Rotter Apocalypse

by Scott M. Baker

  Smart girl, he thought. Take the initiative and try to get the upper hand. “This is the only place around for miles,” he replied. “You must’ve been walking for some time.”

  “All night. Our car ran out of gas yesterday.”

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “We left the car south of here, maybe fifteen or twenty miles away.”

  “No,” said Denning. “Where’d you drive from?”

  “Southern New Hampshire.”

  Denning laughed, which caught the woman off guard. “You’re a long way from home, miss.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re in Canada now. We’re about twenty kilometers south of Quebec.”

  The woman glanced down at the little girl, who wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged. The woman loosened her grip on the weapon and her finger moved off the trigger.

  After a few seconds, she asked, “Is it okay if we stay here a little while, at least until we can rest and clean up?”

  Denning thought about it. He had refused to take in anyone since the outbreak, mostly because he didn’t want the hassle of having to deal with people or be concerned over whether they would attempt to take over. Yet he still felt bad about turning away that family, so this might assuage his guilt. Besides, at sixty-three he wasn’t as young as he used to be, and it would be nice to have someone to help around the farm.

  “I’ll let you stay as long as you’re willing to do some things around here.”

  The woman sighed. Her shoulders slumped again, and her body lost that fighting edge she had displayed a moment ago. Moving away from the little girl, she stepped up to Denning and spoke in a soft voice.

  “I’ll do anything you ask me to, but don’t touch Cindy.”

  The comment took Denning aback for a moment, and then everything fell into place. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what this poor woman had gone through. He stepped back a few feet to put some distance between them. “I’m talking about helping out with chores around the farm. That’s all.”

  “Thank God.” She lowered her head and a tear ran down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Yes, you did. That’s okay. You’ll be safe here.”

  Her facial expression softened.

  “I’m Bruce Denning.” He held out his hand. “You said your name is Windows?”

  Windows raised her head and sniffed. “Yes, it is.”

  “That’s an unusual name.”

  “It’s my nickname. I got it because I’m really good with computers.”

  He bent down on one knee in front of the little girl. “You must be Cindy.”

  Cindy glanced over at Windows for guidance, who nodded. The girl extended her hand. “Yes, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mine.” Denning gave her hand a friendly pump. “Have you ever fed chickens or slopped pigs?”

  Cindy shook her head.

  “Would you like to?”

  The girl’s face beamed.

  “I’ll introduce you to them later.” Getting to his feet, Denning motioned to the farmhouse. “First, let’s get you ladies inside. You both could use a warm meal and a hot shower.”

  Windows sniffed back a tear. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t tasted my cooking.” Denning headed back to the farmhouse and waved for Windows and Cindy to follow. The two fell in behind him, hugging each other tight.

  Denning could almost hear the teasing Anna would give him if she were alive at the moment.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Once the raiding party got back to Gilmanton, Linda took over and organized the team to care for the survivors, leaving Robson with nothing to do and no orders to give. That suited him fine. Though he never admitted it to the others, he had grown weary of being in charge. Leading his people had proven difficult enough. Now he had thirty others, most of whom he didn’t even know by name, to be responsible for. If someone else wanted to step up and take over for a while, Robson would not complain.

  Linda oversaw the unloading of the Ryder and organized the effort like an assembly line. Simmons prepared each of the survivors a breakfast of peanut butter on stale crackers, cheese, and beef jerky. Wayans, who was still experiencing pain from his wounds but had grown restless lying around doing nothing, mixed powdered protein drinks. As each survivor finished eating, he or she would be seen by Linda, who provided a cursory physical, treated any illnesses they had with the prescription medicines commandeered from Super Walmart, and started them on a regimen of vitamins. They then headed outside to where Roberta and DeWitt had set up a makeshift shower stall fed from a thousand-gallon water container located behind the garage. They stripped out of their old clothes, threw them into an empty fifty-five gallon drum, and received a buzz cut and a shave of the pubic region, with DeWitt assisting the men and Roberta the women. Everyone got a long shower with medicated shampoo to kill lice. After cleaning up, DeWitt or Roberta led each person to a windowless back room inside the warehouse where Dravko and Tibor distributed clothes. After that, the survivors were free to do what they wanted. Several went back inside the garage, found a place to lie down, and slept. A few went off into a private corner to cry. Most, however, ventured outside and collected into groups, chatting amongst themselves.

  After wandering through the garage for an hour and realizing the others had everything under control, Robson went outside. He saw Caslow expanding the size of the mass grave. Robson crossed the street and stepped up beside him.

  “How many more did we lose last night?”

  Caslow did not even look up. “Four.”

  Damn. “It looks big for four people.”

  “I assume we’re going to lose more, so I figured I’d dig them all while I’m at it.”

  “Good idea,” Robson said. “When you’re done here, Roberta and DeWitt have collected everyone’s old clothes in a drum out back. They’re infested with lice and bugs. Burn them before they spread into the camp.”

  “Sure.”

  As Robson walked away, Caslow said, “Other than to bark orders, no one has spoken to me since the raid the other night.”

  “So?”

  “What’s up with that?”

  Robson faced Caslow. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a coward and you’re unreliable.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “It’s the truth,” Robson said, trying to hold his anger in check. “You allowed your wife and daughter to be taken by that rape gang and did nothing to help them.”

  “I told you, I was outnumbered.”

  “Quit making excuses. You should have tried. Instead, you chickened out and let the gang have them. Because of you, your wife committed suicide and God only knows what happened to your daughter.”

  “Don’t I get credit for going with you to save them?”

  Robson moved forward to confront Caslow, who stepped back and almost toppled into the open grave. With his left hand, Robson grabbed Caslow by the shirt to prevent him from falling in. “I teamed you with Jennifer so you could provide backup for each other. Jennifer was shot and killed while you cowered in one of the storage units. She might be alive if you had been there for her.”

  Robson realized his right hand had balled into a fist. He yanked Caslow forward and away from the grave. When he released his shirt, Caslow fell forward onto his hands and knees. The little shit remained in that position, refusing to face Robson.

  “I deserve better than this,” he whimpered.

  “No, you don’t. Jennifer deserved better. Your wife and daughter deserved better. As for you…” Robson inhaled deeply to calm his anger, “be thankful you’re here. I almost left you at the storage facility.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because when I let you join our group, I took responsibility for you. I wasn’t going to leave you in the middle of nowhere, no matter how useless you are.”

  Robso
n started to leave, stopping when he heard Caslow mumble a question under his breath. “What was that?”

  “I asked what’ll happen to me when you move on.” Caslow lifted his head. He tried to show defiance, although Robson detected the underlying fear in his eyes. “Are you going to leave me on the side of the road like an abandoned dog?”

  Robson stared at Caslow a moment, not attempting to conceal the disgust on his face. After a few seconds, he headed back to the garage, though not because he didn’t want to answer. Robson had not yet considered what he wanted to do about Caslow.

  * * *

  Dravko watched in fascination as Tibor handed out clothes to the survivors. In their hundreds of years together, he had never seen his fellow vampire so outgoing. Dravko had wanted to help to reinforce to Robson that he and Tibor were still part of the group. However, because the sun had risen, the only job they could handle was distributing clothes in the windowless back room of the garage. Dravko had been concerned that after all these people had gone through, none of them would want to be enclosed in a room with two vampires. Thanks to Tibor, those fears were unfounded. Tibor chatted with the humans, asking them their names and how they were getting along. Everyone entered the room feeling apprehensive, and all of them left with higher spirits. Some even grinned and laughed. One young blonde came around the table and hugged Tibor, thanking him for being concerned. When the last human had left, Tibor packed up the remaining clothes.

  Dravko stepped up beside him and patted his shoulder. “You did a good job.”

  “Thanks,” replied Tibor while putting a stack of sweatpants back into the plastic crate.

  “When did you become so friendly with humans?”

  “When I got the idea to recruit them.”

  “Recruit?” Dravko took a step back. “You’re talking about turning them?”

  “I’m talking about making them want to join the coven.”

  “You can’t be serious,” protested Dravko.

  “I am.” Tibor glanced around the room to make certain no one could hear him. “Robson and the others are vaccinated against the zombie virus, and are taking chances they normally wouldn’t, like last night’s raid. We’re the last two vampires in the world, and at this rate our species will be extinct in a few weeks.”

  “You can’t turn these people against their will.”

  Tibor’s lips sneered in disgust. “There was a time when vampires were superior to humans. We were stronger, faster, and immortal. We never used to worry about who we sired and whether or not we did it against their will. Our only limitation was in keeping our numbers low so as not to alarm the humans. What happened to you? Do you feel a sense of guilt because we released the Zombie Virus and nearly destroyed the humans? Do you feel like you have to treat them with deference to atone for our sins? Maybe we deserve to be extinct.”

  Dravko could not respond, his mind still trying to come to grips with Tibor’s tirade.

  Tibor went back to packing the extra clothes. “I’ve obeyed your request to leave Robson and the others alone. The survivors from the camp are different. They’re not part of our original group. Robson hasn’t even talked to most of them or learned any of their names.”

  “And you have?”

  “Yes.” Tibor’s gaze bore into Dravko, emphasizing his point. “Thanks to me, they don’t see us as monsters like most other humans do. I’m not going to turn anyone against their will. However, I’m winning over their trust, and if they ask to become a vampire, I won’t hesitate to rebuild the coven.”

  “What makes you think they’ll want to become one of us?”

  “They’re sick and they’re weak, and they know their chances of survival are slim.” Tibor’s tone became energized as he tried to convince Dravko. “They’ve been raped, beaten down, and dehumanized. They’re tired of being taken advantage of. I can see it in their eyes. I can sense it on their souls as easily as I can sense the blood flowing through their veins. They don’t want to be part of a collective with someone else in the lead. They want to take charge of their own lives, and some of them see becoming a vampire as the way to do that.”

  Although Tibor made a rational argument, Dravko knew Robson would never allow it. “We can’t do this.”

  “Why not?” pleaded Tibor. “We’ve worked with the humans for a year to survive. Sultanic and Tatyana gave their lives to save them. The humans are rebuilding their numbers. Don’t we also have a right to exist?”

  Dravko could not answer. This was a decision he had hoped to avoid. Of course vampires had a right to exist. As the only remaining vampires, he and Tibor had a solemn obligation to rebuild the coven. Doing so would place him at odds with Robson. While the two were friends and covered each other’s backs, Dravko doubted Robson would sit by and let him turn the survivors. If Robson tried to stop them, he and Tibor did not stand much of a chance.

  “I don’t see how we can do this,” said Dravko.

  “Leave it to me.”

  “What about Robson?”

  Tibor sighed in exasperation. “In deference to you, and to all Robson’s done for us, I’ll be as considerate of him as possible. But when the time comes, we’ll rebuild the coven, with or without his approval.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The hot shower and change of clothes had been the best thing to happen to Natalie in the past four weeks, except for those intimate moments spent with Mike. Judging by the reaction of her Angels, she assumed they felt the same. She heard several of her girls giggling in the shower. When a female staffer took them to the store room for a change of clothes, most of the Angels acted like teenagers on a shopping spree, holding the garments against each other and asking the others how they looked. The selection was limited and functional, mostly earth-toned ACUs, or Army combat uniforms, sand-colored t-shirts, and black or tan boots. No dresses, skirts, or heels. Natalie found it strange not to see her girls in what had once been their traditional uniforms. Not that it mattered. For the first time in a year, her girls had the opportunity to wear something other than their well-worn leather pants, white shirts, and leather jackets. Coming to Alcatraz symbolized a break with everything they had gone through previously, although Natalie seemed to be the only one who noticed. They looked like women and not the Angels, and she had not seen them this vibrant since before Site R. When the girls left to be escorted to their new quarters, she was the only one to take with her anything from her past life, asking the staffer if she could have her leather jacket.

  Rogers and an enlisted woman in a blue-toned ACU waited for them outside the store room. Rogers stepped forward when he saw the Angels. “How do you feel?”

  “Like a new woman,” said Natalie. “Thank you.”

  “No need to thank me, ma’am. We’re building a new society here, and we can’t do that if we all smell like the revenants.” Rogers motioned toward the woman beside him. “This is Corporal Bechtel. She’s going to show you ladies to your quarters.”

  Bechtel stepped forward. “You arrived at a good time. A large contingent moved out of the cellblock two nights ago, so we have quarters available for you inside. I arranged to have you in adjacent cells so we don’t have to separate you. It’s two people to a cell, but it beats the tent farm out on the parade ground.”

  “You’ll hear no complaints from us,” said Natalie.

  “Great. If you ladies will follow me, please.”

  Rogers motioned to Natalie. “Secretary Fogel is waiting to see you.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Rogers escorted Natalie outside the cellblock, leading her around the northeast façade to the main entrance of the administrative offices at the far end of the building. Upon entering, they took the first right, passed through two offices, and found themselves in the warden’s secretary’s room. Brian Thomas, the chief of staff for Secretary Fogel, sat behind a dented and scuffed metal desk in front of a set of windows that overlooked San Francisco Bay, with Oakland in the distance. He wore the same outfit he had on whe
n he debriefed her—black slacks and shoes, a white dress shirt, and a tie. Natalie assessed him to be in his mid-fifties because of the gray streaking his dark hair along the temples, which accentuated his lean face and brown eyes. She found him to be professional, pleasant, and polite. Upon seeing her enter, he stood and came around to the front of his desk.

  “Miss Bazargan, it’s good to see you again.” He extended his hand.

  “Likewise.” She gave it a firm pump.

  “I see you’ve had a chance to freshen up. I hope everything is to your satisfaction.”

  “It’s much better than anything we’ve had in a long time.”

  “We do our best.”

  Captain Rogers cleared his throat. “I hope we’re not late.”

  “Not at all, Captain.” Thomas motioned toward a card table set up in the corner with a coffee pot on top. “Help yourself to a cup while you wait.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Come with me, please,” Thomas said to Natalie. “Secretary Fogel is anxious to meet you.”

  They crossed Thomas’ office to the interior wall. The chief of staff knocked on the door, waited for a response, and opened it. “Excuse me, Mr. Secretary. Miss Bazargan is here to see you.”

  “Excellent,” said the voice from inside the office. “Send her in.”

  Thomas stepped aside and ushered Natalie into the warden’s office. The room appeared as Spartan as the outer office, with the same plain white walls and dirty floor tiles that had been in place when the prison was shut down back in 1963. Two large support beams ran down the center of the room. To the left opposite the single window and door leading outside sat the Secretary’s desk, an old, scratched up piece of furniture with drips of dried paint scattered along the surface and sides. The only other pieces were three easy chairs, one behind the desk and two in front for visitors, each of a different design with frayed, mismatched fabric. The office appeared as if it had been furnished from an old basement.

  When Secretary of Education Fogel stood to greet her, Natalie barely recognized him. Prior to the outbreak, she had seen him on the news quite often due to his being a vocal advocate for improving the country’s declining educational standards. She remembered him as being robust. Now he was thin, although his loose-fitting black suit made him seem gaunter than he actually was. His blond hair had gone gray, and he squinted to see through his glasses. Coming around the side of the desk, Fogel steadied himself on its surface before approaching. Other than the signs of age and exhaustion brought on by living through the outbreak, he seemed in good health and greeted her with a firm handshake.