Zombie Rules (Book 5): Mount Weather

by David Achord

  My first instinct was to continue stomping both of them until there was no life left. And, in fact, I’d started to raise a foot but caught sight of a couple of people watching me. The look on their faces stopped me. I took a few deep breaths, trying to regain control of the raw hostility coursing through my veins.

  “Zach,” Raymond cried in exasperation.

  I looked at him angrily. “I just caught these two little shits breaking into my trailer,” I declared.

  “Uh, yeah, okay,” Raymond replied. He looked puzzled, conflicted.

  “Alright, I suppose you people lock criminals up around here. Get on your radio and call for the police.” I didn’t wait for a response, jumped in the trailer, and found a roll of five-fifty cord. Jumping back to the ground, I tied their wrists tightly behind their backs. Standing, I stared at them. I turned to Raymond, who continued standing there, unmoved.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “We don’t have any police here, Zach. No jail either.”

  I stared at him. “No jail?”

  He shook his head.

  No police, no jail. I sighed angrily.

  “Then I’m going to kill them,” I said as I opened my lock-blade knife. The girl, who’d regained some of her senses, paled in fear.

  Raymond stepped closer. “As much as I understand the sentiment, I don’t think you should kill them,” he said in a quiet steadying voice. He pointed at the two thieves. “Those two are the son and daughter of Senator Rhinehart from Ohio. You kill them, there’ll be repercussions.”

  My stare turned to a hard glare. Raymond’s expression was serious, somber. I didn’t like it, but I understood what he was saying. He was right. I knew it.

  “Yeah, I believe you,” I said. “It’s total bullshit, if you ask me.”

  He shrugged again. I looked around, and spotted a tree a few feet away.

  “I believe I have an idea though. Keep an eye on them, will you?” I asked and walked over to the tree. Inspecting it for a moment, I found a suitable branch, cut it off, and skinned the leaves. Some people saw it as nothing more than a branch I’d skinned with my knife; others would have correctly induced it was a switch.

  I whipped it through the air a couple of times, letting it make that all too familiar sound as I approached the two miscreants. They were both conscious now, and were staring at me angrily. But, they couldn’t hide the fear in their eyes. I gave a small, hard smile.

  “Raymond here has told me nothing much is going to happen to you two,” I said.

  The man spit blood. “Oh, you got that right, but I can’t wait to see what happens to you when our father finds out what you’ve done.”

  “Yeah, I bet. Well, if this happened anywhere else, you’d already be dead.”

  “That’d be the biggest mistake you ever made,” he declaimed.

  “You’re probably right,” I said, all the while keeping my smile. “But, you two are going to remember this day for a long time.”

  I then twisted him around, grabbed a handful of his belt and lifted him off of the ground. He howled in pain as I put the switch to his backside, and when it was sister’s turn, she screamed even louder. I could have whipped them all day, but stopped after a minute. When I was finished, I looked over at Raymond, who was nervously grinning from ear to ear.

  “Holy moly,” he exclaimed. His grin disappeared when he saw a golf cart approach.

  “Here comes the father,” he said with concern.

  I recognized him immediately. Senator William Rhinehart. Hemorrhoid man.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted as he walked over to the boy and began trying to untie him. I grabbed him roughly and jerked him away. He glared at me, like he was not a man to be trifled with. He took a step toward me, and I responded by readying my switch. He froze.

  “Zach has caught your children breaking into his trailer,” Raymond said.

  I nodded at his statement and noticed several people were joining us now. Some were pointing and grinning, while others frowned and looked concerned.

  I gestured toward them with the switch. “I don’t know how things work around here, but when I catch someone stealing from me, don’t expect much mercy.”

  The boy and girl were lying there, writhing in agony, and glaring at me with hatred in their eyes, but they were too afraid to voice any objection.

  “They’re lucky I didn’t cut their fucking heads off and stick them on a pole,” I growled.

  “My children are not criminals,” the senator said with an air of contempt.

  “You’d be incorrect, Senator,” Raymond said. “They’ve been caught red-handed.” He looked around at the crowd of people. “We’ve had a rash of things being stolen lately, right? I think we’ve found the culprits.”

  “Stay out of this, Raymond,” the senator admonished.

  “If you’ll take the time to look, you’ll see a pair of bolt cutters and a cut padlock,” I said.

  “We didn’t do it, Dad,” the male thief said. “That padlock was already cut.” His sister readily nodded in agreement.

  The senator, Daddy, looked at me to say, see, I told you so. I shook my head.

  “Even if that were true, which it isn’t, but even if it was, I caught them inside my trailer and taking things out. They’re nothing more than common criminals. Scumbags.”

  He glowered at me long and hard, probably trying to think of a caustic comeback. I guessed him to be in his sixties, which told me he had his kids later in life, probably from a younger wife.

  “You seem to be confused, young man,” he said with the same contemptuous tone. “Once you brought that trailer into this compound, it became community property.”

  “Well then, why don’t you climb up in there and help yourself?” I suggested as I whipped the switch through the air. He narrowed his eyes. I gestured at the trailer. “Go ahead, what’re you waiting for?”

  He didn’t move and continued glaring at me. I stepped closer to him and lowered my voice.

  “You know you’re full of shit. There is no community property rule here.”

  “There most certainly is,” he responded haughtily.

  “Well, then, remove your clothes,” I ordered, my voice loud enough so everyone could hear.

  Now, his glare faltered. “What?”

  “I didn’t stutter. If everything here is community property, I want to use your clothes. Take ‘em off.”

  Raymond laughed in spite of himself, as did a few others in the crowd.

  “He got you there, Willie,” someone in the crowd said.

  “You’re a Republican, correct?”

  “I most certainly am,” he replied haughtily.

  “Community property is a socialist value, correct?”

  From the expression on his face, I believe my rhetorical question did not seem to sit well with him.

  “You’re not going to fit in here, I’m thinking, Mister Gunderson,” he finally said.

  I nodded. “Well, now, I believe I can agree with you on that one.” I pointed at his children with the switch. “When I catch two miscreants committing a crime and your only response is to blame me, yeah, I’m not sure I’m going to fit in either.” I stared hard. They were in their early twenties, not much older than me, snobby, self-absorbed, the kind of people who didn’t think the rules applied to them because they were privileged.

  Dropping the switch, I reached down and roughly cut their bindings.

  “Take your kids,” I said. “If you’re as good a parent as you seem to believe you are, you might want to sit them down and have a long talk with them.”

  “Those two won’t be sitting for a while,” someone in the crowd said. “Not after that ass whipping.” There was now a chorus of laughter.

  The girl turned and glared petulantly at me as she rubbed her ass before following her father and getting on the golf cart.

  Chapter 8 – Burt

  To say I was pissed would be an understatement. Raymond watched as I
put everything back in the trailer and slammed the doors shut.

  “I’m only here a day and already I’m dealing with a couple of common thieves,” I growled under my breath. I didn’t have another padlock handy, so I did the next best thing and put my switch in the hole on the hasp where the padlock would have gone. I hoped once the story got out, the message would be clear: fuck with my property, and there was going to be an ass-whipping coming to you.

  “I’m sorry, Zach,” Raymond said.

  “Not your fault, Raymond, not your fault.” I leaned against the truck and forced myself to calm down. It took a minute or two before I looked over at him.

  “What a bunch of bullshit,” I lamented. Raymond nodded. I sighed and brushed my hands off.

  “What do you say we go eat some lunch?” Raymond suggested.

  I nodded in agreement and the two of us got back on the golf cart.

  By the time the two of us got to the cafeteria, it was full and there was a lot of chatter going on. Raymond excused himself and made a beeline toward a table full of senators. I got more than a few looks as I filled my plate and sat at what I guess was now going to be our table. Not seeing Kelly, I sat beside Sarah.

  “So, I don’t know how your briefing went, but mine sucked.”

  She shrugged. “Most of it concerned Tinker Air Base. They wanted to know all about it.”

  “Do they have planes here?” I asked as I scooped a big helping of potatoes in my mouth.

  “Yes,” Sarah answered. “In a manner of speaking. Dulles is thirty-two miles away. Lots of planes but no fuel. We’re working up a mission plan. I told them about how you guys tapped the fuel reservoirs. They mentioned an oil refinery not far from here, but no specifics. I think they have some future mission planned, but they wouldn’t discuss it.”

  I wondered what they were up to and shrugged it off. If they wanted us to know, they’d tell us. “Where’s Kelly?” I asked.

  “All of the moms and kids are having some sort of get together. Janet insisted on going with them.”

  Rachel laughed. “I wonder how long it’ll take before she starts critiquing everyone’s parenting skills.”

  I groaned. Between me and Janet, we were probably going to be invited to leave before the week was over.

  Sarah continued. “She said to tell you it’s supposed to last all day, but she’ll be done by dinner.”

  “Okay.” I looked over at Sammy. “Why aren’t you with them?”

  He made a face. “Hang out with a bunch of little kids? No way.” His response drew some laughter.

  Josue gave him a friendly nudge. “I like you hanging out with us,” he said.

  “When is your birthday?” Rachel asked.

  “August thirtieth,” Sammy answered. “I’ll be eleven.”

  “Well, we’ll have to throw you a party of some kind,” Rachel said with a grin.

  An older man walked up and slapped his tray on the table beside me before doffing a well-worn Resistol cowboy hat.

  “Ladies,” he said politely before sitting down. “I heard about it, but I’m not so sure I believe it,” he said. “Did you just take a switch to those idiot Rhinehart kids?” he asked.

  I looked him over, trying to get a read on him. He was about sixty, lanky, white hair as short as mine, and his face looked like he’d spent many years outside in the sun and weather. He reminded me a little of Fred.

  “I did,” I replied. “I caught them stealing. Do you have a problem with it?”

  He nodded, as if he already knew why. “People are also telling me you’ve done some farming and you know your way around a cow, is that true?”

  “True on both counts,” I said.

  “Hot damn!” he exclaimed loudly as he slapped the table. “Don’t that beat all!”

  “Burt, settle down,” a woman admonished from a nearby table. Burt waved a dismissive hand at her.

  “That’s my wife, Anne. Don’t mind her.”

  I peered over Burt’s shoulder to see a woman approximately the same age as him boring holes in the back of his head. Burt knew what she was doing, but it didn’t seem to bother him in the least.

  “The name’s Burt,” he said, holding out a hand. “Burt Cartwright, and I am sure glad to meet you.”

  I tentatively reached out and shook his hand. “Zach Gunderson,” I said.

  “Now look here, I’m going to put in a word with Lydia and get you assigned on a work detail with me. To tell you the truth, I need help. These people,” he barked, “are a bunch of candy-asses.”

  “You have a cattle operation?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir. We have a five-hundred acre spread a couple of miles down the road full of beautiful, fat, Black Angus. That’s where I’ve been all day. Let me tell you, good help is hard to find. This past spring, I had to do all of the castratin’ by myself and one of them damn baby bulls kicked me in the head.”

  “And he’s still brain dead,” his wife commented glibly. He waved another dismissive hand behind him amid some laughter.

  “What do you say?” he asked.

  “Yeah, it sounds good to me.”

  “Burt, get over here and let them eat in peace,” his wife ordered. Burt glanced back at his wife, and then looked at us with an annoyed expression.

  “That woman is a royal pain in my posterior. I’ll catch up with you later.” He stood and moved his tray over to his wife’s table, whereupon they traded one or two barbs.

  Burt caught up with me after lunch as I was walking Zoe.

  “You want to go see the farms?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  We got into his truck and headed down Blue Ridge Mountain Road, took a gravel road, and after five minutes, we emerged from the woods out into farmland. He waved a hand at one field.

  “Alright, let’s see if you’re a real farm boy. What kind of corn do we have out there?”

  I looked at Burt, who was eyeing me with a challenging grin.

  “Field corn,” I said. “Looks like dent corn. I’d say it’ll be ready for harvesting about the last week of September. Stop the truck, if you don’t mind.”

  Burt did so and I looked over the field with a discerning eye. “I’m going to say the yield is going to be twenty thousand ears per acre. A little low, but that’s how it is these days.”

  Burt slapped his thigh. “I love you, man.” He began slowly driving again, scaring some crows.

  “We need to kill off these crows before they eat it all, though. Did you know a group of crows is called a murder of crows?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve heard that.”

  He pointed out different crops as he drove. “We’ve only been farming the last two years, so I think we’re doing okay. I turned those fields this past spring and let some cows graze. We’ll try potatoes in that field next year and I think we should plant an extra acre of sweet corn.” He gestured back over his shoulder.

  “Back before it all went bad, there was an active wine vineyard north of here. The grape vines are doing nicely, so we have ample grape juice and wine.”

  “Have you tried anything like exotic fruits or coffee beans?”

  “We’ve had some limited success. We had a healthy orange crop growing last year in one of the greenhouses, but the knucklehead who was in charge of them let them freeze one night.”

  He spit out of the window. “Lots of dummies around here.”

  Chapter 9 – Cold Showers

  Melvin awoke early the next morning. He stifled a groan as he got out of the truck and worked the stiffness out. He spent a long minute stretching and doing some deep knee bends before he worked his way around the plastic water bottles and peered out the front window. It wasn’t quite sunup and the sky was a thick, dull gray. More rain was coming. The most important thing though, they weren’t surrounded by a horde that’d snuck up on them during the night.

  He went outside, relieved himself, and then walked over to the dead zombies. It was a man and woman somewhere close to his age, a teenage
boy, and the younger boy. They looked like a family. Melvin peered at them closer and inspected the scant amount of decay of their features.

  “You people haven’t been zombies long,” he concluded in a whisper, the statement meant only for himself.

  He then looked them over for anything useful. The man had a Leatherman multipurpose tool sheathed on his belt and an empty gun holster. The boys were wearing backpacks and had empty canteen holders attached to web belts. Melvin started with the man and snaked his belt off so he could get the Leatherman and its sheath.

  “I know someone who could use it,” he explained to the dead man.

  He then checked out the backpacks. They smelled with the rankness of zombie essence, making him wonder if they could be washed and reused. Looking inside, he saw a number of goodies. The young man had one of those fancy straw filters, a hunting knife with a small whetstone in the sheath, a mostly full container of bug spray, a pill bottle containing Q-tips, a well-used toothbrush with an almost empty tube of toothpaste, dental floss, fingernail clippers, a can of spray paint, a couple of bungee cords, a poncho, extra pairs of socks and underwear stuffed in a plastic trash bag, a small rocket stove, and a small first aid kit. The little boy’s backpack had similar items, along with a small tarp and five-fifty cord.

  “You raised a family of survivors,” Melvin said quietly to the dead father. All four of them were dressed for the outdoors, sensible hiking boots, jeans, and neutral-colored shirts. The mom had her hair pulled back in a bandanna and was wearing a loose-fitting long sleeve shirt, possibly to hide her femininity. Smart thinking.

  From the amount of bite marks, it looked like they were attacked by a horde of somewhere around five or ten. The mom’s entire left side of her face had been torn off, and one of the dad’s arms looked like he was a training dummy for a police department’s K-9 team.

  “I bet you guys fought to the end, eh, Dad? Too bad, we could’ve used you at Weather.”