United States of the Dead - 04

by Joseph Talluto

  White Flag of the Dead

  Book IV: United States of the Dead

  By Joseph Talluto

  Chapter 1

  Major Ken Thorton looked at the bodies of two of his men swinging gently in the breeze. They had been hung upside down and left just high enough so the zombies couldn’t get them.

  Thorton and his men had reached the rendezvous point later than expected, but they certainly had not thought to see something like this. The men did not know what had happened, all they knew was what was in front of them. Ten men had been dispatched to ambush John Talon and all were missing save the two hanging like grim piñatas.

  Ken was pissed, through and through. Two of his men were trussed up like pigs to slaughter and the rest were undoubtedly dead. Talon was proving to be a worthy adversary and a royal pain in the ass. Even the thought of Talon’s family being murdered was small consolation in the face of losing a third of his men.

  Thorton clenched and unclenched his massive fists as he took in the wounds of the two men. Milovich had been stabbed, then shot. That was obvious. Kazinski showed signs of a fight and massive trauma to his eye. It was very clear how he died.

  Behind him, soldiers fired on exploring and curious zombies, which led to more curious and exploring zombies. Pretty soon, there was going to be a large battle here.

  Thorton was oblivious as he studied the dead men closer. The ground beneath the two had drops of blood that had turned deep red, but not brown like old, dried blood does. That told Thorton Talon had been here pretty recently and was not far ahead. Perhaps another opportunity might present itself. Ken thought.

  A closer rifle shot interrupted his thoughts and brought him back to reality. It was time to go. As he turned away, a slip of paper in the pocket of the hanging corporal caught his eye. Because of his height, he was able to reach it. Unfolding the note, he quickly read its contents and his temper, which was always ready to erupt, suddenly flared.

  Ten fake soldiers,

  Came to the party late.

  Two were really bad shots,

  And then there were eight.

  Eight fake soldiers,

  Tried to even the score.

  Several met with John,

  And then there were four.

  Four fake soldiers,

  Didn’t know what to do.

  A couple fell out of windows,

  And then there were two.

  Two fake soldiers,

  Wanted to have some fun.

  Both died surprised,

  And then there were none.

  Keep coming and you’re a dead man, Thorton.

  J.T.

  “Son of a bitch!” Thorton cursed, crumpling the paper and hurling it from him. “That does it. No more Mr. Nice Guy! Mount up, you idiots! We’re out of here!” he yelled at his men, who were readying to face a charge from a small horde of zombies. The men were more than willing to comply.

  “Sir!” A private ran up to Thorton. “What do we do about the corporal and the sergeant there, sir?”

  Major Thorton glared at the young recruit. “Leave them. They’re useless. Take the truck, though.” He said, motioning to the vehicle that was parked over by the bait shop in the trees.

  “Sir!” The young soldier bolted for the truck, weaved around a pair of zombies that had come out of the woods for the party. He just barely made the cab and slammed the door shut, fired up the big engine and pulled the truck around, tossing off a trio of zombie hangers-on.

  As the trucks pulled away, one of the last soldiers picked up the crumpled piece of paper and tucked it into his pocket. Whatever pissed off the major so bad might be useful knowing, the soldier figured.

  The little convoy moved out on Route 50 and each and every soldier had the luxury of watching their former comrades hanging dead from a light pole. Some of the soldiers grumbled quietly, knowing it was a bad thing to leave them unburied, but they were too afraid of the Major to protest. But more than one filed away the insult, to be brought again to the surface should the occasion warrant.

  Beneath the resentment, was a healthy dose of fear and apprehension. Ten men had gone to take out a man and his friends in what should have been an easy ambush. But now all of those men were dead and the killer of those men openly mocked and threatened their leader. What kind of man was John Talon and what kind of men did he lead? Was the major in over his head? Would they all suffer the same kind of inglorious end?

  As the little note was passed around, the soldiers began to wonder. How many of them were going to finish this trip? They started with forty and now they were down to seventeen. If Captain Tamikara was as successful as the two swinging in the breeze fishing for zombies, then they were truly screwed.

  These thoughts ran through the soldiers’ heads unbeknownst to Major Thorton. He was sitting in silence, seething over his recent losses and John Talon’s insult. He wanted something to destroy, something to tear apart. He needed to send John a message, something he would be sure to understand.

  Can’t save them all Johnny. Thorton thought as they reached the outskirts of Coolville. The town looked alive, but it probably had seen better days. The cemetery to the northwest of the town and highway had many new graves, most of them looking like they had been hand dug recently. An earthen barricade ran the length of the highway, but did not encircle the town. It was a curious feature but one Thorton was grateful for. He didn’t need complications right now.

  The trucks rolled over the ground and around the barricade. It was a simple earthen dam, steep enough to be difficult for a zombie to walk up, but easy enough to crawl. The top was flat and wide enough to accommodate a vehicle. In fact, there were tire ruts that showed vehicles had been to the top.

  Thorton radioed to the truck behind him to roll along side of his and to make sure all men had their magazines full. This was going to take some doing.

  At the center of town, after driving past several curious onlookers and groups of people working small gardens near homes, Thorton called the convoy to a halt. He saw the town was relatively small and sparsely populated, but he didn’t really care. He stepped out of the truck and straightened his uniform, figuring to continue his ruse one more time.

  “Good morning!” Ken said to the assembled townspeople across the street. There looked to be about fifty of them in the parking lot of what seemed to be the local grocery store.

  One man, a gentleman of indeterminate age, walked forward with a noticeable limp. His eyes roamed over the trucks and the assembled soldiers and started to look wet with tears.

  Thorton was disgusted by the show of emotion, but kept a smile on his face. “Are you in charge?”

  The man nodded. “When we saw the trucks, we hoped the military had finally gotten hold of the zombies. Are you with a scout group or some kind of public relations?” the man asked.

  Thorton smiled. “You might say that. Speaking of scouts, you all didn’t happen to meet a man heading east recently on Route 50 there, did you?”

  The man thought a minute. “Come to think about it, there was a big RV moving in that direction, headed east. Passed by here about three hours ago, give or take an hour. Might have been the man you’re looking for.”

  Thorton mused about that information. That meant Talon was probably twenty to fifty miles ahead, given the terrain and obstacles. In normal times it would have been closer to a hundred miles. Good. Very good. He thought. He looked down at the man.

  “How are you situated for supplies? Will you be able to make enough for winter? We have seeds if you need them.” Major Thorton was doing his best to continue the ruse.

  The man grinned. “No, we’re pretty well set. We’ve managed to can a lot of food and
save the seeds from previous plantings, so we’re actually better off than some. South of here we even have a small pig farm, so there’s pork on occasion.”

  “Well, good. Good for you. You’re a better community than a lot I’ve seen.” Ken looked over at the townspeople. “What about defenses? All I saw was that earth dam near the woods as we came to this place. Why didn’t you make it go all the way around the town?”

  The older man cackled a bit. “You ain’t the first to ask that. We built that dam to keep the zombies from seeing us as they walked along the road. We can take out any lone zombie or two that comes along, we just have to be careful. If there’s more than five or six, we send up the alarm and all of us go scrambling to the top of the hill. The zombies can’t do much more than crawl to the top and then we take them out. Simple.”

  The strategist in Ken’s head found the simple logic appealing, if a little strange. A mass horde would wipe this place out with little effort, but up until now, the town of Coolville had been lucky.

  “What about weapons? I was ordered to assess all defensive capabilities of any viable community I came across.” Thorton was rather impressed with himself at that little bit of official sounding vocabulary.

  “Some handguns and rifles, mostly shotguns. Hunting stuff, pretty much,” the man said. “Nothing like what your boys are carrying over there.” He waved a hand at the line of soldiers spread out behind Thorton.

  “Good. Well, I’ve seen what I needed to see, learned what I needed to learn. Thank you very much.” Ken stuck out his big paw to the little man and shook his hand vigorously.

  “What happens next, if you don’t mind me asking?” the man said, rubbing his hand a little.

  Ken smiled and said, “I need to confer with my men and I’ll let you know. You go on back to your people and I’ll be talking to you all in a minute.”

  Thorton and the older gentlemen parted ways and the major walked back to his semi circle of men. As he was talking, a few things had occurred to him. In the first place, Talon was close, but ahead in getting to the capitol. Second, wholesale slaughter of the people he was planning to enslave would mean he would be in charge of exactly squat. Last, unless there was complete surprise, he might lose a few of his men and he didn’t have the numbers to take that possibility likely. The best bet was to delay Talon, but the question was how?

  Thorton reached his men and spoke in low tones. “Get back into the trucks. We’re pulling out in a little it, but we need to create a distraction.” Thorton outlined his plan and the men smiled. It was simple, it was devious and would accomplish what they wanted. All to the good, as far as they were concerned. Some griped about leaving behind ready provisions and entertainment, but they were quieted quickly.

  After most of the men had gotten back into the trucks, Thorton signaled to Coolville’s leader that he needed him. The older man walked over, clearly enjoying his role as representative.

  “Yes, Major?” he asked.

  Thorton put on his best lying face. “There’s a large company of troops to the west of us and we need to signal we have been here and this area is secure. Have your people round up as many used tires as possible and bring them to the top of the hill on the north end.”

  The man gave Thorton an odd look but hastened to comply. While the townspeople worked quickly to fulfill their obligation, Thorton spent some time looking over the maps. He figured if he swung south and followed 144 to 124, he could pick up 50 again and cross the river into West Virginia before Talon did. After that, it was a straight end run to the capitol, with Talon watching helplessly while Thorton burned the Constitution.

  While killing John Talon had its merits, Thorton had come to the realization that letting him live and realize his utter failure, coupled with the probable loss of his family, would be a far more fitting revenge.

  After an hour, Major Thorton could see a decent pile of tires on top of the hill. He ordered one of his men to douse the tires in oil and gas, then set it on fire. The oil and gas caught quickly and in a short amount of time the pile was burning well. Thick black smoke rose high into the sky, able to be seen for miles. Ken looked at it for a minute, then laughed. These idiots just called in every zombie with a good set of eyes within a forty mile radius. He thought. As he contemplated, it was a nice trap for Talon as well. Hopefully he’ll take some time to get here.

  The townspeople watched the smoke go up and Thorton gave them a thumbs-up for encouragement. Already he could see some of the people looking nervously at the tall pillar of black rising from the hilltop, announcing to one and all that the Coolville Buffet was here and open for business.

  Ken’s men climbed back aboard and as they pulled out, he shouted to the people. “Good work! You’ll be getting some real company soon!” He tried to hide his grin, but it was a wasted effort. Without a second thought, Ken and his convoy moved out of Coolville and onto the twenty eight mile detour which would hopefully put him ahead of Talon for good.

  Route 144 wound its way along the Muskingum River, with the water on the right and a heavily wooded area on the left. There was little evidence at all of the Upheaval in this quiet place, save for the occasional wandering zombies. Across the river was a small campground and it had been deserted long ago.

  Thorton and his men were able to make good time until they came to another campground. This one was still in use, but a quick look showed shredded tents, scattered supplies and blood splattered equipment. The feeding zombies was another giveaway.

  As the convoy came to a slow stop, Thorton was able to assess what had happened. A small group of survivors had taken refuge in the campground and with the water supply nearby it was a good bet. However, they lost when a surprisingly large group of zombies came upon them in the early morning and overwhelmed them. One man looked to have made a run for the river with another person, possibly a child, but the twin blood streaks across the road signaled the zombies had caught them and dragged them both back to the feeding frenzy. Several zombies were on the road, while the rest, about fifteen in all, were hunched over the remains of the travelers.

  At the sight of the trucks, the zombies began to move towards the vehicles, shambling in an eerie, groaning dance to destruction. Many were covered in blood and left dark footprints on the roadway.

  Major Thorton got out of the truck, followed by the rest of his men. He hated to have to waste ammo, but if they did it right, it should be done quickly.

  “Fan out. Pick your targets. Slaughter them.” He grinned as the nearest zombies fell. The last time he gave that order was against a living community. Funny how things turn around, he thought.

  After the last zombie fell, Thorton ordered some of his men to toss the zombies out of the way and the others to look for anything worth bringing along.

  A few minutes later, the trucks were rolling again, the men having found a few canned goods and knives, but little else of value. They didn’t bother burying the dead, for as Thorton was fond of saying, “Why bury fertilizer?”

  Route 144 became Route 124 after emerging from the forest. 124 began in the little town of Hockingport, a small community on a point of land where the Muskingum and Ohio rivers merged. Hockingport had a few businesses scattered here and there, with some homes nestled in the trees along the river. The biggest population center in Hockingport was the trailer park, where the double wide reigned supreme.

  As they passed by, Thorton noted the destruction of the trailers, some with big gaping holes ripped in the sides.

  “Canned meat to the zombies,” he said to his driver who sniggered

  “Yes, sir,” said the Private.

  Route 124 took them north along the Ohio river and as they moved they stopped infrequently at homes which seemed like they might have something of value. One home yielded a goodly supply of dried goods, while another had a decent firearms collection. The owners were nowhere to be found, which, if they were alive, was probably a good thing for them.

  As Thorton and his men moved fu
rther north, Mustapha Island came into view. It was a wooded island, nearly half a mile long and about five hundred feet at its widest point. Moving past, Ken could see smoke fires of survivors. Among the trees he could see about a dozen shapes moving around and there looked to be a few boats carefully lashed to trees. As far as secure choices went, it was a good idea. Surrounded by water it guaranteed safety from the zombies. But eventually supplies would run out and then the survivors would have to return to the mainland. If they had prepared well, they might actually live to see the end of the zombie plague and return home.

  Thorton couldn’t care less. If they had what he wanted, he took it. If they served a purpose, he used them. If they were in the way, he removed them and if they crossed him, he killed them. Life was simple for a man without a conscience.

  Route 124 swung sharply north and for a while they were in deep woods. The sun was nearly overhead, but the tall trees formed shadows which were hard to penetrate. The undergrowth was thick and Thorton figured hunting zombies in these woods would be a royal pain in the ass.

  Travel along these roads was painfully slow. The roads were no longer maintained and as a result, had many cracks and splits. Anyone travelling too fast would find themselves without tires in a very short amount of time. This was why it had taken so long for Thorton and his men to travel from California to Ohio.

  The convoy finally came out of the woods into a small populated area. At least, it would have been if the Upheaval hadn’t happened. As it was, there was little to see even had it been still living. It looked like one of those end of life areas, where people settle in to quietly finish out their days. A small store was the only convenience and a single gas station served the small population. There wasn’t any zombie activity to be seen, but as recent events taught the faithful, things weren’t always what they seemed.

  124 finally reconnected with Route 50 and Thorton felt like he was getting ahead. After the setbacks and loss of men, he felt like he had finally gained the upper hand.