“Like what? I don't know this? What is this?” she scowled.
“Plan parties! Dinners! Shows!” Trish, his wife, and Beth interjected. They all began to laugh, letting off some steam.
“Oh oh, okay, yes, maybe I can do this,” she said in her mild Russian accent. "I am a fun person!"
“Plan weddings, if we have any,” Dad said, quickly looking at Lena and Marcus and then at Beth and Randall.
“Ohhhh and ooohhh!” rose out of the various people.
Dad waved them to settle down. “Okay, okay, please remember, we are still at war. We have a lot to do. Every day you must be vigilant. Assume those zombies can be around every corner. Always have a weapon on you. And always have at least arm braces to quickly defend.”
“I have a few and will make more, light ones to wear all the time,” his wife said.
“Yes, and the pikes, the knives Amanda made, always carry one,” Dad said.
“The shivs!” Stu blurted.
“Yes, I have many in the room. Please get one if you haven't already,” Amanda said. “And test it, make sure it's solid. I am not an expert! And Maria here,” Amanda patted Maria who smiled timidly. "She made the perfect little holsters or scabbards for them! Get one of those too."
“And you new people," Dad looked at the new people.
“Hey Dad?!” Lena raised her hand.
“Oh sorry,” Dad said. Everyone laughed. “My own daughters.”
“Warriors!” Cory said, high-fiving the girls.
“Yeah, you are the guards, the warriors,” Dad said. “And the warriors are to help Tom. Remember, its not about fighting them. It's about outsmarting them! You fight through them. You fight to lead them away. You don't just fight them. You don't just engage and think you can kill them all.”
“Got it. Yep. Yes sir,” sprang from the table of young warriors, giving thumbs up.
“And train the new people, train them first. Get them up to speed on fighting. Okay?” Dad addressed the new survivors. “You'll train. But first, rest up. Find your footing, then check out what everybody is doing and then we'll find a place for you.”
The young man raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“I'm not Christian,” he said.
Everyone gazed.
“That's okay,” Dad replied. “That's okay. We have church service every day after lunch or a Bible study, or a group talk. If you don't want to learn or join in, don't. But don't go preaching anything else. Just do your work, live, fight, die if you have to, and be part of this community. Or you can leave.”
The man nodded, looking around. “Is everyone here Christian then?”
“Not necessarily,” Dad said, looking blank. Most responded back with odd dancing brows, nodding that they were. Dad was actually not sure about the young guys. His sermons, short and tiresome, were not about affirmation or discussion. When Randall did a few, those too, were sermons with the overriding theme that this was all God's Will, and that we must endure and keep the faith. Dad never really questioned or tried to get others to affirm their belief. He was failing miserably at leading this place as some sort of evangelical society.
Dad was a warrior. Even in civilized times, his heart was more into living a self-indulgent life than to be a pastor, a shepherd of people. He was a Christian. He went to church, studied his Bible, voted conservatively, righteously or some called it right wing, and took his daughters to church fellowship. But what was he really? Did he really believe so much in Christ's coming back? He lived a selfish good life with a pricey medieval re-enactor's hobby, buying guns and doing dad stuff such that he never really walked the mission field. He most certainly did not act like every last second was compelling him to save souls.
And now, in this horrific evil world, he had focused on saying it was a Christian community all the while fighting and making things happen. But he spent very little time on teaching, on confessing, and on sanctifying those around him to have conviction in their faith.
He shuddered at the thought in that moment, standing before them. He knew he was no pastor, and even if the church grew in this small group, he'd still be somewhat distant, focused on the horizon, on battle and action. He knew he loved Jesus, but he did not act much upon it. Then what was he?
“I have work to do,” he said. He turned and walked out.
20. Realm
Dad spent the next few days rescuing others. They were the closest ones, only a block or two away. They used smoldering limbs to keep the zombies at bay. If too many zombies amassed, Dad had Randall lure them around to the school playground. Howie then took over. Cory got to sit with him.
Dad realized he didn't want Randall to honk or throttle the gas, but to do it in a quiet manner. Randall focused on visually driving around them and leading them away. He got good at holding onto his bike as small groups grabbed him and each other to get at him. They tried biting down but then he'd throttle a bit, bursting out, yanking small groups of them. They fell or rolled out and more came, excited. He herded them along in that fashion for a bit, then got them going as he quietly moved along at 5-10mph.
With the casual draw, the hordes didn't grow too quickly. The alarms were less frantic and loud.
Randall fell off the bike once, but easily ran out from the grabbers, drawing them to the playground. The gate was wide open. Ray and Nick stood atop their fortress creation after many hours of working on it. It was some wasteland warrior guard tower they could watch from as the herd of zombies entered the grounds.
Randall hid behind a metal door attached to the base of the tower. The zombies followed but then noticed Howie and Cory waving and driving up to them.
Per Dad's order, Howie drove casually around in circles, quietly, to not draw more zombies into the area, but to take care of the ones already there.
Cory got out and helped Amador kill the maimed and crushed, piling them up ready to be burned. Cory complained this wasn't real warrior work, and wondered aloud if he and Amador were assigned this because of their tribal Indian race.
“Take it up with the king,” Howie said dryly. He then drove past, stopped, reversed slowly. “Wanna take a turn?”
Cory drove a bit faster, plastering incoming zombies. He nearly crashed into Nick’s and Ray's fortification.
“Oh this was a bad idea,” Howie cringed.
Randall got back to his bike and drove quietly back to the others.
On the other side of the school, Dad led more survivors toward the dumpster gates. It was less leading and more herding. Tom and Stu kept the fire burning and tossed smoldering limbs where needed. They realized it was best to put the flames out so they wouldn't unexpectedly start a massive fire, then tossed the limbs as smokers.
Survivors prepared themselves with protected arms and legs, holding up makeshift shields and sticks. They did just as what Dad told them to do when he gave them bottles of water before. It was a couple of months since this all began. Those that couldn't handle this nightmare were long gone. The ones left were survivors. It wasn't about strength, but about some sort of mental or spiritual acceptance.
Dad saw it. They weren't so much as scared in near panic, but just scared in an accepting way. The fear of these many weeks beat down on everyone. Many had died off, whether in panic, suicide or bad luck. And those that were left, had a jaded, enslaved mind set. They did what he said, covered themselves, and came out when he called. If they were eaten by the zombies or saved by a knight, it somewhat didn't matter to them. They'd seen so much death. How was their own life to matter?
Dad and Randall were getting a feel for how to handle this. They herded them, like they were gathering new slaves.
"But they are not slaves!" Dad yelled in his mind.
Duanne, Marcus, and Steve waited behind the dumpster. Whatever the outcome of the Christian versus Gay argument, none were concerned about that now.
They were there just in case. The most effective was Randall, riding around at an even clip, luring any small groups
of zombies alerted to the sullen movements of fleeing survivors. He cut them off, driving through them and letting them try to grab him. He kept his balance and disrupted their hungry focus.
He had to ride the larger groups down the road to Sunset Boulevard and lose them there. More would gather, so then he would take them up the other street to the school playground and lure them in. Howie or, now Cory, used the battle upgraded Hummer to ride over them, taking them out in droves.
Back on the other side, Dad easily dispensed with dozens at a time. It was much easier when only a dozen came in at a time. There didn't seem an end to the zombies. The alert and the response from zombies far and wide was sporadic and scattered.
Having Randall go back and forth, and leading large groups of them to the school grounds helped reduce the build up of migrating zombies. It was working for now.
The survivors were placed into the bottom floor and exterior classroom buildings. After they were situated and given a peaceful night to rest, Dad had everyone come to the auditorium for a meeting of sorts. There wasn't a need for a stage with a large audience, as the number of new survivors was only around twenty. However, Dad was on the stage. He gave them his spiel. He told them he was a Christian, but that he was saving whomever. He wanted to make clear that they had to follow rules, especially when it came to where they were placed, what they'd eat, and that they all must train.
At first, the people were dour. They looked defeated and ready to give up. They were all gaunt, emaciated, and perhaps not all there, even after they fed them.
“Beth, Amanda, for God's sake, help get these people healthy, then we'll talk again,” Dad finally said.
They'd have to do a salvage run to the nearest grocery store or the dog store. This was getting complicated. Each day, there was a new worry as they grew in numbers, but not in skills or abilities. The original few had to do all the work as more were rescued. Many were old, disabled, and useless except in needing care, water, and food.
"My God, this is tragic," Dad grumbled one night. "Why are all the damn old and disabled surviving, hiding like cowards as the healthy fight and die? Then when I come along, they rear their heads for rescue!" He looked across the rooms where they stayed. It was the classrooms along the courtyard.
"Don't think that way. We have to help everyone. It is our way," his wife said. "It will get better."
He couldn't help but seethe in anger. She touched him, put her head down against him, and he knew she was right.
Many began complaining, wanting to move up to the second floor. They wanted to be safer, like Dad and the rest. There was a scuffle with a group. Beth and Randall were sharing a room. Dad was torn between his frustration with knowing they slept together and this new group wanting to pick their own spot, pushing in on others.
He wasn't dealing with it since he was rescuing more. The new arrivals had grown to sixty, but only a dozen could potentially be able fighting men. One of the younger girls looked able but in truth, none of the women were athletic. Many were older, barely able to walk. The younger ones brought them along. It seemed the prevelant survivors were young and weak, or old and disabled. Anyone healthy enough had tried to do something and died.
Dad was beginning to think rescuing others was not worth it. Why? When they were just becoming burdens, leeches, parasites that would destroy his family, not caring at all for his family's survival, but only for their own, eating away at the food and water, while not contributing.
He knew his wife was right but the obvious was bearing down on him. He grew angry and stopped rescuing others. He skulked around the school grounds watching as Katrina, Beth, Amanda and his own wife had to care for them. Many were bitter, even unappreciative, especially the dozens of old and the cowardly teens.
He saw Steve, Lena, and Lisa trying to train the new men. He gritted his teeth as he saw them sit around. They were reluctant, hiding and cowardly. Some were not in their right mind. He worried, what if they got a hold of a gun? They'd easily kill his family, anyone, then kill themselves. Why not?
One night, he called the important people, the originals, into his room. There had to be a change. He needed ideas for what to do. He had Randall, Nick, Ray, Steve, Duanne, Howie, Lena, Lisa, Amanda, Marcus, his wife, Jake, and even Charlotte, in a somewhat secret meeting. He had Tom, Cory, Beth, Katrina, Trish, Amador, his wife Maria and Stu keep watch, whether on the perimeter, or on the new people.
Eva came up to be in the meeting, but Dad said no. She was upset but he didn't care. He wondered as she left if she went to tell others, the new people. The look in her eyes made him feel she was up to something, seeking alliances, causing discord. He closed the door on her as he watched her go down stairs.
He turned to the others. “Do not let them have any guns. None of the new ones.”
“You got all the guns up here?” Duanne asked.
“All the ones I know of,” Dad said. “And my wife and I have the only keys to this door. Keep a close eye on your guns and ammo at all times. It's not you guys I don't trust. I trust you guys. This is that meeting. I'm worried that many of the new people have lost their minds, literally.”
Most in the room nodded.
“I'm worried that we have suicidal, diabolical survivors out there. Maybe they don't know it. But my God, they're not all there,” Dad said.
“They kind of feel like the ones that hid and never tried anything,” Nick thought out loud. “Like that's how they survived, so why help now.”
“Don't look like they're going to either,” Ray huffed.
"Many are expecting to be rescued, like this is going to end soon," Jake said.
"It is... isn't it?" Ray asked.
No one responded.
“And they're eating our food, drinking our water,” Howie added.
“We can't just kick them out. What about the old ones?” Lena exclaimed.
“They won't train. They ain't gonna fight,” Duanne said.
“When shit hits the fan, they're gonna run,” Marcus said, “and just hide.”
"Well, well, Christian man, looks like your faith is being tested?" Steve said with a wry smile.
Dad rubbed his angry face violently. He paced and exhaled angrily. All that saving for naught?
“You have to give them time,” his wife said, walking up to him. “You have to teach them, train them, build them back up. Please don't go there. Please know it takes work. You must keep trying until they return, until they understand. They've lost everything.”
“We all have,” Ray said.
She ignored him. “They've lost everything and never saw any way out, waiting to die. You gave them hope, but they need time to recover and to get stronger. You have to help them get stronger.”
“Strong enough to be maniacal, to be insane and to go crazy on us!” Dad growled.
“Don't judge them, not yet. I'll train them. We'll watch over them. Lena, Lisa, Marcus and I,” his wife said as she rubbed his back.
Marcus rolled his eyes. Lena and Lisa looked glum but nodded at their mom.
Randall raised his hand.
Dad finally noticed. “What?”
“I wanted to, well, there's something else,” Randall said, as everyone looked at him, feeling depressed. “Beth and I want to get married.”
21. Marriage
All attended the wedding in the auditorium. Something awoke in the survivors, perhaps from the ceremony or Dad's sermon. He saw many of the older and disabled have new life. He noticed Robert and Ellie take charge of these folks, bringing them in, getting them situated.
Beth's children, Carl and Maggie, walked in sprinkling cut construction paper. Katrina devised this obviously. She walked in carrying a bouquet of fake flowers from one of the classes. Then Beth walked in and she looked gorgeous. Dad remembered the women, all armored up, going out to the local homes. They went shopping as he and the guys were risking everything watching the blocks. Thankfully, the cars blocking the streets worked. Zombies didn't meander in any m
ore. He realized standing around for hours, keeping guard as they shopped, it was worth it.
She was gorgeous. And Randall, still in his dirty ragged clothes and armor, felt and looked stupid. But it was a perfect stupid. Dad tried wiping off some crusted zombie blood from his shoulder pads. Randall grimaced.
Something about all of this, the pomp and show, really helped to enliven the new survivors, but also, Dad saw -- his own.
“Let us pray,” Dad said, as he bowed his head on the stage, and everyone else did too, reluctantly, curiously, or like his own family and Randall, fervently. “Dear Lord, thank you for sparing us, giving us life, giving us another chance in this grave dark world. Why you left us here, why you let the darkness and death take over, yet spared us, we still do not yet know. We will not know till you come again. But Lord, you have given us this sanctuary, this chance, and this peace. Thank you for that. Please give us strength and courage to fight on, to live on, to grow, to love, to build, to be part of this community and help others, and have families, and once again show our gratitude to your grace. We call out to you mighty God. Forgive us, help us, watch over us, bless us. Bless this union of man and woman, so that they may protect their children, protect Carl and Maggy, and grow their family. And protect us all, showing us the love a husband and wife have to each other, and for their community. In Jesus Christ name, amen.”
“Amen,” they all chorused.
Dad tried to remember his lines but had to look furtively down at a card Katrina gave him. He finally relaxed into reading the marriage vows. Both responded with “I do.” And they kissed. The clapping was a bit too loud and energetic but worth it.
Dad peered at the new survivors. There was hope in their eyes. He saw life renewed. He saw something as Randall and Beth kissed. He saw Carl and Maggy stare up at joy, even as tears flowed. They missed their father but had a chance with a new one. And the new people saw hope in his people, in this ritual, this ceremony, this pomp. It meant something.
Knight of the Dead (Book 4): Realm Page 13