Kira hadn't shown herself or made a sound, but I knew she had me covered. I thought of her high target range rifle scores and knew she and Marilyn could be counted on in any situation to provide accurate, withering, rifle fire.
The driver, a medium height obese man gorging his way to being grossly fat, was in his mid to late thirties. His complexion was pale except for a deep pink nose. He stepped toward me with hands raised and palms empty.
I studied the mostly Caucasian group closely. "What do you want?"
The man didn't smile, but projected a serious, non-threatening, demeanor. "We waited to see if you were friendly. Two groups we met ran us off and threatened us." The woman who'd sat beside the driver gripped her left hand tightly with her right hand. She was shorter by several inches than the man I instinctively guessed she was with. The overweight man hesitated and glanced at her. "We've come from Minot, North Dakota. Minot was our home. It's been overrun by zombies, and as far as we know we were the last people alive there." He took a breath and appeared uneasy. The sun was at our backs and he squinted at me.
I tried to be firm but not unfriendly. "So, how does that involve us?"
"We've run into so many undead all along the way that we're real low on ammunition. I didn't have a lot to start with. We stopped at several gun shops, but they'd already been cleaned out. At a Bass Pro Shop near St. Cloud, we got inside and then we had to fight off a whole bunch of zombies to escape. That's where we picked up the two men, Jerome and, Sam." He motioned over his shoulder toward the second woman. "Vivian, was outside the store running down the street when we escaped, and she begged to come with us. The fuel tanks are almost empty and we need food and water. Can you share some supplies with us or tell us where to get some? Can you?"
There was movement on my left as Kira edged closer. She was still unsure of the strangers and stayed behind cover while training her AK on them.
"We'll help you, but what's your destination?"
"I don't know. We don't have anyplace in mind. Do you—"
I judged the other people. The two teens now stood slightly behind the drab woman from the front passenger seat. Both were slender, a girl maybe thirteen and a taller boy about fifteen. Each was jittery and clearly as ill at ease as their mother.
Vivian, the lone Latino woman, late twenties, medium height, was wrapped tightly in a huge winter coat with the hood up. She stood slightly apart from the others. She was scared and looked like a hare perched to jump and flee at any moment.
Jerome and Sam stood behind the others, one on either side of the vehicle. Concerned, cautious, not afraid, one middle aged, one younger, both fit, both wearing tan Carharts with pistols holstered at their right thighs. Their arms were folded across their chests as they struck relaxed nonconfrontational poses.
"— know how far we'll have to go to a place where we'll find other people? Surely there are towns that were able to fight the zombies off and survive. Right?"
I shook my head. "I don't know of any town in the states surrounding Iowa that weren't overrun. We're all on our own."
There were loud murmurs, and the two women slumped in defeat as they openly sobbed at the news that no towns were safe havens. I heard Vivian mumble, "Oh my God."
I raised my eyebrows as I threw a questioning glance at Marilyn. She nodded. I turned to Kira as she stepped away from her hidey hole. Her rifle was still leveled at the new people. "Me too." She nodded as she pointed the barrel of her weapon at the gravel. Marilyn followed Kira's lead.
I smiled because of the caring attitude I'd learned to expect from my friends. "We have a compound in Iowa. There are twenty-seven of us, twenty-two adults and five children. We're the closest thing to a safe town I know of. Do you want to join us?"
The strangers exchanged speculative looks, and then smiled broadly. Shortly, nods of approval were universal. Several thanks' were given before I spoke. "When we get there, you'll be examined by our doctor. Afterward you'll be put in solitary confinement for three weeks. If you've not been infected by contact with a zombie, you'll be accepted into the group. If you are infected and begin the transition cycle, you'll be terminated. That's our most stringent rule. Acceptance of those terms is mandatory."
It took a little longer to elicit yeses, but they finally agreed to the harsh non-negotiable term.
Kira pointed and lightened the mood, "We're running ahead of schedule because of finding this full trailer of food and stuff." She turned to address me. "I was inside the warehouse for half an hour while you started the truck. There are a lot of things that haven't been touched. Can we make a quick pass through the warehouse while we're here? There's no telling what we might find. Most people are after food and ammunition. But big grocery stores carried a lot more than that."
We formed two groups. I took Nate and Vera Robard and their two teens, Mitch and Susie. Jerome Watters, Sam Williams, and Vivian Alverez went with Marilyn and Kira.
The majority of the food items had been picked through, but we loaded up on linens, non-prescription medicines, bandages, cosmetics, personal grooming items, light bulbs, soap and other miscellaneous items. A major find was canning supplies and equipment. We cleaned those items out. When the doors on our twenty foot cargo trailer closed, it was more than nine-tenths full.
Several over the road tractors on the lot had partial tanks of diesel, so we siphoned enough to fill the tanks on the Peterbilt and the fuel guzzling Humvee. While we transferred fuel, I asked Nate, "Where did you find this monster?"
"A friend of mine had it stored in a barn on his ranch. When we got there in my car, zombie carcasses littered the place. He and his family were inside the house dead. I suspect he killed the family members and then committed suicide at the end fearing they'd be overrun. Given the circumstances, I knew he wouldn't care if we took it. That's where we found the guns and ammunition we brought. I didn't own any guns before, so I'm just learning to shoot. I'm not good at it, and my wife hates guns. She won't even touch one."
I wound the siphon hose. "We have mandatory exercise programs and target practice for everyone including your teens. You need to share that with her on the way. We can't afford to have people who can't defend themselves; they're liabilities. You'll both get the hang of it."
Nate winced noticeably at the mention of exercise.
~*~*~*~
Late that night, the seven possible new members were fed and then examined by our doctor, Ira Sparrow, before being locked in the six holding cells. Vera and Susie shared one.
The next morning, Albert Gonzales brought the Humvee into the shop area for an inspection and servicing. He patched the muffler with sheet metal and performed routine maintenance on the engine. While cleaning the interior of trash, he found cases of beer and whiskey stashed in the back. Liquor, tobacco and street drugs were banned by our group from its inception, so we emptied the liquor and buried the containers with the other trash.
When Albert and his son, Vince, were satisfied with the Humvee's condition, it was fueled, parked by the livestock barn, and locked. I didn't see a need for it, but who knew what our future needs would be.
~*~*~*~
That afternoon I sat on a wood bench outside our survivor's compound. I was next to Kira Schafer. The afternoon sun warmed us despite an aggressive breeze carrying December's chilly temperature. She'd suggested we talk about the day a month before when my ex-girlfriend, Connie Diuguid, attacked her. She leaned her brunette hair against the metal panels and stretched her long legs out in front of her.
"As the evidence against her mounted," Kira began, "there was no doubt Connie wanted to kill me. But why did she think we might be intimate when there wasn't...”
I started to speak, but Kira waved me off. She threw a harsh questioning look at me.
"You didn't use me as a reason to drop her, did you?"
I'd sat staring at the woods, some six hundred feet away, which surrounded our compound. I turned on the bench to face Kira as I shook my head. "I did not use you as a
reason to untangle myself from Connie because there was and is nothing between us. I'd simply grown tired of her demanding, possessive attitude. After Emma died, I was lonely and still suffering her loss. Connie was there for me. She was attentive and helpful, and initially there was an attraction. It's strange and disheartening for me to accept that I enabled a relationship with the woman who caused my wife's death. I feel like a dodo."
My M14 stood upright against the bench, and I grabbed it after my arm brushed it and knocked it off balance. Yeah, a dodo. "Connie confronted me several times after seeing you and I talking; she was extremely jealous and possessive. I soon learned she was somewhat paranoid and unstable, too, so I ended the relationship."
Kira stared in mock horror. "Somewhat unstable is putting it mildly. Connie should have been committed to a mental hospital. She was friendly when she and I crossed paths, especially when others were around. But occasionally, I'd turn toward her and she'd be glaring at me for no reason. It's still scary that she could hate me enough to set me up to be attacked by those undead monsters because she perceived me as a threat to your relationship with her."
"I know. Looking back, it still doesn't seem possible that my dropping her as a girlfriend would cause her to try to murder you. But I have to take her word that it was what drove her to set you up to die by the hands of the zombies."
Kira's expression turned somber. "It's even stranger that she arranged the death of her fiancé and then your wife to get close to you. You're a strong leader. I've seen that. But it's not like you're movie star handsome or super charismatic."
"Thanks a lot,” I responded sarcastically. “If we're finished, let's go back inside. It suddenly got too chilly to sit outside."
Kira grimaced and laid her hand on mine. "Sorry. I didn't mean for that to come out quite like that or so strong. I apologize, handsome. Can we just be friends?"
I nodded but remained serious. "After Emma died I jumped into a bad relationship too soon because I didn't let enough time pass. So casual friends is good."
We stood to go back inside to safety and warmth. "I hear Janice, Marilyn and Andrea have been spending time talking to you about your run in with the man who raped and beat you. Has it helped?"
Her face flushed. She looked embarrassed to talk about it with me. "They and Ira and several others have been very helpful and attentive. I'm dealing with it better, but it's not totally under control." She smiled again. "Even at twelve, Paige has been my biggest supporter and salvation. Thank you for asking."
~*~*~*~
Three weeks after their arrival, we welcomed the seven new survivors to our group on December 22, 2021. While I had no direct objections to Nate and Vera, there was an undercurrent about them that bothered me. Before the welcoming meeting Shane Holescheck and I discussed the couple. "When you give this group your initiation spiel, don't mention the gold we have. There's something about Nate and Vera that doesn't set right. It's not that I don't like them, but he fires up feelings of doubt and concern in me."
"I agree about the gold," Shane said. I didn't plan to tell Kira about our bullion either. It just slipped out without my thinking since everyone here knows about it. I'll spread the word for everyone else to not mention it either. What are your concerns about the Robards?"
"I wish I knew. It's not that simple or concrete. It's more his attitude and occasional sly looks and comments that don't seem right or appropriate for the time or situation. Maybe he's just a smartass or a jerk and I'm making too much of it."
"I doubt that. You've proven to be a good judge of character, or lack thereof, so I'll respect your opinion and keep my eyes and ears open."
"Also Ira and Marcie both said Nate was experiencing symptoms of alcohol withdrawal during his stay in isolation. When I met him I suspected that red nose was from excessive drinking. As much as you and I used to enjoy a drink, if we can do without it so can he."
During the meeting we learned Nate had been a manager in a fast food restaurant and Vera was a housewife.
Jerome Watters spent twenty-two years in the army. For the next two years, he'd drifted from one job to another as he travelled the country looking for a place to settle down. And then the zombies happened. He was tall, stocky and friendly. Three failed marriages while he was in the army had convinced him to remain single.
Sam Williams came from Canada. He was in the States working when the zombies hit. He'd worked at several northern states oil refineries in several construction trades. He and Jerome met in a bar, formed a friendship and stayed together for survival as the zombies overran North Dakota. He was twenty-six, slender, medium height and liked to tell jokes. Funny clean jokes.
The last of the new arrivals, Vivian Alverez, said she was twenty-eight and originally immigrated to the US from Mexico. She was vague about her past but said she'd worked at a variety of service type jobs and could help in a lot of areas. I guessed she was five feet seven, with a slender build and movie star looks.
Overall I was pleased with our new members and felt they were good additions, in spite of my uneasy feeling about Nate Robard.
An hour after the meeting broke up, I heard my name called. Shane and Nate each yelled for me to stop. They'd entered through the north door with Vera doggedly trailing behind. Winter coats and hats over ruddy faces attested to the severe temperature drop that blew in from the north overnight. Nate wore a frown on his wind-burned red face, and his fists were clenched at his sides. He yelled at me from twenty feet and waddled closer. Several people in the area stopped their activities to watch the brewing confrontation.
"Who the hell said you could search my vehicle and destroy my possessions?"
"What possessions?" I knew what he'd referred to but chose to make him say it.
"I had cases of beer and Scotch in the Humvee, and Shane said it was destroyed while we were caged like animals. I want it replaced and replaced now."
"Alcohol, tobacco and street drugs aren't allowed here. It's a rule the original founding members set. The zombies cause enough problems without injecting others. We can't afford to have someone drunk on guard duty or cause one of our people to die because a drunk makes a mistake or doesn't react quickly."
Nate shook his finger in my face. "I don't give a damn about that. You didn't tell me that up front and I want all of it replaced."
"No. That won't happen, Nate. Alcoholic beverages are not allowed on our property. If you want it that bad, you can leave and find it yourself. But then you can't come back. You were given a copy of our rules last week and that's covered in detail. Is there anything else you object to?"
"Yes there's that exercise clause. I have health issues and can't do that calisthenics crap."
I shook my head and turned to leave and Nate grabbed my arm and jerked me to a sudden stop. It wasn't the time or place for a physical confrontation with him.
He blared, "Now you just listen to me. I have rights and I want my property back."
I flung his grip off and leaned down close to his face. "No. Sue me if you don't like it. We gave you and your family refuge from the zombies when you were in danger. For that you'll abide by all of our rules or you can leave. Those are your only choices."
Past Nate and Vera, I saw one side of Shane's lips rise as he smirked. "Told you what the answer would be. Now do you believe me?"
Nate glared hatefully at Shane, then focused his anger back to me. "This isn't the end of it." Vera stood behind Nate like a drab little mouse as he ranted. He waddled off in a huff, and she meekly followed with her gaze toward the floor.
Shane stood next to me and shook his head. "Yep, he's going to be trouble alright."
"And that puts us in a bind. I don't want to expel Vera and their kids because Nate's an ass. I assume they'd all leave as a group. If they leave it's a death sentence because that moron doesn't have a clue of how to protect them."
~*~*~*~
Christmas and New Year's Days passed, and the group was ecstatic that no zombies attacked us durin
g the festive season. I remember overhearing Ed Jarnigan, our Navy SEAL weapons expert, sum up our holiday attitude by mentioning the WWII song, Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.
After the holidays, John Alton, Shane, Marcie Tanka, and Andrea Michaels drove to Cedar Rapids to pick up another load of 1/2" steel plate and angle iron. They returned two days later with a boom truck leading an over the road tractor pulling a high capacity lowboy trailer loaded with steel. The steel plate would be installed to provide protection behind 2nd floor gun ports and in both watch towers. Naively, we'd only planned on shooting from the building at zombies. We didn't anticipate humans shooting back. In retrospect, the leadership committee admitted to a person that we must have had our heads in a dark, smelly, place when we didn't consider the evil element that tramples others in the human race.
When John Alton, our resident mechanical engineer, redesigned the building plans to expand it from a one hundred foot by two hundred foot horse barn to a long term place of refuge, he over-designed the structure's steel beams and supports. As a group, we couldn't predict what the future held for us, so he increased the structural capacity for unknown future additions or modifications. At the time, Emma and I had plenty of money from lottery winnings, and we put it to good use to build and equip our secure safe haven.
The food and other goods we anticipated thirty people would need could be stored on the second floor safely. John had even suggested installing a freight elevator instead of using a portable conveyor belt to move supplies to the storage area. Now we would take advantage of that over designed capacity.
Having some of our people kidnapped, raped, and abused the previous year made us accept the truth that a percentage of the apocalypse survivors would not hesitate to steal from and murder other humans. It's a fact of life in these terrible times. But, as Shane and I had discussed many times, there has always been an element of low class scum suckers from all races who will take advantage of others. Some used a gun or a knife, some were slick conmen, while others ran for public office.
OUTNUMBERED volume 2: A Zombie Apocalypse Series Page 2