Jake's Law: A Zombie Novel

by James Gurley

  His side ached and his head pounded, but he was still alive. He was glad Levi wanted revenge more than immediate satisfaction. Dead men can’t escape. Maybe Levi believed in Jake’s Law #10 – Serve revenge in big doses. He hoped so. He needed time to decide on his next move. Weary, but not defeated, he collapsed on the floor to rest.

  * * * *

  Jessica hadn’t had time to react as the armed intruders pushed into the house. Too late, she realized her pistol was across the room out of reach. Resisting would serve no purpose, only hasten her death. Two of the men slammed Reed to the floor, knocking off his glasses. He groaned in pain, as he groped the floor for them. A tall fierce woman with a scar on the right side of her forehead leveled an AK47 at her. Water dripped from her wet, dark hair onto her face, but she didn’t blink. Her cold stare was more frightening than the gun she held. Jessica held her breath, believing she was about to die, as the woman’s finger toyed with the trigger for a few seconds.

  A man wearing a Stetson entered the room. She knew immediately it was Levi, the cowboy. He glanced at the woman, and she withheld her fire. Jessica released her breath but stood rooted to the spot, afraid to move. They tossed Jake to the floor beside Reed. Her heart sank.

  Jake’s stoic refusal to give an inch to Levi strengthened her resolve. She had rather die with Jake than become a plaything for the lowlife characters filling the room. To her disappointment, Levi had other plans for her. She trembled as he pronounced Jake’s sentence of death. She and Reed would remain prisoners for as long as they remained useful. Reed was resourceful. She didn’t doubt he would find ways to prove his worth. To such a bunch of animals, she had only one thing of value they were interested in – her body. If the look of hatred from the tall, dark-haired bitch were any indication, she might not live long enough for even that humiliation.

  Their captors locked them inside the old ranch house, now a work shed. They stripped the shop of anything sharp that might sever their bonds, unceremoniously dumping the items outside in the rain to rust. Reed collapsed against a wall, wheezing. She joined him.

  “Jake will get us out somehow,” she said. In spite of their predicament, she found that she believed Jake would survive. Her mind refused to picture him dead. It gave her an iota of hope. However miniscule it might be, hope was the key to survival. She could endure whatever Levi’s men did to her, but she couldn’t survive if she gave up hope.

  Reed glanced up at her frowning. “You have a lot of faith him. We’re trussed up like Thanksgiving turkeys with no weapons, surrounded by a couple dozen of Levi’s men. I don’t see our chances as very good.”

  “If we were the type to give up, we’d have been dead a long time ago. We survived the plague. We’ll survive this, at least long enough to come up with a plan.”

  Reed stared at her for a minute. “Maybe you’re right. The alternative is to die. I don’t much feel like dying.”

  She leaned back against the wall, taking comfort from its cool adobe brick. Her words were meant to buoy her spirits more than Reed’s. Inwardly, she didn’t hold out much hope. It was obvious that Levi desired her, and that the dark-haired bitch didn’t much like the idea. She could play one against the other, but she would be treading a razor’s fine edge. She didn’t see that she had much choice. She was helpless, tied up, and didn’t know what tomorrow might bring. She closed her eyes and let the sound of the rain lull her to sleep.

  16

  June 22, 2016 Galiuro Mountains, AZ –

  True to his word, Levi wasted no time extracting his revenge. Two days later, as soon as the sporadic monsoon rains had run their course, two men dragged Jake from his smokehouse cell and deposited him at Levi’s feet. His body felt as if it had been used as a piñata for a baseball team fiesta. His legs and hands were numb from being bound so tightly for two days, and he was weak from hunger. Though his captors had come in to check on him several times, each time removing armloads of his smoked meat, no one had bothered feeding him or bringing him water. He had staved off thirst by sipping water from a dirty puddle on the floor, but the remaining smoked meats dangled enticingly just out of reach. He had not seen or heard from Jessica or Reed during his captivity, but he guessed they were still alive.

  “I hope you’ve been contemplating your fate,” Levi said.

  “I’ve been busy wondering how to increase the energy output from the solar panels. I’ve been thinking of putting in a bowling alley, and I need more power for the pin setters.”

  “I’m glad you still have your sense of humor. You’ll need it.”

  One of the men approached him with a knife. Jake braced himself for death, but the man grinned, as he waved the blade in his face. After slicing away Jake’s shirt and pants, he tossed the shredded clothes on the ground. Next, he removed Jake’s shoes and socks, leaving him clad only in his underwear. Then he cut the rope binding his legs. Jake bit his lip to keep from screaming aloud from the pain of blood returning to his numb limbs.

  “Take him out into the desert and tie him to something, a rock or a tree.” Levi grinned. “A cactus will do.”

  The man with the knife laughed.

  “Let’s see how good your survival skills are when staked out naked for the predators to chew on,” Levi said. “Before you go, what’s your name? Maybe I’ll put up a marker if we can find anything left of your bones.”

  “Jake Blakely, but don’t bother with the marker. I won’t need it, and I don’t give a shit what your name is. I’ll leave your bones lying on the ground for the buzzards to pick clean.”

  “Bold talk from a corpse.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Look around you. Dead men are coming back to life all over the country.”

  “After the animals get through with you, there won’t be enough left to turn Staggerer.”

  As they marched him down the path on wobbly legs, Jake surveyed his ranch, which had undergone a vast transformation since his capture. While he had been locked away, Levi’s men had moved in and taken over. Several motorcycles, an SUV, and a large truck sat by the gate. Tents covered the space between the trailer and the cliff. His vegetable garden had been trampled. Motorcycle tire tracks crisscrossed the once productive patch of ground. His goats were roasting over a spit. The chicken coop was empty. Jake regretted their loss more than the loss of the ranch. With all the smoked meat and canned goods he had available, their deaths seemed useless and cruel. His invaders were like a horde of locusts, devouring everything in their path and then moving on.

  Two men tossed him into the back of his own jeep and drove through the gate. He watched his ranch disappear behind him, doubting that he would never see it again. So much of his life had gone into his fortress, but in the end, it had failed him, just as he had failed Jessica and Reed, the only two people in his life he could call friends.

  The San Pedro River was deep and running with muddy water. Trees and brush floated downstream in the swift current. Most of the year the river was either dry or contained a trickle of water. Now, it drained the entire west slope of the Galiuros. The jeep’s tall exhausts allowed it to ford the river, but the current shoved the jeep downstream until the wheels caught traction. Farther from the river, the Riparian river growth of trees, reeds, and brush changed to mesquite, saguaros, and prickly pear cactus. The saguaros were swollen with stored rain water.

  The journey over the rain-washed San Pedro River Road was torture on his already stiff and bruised body. He slammed into the rear seat with each wash they crossed, each rock they struck, and every cattle guard they rumbled over. The driver took special delight in seeking out the deepest ruts.

  His gaze fell upon a sliver of broken hacksaw blade amid the trash covering the floor of the jeep and felt a glimmer of hope. He grasped it between his hands and shoved it inside the waistband of his underwear. If they didn’t strip him naked or decide to beat him senseless before staking him out, he might have a slim chance of escape.

  They took a left on the Cascabal Road cutoff, continued for a
nother half an hour, and then pulled over.

  “This is good enough,” one of them said.

  Jake checked his surroundings. He recognized the area as being south of Alder Wash. A lone Palo Verde tree, surrounded by young nursery cacti growing in its shade, thrust from a patch of sand between two large boulders. A dozen yards away, a twenty-foot saguaro loomed over it. Jake gulped, hoping they didn’t decide to truss him to the saguaro. The sharp spines would kill him before he got the chance to escape. Luckily for him, they had brought only a short length of rope. The girth of the water-swelled saguaro was too great. Instead, they chose the Palo Verde tree as his execution spot.

  “He’s not in the sun,” one of them said, as they lashed his chest and feet to the Palo Verde’s main trunk. “The tree will shade him.”

  “What difference will it make? The coyotes or a mountain lion will get him soon enough.” He stared at Jake. “Or maybe a hungry wolf.” He tilted his head back and howled several times.

  The other man chuckled at the other’s antics. “Right. Wish we could watch.”

  “I can leave you here and come back later,” the first said.

  The second glanced around and said, “Nah. I ain’t staying here.”

  Jake watched his jeep drive away before testing his bonds. His captors had done a thorough job. He could barely move his arms. The ropes bit deeply into his naked flesh of his chest and ankles. After the rains, the ground was damp. The heat licked up the moisture like a thirsty dog, creating a layer of hot, humid air that clung to the ground like an invisible fog. He was sweating profusely by the time he managed to lift the sliver of saw blade from his underwear. It took him almost an hour more to saw through the tough ropes binding his hands. He almost dropped the blade, as the pain of blood circulating again hit him. He gritted his teeth and continued cutting.

  Finally, his chest was free. He untied the knot binding his feet with clumsy, numb fingers and collapsed onto the sand exhausted. He was free, but he was almost naked with a sliver of saw blade as his only tool. He had no weapons, no food, or water, but he was survivalist. It was time to put his training to the ultimate test.

  Night would fall soon. As quickly as the heat rose during the day, it fell just as rapidly at night. He might not freeze to death, but he would burn a lot of precious calories he didn’t have to stay warm. He needed food and shelter. Shelter wasn’t as difficult as food. There were caves and deep crevices in the rocks in nearby Kielberg Canyon. He could find water still pooled in hard-packed earth or in natural stone tanks, but with no weapons and no string for snares, game might be difficult to obtain. Jojoba nuts, yucca fruit, mesquite pods, cactus fruit, elderberries, Palo Verde seeds – the list of edible desert plants was long, but finding them was sometimes a scavenger hunt. He began by collecting the seeds from the Palo Verde that had been his cross. Now, it could save him. The green pods were tough to peel, but the peas inside were sweet and nourishing. He ate them almost without chewing, eager to satisfy the knot his empty stomach had become. He was still hungry when the last pod was devoured, but he was no longer starving.

  The heat baked his exposed skin, and his feet found every burr, every cactus spine, every sharp stone buried in the sand. Some type of foot covering was his next challenge. The tough outer leaves of a yucca plant proved just the thing. After sawing the leaves from the plant with his blade and tying a folded bundle around his feet with tough fibers pulled from the leaves, he took a few experimental steps. What his footwear lacked in fashion they more than made up for in durability.

  He grazed from the few berries and edible plants, like chia, that he found along the way. His destination was not random. He had a plan. The canyon where the abandoned mine lay, where they had tested Reed’s explosives, had scraps of metal. From metal he could make crude weapons and tools, not enough to take back his ranch from armed intruders, but enough to survive, and survival itself was a blow to Levi’s carefully crafted plan for revenge. The mine was in a side canyon of Kielberg Canyon

  He couldn’t help Jessica or Reed. Their fates rested, for the time being at least, in the hands of the cowboy. He tried to dismiss their plight from his mind. He had enough problems without allowing his guilt of failing them to move him along foolish paths. However they suffered, Levi wouldn’t kill them, at least not for a while. A while was all he needed.

  Twice, he passed small puddles of muddy water. With nothing with which to carry water, he drank his fill, hoping he didn’t get dysentery from the dirty water. He gathered prickly pear fruit, gouging holes in them and squeezing them to force out the sweet nectar. He startled some mourning doves, quail, and roadrunners in his passing, but had nothing with which to kill or trap them. He threw rocks at a pair of fat quail but missed by a margin of which he was not proud. His skills as a primitive hunter were sadly lacking. He had relied too much on guns and technology. Now, he would have to rely on his wits.

  He passed several small Sobaipuri Indian ruins, no more than piles of stone excavated in the ‘70s. The Sobaipuri were related to the Pima Indians and perhaps descendents of the Hohokam who once inhabited the region. He sifted through the sand with his fingers and dug up two small flint arrowheads that might prove useful both to start a fire and as a cutting tool. Flint was hard to find in the area. Quartzite was more plentiful. In fact, an entire Arizona town was named for the mineral.

  It was dusk by the time he reached the mine canyon. The damp air was already growing chilly. He needed fire. Using the last rays of the dying sun, he finally found a piece of steel from the shattered ore cart. Tender was another matter. After the rain, everything was still wet. Luck was with him, as he found a few scraps of wood beneath the overturned ore cart. He rubbed a piece of wood on the edge of the cart, carefully collecting the dry powder in his hand. When he judged he had a sufficient quantity, he squatted out of the wind beside the same boulder behind which they had sheltered from the explosion, laid out his meager pile of tender, and patiently began striking metal to one of the flint arrowheads, showering the wood with sparks. It took much longer than he anticipated, but the tender at last began smoldering. He gently blew into the smoking tender until he coaxed a miniscule flame to life. Gradually feeding bits of wood to the precious flame, he soon had a glowing blaze. It was a tiny fire, producing more psychological comfort than true warmth, but it sufficed.

  He curled up naked beside the fire and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. Anger and guilt in equal proportions troubled his mind – anger at what had been done to him, and guilt at how he had let his friends down. He wanted to strike back at Levi, but knew now wasn’t the time. He abandoned thoughts of sleep and paced back and forth in the dark slapping his arms to keep warm.

  * * * *

  June 23, 2016 Kielberg Canyon, Galiuro Mountains, AZ –

  Morning’s first faint light creeping over the mountain tops lifted his spirits, but didn’t warm him. He sifted through pieces of metal from the mine cart, finally locating one that was long enough and sharp enough for his purpose. Further diligence was soon rewarded with an old coffee pot half buried in the sand, refuse of the old mine site. With it he could collect water and store it, if he could find it. He searched along the cliff until the steady drip of water falling reached him. A trickle of water dripped from the rocks, as it found its way down the mountain from the recent rains. It was only a few drops at a time, but he was patient. He knew the best place to store water in a desert was inside your body. After the pot was half full, he drank it, relishing its slightly salty wetness, and placed it back beneath the slow drip to fill while he saw to his breakfast.

  His stomach growled to announce its emptiness. He thought of the smoked sausages in his smokehouse and yearned for just a taste of one. He would have to settle for what he could forage. He recognized the arrow-shaped leaves and red stems of greenthread plants. They grew in abundance above the four-thousand-foot elevation. With them and a handful of elderberries, he brewed a pot of Navajo tea. What it lacked in flavor, it made
up for in satisfying the gnawing hunger in his belly.

  From a length of tree branch washed down by the rains, he fashioned a crude spear with the metal he had salvaged, attaching it with heavy fiber thread ripped from a yucca plant. He hefted it in his hand to test the balance. The Native Americans would laugh at it, but it would serve its purpose. He now had a weapon. Next, he needed clothes. He knew of two places to obtain clothing. One was his ranch, which was out of the question. The other was one of the local ranches, and that meant facing zombies. Better zombies than men with guns. With spear in hand, he set out. The miles wore on him, sapping his little remaining strength. His beating and near starvation had weakened him. He leaned more heavily on his spear for support.

  He found a spot where a tree whose roots the current had eroded leaned over the river. He could climb the tree, cross the swollen river, and descend via the trees branches dangling over the other side. He performed a balancing act as he climbed the tree, using the spear as a balancing pole. The cold water rushing by beneath him didn’t look inviting, especially with the boulders protruding from the current. He almost made it. Just over halfway across, the roots loosed their grip on the wet earth. The tree and he fell. He went to his knees, clasping the tree with both arms. The tree shuddered to a stop inches from the water. He resumed his crossing on hands and knees, the rough bark digging into tender flesh.

  The first ranch house was a blackened ruin. The shattered shell of a propane tank lay splintered beside the house, either the cause of the fire or as a result of it. He fared little better at the next ranch. The owners had time to pack everything before vacating, leaving the doors wide open for vandals and the wildlife. Piles of animal scat stained the carpet. Each house he came to had been thoroughly looted, meaning that he wasn’t the only survivor in the area. The corpses of a couple of zombies meant the survivor was armed.