Murphy's Law (Roads Less Traveled Book 2)

by Dulaney, C.

  * * *

  “Where do ya think they are?” Jake asked.

  He and I sat in lawn chairs on the roof of the club, keeping watch over the front part of the property, and had been up there for several hours. It was past midnight, and as far as I knew, Michael, John, Nancy and the others were still yacking it up with Waters and his guys downstairs in the den. Mike had decided we only needed two on watch tonight, since we had “special guests,” and I suppose two was all we really needed anyway. Unless those dead assholes could swim, our backside would be safe. We just needed to keep an eye on our front side. So Jake and I had volunteered.

  “Depends on who you’re talking about,” I answered.

  It was a quiet night, dark as shit except for a couple of spotlights that lit up the area just past the newly erected wall. He and I drank a few Bud Lights and smoked cigarettes while we kicked back with our boots on the roof ledge. It felt nice, just relaxing with a friend. Sure, the situation and environment was strange, but it was nice.

  “The deadheads. ‘Cept for that swarm the Army blew all to hell, where are they? I’ve been wonderin’ about that.” He tipped back his beer and swished it around in his mouth a moment before swallowing.

  I took a long drink and wiped my mouth. “Well, I’d say they’re out there, if you want to go looking for them.”

  He stared back across the distance separating us from the woods, his face saddened. I watched and waited a few minutes, waiting on him to reply. It was clear he had something zombie-related on his mind, I figured I’d let him take his time spitting it out. We all had zombies on the brain, and now the military to boot.

  “I don’t know. Guess it just seems like we’ve been lucky. Too lucky, ya know?”

  I turned to him, my feet sliding off the ledge, and studied him a moment. I suppose he was right, in a way. We’d had our share of good luck. Then again, if we were basing everything that had happened to us on the luck, we’d also had our share of bad. Personally, I didn’t believe that.

  “We’ve been smart, Jake. Not lucky, smart. Sure, there’s been a few situations where you could say, damn how’d we make it out of that? But really, I think we’ve just been smart. Using our skills, being prepared, and you know…” I paused and swept my right arm out, indicating our surroundings. “Look out there. What do you see, Jake?”

  He glanced around casually, from his left to his right, bobbing his head up and down once he realized what I was showing him.

  “Woods, hills, mountains. Lower population density, and that sure as hell helps.” He tipped his beer bottle in my direction in a toast before taking a long drink.

  “Exactly. We’re in a prime spot. Now, get outside West Virginia? Hell’s probably breaking loose. Worst place to be is probably the entire eastern U.S. But in the Appalachians, we’re sort of isolated, a bit more secure than other regions. There’s only a few big cities in this state, and using the word big is stretching it. Drop in the barrel compared to other cities. Stay away from those, stay in the mountains? I think that answers your question.” I took a deep breath and looked out over the golf courses. A slight breeze had picked up, and for once it wasn’t laden with rotten death.

  “I’m thankful every day that you and Ben included me in that Z-Plan. I know I don’t say it, but thanks, Kase.”

  His voice had dropped to almost a whisper, his eyes lowered and staring at the Bud Light label as he picked at it. I thought about blowing it off or making an inappropriate joke, but I didn’t want to cheapen something so heartfelt coming from a guy who rarely shared this sort of thing.

  “You know,” I said, lips twitching. “Zack would’ve loved this.”

  I glanced away from him when my eyes filled with tears and stared at the bottle in my hand. I heard Jake sigh and sniffle, then his lawn chair creaked as he sat forward and leaned towards me.

  “Yeah, he would’ve. Not Ben though.” I glanced over at him once he started laughing. “Dude would have been shittin’ up his back!”

  Jake stomped his boot on the roof, then cut his laughter off short and stared at me. His right arm stretched out, beer in hand, the neck tilted towards me. I leaned over and tapped the neck of my bottle to his, toasting our friends. Then we wiped our faces, kicked back in our seats, put our feet up, and watched the leaves flutter in the breeze.

  * * *

  Our National Guard friends left just after breakfast the next morning. I use the term ‘friends’ loosely. Partners would be more accurate, or teammates. Michael and John had talked with the captain into the wee hours of the night, catching up on news, developments, and the general state of shittiness the country was in. Michael had also informed Waters of the details concerning the prison, how we’d been living there, the undead infiltration, our escape, so on and so forth. Then they hammered out the details of our new “partnership.”

  The Guard would continue carrying out their orders of patrolling the western half of the state, District Four as they called it. In the meantime they would also share with us any and all supplies they had at their disposal. Things we could use, that is. So basically we couldn’t borrow say, a tank or something. Fuel, food, medical supplies, those were all available to us, as they were made available to the good captain. There would be weekly drops at the prison (we had no idea where all that stuff was coming from, and Waters wasn’t telling), and from those supplies the soldiers tasked with rationing would divide out a portion of it for us, then someone would hand deliver the supplies to our doorstep.

  Sweet deal huh? There’s a catch. In exchange for this “aid,” we had to make ourselves available for patrol as well. When I say “we” I mean those of us skilled with rifles, and when I say “patrol” I mean scouting around “District Four” and sniping those deadhead sonsabitches from a safe distance. I, for one, was all for this idea. Post-Z, it didn’t get much better than having a safe, defendable home stocked by the military who was so close you could spit on them, as the crow flies, and having no other job than sneaking around the woods killing zombies.

  Granted, we would have to venture into towns. The towns would be small, and it’s not like we hadn’t done it before. If we happened to find any survivors, we were to radio back so the Guard could pick them up. In the end, Michael had agreed with Waters’ proposal, though he wasn’t happy about it and it had taken a great deal of coaxing from John, Nancy, and Jonah to finally convince him. On one hand, I understood his hesitation. On the other, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  After saying good bye to Waters and his men, seeing them off and removing the ladders from the wall, the men, Mia, and myself went about the frustrating job of knocking down a section of the brand new wall to install a gate. We’d stolen it from an access road on the outer fringes of the property, far from the house and outside the wall. It wouldn’t be needed out there, and we really didn’t want to travel into a town somewhere to look for a gate. Use what you got, that’s my motto. The job took all day, that in and of itself pissed us off because it was something that should’ve already been taken care of. But noooo, someone had been in a hurry building the wall. And yes, I mentioned names and rubbed it in all day.

  We finished around suppertime, and just in time to see two Jeeps coming down the long driveway. Waters was absent this time, replaced by a few privates. They had some supplies for us, much needed fuel for the generators, some sweets for the kids which Nancy was not happy about, and some food, not much though because we were pretty well stocked as far as that went. They had brought several cases of bottled water, we told them to take those back. The Winchester ran off of well water, and Michael had checked the status of it when the townspeople had first started setting this place up as a fall-back location. It was in good shape and had plenty of water, and with the generators, we were in no danger of running out anytime soon.

  They also brought cases of ammunition, various seeds for a vegetable garden and three hundred pounds of grain for my horse.

  Yeah, I could kill some deadheads for this. No prob
lem. Where do I sign up?

  “Can you believe this?” Mia said as we carried box after box of supplies into the house.

  Everyone helped, but Nancy and Michael supervised in the foyer, making us drop everything off there so they could inventory it and decide where it should go. After it was all brought inside, Michael gave one private a short list of “specialty items,” mostly consisting of clothing, sizes included, barbed wire, and other assorted fencing material. Then with a pleasant farewell they were off, driving their Jeeps slowly though the yard, down the drive, and back out the gate, kindly stopping to close it securely behind them. Later that night after the kids were all asleep and the house was quiet, after chatting easily with my friends old and new, soaking in a hot tub with Gus on the floor snoring, I went to bed with a clear mind and a light heart.

  This must be what it feels like to fall into a pile of shit and come out smelling like a rose.

  Little did I know, the hardest times were still ahead of us.