A Very Good Man

by P. S. Power

  “Right, it's the end of the world and you want to put them on restriction because you got scared when you didn't need to? Ooh, I know, let's ground Jake for scaring us all by getting sick. Now if anyone deserves grounding...”

  Jake had to fight a smile and covered it with a bite of blackberries. They were nice and ripe. Juicy. He hadn't liked fruit or vegetables Back Before, but now they tasted incredible. Like candy almost. It seemed like others agreed with him from the murmurs in the kid's defense, plus, they'd taken a guard with them. How safe were they supposed to be?

  Safer apparently, since the next day they grabbed him in the morning too, and went to hit an apple tree. The fruit was small, green and a little sour, but wasn't bad for all that, not crab apples, these had been planted by someone, they just weren't store quality. Juice apples probably. If they ever had flour and sugar again, they'd probably work well in a pie. They climbed into the tree, and ended up with three large sacks that were too much for the kids to carry alone. He took two of them and Sammi helped Ken get the third each grabbing an upper corner of the cloth bag. That left one gun free with Justine if they needed it. They didn't, but better safe than moaning and trying to eat people.

  Then he worked for the rest of the day getting more wood. Not glamorous, but certainly needed. That was pretty much life now though, wasn't it? You worked and did what was required, without worrying what anyone else thought about you. The idea of someone being concerned about appearances nearly made him laugh.

  At about six they heard an odd sound, two odd sounds really. The first was a car engine. Cars hadn't gone away or anything, but fuel had been hard to find for a while. Mainly because the police had hoarded it all in the first two weeks, before anyone else had organized enough to defend more than a few token cans of it. The second was the horn. It blared from an old pick-up, a black thing with red spots in irregular places on it. The vehicle raced into the drive, nearly tipping into the turn, sliding on the gravel driveway, the people in the back screaming.

  That was Vickie, her young male screamer driving, she didn't stop making noise, but it was hard to understand her, as they got closer he made it out.

  “Incoming! Incoming hostiles! Three of them!”

  For Vickie to be yelling like that, she certainly didn't mean zombies. Or the police. If it was either of those things she'd have just killed them already. Jake reacted instantly, not knowing what to expect at all.

  “Inside! Get the weapons from the armory, arm... everyone. Go, run!” He yelled this loudly, which got everyone to move for some reason.

  Probably because he hadn't shot himself over it. That must mean an emergency, right?

  Pulling his side arm, the nine millimeter first, he triggered the safety to off with a quick flick of his thumb and searched the road, what he could see of it, for whatever Vickie thought was coming.

  Then, as the truck pulled in, tense and a bit excited, Jake exhaled and tried to remember to breathe. Without air fighting was a lot harder.

  Vickie kept screaming the whole time.

  “They're coming! I, Jake, I don't know what they are.”

  That much Jake could see with his own eyes as soon as they ran into view, moving at speeds that the truck had just barely been able to outdistance.

  They certainly weren't zombies.

  Chapter Five

  Jake did something then that he hadn't done for months, nearly five now. He froze in terror. The things moved fast, but that would have been fine, he tried to tell himself, the eerie part was the jumping. They went high into the air with each leap, oh, not super-hero fifty foot jumps or anything, but they easily had ten feet of air under them from time to time. They nearly flew when they did that, getting in jumps of forty feet or so regularly, more for one of them, a pale man that held his lips back in a rictus as he moved.

  The thing was... the terror... that felt really familiar. It was something known to him, for all that this was new and strange. These things were still just zombies. They just weren't slow, and they weren't rotting. Not that he could see or smell as they closed with the people still outside. Half the cleaners had stayed out, probably on instinct, hoping to just shoot these things and make it be over. When in doubt, aim for the head. Everyone knew that by now.

  So Jake did.

  The problem turned out to be the jumping, that infernal, annoying, and new effect. If they'd just run their heads would have stayed at the same height above the ground roughly. Then, as they rushed him, he could fire. These things flew up and down, forcing a new kind of tracking that no one had any time to learn. Jake wanted to soil himself, but didn't have the time, so he did the only thing he could think of as the first one started trying to move on Vickie's silent screamer, who was still trapped in the old black truck. Something else he hadn't done for months. Only done once actually, the very first time he saw a dead person coming for him.

  He ran toward the freaks and screamed like a little school girl on a roller coaster.

  They moved on him fast then, a lot faster than any zombie had before. One of them taking to the air, flying right at him. He waited until it nearly hit his outstretched gun arm and fired without stopping. It smashed into him and he felt it continue to move, but in a more subdued fashion, just reacting to stimulus of touch. This one was a girl. Had been a girl, a woman now. Jake's own age. He knew that for a fact because he recognized half her face as he rolled her off. A girl he'd known in high school.

  Becks.

  Rachel.

  Fuck.

  Fucking hell.

  Jake nearly vomited. Nearly just fell down crying. She was dead. Had been dead too, from the look of things. And, worse, he'd just shot her in the head. She still moved, even as he stared at her, breathless.

  God.

  He didn't have time to reminisce as the other two were on him then, nearly at least. Jake finished emptying the clip into the first one, the really impressive jumping male who wore heavy clothes that looked familiar. The style did at least. Long sleeves, jeans. Layers to keep from having a bite taken out of you too easily. His left little finger was gone to a joint, the second one. Probably where the bite had happened, because it had that strange zombie black blood look that old wounds got when you turned.

  Jake missed the head and the things barely slowed if you missed it seemed. He didn't have time to go for the forty-five even. Crap. Fist fighting wouldn't work either, he knew, in that slow-fast time of any good fight. They'd take him in less than a second. He went for the gun anyway. Might as well die trying. That had saved him more than once so far.

  A high pitched and awkward scream came then, from the clutch of people by the door. A few people had been left out and stood surrounded by weapons. No, they all had them. The screamer this time had a shotgun in her little hands and rushed the things, slow, awkward and fumbling. Sammi. She fired too soon by far, the spread of pellets almost missing the bigger man that flew at the group. She'd opened up with both barrels of the hunting weapon and had nothing left.

  Except a group of friends.

  They all opened fire too, and would have killed Sammi if she hadn't tripped in her panic to move away. Either that or the little girl had thrown herself down on purpose with a will that most people never managed even when their life depended on it. The creatures hit the group hard as bullets flew.

  These people weren't killers. All the cleaners had spread out, because bunching up meant you couldn't fight. They also screamed as they died. Cleaners would have tried to stay silent so their friends could get the zombies away.

  Vickie, her whole crew, Carl's old guy, they all tried screaming now, but it didn't work. Each of the new kind of dead thing were already eating someone. The people still made noise and that bait kept the things going, feasting instead of looking for prey. A meal at hand trumped a possible one. Jake ran and pulled the clunky larger weapon from the back of his waist, glad once again that he had it. Really he needed to carry a third backup, he decided. Another nine and wear it on his other hip.
That and work with everyone on good fighting protocol.

  This was new, sure, but the people dying on the porch shouldn't have been. Not most of them. He ran as fast as he could, feeling slow and clumsy, he didn't hesitate, but there were so many people just frozen in place he couldn't get a shot off. Not at a distance. He closed, knowing it was stupid, knowing it could get him killed if the zombies turned. On the porch he stuck the end of the barrel against the head of the better jumper who ate someone, a female someone, on the ground. He could hear the whimpering. Almost without noticing it, then, without knowing he fired, the gun in his hand jumped and the thing's head lolled to the side. Jake shot twice more, making sure it didn't get back up.

  A second roar came from his right, a shotgun by the sound, someone had stuck the barrels against the smaller, faster man's head as he ate Marty the engineer. The blast ripped the head almost all the way off too. A good shot. That thing wasn't getting up.

  It took a second to realize who'd done it. The skin was dark, so his mind flashed to Carl, but Ken didn't have nearly that kind of bulk or muscle. The boy stood still, panting hard, the shotgun still smoking from the end, everyone stared for a second. Except the two on the ground. They still groaned. Marty and the woman in front of him, under him.

  Mary.

  Fuck.

  Jake didn't wait, he shot her in the head twice, instantly. He wouldn't leave her to suffer like Sarah just because he didn't know what to do. Or because he didn't want to be the one to make the decision. They couldn't save anyone that had been bitten, even if they weren't infected these two had too much damage. Maybe if they had a hospital to take them to, but with a few bandages made from boiled rags and bread mold they didn't stand a chance. Before he could move over to Marty, who begged for a second to be allowed to live, someone else stepped in and took his head off.

  It really was a mercy. The guy had to be in horrible pain, half his left arm gone and a large bite taken from his face already.

  Justine had done it. She shook, just standing, looking scared, shotgun still smoking from the blast.

  That made sense, the fear, because her right arm had long furrows on it, scratches. She'd been in the clutch on the porch when the two had hit. Fuck. They couldn't afford to chance having her turn into one of those things, a regular zombie was a huge risk, but one of those...

  Screw it, he decided. He'd take her away for a couple of days, so that only he was at risk. If she turned, she died. That was the rule of course. But if he could save her he would. That was also a rule, even if no one else realized it yet.

  “Bandages. Now. Anyone hurt step up... now, we have to move you away for quarantine. I'll be damned if I'm putting super-whatever these things are in the middle of the house. Front and center. We'll move to...” He didn't know where to go. Somewhere close but far enough away for safety. The next farm over? He didn't know what was there, Vickie's team had cleared it, scouting for a location when they'd first moved. This house had been picked mainly because it was larger. If they had a cellar, that would be good. He nodded and said this out loud.

  It took a while to get all the people to admit being hurt, two of them either didn't know they'd been scratched or were afraid to say so and one just had a bite. That was one of the guys that Jake didn't know, a homebody that hadn't even started being useful overly yet. Still, when it came to it he'd been one of the ones trying to fight, hadn't he? Not very well, but he'd been in the middle of it all. A lot of people had hidden indoors.

  Of course none of them had been bitten either, so Jake couldn't blame them. Just as well they stayed out of the way.

  The man had an old pistol in the right hand and clutched his arm with the other. Almost all bites happened to the hands or arms, the forearm being the most common place. The human jaw just wasn't designed for biting, not like zombies did it. That meant they rarely hit anything too thick. That left the lower leg, arms and hands, with the neck coming in there about fifth place or so.

  The man cried openly. Well, he knew the drill. Jake got ready to take him out, since it might be possible he'd decide to try and fight. He had a gun and panic did strange things to the mind. A bite like that always turned bad. Always. Everyone knew it too. Which was why they all stared at him.

  The guy with the bite didn't try to fight though, sobbing, tears tracking down his cheeks, he stuck the gun in his mouth bravely. Then he stopped. Hand on the trigger, he looked to be trying to squeeze, but nothing happened, his hand turned white, it shook, and the gun just didn't fire. After about three minutes of this, he pulled the weapon out, bent over and set it down, then started walking away from the house slowly.

  “God,” The moan came low, sincere and so scared it ripped at the heart. “Jake, I... help me. I can't do it. I'm too afraid.” The man cried softly as he walked.

  The single shot carried across the open fields, ripping loudly and echoing off the house, bouncing back and thudding into his chest. The man fell and wouldn't be getting back up. He may have been kind of useless in life, but a lot of people were a lot less brave when it came time to die. Jake liked to think he'd have done better and pulled the trigger himself, but who knew until the moment came? Everyone stared at him again.

  “Right, let's bandage the wounds, anyone with anything like a scratch comes with me, if anyone is bitten, well, freaking off yourselves will you?” He sighed knowing that they wouldn't. “Right... That won't work... Fine. Everyone strip. Now. Everyone.”

  It would be the only way to know for certain. The people on the porch all looked reluctant, but the cleaners moved fast enough. He did too, first in fact, holding his arms up and turning around. It made for an awkward ten minutes, but everyone else looked clear, thank god. They could take the three injured away, bury the dead and learn from this.

  Super-zombies.

  And one of them had been Becks.

  What the fuck? He walked over to them and stared, their blood was black and the limbs still moved, just like a regular one would have. The flesh though held a pristine look, almost undamaged, skin clear and free of rot. They'd all had little wounds on them, scratches and scrapes, but they just marred the body, a bit of black ichor leaking out and sealing the wound like blood would, but nothing else. No rot, no stench. It made seeing her worse. Rachel looked almost alive, but not, at the same time. He didn't get it, but collected the information for later. Who knew what would make the difference? If they had to keep fighting these things one thing was certain. He needed to become a better shot.

  That and they needed a whole lot of bullets fast.

  “Vickie, Carl, we need everyone to learn basic fighting techniques now. I'm taking the injured to the farm house, the one about three miles that way? For quarantine. Five or six days. Less if they all turn. Everyone needs to fight now. We still need wood and the harvest has to get in, don't let people slack off. They'll be afraid, but we still need to get everything done, worse now if this is what we're facing. If anything people need to work harder. Tell them that. Fear is fine, but we can't let this cripple us.”

  His voice was firm and a lot louder than it should have been, because the people inside needed to hear it too. Carl answered the same way, sounding bold, even though the whites of his eyes showed freely. Scared witless nearly, but he held together. It was enough.

  “Damn straight. Everyone will pull together, don't worry about that.”

  They didn't take much by way of supplies, no food, just some containers for water. It would suck to go that long without, still, he could hunt or scavenge for them. If any of them survived. Odds were, if they turned, they'd all die. He couldn't take three of those things by himself. If they started to turn, he'd have to kill them fast. No one spoke as they walked away, carefully moving past the field of okra.

  Justine carried her shotgun, but the other two, both men, were unarmed. They didn't complain about it. The older one looked scared, but the younger man just shook his head every now and then, disgusted. About what Jake couldn't tell and the man didn't s
ay yet. Maybe later if they lived through this?

  The walk took an hour and a half, because they went cross country and didn't bother going fast. What was the point? No one would be turning for a while and getting there sooner wouldn't really help anything. When they reached the farm house it looked pretty good. Small compared to the other place, which was why they'd picked the one they were in.

  The space.

  This one had a good cellar though and three small rooms upstairs and two on the bottom floor. There was a pantry, which had been looted bare, by them, when they first scouted the place if he remembered correctly, and not one, but two wood stoves. Heh, everyone had forgotten about that. One of them was a nice sized too. He pulled out chairs around the kitchen table and gestured people into place.

  “OK. Hard truths. We can't just lock you all in the cellar, because if one of you turns in the dark like that, but the others don't, you'll all die. So we need to stay together, but where everyone can be watched. If you feel like you're turning, tell us and don't hide it. We can't afford anything stupid here. Everyone agreed?”