DEAD (Book 12): End

by TW Brown

  “You have a break in the perimeter just on the other side of that little inlet where the stream dumps into the lake,” Ronni said by way of greeting. “With all the fresh zombies in the area, you might want to get that taken care of.”

  She didn’t need to say anything about her dad and how he had almost fallen under a small swarm of new walkers. They had engaged in that conversation while she had waited for her dad to recover. Sadly, that recovery had been very short. He had not been present when Chad died, and when the news reached him, he was ready for the blasting that he expected Ronni to give him. He had been stunned at how calm she had been when he did finally arrive. When he eventually asked how long she would make him wait before she “let him have it”, she had told him very plainly that her father’s death was not his fault.

  “However,” she had added, “if anybody is bitten while I am here on vacation, that will be a different story.”

  “You really like it?” Mark asked cautiously, shaking himself from his short trip down Memory Lane and back to the present.

  “I think it is amazing. Did you do it yourself?” Ronni asked, carrying the frame with her as she rummaged through a small cabinet and produced a hammer and a crude nail.

  “Yep,” he said, trying not to sound too proud of his work. “I had help with the frame. I’m not much of a carver, so one of the guys did the fancy stuff around the edges.”

  With a few taps, she had the nail in place and then hung the picture. Stepping back, she folded her arms across her body and stared at it for a few seconds before reaching over and adjusting it just slightly so that it hung level.

  Once she was satisfied, she turned back to Mark. “I heard rumors of a team being sent east next month. Rumor has it that there is some incredible warm springs resort that used to exist a few valleys over.”

  “Yeah,” the man said slowly, marveling at how she could have heard about this considering the information had just arrived yesterday. “One of the supply traders came in with a map to the place. She says that it looks like it escaped looters and that it might only take a few weeks to clean out. A perimeter security zone would need to be built, and if nothing terrible happened, the place would be ready to accept guests within a year.

  “I don’t imagine that you have the entire team picked, so I would like to throw my name in the hat. I only have one condition.” Mark didn’t say a word, so Ronni continued. “I want the security chief post.”

  He guessed that he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d seen the name on the Old World map when they had compared notes with what the merchant had shared: Chad Springs.

  Three weeks later, Ronni was leading her team east. Henry was at her side along with two other former residents of the defunct bio-dome. The team numbered a total of twenty members. By the following fall, Chad Springs Resort was accepting its first guests.

  Ronni stood up on the wall and waved as Caroline and her family signed in at the gate as the first official visitors. Her eyes scanned the line of thirty-seven men, women, and children who would be the first guests waiting to be admitted.

  After one more look, she made her way down the ladder and crossed the compound to her office. The sign above the door read: Chad’s Chief of Security. Taking a seat behind her desk, she started on the week’s watch rotation and roving security assignments. Every so often, her eyes would drift to the framed picture on her desk and she would smile. That smile was usually accompanied by her pausing long enough to fondle the necklace she wore. It had once been a bracelet with just the word “DADDY” carved into the wooden cubes, but now it had been modified, which was why it was a necklace. The extra cubes helped spell out the rest of the phrase: DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL.

  ***

  Five days. It had been five days. Jody slid down with his back against the post and stared up at a sunny sky that did not show any signs of providing relief in the way of rain. How had this happened? How had everything fallen apart so quickly?

  The moans of the undead raged like a storm that was trapped inside his skull. Looking down, he saw familiar faces in with the massive herd that stretched on in every direction. Yes, they were still moving, but that did not mean anything. He was almost certain that they were just swirling around the platform that he had managed to reach three days ago when the entire northern and western walls folded like paper.

  Honestly, he really had not believed the situation was as bad as it was until he had climbed up on the wall that first day to see for himself. He was reminded of a plague of locusts that were coming to wipe out everything in their path. Farmers could do whatever they wanted, but they would not be able to stop the swarm. This was much the same. And now, as he looked down once more, he felt as if he might be in the eye on an undead hurricane.

  “Hurricane Zelda,” he mused, though his heart was not in it.

  He looked over to where he guessed the entrance to the emergency bunker to be. Long gone were the sides of the train cars. If the main outer walls of the city’s defenses had fallen when the full force of the undead flood arrived, those had simply vanished in the blink of an eye as if they had never existed. He remembered the day those last adjustments had been made and the final bolts torqued down and secured. Everybody had felt that not even the worst zombie mob out there would be able to breach those defenses.

  They had been so wrong. And now he just hoped that Selina and the few that had made it inside would someday be able to come out. He knew that he would not live to see that day. Already, his tongue felt as if it were three times its normal size. He could not even manage enough saliva to spit. The last drops in his canteen had trickled into his mouth yesterday morning.

  The sun overhead was doing its part to hurry things along and he truly doubted that he would last the three days they say a person can survive without water. More than once he had stood and walked to the edge of the platform he was on and considered taking a swan dive into the sea of faces that looked up at him. The first time he’d done so, Danny’s undead visage stared up at him and moaned pathetically.

  In the end, he simply had not been able to do it. He’d heard the screams and he was not prepared to take that sort of pain. Call it cowardice or desperate clinging on to the hope that something amazing would occur and he would be saved. That first night, when he’d fallen asleep, he had hoped beyond hope that he would wake to find the zombies gone.

  Not only were they still there, but that was when he started to think that perhaps they were just swirling around his location and would do so for eternity…or until somebody caught their attention and sent them someplace else.

  Looking out across the mostly flat landscape, Jody could see almost no sign that this used to be the location of a community. Nearly all of the buildings had been knocked over. He had to marvel at the force these undead were capable of in such large numbers. The only things that seemed to have survived were the tall sniper towers. Jody thought it had to do with the fact that the poles were so relatively thin that not enough of the walking dead could jam up against them to knock them over.

  It was almost funny that zombies had become such a minor thing over the years. They were no more worrisome than any other sort of pest or vermin when encountered in reasonable numbers. Looking at this crowd, he had to guess the numbers to be well over a million.

  As the day passed, Jody slipped in and out of consciousness. Every single time he roused from those restless instances, he would foolishly hope that maybe this time they would be gone. Each time, he was disappointed. At last, he closed his eyes and they did not open again.

  Three weeks later, a hatch in the ground creaked open. The undead had finally gone. Not even the stragglers remained. The air still held the lingering stench of rot and filth, and the ground was a putrid mess of mostly unidentifiable remains. The massive swath of land where the herd had traveled could easily be seen and it was clear to all those who came forth from the open bunker door that this area was no longer inhabitable.

  Slowly, a handful of survivors em
erged.

  ***

  Entry One Hundred—

  I should not be surprised that six months later, Glick has become the leader of the bunch. There was just something about her from the first day that made her stand out from the others.

  We just took our first job. Oddly enough, it was for that little village that I first came across all those months ago when I initially arrived. I think back to how casual they were about the volcano. Much like them, I have also learned to respect Mount Saint Helens instead of fear her.

  Some days, I can go out to a small hill that sits across the valley from the open mouth of the mountain and watch her spew varying sizes of ash plumes into the sky. Sadly, we won’t be seeing the mountain for a while. The job we have been tasked to do will take us into Montana.

  Glick has the load out list and is in town gathering what we need. This is no ordinary run. That much was clear when the group of people arrived at my cabin door. I guess they heard about me from a former client and have spent the better part of the year following my trail until locating me.

  If what these people say is true…then perhaps I should re-think my views on some sort of divine being. This is a job that I would never have been able to take were it not for my new soldiers of justice. Hey…that is sorta catchy. Maybe that will be our new moniker.

  Seriously though, this is not a one-person job, so I don’t know what these people were thinking. I guess they have heard a few over-embellished recountings of my exploits and think I am some sort of action figure or superhero.

  Entry One Hundred and One—

  We leave at first light. I am feeling a lot of conflicting emotions right now. This is the first time I will not be working alone. There is something strange about being responsible for the safety as well as the actions of others. Is this what generals feel like when they commit troops to battle? Of course, the big difference is that I will be right there with my soldiers.

  Oh, that reminds me, the group voted and it now looks like we will forever be known as “The Soldiers of Justice” from here on. I also asked the group if they had a problem with me keeping an active journal of our jobs. I felt I owed it to them to ask since Glick discovered exactly how I was tracked and discovered.

  I have been keeping a journal since shortly after I lost my family. I also tend to lose those journals on a regular basis much like I used to lose my car keys and my wallet. The only thing different is that I never actually searched for my journals when I lost them. I was really just writing things down to help me process events in my head. If I lost a journal, I would eventually start up another one.

  Anyway, I guess some of my journals have been found. One of them was copied and added to a community library down south near what used to be Salem, Oregon. Supposedly, a trader bought a copy and it ended up in a small town near what was once Havre, Montana.

  Long story short, somebody decided to see if I was real and asked around. When it was more or less confirmed, they sent this delegation to come find me. There is a community about fifty miles east of Havre that operates in a massive slave circuit. We will certainly have our work cut out for us.

  Anyway, I asked the group if they were okay with me keeping a journal and they all said yes on the condition that they were allowed to read it. Since it is not like I use my journal to jot down fantasies or anything weird like that, I told them I was fine with it.

  Who knows…maybe I will write the first best-selling novel of the New World. I guess we will have to wait and see.

  17

  The Geek’s Wife Finds Peace

  Catie stared up at the dull, off-white ceiling. Another jolt of pain shot through her and she clenched her teeth, sucking in a harsh breath. A cool hand gripped hers and she rolled her head to the left to see a face just a few inches from her own.

  “You need to breathe, child,” a raspy voice ordered.

  “Then you need to give me room,” Catie snapped back.

  “Just a little more, Catie,” a voice called from between her legs. “I can see the head.”

  Catie didn’t want to push. She just wanted this to be over and for that gigantic monstrosity to be out of her womb. It felt as if it were tearing her apart. She pondered very briefly which hurt more; being torn apart and eaten alive by the undead or being torn apart as a child emerged from a place many times smaller than the head that was supposedly almost out of her if she could believe the doctor.

  There was a strange sensation that was painful, but almost like a sense of relief as the child completed its journey and exited her. In that instant, all the pain washed away and she felt nothing but a sense of overwhelming joy at the sound of her new child crying as it drew its first breath.

  “Is it a boy or a girl?” Catie gasped.

  “Now I think it is a little early to start imposing roles on it, don’t you?” the doctor said in a horrible attempt at a British accent. Catie glared and the man’s smile vanished. “Sorry…always wanted to say that. Um…ahem…anyways, it’s a boy.”

  “Bet I don’t need to ask whatchoo gonna name him,” Abagail snorted as she accepted the child from the midwife and handed him to Catie.

  “You would be correct,” Catie sighed as she snuggled the child close and kissed it on the forehead.

  “Kevin Michael Dreon,” Catie whispered to the child.

  “Look how fast he went for that booby,” Abagail hooted. “Told ya getting that poison outta yer system would do the baby good. That child is healthy as can be.”

  Catie had no idea if what the old woman said was true or not. Still, she knew that the day she spent with the kind old woman had done a lot to cleanse her soul. She had told all about meeting Kevin and their journey. She talked about things she had never said to anybody before about her past. She talked about Kevin’s death. She described every detail that had been burned into her mind’s eye.

  She had cried…and cried. There was a point where she did not know if she would be able to stop. But she did. In the end, she was able to breathe again and while she felt raw, and tired, and wrung out…she also felt as if she had just sweated out a terrible fever or had something poisonous extracted from her body. That night was the first she could remember since Kevin’s death that she slept all the way through and actually felt rested the next day.

  ***

  Catie walked outside. The clouds of yesterday were gone. The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the clear water of the Tennessee River. Glancing up the hill to her left, she watched as fifty men and women were returning from a day out in the fields. It was almost harvest time and everybody’s spirits were high with the anticipation of what was going to be an amazing crop.

  “Kevin!” Catie called.

  “What, mama?” a young voice answered from some of the tall bushes that grew along the fence to a modest front yard sporting three rows of corn and a wall of tomato vines that were awash with clusters of the bright red globes ready for picking.

  “You are supposed to be getting washed up and ready to go, I have to be out on the wall in an hour and Granny Abagail won’t be happy if you show up and track your dirt and mud on her floors.” Catie pulled her belt on and cinched it securely at her waist. The variety of weapons hanging from it all looked worn but well-kept and cared for.

  A little boy emerged from the bushes, a smear of dirt on his face that no simple saliva-and-thumb washing would be able to clean away. Catie pressed her lips tight and swallowed the laugh that would burst forth if she did not. It would severely undermine her authority and scolding if she were laughing through the entire ordeal.

  “What on earth are you doing, young man?” Striding across the yard, she came to stand over the boy with her hands planted on her hips, one foot tapping mutely in the grass that was a few days past needing to be cut.

  “Digging,” the youth answered simply.

  “Digging what?” Catie said, just a hint of agitation in her voice. She’d had to almost beg to be given a wall post and being late for a shift was a good way
to be removed. The general rule was that single parents were kept on interior duty. She just could not see working in the jail around idiots or in some other job that would suck the joy of living from her in daily gulps.

  “A hole, mama,” the boy answered as if that had been perfectly obvious.

  Catie opened her mouth and snapped it shut just as quickly. The boy was staring up at her, and in that moment, with the sun on his face at just that angle, she saw his father.

  Instead of scolding him, Catie knelt and opened her arms. The little boy walked forward, pausing twice to look around as if he suspected a trap.

  “Hey, Dreon!” a voice shouted. Catie looked up from the hug to see four men headed her way in wall security uniforms.

  The young men who had become known as the Beastie Boys were now a very experienced group of scouts and fighters. Braden was still the de facto leader and was showing some premature gray that had earned him the nickname of “Gramps” by the others. Louis was still Luigi and no longer bristled at the nickname; in fact, he’d gone so far as to grow out a thick, bushy mustache. Mario, in keeping with the theme had done likewise. Chuck had taken a different route. His hair had begun to thin, so he shaved it off one day. Ever since then, he kept a belt knife handy…and razor sharp.

  “Beasties!” little Kevin squealed, writhing to free himself from his mother’s hug.

  “Hey, little man,” Braden reached down and caught the boy under the arms, hoisting him up and over the fence. “You aren’t going to Granny Abagail’s with that dirt all over you, are you?”

  “No,” the boy giggled. “Mama will clean me up first.”

  “Your mama ain’t got time, child,” another voice piped up. An elderly lady elbowed her way through and put out her arms to accept the suddenly solemn five-year-old from Braden. “And you won’t be stepping foot in my house looking like something the dog tried to bury.”