“Behind this fence you will always have that right or I’ll kill whoever touches you.”
“I know, but you can’t promise it won’t happen, and strip me of my right to choose or I won’t get bit. You can’t promise in two years when I turn seventeen I’ll still be pure, I’ll still have a choice.”
“It doesn’t matter how attractive you are at this moment. It’s just not appropriate.” He scoops his towel up to cover his erection.
“You haven’t taken your eyes off my tits. I’m old enough. Make me a woman. Make love to me.”
“The offer’s more than tempting.” He leans in as if to kiss her. Their mouths hover close nearly touching but something avuncular in him won’t bring his lips to hers.
He tosses his bag into the truck before swinging into the bed. Karen, geared for the road, leaps in next to him. He holds out his hand. She places the mini-rifle into his hand. He cocks the Winchester-style weapon. “A mare’s-leg doesn’t have much of a kick.”
“It’s for the dead, it’s the .22 caliber version. Thirteen shots. Easy to control.”
“Nice choice.”
“I’ve a Beretta like yours.” Karen grins.
“Keep your team safe. You must make it back over all else. The supplies are second.”
“You’re going to turn us loose on this run?”
“I work better alone, and I won’t always be around to hold your hand.”
“You sound like this high school teacher I had,” she says.
“Sounds like a smart person. Where’re the other two?”
Kalvin lays his rifle in the bed before climbing in. “Reporting, boss.” The purple streaks in his hair have faded, but he still looks ready for a rave. Frank, still in his BDUs, hops in.
“You going to be able to forget your oath to help save people?”
“EMTs don’t take such an oath.” He pops the clip from his Glock to ensure it’s loaded. “I never promised to do no harm.”
He nods.
“Yeah, not a lot of call for emergency services inside the fence,” Frank adds.
“You medics are adrenaline junkies anyway. Just keep your head out there.”
“You three are young, fast, and good shots. You have skills to make a team. Medic, mechanic, and munificent.”
“You forgot momentous, mollify and majestic.”
“Malapropism,” he says.
“What’s that mean?” Karen asks.
“He’s confusing words like ‘motley’ or ‘morose.’”
“I only started mechanic training,” Karen reminds them, “not a vocabulary lesson.”
“No matter. Starting dead cars is one of life’s new major skills.”
“So what’s your best pointer?”
“Trust no one. Even the most innocent child will shiv you for a stale crust of bread. I mean it.”
They nod.
“The other thing I do is stash supplies over the countryside. I make myself my own waypoints. I have cars, guns, and food hidden in case I need them, and I don’t head back to camp using the same trail. I know about seven ways to get back from a certain point. I don’t want the wrong group to follow me back.”
“What if we find survivors? Do we bring them back?”
“A tough call. We’re not isolationists, but use judgment, and I’d stay away from large groups.”
“But how do you know?”
“A lot of on-the-job training dealing with people before the world ended. You’ll start to know people…and how they’ve changed. You want to bring people back who will help the colony.”
The foursome marches on the blacktop, each with a hand on a weapon.
He quizzes his interns. “You’ve got a list of supplies the camp needs. Where do you start?”
“The mall or the superstore.” Kalvin smirks.
“That’s dumb,” Karen scolds. “Malls are in cities with a lot of biters.”
“Guns, food, ammo…”
“Have you ever even been to a mall?” Karen asks.
Kalvin continues his list, “Blankets, clothes, medicine.”
“Let me tell you why it’s the stupid choice. First, malls and superstores have multiple entrances, usually glass, tactically a poor choice, not to mention every fucking person thinks about running to the superstore to get a gun. Roads become congested. People fight each other over what, twenty or thirty guns, tops? People die, revive and now you have a few hundred undead.”
“Hospitals?” he asks.
“More than likely a lot of undead and no supplies. People rushed there for help first,” Karen adds.
Frank adds, “A lot of medical units were overrun as soon as people got bit.”
“Could mean supplies are intact.”
“It means a fuck-load of biters between you and maybe supplies.”
“Now where should you go if you want a location with supplies and most likely little looting?” he asks.
“How do you know so much?” Kalvin asks.
“Life, experience, grew up before an app told me all the answers.”
“You really harp on that app thing,” Karen notes.
He rarely shares what he finds out on the road, but this group will learn soon enough. “I found this kid. A girl, about eleven or twelve, frozen this winter just staring into her iPhone.”
“She could’ve been looking at her family pictures before the end.”
“Of all the things to save, I understand photos, but she had nothing else to sustain her.”
“Her supplies could have been stolen,” Frank adds.
“Keep finding a million reasons to defend her keeping her phone. You’re out here not just gathering supplies to keep yourself alive. There’re one hundred and seventy-nine people back at Acheron depending on you.” He mashes down barbed wire strands to make it easier to hop the fence.
“What are you doing?” Karen asks.
“That’s one of those road historic markers.” He points across the blacktop. “You each have a map, but you should never mark on it. If someone steals it,” or kills you and takes it, he thinks, “you don’t want anyone to find your stash.” Kalvin snickers at the word ‘stash.’
He ignores the kid. “So you have to come up with places to hide supplies and ways to remember where you did.” He takes a folding shovel from his pack and a Tupperware container with a can of peaches sealed in it.
“You figure no one will care about those markers anymore.”
“People don’t have time to read about history when running from biters.” Frank laughs.
He digs a hole. “So far people don’t take the time to scavenge out in the open. Don’t use homes to hide anything. I’ve seen homes where people have busted the walls.”
“Why not just mark the road?”
“If I were to spray paint the road someone might figure out I hid something and look. Plus it’s an old world marker no one cares about anymore.” He twists the container into the dirt. Satisfied, he covers it.
“I said don’t use homes, but I have a rifle hidden in a burnt out structure. It offers no shelter and no useful material. It’s a gamble, but survivors have no reason to explore it.”
“So even if they walk through it they won’t mess with it.”
“They shouldn’t.” He spreads the extra dirt around to make the freshly dug hole disappear. “Peaches are good to stash. The sugar water will keep you going if you get into trouble.”
“How long before you turn south?” Frank asks.
“Many more miles. I’ve not traveled this far this way before.”
“But there’s a town.”
“I don’t head straight into towns. Towns mean biters, and worse, survivors.”
“Both dangerous,” Karen repeats.
“One more dangerous than the other,” Kalvin adds.
“I find a lot of rural homes have canned goods. People who live far from the store tend to stock up. And not on the list, but note if you come across people who have home canned vegetables, t
ake their supplies. We’re going to make a cannery. If you find a town with a good number of useful supplies and you have no other pressing business then return to Acheron and organize the fence teams to recover it.”
“Like you did with the distributing center?”
“I knew it was there, but I wouldn’t risk all those people if it had been looted.”
“We cut back the risk by going out alone.” Prideful, Karen realizes her team’s importance.
“We need more fence. So you run across a construction site, make sure you scout the road all the way back to camp to know if you have to clear it of anything. Abandoned cars aren’t much, but if they have to remove a tree chainsaws are deafening.”
“So much we used to take for granted.”
“What I tell you seems so elementary, but…” he flares out his arms, “there’s no racket, no cars, no lights. Makes what noise you do make echo even farther.”
“Makes you not want to get out of bed,” Frank adds.
“Sleep’s important out here. You watch your fatigue level. Rest. Stay sharp. With three of you, plenty of safe sleep is possible.”
“How far do you want us to go?”
“Your first trip out. I’d scout the edge of Paris. Find supplies you can stash and return to the camp. You’re searching for fence building material. Look for signs of construction, maybe a lumber yard. But don’t take unnecessary risks. Nothing on your list is life or death.”
Frank folds his map and replaces it in a pouch on his pant leg. “Why haven’t we explored the town surrounded by the lake?”
“Flooding,” he answers without missing a beat. “On paper it looks good. Three sides surrounded by water, build a wall and be well protected. Biters can’t swim, but some of the town’s dozen or so homes are flooded. Most importantly, it was abandoned long before the apocalypse. Where you’re heading had about twelve hundred people in it. The next biggest town had twelve thousand. So a lot of biters could be around.”
“Why, didn’t you explore this way?”
“No, just as many biters south and east of St. Louis with a million population.”
“There’s not a million people in St. Louis,” Frank protests.
“You forget all the metro areas.”
“I would hope a lot more people survived.”
“I was telling you before where to hunt for supplies.” He gestures at the building across the small valley. “I’m not sure what grade level it is, but schools are a great bet, and most people won’t think they have anything worth looting. Nobody wants an algebra book.”
“That’s crazy,” Karen says.
“Is it?” He glances through his binoculars. “The nurse’s office is full of meds. All prescription and clearly labeled, plus a lot of First Aid boxes and at least an AED. Athletic offices have more First Aid and blankets. Law says they are to have a trauma bag. I’ve seen some of them rival what’s on an ambulance.”
Frank wonders how this man knows so much, forging the question of what he used to do before the apocalypse. Frank knows his leader has refused to tell anyone in the camp. Besides, to learn he was some lowly copy repairman would destroy the constructed image of his leader.
He spots a biter shambling through a field. A second uniformed biter patrolling the school parking lot. “If you take weapons and are unsure of their usability, don’t fire them. Bring them to Simon. Even if they’ve rusted or are damaged, sometimes the internal parts are salvageable.” He hands the binoculars to Karen. “That was a cop. His utility belt remains around his waist. Good stuff if the rotten flesh hasn’t corroded it.”
“I should be sick.” Karen squints.
He continues with his supply lecture. “Food in the cafeteria, a lot of it’s canned. Some schools have emergency supplies in case of a long-term lockdown. Vending machines with healthy snacks. Shop class has construction tools, maybe even acetylene torches, unused lumber. Home economics, sewing, cooking pots, and more food. Teachers also stash food and other goodies in their desks; same with kids in their lockers. It might be better than a superstore and less picked over.”
“No guns,” Kalvin observes.
“It’s a public school, you might find a couple. Law or not, it’s a rural school and some rednecks have them in their trucks. If the school has a resource officer there could be a patrol car or a lock box with some guns. The principal may have confiscated knives, cigarettes, a shitload of lighters.”
“None of us smoke.”
“Campfire, girl.”
“I meant the cigs.”
“I keep a pack,” he explains. “A lot of people do. Trade them or give them to someone to help build trust, or see if you can trust them. People relax when they smoke. It reveals their intentions without them knowing.”
Frank really has to know what this man did before the world ended.
“This’s where I leave you. You check out the school and then continue on with your scout. I’ve an appointment at the military base.”
Parked before a quaint farmhouse, the green camo military truck seems out of place. He knows the colonel put a stop to all patrols from his base. He could have stumbled over another military group from the Air Force base in the north. He doubts they would send just one truck. He figures some raiders took possession of this vehicle from a National Guard post. He confirms his suspicion when a man walks from the house to take a leak.
These people must be searching for supplies just like him. The truck provides near tank-like protection and would take a lot of biters to overrun it. It could even be a battering ram if necessary. Supply runs last for days, but the noise factor prevents it from being a useful tactic for scrounging in populated areas. He appreciates the advantage of being able to avoid undead.
He would never begrudge any well-meaning survivors a chance to exist, but they offer a new danger to his camp. If someone in their search team knows the area they may avoid the National Forest area. There aren’t a lot of places to raid. Then again, they may be looking for more isolated homes to pillage. Plus they just acquired a cluster of homes.
At this distance, his binoculars give no clue as to what kind of people these are or even if they’re part of a larger group. He has too many questions about them to just travel on and forget. He could circumvent the entire farm. They’d never know he watched them. Losing the people and supplies the colonel had prepared would be detrimental to his own group. It will be the last help anyone gets from Fort Leonard Wood. No longer will he be able to jet to the camp and acquire a skilled tradesman from the documented list of camp residents.
To keep his camp safe he has never refused entry to anyone, but he’s avoided asking some survivors to return with him. His basis for admission is whether they would prevent or help him take hot showers. The dam engineer who keeps the power on declined to terminate the search for his family. Emily’s savior found them. Once secure behind the fence, the daughter needed her braces removed. He found a dentist. Someone had to guard the dentist. Someone had to feed the guards. Someone had to train the guards. Everyone has a job and if they do their job they get to eat and he gets to take hot showers.
Too bad the government didn’t operate on such principles. There may come a time when the government will get its shit together and restore some kind of order to the country. Having Travis’s daughter would be to the camp’s advantage.
Moving on would be advantageous to him keeping his hot showers, but if these people are a raider scouting party, knowing could save him. He could just kill them. Take their supplies removing any doubt in their motives.
I’m a bastard, but not that kind of bastard. The words he spoke to Emily echo in his ears. No, he hasn’t succumbed to being a heartless bastard. He has no reason to kill and loot these people. Staying in the field and the trees growing along the fence row actually gives him a few hours if the overland terrain stays like this.
He pockets his binoculars and takes a sip from his canteen as he marches away from the house. A woman’s screams sc
ratch his ears. Why can’t one day just go by where things work out? Why don’t the idiots of the universe just stay home one day?
Through the binoculars he spots a woman being dragged from the house, bound at the hands in nothing but a poor fitting night shirt. The man who pissed beats a steel post into the ground with a hammer. The echoing ping provides noise cover for him to sneak closer without worrying about crunching twigs.
They tie her to the pole. Two more men stack split wood around as if building a bonfire. Four.
Hell, four’s a slow day. The twinge of pain strikes him as his next breath presses his chest wall against his body armor vest and the new bullet proof plates he replaced. Three times his body reminds him with the next surge of pain. Don’t get involved. The bruises remind him. Just sneak away. She could have tried to kill them for their food. Not everyone being executed is innocent.
He tells his wounds to shut up and executions for crimes has never been an issue he’s opposed, but even child rapists need a quick bullet to the head. No one, no matter what they’ve done, should be burnt at the stake.
How should he approach this? Just march right in there and offer his services as executioner. Provided of course she committed a real crime. See, there you go, going to get us shot again. Can a lung really take on conscious thought?
What if they shoot and don’t kill you, but miss the vest. An arm wound would force you back to the colony. What used to be a few hours’ drive remains a few days walk and you don’t know how many days the colonel has before Fort Wood closes.
The four men gather around the woman. One begins reading from a book. Another at his direction tears off her shirt. He slips off his belt and under the direction of the reader lacerates the girl’s back with the stroke of the leather.
She howls.
Enough arguing. He marches toward the farmhouse.
No Room In Hell (Book 1): The Good, The Bad and The Undead Page 25