by Chris Lowry
“Just checking,” I told them.
I stepped into the hallway and stood to one side so they wouldn't shoot me if they decided to start firing.
Overalls stopped in the door.
“Be careful,” I told him. “There are empty rooms on both sides, but the food and weapons storage are the last two. We left our flashlights in the kitchen area.”
“Go on then,” he motioned.
I took loud steps in the dark and listened for them to clop after me. This was a dumb plan. They had guns and I should have disarmed them. I should have hidden a weapon by the door just in case we came back. I wondered if there were more weapons in the other rooms and decided I didn't have time to look. It was too dark to hunt by feel.
I knew where one big weapon was. It was nuclear and I was going to have to move fast to escape the blast radius.
I was halfway down the hall when I heard them march in behind me. They were bunched up in the dark, maybe hands on shoulders to stay close, rifles ready for anything if they were trained.
I jogged to the end of the corridor.
“Hey!” Overalls yelled as he heard me.
I hit the back door, fumbled it open a crack.
“What the hell are you doing?” Overalls screamed. “He's trying to escape.”
I ducked into the kitchen as they peppered the door with bullets. I ran to the ladder, hauled up as fast as I could and shoved the hatch open. I pulled over the lip, closed the hatch and tried to flipped the latch closed. I grabbed a wire from the condenser, broke it, and twisted it through the lock.
Then I ran to the edge of the roof, peeked down and jumped into the truck bed below. I hit hard, and rolled out of the side.
“He's back here,” someone yelled.
This was the most dangerous part of a really dumb plan. I ducked through the open doorway, all silhouette and they shot. I could hear the bullets whizzing past me, hear them running down the hall. The back door surged open as a press of refugee Z hit it.
The hillbilly army screamed and turned their fire on that doorway.
I reached up and twisted the doorknob of the first room and threw myself out of the front. I fought the door closed, slammed it and closed the lock.
There was nothing on the ground to hold it.
Bullets punched through the metal.
I scrambled to the front of the truck, backed it against the door and ducked out as a bullet shattered the back window.
Then I listened to their screams as Sean came out of the front room and the refugees surged from the back.
After a moment, it all faded to a low moan, then nothing.
At least nothing I could hear through the door.
I leaned against the truck and caught my breath, nursing a sore ankle.
That was stupid.
It could have turned out so much worse. No plan, just winging it.
Dumb.
But I was alive.
I just needed some food and weapons to trade.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I walked around the yard searching the fallen Zombies for weapons. Most of the holsters had been cleared, but three still held weapons and two more had full magazines. I took them all under the watchful eyes of the crows who made sure I didn't take their meals.
I explored a covered shelter at the end of the compound as I loaded and checked the action on each of the weapons. I strapped them on so they were very visible on my hips, and tucked the third into the small of my back under my shirt.
There were a couple of wooden crates ready to be shipped out marked with spray painted black stencil the words food and pistols, but no rifles. I found them in the motor pool hut. Maybe they had just arrived on a truck when the plague hit, maybe they were going to another refugee center.
Each was marked MRE and there were four of them. Giant six-foot wooden shipping crates as tall as me.
It would take a forklift to move them.
I settled for a chain from one corner of the shop. I tied it around the last crate, connected it to a post holding up the building.
Then hotwired the truck, which took longer than I liked, and eased forward until the crate hit the ground with a loud crash. It broke open and spilled the plastic packages onto the ground.
I left it there for coming back.
The truck rumbled out of the armory and I stopped to shut the gate.
Then I pointed the nose in the direction of the Speedway and roared back with food. No weapons, but they would have to accept it.
I needed to work out the loss of the men though. I wasn't sure how Wynn would take it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Wynn took it better than I expected. He had thirty-six machine guns and two ammo boxes for each to arm his soldiers from the truck in the woods.
Bubba did not like that I came back alone.
“Where they at?” he shouted.
“They didn't make it.”
He pawed for his gun.
I held up both hands to show the empty holsters where Wynn's bodyguards had relieved me of mine. My two visible guns.
“What makes you think I'm going to let you out of here?” Bubba sneered.
“Bubba,” Wynn raised one hand, palm flat.
“No Wynn I ain't going to be quiet. This man done embarrassed me. He done got my men killed at a food depot. Now everyone else is missing. I brought you back all this food for your people, and I think you owe me.”
“I owe you?”
“Yeah you owe me the head of this jack ass right there. For the men he done killed.”
Wynn tilted his head to look at me, as if he was seriously considering the offer. I could feel the tension ratchet up a notch, feel the shifting of the boys behind me. They weren't going for their weapons, yet, but when they did the crossfire was going to get a lot of people killed.
“Is he one of your trusted lieutenants?” I asked.
The head tilted in the other direction.
“Hired help.”
I took a step forward and to one side, away from my group.
“He done hired me to take care of trash like you,” Bubba spit.
“A fine job you're doing too,” I took a step closer to the hillbilly.
“What you mean by that?”
I glanced at Wynn who watched me, at his hand, palm still down, the two bodyguards behind him eyeballing the signal from him. My people were out of the way. I wished I could signal them to back up against the wall, make themselves small. Or better yet, scarce.
“I mean when you take out the trash, you should really recycle.”
“Huh?” Bubba screwed up his eyes, forehead wrinkled as he tried to puzzle it out.
I pulled and put a hole between the wrinkles, giving him a dumb confused look to carry into the afterlife.
When you're trained to shoot, you use your chin to aim. Line up the sights with the chin, cup the gun if you can, palm under the grip, but if you can't, just keep the arm slightly bent and look at what you want shot.
I squeezed off three rounds as I stepped into Bubba's men. They scrambled back, reaching for weapons, but six shots takes less than six seconds and after that it was just gun smoke and ringing ears.
I turned toward Wynn, gun aimed away from him. Both of his bodyguards had pulled their weapons, but kept them aimed at the floor, eyes on his palm and me, waiting for his orders.
“That was...unfortunate,” Wynn exhaled.
His finger twitched and his bodyguards brought up their weapons in slow motion. I could get one, but not both of them, and hoped my group could get out in time.
“We have coal!” Brian screamed.
The finger twitched again and their guns froze. Mine too.
I was secretly pleased that my weapon was higher than theirs. Faster on the draw. I wondered if I would have gotten them both. Two shots. One second.
“Coal,” Brian stepped forward. “We can establish some trade between our communities.”
Wynn pursed his lips.
&n
bsp; “Go on.”
“Winter is coming,” Brian moved closer. “I propose we supply you with coal in exchange for a truckload of food. Your people can raid the depot for more canned supplies and we can do it again. We'll work together to make it through the next few months.”
I watched Wynn mull it over in my peripheral vision. I kept eyes on his bodyguards though. If their boss moved, one was dead and the other I was pretty sure I could take out too.
“What's to stop me from just taking your coal and keeping the food?”
This was it.
I tightened my finger on the trigger and planned the movement in my head. Guy on the right, center mass. Guy on the left, throat or head, then a second shot into each. One, two. One, two.
Byron jacked the slide on his Glock.
“I think you should consider the trade,” he said.
Letting the three of them know I had back up.
Wynn shot a look in my direction and I saw him swallow. His palm pressed down to the floor and his bodyguards holstered their weapons. I kept mine raised and pointed for a moment longer before lowering it.
I realized I was standing in the middle of seven bodies, blood pooling around my boots. The smell of piss and feces filled the small room as muscles relaxed and released.
It was the smell of death.
I looked down and noticed my arms and face were covered with blood splatter and wondered what Wynn saw when he looked at me.
Was that why he swallowed?
“I think you make a perfectly acceptable proposition,” he said. “Take one of the trucks, and bring it back full of coal.”
Brian stepped back into the group. Peg reached for his hand and gripped it tight.
“This is the start of something,” said Brian.
Wynn arched up an eyebrow and looked at me sideways.
“I believe it is.”
“Something civilized,” Brian continued. “Establishing trade routes is going to get society back on it's feet.”
Maybe Wynn was thinking just that. Maybe he wasn't planning a double cross or some painful form of death for the man who just laid out his hired help.
But I would warn Byron to keep his eyes open on the exchange anyway.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
We made it back to Fort Jasper before sunset. One of the boys guarded the gate and I pledged that when I came back with my kids, I'd learn all of their names. Anna was waiting as the two panels rolled back to let the bus in and I was the first one off to wrap her in my arms.
I finished the kiss and looked for the other truck. It was parked along the side of the building, the back empty.
Anna noticed my look.
“I had them move the maps in our room,” she told me. “I thought that's what you might want.”
“It is.”
“Are you leaving yet?” she asked.
I glanced at the sky and shook my head.
“I'll take off in the morning.”
“One more night,” she reached back and pinched my bottom before sauntering back to the barn.
Broken indeed. The Japanese had an art called kintsugi. When a ceramic bowl or cup was cracked, they filled the broken seam with gold. It turned the damage into something beautiful.
That was Anna. Kintsugi. I wanted to fill her broken pieces with gold. And other pieces with parts of me. The thought made me grin.
I was too broken to be worthy of gold, or even being filled. But I could appreciate the moments.
Brian and Byron stopped beside me.
“We're rebuilding society,” Brian crowed. “First, it's trade, then we grow from there. We can build it better this time.”
I didn't think so but I couldn't share that with him. There were too many Overalls out there, too many Generals. Most of the good people died trying to help others when this whole Z mess began.
I wanted to tell him the world was broken and it couldn't be put back together, the cracks couldn't be filled with gold.
But maybe it was like the moments I needed to appreciate. Maybe it took the actions of a man like Brian who wanted to be one of the King's horsemen and rebuild humpty dumpty, shape it into a better place.
“I saw a trailer lot when we were coming in,” Byron told us. “We can haul some of the single wide's up the hill and move people out of the barns.”
“See,” Brian crowed. “It's starting already.”
He clapped me on the shoulder and went to look for Peg.
“I'll watch him while you're gone,” Byron told me.
It was my turn for the shoulder clap.
“Watch them all for me.”
He puffed out his chest, all pride and confidence.
“Don't stray too far while I'm away,” I warned. “I don't know how many days I'll be gone, but you can keep everyone close and out of trouble for a week.”
He laughed then, loud and childlike.
“These people? Us? I'll try to keep them out of trouble until the morning, but I can't promise more than that.”
I laughed with him for a moment and he gathered up his squad into the rig we had been using to drag the trailers up the ridge to go hunt for single wide mobile homes to add to our village.
For a moment, I was alone in the yard.
I could hear voices inside the barn, Hannah with the children, small tiny bursts of laughter. Adult voices that murmured in words I couldn't make out. There was light inside the barn, and heat and people.
The Vikings had one giant communal hall they gathered in, around a long fireplace, with rooms and huts around it for privacy. Maybe that would be a good way to live for the future, all of us together for meals and after, just using the rooms for sleep and privacy. Maybe it would keep us connected.
I thought about one more night in that warmth before going out into the cold to find my kids. They might not be warm tonight. They might not even be safe. I had a moment to appreciate my good fortune before my mind reminded me of them.
It set like a rock in my stomach.
I was going to find them, going to bring them back to this and keep them safe. Starting tomorrow no one would stand in my way. Nothing would stop me.
I heard a Z moaning from somewhere below the ridgeline, down by the train. I hoped it wasn't a sign.
THE END
Thank you for taking the time to read Battlefield Z Sweet Home Zombie. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated.
Thank you. Chris
Continue the Adventure in:
ZOMBIE BLUES HIGHWAY
JANUARY 2017
MORE WORKS BY THE AUTHOR
BATTLEFIELD Z
BATTLEFIELD Z CHILDREN’S BRIGADE
EPOCH
THE HOLY WAR
MOON MEN
SUPER SECRET SPACE MISSION
SHADOWBOXER
MISSION ONE
WITCHMAS
About the Author
Chris Lowry is an avid adventurer and ultra-running author. He divides his time between Florida, Arkansas and California where he trains for 100 mile Ultramarathons. He has completed over 68 races, including 18 marathons and 12 Ultramarathons and is planning a Transcontinental Run across the United States from Los Angeles to New York City in 2017. He has kayaked the Mississippi River solo, and biked across the state of Florida. When not outdoors, he is producing and directing a documentary film about adventure and writing. His novels include Sci-Fi thrillers, Spy thriller’s and mainstream fiction. He loves good craft beer and meeting with reading clubs and running clubs, especially if the aforementioned beer is offered.
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