“Private, clamp his mouth!” Dunfield screamed to the private beside the door to the room. The private moved with a purpose, pulling the mouth clamp from the toolbox and walking briskly to the restrained solider.
“Hold,” Dunfield said, signaling the private to stop. “Soldier, you are going to die, this is the end of your life. Do you have anything meaningful to say?”
Without hesitation, the soldier looked Dunfield in the eye, panting and excreting blood from his cracked lips.
“I am an American soldier!” He shouted. “I am a warrior, and a member of a team, I serve the people of the United States and live the army values! I will always place the mission first,”
Dunfield signaled to the private to continue clamping the soldier's mouth open. He had no need to hear that 'crap'. The clamping happened relatively quickly, and the soldier fell silent.
“Hold his head back,” Dunfield ordered the private, who complied by placing a hand over the soldier's forehead and gripping a handful of his hair. “Alright, let's see how you do with it.”
Dunfield raised his hand and shoved the hangar down the soldier's throat. There were no muffled screams; only a few gagging and coughing noises, followed by a steady stream of blood gushing form the soldier's mouth. As Dunfield walked away, he glanced once more at the soldier's dog tags, but did not bother to read them. If he had stopped for a moment, he might have read the name 'Ryan Frost', etched forever in cold metal.
***
“Do you er...think it's safe to open?” Carl asked Frank. They had been standing around the wooden chest for the better part of ten minutes trying to determine whether or not a zombie would pop out of the chest and kill one, or all of them. One minute it sounded as if the moans were human, the next it sounded undead.
“Do I look like a psychic?” Frank demanded. “Where did you say you found this thing again, Amber?”
“In the closet,” Amber pointed.
“Some things shouldn't come out of the closet,” Carl hissed.
“HELP ME!” The box screamed, rattling again.
“Yeah, okay,” Carl nodded. “That's human.”
“I told you the first time,” Amber said, reaching toward the latch. She turned the studded brass knob and listened to it open with a click. She lifted the lid and let it drop behind the chest with a thud.
“My god,” Carl said, peering into the chest. “It's like Christmas morning.”
Inside the box was a woman. She looked to be about twenty-eight, perhaps thirty with long brunette hair, and bound from head to toe with leather straps. To add to this uncomfortable scenario, she was also nude. Between her thin red lips, a rubber ball gag had been stuffed, clamping her jaw into a single position.
“Get me out of here!” The woman shouted, her voice still partially muffled.
Frank and Carl reached into the box, lifting the woman out and onto the bed while Amber simply walked to the door of the bedroom and rested her forehead against the oak frame.
Frank reached behind the woman's head, unbuckling the ball gag and dropping it on the bed beside the crazed woman. She didn't speak as they untied her. Instead, she spent the next ten minutes gagging and wheezing while attempting to form words with lips that hadn't moved in God knows how long. Upon being untied, she spent yet another ten minutes laying prone on the bed, as if she were getting used to her own muscles again. They waited patiently, and finally she spoke.
“Who...are...you,” she panted, her lips still not working quite as they should.
“I'm Frank, this is Carl, and my daughter, Amber,” Frank gestured across the bed to Amber, who turned away from the doorframe to look at the naked brunette on the bed.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?” She demanded sitting up. “Where's my husband?”
“Um...” Carl said as he looked around the room desperately for a blanket or even a sheet to cover the woman with. “I think your husband is...er...gone. How long have you been in that box?”
“I don't know!” She said. “Hours, days, I don't know. It's a game my husband and I play. He ties me up, leaves me in the box, and lets me out when he gets home. We only do it once in a while! I took a water pill so I wouldn't dehydrate, and he put me in the box. Now, where is he?”
“See, this is why you shouldn't do this shit,” Frank said to no one in particular. “It's all fun and games until the apocalypse happens.”
“What?!” The woman shouted, jumping backward and pressing her back against he headboard.
“I hate to tell you this,” Carl said, finally locating a loose sheet and practically blanketing the woman with it. “But while you were...packed...the world ended. If I had to guess, your husband is dead.”
“I'm sorry, but that's impossible!” she shouted before glancing over to Amber. “Bitch, are you wearing MY t-shirt?!”
Amber shrugged. “Fills out my boobs.”
The woman started to scream something else, then stopped. “Yeah, I guess it does,”
“Listen, lady, about three weeks ago, the world ended. Everyone started turning into...zombies, undead, walkers, whatever you wanna call them. A few of us survived for whatever reason. Might have been genes, might have been luck, might be that we're all infected anyway and we just don't know it. Either way, it's a new world out there, and we all have to play our part.” Frank finished his speech and stepped back, as if he were done trying to convince the hysterical woman.
“No,” She said. “Hell no, you're full of shit! Get out of my house! All of you!”
Taking the entire sheet, the woman fled from the bedroom, and the group heard the patter of bare feet as she descended the stairs toward the main living area.
“That was very diplomatic, Dad,” Amber said. “But, I don't think she'll be coming with us.”
“Don't really need another mouth to feed anyway,” Carl said, examining the action on his own rifle. “What we need is more ammo--”
Car; was suddenly interrupted by a scream from downstairs.
“Kelly!” Amber shouted, turning toward the door and exiting the room. She fled to the stairs, nearly hopping the bannister instead of taking each individual step, but thought better of it. Instead she ran down the steps, turned right at the landing, and beheld the worst possible scene. It was Kelly, but she was being held by the brunette, and the brunette was clutching a kitchen knife.
“Amber? Ambe, I'm scared!” Kelly sobbed, trying to squirm her way from the woman's grip, but to no avail.
“Lady,” Amber said. “What in the hell do you think you're doing?”
“You crazy people have a kid with you?!” she demanded, clutching Kelly even tighter. “I can't let her go with you. I have kids of my own, I can't let you expose this beautiful little girl to whatever...whatever's wrong with you!” She was beginning to step backward, her eyes salivating feelings of both fear and anger. “I won't let you!”
Amber raised both of her hands in the air, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.
“Listen, if you just let us show you, let us take you outside--”
“You're not taking me or this little girl anywhere!” She shouted. “Nowhere! We're going to stay right here, where it's safe!”
The moment she finished her sentence, a shot rang out from the upstairs landing. A red hole appeared directly center of the woman's forehead, and in that same instant, the life left her eyes. The knife fell from her hand, landing blade first against the floor. It bounced a total of three times before coming to rest against the laminate.
Amber hesitated for a moment before rushing forward to take here younger sister from the woman's grasp, just before her body slammed against the floor. As she held her sister, she glanced upward at the landing to see Frank holding his hunting rifle. His eyes were cold and hard – they certainly weren't the eyes that Amber had grown to know all of her life.
“Sorry, Amber,” Frank said from above, clearing the chamber and raining brass on the floor below. “We just don't have time for that shit.”
“I could've talked her down, Dad,” Amber said, though her tone of voice betrayed her on the spot. Her feelings mirrored that of her father. What the hell had happened to them? Weren't they decent people when they left their farm house? At what point had they become monsters? It was a good question, but it afforded very little in the way of an answer.
“Hey!” Carl shouted from upstairs. “I know what the four keys go to!”
***
Somewhere within the Westlake Gated Community, an alarm sounded. The alarm system had been set up specifically for tornado events, of course, but in this instance it was signaling something entirely different. Ross's first thought was that a new zombie attack was underway, but something was off. This wasn't the usual call to arms. Soon after the alarm started, it stopped, and was followed by a PA announcement.
“ATTENTION,” A voice boomed across Westlake. “ATTENTION EVER—IS THIS DAMN THING ON? NO TOM, I ALREADY PUSHED THE RED BUTTON...NO, I JUST HAVEN'T USED THIS THING BEFORE. OKAY, OKAY I THINK IT'S ON. SHIT. IT'S BEEN ON THE WHOLE TIME. ATTENTION, CITIZENS OF THE WESTLAKE GATED COMMUNITY, A CRIME HAS BEEN COMMITTED. WE UNDERSTAND THAT THERE AREN'T TOO MANY LAWS THESE DAYS, AND FOR THE MOST PART WE'VE MANAGED TO KEEP OURSELVES IN LINE, BUT, WE CAN'T ABIDE MURDER WITHIN OUR WALLS. THAT BEING SAID, THERE WILL BE A DOOR TO DOOR INVESTIGATION. EVERYONE IS TO REMAIN IN THEIR HOMES UNTIL THE INVESTIGATION IS COMPLETE. THAT IS ALL.”
With that, the PA system cut off with a screech, leaving the citizens of the Westlake gated community in complete silence. Ross was at a loss; nothing like this had happened, and no one had ever declared martial law within the community. For the most part they had managed to keep the zombies at bay while keeping the peace amongst themselves, but it would seem, that all of that, was coming to an end.
“I don't understand,” he heard Amanda say. “When was someone killed here? How were they killed here?”
“It's ridiculous,” Jamie added. “We have enough problems as it is; we don't need to turn on one another.”
Sarah sat there, listening silently to the conversation. The situation obviously made more sense to her than everyone else, but she dared not say a word. The murder she'd committed had been done for good, but she knew better than anyone that humans are creatures of reaction – and not all reactions were good.
In her short time on this earth, she had never seen a single human being make a decision based on a careful logical process – at least not at first. What she had seen was a plethora of people shooting first and asking questions later. Would they find out that the boy had been bitten? Probably, undoubtedly. Would they find out before they had executed the one they thought responsible? Before the event, it was incredibly likely. Now that they had lost access to their legal system, it was even more than likely. As she pondered this, she climbed off the couch and wandered from the living room to the short hallways leading to the bedrooms.
“Sarah, honey,” Jamie said. “Where are you going?”
“Back to my room,” she said. “I need to think.”
“I don't know if that's a good idea,” Amanda said disapprovingly. “There's a killer on the loose.”
Sarah grinned. “I'm not afraid of the killer,” She was almost giggling, because it was so true, she wasn't.
“Well, we are,” Jamie said. “So stay out here, please. I don't want someone dragging you from your window.”
Almost like clockwork, there was a knock at the door. Everyone looked at the other nervously until Amanda shook her head and answered the door. The man on the other side was Terry. Ross recognized him as one of the town officials, though he couldn't figure out whether he was self-elected or elected by public opinion. It could have gone either way and no one would have had a word to say about it.
“Hello,” Terry said.
“Hey, Terry!” Jamie said, smiling as she rose from the couch and straightened her outfit.
“I wish this were just a social call,” Terry admitted, though the line had been well rehearsed and was devoid of sympathy. “But we have a serious problem. Do you mind if I sit down?”
Terry was an older man, his hair gray, and his wrinkled face betraying the wisdom of his years. He wore clothes from the bygone era of civilization. Rather than a simple t-shirt and jeans like everyone else was wearing, he was decked out in a pair of pressed khaki pants as well as a button up shirt. All he needed was a tie and black blazer, and he'd definitely be overdressed for the post-apocalyptic world. In his previous life he must have been an office worker, though Ross was guessing banker. He had the right attitude for it.
“What can we help you with Terry?” Amanda asked, walking over to meet him.
“Well,” Terry said, not bothering to make himself at home. “You heard the...we'll call it an announcement, though it sounded more like a poorly executed game of scrabble.” It was a joke, but no one laughed. There just wasn't enough room for laughter at the moment.
“We heard it,” Ross said, glaring.
Terry immediately turned his attention to Ross.
“I remember you,” Terry said. “You came in with....that girl, Sarah. Can you two account for your whereabouts last night?”
“I was sleeping!” Sarah exclaimed, smiling wide.
“That's right, she went to bed early,” Amanda confirmed. “She always goes to bed at seven, normal kids try to at least push it to ten.”
“What am I going to do?” Sarah giggled. “Watch TV?”
“The reason I'm asking,” Terry said, surveying the faces of each person in the living room. “is because someone, late last night, saw a child running between the houses.”
Sarah had to resist the temptation to clench her jaw, but her heart fell into her stomach. Her chest burned, mostly with fear. She couldn't afford to be caught and called out on such a minor offense. Well, minor in her own opinion. What she'd done might have seriously impacted the family of that little boy, but in the long run...
“You might not realize it,” Terry continued. “But we do keep an eye on everyone here. You two kids haven't caused any trouble, but we still don't know anything about you. Ross, why don't you start by telling me a little more about you?”
Ross remained silent. He wasn't ready to share anything with a complete stranger. Amanda spoke up instead.
“He's not really talkative,” Amanda quickly interjected, “but, I know he was here all last night.”
“That's true,” Jamie agreed. “He snores like a wood chipper.”
That was news to Ross, no one had ever told him he snored. He wasn't entirely sure he believed it, but he didn't have the energy to interrupt.
“What about you, Sarah?” Terry indicated Sarah, who was sitting on a recliner that she could hardly fill and smiling from ear to ear. “What can you tell me about yourself?”
Sarah smiled brightly and looked down at the floor, giggling. For the first time in her life she was actually acting her age. For some reason, Terry seemed to buy the act.
“I need to see your kitchen,” Terry said, walking in the direction of the swinging door. No one tried to stop him; no one had any reason to.
Amanda and Jamie followed him through the door and watched as he seemed to examine the knife block on the counter. He pulled out what appeared to be the serrated bread knife. He examined it very, very closely, and finally slid it back into the block when he was satisfied there was absolutely nothing out of place with it.
What he didn't know – what he couldn't know, was that Sarah had cleaned the blade thoroughly after using it as a tool of decapitation. If Terry had a forensics team at his disposal, he might have been able to run tests, and those tests may very well have shown that this blade was the culprit in an unspeakable crime. Luckily, he had no such tools at hand. He looked around the kitchen again, and shook his head.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Amanda asked Terry from the doorway.
“I just couldn't help but notice you have a serrated bread knife,” Terry explained. “There are
only four houses in the community that actually have one, and we're almost certain one was used in the...act.”
“What kind of act are we talking about?” Amanda inquired.
“We're talking about a decapitation.”
Amanda blinked.
“A decapitation...with a bread knife?”
“It's a little unorthodox, in terms of murder,” Terry admitted. “But it did happen. We still can't find the head. A lot of people are upset, they want to know who did this, why they did it, and if they can expect it to happen again.”
“What would you do if this...person really was a kid?” Amanda asked, genuinely curious.
Terry pondered the question for a moment. “Well,” he said finally, “we don't have a jail, so we'd either have to kill or exile. It depends on whether or not the people can stomach another death.” As he spoke, there was a commotion outside the house. Screams, shouting, the shuffling of feet.
“We found him!” A voice shouted. “We've got the asshole!”
“I guess we have an answer after all,” Terry said. “Let's hope it's not a child, shall we?”
“Let's hope,” Amanda echoed as Terry walked past her and toward the front door of the apartment.
“In the bottom of this...bondage chest thingie,” Carl told them. “I found these papers. Deed to the house, car registration, butt plug, and registration for four all-terrain vehicles.”
“Does anyone care that an innocent woman just died?” Amber inquired. “Anyone at all?”
“So, there are ATV's in the garage,” Frank concluded. “We could get a lot further on those than we would in a car.”
“Yeah,” Carl agreed. “It's a long shot, but we might get ourselves all the way to the coast.”
“She's down there, laying outside the foyer, in a sheet,” Amber said. “I just want to know if anyone cares. I don't, I'm just curious.”
“With any luck they're those new hybrid models, they can cover a lot more ground. Let's go to the garage and check it out.”
Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Family & Friends - Book 3 (Zombie Apocalypse Z Series) Page 3