by S. P. Durnin
Mouth still full of whole grain hoops, Sara unfolded the map she kept in her back pocket and reacquainted herself with her location. She’d stopped for the night on the southern bank of the Red Bluff Reservoir east of Route 285, hoping to remain unnoticed by any of the creatures due to the lack of human habitation in the area. It had worked. Basically. With the exception of one unwanted guest she hadn’t seen a soul, living or dead. And he wasn’t likely to tell anyone. Not with his brains leaking out all over the prickly pears.
It was perhaps forty more miles, and then she’d be able to take a good, long rest. Well, maybe for a day or two. There was surely lots for everyone to do in the South Texas sanctuary to keep it running and zombie-free. Perimeter security, salvage expeditions, most likely a good bit of horticultural responsibilities too. Steak and chicken was nice, but they needed to eat. So if survivors wanted to eat them, they’d have to figure out ways to not only keep those animals alive, but to increase their numbers in a steady manner.
But she’d think about what she’d want as a job after she got there.
Sara refolded the map and, after stuffing it into the back pocket of her jeans again, used an eight by eight inch square she’d cut from a discarded leather jacket she’d found to retrieve her canteen mug off her Esbit. Blowing on the dark liquid to cool it slightly, she took a cautious sip.
Gods below, she thought with a smile, is there anything better first thing in the morning than a hot mug of caffeine-bean infused goodness?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Work on the buses slated to carry Langley’s citizens through the zombie-laden countryside went into high gear.
While Rae and George attached the second generator to the roof of Bus Two, Jake and Sampson attached the plow. The rest of their party tore out the seats of Bus One with Mooney and a few of his more mechanical-minded people. They worked frantically, knowing full well the forty-eight hour deadline when forces from Fort Leonard Wood reached Langley, would arrive far too soon. Mooney’s people helped where they could by lugging away pieces of the buses’ interiors, prepping the few weapons George and the others had supplied them, and bringing him barrel after barrel from the nearby auto shop. Then the two fixers then prepped what George termed “party favors.” The smile on the older man’s face as he spoke was more than a little worrying, and Jake decided he didn’t really need to know what Foster had in mind just that very minute. He’d just lose sleep over it and there was still a lot to do.
The ladies were inside the bus, ripping away with hacksaws, while Jake and Sampson struggled to affix the last bolts of a snowplow blade to the steel cage Rae had welded for it prior on the front, when the Hulk-sized man brought up an uncomfortable subject.
“You know, I was in a relationship when all this started.”
Sampson idly hefted the enormous blade while O’Connor used a ratchet on one of the support bolts. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Alec was a promotions agent for Colts. We’d met two years back at a charity event for the Make A Wish Foundation and hit it off. You wouldn’t believe how many times I wondered how we managed to stay together though…”
“Lots of fights?” Jake cranked away on the lag-bolt.
Henry chuckled. “Nah. I had self-image issues.”
Jake finished with the bolt and moved on to the next. “You? Have you ever looked in a mirror? Speaking as a straight guy here, you’re built man. You were a pro athlete for God’s sake. I’ve seen professional bodybuilders who aren’t as muscular.”
“That may be, but I was pretty insecure in those days.” Sampson’s bowling ball-sized shoulders rippled as he moved the blade higher. “I was still a second-stringer on defense, no family, and—let’s face it—I wasn’t a big for participating in the normal I banged this hottie last night conversations in the locker room like the rest of the team. After Alec and I caught a monster truck rally together, it—”
“I’m sorry. A what?” Jake shook his head and glanced at Henry.
Sampson’s teeth contrasted against his dark skin. “Hey, they’re fun. Have you ever seen what some of those trucks can do?”
“Uh. Okay?”
“I know. Gay guys should all hang out in coffee shops and art galleries, right?” Henry shrugged. “They’re okay I suppose, but come on. Bor-ring! Besides, we were both into physical activity—and no comments from the peanut gallery on that one—sports and things like that. He wasn’t as burly as I am—”
“That’s good,” Jake went back to work on the bolts, “Two guys your size on the same side of the globe would set the planet wobbling.”
“—but Alec had a big heart.” Sampson’s eyes were far away. “That’s why I was attracted to him in the first place. Because of his work with Make A Wish. Anyway. He was in Miami when everything went down.”
O’Connor realized he’d never spoken with the huge man about who he’d lost due to the outbreak. For the most part, the members of Jake’s party didn’t talk about it because few of them had any family still alive prior to the zombies rising. Or any nearby, anyway. Foster’s brother and sister in law—Beatrix’s mother and father—were in California, Rae, Elle, Gwen, and Penny had no living relatives, Leo’s father likely died on Day One and his mother had bailed on them both months prior, and Kat’s Grandparents lived in Japan. Jake himself had a brother somewhere named Edward, but hadn’t heard from him since their parents split when the boys were still quite young. He wondered often if Eddie had managed to survive, but had virtually no hope for ever finding him. There were likely thousands upon thousands of displaced people in the western-most area of the United States comprising the still-distant “Safe Zone,” and a near-infinitesimal chance of ever running into his brother amid so many refugees, even if he were still
alive.
“Do you know what…?”
Henry nodded. “Alec managed to call me on the second day. I have no idea how he got through. I’m pretty sure everybody with a cellphone was doing the same thing at that point. Trying to call their loved ones? He was trapped up in the Espirito Santo Plaza tower with hundreds of other survivors and everyone was freaking out, watching half the city burn. He’d been there to meet with some money-man, from Sony I think, about the company making a charitable donation. They needed good press back then, after that goofy-looking fuck in Korea ordered his web-masterminds to hack their database.”
“I remember. What a douche-bag.” Jake chuckled. “Wasn’t he eaten on live TV?”
“Yep. He tried to take credit for the zombies too, you know, but everyone knew it was bullshit. That guy had head-in-the-ass syndrome if anyone ever did and no brains to speak of. Ol’ Kimmy got chomped ten seconds into his ‘victory’ speech.” Sampson looked decidedly amused at the memory. “Anyway. Someone in Espirito Santo had more than two brain cells because they’d managed to block the stairwells with desks a filing cabinets. The things were breaking through from the lower levels though, working—or stumbling I should say—up the tower. Alec knew he couldn’t escape, but instead of panicking he called to tell me goodbye.”
“That’s... Uh. Really tragic, actually. But thanks for sharing it with me.” Jake finished cranking the last bolt into the support frame and Sampson put his ample strength to work trying to shake the blade. It didn’t so much as quiver. “Look, no offense? I’m really not up for any hashing out any ‘feels’ just now Henry.”
“Hey, I understand. I know you’re all messed up. Show me someone who isn’t after everything that’s happened lately, right? But just between us guys? You’re blowing it.” Sampson released the plow and gave O’Connor the Look. The one that said, You are being a monumental dipshit.
“Huh?”
Henry leaned against the blade. “With Kat. It’s pretty clear the two of you have some unresolved issues. And there’s a damn, good chance we’re all going to end up dead real soon now, so what are you waiting for?”
Since thei
r waterlogged session of heavy petting Jake had been distant with virtually everyone, including Cho, and it was obvious the blue-haired woman didn’t appreciate his new, caviler attitude. While Sampson was the most recent addition to their little party—with the exception of Doc Barker—he was quite observant. He’d never have made it out through the zombie-glutted Indianapolis streets alive if that weren’t the case.
Jake didn’t want to discuss the subject and glared at the larger man. “I’m getting pretty fucking tired of everyone in this group giving me their two cents about my love life.”
“Comes with the whole ‘leader’ moniker. I’d get used to it if I were you.”
“We’ve got more important things to deal with.” Jake lobbed his ratchet onto a nearby worktable someone had rolled out from Mooney’s shop. “Go help George and Rae with whatever the hell it is they’re doing with those barrels if... Dammit... Sorry Henry. It’s just that bad shit seems to happen every time I get close to someone. Every time. It’s like the Powers That Be put a cosmic target on my back and I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
Henry scratched the side of one ebony cheek. “Do you think this way because of Laurel?”
“Yeah. Well, partially. Also a girl I knew while I was bumming around with the SAS. Her name was Molly.” Jake seemed to pull into himself, deflating as irrational anger drained away to be replaced with near-tangible fear. “Even Nichole in part. Oh, don’t get me wrong: She deserved everything Kat gave her in the end, and more. Hell, the intellectual level of the entire human species jumped twenty points with her gone. Smells better too. I just can’t go through it again. Watching somebody I care that much for die...”
As the pair spoke two of Mooney’s people manhandled a set of seats out of the bus, and Henry thought about that. “You know pulling away from everyone is a stupid solution, right? That’ll go over with Kat about as well as a fart in a spacesuit.”
“What choice do I have?” Jake demanded. “The western barricade are reporting increased numbers of those things shambling around over the last twenty-four hours, an overwhelmingly large hostile force—lead by some impressively dangerous and crazy assholes, I might add—will be knocking on our eastern barricade by tomorrow afternoon sometime, we’ve got no real way to hold them off, and we may not be able to run. Now add in the fact that I haven’t been able to sleep more than an hour or so for, oh, the last three months or so. I get the shakes so much... I’m barely holding it together.”
Henry gave him a steady gaze. “You’re doing fine. Trust me.”
“Compared to what?” Jake pulled an American Spirit from his dwindling pack and lit up. “Sitting in the corner, drooling like a vegetable? Already did that one. Flipping out and killing everything in reach? Yeah, did that too. Right after Laurel... Well, you know. I’m telling you, Henry, I can’t deal with much more. I’m not a soldier. I’m not a warrior. I edited cookbooks and novels about space pirates for God’s sake, man—”
That was when Penny—who’d been on guard duty at the western wall—came running into the construction yard with a heavily panting good Dr. Barker in tow.
“Jake! Henry! Come quick!” she yelled. “Zombies at the wall!”
The two men retrieved their weapons from the nearby workbench and began to follow as she took off for the far side of town again, leaving Barker to ride herd on the continuing work. Jake was no slouch when it came to hauling ass at a high rate of speed, and was surprised when Sampson nearly outdistanced him as they began their sprint. In the long haul however, Henry was simply too large to keep pace and O’Connor pulled ahead. By the time the wall came into view Jake was nearly abreast with Penny, and she’d had a good-sized head start, leaving the ex-NFL player to chug along determinedly in their wake.
“How many?” O’Connor demanded as they closed the distance to Langley’s border.
“A hundred maybe, I think?” Penny’s shorter legs churned on steadily, determined not to show weakness in front of him. “There are only five other guards there now, what with most people packing up what little they’ve got to leave tomorrow. I didn’t think trying to raise everyone in mass would be a good idea with so little time to get back, so I came for you two!”
The barricade was right there. “Good choice. If things get interesting we’ll call the Mimi for them to send more help up. Bee’s playing babysitter inside the cab today, so she’ll be near the radio anyway.”
The three huffing survivors mounted Mooney’s plate steel barrier, scrambling up the back of its twelve-foot surface and into the dump truck bed to take in the road beyond. It wasn’t pretty.
Or rather, what stumbled woodenly upon it wasn’t.
Nearly an even hundred zombies, all in varying degrees of rotted degeneration, were within fifty yards of the wall. Yet again, Jake was amazed at how the creatures were able to function in such an awful state. Each had been chewed on in random ways by their killers, some more-so than others. While a few merely had missing bits where a single bite had tuned them into walking maggot-feasts, many displayed catastrophic wounds that would’ve been impossible to survive. Gaping throats torn out by grey teeth, or faces chewed off leaving nothing but bulging, lidless eyes staring from an unrecognizable mass of damage. More had entire limbs missing or gnawed away that ended in ragged stumps coated in a long-dried, crust of blood. Yet others showed jagged ends of broken ribs hovering over empty abdominal cavities where they’d been scooped out like horrible piñatas before reanimation. Jake realized if he lived to be a hundred, he still wouldn’t be numb to the sight of human beings reduced to nothing but meaty husks. Lower than animals. Nothing but slowly decomposing, mindless murder-machines.
Yep. The gods have a really shitty sense of humor. He thought, attempting to shake the chill from his spine when the first creatures began moaning as they drew near the wall. What in the hell could humanity in general have done to deserve this? I wonder what finally pushed the sky-beasts too far. Death camps? Mass graves? Genocide? The Disney Channel?
The Langley defenders were looking understandably nervous when Jake, Penny and Sampson joined them on the barricade. While small by way of comparison to some the crew of the Screamin’ Mimi had encountered, it was the largest concentration Mooney’s people had faced since the day of the outbreak.
“God almighty.” That dropped from the lips of a burly, bearded guy in Carhartt overalls who Jake recognized as one of Mooney’s kitchen staff by the name of Oliver Keen.
“We should call for more help.” One of the other four guards—all female—looked near-panicked.
The remaining three were handling it better, but still wore leery expressions. Both women held AR-15s in steady hands, ready to dish out lead-based solutions to the oncoming dead problems.
They’d done so before. There’d been no choice. Not unlike Jake’s group, there was a real and pronounced difference when it came to the male/female ratio in Langley. This was unfortunately easy to explain. When the dead rose months back, many—not all, but many—men found something long-lost inside themselves. When their families, their children, their mates, were threatened, when everything they loved was in danger of vanishing down the moaning throats of hungry ghouls; even the most unlikely desk jockeys, overlooked cubicle dwellers, and lowly fast food workers had stepped up. They’d put their shoulders against those of the unprepared armed forces and local law enforcement, then proceeded to fight—mostly to their deaths—against the horrors, if only to buy a few more minutes of life for the people they cared about. Even though most would never know of these unlikely heroes—because despite their sacrifice, none had lived to morn them—it was their finest hour. For a few moments, they’d become the men they’d always dreamed of being. They’d stood unflinching against hopeless odds, knowing they weren’t going to see another sunrise, and gone down fighting.
Their loved ones who did survive, and even strangers who’d never known their names, came away from
witnessing such bravery forever changed. Wives, girlfriends, aunts, even grandmothers in some cases, when faced with no alternative, transformed into frightful defenders. The “mother” instinct inherent to the female half of humanity was always a sight to behold and—if one had any sense at all—feared, so when it came time for them to take up arms, females proved just as able and dangerous as males. More-so in some cases. Many went to their local gun range on a regular basis, to keep from throttling their husbands/boyfriends for their bad habits prior to the Apocalypse. Not rinsing out their coffee mugs, aversions to vacuum cleaners, leaving the toilet seat up... Things like
that.
“Everybody calm down.” Jake wanted to nip any potential panic in the bud, before it spread to the other members of the town’s guard force. “There’s eight of us, we’re reasonably safe up here, and those things are dumb as turnips.”
To emphasize the fact and stiffen the guard’s spines, O’Connor—followed by Sampson and Penny—took a knee, readying his weapon.
While he normally carried an M-4 beyond Langley’s borders, the unruly-haired man currently only had his crowbar and go-to Hammer pistol that traveled with him everywhere. The Hammer—as George dubbed it—stood for “high-impact, mulch-caliber repeater” and was the most vicious looking handgun Jake had ever seen. The weapon weighed a good five pounds, had air vents all along the slide, could fire .45 slugs or any 12 gauge ammo from the large over/under barrels, and the upper one was compatible with the silencer Foster had custom made. While it only held ten rounds and was accurate to just fifty yards: if it bled, the double action Hammer could kill it.
Either that, or make whatever you shot hurt so bad it’d wish it was dead.