by R. J. Spears
We tossed the bladed weapons into the yard of one of the houses, but held on to all the guns.
Everything was going swimmingly until Logan burst out the house. His face was pinched and suffused with anger as he surged across the street like a blood red tide. When he got behind the lead redneck he drew his M16 back and brought the stock down on the man’s shoulder sending him to the ground with a grunt. The other men stirred, fear coursing through their eyes, looking like they might bolt at any moment.
Just a minute ago the tone was tense, but controlled. Now the situation was now starting to spin into explosive chaos. Logan stood over the man ready to take another whack at him.
By now, Brandon and Aaron were out of hiding and standing guard over our prisoners. My concern was whether any of our guys might start shooting the rednecks if they made a run for it. I’m sure that was a default for Logan in his current state of mind. Shooting unarmed men in the back wasn’t in my job description. With each passing second I was afraid things would go that way -- fast.
I looked to Mike, but he seemed at a loss.
“Logan, stand down,” a voice boomed from behind us.
Everyone looked as Greg and four more of our men, armed to the teeth, stepped from between two houses. I saw Kara standing a few feet behind them holding a rifle.
Logan shot Greg a look that smoldered, but stepped away, his breathing ragged and fast. “These guys shot Lenny and Sam for no reason.”
“We did not,” the lead redneck said from his place on the pavement. “We were looking for supplies and had every right to be here, same as you guys.”
I’ve always thought it was best to make your case from a position of strength, not sprawled face-first in the street with an angry man holding a gun pointed at your head. Call me crazy. Logan hauled back and kicked the man in the leg. The man screamed in pain, pulling himself into a fetal position to protect himself from what he probably thought would be a vicious beating.
“Logan,” Greg said as he closed the distance between them. “This isn’t how we need to handle this.”
“How should we handle it? Lenny is up there maybe bleeding to death and Sam can only use one of his arms right now.”
“We don’t beat unarmed men,” Greg said.
“Well, they weren’t unarmed until a couple minutes ago,” I said and regretted it almost before the words left my mouth. Greg shot me a look, and I shut up.
“They are unarmed now. How bad is Lenny?”
“Bad,” Logan responded.
“Ben, go bring Doc Wilson up and have him take a look at Lenny. Kara can check Sam.” The tall lean man named Ben did as he was told, “Logan, I need you to calm down, and I need a full situation report. Mike?”
“We have all the attackers here. A couple of their guys are wounded,” Mike said pointing to a yard where one man was laying and another sitting up, his face smeared with blood. “I think one is dead over at that house,” he added, pointing at a ranch house down the street.
Greg’s face fell at this news. Questions and regrets played across his face like an ominous front of storm clouds.
“And we’re not alone in town,” Mike added.
“That’s obvious,” Greg said.
“No, we saw a bus. A school bus. It was heading up Brown Street. We would have checked it, but we needed to move.”
“Well, we knew we weren’t the only group of survivors still in town. We know there’s a small group on Two-Mile hill.”
“I got a bad feeling about that bus,” Mike said.
“We’ll deal with that when we have to,” Greg said.
“We’ve got Zs,” Aaron called out. Three zombies appeared, shambling down the street heading for the yard with the two wounded rednecks.
“They’re going to eat our guys,” one of the captive rednecks yelled. He was halfway to his feet, his body caught in indecision, not able to decide which was more frightening: us or the zombies. Two more zombies stumbled around the side of house.
“Okay, here’s how’s this is going to go,” Greg said. “We’ll let you go and you’ll leave and never come back. Okay?”
One of the rednecks stood and moved forward to pick up his gun, but Mike moved to block him. “No. We’re stupid, but not that stupid. Your weapons stay with us.”
“But we’ll never to get past the undead,” he said pleadingly.
“That’s the price you pay for coming into someone’s turf and shooting them,” Logan said leaning into the redneck’s face. “My commander is being nice, but if I see any of you here or anywhere near here, I’ll shoot you dead. Without hesitation, without a second thought. You got it?”
The man gulped and nodded.
“Now, go,” Logan said.
They were hesitant at first, but most of the redneck crew got to their feet and started running. Three of them went to help their wounded.
“Jessie’s dead,” one of them called out, standing over the body of one of the fallen rednecks. He was a big guy with a scraggly beard. “You fucking assholes killed my brother.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “I’ll get you. I’ll get all of you for this,” he screamed pointing a shaking finger in our direction. Logan started to raise his weapon, but Greg pushed it back down. The redneck took us all in as if he were committing all our faces to memory, then turned and ran between two houses.
“Hey, hey guys, we’ve got more Zs,” Brandon said. Four more zombies were coming down the street. The group closing in on us was starting to get scary.
“We don’t need to be so quiet. Shoot them,” Greg said.
Brandon had a field day in the ten minutes we worked to get Lenny and Sam to safety. While it wasn’t prohibited, it was rare when we could go on an unfettered zombie killing spree. By the time we got our two guys into the back of the SUVs there were more than a dozen zombies in the street. The only problem was that there seemed to be an unlimited supply as a dozen more, drawn by the gunfire, started our way.
When we got back to the church, Doc Wilson did his best to patch them up. Lenny’s long term prognosis was good, but Sam’s arm was in bad shape. The Doc thought he might not be able to use it again because the bullet had taken out a hunk of muscle and tendons.
As living, breathing humans, we were in the dramatic minority. You’d think we’d band together against the undead, but human nature, being what it is, it became a game of every man for himself. It didn’t bode well for our long term survival as a species.
CHAPTER 13
The Plane
In the zombie apocalypse, there are times that I think hope is the worst thing to have hope in.
Casual conversations alone revealed that one of the most common fantasies was the government showing up one day with a convoy of trucks and supplies to rescue us. They’d whisk us off to some FEMA-style camp with hot water, hot food, and safety. The endless fear would be over and we’d be with other survivors ready to rebuild our lives and world.
As time passed, that notion became nothing more than a fantasy for us, put away in a safe little box deep in the back of the closets of our hearts and minds. It was like a child who stops believing in Santa but still wants to hold out the hope that the jolly old man in the red suit and the hearty laugh might be real. Ho-ho-ho, here comes the army to save our asses, but neither Santa nor the men in green ever showed up. At least, not to help us.
After the first few months, only a few die-hards spoke of the possibility of a government rescue. When it comes to the zombie apocalypse, it was ‘Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here’.
That was, until the plane flew over.
“There’s a plane. There’s a plane!” Zach shouted from the back of the sanctuary. At first people didn’t catch his meaning. The last time anything flew over was months and months ago just days after the Outbreak. The whole idea of a plane in the sky was so remote that it seemed more likely that an alien spacecraft would do a fly-over.
“There’s a plane overhead,” he said again. “It looks to be military.�
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The flood gates opened, and zombies or no zombies, everyone was on his feet and heading for the doors. The street was clogged with people within minutes and by the time I elbowed my way outside, we were bouncing off each one another as everyone looked skyward.
When I looked down for just a moment, I saw that not one set of eyeballs was watching the streets for the undead. To compound the chaos, everyone was talking at once: it generated a cacophony of sound that surprisingly didn’t bring zombies from miles away. With our eyes on the sky, we would have been the perfect smorgasbord.
“I don’t see anything,” an elderly man said. “I don’t hear any engine either.”
“Well, you’re deaf,” someone said.
“Hey!” Zach shouted. “Everyone, please be quiet and listen.”
The group hushed up and put on their best listening expressions -- some even had their eyes closed, concentrating to hear. It took a moment, but out of the quiet came a low buzzing noise off to the west.
“There it is,” a half dozen voices cried out in unison accompanied by exaggerated pointing to the skies.
It really wasn’t much more than a speck against the cloudless blue sky, but as it got closer its definition improved. It was a plane and it was headed our way.
The crowd was quiet again, an anxious mood rippling among them. Parents pulled kids close. Couples held hands expectantly as if they were waiting for their honeymoon cruise.
The buzz of the engine increased as the plane got closer and unconsciously the people leaned into the sound, swaying back and forth slightly, waiting. The plane banked gently and descended, making a pass over the downtown, then flew north getting smaller and smaller. When it about winked out of view the crowd deflated. It was if the fireworks display just finished with the lamest grand finale ever.
In hushed voices people began to ask questions.
“Do you think they saw us?”
“Who do you think it was?”
“Will they come back?”
Seconds ticked by and there was no sign of the plane in any direction. Seconds turned to minutes and that seemed to be the end of the show.
Just as the crowd started to break up the buzz reappeared and everyone froze in place like statues as if their movement would dispel the magic that was the sound of the plane. Once again we waited and once again fingers shot skyward when the speck blinked back into view. It grew and grew as it got closer. The plane’s trajectory looked to bring it nearer to us this time -- if it stayed on its current course.
It hit the edge of the city, and just like on the previous pass, and descended. It passed over the northern hills that wrapped around the city and looked to be only several hundred feet above the ground as it came our way, its buzzing engine getting louder.
The entire group held a collective breath, poised on the balls of our feet in anticipation. It followed the street that the horde of zombies had taken just a few weeks ago -- putting it on a path to fly directly overhead.
It flew over the old Mercy hospital and then over the apartments at the bottom of the hill. It crossed the railroad tracks and there seemed to be no chance of it veering off but an unspoken anxiety thrummed through the crowd. When it finally passed over the high school all restraint left the group and the yelling and waving started.
“We’re here!” someone shouted while others yelled similar statements. Kids jumped up and down and almost everyone had their hands in the air waving as if they themselves could take flight and rise up to meet the plane. The situation bordered on complete pandemonium as our shouts rose to the sky.
A gunshot trumped all the shouting breaking everyone’s trance-like concentration on the place. A second shot sounded and everyone’s gaze shot to the roof where a rifle barrel stuck over the edge. When the shooter fired again we all turned and followed the trajectory of his aim. Three zombies lay dead in the street a block away in front of the library. Not one of us had even noticed them in our frenzy to catch the attention of the plane. I had little doubt the zombies would have munched down on a couple of us before we knew it.
“That’s all of them for now.” Logan said poking his head over the side of the roof. “But there are more starting our way from downtown and from the college. The plane is a drone by the way.”
For the second time in a minute, the group’s attention whipped in different directions as all eyes scanned the sky again to find the plane again, panicked that they may have lost it.
Fortunately, the drone was circling around our area in a wide arc around the church as if to take us in more completely
Questions flew again in a flurry.
“What does this mean?”
“What’s a drone?”
“Why did they send a drone?”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“What kind of drone?”
Greg stepped in front of the crowd and turned back to them. “Okay people, not all of us can stare into the sky if we don’t want the zombies to surprise us. Zach, Roger, Mike, set a perimeter around us. I figure we have ten more minutes out here before things get dangerous.” The three men did as they were told dispersing to the edges of the crowd. Unconsciously, the crowd tightened its ranks.
Brandon answered. “It’s Reaper, I think.” Like he knew all about guns, Brandon was also our local expert on military hardware. If you wanted to know a missile from a rocket, he was your man.
“A what?” an older lady next to him asked her eyes following the drone in its languid arc above us.
“A Reaper. I don’t know what model for sure,” he said. “Maybe an MQ, maybe something newer.” He paused for a moment in an attempt to use his hands to cover his eyes to get a better view. “Logan, do you have the binoculars?” he shouted his question towards the roof. “Can you see if it has any ordinance or a camera?”
“I’ll check,” Logan replied ducking out of view.
More questions filtered through the crowd. Most of them went unanswered.
“I see a camera,” Logan shouted down again. “It might have some sort of ordinance too, but I can’t get a good look at its belly.”
The drone buzzed lazily by us again at its lowest level yet. After this pass it broke its arc and ascended into the sky, speeding up and heading west, away from us.
“So, do you think it’s recon only?” Brandon shouted up to Logan again.
“I have no idea.”
Nearly half a minute passed in silence. The crowd deflated somewhat as if there was some unmet expectation still yet to happen. Still they stood in the street scanning the horizon for any sign of the drone.
“The downtown zombies have started to collect some more of their kind,” Logan yelled from above. “There’s a half dozen heading our way.”
“Okay folks, the show’s over,” Greg said motioning for the group to move back into the church. “Let’s head back inside. It’s not safe out here.”
The crowd didn’t make any audible groans, but shoulders fell and faces became downcast. It was like we were taking kids away from the best parade when it might come around the block again. “We’ll keep an eye on the skies from the roof and let you know if it comes back, so please go back inside.”
It took a couple moments, but the crowd relented and shuffled back inside, questions floating between them like the buzz of insects. There were all too few answers.
Pastor Stevens and Greg held a town hall meeting later that night. Most people wanted to know the significance of the drone’s arrival and where it came from. There was a lot of speculation. Many people thought there was a good chance that it might have come from the Wright-Patterson Airbase outside of Dayton.
Brandon informed us that some drones could fly hundreds of miles which meant it could have come from anywhere. There was no way to be sure. It could have come from BFE for all we knew.
As for why it came, they could only make educated guesses. It could be a general reconnaissance. It could also be just an assessment of who was still out there alive.
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br /> The $64,000 question was whether it meant the government was on their way with a rescue party. As much as they didn’t want to comment on it, there was no ducking this question.
“We could speculate all night as to why the drone showed up,” Greg said from the pulpit. “Yes, it could mean that someone is evaluating cities and towns to see who is still alive. It could mean that the government intends to make a rescue mission, but we don’t know if they are and if they are, we don’t know when. To act like it’s coming tomorrow or next week would be a mistake in my opinion. This is a world-wide event. Everybody, including the military, has their hands full. While I wouldn’t rule out some government effort to contact us, or even to come here, we simply do not have the luxury of acting like they are. Carrying on the way we have is the best course of action.”
A few people had follow-up questions but they basically just covered ground we had already been over. Pastor Stevens took the pulpit and to his credit, he didn’t say the drone was a sign from God or any other crap along those lines. Instead, he supported Greg’s contention that we live the way we have been living.
“It says in the Bible that we are to live as if they next day could be the day of deliverance. And that’s how we should act if that’s what we believe -- doing the best work we can, serving each other, encouraging each other. If you’re on a foraging party, do the best you can and encourage each other. If you’re on guard duty, do the best you can do. If you’re caring for the children, do the best you can do.
“I know we’d all love to be someplace where the living dead don’t roam, but no one knows God’s timing. We should just go on with our lives as we have been.”
Hope is a hard thing to kill with just words. It is a cruel son of a bitch. Many people walked out with the dim glint of hope still in their eyes.
Hope is killed a day at a time when rescue doesn’t come, when Superman fails to show up, and when a drone flies overhead and never returns.
As the days passed any sense of hope or expectancy for a rescue slowly drained out of the group. Some die-hards grasped at the straw of hope long after most had given up the ghost. They’d make excuses to go to the roof and would be caught staring to the west. They’d monitor our HAM radio for hours tuning across channels hoping to pick up any signal.