The Zombie Principle II

by David R Vosburgh

  Curious, Dr. Sanderson was about to inquire as to what the Major was talking about when Captain Bannon emerged from the cockpit.

  “We need fuel. I know there is plenty at Worthington’s airstrip near Silverton. I think we should set down there, gas up, and spend the night. Be back at the base first thing in the morning,” he said looking around the cabin for any objections.

  Major Bradley figured there was no way for Worthington to get from Mexico to Colorado without a plane by morning. Also, Bannon had been flying since early this morning and he preferred his pilots to be well rested. Not to mention, even though he was armed with plenty of information, he was still in no hurry to confront his boss.

  “Sounds like a plan Captain,” he said.

  Chapter 12

  Bound

  The sound of voices echoed off the walls and swirled in Chester’s head. His body ached and his head still throbbed. Partly from the fall and partly from being in an awkward position for … how long he wasn’t sure. It was still light out. But the shadows would indicate morning, not afternoon. The stink of the infected hadn’t improved either. At least the voices he was hearing were human.

  He couldn’t make out was being said, the voices were garbled in his pounding head. He tried to move but found it difficult with the weight of the undead pressing on top of him. One more had fallen into the pit after he had passed out. It had managed to decapitate itself during the fall. The head rolled to the corner and was staring at Chester, teeth chattering. His left arm was stuck under the infected as he tried to wriggle it free. His right arm was numb and lie at his side. He must have passed out while leaning on it and couldn’t move it at all.

  Slowly his left arm came free and he tried to use it to push the zombies off of him. He was too weak to make much headway so he tried shifting his body to the other side while shoving the undead flesh off of him. The voices were growing louder and he could make out bits and pieces.

  “Look Pa, we may have something.”

  “Easy there, son.”

  Chester heard shuffling feet surrounding the pit. He tried clearing his throat. He wasn’t sure who these people were and was debating whether or not to make his presence known. Nothing was broken, he would have known that and his right arm was starting to get its feeling back. He figured he could climb out of there as soon as he could get these damn zombies off of him. He could hear them much more clearly now.

  “Just more of them dead things.”

  “They ain’t movin’, Pa. Probably died in the fall.”

  “Not likely boy, ain’t seen one die yet without a bullet to the head.”

  “We need to reset the trap, shoot those things in the head to make sure and drag ‘em out of there.”

  There was a short pause.

  “Why can’t Luke do it?”

  “’Cause I sent him back to the house to check on Mother.”

  Another pause. Then one of them moved, kicking some dirt into the pit.

  “Lookie here.”

  Chester heard a grunt and a noise he couldn’t quite place.

  “Someone left a rifle … and it’s loaded.”

  “I guess this trip’s not a total loss.”

  “Try it out on those zombies son, then haul their rotten carcasses outta there.”

  “All right.”

  That last statement was said with a touch of resignation. Chester had been able to determine a few things. First, there was probably only two of them; a father and his son. Second, they had located his rifle. Third, and most important, it sounded like the son was going to use it on the zombies covering him. He supposed it was time to announce his presence.

  “D… don’t shoot,” he croaked. His throat was dry and raspy. He began waving his arms.

  “What the hell …” the older man said.

  Chester was finally able to push the dead flesh off the majority of his body allowing him a better view of the top of the pit. Looking down at him were two sets of eyes and two bewildered expressions.

  “Please … don’t shoot.”

  The older man bent down to one knee while the younger of the two continued to aim Chester’s rifle at him.

  “They’re already dead,” Chester said. He had managed to roll over and was now on his knees, adjusting his backpack and feeling for his machete. He looked up at the two strangers.

  “Could you help me out of here?” he said as he got to his feet.

  The two looked at each other. Then the older man moved a little closer to the edge of the pit and stretched out his hand, digging his feet into the soil.

  “Give me your hand,” he said.

  Chester reached up and winced noticeably from the pain shooting down his arm. He grabbed the man’s outstretched hand and placed his foot into the wall of the pit. In one swift motion, Chester leaped upward as the man pulled. He put his other foot against the wall and pushed himself up. The stranger used his legs to steady himself and leaned back, dragging Chester halfway out of the pit. The younger man following his every move.

  Chester took a second to catch his breath, leaning on the edge of the pit with his elbows. The older man returned to his feet and took a step back, reaching for the shotgun he had slung over his left shoulder.

  Finally getting to his feet, Chester had an opportunity to examine the two individuals whose conversation he had been eavesdropping on. The older of the two men was probably fifty years old, six feet and maybe 165 pounds. A week’s salt and pepper growth covered his face. A blue denim shirt and tan cargo pants both hung loosely as if meant for a larger man. The younger of the two was twenty at the most and a little shorter and a little bit stockier. He wore a soiled light green tee shirt with Mountain Dew emblazoned across the front and faded blue jeans. Dirty blond hair framed a round face. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses were perched atop the brim of his nose. Chester’s gun was pointed directly at him.

  “Much obliged,” Chester said as he dusted himself off.

  “What the hell were you doin’ in my pit?” the older man asked.

  Chester wasn’t sure he liked the man’s tone. It wasn’t like he fell in on purpose. But, being a hunter, he knew the disappointment the man felt. Getting his hopes up when he discovered a trap had been sprung only to find dead infected in it.

  “Was bein’ chased by those things,” he said pointing to the infected still lying in the pit. “Didn’t see the pit …” he finished, letting them figure out what happened next.

  He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell these two. The sooner he got back to the base the better.

  “Dropped my rifle, I see ya found it,” he said.

  There was a long uncomfortable silence as Chester stared at the young man holding his rifle.

  “What’s your name mister?” the boy asked.

  Chester didn’t see the harm in telling them his name. They were armed, after all, and he was not.

  “The name’s Chester … Chester Boone,” he answered.

  The boy turned the gun over in his hand as if looking for something.

  “Don’t see your name on it, Mr. Boone,” he said with a crooked smile, yellow teeth exposed.

  “I’d like it back all the same,” he said.

  The older man looked over at his son, then back at Chester.

  “My name’s Clyde … this young man is my son, Jacob,” he said in a more congenial tone than before.

  Chester just nodded.

  “Why don’t we call the rifle payment for … watcha call it … services rendered?”

  His answer would have to wait as everyone’s attention was diverted by the sound of someone running through the woods. A few seconds later another young man appeared, out of breath and holding a bag in his right hand. A bad feeling suddenly overcame Chester.

  “Pop …” The young man said breathlessly as he approached. He was a little taller than his father and even a little thinner. A little older than Jacob, he wore a light blue baseball cap with a fishing company logo stitched on the front and a grey ta
nk top undershirt with long dark blue shorts. He seemed to be unarmed. The bag he carried looked awfully familiar to Chester.

  “What is it, boy?” Clyde asked in a tone that suggested he didn’t have time for his son’s nonsense.

  ‘Someone’s been in the house … and there are dead things littered all over the lawn,” he answered. “And I found this on the front porch,” he continued, handing the bag over to his father.

  Clyde took the bag and looked inside. Putting his hand in, he lifted a can of beans and a box of macaroni out of the bag, examined them, and then put them back. Handing the bag back to his son, he shifted his gaze to Chester.

  “You know anything about this Mr. Boone?” he said raising his shotgun just a little.

  Chester considered his reply. He was outnumbered and outgunned. He felt lying would be transparent because he was an awful liar but telling the truth might end him in some trouble with these yahoos. He decided on door number three; stalling until a better solution presented itself.

  “About what?”

  Clyde nodded toward the bag full of groceries. As he did, Chester glanced around him looking for a possible escape route, exposing his backpack to Clyde.

  “What’s in the backpack?” Clyde asked.

  Chester looked behind his left shoulder and could see the backpack flap was loose and a crushed box of crackers poked out. Clyde raised his gun even further and now had it pointed at Chester’s chest.

  “I won’t ask again mister … Luke, help Mr. Boone remove his backpack.”

  Luke looked at his father before moving slowly toward Chester.

  “Make one move for that machete and I’ll blow a hole clear through you,” Clyde warned.

  Chester was surprised he had noticed it. He thought he had concealed it fairly well.

  Clyde’ congenial tone had disappeared. Chester had dealt with his kind before, many times. Working in the forests of North Carolina exposed him to all kinds of individuals. Clyde had to put forth a tough image in front of his boys. Letting a thief go would not be possible without looking weak to his offspring. Chester slowly slid the knapsack off his shoulder.

  Luke grabbed it and took a few steps backward, reaching behind him he handed the backpack to his father. Clyde opened the pack and gazed inside.

  “Looks like we have a thief among us boys,” he said.

  “Yea, your son … he stole my rifle,” thought Chester.

  “We’ll take that machete as well,” Clyde added.

  Chester had reservations about relinquishing his only remaining weapon. But his training at VMI covered many areas, including avoiding capture by the enemy as well as what to do if captured. The three things his instructors drilled into him were; one, pick your spot to make your move, two, don’t make it too soon because if you fail they’ll watch you like a hawk going forward, and finally, recognize the point of no return. This is where you have run out of time and anything you try will be fruitless. He had yet to reach the point of no return.

  He stared, unblinkingly, at Luke as he approached. Luke reached into his waistband and pulled out a Colt revolver, holding it in front of Chester. His hand shook a little.

  “I guess he wasn’t unarmed after all,” Chester thought.

  Slowly reaching behind him he removed the machete, sheath and all, and handed it over to Luke. He then slowly raised his arms, indicating his surrender. For now, anyway.

  Clyde started waving his gun, signifying he wished for Chester to move. Chester complied. He was led out of the woods, virtually retracing his steps from the previous afternoon. Little was said except for when Jacob asked what they were going to do with him. Clyde had no reply.

  They emerged from the tree line back onto the gravel road, just down from the house. Chester could see the littered bodies of the infected still sprawled across the lawn. His truck was still there. The group slowed as they approached the house.

  “That your truck Mr. Boone?” Clyde asked.

  Chester didn’t exactly know how to answer that. It was his, of course, but he didn’t park it there. Deciding he wasn’t going to answer any more of their questions, he remained silent.

  “Where did you come from?” Clyde pressed.

  Nothing.

  “Have it your way, thief,” Clyde said pushing Chester in the back moving him up the stairs that led to the house. The infected that Chester encountered yesterday had moved on and all that remained were the dead ones he had left behind,

  Once inside, Luke and Jacob ushered him into the waiting area Chester had occupied yesterday. Both young men had their weapons trained on him as Clyde left the room and walked down the hall. They both stared at the broken vase littering the floor and then back at Chester. No one spoke until Clyde returned a couple of minutes later.

  He had a roll of twine and a pair of scissors. A set of keys jangled out of his front pocket.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” Clyde instructed. Chester remained rigid. Clyde handed the twine and scissors over to Luke and grabbed Chester’s arms and pulled them behind him. He was stronger than his thin frame suggested. Luke snipped a piece of twine and began wrapping it around Chester’s wrist. When finished he pulled on the knots. Satisfied, he grabbed Chester’s shoulder and moved him into the hallway.

  “When we are finished here,” Clyde said, “I want you boys to grab those infected out front and pile them up in the fire pit out back. Grab the lighter fluid and set those things on fire. I don’t want them stinkin’ up the yard. Then head back to the deer pit and reset the trap.”

  “Ok Pa,” Luke said. “What’re you gonna do with him?”

  They stopped in front of the small door under the stairwell as Clyde fished out the keys. Chester noticed a padlock on the door he had not seen the first time in the house. Clyde turned to his boys, apparently intent on answering the question this time.

  “He’s going to meet Mother,” he said.

  Chester couldn’t see the faces of the boys behind him. It was probably a good thing.

  Clyde inserted the key and opened the padlock. Pulling on the handle, he hurriedly opened the door as the boys shoved Chester inside. Scraping his head on the top of the small doorway, he fell forward into a darkened crawlspace. He righted himself quickly, just in time to see the door slam in his face. A tiny crease of natural light leaked in from under the door, preventing the room from being in complete darkness. He could hear footsteps move off down the hallway.

  The walls were steel reinforced and the room much bigger than it appeared from the outside, he had seen that much before the door had closed. As he sat upright, hands behind him, he began to assess his situation. His thoughts were immediately interrupted by a smell he knew all too well and the low moan of the infected.

  Chapter 13

  Inside

  Stephen had finally gotten used to waking at the crack of dawn. He didn’t need an alarm clock or roosters for that matter. These weren’t times where sleeping was easy anyway. Despite the relative safety of the base, there was no telling when a quick getaway was needed. That’s why each of them had a bag packed with essentials ready to go at a moment’s notice. It was Major Bradley’s suggestion.

  He rolled over and put his hand on the curve of Lucy’s backside. Resting his head on his left arm he slowly stroked her waist stopping at her hips. She squirmed slightly and let out a sigh. He was happy they had each other. It made these times bearable. It also gave him a real purpose; making sure nothing ever happened to her.

  Stephen sat up and stretched, cracking his knuckles so loud that Lucy rolled over and muttered something he couldn’t decipher. Wiping the sleep out of his eyes he stared straight ahead and nearly jumped out of bed when he saw a figure standing in the doorway.

  “Chester never came home,” Nick said.

  Stephen hopped out of bed, grabbing a blue t-shirt that hung over a small table in the corner. He met Nick at the door and they both moved into the living room where they could talk without disturbing anyone. He glanced
over at the couch, no sign of Chester.

  “You said not to worry about him,” Stephen said.

  “Since when do you listen to me?” Nick asked.

  Stephen didn’t answer, he moved over to the couch looking for any sign that Chester may have been there overnight and simply left early. Unfortunately, the couch looked exactly as it had before they had gone to bed, including the blanket draped over the armrest.

  “This is the first night since we’ve been here that he hasn’t come home,” Stephen stated, looking around the room.

  “You know he’s a loner, comes and goes as he pleases. I’m sure he’s fine,” Nick answered with little conviction.

  Stephen considered that possibility when a sound from behind startled both of them.

  “What’s goin’ on?” a groggy Lucy asked.

  They looked at each other.

  “Chester didn’t come home last night,” Stephen finally answered.

  Lucy, still half asleep, took a moment to digest the information.

  “That’s unusual,” she said as she made her way to the kitchen. They had some trail mix in a big plastic container that often constituted breakfast if they couldn’t get to the commissary.

  “Where did he go yesterday?” asked Nick.

  “I think he was up early … went out with the hunting party,” Stephen answered.

  “Did the party return yesterday?”

  Stephen thought for a minute.

  “Yea … they must have. Captain Jansen walked by yesterday just as we were finishing the logs. He’s in charge of that group.”

  Lucy came back into the living room with a bowl of nearly stale trail mix and offered it to the boys. They both politely declined.

  “Should we go find Major Bradley or Captain Jansen, one of them might know for sure,” Lucy offered.

  Stephen could have picked up his walkie and tried to contact him if he hadn’t left it at the MP barracks yesterday. Since he wasn’t scheduled to work today, he figured he would pick it up later. The base commanders tried to keep things as normal as possible, especially for the civilians. That included days off. Certain people, however, were expected to be “available” if needed. Stephen was one of those people and was therefore given a walkie.