When we finished off the last one, Dallas ordered all CGIs to the rallying point on the outside of the fence. As we all moved into position, all ZBs were ordered back inside, which they gleefully did.
It didn’t take long for them to come. Not with the scent of fresh meat piled outside our gates. It might have been clothed and wearing shoes, but it was meat now, plain and simple. Food for the ghouls. At first, I expected a dozen or so, but I was off—way off.
And that was when we knew they would keep coming.
And they just kept coming.
We had to use bolts, arrows, clubs, machetes, bats, and even the dogs to put down the five or six thousand or so who came to the banquet. We were covered in blood as we slashed and hacked our way through the masses, until we’d dropped them all where they stood.
It was a couple of hours before dawn when we finally beheaded the last of those fucking vultures, though we were tempted to let them gnaw on the bones of the military laying around the perimeter.
I’d never seen Dallas work so feverishly as she did that night. Back to back, she and Roper must have killed eight or nine hundred or more themselves. They were a killing machine that never slowed, never wavered, never showed signs of tiring. As much as I have seen them taking the heads off of zombies, they’ve never been more impressive than they were that night.
I have to admit, it might not have happened had Meg not insisted we use the few tubes of Super Glue to glue Dallas’s wound shut. It was brilliant, and once it was glued shut, she never again worried about it tearing open and bleeding.
Arms slick with man eater blood, hair dripping with a combination of perspiration and goo, they lead us like two people who had been doing this forever. From my vantage point in the crow’s nest, I watched with pride and awe as they took down zombie after zombie.
It was incredible.
I remember reading a book once called The Killing Fields. They had nothing on us. The fifty dead soldiers had attracted upwards of five thousand or more zombies (I lost count after fifteen hundred) that just kept pressing forward. That was when I realized for sure that Dallas knew exactly what she was doing here in Angola, and that it was only a matter of time before our lives would change.
I just hadn’t realized how much.
It was only a matter of time before she outgrew the work she was doing and the CGIs would leave the ZBs in order to transform yet another prison…or hospital. Dallas had a vision, and it didn’t include resting on her laurels. She was out to do something bigger than convert a single prison.
She was out to rebuild our world.
By successfully transforming the prison, she would see the need to do so again. Dallas would establish outposts that would save those of us unfortunate enough to be straight. She and Roper would do what needed to be done to save those who needed to be saved. I knew it the moment that last head fell. They were too good to keep to ourselves, and that knowledge broke my heart.
That meant that me and Luke and our unborn child would be left behind, and I don’t have to mince words when I say, oh fuck that! We’ve been together too long to be kicked to the curb even if that is the right thing to do. I belong with Roper, Einstein, and Dallas. I have since day one. I am not going to just sit here in Angola just because I will soon have a kid. Oh no, no, no.
Luke disagrees with me, of course. He believes Dallas would be wise to keep us here so we can continue leading while she opens another compound from which to fight. He thinks taking a baby on the road is irresponsible and dangerous. He thinks that I am going to stay here to live a life without my new family.
Did I already say fuck that?
I don’t want to raise my daughter in a prison without the likes of Roper and Dallas. Uh uh. We’re family, right? You don’t leave family behind to help someone else’s family. That’s just wrong. It’s just…
Oh hell, I’m crying all over the goddamned paper—fucking hormones! Seems like I cry over everything from a paper cut to stepping in dog shit these days. Being pregnant in a normal world is hard enough, but carrying a baby among hordes of undead? Yeah, you try it someday.
Some days, I forget she is here. When I reach for something and I feel her moving around in there, I catch my breath. Growing a life is a wonderful experience, but I am so busy being in survival mode, I seldom have time to appreciate life.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh, the epic failure of the military to take us over.
Fifty men? Were they kidding? Hell, Hunter and Fletcher killed half of them before they knew what hit them. Dumb asses. I wonder how long it will take the U.S. Army to figure out they failed. With next to no communication technology, it could be weeks before they figure it out, but
Dallas thinks we have a week, maybe more, before they send more soldiers—more than fifty.
Luke says it’s personal now. The United States military is not used to anyone pushing back, let alone decimating them. They’ll come at us for sure…with a vengeance. They have to flex their muscles for fear of being replaced. But let me ask you this—what fool would take on a pack of aggressive lesbians, a platoon of well-trained archers, a gaggle of Einsteins, and a pride of crazy ass rednecks fighting for the survival of their country?
Yeah. That’s what I think.
Without their tanks, their planes, their smart bombs, their heat-seeking missiles, the United States military is nothing but an over-testosteroned street gang trying to take something that isn’t theirs, and we have no plans on just handing it over to them. Oh hell no. Uh uh.
So far, rebels-2, U.S. military-0.
And that’s just the beginning.
Dallas’s Log
After the military’s failed attack, I went against Luke’s admonishment and sent my five best male CGIs across the Mississippi to take out as many soldiers as they could. After carefully weighing the options, I decided to go with my old high school basketball coach’s mantra—that the best defense is a good offense. They would not be expecting us to come after them. They would never believe we would have the guts and the weapons to attack their camp and dismantle their vehicles.
In short, they have severely underestimated us and our determination.
Yeah, I know, it was backward thinking from everyone else’s, but my team had won the state basketball championships three out of four years running. We had the worst shooting average in the league all four years because the coach believed the more shots you took, the better your odds were that the ball would go in.
So, we had played a run-and-gun offense.
It worked.
And we were playing a run-and gun-offense now. While Luke thought it reckless, I disagreed. You can’t sit around all the time waiting for the class bully to take a swing at you. At some point, you have to take your chances and go up and kick him in the balls. You have to, as the coach used to say, “Show ‘em you got teeth!”
And so that’s what we had decided to do.
We were going to put the U.S. military on notice that if they kept coming after us, they were going to feel those teeth.
All but one of the guys made it back. Louis took three shots in the back so they had to leave him, but not before the five of them had managed to reduce the soldiers’ numbers by dozens.
Dozens.
I had hoped for ten or twenty, but they counted seventy-nine before they made their escape, which was easy to do once the hordes started in after the fresh meat. You could always count on the zombies to make an appearance once the blood started pouring.
After a memorial for Louis, we continued our preparation for retaliation. Not until I can get the military to back off can we head to the next prison we need to clear out. Right now, everyone is making their best guess as to where the next prison is we’ll travel to. Some have thought Texas. Others have said Chicago. I’ve not shared that yet. It’s important to focus on where we are now.
We are doing another flyer drop, only this time in Texas. The last group of survivors we took in were from Dallas, an
d they said there were pockets of survivors everywhere living off the cattle. I want those cowboys.
Tomorrow, Colby and I take the plane out, and we’ll see if we can’t convince some of those good ole’ boys to come out of hiding and fight for the stars and stripes. Wild Bill thinks all they need is to know is that there is someplace to go and they’ll grab a bunch of horses and ride on out. The city of Dallas is about two hundred miles away, so Colby and I will go as deep into Texas as the winds will allow.
It’s been a while since I updated my journal about significant people, so here goes:
Roper has managed to fill the barn with a dozen well-trained horses, so now our hunters can travel farther. The truth is, we no longer need to hunt, as she’s also grown our cattle herd to nearly two thousand head, but the fresh meat is good, and the venison makes great jerky. She and I seem to fall deeper in love with every passing day, and I rely on her more than anyone could imagine. At the end of every grueling day, I look forward to lying in her arms and feeling a sense of peace and safety I can find nowhere else. She is the best thing to come out of this, and I am a very lucky woman.
Einstein has a boy crush on Wendell, whom I admire and respect a great deal. I don’t think Einstein ever had anyone understand him in the way Wendell does, and together they’ve created all sorts of gadgets to make our lives easier. Wendell is wonderful with him, which makes me like the tech-head geek even more. He is patient and kind to Einstein and has taught him a great deal.
While he has a boy crush on Wendell, he has a real crush on Cassie, who, though a few years older, could possibly return his affections someday. It’s hard to tell. I hope she does. Everyone deserves to be loved.
I’ve really grown to like that girl. She works hard, never complains, and keeps the little ones occupied in the printing room. Cassie uses a formula Wendell gave her for creating ink using the tea of fresh petals, so she has made birthday cards, calendars, and even posters about the upcoming theater events.
Yeah, theater.
Go figure.
Jamie came to me one night and suggested we start a theater group so people have something to do besides just staying alive. She said we would all be more mentally and emotionally sharp if there was some down time. Without entertainment, we’d all either work too hard or be bored out of our minds.
Besides, what better way to occupy fifty-two gay guys?
At first, the straights were unsure about a “theater” program, but the boys put on such an incredible performance that first night, they’ve had a packed house every Saturday night since. The result was a change in morale that reminded me that the more normal we could make Angola, the better off everyone would be. Jamie was right, and the change was immediate. Now, everyone wants in on the act, and there’s even a group of mixed gays and straights working on an original play.
That leads me to Butcher. Hormonal and emotional, she’s on edge a lot. Can’t say I blame her. Having a baby in this mess? That would make anyone crazy. Luke has the patience of Job with her and gives her a wide berth, never questioning her extreme level of participation around Angola. I get it. Work is her salvation. Maybe it’s ours as well. When that woman gets on a rant, everyone leaps out of the way.
Then there’s Luke. I don’t know what I’d have done without him. That man is a miracle worker. He has taken a disparate group of men and women and molded them into a well-oiled fighting machine. We all owe him a debt we can never repay. He’ll make a great dad…if he ever has the time to devote to his family.
I’ve decided to leave Henry in charge when we leave. People respect him and he’s strong enough to command a large group. He and his gang have proven to be outstanding fighters. I trust they will do the right thing here in Angola. He and Wild Bill have become good friends, and they have made a horseshoe pit where they now put on all kinds of tournaments. It’s great to see everyone out there cheering people on and actually laughing together.
It’s what we need if we are going to get through this.
Wendell has agreed to come with us so he can get us up and running like he did here, though even he is unaware of where I want to take us. The guy is incredible. He could make a rocket ship out of rubber bands and paste. We’re going to need a lot more Wendells when we get the country back.
That reminds me—I have to admit to being slightly surprised that the government hasn’t figured the gay piece out yet. How can that be? Are they so short-sighted? Did they just think bitten survivors were lucky? Maybe they ran them through a battery of tests—drew blood, kept them under surveillance—treated them like guinea pigs. Even with Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell being repealed, the military was still a no-homo zone, and as crazy as life suddenly became, the last thing a soldier would want was to be tossed out of the only safe zone in the country.
It doesn’t matter to me. We are building our garmy, one that would eradicate these things with or without our government’s help. I plan on giving Butcher’s child a safe place to live if it is the last thing I do.
And that could very well be the case given where I plan on going. All I need to do is check out a few things first, and then we’re going to have to hit the road…or in this case, hit the skies. I have a feeling that my choice of destination, while far, may be just the right move.
The plane went down in a cattle ranch somewhere inside the Texas border. It was just the two of them, Dallas and Colby, and when the wheels touched down, she knew they were screwed.
Once the dust cleared after their emergency landing, Colby said to her, “It’s gonna take me a few hours to fix that oil leak, Dallas, among other things. We hit pretty hard.”
She nodded, looking out at the vast expanse of emptiness that is Texas. “Jesus, it’s barren out here. I always thought there was nothing but cows here. I was wrong. There’s just…nothing.”
“That’s to our advantage, eh?”
One of the slips she’d thrown out fluttered to the ground and she picked it up. “Let’s get going, then.”
Colby grabbed his toolbox and got out of the cockpit. It was well over one hundred degrees out, and the metal of the plane was hot to the touch. “Stay in the plane, Dallas. It’ll be cooler.”
“No chance. It may be a barren wasteland right now, but if one of those things is near—”
“Suit yourself.” Colby got out and started working on the engine while Dallas sat in the shade under the wing and chatted with him about Angola, the zombies, and their future, her ever present rifle lying across her lap.
After an hour, Dallas could see them on the distant horizon. At first, it looked like cattle, but then she saw that distinctive walk, that horror movie shuffle, and she knew.
They’d come.
Colby tracked her gaze.
“Company.” She rose and shouldered her weapon. She counted fourteen on the horizon. “I’ve got this. Keep working. We’re going to have to get that bird in the air sooner rather than later.”
He put his head down and kept on working, sweat rolling off his nose, perspiration soaking through his shirt.
Dallas killed seven before pulling her machete and waiting. “I might need you to get in the cockpit for a few minutes while I lop off a few heads.”
“I’m not leaving you out there alone.”
“Get in the plane,” she ordered, this time a bit more sternly.
Colby started to get in, then stopped when he saw how many there were. “Uh, Dallas?”
“Go on!”
Colby shook his head. “Not without you.”
“Goddammit, Colby—” When Dallas whirled around, she saw what Colby was looking at.
On either side of the plane, approximately a hundred yards out came dozens of eaters kicking up a dust storm.
“Shit.”
“Get in with me,” Colby said, shoving his tools in the cockpit before hopping back in.
“Uh uh. You keep the doors locked. I’ll clear out as many as I can.”
Clearing them out proved to be much harder th
an either of them realized. Dallas killed as many as she could with her rifle as they walked past her toward the meal they wanted.
But there were far too many for her to take down with a machete without some rest…and water. They would be at the plane in a few more yards, trying to get to Colby…to fresh meat.
Stepping away from the plane, she started hacking away at the moaning horde, which brushed by her as if she didn’t exist before clamoring at the plane, pounding on it with their rotting fists. She backed far away from the plane and started popping them in the head with the butt of her rifle. Their skulls crushed in with the same sound as a walnut in a nutcracker. She was about halfway through them when she saw Colby pounding on the window and pointing behind her.
When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw a pack of mangy dogs running directly toward her at full speed, closing in faster than she would be able to kill them. There had to be at least twenty in that pack. Looking at the pack, to Colby, and back at the dogs, Dallas froze. Her safety lay in the cockpit, but opening the hatch would put Colby at risk from the horde. If she stayed outside, the dogs would get her.
Slinging her rifle behind her, Dallas jumped up on the wing just out of reach of their snapping jaws, causing her rifle to slide to her side. One mangy German Shepherd leapt at her, baring yellowed teeth. It bit the strap of her rifle and pulled it off her shoulder. As it slid down her arm, she let go of it and scrambled onto the wing, inches from the leaping, gaping jaws of the dogs.
“Shit!”
Colby looked at her through the side window, his eyes filled with panic and fear.
“It’s okay,” Dallas yelled above the moaning and barking. “Do not open that cockpit. We’re going to be fine.”
She didn’t know how it was going to be okay…or fine. All she had was her machete, and she couldn’t reach the dogs from the wing. She couldn’t reach the undead, either. She was in deep shit. The dogs did not seem interested in eating the zombies, and she figured that was due to their flesh smelling so rotten and disgusting. She could smell the hideous stench of rot and death from her place on the wing.
Riders of the Apocalypse (Book 2): Burning Rubber Page 25