Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation

by Scott, Joshua Jared

  “I bet they’re worried zombies will get em,” said Mary. “Things are worse than before, so they want to be able to help if something bad happens.”

  “Could be. The things are everywhere.”

  * * *

  We were almost back to the Jeep – it had been parked on a dirt track a good five miles from the spot we’d be fortifying – when some locals rushed over to speak with us.

  “Did you see it?”

  “See what?”

  I had no idea what they were talking about.

  “The tiger!”

  We all stopped.

  “A tiger?” asked Mary. “As in orange with stripes?”

  One of the men nodded. “It was a big one. We were checking our snares when it ran past, grabbed one of the rabbits we caught, and darted off.”

  I smiled. “That would be something to see. It didn’t hurt anyone, did it?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. Just took our dinner and ran away.”

  “I’ll let the captain know about this,” remarked Lieutenant Gikas. “We’ve spotted some on the west coast, pets, maybe zoo animals, that escaped or were released. They are going to become an established species soon.”

  “Maybe that will keep them from going extinct,” said Mary. She rounded on the men. “No shooting the tigers! Unless they try to eat you.”

  Interlude – Briana’s Story

  “What do you mean there are forty thousand zombies on the interstate?”

  Harlan Jones, resident expert in charge of our communications system, winced at her harsh tone. “That’s what the pilot said. There are at least that many marching down I-90 toward Rapid City. The things are strung out for over ten miles with more lagging behind.”

  “Zombies bad,” declared Asher. The toddler was sitting on the carpet playing with his wood trains. He had yet to see one of the monsters with his own eyes, but the boy knew full well that they were something to be avoided.

  “Yes, they are,” affirmed Briana. “How far away?”

  “Maybe twenty miles from the city limits. They will be inside this time tomorrow.”

  “No, they won’t. Jacob didn’t go through all that trouble clearing the place so it could be looted to have to restart now. We can’t do it all over again, not with so many having to go to Yellowstone.”

  “Not much we can do about this,” said Marcus. “That’s too many for us to simply shoot. We would have to set up firing lines and major obstacles, and we can’t do that in the time we have.”

  While Briana and I were technically in charge with the nifty titles of consul, it was standard practice to bring in others whenever anything important arose. The people consulted varied, based on what was being discussed and who was available. In this case Marcus, Steph, and Lizzy were participating.

  “The fu…” Lizzy stopped herself, glancing at my son and pointedly avoiding the look of death Briana was sending her way. “Since we can’t shoot, we get them to go somewhere else instead.”

  “Same problem,” pointed out Marcus. “That’s too many to risk sending a car out to lead them away. The driver’s bound to get swarmed.”

  “Why do we have to use a car?” asked Steph. She ran long fingers through her fiery red hair. The color was spectacular, and it was natural, something that resulted in widespread irritation and envy among a significant portion of the female population.

  “What? You want someone on foot to do it?” demanded Lizzy.

  Briana brightened. “How about a plane?”

  “Nah,” replied Marcus. He dug some marbles out of his pocket and sent them rolling toward Asher. The boy squealed with excitement and promptly began placing them on the train tracks. “Those move too fast. The dead heads are going to lose sight right off the bat, and I don’t know if they would follow the sound if it’s coming from up high.”

  “I was thinking of a helicopter,” continued Steph. “Ronnie takes his out and hovers just off the ground and moves them down another road away from the city or maybe gets them turned around so they go back the way they came.”

  “Could work,” said Briana, “and it’s better than the alternatives. Harlan, go find Ronnie and get him over here, will you?”

  “Sure thing, ma’am.”

  My sweetie repressed a sigh. Briana hated being addressed that way, even if she was the boss and a mother to boot. I think it made her feel old. Such respect was the norm however, at least outside our inner circle of longtime friends.

  “Not ma’am, mommy,” corrected Asher, speaking to no one in particular.

  “That’s right.” Briana retrieved a lollipop from a jar on the desk and gave him one. They were homemade, crafted by Steph and her ingenious cooks. “Here you go.”

  “I’ll go with Ronnie to make sure he doesn’t mess up,” stated Lizzy. “We’ll put some spotters on the ground too. I can radio them if anything looks funny, so it can get relayed back here, if we end up past normal range.”

  “Not you,” corrected Briana. “Marcus can go, if he wants.”

  “I’m in charge of security, and this is a security matter,” she protested.

  “That’s stretching things,” commented Steph. “I think you just want out of the Black Hills for a while. Still mad at Jacob for leaving you behind?”

  “I might be…” Lizzy looked at Asher a second time. “Unfair having the dirty diaper factory in the room.”

  “This is our living room,” said Briana. “It’s his house. Sides, it’s have Asher here to keep you in line or get a swear jar, and since we aren’t using money for anything that wouldn’t work. Anyway, no worrying. I’m sure Jacob is going to take you when he goes off to fight for real.” She grimaced. It was not a topic Briana cared for.

  “He better, and Mary needs to stay home this time.”

  “I agree, but Lizzy, you know that’s not likely to happen. She was fighting at fourteen. Think Jacob will refuse now that she’s sixteen?”

  “Girl can handle a gun as good as anyone,” added Marcus. “She knows what she’s doing.”

  “That’s not the point!”

  “Mommy, why is Aunt Lizzy mad?”

  “Well, Asher…” Briana picked him up and deposited the child in Lizzy’s large lap. “…she gets cranky because your sister gets to have more fun than she does. That’s why her face is turning purple, just like a plum.”

  “When’s Mary coming home?” he asked, addressing his honorary aunt. “What’s a plum?”

  “Not soon enough,” growled Lizzy. She gave him a kiss and plopped him back on the floor. “Plums are fruit, like apples. Now, go find a marker and draw all over Marcus’s boots.”

  “What I do? Asher, get back here. She was just kidding. No scribbling on my shoes.”

  The boy’s shoulders slumped. He loved drawing on things.

  “You’re not going to be stuck here chopping down trees and stacking rocks. You get to have some fun. It’s not fair, and don’t you dare say life rarely is.”

  “Speaking of trees,” began Briana, “we need a whole bunch more. The newcomers might spend the entire summer with us, and I see no reason to keep them doubled up like they are now. We should go ahead and build some more cabins, and we can always use them for other things later.”

  “The area’s getting tapped out,” said Steph. “We cherry picked the best ones already, and if we keep at it, there won’t be enough left. Remember that rockslide back in March? We keep cutting for building or firewood, and that sort of thing is going to happen more often.”

  “I can go out with some flatbed trailers and get them elsewhere,” suggested Lizzy.

  “I suppose that would be best,” agreed Briana, thinking on it. “Marcus, you going up with Ronnie or would you rather help Lizzy with the lumber?”

  “I’ll go with the sour puss.”

  “I am not…” Lizzy trailed off and took a deep breath.

  “Ronnie can get someone else to spot for him,” he finished. “I don’t like the idea of flying over so many biters.”
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  “Get to it then.” Briana waited for the pair leave before turning to Steph. “What’s up with Lizzy? She was way more restrained than normal. I didn’t even have to yell at her for swearing.”

  The redhead snagged one of the lollipops for herself. “No idea. Because Asher is so cute and easily corruptible?”

  “Maybe. But I’ve seen her that way when the munchkin isn’t around too.” Briana moved the jar to the side, preventing our son from getting a second treat.

  “I want one,” he announced, in his most demanding tone.

  Bad enough he couldn’t draw on Marcus’s shoes. Asher was not going to be denied a second time.

  “No more until after dinner, and if you throw a tantrum you’re going right to bed.”

  “Want one! Want one now!”

  “Aren’t you being fussy all of a sudden,” said Steph. “Want me to take him for a bit?”

  “No.” Briana picked Asher up and headed for his bedroom. “He’s been told. It’s night night for you, young man.”

  “It’s not sleepy time yet!”

  The pouting was on the verge of turning into full bore screaming.

  “Are you going to behave? If not, it’s right to bed. I mean it.”

  Asher paused, looked at Briana’s face, and finally sniffled, wiping his face with one tiny hand. “Yes, Mommy.”

  “Then you can play some more, but no more candy unless you eat your dinner.”

  “You’re good with him,” observed Steph. “Ready for some more?”

  “Please, I can barely handle the one. How do you get along with four?”

  Steph had a quartet of children, all orphans whom she adopted, ranging between six years old and ten.

  “I threaten to have Lizzy babysit if they misbehave.”

  Briana laughed. “Ooh, that’s mean.”

  “Nah, it was Lizzy’s idea, sort of. She’s the one who made the threat in the first place, back when she caught Johnny throwing rocks at one of the cows. I just built on it.”

  * * *

  “I’ll be starting school up again after the spring planting is completed, same as last year.”

  Briana and Laura, the head of the valley’s school system, were walking along the citadel’s battlements, overlooking our bustling town. There were rows and rows of log cabins, all with a peaked roof, surrounded by a grid of roughhewn, stone roads. Larger structures were scattered about including chicken coops, stables for dairy cows, stables for horses, several pubs, and a single church. That was also composed of logs but possessed two stain glass windows, both of which had been recovered during a scavenging trip.

  “You need anything special for the kids who just came in?”

  “Not really. Since we have different school houses for each grade, there’s plenty of room.”

  That had been one of their better ideas. Not only did it save us from having to construct another large building, always a chore, it also had the effect of lessening distractions. And, with plenty of people possessing teaching experience or inclined to give it a shot, staffing was not a problem.

  “We need to increase the focus on traditional academics,” added Laura. “That means cutting down on the practical stuff, or extending school hours.”

  “Really? Go ahead and extend the hours. The practical classes need to stay as is, at least for the next few years.”

  “Briana, some of the parents are getting upset. They want their kids studying math and spelling and history. They don’t want them spending so much time on horseback riding, animal husbandry, shooting, and so forth. They think of those as hobbies to do at home or something along the lines of a profession.”

  “How many are bitching?”

  Laura hesitated. “I don’t have a list, but there are six or seven who have met with me or complained to the actual teachers.”

  “Less than ten.”

  “For everyone who says something, you know there are several more who are quietly agreeing.”

  “Maybe, but it’s not very many regardless. And do you know why? It’s people understanding how essential it is to learn these skills. None of their kids are going to be attending college, probably. Now, I’m not saying mathematics isn’t important, but being able to survive has to come first.”

  “They don’t like hearing that either.”

  “As if I care.” Briana shook her head. “You wouldn’t think they’d forgotten what it’s like outside the valley so fast. Maybe we should make them go on a looting run. Let them do some real work for a change.”

  “I’m going to go ahead and say that that would be a bad idea.”

  “Think they’ll protest?”

  Laura shook her head. “Oh, no. I think they’ll run and hide, scream, or try to claw your eyes out.”

  “Such babies. Oh, I know what to do.” Briana leaned in close. “I’ll have some people go out and film the zombies up close, maybe let a few attack Lizzy so she can whack them in the head with her tire iron, something that shows how dangerous they are.”

  “That might just work,” admitted Laura, after a lengthy pause. “You know, most haven’t left the valley since we moved here, and most who did have only gone a few miles to one of the others next door. A reminder of what’s out there would be beneficial. I can play them at the schools, have the parents or guardians come. We already have big screen televisions set up for running educational videos. What age cut off would you want?”

  “What do you mean cut off? All the adults should see.”

  “I meant the students, the children,” clarified Laura. “Aside from traumatizing the little ones, most of whom already have issues, you know the zombies are pretty much all naked. I’m not getting prudish, but do you really want first graders asking about that?”

  While the shambling dead are immune to decay, their clothing is not. Also, the quarter of the population who initially fell and re-animated did so in the middle of the night. These were either nude or clad in flimsy pajamas, nightgowns, or their underwear, none of which was particularly durable. Even those properly attired when they changed had spent the past three years shambling about outside, three years of constant exposure to the elements and the never ceasing movement common to all zombies. As it stood now, the vast majority were clad in rags or less, usually less.

  “You could use it as an intro for your sex ed classes.”

  “Briana!”

  She let out a laugh. “Maybe not. How old are the kids before they start getting sex ed?”

  “We don’t have sex ed, not officially. The health classes in the upper grades cover the basics, barely. Most of the time is spent on how to not get food poisoning, how to stay clean, first aid, more first aid, advanced first aid, trauma care, that sort of thing.”

  “Anyone being told about sex can see naked zombies. Go a year or two younger in any case, and make sure you start with some graphic footage of their teeth slamming together, or of one that’s all messed up. That’ll take their minds off the nudity. It might even limit the giggling.”

  * * *

  My absence from the Black Hills was a short one, and not a whole lot happened, aside from these mundane conversations. However, there was one additional event of interest. This involved discovering what happens when you incorrectly reload your own ammunition.

  Lou, a twenty something, thrill seeking moron, took the rounds for his .44 magnum revolver and pried the actual bullet off three, pouring the powder from two into the third. He then, very carefully, got the piece of lead back in place. We generally don’t bother with such things. For one, we are supplied by the government, so there is no reason to worry about reloads. Second, we don’t have access to the individual parts such as loose powder or caps. We do gather up what brass we can so this could be sent west to the factories there for recycling, but that’s about it.

  At any rate, Lou then went to the pistol range – this is located near the town, facing one of the ridges which frames the valley – and took aim. We set numerous timbers in the ground in front
of a huge mound of dirt. Boards crisscross and connect these, giving a person something he can staple a paper target too. The trigger was pulled, and the gun exploded. The weapon was ruined of course, the barrel split in two and bent back. Lou lost all four fingers of his right hand and the first knuckle of his thumb.

  Our doctors and nurses did all they could, which was essentially nothing. The missing digits were blasted apart. Even if they had been recovered, our hospital, nice though it is, can’t handle the delicate, time consuming surgery that reconnecting them would require, not to mention our medical personnel lack the necessary training. They stopped the bleeding and sealed the injury, but that was all they could do.

  He received very little sympathy, once it became common knowledge that the accident was solely his own fault. The grief this caused, on top of being mutilated, resulted in his getting prescribed some expired anti-depressants. Hopefully those would help. With next to nothing being manufactured, we were almost at the point where medicating the mentally ill becomes impossible. Then it would be therapy only, and we have no trained psychologist or psychiatrist, or forced confinement for those who simply cannot function without drugs.

  Chapter II

  “He asleep yet?” asked Briana.

  “Finally,” I replied, joining her on the sofa.

  Asher had squealed with joy when I returned – always a good thing – and there were plenty of hugs and kisses. I tossed him in the air. I gave him horsey rides. He showed me his newest favorite toy in the world. I tickled his tummy. Then, after about twenty minutes, he decided he rather play with his big sister instead. Following a couple of hours of trains and building blocks, it was time to read a story and send Asher off to bed.

  “Anything I need to know,” asked Mary, stifling a yawn, “about anything here?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Nothing,” agreed Briana, “but there are a few things to discuss so go ahead and take a seat.”