off my knee, and picked up my bag. All five of the guys were looking at me with surprise.
“What are you gawking at?” I asked with a bit too much bitterness in my voice. “That’s what we do when we see those fucking things. Shoot them. That’s why you have guns. And if you want to survive, if you want your family to survive, then use them!
“Next time I see anyone standing around with their thumb up their ass while one of those things is in our backyard I’m going to kick some ass.”
The five men were quiet for a moment and one by one each of them dropped their stare and found something else to look at.
Before I could say anything else, Charlie Pruett started toward the gate and said, “Let’s get back inside and close the gate. If we have to come out again, someone needs to stay inside and keep the gate closed.”
Randle and David followed quickly.
“Charlie,” I called out, halting him just as he neared the gate. “May I have a word with you, please?”
“Sure,” he said. He turned to David and told him, “Close it up.” A moment later he stood in front of me. “What’s up?”
“How long have you been at the gate, Charlie?” I asked.
“This is my second day. I did two shifts yesterday because we came up short on the roster. Today I’ve been out here since morning. Why?”
“How’d you like to take a walk with us? We’d like you to come to the Community Watch meeting at Providence.”
Charlie paused a second and looked back at the gate, then he looked at me. “Who’s going to cover the gate?”
Bob cleared his throat and took a step forward. “David, go get John Morris up here to fill in for Charlie.”
“Sure thing, Bob,” David said and trotted off.
“Taken care of, Charlie,” Bob said. “Now come on and walk with us.”
After another brief pause Charlie shrugged. “Alright.”
Now we were four. We stretched out across the two-lane blacktop road and started our walk east toward Providence. By car, the ride would take about five minutes, but on foot it would probably take a half hour. I did not want to risk driving a vehicle. Although we were not concerned at this point about gas shortages, I had no idea what would happen over the next several weeks and we needed to be frugal where we could. Also, we needed to be able to work and move as a squad on patrol. Fighting from vehicles is difficult and we could not always count on the advantage of a motor vehicle. There were many places vehicles would be unable to traverse. We needed to get used to the physical demands of foot patrols and the advantage of advancing silently among the enemy. Besides, I could gain a whole other perspective from the ground that I could not get from a vehicle.
As we passed the cornfield on our rig
ht, I was the only one who didn’t glance over at the two bodies. The dead things no longer interested me.
Once we passed the field Brian said, “Charlie, what did you mean when you said they’ve seen stuff up the road?”
Looking down at his boots as he walked, Charlie replied, “For the last two days they’ve sent a group of guys up here every four hours to give us reports about what’s going on at the roadblock at Providence. Sounds like they’ve been in contact with those... what did you call them? Crazies? If you believe what they say, seems like they’ve seen a lot of action.”
I glanced over at Bob, who read my mind. “This is the first I’m hearing of this,” he said. “I need to know these things when you hear them, Charlie.”
Charlie looked up at Bob and said, “Yeah, I know. I hadn’t had a chance to tell you yet. Sorry.”
“Did they provide any details about this ‘action’ at the roadblocks?” Brian asked.
Charlie shrugged and looked back at his boots. “One of the guys, fellow named Phil, said the roadblock was charged on two separate occasions by groups of five or six of those crazies. He said there were also a number of attacks by individual crazies throughout the night. I think I even heard one of the other guys say there were some attacks inside Providence.”
“Inside the community, like on the streets?” Bob asked.
Charlie nodded his head. “The other guy said one of the crew from the roadblocks must have been exposed during one of the attacks. I guess he went home at the end of his shift and... I don’t know, changed or something. I think he killed a couple of people before they took him out.”
“Christ,” Bob said.
We reached the midpoint of our walk as we passed the Nicor substation on our left. On our right we continued to pass Providence homes. Unlike our gated community that was surrounded by walls, Providence was open to the road, perched on a small hill of land. Protecting these outer homes would be challenging for Providence and I did not envy their situation.
“Bob, do you coordinate with Community Watch on these update patrols?” Brian asked.
“Sort of. When we were first organizing the roadblocks, Frank suggested that we share information and volunteered to send runners up to us.”
“Good idea,” I said. When I met Frank at the roadblock he’d made a good first impression with me. This bit of news solidified my impression.
We walked the next ten minutes with little talk between us. I could see that the others in my group felt a bit odd carrying weapons and gear. They almost seemed uncomfortable.
In Illinois, the only state without some sort of carry law, it was taboo to be out on the street with a firearm. And here we were with rifles and gear humping our way down Route 20 in the early evening. It was almost surreal.
Just as I was falling into rhythm and beginning to zone out, I heard a gunshot. It sounded a bit distant but close enough that we all scattered from the road, taking cover in the slight dip on the south side of the embankment. A few seconds later another shot rang out.
“Where did it come from?” Bob asked. He held the Mini 14 at the ready, his eyes wide and alert.
“Couldn’t tell,” Brian said.
He instinctively took a position to Bob’s left and directed his attention to our six and scanned the area.
When the third shot rang out I said, “Came from the roadblock at Providence.”
Leaving the safety of the ditch, I adjusted my bag to a more comfortable position and started trotting in our original direction of movement. I didn’t have to turn to see if my group followed; I could hear their footsteps in time with my own.
As we jogged down Route 20 another couple of gunshots rang out and as we drew closer I heard what I thought was laughter.
Within a minute we crested an incline and the roadblock came into view. I could see four men standing behind the two vehicles. One on the extreme right fired a shot to the east, the direction I’d come from Kappy’s. The other three fellows roared with laughter.
“What the hell?” Brian asked as I came to a halt. He knew immediately something was out of place here.
“Are they laughing?” Charlie asked.
“Sure as hell are.” Bob was a bit out of breath.
“Let’s go easy,” I said and started walking slowly forward.
When I drew near, I could immediately see that things had changed at the roadblock since I entered yesterday. The Randall entrance that had been left open was now blocked by a smoking shell of what might have been a UPS or FedEx truck. Over on the eastbound side, where the two-lane split to four divided by the deep ditch, I saw a section had been taped off with yellow tape. From this distance I could see wafts of smoke drifting from the pit.
“Dude, what is that smell?” Brian asked.
“They’re burning the bodies,” I said, knowing I was exactly right about that.
If all hell had broken loose, like Charlie had described, there would be dead husks of crazies lying about. Anyone with any sense would know right away the best thing to do would be to burn the remains.
“Pretty disgusting,” Charlie said, covering his nose.
We moved closer still, until we were no more than twenty feet from the men at the roadblock. The one on the right stood poised over the front end of the SUV with a Remington 700 aimed out at the road.
When I glanced in that direction I saw a crazy down in the street. I could see he was riddled with bullet holes. His legs were severely damaged by gunfire and he was unable to stand.
The guy with the 700 fired another round, hitting the crazy in the arm, right at the elbow. The arm severed and the crazy fell forward, his face smacking into the concrete.
“Fucking awesome!” he shouted, pleased with himself. He turned to see his friend’s reaction and spotted us from his peripheral. His face changed from one of excitement to surprise. “Hey guys, turn around.”
The men all faced us and my group came to a halt. I raised my hands in front of me in a calming gesture. “We’re from Randall Oaks. We’re here for the Community Watch meeting.”
Two of the men exchanged glances and whispered something to each other. The one with the rifle turned back to me and said, “Yeah, come on over.”
He and his friends turned to each other now and picked up their conversation as though we weren’t even there.
“I don’t like these guys,” Bob said quietly.
“Feeling is mutual,” Charlie said. “The one with the rifle that was shooting the crazy came up the other day with Phil. I didn’t like his attitude. He thinks everything’s a joke.”
As if on cue, the group broke out into laughter again. When I stopped a few feet away from the Comedian, he glanced at me and said, “Put your guns on the ground right there and I’ll have someone take you in.”
Brian and I exchanged glances now. I could see he was about to raise some hell. Before he could, I said, “Excuse me, friend, but we’re not going to leave our weapons here.”
“Then you don’t go in,” the Comedian said. Now he turned fully toward me and looked me in the eyes. I could see he, too, was looking for some trouble.
Standing my ground I said, “Frank invited us here. He didn’t mention no weapons were allowed. Is there a reason why you would disarm us?”
“Those are the rules,” insisted Comedian. “And rules are rules. If you don’t like rules talk to Frank Senior about it.”
Brian took a step forward now but I put an arm out to stop his movement.
Comedian looked at him, smiled, then turned back to me. “What exactly is your problem?”
“I’d like to talk to Frank.” I was trying to keep my cool. Although my temper had a longer fuse than my brother, sooner or later I’d blow.
“Sure. Leave your guns here, and you can go on in and talk to him as much as you want.”
I stepped forward to close the distance between me and the Comedian. I was taller than him by a couple of inches and had about thirty pounds on him. Lowering my voice I said, �
��We’re going to go in, as we were invited. And we’re taking our arms with us. If you want to stop us, that’s your call, but you’re going to make one hell of a mess here.”
“Back off,” Comedian said and took a step back. His eyes changed now that he realized this wasn’t a joke.
“Or what?” I asked. I took another step forward.
“What’s going on here?” someone shouted from my right. A moment later another man stepped up beside me. I turned to look and saw it was Phil. I’d met him the other day with Frank at the roadblock.
The Comedian blustered immediately. “They don’t want to leave their guns,” he said.
“These guys are from the Randall Oaks crew. They don’t need to leave their guns. And quit screwing around out here. Kill that thing over there and drop him in the pit.”
Comedian flinched as if slapped and then turned to his crew. “Somebody kill that skag out there, come on already.”
Phil turned back to me and shook his head in disgust. “Sorry about that. You guys come with me, I’ll take you to our Community Center.”
We followed Phil away from the roadblock and through the main entrance of the Providence community. As we passed through the arches, I had a feeling that our lives were going to change drastically.
CHAPTER 10:
Community Watch
Phil led us down Providence Drive, the main access road into the community. Unlike Randall Oaks, Providence was an enormous community of single family homes, intermingled with townhomes of varying sizes and shapes.
The community spanned eight square miles of land and was a virtual maze of streets and cul-de-sacs that could confuse even those that were somewhat familiar with the lay of the land. Also unlike Randall Oaks, the community was completely open on all sides; no fences or barriers surrounded this thriving community. The concrete pillars and arch we passed through at the main entrance merely gave the impression of security but was just for show.
“We’re gathering at the community center just up the road,” Phil said as we made our way up the slight incline. “Frank Senior is going to introduce the heads of the surrounding communities who we’ve aligned with and then he’s going to give a state of the community address. After that I guess he’ll open the floor and hear concerns.”