She was blessed to have lived near the outskirts of Chadron. The city was overwhelmed almost immediately, but her position gave her a clear shot into the countryside. One zombie did get close enough to grab the brim of her baseball cap however. She was jerked back, nearly losing her footing. Fortunately, it popped off, and she was able to escape without injury.
* * *
Shelter was eventually taken atop a forty foot windmill at a nearby farm. The teen and her friends had often climbed it in the past, first simply daring one another to make the summit, but as they grew older it became a place to play and eventually take boyfriends. While it was a familiar spot, there was no railing around the small platform, and she barely managed to sleep that first night, terrified she would roll over and plummet to the ground below.
Exhausted from running and hiding, along with the lack of any meaningful rest, the girl was slow to react the following morning. She rose and stretched, catching the attention of a single zombie in the field below. The thing shambled directly for the windmill, taking up a position at the base of the ladder. That wasn’t a good thing, but there was only the one, and the teenager now knew she could outrun them. She just had to get down without being grabbed.
How to achieve this was the question, and she wasn’t certain of the best way to proceed. Pondering the matter, she took a seat and ate a power bar, washing it down with some warm soda, all the while keeping an eye on the zombie. Then, as with all us breathers, the need to urinate arose. I’m not sure how she managed to do this, but since it was in her diary I’ll assume it’s true. At any rate, she dropped her pants and took a long piss, striking the zombie. Have to love that.
The zombie ignored the insult, as if it was capable of anything else, and kept reaching for her. Then that super tiny piece of intellect in its otherwise empty head sparked. The thing grabbed hold of the wooden ladder bolted to the side and tried to climb. To her horror, it made it nearly halfway up before slipping. The undead villain fell twenty feet and landed in a crumpled heap, only to rise and try again. This was repeated several times. On its most successful attempt, it made it nearly three quarters of the way, but the uncoordinated zombie rarely cleared ten feet.
Finally, the falls took their toll, and a leg shattered. Unable to walk, it crawled to the ladder and tried to pull itself up using only its arms but lacked the strength. Seeing her chance, the teen grabbed her pack and slid it on. Then she scrambled down the ladder. When she was only a few feet above the zombie, she jumped to the side, landing poorly on the loose gravel. Before she managed to get back on her feet, the zombie clasped its hand around her ankle. She screamed and thrashed, preventing a bite, but it held firm. Then she used her free foot and kicked the monster in the head as hard as she could. That was enough for her to pull free.
* * *
While preparing to leave from the outset had been brilliant, the young woman’s execution was rather lackluster. When filling her backpack, she focused on items like her diary, her iPod, her iPad, her iPhone – I’m sensing a fondness for Apple products – some power bars, cans of soda and energy drinks, makeup, extra socks, and sunscreen. There was no bottled water, nor was there any proper food. She was woefully unprepared, and it took twenty four hours before she realized this. Staring at a nearby farmhouse, a mile away, she decided to investigate. It appeared to be unoccupied, but maybe there was someone there who could help.
As it was, her curiosity went unanswered. She scrambled over a barbed wire fence that ran between the home and the windmill, ripping her jeans, and made it another dozen yards before a huge dog came bounding from behind the house. It stared at her and began to bark. Then another appeared and another. Within seconds there were six large, snarling canines, and, as if they telepathically agreed, all simultaneously leapt forward. Certain they intended to tear her apart, she sprinted back the way she came and dove over the fence.
She thought to roll in order to break the fall. Instead, her shoulder slammed into the dirt, and she had lain there gasping, eyes clenched shut. But the animals did not attack. They didn’t make a sound. Lifting her head, she saw the dogs, all standing in a line on the opposite side of the barbed wire, staring at her. It had been terrifying, and the teenager didn’t have the first clue as to what the animals had been doing. She’d never had any pets of her own.
While they hadn’t actually harmed her, the girl was hurting. She needed to find a safe place, get some rest at the very least, but the only possibility was the windmill, complete with a partially crippled zombie at its base. Nevertheless, she slowly walked back, stepping around the monster – it had attempted to crawl after her – and paused beside the ladder. There was a water trough by the base, and she took a long drink. It was stale, tasting funny, and she soon regretted her folly. With a seriously upset stomach, she climbed the ladder, took a seat on the platform, and began writing in her diary.
* * *
Aside from a nasty case of diarrhea, which was especially awkward considering her location, the following night passed without incident. She even managed to sleep a little. The morning showed the crippled zombie was still down there, still trying to reach her, but she’d learned to ignore it. The last of her power bars were eaten, and she finished the soda, tossing an empty can at the zombie, missing.
Climbing down and leaping past the monster, same as before minus the embarrassing tumble, she began to walk toward Bethany’s house, a schoolmate and friend. Her family’s home was located outside town, the only reason she considered making the attempt, though close enough that she hadn’t considered trying for it earlier. Spotting several of the walking dead on the roads, she kept to the fields and generally moved cross country.
In the end, she’d been forced to sprint for the house. A group of zombies spotted her and followed, but she quickly outdistanced them. Reaching the structure near the rear, she cut around the side and passed through the open front door. It was slammed closed and locked. Then she called out for Bethany or her parents. There was no answer. Dejected, she collapsed on the sofa and cried.
That lasted a while – I have no idea how long – but she eventually pulled herself together and headed to the kitchen, after carefully closing the curtains to prevent any zombies from spotting her. There wasn’t much food in the refrigerator, and some of what was present had already gone bad. There were cookies though and a loaf of bread along with plenty of peanut butter. Those were good enough.
Rinsing it down with more warm soda – the diary noted there was bottled water available but never mentioned her drinking any – she gave the house a quick search. The upstairs was empty, and she used a flashlight taken from the pantry to examine the basement. There was nothing there either, aside from the laundry room in the corner. That was a recent addition Bethany’s father had made. He’d walled it off from the rest of the cellar and installed a massive oak door, obtained for free when a neighboring house was demolished.
She flipped the antique lock and pulled this open, surprised to see Bethany walking about in the far corner. The zombie immediately turned and shambled forward. Our heroine noted the gray filmed eyes and bloodstains on mouth and chin, and for an instant she froze. It was long enough for Bethany to cross the eight feet separating them.
The teenager managed to get free and run back upstairs, but Bethany followed, slowly chewing. However, the zombie had no further interest in the girl. She just wandered about, seemingly without purpose, and when she stepped near the front door, the teenager opened it, shoved Bethany outside, and then locked it again. This done, she slumped to the floor for a second, well justified bout of tears. She was certain her friend would come back, possibly with reinforcements, that she’d attack a second time. This never happened, and it seems the young woman had no knowledge of the mind blank that occurs when zombies feed.
She did know what a bite meant. The news reports had been very clear on that. Anyone who died after being bitten came back, but maybe they were wrong. They could be. People made mistakes all the t
ime. Or maybe she was immune. That could happen too.
The sign was created several hours later, and she placed it in one of the front windows. The teenager didn’t know if anyone would drive by, or if they would even see it and stop, but she had to try something. The diary grew more confusing at that point. The infection and fever that follows a zombie bite were making her delirious. Still, she never seemed to lose hope that she would somehow live through this, that she would indeed survive. At least, her writings never lost hope.
Chapter XI
The day after we found the remnants of Julie – may she burn in a hellish toaster oven for all eternity – the surviving breathers split into two groups. These consisted of the individuals who chose to stay in the Nebraska National Forest and those who left. The actual process of separation was quite complicated. There were discussions, arguments, whining, threats, and so forth, all of which started up immediately. The minister, despite his myriad faults, had been excellent at maintaining order and morale. Now that he was gone, it was all falling apart.
It wasn’t something I wanted to do, and while I think it was the correct decision, there were still consequences, mostly unforeseen, that turned out to be almost unbearable. More on that later. Quickly growing tired of the bickering, I put my foot down. The meadow settlement belonged to me and those I’d brought into the forest. I was therefore in charge, with Lizzy as my second. Everyone was welcome to stay, but they would do as they were told. All would work. All would contribute. Anyone who refused would be expelled.
Compared to the easy going, diplomatic policies of Pastor Thomas Wills, some found me to be intolerably dictatorial. Several stated outright that they would not accept my vision of how things were to be done. Others called for a vote, allowing the majority to decide how the leadership would be structured. I reiterated my position. This was my spot. I found it. I secured it. Everyone was perfectly free, even entitled, to go elsewhere and live how they wanted.
This was not a complicated concept. I, at least, found it to be quite simple. Live in my meadow and you follow my rules. Go somewhere else and you get to make the rules. Even so, there was no shortage of those who could not grasp this. They believed they had the right to stay where they wanted, and if they chose to do so they could then impose their will upon the prior inhabitants. Shameful, and it wasn’t going to happen.
Lizzy – how I love her temper at times, limited times – brought it to an abrupt end. She fired a few shots into the air to get everyone’s attention, and declared the matter closed. The choices were as I stated. They could stay and follow the rules or they could leave. Any attempts to force a third alternative would result in people being beaten senseless, tied to a tree, and left as zombie food.
By early afternoon people began to depart, some alone, others in small groups. I don’t know where they went, nor did I ask. I can say with a great deal of confidence that they never settled in the forest or any nearby towns. We would have encountered them if that was the case. A few mentioned warmer climes for the approaching winter, and some talked about Edwin. It’s possible they headed there, though I hope not. Edwin did not need people as useless as these.
The reasons for leaving I can list. The smart ones wanted to find a safe place. After the second zombie attack, many decided the forest wasn’t quite as good as first believed. Others stated, often to my face, that they thought I was on my way to becoming a petty tyrant who would only enslave them. Personally, I think that was rather silly. The rules we kept talking about were basically don’t hurt or steal from others and all have to work. That was it. I don’t see these as being too strict. I don’t see them as being unreasonable either. A handful wanted to find their families, which was something we all understood, even if it was probably way past time to attempt such a thing.
Then there were the stupid justifications. There were going to be a few. No way around that. These included the “I won’t follow a papist” directed at me since I’m Catholic. There was the “I won’t follow a sexual deviant” aimed at Lizzy, but with a few glances thrown my way as well due to my relationship with Briana. The most interesting came from a woman who declared that an angel instructed her to journey west, on foot, not following any roads, not taking weapons or supplies, and that she and those who accompanied her would find sanctuary. Four people, four of them, believed her words and went along. I don’t think they lasted long.
I refused to hand out any of the firearms Lizzy and I salvaged. We found them. We were keeping them. Additionally, the radios were all staying with us. People could of course take their own belongings or any extra cars. We also made certain they had several days of food, aside from the divinely inspired quintet who refused our offer.
After the last was gone, we settled down for some dinner. We were good on supplies, particularly with the decrease in numbers, so we cooked up another large meal as that had become standard during times of crisis or great stress. Work would begin in earnest the following day, so the remainder of this one was to be spent eating, relaxing, and trying to calm frayed nerves.
Here’s a quick list of key individuals and their assigned duties.
Jacob Supreme Commander
Lizzy Master of the Horse (aka #2)
Eric Construction Specialist
Dean Day Labor Peon (aka #2)
Miranda Mistress of Radios
Alec Grease Monkey
Cherie Mind Bender (aka teacher)
Larry Quartermaster
Patty Cafeteria Lady (aka head cook)
Larry had worked in logistics for some regional manufacturer. He had a good grasp of inventory control and seemed suited for the task. His wife, Patty, was a skilled cook and quite proficient at making use of everything possible, stretching ingredients to the max. She said that came from growing up in a large family without a lot of money. It might even be true.
Regarding supplies, we had two categories. First, there were the communal stores under the control of our new quartermaster. This included most of the food, water purifiers, and related items. There would be communal meals twice a day, and the cooks would keep soup or stew of some sort on hand pretty much all the time so people could eat at odd hours if they got hungry or had an inconvenient work schedule. These were a lunch around 10:00 AM and dinner at 4:00 PM. I would have liked three meals but couldn’t see a way to arrange that until things were more settled. For the time being, everything was kept in one of the large trucks secured with a padlock. Larry had the only key.
Then there were personal supplies. These included private belongings, weapons, and limited amounts of food. I saw no reason not to allow this, provided we did not face starvation. I didn’t expect that to happen however. It would be harvest time soon, and there were thousands and thousands of acres of crops all around us. We would be fine.
The extra weapons recovered from the police van or found elsewhere were counted and sorted. The shotguns were given to those who liked to hunt, as their new, personal property, and most of the random rifles and pistols went to those who requested them. Ten rifles, all using the same ammunition, and most of the 9mm automatics were put in the armory, which would also be under Larry’s control. If the settlement needed to be defended, we would have a ready supply of weapons in one place.
Cherie offering to serve as a teacher, so the children could have something approaching a proper education, was welcome news. I realize this provided her with a valid excuse to avoid any sort of physical danger, but it was a necessary task. It also kept the kids out of the way and doubled as a daycare. Teenagers would only attend part time, Mary being the youngest of that group, and otherwise work. We needed the manpower.
When it came to looting and scavenging, almost no one was willing to take the risk. Now, everyone agreed we had to do it. We needed food, medicine, tools, clothing, everything. Yet, abject terror of the zombies was abundant. With what happened at the lake camp, I could understand that. For my part, I found the zombies more creepy than anything else. They were dangerous,
absolutely, but manageable if we were careful. In the end, we established myself, Briana, Lizzy, Lois, and Mary as the primary looting or recon team.
Lois, later and in private, informed me that she preferred to keep Mary as far from danger as possible, but she understood the reasoning. We needed lookouts, and both Lois and her sister were exceptionally good in this capacity. Lizzy and I were excellent as paired shooters, particularly with Briana in close support. We would take others if we needed to clear an area or load trucks, but mostly it was going to be us. The funny thing is that everyone was happy with this arrangement. I hated staying put doing strenuous physical labor. The bulk of our group dreaded the thought of going zombie hunting.
A benefit of being among those who went looting was that I got first pick of the good stuff we found. The majority would go right into Larry’s inventory of course, but we got to select our personal share before anyone else even knew what was available. Those who remained behind would have to sort through the leftovers. Larry said he would make sure that process was fair.
A few individuals suggested everything should either enter the communal inventory or be equally divided, but I pointed out that those taking the largest risks should be compensated accordingly, within reason. Also, we were taking orders for medication, toiletries, clothes, etc. that individuals needed but didn’t want to get on their own. That courtesy likewise merited something in return.
I’m sure this would not have worked or been so readily accepted if our numbers had been much higher, but there weren’t that many. Approximately half the survivors were still with us. In total, we had fifty one people with the following breakdown.
Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Sanctuary Page 32