Don't Dare Call Them Zombies : Books 1-4

by Zachary Stone

  “Yes, I've heard of it,” she said. “They’re in more danger than we are from the meltdowns.”

  I quickly envisioned the map of the area we all studied at the church. From what I could remember, she was correct. The church was probably fifty miles closer to the nuclear power plant than we were.

  “Oh, Hank, your mom told me to give you this when I saw you.” Ms. Suzy handed me a folded piece of notebook paper.

  “So you saw my mom?” I asked, “How’s she doing?”

  “Yes, I did, and she was doing pretty well, all things considered. I was lucky to find her with so many people here. But I talked with her the night before she left and she wrote that letter for me to give you if I was able to see you.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the note. I didn’t want to read it in front of everyone, so I put it in my pocket.

  “Did you come across my sister?” Jennifer asked. “We were told she was bused out two days ago.”

  “No, I'm sorry,” she answered. “It was very crowded and I have been busy trying to take care of myself and my family.”

  “How’s your family?” I asked.

  “They’re doing alright,” Ms. Suzy said. “But I'm not sure how any of us will be in the long term after dealing with this nightmare.”

  “I'm glad they’re okay,” I said.

  “Why don't you two come inside so we can talk more?” she asked.

  “Okay,” I said. “But we don't have much time. We need to get some information back to a friend of ours down the road. He’s waiting for information to take back to the church.”

  “You’ll need to go through processing,” Ms. Suzy said. “It's the brown building over there.”

  She pointed to a brick building that was embedded in the wall of the compound. Although everyone inside the compound seemed to be alright and we hadn’t been told any horror stories, I was still a bit nervous about going inside. I had read many articles on the internet about all of the so called “relocation centers” scattered across the United States that FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, would use in a national emergency. Some people thought they were little more than concentration camps that could be used to imprison political dissidents. I didn’t think that was the case in this place, but I still felt a bit uneasy.

  “What’s involved when it comes to being processed?” I asked.

  “It's not too bad,” Ms. Suzy said. “You’re sniffed by a dog; they take your photo, run a metal detector over you, take your name, and give you an ID card.”

  “The ID card looks like this,” she said, holding a small plastic badge attached to a cord wrapped around her neck.

  When she mentioned the metal detector, another reality struck me: I would have to give up my weapons to go inside.

  “We can't just give up our weapons,” I told her. “They’re our lifeline.”

  “They’ll give them out when you leave,” she said. “Or at least many of us were told so.”

  “They better,” I said.

  “I'll ask them first,” I added. “We aren’t going to be in there long.”

  Chapter 2

  Jennifer and I walked along the fence of the relocation center towards the brick building where we would be processed; there was no other option if we wanted to enter the facility. Although I really didn’t want to go inside, I needed to get more information about the nuclear incidents that were taking place. It would take solid facts, not rumor or hearsay to convince the congregation to evacuate the church.

  As we neared the door to the processing building three soldiers approached.

  “Do you wish to enter?” a soldier asked.

  “Yes, we need to go inside,” I said.

  “You’ll have to turn in your weapons,” he said.

  “Will we get them back when we leave? We’re not going to be inside very long. I need to know that when we come back out our weapons will be here.” I said.

  “They’ll be here,” the tired-looking soldier answered. “We’re not going to steal them from you.”

  “Alright,” I said.

  Preparing to hand over my weapons, I felt for the note from my mother that Suzy handed me into my pants pocket – I didn’t want to lose that. I then proceeded to hand the soldier my pistol, my revolver, my Derringers, and my butcher knives. Jennifer handed over her blade and handgun, and the three soldiers ushered us into the processing building.

  The air felt cold as we stepped onto the concrete floor of the building. Two soldiers that had been sitting at a small table stood up and approached us. As I watched the soldiers at the entryway placing our weapons into a clear plastic container, we were told to remove any metal from our pockets or persons. I searched my pockets and dropped a few coins and a small pocket knife into the plastic container that stored our weapons. Feeling again the note from my mother, I felt an increased urgency to read its contents. However, right now was not the time or place.

  After Jennifer dropped a couple of small trinkets into the plastic container, two sniffer dogs approached us with their handlers. Tybalt, the German shepherd, sniffed us first. Then another dog with snow white fur was allowed to inspect us. It seemed to have a more serious disposition than Tybalt.

  As it got close to me I shifted my leg and the dog growled menacingly.

  “Stay still,” the dog's handler told us. “Spike doesn't like it when people move around until he knows they’re clean.”

  “We just have to be extra careful,” another soldier said as the white dog sniffed us and walked away.

  “You’re clean,” the handler said.

  We were then ushered down a short hall way to a counter at a glass window. An older, female soldier peered at us through the glass as she asked for our names.

  “I'm Hank Harper,” I said.

  “Jennifer Audrey Allen,” Jennifer told the woman.

  “Social,” the woman said bluntly.

  “Do you mean that you want our social security numbers?” I asked.

  “Yes,” the woman said.

  We gave her our social security numbers.

  A few moments later she handed us two ID cards attached to plastic cords. Just like Ms. Suzy’s, our cards had our names, a line of numbers and letters, and a magnetic strip on the bottom.

  “You can go on in,” the woman behind the glass said. “Follow that officer over there.”

  Another soldier who was standing on the opposite side of the hallway came towards us.

  “Follow me,” he said without any emotion, turning and walking down the hallway.

  We walked behind him as he led us to a set of doors that would allow us to exit into the facility and join Ms. Suzy and the other survivors.

  The soldier swiped a card into an electronic reader attached to the door, unlocked a manual latch, and allowed us to proceed outside into a large open area. A few large buildings were positioned inside of the large, expansive relocation facility. Filling the rest of the compound were long rows of temporary structures and tents.

  I was relieved that everything had gone so smoothly. There had been no strip searches or interrogations, and they agreed to return our weapons when we decided to leave.

  “So far so good,” I told Jennifer as we started looking around for Ms. Suzy.

  I could see how the site could house thousands of refugees, but at that moment I could only see several dozen people walking about and a handful of soldiers.

  “Hank,” I heard a voice say.

  Turning around, I was instantly embraced by Ms. Suzy.

  “I’m glad you made it in here,” she said.

  I patted her on the back as I returned the embrace. Quickly, she let go and turned to Jennifer.

  “I'm so glad you made it, Jennifer,” she said before wrapping her arms around her.

  “Would you like to come and meet my daughter and grandchildren?” Ms. Suzy asked. “I know you met them at the library in Sandy Hills, but we didn’t have time to talk then.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I
would like to meet them.”

  Jennifer and I followed Ms. Suzy as we walked through the rows of tents and other emergency structures. Although they would probably keep the rain and elements off their occupants, they didn’t seem especially sturdy or well made. Peering through their doors, it was easy to see that most of the shacks were empty, but in a few of them individuals or small groups of people was talking, sitting, or sleeping.

  A few of the survivors that had greeted us at the fence joined us as we walked with Ms. Suzy. They would ask questions about the condition of various towns or places, and we would do our best to provide answers, but most of the time we didn’t have the information they sought.

  As we approached Ms. Suzy's tent, I noticed a very young, brown haired girl who was sitting on the ground with a group of other children, staring at us. She stood and walked directly towards me. When she got close to us she began to speak.

  “My momma is still out there. We were separated. I was at school and she was at home. My teacher told us all to go on the school bus. It took us here, but she has not made it here yet. I call her momma, but her real name is Elaine.”

  “She’s pretty like you,” she said, pointing at Jennifer.

  “Have you seen her?” the young girl asked. “I don't know if she knows where I am.”

  Turning to look at Jennifer, I could already see a tear forming in her eye.

  Jennifer dropped to her knees and reached out to embrace the young girl. The girl approached her, and Jennifer held her for several moments.

  “What is your name?” Jennifer asked the girl.

  “I'm Sarah,” the girl answered.

  “Well Sarah, it is so nice to meet you,” Jennifer told the child. “I'm sure your mother is trying her absolute best to get here. She loves you very much. You know that, right?”

  “Yes, I know she loves me,” the young girl said. “But the monsters might have gotten her.”

  “Don't think that way,” Jennifer said. “Your mom is tough and she isn’t going to let any monster stop her from finding you.”

  As Jennifer continued to talk to the young girl I saw Ms. Suzy's daughter appear in the doorway of her tent.

  “We have to keep moving,” I whispered to Jennifer.

  “Just hold on,” she replied, angrily.

  Jennifer spoke a few more comforting words to the girl. The child then walked back off to rejoin her friends.

  “You would make a good mother,” I whispered to Jennifer as the three of us continued to Ms. Suzy's tent.

  “This world isn’t a place for children,” Jennifer rebutted.

  “You're right,” I said.

  Only seconds later we were at the door of Ms. Suzy's tent. Walking inside, I could see her two grandchildren sleeping on cots in a corner. Her daughter was sitting on a white, plastic folding chair at a circular table.

  “Hello,” Ms. Suzy's daughter said. “How have you two been?” She gesturing for us to pull up a chair and sit down.

  “This is my daughter Deborah,” Ms. Suzy stated. “My grandchildren are sleeping, so let’s not talk too loudly.”

  “We have been alright, mostly,” I said to Deborah. “But we have some decisions to make.”

  For the next hour the four of us discussed the situation. Jennifer and I explained how we needed to get information about the looming nuclear disaster back to the church. We also expressed our desire to find our family members. I didn’t want to give up on finding my mom, and Jennifer didn’t want to quit looking for her sister. We also discussed their plans for the immediate future. Soon the relocation center would be evacuated, and they would have to decide whether to be bused out to another relocation center or join us.

  “The road is no place for children,” Ms. Suzy said. “At least these camps offer protection from the freaks outside.”

  “I have to admit this camp does not seem so bad, but you don't know what the next one will be like,” I said.

  “I know, but what alternative is there?” Ms. Suzy asked. “These children don't need to be exposed to the world out there.”

  “Once the church is evacuated we could travel with them,” I said. “They’re good people and would help take care of the children.”

  “Where would everyone from the church go?” Deborah asked.

  “We would need to find another refuge,” I said. “Maybe we could clear out a school or another church. It would just need to be far enough away from any of the nuclear power plants that the radiation exposure would be minimal.”

  “What would we do for supplies?” Ms. Suzy asked. “What about food?”

  “The church has plenty of food stockpiled. They would bring it with them, and I'm sure they would share it with your family. Also, our van is filled with enough grub to keep all of us fed for weeks,” I said.

  “We need some time to think about this,” Deborah said.

  “I'm sorry, but we need an answer soon,” I said. “We have people waiting outside and we need to get moving.”

  Suddenly, the door to the tent was opened and a soldier walked in.

  “Are you Hank Harper?” the soldier asked.

  “Yes,” I said, as I lifted up the badge dangling around my neck.

  “Captain Flint would like to speak with you,” the soldier said.

  Jennifer and I stood up.

  “Not her, just you,” he said.

  “No way,” Jennifer stated. “I'm going too.”

  “I'm under orders, ma’am,” he said.

  “Too bad, because if I don't go, he doesn't go,” Jennifer insisted.

  “Alright,” the soldier said, relenting. “Hurry up, let’s go.”

  We were led by the soldier to one of the sturdier, permanent looking buildings in the facility. The building was made of wood, but was painted white and looked almost like a commercial office. We walked inside and our ID tags were scanned yet again.

  “He’s waiting for you,” said a female soldier, holding a rifle.

  A moment later we were rushed into a small room and told to sit down. Papers of all kinds were strewn about a large desk across from us, and a laptop computer sat on the corner of it.

  “Welcome,” said a tall man standing behind a chair at the desk. “I'm Captain Flint.”

  “It's nice to meet you,” I said. “I'm Hank and this is Jennifer.”

  “Where are you from?” he asked us, sternly.

  “We’re from Sandy Hills,” I said.

  “I have heard that you know of a large group of survivors nearby,” he said.

  “Yes, that's true. There are at least a couple hundred survivors at a church outside of Egypt,” I said. “They don't know anything about the meltdowns, and they need to be evacuated.”

  “How have they lasted so long?” he asked.

  “They’re very well organized,” I said. “They’re also armed well.”

  As we talked, he walked over to a coffee pot in the corner of the room, poured two cups, and handed them to us.

  “We’re evacuating this camp by tomorrow morning,” he said. “Do you think they would come with us?”

  “I'm not sure,” I said. “But one reason I entered this facility is to get some solid information. One of the church members is waiting only a mile from here for us to return, and he will need facts to convince them to evacuate.”

  “All the information is supposed to be classified, but I guess that doesn’t matter now,” he said.

  The Captain pulled a print out from a drawer and showed it to us. It was a map of the area showing the locations of three nuclear power plants. Around each power plant were shaded areas that represented evacuation zones. Egypt was well inside one of the zones, and the relocation center was on the far edge of another.

  “Have your friend show this map to the church members,” the Captain said. “They have to evacuate. If a full meltdown takes place the radiation would kill them in days, or less.”

  “I’ll make sure this gets to them as fast as possible,” I said.

&nb
sp; “So how bad is it?” Jennifer asked. “Has the whole country been wiped out by this outbreak?”

  The Captain walked to a small stand on the side of the room, picked up a stack of printouts and handed them to me.

  “Read for yourself,” he said. “Most of the country has been overrun, especially the cities.”

  I thumbed through the documents and read bits and pieces of the text.

  “Miami has been lost,” one memo read.

  “Do not enter Atlanta for any reason,” another warned.

  “The safe zone at location 23B has been breached,” another read.

  I continued to read through the papers when I heard Jennifer ask another question.