by James Gurley
“If that were true, I’d be dead. I can offer fresh vegetables, eggs, and cheese if you’re not a strict vegan, but everything else is canned, smoked, or still walking around on four legs.”
“Cheese?” she asked in disbelief.
“I have goats. I milk them and make cheese, mostly feta, but I have a good imitation of Italian caprino aging. Of course, I have a block of cheddar around somewhere if you prefer, but I salvaged it from a grocery store. I keep goats because cows require too much space to maintain even a few of them.”
She nodded. “How do you know about making cheeses?”
He waved his hand at the bookcase against one wall. “Books. You can learn anything from books, although my first few efforts were unappetizing messes.”
She looked at his modest but eclectic collection books. “Are all deputies survivalists?”
He smiled at her question. “Not all. Some of my colleagues called me a kook. I consider myself a prepper, ready for almost any eventuality.”
“Even a zombie apocalypse?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “The principle’s the same. Survival is survival.”
“I suppose.” She glanced around the room, noting the disarray. “Are you married?”
He laughed. Never a very neat person, he had clothes lying across the back of the sofa and dining room chairs, books piled on tables, and the furniture was coated in a fine film of dust. “Do you think a wife would let me keep the house this messy?”
“Have you been?”
He shook his head. “No. I came close once or twice, but it didn’t stick, or maybe I didn’t stick with it long enough for it to take. Either way, I live alone.”
“Me, too, live alone I mean. I had a boyfriend, but he died.”
Jake simply nodded. There was nothing he could say that would matter. A lot of people had died. Death had become as casual as sex had once been. Death didn’t really matter until it came your turn. “No family?”
She shook her head. “No. My father left when I was ten. Mom died two years ago. At least she didn’t see the shit hit the fan.”
“Do you want to survive?” he asked.
She stared at him with her head tilted to one side. “What do you mean?”
“If you want to live, you’ve got to get over your distaste for guns. Running fast just won’t cut it.”
“Guns kill people.”
He laughed at her twisted logic and watched her jaw tighten. “I’ve owned guns all my life, but the only people I’ve killed were shooting at me in Afghanistan. A gun is a tool, nothing more. I used them for hunting. Now, I use them to stay alive. If it’s guns in general you don’t like, learn to use a bow or a sword, but you can’t always depend on someone else to save your ass.”
“I’ve been doing all right,” she said.
“Maybe you should ask your two dead friends how they feel about that.”
She recoiled as if he had slapped her. His barb had struck deeply, just as he had intended. Trying to hang on to one’s beliefs was one thing, but allowing them to kill you was foolish.
He continued, “There are people out there who would kill you for fun, and about half a million creatures that want to eat you. You have to learn to defend yourself, or you’ll die. It’s as simple as that. You can only hide so long. You’ll have to go out among them some time. You need to be prepared.”
“You seem to have a pretty good hiding place here,” she shot at him.
“I spent years preparing it, but even I have to go out at times. I prepared for that too.” He decided to soften his rhetoric. She had survived so far, so she had some skill at it. He was pushing her into an uncomfortable area. Some people had an unreasonable attitude toward guns, somehow seeing them as more dangerous than other weapons. It would take time for her to adjust to the new reality. “Look, you can stay here for a few days while you heal properly. I can teach you how to shoot a gun or a crossbow, if you want. If not,” he shrugged, “I’ll drop you off wherever you want to go, and you’re on your own.”
She turned her head to stare out the window. After a minute, she looked back at him. Her cheek was damp, but he didn’t think it was from her shower. “I should be grateful. You saved my life. You took me in and tended to my wounds. I realize my dislocated shoulder would have doomed me. I’ll … I’ll consider what you’ve said.”
“Fair enough.” He jerked his thumb toward the small kitchen. “I’ll whip up a salad and a couple of cheese omelets.”
She smiled. “That sounds delicious.”
It was strange watching someone else eat. He hadn’t paid attention to Reed eating, but he ate like a man, shoveling food into his mouth with a purpose. Food was energy. Taste was secondary. Jessica ate methodically and deliberately, examining each bite of food before placing it in her mouth; savoring it to allow her taste buds to relish the flavor before chewing and swallowing. He forced himself to slow down. Like Reed, he had a supply of dried and fresh herbs and used them to vary the taste of his meals – Mexican spices one day, Italian the next, and so on for a culinary trip around the globe – but he could eat anything placed in front of him. One day he might have to exist solely on the two hundred MREs he had in storage and wanted to enjoy as much variety as possible before then.
He found it impossible not to stare across the table at Jessica. She was so intent on her meal that she failed to notice his gaze. He had to admit that she was pretty in a plain sort of way, not magazine model beautiful, but certainly a cut above most women. He normally preferred women with a little more meat on their bones and larger breasts, but she was sexy in a Disney Princess sort of way. At first glance, she looked emaciated – high, thin cheekbones and a petite frame – but her lithe body was well-muscled. Her yoga exercises must have helped. He personally didn’t see much use in twisting your body into outlandish pretzel shapes, but it had worked for her.
“Trying to decide if you like what you see?”
He jumped, caught red-handed examining her. “Just wondering if I should take up yoga.”
She smiled. “It couldn’t hurt. I also used to run five miles every morning. I tried to take care of my body.”
“It’s a nice body.”
She stopped eating and stared at him. “I’m glad you noticed. I was beginning to think you might be gay. That would be just my luck.”
That brought a chuckle to his lips. “No, not gay, just careful.”
“Have you decided yet?”
“Decided what?”
“If you want to screw me.”
Her casual manner took him by surprise. In spite of himself, he blushed. He had been brought up believing men were the beasts, always thinking about sex, but she was more comfortable with the idea of casual sex than he was. He fought to recover his aplomb.
“Do you think if you put out, I’ll let you stay?”
She didn’t flinch at his accusation. She took another bite of her omelet and said, “Something like that.”
“As much as the idea appeals to me, and believe me it is appealing, I can’t be bought by a roll in the sack. You go or stay strictly on the concept of mutual benefit. If you can’t benefit me other than with sex, I don’t need another person around to take care of. I don’t want the responsibility.”
She nodded. “Fair enough, but I don’t want to go back out there alone. I’ll probably die. You teach me how to shoot, and I’ll teach you how to take care of your body.” She waved her hand over the table. “What you’re eating won’t supply all your nutritional requirements. I saw the Actos in the jeep. If you have diabetes, you need to be especially careful of your diet. You need vitamins and supplements. You need less red meat; more white meat and seafood. You need someone to watch your back.”
He jerked his head, stunned by her outpouring. “Jesus, you sound like a salesperson trying to sell me a used car.”
“I’m trying to sell myself. Sex is just part of the package. You’re good looking, and I’m no virgin. It has probably been a while for both of
us. We can be, ah, mutually beneficial, as you say.”
Her smile sliced right through his resolve. Her offer did have merits. She was certainly right about it having been a long time since he had sex. A quick mental vision of her naked in bed flashed through his mind, stirring his manhood. He shook his head to vanquish the alluring image. Sometimes, being a gentleman was difficult. Other times, it was downright impossible. Her offer also drove home the fact that he needed someone around. Except for his brief encounter with Reed, he had been alone since before E-Day a year earlier. The life of a hermit sounded great when no one was around. It was easy being a loner when you’re alone. When faced with the possibility of companionship after a year of solitude, it lost some of its appeal. He thought of the scene in Young Frankenstein where the blind hermit Gene Hackman invited the monster into his hut, eager for the company, little realizing the danger. He felt a little like Hackman.
He swallowed hard, and then said, “First, we see if you can shoot.” There goes Jake’s Law #4 – Don’t bring home more problems than you left with.
5
June 9, 2016 Oracle, AZ –
They rode into town ready for trouble, eager for it, in fact. Well-armed men didn’t fear zombies or survivors. Fear was for loners and losers. Levi Coombs and his gang of marauders treated both groups the same, as obstacles to overcome. Oracle, Arizona was a small town north of Tucson, sparsely populated even before the apocalypse. There would be fewer zombies in Oracle than in Tucson, offering fewer risks to his raiding parties. Over the past year, he had gotten proficient at taking what he wanted. He expected little resistance in a town where the dead prowled the empty streets like packs of stray dogs, starving for flesh.
The roar of the big diesel U.S. Army truck they had liberated from an abandoned FEMA facility and the line of motorcycles trailing it rumbled down American Boulevard, attracting the attention of the mindless creatures. They turned and stared as the small convoy pulled into the parking lot of the ubiquitous Dollar General store every small town had.
Levi stepped down from the truck and surveyed the store. The glass front door was smashed, and broken glass littered the asphalt around the entrance. More ominous were the two skeletons beside the doorway picked almost clean by zombies and scavengers. He dropped his Marlboro cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath the toe of his cowboy boots. He pushed back the dirty straw Stetson he wore and ran his fingers through his goatee as he surveyed the area. He then looked at the first two bikes, raised a finger and swirled it in the air, and pointed down the road.
“Go find us a place to live.”
Ax nodded and gunned the engine of the Harley he rode, leaving a trail of rubber and smoke as he left the parking lot. The former accountant had undergone a major transformation since their escape from prison fourteen months earlier. His hair hung to his shoulders from beneath the biker’s helmet. No longer frightened by every zombie they encountered, he had become Levi’s second-in-command, almost as ruthless as the leader to which he was devoted. A second bike followed Ax down the road.
Levi stared at his remaining companions, a motley group of bikers, ex-cons like him, and street scum lucky enough to be immune to the Staggers. “Let’s see what the locals missed.”
He shouldered the M16 he had taken from a home they had raided a few weeks earlier and sauntered toward the store, stroking his goatee. He stopped when a Staggerer wearing a filthy, tattered pair of green mechanic’s coveralls appeared from around the corner of the building. A tire gauge and a Phillips-head screwdriver protruded from the creature’s breast pocket. The blood-smeared name tag above the pocket read ‘Bobby’. A second zombie stumbled into view close behind the first, a naked man covered in cuts, lacerations, and cactus spines.
Levi winced at the second creature’s grisly condition. “Mindless bastards,” he said.
From experience, Levi knew to aim for the head. He placed his first shot in Bobby’s forehead from ten paces. The back of the creature’s head exploded, splattering the front of the metal building with a spray of dark blood and matted brains. The body hit the pavement, shuddering slightly. The screwdriver fell from the creature’s pocket, landing beside the twitching fingers of the hand that had once wielded it. The second creature stepped over its companion and lunged at Levi. He sidestepped it easily and clubbed it across the back of the head with the butt of the rifle. The zombie collapsed on the pavement, adding more scrapes and cuts to its already tortured body, as it skidded in the gravel. Before it could rise, Levi lowered the barrel of the M16 and delivered a can’t-miss shot from a distance of twelve inches. The head disintegrated, leaving a bloody pulp on the ground. Levi eyed the mass of wriggling worms that had changed the creature from a human into the walking dead and spat at them, knowing they would soon wither and die in the heat of the day.
Posting two men outside to take care of any stray Staggerers, he led the others into the darkened store’s interior. The building had been thoroughly looted of food and canned goods, but they found flashlights and batteries, boots, clothing, tools – things that would eventually come in handy. Moving like a precision team, they quickly gathered and piled their loot by the door. Outside, sporadic shooting told him the area was getting hot with zombies.
“Time to leave,” he announced. He wasn’t afraid of a few zombies, but night was falling and darkness made it more difficult to see the creatures coming. There was no reason to take unnecessary chances. Houses were safer to loot. “Let’s see if Ax and Spence found us some good digs.”
As they were loading the truck, an elderly couple emerged from a house across the street. They held hands as they crossed the highway, looking both ways as if expecting traffic. Levi chuckled at the useless gesture. They both wore reasonably clean clothing and appeared well fed, a fact which immediately attracted Levi’s attention. The man spoke first.
“I’m Charlie Drake. This is my wife Emma. Are you boys with the military?” He waved his hand toward the army truck.
One of the men behind him snorted. Levi smiled.
“We’re what you might call independent contractors. How have you two managed to survive this long surrounded by zombies?”
“Oh, Emma is quite a canner,” Charlie said. He patted her hand. “We have quite a supply of canned goods.”
“Charlie,” Emma warned quietly. “We don’t know these people.”
Charlie turned to her. “Hush, Emma. These boys are here to help us.” To Levi, he said, “If you like, we’ll feed you boys. Then you can take us to one of the shelters the military have set up.”
Levi nodded to Slant and grinned. Slant smiled, dismounted the Harley he straddled, and walked over to the couple. “We’ll take real good care of you,” he said.
Before the man could react, Slant drew the pistol from the holster he kept slung over his shoulder and shot the man in the head. The woman, knowing what was coming, made no attempt to flee. She closed her eyes, bending over slightly as she still clutched her dead husband’s hand in her own. Slant placed the barrel of his pistol to her forehead. She smiled at him as he pulled the trigger.
Levi stared down at the dead couple. “Old people shouldn’t clutter up the planet. It’s a new world.” He nodded toward the house the couple had come from. “Check it out. Take anything useful. Now, let’s clean this town out.”
They spent the remainder of the day looting and stripping houses of anything of value. Most of it was junk, but he allowed his men to take what they wanted. For them, the process was as much for relaxation as it was for survival. To keep them, he had to keep them happy. Killing made them happy. Personally, he didn’t care if the home’s owners lived or died, but he didn’t share. He needed what they had. As he saw it, he was doing them a favor by ending their miserable existence. Survival was difficult at best, impossible without food, weapons, or water, and he needed them all.
Ax had located a two-story house that served their purpose. It possessed a balcony from which they could keep watch, and a heavy woo
den front door to keep out unwanted visitors. The house came with a well-stocked bar. His men started on the liquor first thing. Levi knew it would be useless to try to stop them, so he joined them, drinking just enough to keep a good buzz going, but not enough to lower his guard. He trusted Ax, but none of the others. Given the opportunity, they would kill him as handily as anyone else.
Ax had found a hoard of canned goods and walked around the house eating from a can of cold beef stew with a long wooden spoon. Food had become his escape, his comfort. He dug into the can as if it might be his last meal.
“Make sure one of these asswipes stays sober enough to stand guard,” Levi told him.
Ax nodded with a spoon in his mouth.
“And try to leave some food for the rest of us,” Levi growled.
Ax smiled and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “There’s plenty.”
“There won’t be if you keep chowing down. You look like a full tick.”
Ax patted his rotund belly. He had gained twenty pounds since their prison escape. “I’m stockpiling for rainy days.”
Levi pointed to Ax’s empty holster. “Keep your damn pistol handy. It’s a dangerous world.”
Ax turned around and returned to the kitchen, either to fetch his pistol or get more food. Levi wasn’t sure which. He located the master bedroom at the end of the second-floor hallway. The furniture was large and ornate, too dark and baroque for Levi’s tastes, but the king-sized bed was clean and looked comfortable. He stripped off his clothes and lay down naked. He hoped that somewhere in the town they would find a woman or two. It had been too long between women and the need for satisfaction drove him. He would use her, and then pass her on to his crew, as he had dozens of previous women. Women were a commodity, as scarce as weapons and as precious as booze and drugs. They were tools to keep his men in order, treats to be doled out or withheld at his whim. He had no room in his life for female companionship. Life was hard, and only a hard man could survive.