Hell Happened (Book 3): Hell Released

by Terry Stenzelbarton

  CJ was the first to say something to the men who had saved them from certain death. “I can’t thank you gentlemen enough. I can’t think of any words that would convey how grateful all of us are for your generosity. We don’t have much, but what we have we will willingly share.

  “As for Sacramento, it’s no longer there. The quake and fire destroyed it. We only know of 12 people left from that area, and they’re here or in the other shelters,” CJ said. “These shelters can house half a dozen people and there are six that are finished and livable, and five more that need work on the inside, but the basics are there.”

  “I grew up here,” CJ said, not bragging, just informing, “and my friend built these shelters for the end of the world. It’d be a shame not to use them.”

  “If we’re going to decide to settle somewhere and do something more than just wait to die, I’ve seen worse places,” Marissa said. “We have kids and old people who can’t take much more traveling.”

  Josie, the trucker, made a suggestion that most everyone agreed to. “I ain’t one to settle down in one place for long. Get me a rig and anything you want me to haul, I’ll haul. But every trucker needs someplace to get her mail, so if you guys want to set up a compound right here, I’m sure I can find some volunteers to help me haul stuff to help you. We’ll turn this...what’s your last name again, Perry?” CJ nodded, not sure why she was asking. “We’ll turn this Perry Compound into a real home for these survivors.”

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  The trees were in full color, and leaves had begun falling on the base of Fort Benjamin Harrison. Russ and Lisa walked though the community they had helped create and marveled at all that had been accomplished in the past six months since the first dozen of them decided that here is where they would start again.

  It hadn’t been easy; there had been struggles and triumphs, sadness and joy. None of the more than 300 people now living in this community had not suffered loss in the great plague. Not a single person had not seen death and had to live with the realization that they were probably alone in the world with just the people in the community.

  Russ had lost his wife and son, Lisa her husband, sisters and parents and the memories were bitter and painful. They had spent many evenings talking about their spouses and both had returned to the homes in which they had lived before moving to housing on base, to retrieve pictures and souvenirs. They brought a few, but not too many to hurt.

  “The past is the past,” Russ said when people started moving in. “We’ve started a new future now.” That future really began to change with the erection of the radio station antenna and the creation of Mutant Eradication Teams.

  Sgt. Erica Bare and her team got a working radio station going in one of the houses on the cul-de-sac where the community started. It wasn’t a strong station, but it transmitted on both AM and FM. Within a week, more than 100 people had come to the base.

  She turned operation of the station, which ran on a 24-hour basis, playing every genre of music she could get her hands on, over to Zack James, a musician from Battle Creek, MI who heard the station one night while playing with a radio. He drove in one evening and offered to DJ as his job in the community since he didn’t have any other skills.

  Every hour on the hour, for five minutes, directions to the community were broadcast. Zach and three others took shifts calling out to any one else who had survived. They were the Voice from the Darkness, as the station had come to be known. Zach, having been put in charge of the station, took the opportunity to play one of his original compositions every day at 6:05 p.m. which signified the end of the regular work day. The way he looked at it, he was the most popular musician alive.

  Six months later, more than 300 people in the Great Lakes area heard the broadcast and called Fort Benjamin Harrison home.

  Sgt. Bare was promoted by Col. Hammond to sergeant first class and put in charge of one of two platoons of military people. Captain Eldred filled the position of company commander. 1st Lieutenant Jimenez, who had survived from Ft. Drum, but who was from Indianapolis, took over the second platoon. The lieutenant had brought another soldier and three civilians with him.

  The United States Military included 31 soldiers, sailors, Airmen and Marines. It was tasked with the protection of the civilian populace. Col. Hammond insisted that for the foreseeable future the community would be under military control. No one complained because Russ had Lisa as his civilian liaison and the two kept the community going with their own energy.

  One of his first appointments once the 1st Great Lakes Protectorate was created, was a Mutant Eradication Team. They were tasked with finding and eliminating the threats of mutants on base. The community had been troubled from the start with the thought that the mutants, or zombies, as they had come to be called, were running amok on the base. In the first days after the attack on the two prisoners, Russ had everyone move into two houses and someone would remain awake and on alert at all times. That was before a proper perimeter had been set up.

  With the radio station working, there were more than 100 people living in and around the cul-de-sac and Russ was able to move the captain and the others back into their own homes. The new people were more than happy to help out in what had been started.

  Russ found out from the influx of people that guns wouldn’t be enough to defend themselves against a determined zombie attack and the M.E.T. was his answer.

  Zombies hunted in darkness or low-light times for human flesh. No one knew why, it was just what had become of some people instead of dying. The zombie shied from bright lights, but if food was close enough, they’d blindly attack.

  The people migrating to the base in hopes of finding something better than living alone or in groups of three or four, told stories of zombies tearing into camps of survivors and leaving no one alive. Almost always the attacks came during darkness, most often just before sun up or after sundown and that’s when M.E.T Team 1 did its work.

  Team 2 was a roving patrol whose only mission was to look for clues of zombie activity during the day. Team 2 was lead by middle-aged man from Wisconsin who, like Zach James, had been playing with a radio and picked up the Voice from the Darkness and decided to join the community. He was an avid deer hunter and outdoorsman and “joined” the Army to contribute what he could.

  The elite team of nine on M.E.T. Team 1 worked in a spiral, outward of the houses people were living in. They were armed with automatic weapons for close contact defense, high-powered rifles with light-amplification scopes for distant work, and backed up by three HUMVEEs that mounted the .50 caliber M-307 heavy machine gun. It was slow going at first. The team was careful and several hapless wildlife animals were gunned down by M.E.T. before Bare gave a blistering speech about trigger control.

  Thirteen days after it started operation, Team 2 noticed some unusual activity near a church east of the community. He reported his findings to Sgt. Bare, commander of the extermination squad and her team deployed in the area 30 minutes before sundown.

  Before the sun sat over the trees in the west, Bare blocked opened the double doors of the church. One of her men tossed a huge armload of sweaty smelling dirty clothes worn by the hardest workers on base onto the front steps. Another soldier started a blower to get the smell of the clothes deeper into the building. He then ran like hell to the cover of the HUMVEEs.

  The mutants showed themselves within a few seconds and Bare gave the order to hit the lights. The two zombies that were drawn to the odor were hit with several million candle power of lighting. The trucks were modified by Capt. Eldred with an extra alternator to power the bank of four 10-million candlepower movable spot lights and a panel for six fore and aft spotlights. The smell of the clothing had drawn them out, but the smell of nine live humans was irresistible to the mutants.

  Blinded though they were, they came rushing out of the church just as Bare and Col. Hammond had anticipated.

  Sgt. Bare had insisted no one was to shoot into the church. “That is a House of G
od,” she told her team, as she laid out the plan in the armory and walking them through their positions and responsibilities. “Maybe there is no one left who will pray in there right now, but in the future someone might. I want no one and no thing killed in that church. Does everyone understand me?” Her team understood. Sgt. Bare was a devout believer in God and her beliefs were what she held most dear and helped her keep her sanity. They also liked the young woman and respected her. When Sgt. Bare asked a favor of one of her team, every one of them would have walked through the fires of hell for her.

  The 307’s opened up first and stitched across the fast-moving zombies, shredding their bodies without mercy. It was a very quick death for the mutants and more merciful than the death of the prisoners in the jail cells.

  The morality of luring and killing the zombies had been discussed during one of the Saturday community meetings. Instead of arguing with the three people who objected to the tactic, Russ took them to the jail where the two prisoners had been attacked and eaten. There were no further questions on the tactic.

  It was the first of several missions of the team and in the six months of operation, there had been no injuries to the team and no more attacks on people in the community.

  It helped create a safer environment on base for everyone. While there were still guards who patrolled the housing area through the night, and did so in Army trucks fitted with high-intensity halogen lights, people slept better knowing the M.E.T team had cleared an area out to almost six miles from the base housing.

  Russ also had all doors and windows to every house that was occupied fitted with motion detectors that turned on flood lights. It took some getting use to as the sensitivity of the detectors was adjusted to not go off every time some moth flew by.

  People began to feel safe again. Russ had told them of what he’d seen in the jail and a lot of people had frightened almost to the point of an inability to work.

  Deputy Doug was promoted to sergeant and placed in nominal charge of the civilian / military police force of three soldiers and five civilians who were the peace keepers and fight breaker uppers. There was not much crime on Ft. Ben because it wasn’t really necessary. Robberies were nil. Anything someone wanted that someone else had, could be found with little effort and there was no money that meant anything. Each person had to work for what they earned or they went without.

  Sex crimes were non-existent. The community of Ft. Ben was close to each other every day and pulled together. Anyone who attempted to force themselves on someone else was quickly set straight.

  Drugs and alcohol were still used and unregulated. There was no way to test for drug use and alcohol helped many people through the hell they lived. The only rule was no impaired driving on base and never with weapons or in Army trucks. One woman, a mother who had lost four children and her husband came to the base and was integrating well, working with school. One morning she started drinking and by noon she was in her Corolla and driving off base, never to be heard from again.

  Every effort was made to counsel those who felt the need to break the rules of the community, but when that failed, they were asked to leave. The people living in the community felt strongly about the leadership Col. Hammond was showing. He was fair and honest, open and as hard working as any one. He made it a policy to listen to the people he served. Saturday afternoons became a community-wide get together where Russ, Capt. Eldred, Lisa and Deputy Doug made themselves available to everyone.

  More problems in the community were solved over a beer and a brat, than any meeting ever held.

  That’s not to say there weren’t fights. When there were, they were broken up. If the people involved still wanted to remain a part of the community, they had to suffer work punishments from a few days to a couple of weeks.

  A makeshift jail was built inside the community out of one of the houses. All the furnishings were removed from the nine rooms in the house except beds and some books and an office for Fred, who became the warden. He made sure the convicted stayed in their room, showered everyday, were fed simple meals, and showed up for their work details for the length of their stay.

  There were two occasions when bandits showed up on base. The first group of eight men arrived in a trio of trucks just as everyone was meeting at the armory one morning. The men came in shooting and declaring they were the new government and were there to receive payment for protection.

  Four were shot dead as they tried breaking into the armory after Erica and her squad ran through locking doors. Two were shot and died later, including the leader, and two others were taken prisoner.

  One of the prisoners decided to accept punishment and the other left the base unarmed. Punishment was incarceration in the community jail for 30 days followed by 30 days of hard labor. The man did it without complaint and became an upstanding member of the community.

  It was primitive, but it worked for the community. People who were convicted were known to everyone and ostracized -- no one would speak to them for the length of their incarceration except Fred. When they had paid their debt, they were again part of the community and treated as such. There was only one two-time offender in the six months of operation.

  Another attack was against Capt. Eldred and his team when they were salvaging some heavy equipment from a dealership just off the base proper. Pvt. Lucien was killed when he went for his rifle that he’d sat down and in the ensuing firefight, three bandits were killed.

  It was difficult for the community, and all mourned the loss, but it was the world they lived in and everyone became more vigilant.

  Jennie and her crew of 36 had a thriving farm going. She admitted she was doing a lot of guess work on seeds she put in the ground, food rations for the cattle and other livestock, but from what Russ could see on the dinner tables, people had plenty of fresh vegetables. The database on the servers Todd put together was helping Jennie and her team.

  Jennie was also husbanding 42 milk cows, four dozen beef cattle, 60 or so pigs, chickens, turkeys, ducks, and nine horses for riding. They were contained within a former high school campus and a nearby farm. It saved time on building fences.

  Apples, cherries, grapes and other fruit were gathered by foragers, not out of need yet, but because people liked fresh fruit better than canned goods.

  Capt. Eldred’s fuel team found a 35,000-gallon reservoir tank nearly full of diesel fuel. He had two men whose main duty was to seek out and keep the reservoir filled.

  The community was a cooperative in the most basic sense. Everyone was fed and housed and warmed through the talents and abilities of those who had them. There was a veterinarian who was the doctor for the community, and he had four trainees because of his advanced age, who were learning the basics. Zach was teaching music classes to kids, Capt. Eldred taught vehicle maintenance, Todd had seven other kids learning computers, Sgt. Bare on other electronics and two new members of the community had more electricity and plumbing experience than Russ, so he stepped back into full-time administration.

  He found two people in the community with enough education to begin a small school for the 22 children between the ages of six and 16 years old. The school year would run from January thru May, with a month break for vacation, then July and August would be spent apprenticing with someone experienced in some field, and finish the school year from September to December.

  There were four houses of worship for the community, a non-denominational church, a Catholic church, a Jewish Temple and a Mosque for the two Muslims in the community. People attended or didn’t and no one was forced or judged by which one they chose to attend. Seventh Day Adventists prayed in the same church as the Baptists and Jehovah’s Witnesses, the Episcopalians and Lutherans in the same church as the Catholics.

  With only 300 people struggling to rebuild the world, people were praying out of faith rather than religion. Some even believed the Rapture had already come and taken the souls and left the bodies.

  Russ didn’t know who was right, if anyone was
right or if all the believers were wrong. Russ believed that God was God and life was life. He didn’t have answers and never would. He went to at least one service in all four churches just for the sake of equality, didn’t proclaim a preference, just to show he would respect all religions as long as it didn’t infringe on the rights of someone else.

  He also believed God was in each one of the churches, and every soul in the community.

  Russ and Lisa, the former Army wife who’d been at his side, off whom he bounced ideas and his thoughts, through the building of the community, deferred to him on the particulars of martial law, and backed all his decisions publicly, but in the privacy of the home they shared they had long conversations about the reality of living today. They were creating something of a utopia that religious leaders, political leaders and fanatics had been trying to create for hundreds of years.

  “Years from now,” Russ said to Lisa as they reached the far end of their walk, “people are going to look back on what we’re doing here today. I hope they think we did well.”

  Lisa, holding Russ’ hand, leaned her head on his arm. “Russ, we’ve all lived through the end of the world as we knew it. We all lost loved ones, friends, family, parents, children...all those we loved and counted on and built our lives around.

  “Now there’s 302 of us living in this base,” she waved her other hand at the 400-plus houses that were guarded by newly erected 14-foot high chain-link fences with high-intensity lights pointed outward and motion activated. “We have room for another five or six hundred people if they come. We are warm. We are as safe as Deputy Doug can make us. We all have food to eat, clean water to drink, showers and barbecues.”

  Hearing him grunt acknowledgment, she continued with what she saw as important to the community. “We have our own world series with seven softball teams, a Wimbledon among 14 tennis players including us, the Superbowl for our five flag football teams, a U.S. Open Golf tournament, soccer teams, 3-on-3 basketball teams and there is talk of hockey and ski team, sledding groups and other winter sports and poker games in a dozen houses every Friday night...most of them strip poker. Next year, there’s talk of starting up auto racing on a track if enough fuel can be found.”