That’s how a war was won but most of the world changed after those massive numbers of casualties. It became less fierce, less willing to be a part of mass slaughter. Nations gentled their warrior class of men. Most of the world became kind. A generation later, it lay in ruins because of it. Well intentioned people had stopped the strong arm of retribution that was needed when the enemy was weak.
Gunny looked down at his watch. It was a few minutes past midnight. It was tomorrow. He had kept his end of the bargain. It wasn’t his fault if every rational thinking person would assume he meant first light. After breakfast.
He set the empty bottle on the porch rail. He wasn’t going to risk anyone else’s life on his trip. Losing Tiny and nearly getting Scratch killed had hurt him, he wouldn’t lose anyone else. They were all needed here and by using the train, most of the danger was eliminated. He took one last look over the lake. The woods are lovely dark and deep. He thought. But I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. He shouldered his pack and started walking towards the locomotive.
Epilogue
Under the Catskill Mountain
Daniel was spit-shining his shoes. Literally, spit shining them. They didn’t have any polish but that wasn’t any excuse, as he and a few others had found out. He was angry and the scowl on his face let the others in the tiny barracks know it. Madame President had insisted they wear their dress uniforms at all times. She liked the way they looked. It didn’t matter that they were uncomfortable, hard to keep clean and that there was no reason to wear them. Except that she liked the way they looked. He had been reprimanded by the Chief of something, some oily civilian they had been informed was in charge of them.
He was told in no uncertain terms he needed to make his shoes shine like glass or else. He had been on guard duty, still a little pissed that it was even necessary. All they did was stand there at attention all day. When she walked into the conference room, ignoring their salutes as always, she had stopped halfway through the door and had taken half a step backward. All of her flunkies stumbled all over themselves, trying not to bump into her. Which was probably why she did it. He’d noticed she did things like that. Pure meanness, Grandpa Cobb would say. She pointedly looked down at his shoes, the ones he’d buffed the best he could with no supplies, using the same undershirt he was wearing to do it. She frowned her disappointment and walked on, not even looking at him. He’d bet his bottom dollar she wasn’t taking bird baths in the sink because the showers didn’t work. He’d bet they had fresh air circulating in her suite of rooms and they didn’t smell like feet and ass from thirty other half washed Marines.
None of them knew what was going on in the outside world. Not really. They knew what they were told but they no longer believed it. This whole underground complex buried somewhere in the Catskill Mountains was a lie. A typical government project. It was supposed to house two hundred of the most privileged members of government and society, their families and a platoon of Marines to protect them. A Nuclear bomb or a deadly widespread viral release being the most likely scenarios for the base to be activated. Whoever was in charge, some overpaid public sector employee probably, had taken the black budget money to maintain this facility and had squandered it. Probably on hookers and cocaine. There were food supplies but not enough for the next six months, let alone the ten years it was supposed to be stocked for. Everything else showed the same level of ineptitude and shoddy quality that a lot of government projects with no oversight exhibited. It wasn’t quite a bridge to nowhere but it wasn’t much more than a glorified cave. The Marines were housed in the old section, obviously built in the fifty’s during the cold war and never updated. The newer sections were survivalist chic apartments but the concrete was already cracking in places. Moisture leaked through the walls and Marines were on mopping detail twenty-four hours a day. At least I haven’t had to do that yet. Daniel thought bitterly as he turned his t-shirt to a spot that had the faintest remnant of polish still on it. Maybe mopping would be better, though. At least they didn’t have to wear their Dress Blues.
Everyone was young, Daniel noticed. They were all handpicked but he thought they were chosen because they were fresh out of training. None of them had any combat experience. He thought that was strange if they were supposed to be protecting the remnants of the government. He would have chosen the hardest men he could find. Guys with years of real world experience, not just classroom and field training. Even the Officers in charge of them were a bunch of kiss ass’s that came from the right families, not grizzled combat vets. This whole setup stank, something was wrong. The so-called President and all of the flunkies surrounding her were people he wouldn’t trust as far as he could throw. They were behind the scenes administrators he’d never heard of. They weren’t Senators or Congressmen, they were some other political hacks. Those nameless, faceless unelected bureaucrats that stay in their jobs one president after another. Administration after administration, Democrat or Republican, they were always there following their own agenda. Shaping the world the way they wanted and ignoring what the people voted for. They knew best, after all. Not the unwashed and uneducated masses. The others he’d seen were kind of oily, too. Weasely looking men you just had a strong urge to punch.
He wished they had some outside news. He worried about his sister and the rest of the family out at the Three Flags. Was the government helping the civilians fight the disease, whatever it was? They said it turned you into a mindless zombie. Their words. They wouldn’t elaborate so the men with him guessed it was some kind of new virus that affected intelligence. Maybe made everyone retarded or something. The high up muckity-mucks wouldn’t tell them anything, just kept them busy mopping floors and polishing shoes.
They were isolated, not allowed to mingle with the civilians. They were just standing around looking pretty in their dress uniforms or cleaning up messes and were not authorized to leave the old area of the bunker for any reason otherwise. They still managed to get tidbits of news, snatches of overheard conversations. Daniel considered everything he’d heard at the endless meetings. In a surprise attack, some kind of mutating virus had been released. The Muslims had done it and everyone down here had somehow gotten news of it just before it happened. They accepted that at first but after a few weeks and a few snippets of overheard conversation, they started putting pieces of the puzzle together. If they were here and sealed in before the attack happened, then it wasn’t a surprise to them. It had been nearly a month and he was getting sick of it. He was an Officer in the Marine Corps. He was a fully trained Force Recon soldier, dammit. He, like everyone else, was starting to not believe anything they were being told. He needed to get access to the radio room. Things were going to change real soon. The soldiers were already making some plans of their own.
Authors Note
I don’t like to leave you hanging, I’m not a fan of cliff-hangers. Ending the tale here is not a ploy to simply sell more books, but at nearly 400 pages, this seemed like a good place to wind up the story for now. Zombie Road III will continue where this volume left off.
The world is starting to recover from the deadly blow it suffered and plans to retaliate are being formulated.
The radicals have emptied all of the nuclear power plants of their radioactive rods and may have their own ideas on how to take care of the final Americans.
Gunny, Lacy and Jessie all have plans to get back out on the Zombie Road.
I’m sure it will all turn out just fine for them.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. As always, I appreciate comments and reviews. I read them all and strive to use feedback to become a better writer.
Also, to reiterate what is written in the beginning of the book, this is a work of fiction. Of course it is, it’s about zombies.
David A. Simpson
5/28/2017
Zombie Road (Book 2): Bloodbath on the Blacktop Page 34