My blood froze. It was exactly as I had feared, and my wife and my son were in the capital as a prisoners, and she was about to have a baby. I turned on Tommy.
“Anything to say?” I said quietly.
Tommy hung his head. “I was wrong. I guess power is too much for some men to resist.”
Duncan was livid. “My wife is there! Your wife is safe at Starved Rock! John’s wife is at the capitol! So is Charlie’s! Their children are there! Prisoners now so we don’t attack!”
I turned to the man on the boat. “Go back to the capitol. Tell whoever is in charge that the message has been received.”
“Is that it?” the man asked.
“No.” I locked eyes with the man. “You tell them that John Talon is coming. You tell them that Charlie James is coming. You tell them that Duncan Fries is coming. You tell them that Tommy Carter is coming,” I said. “If our families are harmed in any way, we will bring hell with us.”
The man swung his boat around and roared away. I watched his wake spread to the shore.
Three pairs of eyes looked at me. I looked back with a fury I could barely contain.
Charlie spoke first.
“What’s the plan?” he asked, his voice strained.
“Get home, get more ammo, get to the capitol, and kill someone,” I said.
“Good plan.”
Leport, IL
“Looks quiet,” Charlie said.
“I know,” I said.
“Where do we start?” Tommy asked.
“Where would you be if you were trying a hostile takeover?” Duncan asked.
“Probably would want a building with a good view of the town, enough room for a good part of the army, and a clear field of fire,” Charlie said.
“Let’s get the lay of the land before we jump in. I don’t want to be wrong once. We have to get in, and get this done right,” I said.
“Right. Tommy and Duncan, you find the families. John and I will find the leader of this army,” Charlie said.
“Let’s go,” I said.
We’d been on the move for the last two days. We’d received word that one of the commanders of the army had returned with his forces and decided he liked being in charge, taking our families as prisoners to keep us at bay. We made a quick stop at home to replenish our supplies, and we were off again, racing up the river as quickly as we could. The hardest part was waiting outside of town until it was good and dark and then slipping into the capitol unseen. We were all well known here, and that meant we had to stay out of sight, yet move through the city.
It was well into the night when Charlie and I moved. We were shadows within shadows, slipping from one point of darkness to the next. The homes we passed were well into their slumber, and no one was out in the streets. I thought it was a little odd, considering we had been told there was an occupying army in the city, but I wasn’t going to be ungrateful.
Charlie took the lead, and he was as silent as usual. He walked with a tomahawk in one hand, the other held his knife. I kept my Bowie knife in hand, the blade blackened for this night’s work. If we encountered anyone hostile, we were going to try and take them out quietly. I didn’t want a full-blown battle before I had a chance to get our families out of here.
I guessed that Charlie would head for the president’s residence, since it seemed the most logical place for a usurper to establish themselves with authority. The trees and shadows were welcome to me this time of night as no one would be able to see clearly what we were doing and who we were.
A few blocks, and we were in sight of the residence. It sat on a hill overlooking the river, and from here I could see there was a light on in one of the drawing rooms off the center door. Charlie signaled he was going to go around the side, and I was going to go around the back. Walking in the front was not a good plan. If they were expecting trouble, we would be killed before we got three feet in there.
The grass was wet from condensation, and I made no sound as I approached the rear of the house. The darkness in the back of the residence was deep, accented by the rising of the hill behind it. Heavy trees leaned over the back porch, adding to the inky blackness.
I felt more than saw my way to the rear door, and I nearly tripped the wire my hand felt at knee level across the threshold. I traced the wire back to a hole in the wall and left it. I’d be going in another way.
Moving to the window, I gave it a small push and was happy that it opened. Using my hand again, I searched for any trip wires but found none. Carefully I opened the window, moving very slowly to keep from making any sound. When it was wide enough, I slipped inside.
The hardwood floor was another challenge, but I’d been here before. I knew the boards near the hallway would creak and also the ones near the right side of the doorway. Down the hall the kitchen would creak like no one’s business, but across the way where the light burned it, was clear.
I moved through the dark, and an odd thought kept coming into my head. Why wasn’t there anyone guarding this place? Where was everyone? I couldn’t believe the commander would just set himself up like this when he knew we were out here and obviously coming to settle the score.
Part of me wondered if this house was set to explode, and I was just going to get myself killed, when I looked around the corner and saw Tom Haggerty sitting at a long table, maps stretched out in front of him. He was concentrating on drawing a line around a set of lakes when I placed the point of my Bowie on the side of his neck.
I had to give him credit, he didn’t yell or curse. He just sucked in his breath and waited.
“Hands on the table,” I said quietly.
“John, we need to talk,” Tom said.
Charlie chose that moment to slip into the room, his tomahawk preceding him by a foot. Charlie put the edge of the ‘hawk about a foot from Tom’s eyes, with his arm cocked and ready to deliver a killing blow.
“On the table,” Charlie said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Tom did what he was told, then he shook his head. “Sweet Jesus, if this had been real. You guys are fucking ghosts, you know that?”
I increased the pressure on the point, and Tom stopped talking. “You have ten seconds to explain, and then I’m going to kill you,” I said.
“Murder’s not really your style, is it John?” Tom asked, his voice shaking a little.
“Not the first time, I’m sorry to say,” I said. “Five seconds.”
“All right! We finished our task early and have been here nearly two weeks. Sarah was worried you weren’t going to be here for the birth of your child, and she told us to send out people in all directions to look for you and tell you the story that we were taking over, and your family was in danger so you’d get back here faster!” Tom’s words came out in a rush, and at the end he sucked in a large breath.
I took my knife off his neck, and Charlie withdrew his axe.
“Come again?” I said.
Tom rubbed his hand over his neck. “Holy crap. We didn’t think you’d show up for a week. My fighters are all staying inside and out of sight on the off chance you might kill them before you knew the truth.”
“Sarah set you up for this?” I asked, not really sure how I felt about that.
“Well, the story was our idea, she just wanted us to look for you and get you back here as fast as possible.” Haggerty said.
“You could have been killed,” Charlie said. “I was ready to kill you.”
Tom chuckled. “Well, I will admit to thinking it wasn’t such a great idea after the messengers went out, but I couldn’t do anything about that. The only thing I could do was keep the army out of sight, and set myself up as a target.”
“What about the trip wire on the back door?” I asked.
“Attached to a bell,” Tom said. “I thought I might be able to say something before you got to me, but Jesus!” He put a hand on the back of his neck again.
I sheathed my knife, and Charlie put away his tomahawk. We left Tom to his maps after l
etting him know we had a new plan in mind. He was fine with whatever we wanted, and we’d talk after we took care of personal business.
In the morning, I went to see Sarah who was hugely pregnant, sharing a house with a hugely pregnant Janna. Tommy and Duncan were there, and after a brief telling of tales I had a few stern words with Sarah. She took them in stride, although she was sorry she nearly got Tom killed, even though that was really his fault. Tucker made himself right at home, and Julia wondered why her daddy didn’t get her a kitten, too.
Two weeks after we arrived in the Capitol, Janna gave birth to a baby girl. She named her Kayla, and we all were grateful she looked like her mother. Even Duncan agreed with that one.
A week later my second son was born. Sarah came through the delivery like a champ, even though there was a battle going on in the streets outside the hospital. Somehow a band of zombies had been hanging out on a boat, and the darn thing finally grounded itself outside the port. My son was born with the sound of gunfire in his ears. I hoped it wasn’t an omen.
As I held my boy, I looked into his beautiful eyes and made him the same promise I made my son Jake when he was born. That I would lay down my fortune, my honor, and my life for him should he ever need it.
“What should his name be, John?” Sarah asked. We actually expected a girl, but I wasn’t unhappy with what I got.
I thought for a minute. “How about Joseph?” I asked.
Sarah frowned. “Doesn’t have a good ring to it, no offense. What about James?”
“Same problem,” I said. “We need to get out of ‘J’ names.”
“Not much goes with ‘Talon,’ my love.”
“Sad, but true. How about ‘Aaron’?” I asked.
Sarah thought about it. “Aaron Talon. Sounds nice. Why Aaron?” she asked.
“Just going through the alphabet, and it was the first ‘A’ name I thought of,” I said.
“Let’s not tell him that, okay?” Sarah said.
I brought Aaron back to his mother. “I’m proud of you, babe,” I said.
Sarah smiled. “Thanks for making it back in time.”
“My pleasure.”
Two weeks later we were able to see the return of the rest of the army. We had started out with a few hundred soldiers, and we had swelled the ranks to over ten thousand. We had enough supplies to see this army through the coming winter, but I wasn’t going to wait for spring to throw this into action. I had used my time as a new dad to read a few things about strategy, and combined with what I knew about our enemy, we were heading to battle.
We had claimed a huge portion of the old United States, but it was time to get the rest. In a week I was going to throw this lot across the river and begin the battle of the Great Plains. No more scouting ahead, no more small group tactics. I had learned a few things, and it was time to put them to good use.
Sarah and Janna were well enough to travel, and I wanted them at the lodge before winter came in. Rebecca and Angela were going to stay there and help out with the kids. My brother Mike was coming to war. I couldn’t leave him behind anymore.
I assembled my commanders the day before I left for Starved Rock, and after congratulating them for their work, I outlined what I wanted them to do. They were to start a march for the Mississippi River, and I would meet them on the way there.
I had seen enough to know what I wanted to do and how I wanted to do it. I was the commander in chief, and I had an army to throw at the zombies. I wasn’t going to shirk that duty any longer.
The second part of the Zombie Wars was about to begin.
Read on for a free sample of Convoy 19: A Zombie Novel
Prologue
How did we get here?
That is a simple question with too many answers. I’ve been staring at it on my computer monitor for hours, wondering where to begin. My house is very quiet without Melissa and Ruben. It’s difficult to stay focused, and I haven’t slept in days.
It’s a blessing that television and radio have stopped broadcasting. The day-to-day carnage and slaughter that had been dumped into everyone’s houses for months was bad enough, and those horrifying images bear no small level of responsibility for the panic and paranoia that pushed us over the edge. But the talking heads: the pontificating blowhards, raging wall-bangers, and self-righteous assholes that drowned out anyone with a real solution in the pursuit of ratings… that was just too much.
That’s probably not a good place to start. The failure of media to inform the public is a piece of the puzzle, but it isn’t the biggest piece. Their biased finger pointing and brinkmanship helped to drive the political climate, but our leaders still had the ability to make the right choices. Only they didn’t.
How did we get here? This is a country with enough guns to arm every man, woman, and child. The United States military budget is larger than every other country combined. How is it that the dead not only rose from the grave to attack the living, but we also failed to manage that horror to the point that it got the better of us? This is a country that survived small pox, cholera, World War Two…how the living hell did we get here?
The dead rose from the grave to attack the living…that’s the first time I’ve written those words. You’d think that the Secretary of Health and Human Services to the President of the United States of America would have a clear and honest grasp of this crisis, but my staff and I, went to astounding lengths to obfuscate it behind politically correct jargon that had been thoroughly watered down and sanitized for public consumption. “Dissociative Psychotic Fugue”, “Antisocial Analgesia”, “Neurotic Cannibalistic Syndrome”, “Infectious Cotard Disorder.” These are just a few of the ridiculous euphemisms that served no purpose beyond lying to ourselves about what was really happening.
Of course, even we didn’t understand that we were dealing with the living dead initially. Now, months into this disaster, it’s pretty damn clear to everyone. Yet, this is the first time I’ve directly addressed it. Reminds me of what a bunch of dumb cattle we (not just myself, but everyone else who’s supposed to be in charge) really are.
Maybe that’s a good place to start: government. The government failed in so many ways that it’s absurd. I could write a book about it, and it would be equal parts tragedy and comedy.
Let’s start with me. I have a Bachelor of Arts in Business Administration from the University of Texas. What the hell am I doing as Secretary of Health and Human Services? I’ll tell you – I rubbed elbows with a lot of people in the administration’s campaign. I don’t have any real skeletons in my closet and I was rewarded. Jobs were rewarded not for skill or merit, but for political cronyism. Of the ten HHS districts, not one of my directors is a medical doctor, psychologist, or sociologist. They are business people and lawyers. They are men and women who knew the right people and could navigate their way around an office, but when it came to solving real health epidemics or addressing social issues, they may as well have been walking corpses themselves. I never realized there was anything wrong with that…until now. That was simply how the world was run. Brilliant guys like Dr. Henry Damico who had the talent but no connections…they had mid-level desk jobs writing reports to dumb-asses like me…who couldn’t even understand them with a translator.
So, when shit got real, and it was time for HHS to mobilize…there wasn’t any leadership. I take responsibility for that. If you were building a bonfire to burn down the world, a lot of those logs would have my name on them.
I’d be in good company, though. I honestly watched the Secretary of State once ask for demographics on the infected, so that he could determine whether Republicans or Democrats were being hit disproportionately in order to prioritize relief. He literally wanted what few semi-competent staff members he had on hand to stop what they were doing so he could--in essence--allow opposing voters to die while giving aid to supporters. I’ll never forget the President’s response: “That’s a really good idea. That’s a really goddamn good idea.”
About a month
ago, I watched a frustrated General try to explain to the Secretary of Defense that the living dead could only be killed by destroying their brain. We were months into this shit-storm and the guy who was managing our rapidly diminishing military resources didn’t even understand how to kill the enemy. The last time I saw him, he was running to his car. When I asked his personal aide what was going on, she said that the marine platoon he had delegated to guard his family’s neighborhood had gone AWOL.
When refugees started flooding in from every corner of the globe under the false assumption that America would manage the crisis better than their home nations, Homeland Security was still looking for terrorists. Plane-loads of Asian and European infected were just pouring into our airports, but as long as they weren’t on the terror list…they were welcomed in with open arms. Months into the shit, when the President finally asked if it would be a good idea to screen air travelers, the Director of Homeland Security hadn’t even thought about how to do it. By the time screenings started, commercial flights had long since been grounded.
It wasn’t just the executive branch that was laden with incompetence. The House and The Senate were just as pitiful. Congress never saw a crisis it didn’t try to exploit, and the zombie apocalypse was no exception. If the parties weren’t already entrenched and oppositional, they were ten-fold now.
“Need emergency funding for relief to metropolitan Chicago? Fuck you, we have to stop the spending somewhere!”
“Cut my irrelevant ear-mark in a bill that gives the military authority to set up refugee centers in American cities? Fuck you! What do I get out of it?”
“This bill makes sense, but makes the opposing party look good…fuck you. I’ll make up some reason to vote it down.”
Some congressmen courted their base by toeing the line that the entire issue was a religious one. The rapture crowd was a vocal minority, but man, were they vocal. There was news footage of some representatives actually claiming that flesh-eating undead monsters had human rights, and actually floated federal bills that made it illegal to kill them. There were state and local governments that didn’t just put forth bills like that, but actually passed them.
The Zombie Wars: Call To Arms (White Flag Of The Dead Book 7) Page 19