The Reanimates (Book 1): The Complex

by J. Rudolph

  I don't think anyone ever was more proud of their invention as I was at that point. I felt like I had to have just invented a light bulb when all I did was take other peoples ideas, mashing them together to make a washer. It didn't matter though, I was on top of the world.

  Trent had finished whatever project he was working on and wandered over to see what we had been up to. He scrutinized the stands and overall design. It wasn't done the way he would have but he was remarkably proud of us for figuring out a plan on how to get this working.

  “Anna has offered to do the kid's laundry. I figured why not. It would help a lot to have someone take care of that. Now that we have a washer things should be easier for her to take on. We can probably work out a rotation for the adults to use the washer for our own clothes.” I mused aloud.

  Trent totally agreed that the adults should do their own laundry and thanked Anna profusely for offering to do the kid's stuff. It took a weight off knowing that at least they should be happy and clean.

  Life seemed to be settling in. Zombie attacks were fewer. We settled into our happy routine. It was almost like the zombies didn't happen, like we had moved on to a commune where things actually worked out.

  Things were nice enough that Joey wasn't running around like a crazy person trying to keep us safe and seemed to have a little bit of time on his hands. He chose to spend his time with Jody. More than once I saw them sitting together holding hands or kissing. It was awesome to see life go on and that love could survive a world like this. Things felt good.

  Things feeling good should have been our first clue that things were about to get bad. Very bad.

  The Marauders

  Anna had warned us when we first met her that there was a gang of morons preying on the survivors out there. She told us that there were things worse than the zombies. We should have listened better.

  Our first encounter with the marauders was a week after we took Anna in. We were hanging out in the common area enjoying an unseasonably cool June mid morning. It was just after 11 AM so we were starting to think about putting together lunch. We had been cheered by the sprouts coming from the garden and our clean clothes. Our solar panels were working well and only a couple times we drained the reserves of the system. The apocalypse was going to be able to be survived. More than survived, even, it would seem that there could be a chance of really living. We believed that maybe this was a reset that the earth needed to get us off of the path of destruction that we were on. Zombies didn't consume resources, well, beyond the people they ate. We mused over our overall good fortune in this world despite the losses we endured.

  "Yo! Everybody! We got trouble at the front gate. Daniel's gonna needed some back up." Tyreese yelled down from the tower. I grabbed the cross bow I had taken to carrying around as well as my Luger. I took off in a run to the gate thinking that it had been a while since we had an all alert zombie attack. Tesla ran alongside us, which struck me as odd. She didn't usually go anywhere near the perimeter of the complex. I think the smell of the zombies bothered her.

  "Look bro, it ain't gonna happen. You need to best step on." Daniel had said in a rather menacing voice. I hadn't yet come around the corner to see who he was yelling at. I was trying to figure out if there was some sort of self therapy going on like when someone yells at the TV. I realized though that there was a distinct lack of moans that all the zombies did. In place of moans was the sound of a man yelling back.

  "Nah 'bro' you ain't getting this. We need water and food. We need a place. You all seem to have it going on right now. We can see your new solar panels from the street. We saw that water truck coming up in there. We know you got shit. Why are you all being so greedy? Why can't y'all share?" The mystery man was carrying a mocking, menacing tone. Joey, Trent, and I reached the gate at the same time, weapons drawn. There was a group of aggressive men standing just outside our complex with a stance that screamed malice. Tesla adopted a mirrored demeanor, her back arched, fur stood up, her teeth bared, and she growled at the strangers. "Ah. Make believe security patrol is on the scene, eh? And their little dog too! Maybe now there's gonna be more compassion displayed than this mother has. He,” the man paused, pointing at Daniel, “won't let us in." One of the other men flipped Daniel off.

  The man who was speaking was a big guy. He stood at least six feet tall. His unkempt blonde hair was filthy. He was covered in a layer of grime. Even with the grime you could see very tanned skin underneath the dirt. He would have been considered handsome if he was clean. He had surprisingly white teeth and striking green eyes. He almost looked like he belonged on the cover of a comic book as the misunderstood good guy. He looked like someone to follow. He looked like someone that could take care of his group at any cost. However, he looked as though at some point he had become unhinged. He was still in command of his charisma and charm but only just.

  His friends were equally grime covered but didn't have that charisma. They looked like the standard southern California stereotypical thug types. They looked like they had been from a variety of gangs in the area but were now part of a whole new gang, one that was still alive. It was clear that they were the enforcers of the speaker, that some how the speaker had gotten their loyalty and now they would do anything for him. I wondered if they had all joined together because of a common previous existence, if they were all of a violent past, and that they were joined together now to keep doing as they had before. I was probably painting them with the broad brush of stereotyping, heck, before this, in the old world, they could have all been used car salesmen for all I knew. I wasn't going to risk being wrong though. I'd rather be safe with my stereotype right now. Besides, with the body language they were displaying, if they weren't violent twerps in the past they were now. If they weren't scary before that could make them more dangerous now. I wasn't about to find out the hard way.

  "No, we aren't going to be letting you in. You are staying just where you are." Joey responded. Usually his firm but authoritative southern accent diffused a great number of situations. It didn't seem to be working this time. The already tense air began to build upon itself and there was a sense of impending danger. We could see them look more sinister than before. It would seem that they were not used to being told no.

  "We will be coming back fuckers. Then you're all gonna be sorry. We will have you on your knees begging for forgiveness. You all are gonna rue the day." He and his friends flipped us off again and the one that was speaking hawked up a wad of phlegm and spat it at us. It struck the gate and dripped off thickly. He glared at us all and the group of men stalked off.

  Part of me felt a little guilty for turning them away but the story that Anna shared about the murderer of her neighbor hung thickly in my brain. We had to be careful. There was such a vibe of malevolence. I knew they'd be back.

  I used to think that when the world went through something like a zombie infestation that everyone would act right and that they would all work together. Of course there would be personality conflicts here and there, but good will would end up prevailing. It was hideously naive but it was how I thought. Stalking up the street was the reality. It was there in my face and it couldn't be taken away.

  It brought up some issues in the group of how do we decide who gets help and who do we turn away. Some people felt that no one else should be brought in. The overwhelming majority decided that if those that came asking for help seemed to be asking without malice, and were willing to be a part of the group working for the good of all, then we would take them in. I liked that. I accepted that it was possibly a band-aid for my conscience but it helped the feeling that we were about to lose all of our humanity. I remembered the years after the planes crashed into the twin towers and how the world was turned against each other in fear. I didn't want to see that happen again. More than that, I didn't want to put Drew in any sort of danger.

  The following day another family was seen fleeing down the street. They had a pack of zombies chasing after them. The man was wildly shoo
ting behind himself at the pursuing zombies, not taking the time to aim. The sound of the gun echoed like thunder cracking across the sky. We tried to catch their attention like we did with Anna by waving a blanket madly. Joey fired his gun in assistance taking out several of the zombies that were behind them, some having come up from the houses they passed. The problem was that since they never did see us the added gunshots scared them. The man ducked down, grabbing the woman and the teenaged girl down with him. That drop down was all the zombies needed to overtake them. Bullets didn't strike fear in zombies. They didn't react at all to the sounds of bullets that aimed for them other than look for the source of the noise, hoping that it was connected to dinner. I watched, transfixed by the zombies as they ravenously ripped into their meals. It didn't take long before the meaty bits of the family were consumed and their transformation into a zombie began. Joey fired a shot into each one of their heads, stopping the transformation in its tracks. It struck me odd that the conversion was happening so quickly, though I remembered the CDC mentioning that in the beginning of all this conversions had taken a week from wound to reanimation. They then said it had mutated further to taking about 30 minutes. It stood to reason that now the virus was acting even more quickly.

  We paid for the use of a gun, both theirs and ours when a couple hours later there was another wave of zombies. They seemed to be more hungry, more insistent to get beyond our walls. They pressed into the spikes, impaling themselves just like Trent thought they would. They got stuck on the spikes which made it easier to get a shot into their heads. More pressed on until the spikes were totally filled with doubly dead zombies. They pushed on putting pressure on the gates. The addition of the second lock served us well and the gate did not jump the tracks like before. We had worked out several bugs since the end came. They pushed against the cinder block. I worried that there would maybe be a point that the wall would fall but today would not be that day. Trent said that he was going to add in some more bars to reenforce the wall on very short order.

  While we had made it through another fight there was that persistent fear that what if this would be the last one that we were going to beat? How many waves of the undead would we survive? How many more groups of marauders would just leave without a fight?

  We needed to come up with some sort of plan that would provide a barrier. While the spike strip worked, sliding all the way dead undead things off the posts was just gross. People mock me because I hate spaghetti. I hate it. I hate the squishy sounds it makes when its winding around the fork. I hate the warm texture of the noodles. I hate the slurping sound of the noodle into a mouth. Zombies on a stake sounded just like spaghetti. I fought to keep the contents of my stomach from bubbling up.

  Trent was the first to come up with the idea of a trench. "A long time ago,” he began, “they just threw a moat around the castle and put up a draw bridge. I don't see why we couldn't just do that here and now. There are several tractors up the road where there was a new housing development coming in so I don't think fuel will be that much of an issue, all we'd have to do is siphon the other tractors. In building a moat the zombies will fall in it and we can burn them when there gets too full. It might have the added benefit of slowing the jerks that were here earlier as well, should they decide to come back. We could build a drawbridge so we can get in and out. Anyone see what I'm saying?"

  It was a good idea, I thought. "I'm just concerned that the sound of the tractor will bring a storm of zombies on us. The longer this goes on the more hungry the zombies are going to get as fresh meat becomes a rarity. If we are running a tractor that will be an all zombie alert. Whoever was driving it would have to be on the outside of the wall. It's just a concern I keep having, you know?"

  Trent weighed what I said heavily. "What I'm worried about is that zombie storm is apt to happen no matter what. I think you're right, that they are going to be getting more and more hungry. It would be good to have a barrier around here. If we piled up the dirt on one side and made a steep hill for them to have to climb then it slows them down right? We would have a fighting chance. We have to be able to keep ahead of these things, right?"

  I couldn't argue that logic.

  Trent's Trench

  I watched as Joey, Daniel and Trent walked out of the safety of the complex to the housing development up the road to get the tractor. They all had their guns drawn and ready to go. I stood on the roof with a pair of binoculars to watch their progress. I didn't like anyone out of my sight. Jody sat on the roof with me, and I noticed that her eyes never left Joey.

  “You and Joey seem to be getting along well.” I casually mentioned. A slow blush cropped up her neck. She had a hint of a smile on her face.

  “Yeah I suppose we are. I just feel so safe with him. I feel like the world is livable when we are together. I hate seeing him leave like this. How do you do it, Cali? When Trent goes out, how do you cope?”

  “I just know that he is coming back no matter what. He wouldn't leave Drew and me in the lurch like that. I keep holding to that. It doesn't mean I like it by any stretch of the imagination. It means that I have to hold on to that. How serious are you and Joey getting, anyway?”

  “Pretty serious. Cal, I think I love him. I think he loves me. I worry though that if he loves me or that there is an acute lack of options here. Who else is he going to shack up with? Martha? I was a little worried when Anna showed up to be completely honest. I know it's stupid, but I am so grateful that she has this deluded belief that any day now she is going to see her husband walk up the road and all is going to be as it was.”

  “Did she say that to you?” My eyebrows knitted with concern. It was one thing to have hope that maybe things worked out but this could be the start of something more serious, like if she thinks she sees him and opens the gates leaving the complex vulnerable. It was a deviation from the Joey-Jody love story which was the topic at hand but this was something I wanted to know more about.

  “Yes. Her exact words were that when he gets back to the house and sees that no one was there that he would know that they went to find more people. She said that he knew that she would hit up any gated community to see if she was there and that this complex was the closest one to the house and that Kyle has a friend here. She told me that just wait, he'll come.”

  I hoped that Anna was right, both for her sake as well as for her husband's, but the odds really didn't look good. I knew that sometimes hope was a dangerous thing. I worried that she would see her husband walk up the road as a zombie one day and that it would completely unhinge her.

  I refocused on the road ahead and I could see that the guys had gotten up to the backhoe and were looking at how to get it fired up. Trent was studying the wiring while Joey surveyed the area with his gun drawn. Daniel was holding a chunk of hose and a gas can looking for diesel running tractors in the area. When he came across one he started the siphon process, with his mouth. It made me want to gag to see him spit out a mouthful of fuel once he got it started. I wished we had a bulb siphon so badly on his behalf.

  Trent got the tractor fired up. Daniel topped it off with some of his fuel finds but it didn't seem to take much before he stopped. It seemed that luck was on our side that the tractor had been mostly full when it was parked there.

  The three boarded the tractor to drive it home. Trent was operating the controls while Joey and Daniel had their guns drawn ready to shoot at anything that moved. The tractor lumbered down the road at a snail's pace, topping out at maybe five miles an hour. Even under the loud sounds of the tractor we could hear the telltale sounds of zombies, that ever present moan.

  We had talked before of why zombies moaned like that. We had several theories. The most popular one though was that they moaned from that driving force they had to eat and infect. That hunger we speculated was so encompassing that they were in pain, hence the moans. The next best guess we had was that they moaned because they were not able to communicate in any other way. Speech was a higher brain function. With
out a frontal cortex you couldn't communicate. Perhaps the zombies did communicate with one another, that the moan was the language of the virus. It was all just a guess anyway.

  From the tractor I could hear the sounds of gunfire. Joey and Daniel were doing all they could to keep the tractor on its path and the three of them safe. We were definitely putting a lot of eggs in the basket here. More zombies filled the area, drawn to the loud hum of the engine. Daniel and Joey were on the ball never allowing the zombies to get very close at all. When they reached the gate, DaWayne opened both of the bike locks and ran the gate open for them. They got the tractor through and the gate was locked back up. They left the tractor right there in front of the gate to make it easier to take it back out.

  It always amazed me how quickly the days went by. I never thought the daylight went away so quickly before. It was already nearing sundown after the day's events had transpired.

  The next morning the building of the trenches was started. Trent started at the front corner of the complex, tearing up the grass between the complex wall and sidewalk. It was about three feet between the sidewalk and wall and we thought that was actually a good distance for the width of the trench. Zombies weren't coordinated enough to jump that distance. We figured that the wall at one side of the trench would make it difficult for our human threat to get by as well. The hole was about eight feet deep. Trent piled the dirt on the street side, making the hills that formed nice and steep and very slowing. The soft dirt would sink under the weight of a zombie slowing them even further.

  For the time being Trent had decided to skip the driveway, knowing we needed to come up with a proper drawbridge first. He tore through the sides, appreciative that the area's upcoming development hadn't yet gotten to the complex's borders. It made the job infinitely easier that way. The trench sides connected beautifully.