BATTLEFIELD Z SWEET HOME ZOMBIE

by Chris Lowry

  "I worked in something like it," I told him.

  "Yeah?"

  I waited him out.

  "I wanted to be a leader, and I did all the things I was supposed to do, and checked all the boxes on their checklist."

  He went silent then, lost, maybe remembering the checklists or trying to make sure he covered something he wanted to say.

  "But you," he looked at me then. "Everybody's waiting to see what you want to do. What you're going to do. Even Byron and he's declared himself King of the group. Even he's waiting. So it's not fair to ask me where I want to end up."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I want to end up where you are. Not at a location, or just at a location. I want these people to look at me for answers."

  "Instead of me?"

  Part of me wanted to feel hurt. But I could see where he was coming from. Brian wanted to take care of a group, and start to rebuild society. He wanted to direct and delegate and pitch in from the trenches. I could understand that.

  And I didn't want it.

  I would make sure the group was safe, stocked with food and secure behind walls if we could find them, and then I would leave to find my kids.

  He knew this.

  I thought the others knew it too.

  "Or in spite of you."

  "I'm still leaving."

  "I know," he sighed again. "I'm wondering what's going to happen when you do."

  "Then they'll look to you."

  "Will they?"

  He nodded over my shoulder and I turned.

  Hannah stepped out of the wire enclosure and greeted Byron as his squad marched back in hauling bags of canned food. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, then gave him an update on the kids and what happened while he was gone.

  "You're jealous of the kid?"

  Brian nodded.

  "And I hate it."

  The sun dipped behind the trees on the lake as it started its downward path to twilight. We still had several hours of daylight left, and with the raiders back, all the camp was here. It would be a good time to have a group meeting and plan our exit strategy.

  But the shadows played across Brian's face as sunlight filtered through the leaves, looking like a skeleton's hands gripping his skull and I fought a shiver.

  So long as I was around, they deferred to me. Byron said it was warlord 101 to assign all decision making to one person during a wartime setting. We were at war with the Z, war with a militia and any others who opposed us, he said.

  I was planning to leave in the middle of the war, go out on my own.

  I wondered how it would play out in my absence, and I shivered again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It wasn't much as far as debates go.

  We gathered in the living room crammed shoulder to shoulder and I looked at all of the eyes watching me. Byron sat on one side of the room, the children surrounding him and Hannah, his boys lined up against the wall, lean warriors, eyes too old for their youthful faces.

  Brian sat on the other side of the room, Peg by his side, the new survivors that joined us spread around him. There was a rift, by ages, and I wondered how to bridge it. But they were all watching me.

  I stood in front of the room, as steady as I could manage.

  “What do you want to do?” I asked them.

  I didn't want them to look at me, I wanted them to ask Brian. I wanted them to ask Byron. They both wanted to make the decisions.

  I just wanted to get better and get going.

  Not necessarily with the group.

  “We can't stay here,” said Brian.

  Good he was taking the conversation first. I watched Byron's boys shift against the wall, but the boy himself kept a poker face.

  “There are thirty of us now,” Brian continued. “We're running out of places to scavenge here.”

  “It's a good idea to move if we want a bigger house,” Byron said. “But we have fish here, we have water. A generator and solar heater. We could just bring back RV's and Trailers.”

  “When is the last time we caught a fish?”

  “My squad is out raiding,” he said. “Your people need to do the fishing.”

  “We have been,” said Brian. “There aren't any fish.”

  “It's a river,” Byron shot back. “Of course there are fish. Tell him Tyler.”

  The scout studied the toes of his boots. He was shy to begin with and being called out to speak in front of so many nearly sent him catatonic.

  “Maybe,” he stuttered.

  “What do you mean maybe?”

  “We never caught anything either,” he said just above a whisper. “When my parents-”

  He broke off and bit his lip.

  Byron didn't make him finish.

  “It's a tight fit, but we'll just expand where we scavenge. There are a couple of bigger cities we haven't hit yet.”

  “The more we look,” said Brian. “The greater the chance someone is going to get bit. Or followed. Or found. And we can't defend this place.”

  Byron looked at the walls.

  Brian was right. The cabin was good for hiding, but except for the river, had no defense in case someone came along and wanted it.

  That had been our experience so far. Every other big group we encountered wanted to fight, wanted to take.

  “We move on,” I told them. “I'll help you guys find a place, and then I need to keep hunting.”

  That was it. It really was that simple. They just needed someone to say it, someone to make it real, and maybe they were waiting on me to do it. Someone to blame in case something went wrong.

  I bit back the cynicism. No one had blamed me when one of the kids got shot. No one had blamed me for the General showing up. They even offered to help me in the ambush against the militia chasing us.

  They were just waiting on me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When you live out of backpacks, it takes less than a morning to pack up and get moving. Everyone had a job to do. Hannah led the children in storing food in packs and putting it in the truck. Byron's squad stowed the weapons. Brian led the adults in making sure everyone had blankets, pillows and covering in case we spent the night in the bus.

  They tied extra red plastic containers filled with gasoline to the roof of the bus in case we couldn't scavenge along the way. I wasn't too concerned. Alabama wasn't as populated as Florida or Georgia, but less people meant less Z. Plus the state was only four hours across, less than a tank of gas.

  I told Brian as much when I checked the fuel gauge.

  “Grasshopper theory,” he told me.

  “Pull a pebble from my palm?”

  “Different moral. The one with the ants and grasshopper getting ready for the winter.”

  “Didn't the grasshopper play around and freeze to death while the ants worked it all out.”

  “Yeah,” he smirked. “But I didn't think you'd get the ant theory.”

  “I didn't get the grasshopper theory either.”

  “Maybe I need to work on it?”

  I grinned and clapped him on the shoulder and we loaded up the bus. Peg took her seat in the driver's spot, Brian propped behind her with his weapon across his lap.

  Byron's squad spread out on both sides near windows, while Hannah, her mother and the newbies corralled the kids in the middle seats.

  Which left me in the back of the bus again, Anna beside me.

  I was the only one who looked back at the cabin. How we crammed thirty people inside and no one went crazy was beyond me. But it felt good to be moving.

  “You're smiling,” Anna rested against my shoulder.

  “You're not even looking.”

  “I can tell.”

  She snuggled closer as the bus bounced along the road.

  We road North for an hour, hit a blocked ramp at I-40 that was a mess of burned cars and overturned trucks on both sides. Peg kept us going north until we found a crossroad and she turned west.

  After twenty minutes we saw
a sign for a town. It had to be a hole in the wall berg, too small for even one stop sign. Basically just a clearing in the forests with a couple of buildings on each side.

  And two pickup trucks blocking the road.

  The truck beds were full of men with rifles aimed at us as Peg slowed down.

  “Get up here,” Brian called out as he stood.

  I ran to the front of the bus. I had to give credit to the kids and others. They kept quiet, kept low. Maybe they were thinking about the bullet holes still stitched in the yellow walls.

  I leaned down next to Brian as one of the men stepped out of the truck and waved the bus to pull over in a shallow parking lot.

  “Hillbillies,” he said.

  “No hills around here.”

  “Redneck army then,” he grunted. “Whatever they are, it's no good.”

  “Let's see what they want.”

  “They have guns and a roadblock. They want our stuff. And us.”

  I did a quick count. There was thirteen of them that I could see. If the hillbilly leader was smart, he would have a couple of guys on our flanks by the buildings.

  “Can you see anyone else?” I called to Byron as Peg pulled over and stumbled the bus to a stop.

  “Negative.”

  The men spilled out of the back of the truck and moved along either side of the bus, rifles aimed at the windows.

  “Get on out here now,” said the first man to the bus.

  “What do we do?” Peg whispered.

  Thirteen guns aimed at the bus full of kids and people. We could fight back, and kill them, but how many would we lose in the process? Half? More? How many kids would die?

  I caught Hannah's eyes as they teared up. No one moved.

  “Out,” I said.

  I moved past Brian, opened the door and stepped out into the pea gravel parking lot.

  “Gun,” the man indicated.

  I dropped my rifle by the front tire, and pulled out the pistol to do the same. One by one the others followed me out, placing their guns in the pile and joining me.

  The hillbilly had us kneel in the parking lot, hands behind our backs as his men surrounded us. He directed one to search the bus and the man came back holding open one of the backpacks of food.

  “Ya'll going somewhere?”

  His men began passing out the food, and practically ignored us. If I had a rifle then, we could have made short work of the hillbilly ambush and got back on the road. They argued for a can opener, then found a dozen with pull tops and began to slurp them down.

  “We ain't ate in a while,” said the hillbilly leader. He wiped orange spaghetti sauce off his lips with the sleeve of his jacket, his beady eyes wandering over the group, lingering on the women.

  If he got close enough, I could kill him. Flip his weapon and take out the men while they ate. We would lose a couple in the process, depending on how fast they recovered and fought back.

  But he kept out of reach. Too far to jump, too far to lunge. He held a can in one hand, emptied it as he walked, and tossed it toward the bus.

  A hillbilly litterer.

  It couldn't be worse unless they started playing the theme to “Dueling Banjos.” Maybe his beady pig eyes were lingering somewhere else.

  “Which one of you is in charge of this here outfit?”

  Byron stood up. It took guts because the man in overalls was more than likely going to kill the leader of the group to set the tone of the conversation. A shot to the leader's head would send a message that said you are now without one because look what I did to him. Since I did that to your leader, you will now follow me. I'm not sure if that's what played through the boy's mind as he bounced up or if it was just an instinct. It might have been the way he would handle things back at the school they had made fortress where it was rumored he had ruled with an iron fist, but since allying with Brian and I, the boy hadn't shown us he was a dictator. Or if he was, it was in credit, calling himself King.

  Byron betrayed me even though he didn't mean to do it.

  He looked at me, and the hillbilly watched recognition dawning behind his moonshine besotted eyes. He may have thought the act was prearranged between the boy and I, a ploy to act out if we were ever caught.

  Then I saw Brian was watching me too, and felt the other eyes of the group burning into me, watching for how I would react to save them all. As I'd done before.

  In times of war the Regent acts as war lord, and being taken hostage in an ambush was an act of war. The whole group, betrayers all.

  I almost grinned.

  The hillbilly noticed that too, and he did smile.

  "Guess that's going to be you?"

  I shrugged.

  I tried to do it with my eyes, but they just bounced in my sockets and wiggling my eyebrows was just way too Marx brothers for me, so I used my shoulders instead. Besides that's what they were for. Shrugging and carrying backpacks, and occasionally being used as a pillow during hugs or crying.

  "Alright you," said the hillbilly. "Why don't you come with me while my men keep your people company."

  Anna reached out and held my forearm.

  One of his men twisted his rifle toward her head.

  I gave her a look and a wink.

  "I'll be back," I said softly. "If he was going to make an example, he'd do it in front of all of you. Out of sight wouldn't be as effective."

  His man shoved the barrel into the back of her head with a hard thunk. She winced and cried out.

  I stood up fast and he backpedaled away.

  "What's your name?"

  He wavered the barrel between me and Anna, and licked his lips too fast in one continuous slimy loop. His eyes were practically vibrating in his skull.

  "You," I turned to the hillbilly leader. "What's his name."

  "Bubba," he answered.

  "You're kidding."

  "Why would I kid about that?"

  "A hillbilly named Bubba?"

  "We ain't hillbillies," he said, his eyes going flat and serious.

  "Not literal hillbillies," I told him and stepped away from the group to follow. "But there are hills around here, right?"

  He nodded, flat eyes watching.

  "Tell Bubba if he touches her again I'm going to kill him," I said and walked past him to the side of the road he had indicated for our parlay.

  The eyes were still on me, all of them from our group, all of his men. Not a direct challenge to his leadership, but maybe a shot over the bow.

  "You hear that Bubba?"

  "Yeah I heard him."

  "If she moves, blow her head off."

  Overalls walked over to join me.

  "You hear that?"

  I sighed and nodded.

  "You didn't tell him what I said."

  "Oh he heard you alright. He heard you good."

  "So long as we're listening to each other."

  He laughed again.

  "I can't tell if you're crazy, or just think you're that much of a bad ass. The way you look, you done been in a few scrapes."

  "I got this from shaving."

  "Well you won't need to shave where you're going."

  "Hell?" I looked around the tiny clearing carved out in the middle of the forest on either side of the road to Talladega. "You think we might be there now."

  "I can see how you might think that. But you ain't. We done pretty good here, and even better where y’all going to end up."

  "Where is that?"

  "We got us a big camp set up at the Speedway," he said.

  "The racetrack."

  "Ain't that what I just said? We been there for two months since all this mess started."

  "Do you want to kill us and take all our gear?"

  He watched me for a minute as if the thought had just occurred to him as a possibility.

  "Now I suppose I could do that, but I'm just the leader of this camp," he told me. "We got another boss back at the main camp and he makes all those decisions. So we're going to take your people ther
e."

  "Your people?"

  "Not all of you, no," he shook his head. "You see, you've got to buy their ransom if you want us to let them go. Or you've got to pay tribute if you want to stay."

  "Gas, Grass or Ass, huh?"

  "Huh?"

  "Nobody rides for free."

  "Not in this world man, not anymore."

  "You think that's what got us to this point?"

  "What point?"

  "This place where we are in the universe. People just stopped doing things for each other, stopped caring, and then the Z happened and now it's dog eat dog."

  "We don't eat our dogs, man," he sounded offended.

  "You're taking our gear," I motioned to the school bus and car loaded with supplies. "That's a good ransom."

  "Ransom," he croaked like he had won a prize. "I was going to bet that was the one you chose instead of tribute."

  "I don't look like the joining type."

  "Nope," he smiled triumphant.

  "What then?"

  I feared they were going to want the women, ransom taken in flesh. Or the children. I watched his men from the corner of my eyes and tried to calculate how it would have to go down once he said it. Who needed to be killed first and how, what action to take to maximize the damage.

  What I could do to buy time for Byron and the others to get armed again and help me.

  How many we would lose in the process.

  "Our camp is running out of food," he answered. "Yours is going to help, but we need more."

  "You want us to teach you how to scavenge?"

  "No man, we know how to do that."

  I watched him appraise me, his eyes calculating.

  “We got something else needs doing by you.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The food depot was packed with Z. They wandered around the factory grounds locked behind a fence. I reached eighty-three before they started mixing together and I lost count. There must have been over one hundred of them.