By late afternoon, the temperature was dropping, driving many of the zombies back to their “nests.” If the cold remained the next day, she would try again to go west a few blocks to find a new place. As the Rovers were closer to town—which was to the southeast about a mile away according to Angie—putting as much distance as she could between her and them was also an added benefit to her plan.
Angie was still fast asleep when Becks got back to the house, and continued to sleep though the noise of Becks dragging one of the boys’ mattresses into the master bedroom so they could both spend the night near the kerosene heater. She would miss the woodstove, but at least the heater took the bite out of the air.
It wasn’t until dark when Angie’s babies had to go for “walkies” that she finally woke up. Becks nearly tackled the old woman when she started to open the front door.
“But they like to walk in the street,” Angie protested, having absolutely no clue as to why Becks was upset. “They don’t like damp grass and dirt.”
“There are a lot of bad people out there,” Becks said patiently, after counting to three to check her anger. “We have to go very quietly into the back yard so the bad people don’t hurt your babies. In fact, you stay inside here, I’ll take them out.”
Becks wanted to avoid an unnecessary noise, and having to rescue Angie again if she wandered into the street. It was a cold, clear night, and with zero light pollution these days, the stars were stunningly beautiful, like jewels on black velvet. If there are any astronomers still alive, Becks thought, they must think the zombie apocalypse is the best thing that ever happened.
As Becks was lost in thought staring at the stars, while the dogs gingerly pussyfooted on real dirt, something rustled through a pile of leaves at the back of the property. It could have been anything—a raccoon, a deer, a rat—but when Becks shone her flashlight in the direction of the sound, it just so happened to be a cat.
Instantly, an explosion of high pitched yelping—poor excuses for a bark—erupted out of Buttons and Smidgey. It must have sounded like a pair of furry dinner bells to the local undead population. It took a lot to get nesting zombies out on a cold night, but immediately, everyone within earshot began to emerge into the bitter cold looking for a hot meal of “Shih Tzu on a Leash.”
Becks snatched up the hysterical canines and ran back into the house. A quick handful of kibble shut them up, but clearly this would be a problem going forward. After some negotiating with Angie, they agreed to turn the basement into the walkies area—as long as Angie promised to dispose of the waste on a regular basis. This was all going to be a lot more complicated than Becks initially imagined, and unless she could find some way to drive them all back to the highway, it appeared as if it would be impossible to quietly and quickly extract Angie and the dogs on foot.
That was the constant moral dilemma everyone faced who tried to do good deeds, post apocalypse. In short, as Cam put it, “You don’t save someone for the moment, you save them for life.”
Anyone with a conscience couldn’t very well rescue someone from the jaws of zombie death and then toss them back into the fray—especially once you got to know the person’s name and some things about them. It had led to the downfall and death of many a good person. “No good deed goes unpunished,” as a clever playwright had once written.
On the other hand, as wacky as Angie was, it was just so nice for Becks to have someone to talk to again! As much of a loner as Becks was, she had realized that there comes a point where this Robinson Crusoe nonsense makes you a little screwy. And even though she preferred big dogs like German Shepherds, she had to admit that any wagging tails had the power to make her smile.
The next day brought sleet and freezing rain. There were no zombies out on Sparrow Lane, but one step onto the icy back deck—which almost resulted in Becks falling on her ass—convinced her to postpone her expedition. She actually spent a pleasant day chatting with Angie while Buttons—or was it Smidgey, she couldn’t tell—slept curled up in her lap.
She learned that Angie had been an elementary school teacher for 35 years, and her husband was a local politician who also ran several successful businesses. They both lived for their family, and they had three children and four grandchildren. The entire “clan,” as she called them, got together every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and for at least a week at their Florida vacation home every year.
As Angie spoke about her family, the trauma of all the horrors she had endured since the infection began disappeared from her features, and she was not only lucid, but articulate—until she began relating the particulars of what had happened to each family member.
It was a story that had played out a million times across the country during those early days. The young children became infected at school, the parents secluded them in their houses to prevent them from being taken to containment facilities, and they inevitably became infected themselves. Everyone had gathered at Angie’s house for quarantine, and once the children began switching, no one had the heart to put them down, so they were all locked in the basement, until “they found the cure.” No one realized in the beginning that for those who had switched, there was no cure.
When her daughter and youngest son switched, her husband and eldest son were badly bitten while fighting to try to get them into the basement. They died from their wounds over the course of the next week, leaving Angie all alone in her house with two corpses and a basement full of zombies that were once her entire world.
The dogs had belonged to a neighbor, who had never emerged from her house after quarantine, so Angie assumed her family had suffered a similar fate. Somehow, the dogs had managed to get out of the house and literally ended up on Angie’s doorstep, whining pitifully and covered in blood—but not their own. The three of them survived for months on food she had stockpiled for “the holidays,” until Mr. Reggie and The Rovers broke into her home and “rescued” her. In all fairness, she probably wouldn’t have survived on her own much longer, but she had clearly been mistreated since going into their “care and protection.”
When it came time for Becks to tell her story, she kept it comparatively brief. Her loving parents had become infected and took their own lives so as not to be a burden to her. The only thing she added was that Becks thought it was the most noble and selfless thing they ever did. They sacrificed themselves to give Becks the best chance to survive.
Before going to bed, Angie unexpectedly gave Becks a big hug.
“You know, it’s only been a very short time, but you already feel like a daughter to me,” Angie said, weeping gently. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”
That night, Becks cried as softly as she could until she drifted off to sleep.
The next morning was sunny and warmer, and Becks awoke with renewed determination to get them all to safety. In addition to safe houses, she would start looking for cars she might be able to get started. Even if she was only able to drive a few blocks at a time, it would be a way to take Angie and the dogs with her. It would make her task immeasurably more difficult, but what other choice did she have?
When she sat up in bed, she was surprised to see that Angie wasn’t there, but she just assumed they all went for walkies in the basement. She waited a few minutes, but didn’t hear anything. A cold, sick chill shot through her as she grabbed a pistol and headed down the stairs two at a time.
They weren’t in the basement. Running into the backyard in just her socks, she found that they weren’t there, either. Racing to the street, Angie and the stroller were nowhere to be seen.
“Son of a bitch!” Becks shouted as she hurried back into the house, determined to get her gear and go after the wandering, crazy, old woman.
She stopped short in the kitchen, when she spotted a piece of paper on the table near the door.
“Dear Rebecca,” the note began, “I want what’s best for you, my dear, and living on your own like this is no way for you to live. I’ve already lost one daughter, and I couldn
’t bear to see you hurt, especially on my account. You need to be safe, so I’ve gone to get Mr. Reggie, and the Lord willing, we will be back soon to rescue you.”
Becks swore a blue streak as she quickly gathered her weapons and supplies. Slipping on her boots and jacket, she didn’t even take the time to lace or zip them closed. There was no telling how long Angie had been gone. And if she had somehow managed to get back to Mr. Reggie, he and The Rovers could already be on their way. There was no time for stealth as she ran full speed down the street to her safe house—and not a moment too soon, as she could already hear the faint rumble of approaching engines.
Chapter 4
Winter had already come to Saugerties, New York, even though it was officially still a few weeks away. A couple of early snowfalls had blanketed the region, and Cam knew it would soon be time to hunker down in the compound for the winter. While he would have welcomed the safety and warmth of West Point, Cam and his decidedly independent-minded men politely declined the offer.
Unlike the previous year, they had a rather somber Thanksgiving dinner, even though conditions in the area had vastly improved. Thanks to the help of the Army, and a host of new anti-zombie weapons and medications to fight ZIPs infections in all but the worst cases, life was actually beginning to show some small signs of returning to some level of normalcy—whatever the new norm would turn out to be.
The problem was, regardless of all the things to be thankful for, Becks was now “presumed dead”—a presumption that seemed to be reasonable, considering the accident scene photos the Army had taken from the helicopter. Indeed, reason and common sense told Cam that nothing could have escaped that terrible scene of carnage—the massive explosion, the horde of zombies, the few scraps of hair and bone that remained. But as the weeks passed, in his heart he just couldn’t let go of the hope that Becks had somehow survived.
He also couldn’t let go of the fear that she had survived, and was now hurt and alone in the zombie hell of the New Jersey suburbs.
When news of the accident reached the compound, The Monk, Smokin, and every man and woman who had known and fought with Becks—and even some who had never met her, but had heard the many stories—volunteered to mount a highly dangerous rescue mission into the heavily zombie-infested area where the incident occurred. But when Cam met with Phil at West Point on their way down to New Jersey, they were told that the military would not provide any support. Cam and his people threatened a small uprising, until they saw those accident scene photos. It was one of the hardest decisions Cam ever made, but they reluctantly went back to their compound.
There wasn’t any chance the Army would have allowed the group to go through the Suffern gate and into New Jersey, anyway. Cam and his men had proven to be too valuable in the several joint campaigns they had waged to clean out strategic sections of the Hudson Valley, and they would be needed again in the upcoming northern New Jersey campaign in the spring. For the greater good, the Army couldn’t allow such excellent fighters to get slaughtered on a pointless rescue attempt to try to save one person, even if that person was Dr. Rebecca Truesdale.
Phil had invited Cam and the others to stay to take part in a memorial service for Becks at the chapel at West Point. To a man, they all refused. It wasn’t that they didn’t care about Becks—quite the opposite. It was just that they felt that the finality of such proceedings would have forced them to let go of that slender hope that she was still alive.
Instead, The Monk officiated over a “Celebration of Hope” at the compound. It was his own bizarre concoction of spiritual ideas and ceremonies from around the world, that all focused on the theme of never giving up hope, no matter how desperate the situation may appear. The Monk read inspiring quotes from many of history’s greatest religious figures and philosophers, but none resonated with Cam and his men more than the quote he read at the conclusion of the service.
“In the immortal words of Yogi Berra,” The Monk shouted in his deeply resonating voice, “It ain’t over, till it’s over.”
Chapter 5
By the time Becks was positioned by an attic window in her safe house, the first ATV in a line of five was weaving past fallen tree limbs and up over lawns on Sparrow Lane. Through the scope of the hunting rifle, she could see that the drivers were heavily armed men. And the second ATV also had a female passenger—Angie. In her well-meaning, but completely misguided, attempt to help, she had literally brought the threat to Becks’ doorstep.
The ATVs all stopped in front of the Serviss house, and the men dismounted and brought their variety of military-style rifles into firing position. A short, chubby, bald man with very red cheeks and thick glasses said something to Angie, and then gave her a rough shove toward the house. Angie went inside for a few minutes, and during that time, the men shot a few zombies who had been attracted by all the noise. They made short work of them, but more were coming—many more.
The bald man shouted something—it sounded like he was telling Angie to hurry up. He waited another minute or two, and just as he was about to send one of the men inside, Angie came out the front door shaking her head, her hands raised in an “I have no idea” gesture. Apparently, this man had wanted Angie to coax Becks into being “rescued,” and was not pleased that she had returned alone. Obviously not convinced that Becks was not in the house, he sent two men inside, while the rest of them began picking off the dozen or more neighborhood undead who were gathering in increasing numbers.
When the men came back outside, they must have confirmed that the house was empty. The little guy then grabbed Angie by the shoulders and violently shook her, and then slapped her hard across the face. Becks could feel her finger tightening on the trigger, but she needed to see how this would play out. Maybe they would think it was all one of Angie’s delusions and go away.
It looked as though that might happen, until she pointed at the wreckage of the two Humvees and spoke in a very animated way with a lot of hand waving, seemingly reenacting the story Becks had told her about the accident. The massive hole blown in the road and the charred pieces of Humvee provided pretty powerful evidence that Angie was telling the truth about the Army doctor with the weapons and so many MREs that she could give them to dogs.
As both ends of the street were starting to get thick with zombies, four of the men appeared to get antsy, but the little bully was determined. He thrust a megaphone into Angie’s hand and directed her to say something.
“Rebecca, dear, if you can hear me, please come out,” Angie said, as her amplified voice attracted even more zombies like a homing beacon. “Mr. Reggie wants me to tell you that our group could really use a doctor and that you will be very well fed and taken care of.”
Mr. Reggie! Becks thought, completely taken by surprise. This is the godlike Mr. Reggie I’ve heard so much about? Angie is crazier than I thought!
From Angie’s glowing descriptions of the leader of The Rovers, one would have thought that the man was at least six and a half feet tall, had the physique of Adonis, and was as brilliant as Da Vinci. From what Becks could tell, he was just an angry little man with visions of post-apocalyptic grandeur.
He yelled something at Angie with growing rage, and she once again put the megaphone to her lips, but this time with trembling hands.
“Please, dear, you’re upsetting Mr. Reggie. He’s just trying to help. Please come on out so we can get you to safety.”
Obviously, Becks had no intentions of going anywhere with these thugs. After waiting another minute—in which time the men shot at least twenty more zombies who had drawn within 100 feet—Mr. Reggie ripped the megaphone out of the old lady’s hand. He then pulled out a pistol and pressed it firmly against her forehead.
“Okay, we don’t have time for this and we are done playing hide and seek,” he shouted in more of a high-pitched squeal than a voice. “Come out now, or your new friend here will be zombie chow!”
Through the scope, Becks could see the shock and heartbreak in Angie’s face. The old
woman was devastated, not only because the man she had foolishly revered and trusted didn’t give a damn about her, but also because she suddenly realized she had now jeopardized the safety of someone she cared about.
Thoughts raced through Becks’ mind as she tried to figure out her next move. She assumed Mr. Reggie wouldn’t have any qualms about carrying through on his threat, but even if he didn’t shoot her, he would certainly make Angie’s life miserable going forward. If she joined the group, maybe she could manage to get along, and help the people who were sick and injured. Maybe she could also convince them to join her, and they could all get back to the highway or the Picatinny Arsenal. It was a risk—a big one, but she had negotiating skills and some bargaining chips that just might make this all work out.
Becks prayed that she wasn’t making a huge mistake as she eased her finger off the trigger and was about to announce herself by shouting out the window. However, before she could speak, Angie grabbed the pistol that was against her forehead, but not to try to save herself. Instead, she pushed hard on Mr. Reggie’s index finger, causing the weapon to discharge a deadly round through the front of her skull and out the back.
Everyone—including Mr. Reggie—was momentarily frozen with shock, but Becks was the first to recover her senses. She knew exactly what Angie had done. Like Becks’ parents, Angie had sacrificed herself to try to protect her. Maybe Becks could continue hiding and wouldn’t be found by The Rovers, but she knew they didn’t survive this long by giving up, especially if she had food, weapons, and knowledge that they needed. And Becks would be damned if she was going to let Angie’s brave sacrifice be in vain.
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