Sometimes We Ran (Book 3): Rescue

by Stephen Drivick

  “Thank you, Jaci. See? Somebody likes it.” I said.

  Claire just made a face. “She's just trying to be nice. 'Distinguished' is another word for old.”

  The big meeting was breaking up. Salvatore appeared at the end of the hallway with a big smile on his face. No matter what the situation, Sal could always be counted on to be cheery. He grabbed my hand and shook it with authority. He then saw Claire and went into charmer mode, kissing her hand. Sal was a bit of a ladies man despite the fact he was pushing sixty years old.

  “How did the meeting go, Sal?” I asked.

  Sal rolled his eyes. “Ask Mike. He talked the most.”

  The association was next down the hall. Denise was last, with her granny glasses on a chain around her neck and her ever-present gray sweater. She was deep in discussion with Michael, a member of the association. As usual, he was still arguing despite the meeting being over. Denise just nodded and tried to hustle him out of the hallway. She looked up and saw me standing by the stone fireplace.

  “Good to see you, John. How many zombies get in?” she said, stopping to warm her hands.

  “Three. Lisa and Ben each got one. Elizabeth and I trapped one in a house.”

  “How many bullets did you guys use this time?” Mike interjected.

  Michael and I sometimes didn't see eye to eye. He was always worrying about how many bullets we had, or how many knives were checked out of the armory. “Just a few,” I said. “We're all fine, by the way.” Michael seemed annoyed by my report, and started to say something. Denise stepped in.

  “John...Michael, be nice,” she said. Michael and I walked away from each other. When I first arrived at Cannon Fields, Michael had been a snotty nineteen year old with a bit of an attitude. He seemed to be allergic to hard work, and never took to security. Instead, he turned to the association and politics. It suited him much better to tell everyone else what to do, even if at times he didn't know what he was doing.

  Denise, Claire, and I walked down the short hallway to Denise's office. Doctor Connelly joined us. “Mind if I tag along?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Denise answered. “I hope we all fit. The meeting with the association was a little tight.” She did have a small office for a leader. We stepped into the space and found seats, in the small space. Good thing we were all so thin, or it would have been a tight squeeze.

  Denise sat down heavily in the old leather office chair. It was beginning to fray around the edges. “Okay...first thing. What do you need, Claire?”

  “A can opener. I broke mine. Just need the key to the storage area.”

  “No problem.” Denise moved Chester, her old office cat, out of the way to root through one of the drawers in the desk. She threw a set of keys into the air. “Here you go.”

  Claire skillfully caught the keys in mid-flight. “Thanks. I'll be right back.” She disappeared to the storage shed to hunt down a new can opener.

  Denise turned to me. “Okay. Now for your report, John. Three zombies this time?”

  “Yes. Two climbed the fence. Lisa got one as it was coming over. Ben shot one as it tried to run away. Elizabeth and I got the third in one of the houses.”

  Denise put her glasses on. “Everybody okay? Any damage to the house?”

  “Elizabeth bumped her head, but nothing serious. We cleaned up the house.” I paused for a few seconds. “It was 1201 Songbird Lane.”

  Denise nodded. “Strange. The intruders always seem to pick that house. Right...well, glad no one got seriously hurt.” She turned to the Doctor. “Is Elizabeth okay?”

  “She's fine,” Doctor Connelly answered. “Little cut on her scalp. Going to hurt for a while.”

  “Good ...Thank God. Anything unusual about these Red-Eyes?”

  “They were climbing the fence. Looks like they're remembering again,” I said.

  Denise shook her head. “Yeah...not great news.” She turned to Doctor Connelly. “You think they're getting smarter, Johanna?

  Doctor Connelly leaned back, interlaced her fingers, and put them palm down on her head. She always did that when she was thinking. “Maybe their food supply is low. They could be getting desperate, I guess. I have to look at the ones John brought to the infirmary.”

  “We could be in trouble if they all learn at once. Cannon Fields might be swarmed,” I said.

  Denise sighed, and shuffled some papers on her desk. I didn't envy the responsibility on her shoulders. Keeping people safe is hard work. The first year was rough on all of us. The corn and other things we planted didn't do so well in the soft, clay soil of Alabama. As a result, we went through our stored supplies a little faster than estimated. Denise had to hold the community together even as the potential for starvation tore us apart. Some of the group decided to leave.

  Denise begged them to stay, but they left anyway. We never heard from them again.

  Things improved. Our crops got better, and we learned to live off the land. We even raised a few goats, pigs, and chickens thanks to our resident farmer, Peter. Our little trips outside never turned up any cows. Our guess is the Red-Eyes got all the cattle. We got used to goat milk and cheese for breakfast.

  “I guess we'll have to start patrolling again. Walk the fences, and watch for zombies that climb,” Denise said, rubbing her tired eyes. I wondered how much sleep she was getting these days. “I know with this sickness going around we're a little short on security.”

  “We'll figure something out. I'll find a few volunteers,” I said.

  Denise patted my hand “I know you will. Oh, something else came up.” She turned around in her chair to find something on the small shelf behind her. “Sidney was manning the radio, and caught a message from the folks at Pine Grove.” Denise placed a small scrap of paper in front of me. “They want to set up a trade mission for this afternoon.”

  Pine Grove was a small subdivision nearby. They had no fence, but it was off the road enough to be partially hidden. We usually met at a supermarket halfway between the two subdivisions to conduct trade. They were one of the few friendly groups of people left. “It's been a while since we heard from them. Do they still have the same guy in charge?” I said.

  “Yeah...I think so. Somebody named Robert. They specified the same place, too. Do you know this Robert?” Denise said.

  “Oh yeah. I know him. A little twitchy, but okay. Ben dubbed him 'Nervous Bob' the first time we met him.” I trailed off remembering that first meeting. Robert was so nervous he didn't take his hand off his gun the whole time.

  Denise laughed a little. “Okay. You can go trade with him. Sidney is setting it up. However, you're not going alone. You'll need to pair up with someone. How about Ben?”

  “He's sick. It's okay. I can handle it.”

  Claire, back from her can opener mission, came back into the office. “I'll go with him.”

  Denise looked up. “You sure?”

  Claire nodded. “Yeah. John and I work well together.”

  “All right, then it's settled. Sidney is getting everything ready. He'll get a vehicle for you. Meeting adjourned. Thanks, everybody.”

  We left Denise alone to conduct the business of the day and went into the hall. Claire touched me on the shoulder. “Can I stop at my house first to check on everybody before we leave?”

  Claire and her family lived across the street from me. “Yeah,” I said. “I have to check on Karen anyway.” I said. My wife was still sick, and I didn't want to leave her without making sure she was okay.

  I walked out into the hallway, but Doctor Connelly pulled me aside. “John. I think you need to talk to Elizabeth.”

  “Is she okay? What's wrong?”

  “Nothing. Her cut is minor. It's just that...” The doctor struggled for the right words. “She seems discouraged about what happened in that house today. She won't say what happened, and sent everybody away.”

  “Elizabeth did fine,” I said. “It'll be okay.”

  The doctor pulled me in closer. “She's still in the inf
irmary. These young people trying to protect us want to make you proud. She's afraid that you're angry: it's the only thing I could get out of her. I can only heal her wounds.” Doctor Connelly let go of my arm.

  I was anxious to check up on Karen and complete the trade mission. “I'll go talk to her.”

  “Just a minute. You know the rules...no weapons in my infirmary.” Doctor Connelly held out her hand.

  I drew my gun and handed it to her. “The knife, as well.”

  I gave up my knife. “What if a Red-Eye breaks in?” I asked.

  “We'll throw bedpans,” the doctor answered, with a snarky smile.

  I walked into the infirmary while Doctor Connelly secured my weapons in her desk. A few rows of beds, some with privacy curtains taken from some ER somewhere made up our little medical center. Doctor Connelly had set it up herself. It was small, but very effective. More than a few lives had been saved here already, including mine.

  I walked down the twin rows of beds. Elizabeth was in the last row, isolated a bit from the other patients. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, looking down at the ground. She really looked like she wanted to be alone.

  I approached her in her solitude, not really wanting to disturb her. Elizabeth didn't look up as I came near. “Mind if I sit down?” I asked.

  Elizabeth looked up from the floor. Her eyes were a little red and raw from crying. She scooted over a little bit. “No. Have a seat,” she said in a low voice.

  I sat down next to her on the bed. That was the easy part. Now I just had to figure out what to say to her.

  Chapter 4: Keeping up Morale

  Nobody said anything at first. Elizabeth just sat there looking at the floor. After a few long minutes, she said in a low voice, “I'm sorry. I really screwed up.”

  “You hesitated. It's okay. Next time you'll do better,” I said. What I said was pretty weak, but it was better than nothing. I don't know if it made her feel any better.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No. That thing could have killed us both. It's just that....” She trailed off.

  “I know the Red-Eyes are pretty scary. After a while it gets better,” I said. I spoke from experience. After looking these things in the face for a few years, you get a little numb. Just get them before they get you.

  “It's not that. I didn't think it would look so....” Elizabeth paused for a second. “Human. It was just a boy.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes it's rough to look them in the face.” Of all the different styles of Red-Eyes I had seen during this whole mess, the children were always the worst. It didn't seem fair. Kids should have been spared from this nightmare.

  Elizabeth finally looked me in the eye. “It's just that I hate all this. I hate that I lost all my friends. I hate that my future was destroyed. I hate that I can't drive a car, or talk on my cellphone. I miss the Internet. I miss turning on the light switch to get light. I hate that I have to carry my water to take a bath. Then I hate myself because I sound like a spoiled whiny brat for complaining. I'm lucky. I'm alive, and I have my family.” Elizabeth's eyes filed with tears.

  I had nothing to say. Every survivor felt this way at one time or another.

  Elizabeth continued. “I hate the smell. I hate the way I smell. And I really hate corn. Then I hate myself because I know sometimes it's the only thing we have to eat, and I shouldn't bitch about it. I liked my old life. I wasn't exactly Miss Popular, but I had friends. I dated, and went out on Saturday nights. I was looking forward to college and adult life, and I wanted to make a difference. I get so angry that it's all gone. Sometimes I want to give up. Maybe I can't do this.” Elizabeth finished pouring out her heart, and sighed. She began to cry.

  Hearing Elizabeth wanting to give up was disheartening. After the outbreak started, a lot of people gave up. They were now buried in shallow graves, in a ditch somewhere, or walking around hunting the living. I often compared the fight to survive to a candle. It might burn strong for a short time, but then blow out.

  “Don't give up,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully. “Maybe some day, someone will put it all right again, and we'll step outside the gates.”

  Elizabeth looked up and dried her eyes. “Really? Is that what you believe.” She didn't sound so convinced of my theory.

  “Maybe. They'll sweep up the dead and light the cities. The junk cars and trucks will be taken off the road, and we'll all step out into the world. Life will return. It won't be the life we had, but maybe it will be something else. It won't happen tomorrow, but I think it will happen.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “That sounds nice. It might happen.” She wiped her eyes.

  I looked at my muddy shoes “That's why I need your help, Liz. We have to stay safe. Keep our children safe, and our supplies from being stolen.” I stood up. “We all just have to stay alive. When you feel better, get with your sister. I'm going on a trade mission outside and we'll need some patrols at the fences for this afternoon. Only if you're up for it.” I extended my arm, and made a fist. “What is it you kids do? Fist bump, right?”

  Elizabeth looked at me like I was a hopeless old man from the distant past. “Oh, John. Fist bumps are lame.” A little smile crossed her face.

  “I tried.” I began walking away, but thought of something else. “You know...there are plenty of jobs around here that don't require a gun. No one would think any less of you if you did something else.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No...no. I want to stick with it. I can do it. Lisa would kill me if I gave up. Can I just stay here a few minutes, you know, till I feel better? ”

  I touched her shoulder. Elizabeth was so brave. The young people had lost so much in all this. “Take as long as you need.”

  I walked back up the rows to retrieve my weapons from the eavesdropping doctor. She met me halfway down the row. “Good job. At least, she's smiling a little. Someone needs to add 'morale officer' to your resume,” she said, handing me back my weapons. The doctor held the gun with only two of her fingers. She wasn't a big fan of firearms.

  “We need her. I'm running out of security people,” I said. A sudden coughing fit came from one of the beds nearby. It was a little girl, Cora, one of the younger children from our community. The sickness was ravaging her poor tired body. “What about our sick people? How are they doing?”

  A grave look came over the doctor's face. “It's out of my hands. I've done everything I can do. I can't give them any more medicine or we'll run out. We're down to home remedies and prayer, I guess.”

  The news wasn't good. The sickness came in on the dead. Groups scrounging outside the gates picked it up and brought it inside. It started as the flu, but then transformed into something different, with fever, coughing, and weakness. With few doctors around, it was a killing force that often destroyed whole communities. We had weathered the recent round okay, but there were still a few unlucky ones stuck in the infirmary.

  “Do what you can, Doc,” I said, looking sadly at the sick girl in the bed.

  “You know I will. It's a long shot, but if you can trade for a little medicine on this trip, I would appreciate it.” The doctor went and sat down at the girl's bed. Cora looked up and smiled at both of us.

  The medicine was all gone. It was the longest of shots that our trading partners had any. “Can't make any promises. I'll try.”

  I pulled on my gloves, and stepped outside. The light snowstorm had passed. The sun was trying to peek from behind the dark gray clouds again. Spring couldn't come fast enough.

  Chapter 5: Trading with the Locals

  I walked down the icy steps of the admin building. The sun had finally come out a little. Even though it was still bone-chilling cold outside, the little warmth that had broken through the clouds felt good. I turned down the road toward my house. My wife was sick, and I needed to check on her.

  The deep bellow of a horn sounded behind me, and a pair of bright LED headlamps flashed on. A sleek, black shape slid past me and parked at the curb. It was m
y ride to the trade mission.

  We picked it up a few years ago in the outskirts of Huntsville. A little larger than a van but smaller than a full-sized truck, it was the flagship of the Cannon Fields fleet of vehicles. Painted in basic black, German-made, and sporting an aerodynamic nose and a crew cab with room for five, it carried both goods and people to and from our little community without fail. The big, diesel power plant sipped fuel. It even ran on the homemade bio-diesel that our resident mechanic Sidney created from vegetable oil and household cleaners. I liked the color, too. Black was less conspicuous. The sliding side door had been jammed in an accident, but the rear doors still worked.

  As I walked up, the driver's door opened, and out came Sidney. He was smiling from ear to ear, as usual. Sidney was a young man of about twenty-five and very intelligent. A sheriff's trainee before the zombies, what he really excelled at was taking things apart and fixing them. Denise put him in charge of our small fleet of cars and trucks. Besides being a crack mechanic, he was always working on a project or two to make our lives easier. The bio-diesel was one of his brainchildren. His current undertaking was a solar power station. Right now, he could only charge a few batteries, but he hoped one day to light up the whole community.

  With his giant brain, I was glad he was on our side.

  Sidney threw me the keys. “Monique is ready to go. I put the trade items in the back along with some extra fuel.”

  Sidney liked to name the vehicles we acquired. He was smart, but a little strange. “Great. Is it diesel or your magic fuel?” I asked.

  “Magic fuel, of course. Got to preserve our diesel as long as possible. Finally got Monique to take our homemade stuff. She's purring like a cat.” Sidney accompanied me to the back doors, and I opened Monique up to take a look. Sidney had neatly arranged and labeled the items. There were a few boxes of extra clothes, canned food, tools, and a couple of car batteries. Behind that were three baskets of corn, and homegrown vegetables from our supply. It was from our last crop of the year before the cold came through, and still fresh. Everything was tied down with cargo nets and bungee cords. I looked over the meager trade offerings. No ammunition or weapons. I didn't like trading them away to potential adversaries, and we couldn't spare it, anyway. “Not much, huh? Hope they have something good.”