by Key, Thomas
I gave the ‘come on in’ gesture and he entered, closing the door behind him. "Did you find anything?" he said as he sat down on my brown recliner. Besides my bed, and a small end table, it was the only piece of furniture in my apartment. I shook my head as I also sat. "Unfortunately, the grocery store is a no-go. The police station was fairly barren as well." He looked over to my overloaded backpack and pointed his chin to it. "Just dog food," I told him as I tried to contain my smile. "Dog food my ass," he said as he made a beeline for the bag. I have a rule about people messing with my stuff. I will and have bitch slapped people for touching my shit. As close as he and I were though, we both knew he was an exception to that rule. He unzipped the back and pulled out one of the 9mm Glocks. He smiled warmly and looked at me, with a questioning look on his face. "Yeah fine, go ahead. I’ve got a couple more. Besides, we both know you won’t leave me alone until it’s yours anyway." Ken fist bumped in an over the top fashion, mini hand explosion and all. He sat on my bed, breaking down the pistol to look for any issues. I once again stood up and grabbed us two beers from my non-working fridge and handed him one. They tasted like warm piss, but alcohol is alcohol I supposed. "How’d it go?" he asked as he looked down at his work.
"Not too bad," I responded. "There’s another roadblock off Tramway near Lomas. We had to go around that one. We didn’t see anyone, and it could have been from a long time ago. Still, it was no point to risk anything." He nodded as he put the handgun back together, content. We drank our warm nectars of the gods in silence for a few minutes in blissful silence. He then eyed me and spoke. "A few of the people here want to talk to you about some ideas regarding this place. I know we’ve got it pretty well reinforced, but food is becoming an issue." I looked at him with my full attention. "What do they want to do about it? I’m not in charge. That’s George’s gig. I just handle security," I told him. He took a large swig of his drink and shrugged. "I think some people want to leave. Some others want to set up another stronghold." It was my turn to shrug. "We already started tilling Roosevelt Park across the street, but we keep having run-ins with Z’s and we don’t have enough equipment to fence the whole park yet. We will be able to harvest a bunch of good crops from there eventually. I don’t know of another place better than this one," I said.
Outside, a loud crashing noise drew the attention of both of us. In an instant, we were both on our feet. We both peered out of my apartment window overlooking the north parking lot and saw what looked like a souped-up old Ford Bronco that appeared to be attempting to smash its way through the iron gates of the compound. My window was open in a flash and less than a second later, a bullet passed through my open window and into my apartment wall. I hit the floor hard. Ken was right beside me, also ducking down. "What in the hell was that?" he asked, looking up at the bullet hole. "Sniper," I said, matter-of-factly. "I think he’s by the church across the street," I said quietly. I saw something, maybe a muzzle flash just before the bullet struck. "It looks like the truck down there has friends." He nodded and belly-crawled over to my closet. In it was a beautiful Remington 700 bolt action rifle, with a Mark IV scope. "You did say you were saving this for a rainy day," Ken said as he tossed me the rifle. I slowly brought the rifle up and over the window seal. All my firearms were always kept loaded, so I now only had to find my target. I saw a glint in the now early morning light from the church across the street and instinctively ducked back down. Opposite the apartment complex, there was a Catholic church. It had been cleared and somehow there had not been a soul in the place. Literally or figuratively. It had a small two-story bell tower which was my best guess for the sniper’s perch. The sun had just begun to come over the horizon to the east and luckily was in the sniper’s eyes. I once again raised my rifle and rested it on the window seal. I saw an outline in the church bell tower window. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I pulled the trigger. The loud crack of my rifle was deafening in my small apartment. I kept my scope on the tower and saw a rifle fall to the ground below. It appeared to have been a direct hit.
Looking down at the street, I saw the Ford Bronco backup and prepare for another ramming run. Through my scope, I could see a metal slab that seemed to be welded onto where the windshield was. The protection made it nearly impossible to hit the driver from our vantage points. Our guard downstairs had already opened fire, the bullets pinging off the metal shield with a loud ‘gong’ noise. The bronco smashed into the gate a second time, and it was noticeably beginning to bow from the damage. I saw a gap, between the shield and the hood of the truck where there was no protection. I aimed and took another deep breath. I gently pressed the trigger and fired a round directly where I hoped the driver should be. It took three attempts, but the truck had been backing up for another impact when the brake lights came on and it rocked to a stop. Below me, the gun fight was still raged on. A couple of the attackers had squeezed through a small gap in the gate and made a run for our compound. Luckily for us, the defenders below had their shit together and the first attacking group through were cut down before they could make it to the interior door.
Chapter 3
Ken had crawled to the door as I had readied my rifle and when out of view of the window, he quickly ran downstairs to the interior door. There was a small group of armed survivors at the bottom of the stairs standing around in obvious confusion. "Yo!" he shouted at them as he worked his way down the last few steps. "We’re under attack and you all are just standing here?" He asked them with the booming of his voice. "We don’t know what to do. We’ve never had people shooting at us," said an older man in the back of the crowd. Ken acted, organizing and sending two armed teams of four to the two other entrances to look for more attackers. The rest, he quickly setup into a defensive posture around the door. "Anyone have a rifle that I can borrow?" Ken asked, looking around. After a moment with no answer, there was a tap on his shoulder. Behind him, holding his civilian semi-automatic AK-47 was Rachel. In her other hand was her own AR-15. "Are you ready?" she asked with a grin. He nodded, took his favorite gun and lovingly put the rifle sling around him. They moved to the door, stacking up and Rachel grabbed the handle. They heard the crack of the bolt action rifle from upstairs and Rachel threw open the door. Ken moved out into the parking lot, hauling ass. They took cover behind the first parked vehicle, an old crown Victoria. A series of bullets peppered the vehicle just as they slid to a stop.
“Fuck!” Ken yelled out as he came to a rest, feeling a spot on his head burn as a round buzzed by just a hair too close. Rachel pulled herself up beside him and rested her rifle on the trunk of the car and took aim. She focused towards the church and could see more movement in the parking lot in front of the entrance. Seeing at least six people moving about, firing as they advanced. They were heading straight towards the weakening gate. A three-round burst spat from her rifle and hit one target down. She immediately took cover as return fire hit the vehicle and the ground all around her. The whoosh of air being dispelled by a now holey tire could barely be heard over the weapons discharging all around the pair. Ken, hearing the gunfire on him lessen, took the opportunity to fire from his position, hitting another enemy combatant center mass.
"Hey!" Rachel and Ken heard from the upstairs window. Ken hazarded a look and saw Shepherd briefly. "We’ve got a shit ton of z’s showing up!" he yelled between well placed shots. Ken, being on the side closest to the fence looked around and did indeed see a large mob of infected coming their way. The gunfight must have been drawing them from every direction for at least several miles. Their number now was only in the dozens, but if this kept up much longer, there could be hundreds. Rachel fired another burst and yelled over to Ken, "They’ve got a blow torch, and they’re using a metal shield. They’re cutting through the gate!" Behind two large pieces of sheet metal, he could make out the glare of the torch being held one-handed by someone holding one of the barriers. The metal was protecting their formerly exposed front, and no one could seem to get a shot at the attackers. Ken a
nd Rachel tried unsuccessfully for several minutes to take out the torch holder. With a loud clang, a four-foot section of the iron bars came crashing down. A group immediately rushed from behind the shield and squeezed through the downed part of the fence. This time, they had covering fire and were making it into our parking lot. The infected crowd had worked their way upon the rear group of attackers. So solely focused on the firefight before them, they didn’t even bother to look at the zombies coming from all around them. The now clearly excited zombies overran the few remaining infiltrators outside of the fence line and in the church parking lot. The sporadic gunfire from that area died down quickly. After the group behind the shield were eaten alive, the infected began streaming into our now very crowded parking lot.
"Guys, get your asses inside!" I yelled from the upstairs balcony on my floor. With a nod from Ken to Rachel, they took off in a run to the now open door. Inside, several defenders were standing by the door yelling at them to hurry. As the first group of infected made it inside the compound, they closed and locked the door. “You!” Ken pointed at a man standing near the back of the small hallway. "Go get something to barricade this door!" The rear man and several others took off in different directions looking for anything to brace the metal door. Loud thumps could be heard from the other side of the steel. The group all put their weight against the door to help brace it as it was temporarily sealed off. As the remaining human attackers outside retreated or were eaten in the parking lot, our survivors began to concentrate their fire on the remaining zombie threat from the other balconies. Using the upstairs apartment windows to allow plenty of lines of fire, it only took another five minutes of near constant fire, and that threat too was finally eliminated.
Chapter 4
During the following day, the able-bodied survivors of Lucaya began to clear the parking lot of the dead and debris. A large bonfire made of furniture and kindling was started in the lot of the church across the street. Luckily, the attackers from the previous day had not retrieved their blow torch or other supplies. A dozen firearms along with several hundred rounds of ammunition and a few other collectibles were all hauled into the apartment building. A small group of our survivors repaired the damaged fence, surrounded by guards. Although the building and the group of survivors had held out, it was not without cost. There were several human casualties from the rounds striking the rooms adjacent to the church. Two men, and a small child had been shot and killed inside Lucaya. The little ones’ death hit me the hardest. Adults shooting adults for food after the fall was unfortunately very common, but we lost a little girl. Every child surviving in this world is sacred. They are the future of the entire planet. Everything ended for this child, someone’s baby. Life is a cruel bitch, I thought to myself as I walked across the street to the now vacant church.
Parts of our apartment building were charred from small fires that luckily had been put out quickly. Morale was at an all-time low and with the zombapoc, that's saying something. It's hard to be happy these days considering, but once again everyone was losing what little hope we had gained. Losing hope leads to loss of life, whether it be those who give up or just inattentiveness. After the manual labor was finished, a memorial service was held as the dead from the compound were laid on the still raging spire of flames. Standing in a line nearest to the fire were the leaders of Lucaya. George McGavin, the camp leader by majority vote stood beside me. I was previously voted in as the one in charge of security. Not too bad, considering that I had absolutely zero military experience, and we have yet to set up any kind of currency system besides barter. We had a few former military members but apparently, no one wanted to do the job. They just wanted to shoot shit. Which I think is very understandable. The country that they swore to protect ended up destroying itself. What was there left to do but pick up a rifle and fight?
As one of our more religious residents completed a prayer, George leaned over and began to whisper to me. "What are we going to do now?" I took a deep breath and replied, "Keep on going I suppose. That’s all we can do. We keep our eyes open for any more of these guys and continue to fortify and expand our area of operations." I said in a hushed tone. George sighed, "I don’t know how much longer I can hold them all together. If we don’t have a breakthrough soon, I think we’re going to start seeing deserters." A cold rain began to sprinkle down on the mourners, with a slight breeze moving in from the east. Yes, it does rain in New Mexico, it’s just rare. "Deserters?" I asked, to which he nodded gravely. "People who think they can do better on their own, only looking out for number one." I shook my head. "Most of these people wouldn't last a week alone." I told him. George shrugged. "I know." The cold rain began to seep into my clothing, soaking me. A cold chill crawled up my spine, causing me to shake involuntarily. The last body from our group was laid atop the fire. It danced in the rain, only slightly diminishing.
I found myself staring into the fire. This had been one of man's greatest accomplishments. You know, the taming of fire. With the entire world just charred remains of what it once was, look at us now. Obviously, in the end we did not come that far. People began to fade back into the building as the fire began to die. Kenneth, Rachel, George and I were the last ones around the now dead fire. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man wearing a complete 'denim Dan' outfit coming in my direction from the compound. He was wearing boots, blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a blue denim jacket. I really wanted to make a funny remark, but this of all days was not the time to do so. Even I know when humor needs to take a backseat to reality. I nodded to George and walked to intercept him. "Shep, we received something on our Ham radio just a minute ago," he said, the adrenaline in the man’s face was evident. "What exactly did you hear?" I asked guardedly. "Someone claiming to be with the national guard is calling for survivors." He motioned for me to follow him. I took one last long look at the now charred bodies in the lot and began my trek back into the compound. On the top floor of the north-eastern side of the building was the radio room. Inside, all different kinds of...you guessed it, radios and electronics were strewn along the walls of the former studio apartment. A tall, skinny man in his late 60's sat in a corner holding a set of earphones so hard to his ears that it seemed like they were going to break in mere moments. I lightly touched his shoulder and he nearly jumped from his chair. "Whoa. Careful there Ted," I said with my palms up in a non-threatening posture. He took a couple of quick breaths and slowly sat back down. He handed the headphones over to me and spoke. "I’m sorry. After what happened yesterday, I'm rather on edge." "It’s fine," I said, putting my hand back onto his shoulder. "We’re all a little on edge right now." I'm not sure if it reassured him, but it seemed like it. I placed the headphones onto my ears and listened for a moment. "I don’t hear anything," I said with a bewildered look on my face. "What?" he asked as he took the headphones back. "Piece of shit!" he yelled as he smacked the radio in front of him. "Calm down, I really don't think that will help." I'll be honest here, I have absolutely no knowledge about these radios. All the frequencies and bouncing the signals around the world is just way over my head. There was literally nothing I could suggest to help in this situation. As if on cue though, a voice blared over the radio. "This is Staff Sergeant Rodriguez of the New Mexico Air Guard, Red Horse Squadron calling for any survivors in the southwest portion of the United States. We are seeking to evacuate and relocate survivors to our base of operations here at Cannon AFB outside of Clovis, New Mexico. We have food, shelter and a clinic setup. If you can hear me, please respond."
I looked up to see Ted pacing the room and he seemed to be deep in thought. I took off the headphones and sat heavily into the chair. "Has anyone replied to them?" I asked him, startling him out of his reverie. "No, not that I’ve heard. I don’t think there’s anyone else out there. The broadcasts started about thirty minutes ago and are on a loop. I can’t guarantee it’s not just a recording. We’d have to respond to see if someone is really there," he said. I nodded with a hand lightly scratching my
short beard. "Thoughts?" I asked him. "It could be a trap. Maybe someone just trying to get us into a bad spot. It could be automated and when we find the source, everyone could be long dead. Or it could be legit," Ted said. “Well, let’s see what we’re dealing with," I said as I picked up the microphone. Ted came around and plugged in a second set of headphones to the setup. He stood behind me as I made the call. "Staff Sergeant Rodriguez, my name is Shepherd and we are located in the Albuquerque Metro area. Are you there?" I held the mic in my hand as we awaited a response. After a moment, static crackled over the airwaves. "Yes, I am here. I’m glad to hear someone is still alive out there. Over." The voice had an air of confidence about it, with what seemed to be a hint of surprise. I couldn’t believe that I had forgotten the radio lingo from all those military movies I’d seen in the past. You know, the 'over' bit. I keyed the mic again, "We would like to hear more about your proposal…. over," I said, somewhat tersely. "We are held up at Cannon Air Force Base outside of Clovis, New Mexico. We have about 200 survivors within the walls of the base. We are looking to relocate any willing survivors to our location to assist in the rebuilding efforts. Over." "Did you have any outbreaks in your area? Over," I asked. After another moment, the voice spoke again. "Affirmative. We were able to contain a majority of the infected, but some still got through our quarantine. Originally, we were sitting at a population of around 2000 when this whole mess started. Over." Ouch, I thought to myself. "Have you been in contact with the government? Over," I replied. "That’s a negative. Over," said Rodriguez. "We lost contact with POTUS and the remaining members of the cabinet after only a couple of weeks of the pandemic. We have had intermittent contact with radio operators from around the world, but the situation is not much better than over here. Over." I sat back in the chair once again, pondering my next response. Ted nudged me. "Should I go get George?” he asked. I nodded, and he left the room. "Are you still there? Over," the man asked. I took a minute, give or take to think before I responded. "Yes, I’m here. I will need to discuss your proposal with my group." I looked at my watch. It was now just before noon. "How about I give you a call back around noon tomorrow? Over." A few minutes or so went by before he responded. "Affirmative. We will be awaiting your broadcast. Over and out," he said with an audible click.