Legacy of the Living

by Sean Liebling

  "Of course they hurt, you dumbass!" Larry was totally exasperated with Rod. This time his show-off attitude almost got him killed, and not just him. Jaime had taken heroic chances to drive the zombies back enough for the others to save Rod’s ignorant ass. "We are so having that talk after they fix you up," Larry finished by growling at him as Jaime helped Rod up behind him.

  Back at the high school, they drove right up through the main steel double-door entrance and coasted to a stop, shutting their engines off. Their girls were there and helped the kids off the back of the bikes. Cynthia immediately started chewing Rod's ass in language harsh enough to make even Larry cringe, who realized maybe he wouldn't have to berate him too much later after all. He chuckled slightly as he watched her drag Rod off by one wounded arm and Larry was positive it was not by mistake that her fingers were dug into one of his bite wounds as he limped as fast as he could to keep up.

  "They're getting more numerous, Bill." Bill had come up to get a situation report of the outside like he always did, and Larry filled him in. Bill was their joint leader, along with Larry. As the Kent City Manager, Bill’s skills were in people organization and community services, like food, water and shelter. He had no clue when it came to tactics and resistance to the zombie suckers and knew it. That was Larry's job and they got along great. Each had his part and they never argued, because both recognized the superior skills of the other.

  "Grand Rapids you're thinking?"

  "Yeah, probably, or Sparta, or Greenville perhaps. I didn't have time to check IDs on them, we had survivors. Kids."

  "I saw." Bill was nodding thoughtfully. "How many survivors do you think might be left?"

  "I have no clue but some. More come in every day. We found these two. Probably the only reason they let us know they were there is because they ran out of easy eats."

  "Yes, well, there is plenty of food out there. Newaygo was right on that one. We just have to get to it. The farm crews are bringing in tons and I had one of the guys block heat off from the last four classrooms for storage. Soon we'll have enough to get through the winter with some left over. We can hit all the houses up after snow is on the ground when the zombies move the slowest, just as we discussed."

  They had discussed that. Newaygo's approach was to hit the houses now, along with the farms, but Kent City just did not have the manpower to do all that. Still, Bill was adamant on not joining Newaygo until they knew more about who was leading them.

  "Did you listen to Newaygo's broadcast yet?" Larry was always curious about what Newaygo had to say. They had good shortwave and the military people with them were also getting stuff off the satellites from other places. The daily broadcasts from Newaygo, which cycled continuously, were a godsend to their survival.

  "Yes. More developments on the zombies. They also had some big battle with them last night. They're reporting marauders, so we need to watch out." Larry was nodding. He would listen to the broadcast himself tonight because they recorded it so everyone could hear the news from the outside world. "Oh, and crazy preachers." Bill gave a recount of some preacher that actually was preaching end of times, hate and racism. Larry could give a shit. He had no use for God even though he believed in a Divine Power. He just figured that Divinity was on vacation right now.

  "Anything else?"

  "Yes, about pawn shops and a few other things. You'll hear it all later like you normally do. You going back out?"

  "We have to. We'll be one man short while Rod is getting fixed in the fender shop but we need more supplies. We didn't even get half done before that stupid shit got stupid again."

  "I told you days ago. We should replace him. He takes too many chances and puts people at risk!" Bill was getting angry, which was actually saying something. Bill was the most easygoing guy Larry had ever met.

  "Look Bill. I know this conversation. Let's not have it again. I'll give him one more chance and that's it, I promise!"

  "You said that the last time."

  "Yeah I did. Let me handle this. It's my job."

  "Alright. I agree, it is your job, so do your job Larry." Then Bill was stalking off. Larry sighed and signaled to Jaime, who was recounting his jumping and saving exploits to some of the ladies. Jaime was the only single guy amongst them, having gone through a divorce a couple years back and not remarried yet. Jaime gave off his recounting after giving one of the women a kiss, and hurried over. Larry waited a few seconds for Bruce to join them then started talking.

  "We're going out again, boys. We'll use a different pattern this time. No show-offs. Let's just do this right!" The others nodded and all turned to push their four-wheelers out through the main entrance again before starting them.

  *****

  George gasped for breath as he pulled his niece and nephew through the woods. They were almost to the city where there would be more housing that was free of the undead creatures. They had been running this time for several hours and the kids were all tuckered out and were begging him to stop for sleep. However, they couldn't sleep yet. First, they had to get to safety.

  At six-foot two-inches and two hundred pounds, he was considered a big man by most. His shaggy hair and baggy clothing belied a well-muscled physique earned from almost forty-two years of hard farming. At the moment he was wielding an iron feed shovel as he crushed the skull of yet another undead creature that rushed them. They had over a dozen still following them even though George had killed at least thirty on their break from the farmhouse. They had to leave as more and more of the creatures had shown up. First, these things had attacked the barn animals. The horses he was able to let out of the corral to run, and half the cows were in the pasture. Only the milking cows had been in the barn and milking parlor when the dead people attacked them.

  George and his family had held out for six days, but in the end the creatures had attacked the house, and his brother and sister-in-law perished quickly while trying to hold them off as George ran with his niece and nephew. George had wanted to stay in their place while the others ran for it, but Larry could only limp, and slowly, as a result of a tractor accident as a teen that had shattered his leg. Sue refused to leave her husband, so that was that. George had tied a rope to both ends of a feed shovel, and after throwing it over his back, grabbed both kids, one under each arm, and ran for it just as fast as his legs would move.

  The first farmhouse they had hidden in had been a bad choice. Though none of the creatures had been visible when they entered, they soon found out that night that over a hundred had been hiding in the barns. As soon as twilight descended, the house had been attacked. George was forced to grab the kids up again and run for it. That first night they spent in the woods, cold and miserable. George had been afraid to light a fire so had buried the children in piles of leaves, then curled his body around them for warmth.

  Somehow, the damn things found the three of them hiding in the woods, and again they were attacked. Now they were running again and George hadn't slept in three days. He was beyond exhausted. The homes were in sight but he feared it was too late.

  "Lisa, Tommy, run! The homes are straight ahead. Find one unlocked and hide. I'll find you!" George shouted as he turned to meet the undead, shovel ready. At almost thirty pounds and made of solid extruded iron, the shovel had a wide flattened head and a long thick shaft. It was a deadly weapon in the right hands and George wielded it like a fencer. He could easily bench three hundred and fifty pounds, so thirty was like using a feather.

  The shovel whistled through the air and impacted the foremost undead in the side of the head. George watched as the skull flattened to half its normal thickness, then his attention was drawn elsewhere. He stepped forward twice, then spun in place to bring the shovel down on another to his right, flattening its head completely while reddish-grey brains squirted out the sides. Instantly he wielded the shovel sideways, bringing the iron handle forward to crush the face in of the next zombie, then slammed into the next two while shoving them back.

  He didn't wait
for them. He took the fight to them! He could only trust that his niece and nephew had obeyed him as he strode into the horde’s midst, swinging left and right. One of the monsters got too close and fastened its teeth on his arm. He growled and dropped the shovel, reached around and gripped it by the chin while twisting, turning the head around more than one hundred and eighty degrees, then picked the limp body up and threw it at the others. He felt two more jump on his back as he bent to pick the shovel up again and ignored them. Teeth bit into his shoulder, another pain he ignored. He hunched his head so they could not get to his neck as he howled in fury and attacked them anew.

  Then they had him down as five or six piled on top of him at once. The weight was too much for him to support and he collapsed, but he wasn't done fighting yet. Oh, hell no. His kin depended on him and they were too young to make it on their own. With another roar he kicked two off him as they ripped bloody chunks from his flesh. Then he was twisting the head of the one directly over him with her teeth fastened in his cheek. He grimaced as he felt his skin rip loose but didn't worry about it. He could survive this. He twisted her head around, breaking the spine, and tossed her aside. Then he lay on his back and took them one at a time. It was actually easier this way as there was only room for three or four on him at a time. He was bitten, and bit back. He didn't care. It was them or him and his niece and nephew needed him.

  With a groan, he finished the last and staggered to his feet. Christ, he was hurting. He had more bites than he could count, and loose flaps of skin hung through his clothing. The ripped fold of his cheek he carefully laid back in place as best he could. Now to find the children. He limped off in the direction of the houses, his head moving from left to right continuously looking for more of the bastards.

  *****

  Chapter 3

  DAY 8: 0900 ET FRIDAY NOVEMBER 11TH

  Fridaddy lowered the blade of the bulldozer and dug a six-inch scoop of earth over a sixty-foot long stretch to dump on the house he had just caved in on all four sides. The work crews had learned early on that many homes had basements, and you had to be careful about running straight through a building as you would probably find yourself windshield deep in a pit. It was also a bitch and a half to drag a dozer out of a basement, and half the time they had been forced to dig a trench for it to climb up out of the depression.

  Jay, or Fridaddy as his friends called him, was a big man at five-feet-ten-inches and two hundred thirty pounds. Stout armed with a barrel chest, his shaved head made him look younger than his current fifty years of age. He paused as he gauged how much more dirt would be needed to finish the fill, and took advantage of the brief respite to remove his black wire-frame glasses and wipe a rag over his face and white mustache. Possibly three more passes, he thought, and settled his ski cap tighter over his skull in the forty-two degree weather. Then he pulled on the levers, directing the bulldozer backwards.

  Bulldozing was not the worst thing he’d ever done in his life, and by far, not the best. He did feel underutilized at the moment because he was a sheriff’s deputy by occupation, but so far he had been on crews that gathered supplies, buried zombie bodies, and now he was a home wrecker. Fridaddy chuckled to himself thinking of the last, as back in California he had responded to his share of domestic disputes. Still, all in all Newaygo wasn’t a bad place, and probably better than Oakland right now, as no word at all was getting out from most of the state. He was just glad Nat and Kim were here with him and not there alone by themselves.

  Earlier that month the three of them had decided to visit Kim’s sister in Grant, Michigan, and were there when everything went to pieces. She hadn’t seen her sister in almost five years and they felt a nice little vacation was in order. Fridaddy had put in for two weeks’ vacation and they drove cross-country to see Kim’s sister and maybe take a tour of the locks by Niagara Falls. At least that had been their original plan. That plan had lasted all of two days, and he never expected to be running around, guns blazing and saving people while zombies were trying to eat everything in sight. He was just really damn glad he had packed his Sig Sauer P226R .357 Magnum and some of his other weapons in the trunk of their 2005 Mustang. Nat had the AR-15 while Kim was carrying the Mossberg 590 and Kel Tec 9mm. He wasn‘t too worried about either of his girls as they were excellent marksmen. Right now the Sig was tucked in his belt under his coat. When everything fell in the crapper he had quickly switched his on duty grips out for his Crimson Trace Laser grips and TRL-1 weapon light. It provided him a nighttime accuracy that was unimaginable to most, and the light was freakin’ handy when clearing out zombies from a house. It was bulky though, so he kept it behind his belt against his muscled stomach instead of in the holster he had for it. Maybe tonight he would get around to modifying the leather to accept the modified P226 and he was glad they had plenty of .357 Magnum ammunition on hand.

  Lost in thought, he was surprised when he suddenly realized he had dumped the remaining loads of dirt into the basement, creating quite a little hill. With a grunt, he slammed the levers forward, raising the blade and tracking right over the mound, flattening it out. Several passes later he was satisfied, and pulling back on the right lever, he tracked in that direction with the left treads spinning and headed to the next house in line. Coming closer he noticed it was typical for this block, which meant run down in the extreme and badly in need of basic maintenance. Then he noticed a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney and slowed the dozer down to an idle.

  Thing is, there shouldn‘t be any smoke coming from it. All these houses had been cleared days ago by other crews and had nothing of value left in them. His deputy instincts came alive as he saw a curtain move in the window closest to him. Frowning even harder, he shut the bulldozer off and stepped down after a quick look for zombies. Damn things were still popping up even though gun crews were out eliminating them. Pulling out the kindle his work orders were uploaded on, he double-checked the house number against the map and secondary list he was given. It was the right house, but it was supposed to be cleared out and empty. He turned, looking for his foreman, and spotting him near the road hollered.

  “Randy!”

  Randy looked up from the demolition he was causing to a row of mailboxes and lowered his sledgehammer. “What’s up?” he shouted back.

  “Come here, would you?” Fridaddy waited patiently for Randy to run up to him. His eyes never left the house and he had already loosened the Sig under his belt, making sure it wouldn’t hang up on his shirt. He spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Instincts are in hyper drive, Randy. Smoke’s coming out the chimney and this house should be deserted.”

  “What? Shit, you’re right. Maybe the original homeowners reoccupied it. What do you think?” Randy had learned to trust Fridaddy’s instincts, as the first house they’d broken down had erupted with more zombies than you could shake a stick at. Fucking bastards were hiding everywhere, just waiting for a meal to walk by.

  “Doesn‘t feel right, man. Just a gut feel. Somebody’s in there. I saw a curtain move.”

  “Well then it ain’t zombies. Let’s go check it out.”

  “Get on the radio first and call it in.”

  “Right.” Randy was busy for a few seconds talking to Miguel whom Fridaddy actually liked. Cool dude who had it together. Miguel had a hell of a wife also. “Alright, they’re sending a team out but he gave me permission to check it. He thinks it might be another homeowner returning to his or her place. Come on!” With that Randy led the way and Fridaddy followed slowly after pulling his .357 out, holding it low against his thigh partial hidden behind him. This didn’t feel right at all. Then they were on the porch and he could smell chemicals he never thought to smell in Newaygo.

  “Randy, back up, man. This is bad.”

  “What? Why?” Randy banged on the door with his fist, his hunting rifle slung across his back.

  “Back up man. Now! Let’s wait for reinforcements. Meth lab, man.” Fridaddy knew all about the smell of c
rack and meth labs. The pungent odors of acetone, bleach, and ammonia permeated the air. Enough chemicals to make your eyes water, and even outside in the light breeze it was bad enough to make him breath shallowly. He stepped sideways, bringing his automatic up, dreading what he suspected was about to happen.

  “Randy! Back away ma...” It was too late to warn Randy again, as a shotgun blast roared while splinters of wood erupted from the door directly in front of Randy. In slow motion, Fridaddy saw his new friend blown backwards with a hole in his chest big enough to put your fist through, and then he was crouching low and firing. Swinging in, he fired three through the hole, then sprang to his feet and kicked the door in as another shotgun blast went off. He barely felt the pellets as they tore through the coat sleeve over his left arm, and instantly fired three more times at the figure now revealed, crouching just inside the building. The Magnum rounds hit the perp in a spread V pattern. Two in the chest, and the third directly in the face. He went down hard. Fridaddy was inside the house, shifting sideways and hugging the wall so he wouldn’t be silhouetted in the open doorway, then firing again at the dirtbag who popped up in the doorway of the room just ahead, for a stringy dirtbag he was. An older man, maybe in his fifties and rail thin with a scraggly beard, but with meth addicts it was really hard to tell because he might only be thirty after all. Drugs had a habit of aging their users prematurely.

  Automatic weapons fire rang out, and Fridaddy watched as a line of holes appeared in the wall opposite him, headed his way. Diving to the floor, he rolled sideways until he came to an abrupt stop against the couch beside that wall, then low crawled to the opposite entrance out of the room, his gun out, ready, and pointed forward. Another dirtbag popped into view with what looked like an AK-47 held in his hands and a wild look in his eyes. Fridaddy put two jacketed rounds through his chest and a third in his skull as the vermin was falling. Without hesitation, he crawled over the body, ignoring the stench emanating from it, into what appeared to be a short hallway with another doorway almost immediately to his left. A refrigerator was in view inside that room, so that was the kitchen obviously. He rose to his knees, his eyes wide with adrenaline rush, and fell into the opening, his gun thrust forward again.