Legacy of the Living

by Sean Liebling

  "Great! I needed some good news, Steve. What else? Fill me in."

  "Well the radio station is top notch. Ready to rock and roll ... as soon as Corporal Rider gets her stuff ready we can broadcast. I powered the generator up after refilling it and I think everything works. It's too advanced for me though. Not sure what I'm looking at half the time."

  At this point, I became worried again. I had specifically asked about two things in Fremont that were of vital importance. The radio station had completely skipped my mind. My bad.

  "Steve. Focus on the hospital. You’re avoiding it. What's up?"

  "Sir … it's gone."

  I blinked and tried to refocus at these words of his. "Define gone!"

  "Burned to the ground, sir. Completely gone. Just a shell remains."

  "Why? Any idea?"

  "There are a lot of dead bodies around it. Lots of police cars. Most of the walls on all four stories are blown outward. So there was an internal explosion, obviously. I haven't taken residue samples but at a guess, perhaps an oxygen explosion given that it was a hospital."

  "FUCK!"

  I couldn't talk, as my throat had locked up with the news. I bowed my head for a moment and thought of Dr. Mansk's words from just a few minutes earlier. Well hell, I guess it was going to be Muskegon, sooner than I intended. I turned to LSS.

  "Get together whatever you need for the 1300 AM broadcast. I want you there today, and put it on loop. Any way we can update it from here?"

  "I'm not sure. It depends on whether they have satellite uplink or not. If they do and I can find the passwords or hack it, then yes. I won't know until I get there. We also have a portable satellite uplink I might be able to modify to feed right."

  "The recording is ready and updated, right?"

  "Yes sir."

  "Get with Major Weston or Master Sergeant Trask. The sooner we're broadcasting the better, so get it done."

  I stomped out. I wasn't in the mood for anything and saw that my LSS sensed that, keeping it strictly professional. Then my tactical ear bud went off. The crew was back from Croaton Dam. That was also information I needed to know, and now. I headed to my office where they were waiting for me.

  *****

  Gerald grabbed the empty leather wood sling and opened the door to his woodshed. Each afternoon he refilled the stand next to his wood stove, making sure he had enough wood to last the night. He did everything by order. First thing in the morning, it was taking care of the chickens and hogs, then milking the goats. A break from small farm labor came next when he took his axe and machete and went hunting critters. There were always a few around but his remote location kept them to a minimum.

  He had a forty-acre homestead ten miles north of Hardy Dam, in backwoods country with few neighbors. His closest was Debra, who had the homestead next to his. She was a sweet gal he had designs on, which is why he had planted extra herbs this last summer. She loved her herbal teas, and while Gerald preferred a strong cup of coffee, he also realized that it was the coffee that was constipating him more often than not. He hated getting old but he had led a pretty good life, even though he had never married or had kids. All he really needed now to make his retirement complete was a companion that shared his interests, including warming his bed upon occasion. Debra fit that picture.

  When the world as they knew it finally came to an end, he was OK with that. He sat for hours listening to the radio and CB broadcasts. Then Debra had arrived at his door, scared, and they held each other as they continued to listen. They talked all night about what they should do. Should they try to make it to one of the closer cities? Or perhaps pack up the truck and head deeper into the woods? In the end they elected to stay right where they were. If the critters made it this far in large enough numbers to overwhelm them … then so be it.

  Lately they had been hearing the broadcasts out of Newaygo. There was always chatter on the CB, but Newaygo also gave out information. Good information, which Gerald had already used, like the kerosene which would disguise a human's scent. It actually worked, and now he kept a large flask of it in his jacket so it would go wherever he went. He and Debra had discussed going to Newaygo. It was only twenty minutes away by truck. Not far at all, and word was there were a lot of people already gathered there. The big cities were deserted of living, breathing people. Only these critters remained. Maybe tomorrow they would head south. They had agreed to make a decision tonight.

  Gerald set the satchel of wood on the wagon next to the other he had earlier filled, and turned back to secure the woodshed door. On the third day of the world ending he had forgotten, and one of the critters had hidden in it during the night. It was a good thing his axe was always on him also. He grabbed the wagon's handle and stretched, working the kinks out of his back. He had split wood for an hour to replace what they had burned during the previous week, and couldn't wait to get back. He had left Debra reading by the picture window in his living room. She was a great gal.

  The woodshed was set back almost two hundred yards from his house, and the path wound through the woods in a half-moon shape that curved around his garden. Only four acres planted this last year, and half of that in herbs, but they would have to do at least five or more when spring came again.

  Gerald rounded the corner of the trail and the house came into sight. A tiny wisp of smoke was curling from the chimney and there was a light on inside. Debra must have lit one of his kerosene lamps, he guessed. He had plenty of kerosene though so he wasn't worried. Then he paused as he saw his chickens pecking at the dirt around the front porch. He kept his chickens in an enclosed pen just so they wouldn't get loose, and Debra knew this. His head swiveled to the left and took everything in at a glance: a gaping rent in the barbed wire fencing on his eastern property line, then another through the side of the chicken fencing. Then he saw the muddy footprints in the churned up earth leading to the house. His heart sank as he dropped the handle to the wood wagon and hefted his axe. He approached the house cautiously and called out.

  "Debra!" He waited a few seconds and called out again louder. "Debra, answer me, this is important!"

  No answer. His heart sank further as he walked to the steps. It was afternoon with the sun over his shoulder, so he couldn't see inside through the picture window. He knew what he would probably find, though, and steeled himself. With a set expression on his face, he turned the knob, opened the front door and took a step into the interior. It was dark and gloomy but he could see the couch where Debra lay by the light of the tiny lantern above it, or what was left of Debra. Most of the flesh had been stripped from her and the couch was dark red from her blood.

  Gerald felt the tears well in his eyes at the loss of the last woman he would ever love, and then heard the shuffling of many feet behind him. He raised his axe one last time and turned to meet them, his face hardening with vengeance.

  *****

  I finally made it to my office to find both of the retired engineers there. They were seated in two armchairs and had smiles on their faces, which I assumed was a good thing. God, I needed good news right now. I shook their hands as I sat down across from them.

  "Gentlemen. Thanks for getting back so quickly. Please tell me you have good news." I was practically begging, as I really needed some good news right now. In no way were we ready to go to Muskegon. Not with a possible million plus zombies running around.

  "Governor, good news and hard news, but that's good also." Rory was the first to speak. He was a retired Mechanical Engineer from Gerber. Being close to eighty, he was feeling more useful than he had in over two decades. In fact both engineers were appeared to have shed twenty years of old age from them, just by being needed again and appreciated. I had found that most of our surviving retirees felt the same. They were valuable assets to our new community and greatly enjoyed the attention.

  "Well tell me before you forget, Rory!" Yes, I was the impatient sort.

  "I may be old, Jay but I'm not that old," the old man snorted. I was really gett
ing impatient by now and waved for him to continue.

  "As you suspected, the main drive shaft to the generators was removed. The flue diversion gate, or wicket gate as it's actually called, is also stuck in closed position, meaning the water is bypassing the turbines. That gate will have to be replaced. It's steel and completely rusted. The turbines themselves spin fine, as do the generators. They were properly cared for, thank God, but the entire assembly will need a thorough PM … ahem, that’s ‘preventive maintenance’ … before we can reattach the main shaft and open the new wicket gates we'll have to install. We can close those main flues one at a time while we do so, and I've already drawn up a schematic on exactly what we'll need to manufacture. I understand you have some priority attached to this for the machine shop at Sand Mold?"

  "Yes, this has top priority next to the safety of the city of course. How long until it's functional?" I responded.

  "Good, then I'll close the first set of water gates and start the diversion. I have a crew that can remove the old wicket gates, but we can only do one at a time unless you want the dam to overflow. I would say once we have the new gates built to my specifications, probably a day to change each one. We'll do the PM for each at the same time. It's old but very good equipment that's in excellent condition."

  "So we'll have power in four to five days then?" I inquired.

  "Depends, for that I refer you to my esteemed colleague here," he waved a hand to the other older man sitting next to him.

  Bob Brown, like Rory, was a retired engineer. In Bob's case, he had retired from CP&L almost fifteen years ago as an Electrical Engineer, and at seventy-five was the younger of the two. I considered myself lucky as hell to have them both.

  "Alright Governor, as Rory indicated, the machinery is in excellent condition and can be brought online fairly quickly. There is a problem though." He paused, and I tried to refrain from pushing him. Bob was the methodical kind of person that took his time, but spoke clearly and to the point. I was successful in not interrupting him, but barely.

  "The problem is the amount of power generation the dam is capable of. The facility is not actually a hydroelectric plant but instead what we call a station. I examined it carefully and the output is rated at approximately two hundred megawatts, which is more than enough for the Newaygo area."

  "OK, so if it's more than enough, and honestly it sounds like a lot, then why is it a problem?"

  "Because if we close the grid switches it will feed the entire network in the state. Maybe even beyond the state. In addition, there are quite a few electrical poles down in Newaygo; these will have to be cut out and replaced. My guys will have to pull any cutouts not feeding areas we want power to or the breakers will kick out at the station, and I only have six linemen."

  "OK I get it. Pull all the cutouts we don’t need and replace the poles. How will it take to do all that?"

  "With six men, about a month."

  "We don't have a month. We need power now. I'll ask again and remind you the entire grid is down and most normal safety precautions don't apply. There are also hundreds of volunteers that can give them a hand. This is not a union job, it's survival."

  "I get that, Governor. Maybe by week's end then. We won't have power to everything, but most of Newaygo, yes."

  "Thank you gentlemen. Draw any manpower you need from Miguel. This has absolute priority next to the safety of the city." I rose, dismissing them, and they got the hint.

  *****

  DAY 8: 1600 ET FRIDAY NOVEMBER 11TH

  Johnny smiled as Samson put the Gimp Brigade through their paces. They were actually amazingly quick and accurate. Samson had joined them in a powered wheelchair instead of his usual manual model and they were zipping back and forth across the grounds faster than many people could run.

  A few days ago, Samson had come to Johnny with the idea of a quick response team to use the shotguns they had. Those that could swing a club were already on the wall in shifts, but too often, an incursion would occur, like the last one that Dr. Rossi had created. Johnny had to constantly remind himself that there were too many academics on staff and that most, like Rossi, lacked fundamental common sense.

  The two of them had gone to Whit, their resident maintenance man and fellow disabled. Whit had come up with a solution. Out of parts from the prosthetics lab, he had fashioned a framework that would support the shotguns on half a dozen of the fastest wheel chairs. The people operating them only had to point their wheelchairs and shoot. There was a quite a bit of vertical and horizontal adjustment available to them which made it even better. They had six automatic shotguns and all six were being used. Whit and Samson had even fashioned handmade extender tubes for them. The only thing that limited them was the lack of ammunition. Between Samson, the other vets, and a few of the soldiers, they only had a few hundred rounds and they were saving them for emergencies. Johnny was watching as they raced once again to the location of the last outbreak. The guppies were pressing hard there almost without letup, just waiting for the survivors to let their guard down again. They weren't smart, but they were clever, and Johnny guessed that they were aware enough to realize what worked once might work again.

  "What are you doing?" Dr. Rossi had snuck up on him.

  "Using our new Gimp Brigade QRF."

  "QRF?"

  "Quick Reaction Force, Doctor Rossi."

  "You can't use people like that!" Dr. Rossi appeared to be on the verge of having apoplexy.

  "Like what?" Johnny was totally confused now.

  "These people with muscular sclerosis, and stroke patients. They can't handle the physical demands, and need to remain in special care!"

  Johnny looked at the doctor and held his breath while counting to ten but he exploded anyways.

  "They are people too, you dipshit! Perhaps you've been asleep this last week but they've been doing it. These special needs people you refer to have kept this rehab center safe for the last eight days."

  "The soldiers..."

  "Screw you Doc! The soldiers are all dead, except for two. Go back inside and give one of the critical care nurse's a massage or something. Or perhaps you could actually do something useful like make sure the babies are okay." Johnny was fuming and he raised his sword cane in a threatening manner. He saw Rossi back off then turn and run away, a frightened look on his face. Samson rolled up at that moment and looked at him.

  "You do realize you shout really loud right?" Samson asked, a broad grin on his face.

  "Screw you too, Samson. I'm a little pissed right now. How do people that stupid breed, anyway?"

  "Money, fearless leader. Most come from rich families and buy their pussy, even their wives. Of course, you wouldn't want the stuff most of their wives have. Have you actually looked at some of their wives?" Samson pointed at Doctor Rossi's retreating back.

  Johnny could not help it and started laughing. Samson joined him.

  *****

  DAY 8: 2100 ET FRIDAY NOVEMBER 11TH

  "You win again, Paul." I smiled at my six-year-old as he clapped his hands and nudged his older sister Clarissa, who pushed him back. I had taken the entire evening off to spend time with the kids. Damn it, I missed the hell out of them. We were currently playing Go Fish. Before that, it had been War and Scrabble. The Scrabble game did not last long as Paul's written vocabulary was limited and he became frustrated easily. However, he loved the other games.

  "Daddy, I'm good at this game." He was very proud of his winning streak. Usually it was the other way around, with Clarissa winning most of them. The end result was often a fight, with Paul sulking and refusing to play after awhile. Personally, I suspected she was letting him win this time, which was very nice of her.

  "You sure are, little man of mine."

  "When is mommy coming back, Dad? I really miss her and I'm worried." Clarissa asked and Paul immediately stopped moving while he listened. He also had been asking me multiple times a day where mommy was and why wasn't she here with us. I gave the stock answer.
<
br />   "Soon baby. Real soon. She's just finishing up at the hospital and will join us when she can. They have many sick people you know. Right Paul?" I tried to engage him in the conversation also in a faint hope it would provide a distraction to what I knew he was currently thinking.

  "Okay, well I hope she's here tomorrow or the next day. One more game Daddy?" Paul was still jumping up and down in excitement. I laughed at his antics and nodded my head, relieved that the crises was temporarily over.

  "Of course, one more game."

  Paul immediately started shuffling the cards, which to a six-year-old usually meant flipping them all over face down and just swishing them around. It was all good and I was enjoying myself tremendously with little Emma sitting in my lap as we all sat cross-legged on the rug in their bedroom.

  Jean was sitting behind me, giving me a backrub which felt great, and my eyes were already drooping. I was also horny though. Really horny in fact, as I had been neglecting my girls of late, and myself. I reached behind me where the kids couldn't see and tried to feel one of her huge breasts, but I felt her lean back, teasing me. Too funny, but I would get that good stuff she had in a little bit.

  I thought back, remembering the later parts of my day. LSS had gotten the radio station broadcasting and had even managed to wire in one of her portable satellite uplinks, so we had communications with it, and did not need to go there daily. The only bad news was that the generator at the station would only hold enough fuel for three days. We had started broadcasting immediately and would ensure constant changes in the format and news updates as we received them. I had an idea for that also. I wanted to make it all about community.

  I had discussed my idea in-depth with my staff. We would do a total release on everything we knew about the zombies and what was happening in our area. Sure, some wanted to keep our defenses and combined offensive and defensive strengths private, which I totally agreed with. However, I had in mind something a bit different. I envisioned a government that actually told the people the truth and only held back information that pertained to immediate regional security interests. In that, they mostly agreed. LSS was the logical choice for the broadcaster as her voice was beautiful. Earlier we had taped a couple of segments with me, Major Weston and Rosita and we told it like it was. Not only did we offer hope for a better future, but we also offered sane, common sense solutions to everything from food gathering to security. We were already doing much of this in our CB and satellite broadcasts, but I wanted to reach as many people as possible. We were all in this together and I wanted the human race to win. We would win!