by Baker, Rich
When their neighboring farms were in financial trouble they leased their land from them so they would not lose their farms; some just sold the land to them outright. Every acre of land kept out of Milford’s hands was a victory for the small farmer. Over the last five years, since the economic crash of 2008, their conglomerate has grown to more than 150,000 acres.
In addition to her husband, Virginia’s children have all joined the company as it’s grown. They raise corn, sugar beets, and wheat; they also raise a limited number of cattle, pigs and chickens, which they use to feed the family and sell to locally owned restaurants. After all their years of struggles, all their work, all the legal wrangling and, at times, physical confrontations with Big Corporate thugs, one night of civil unrest has brought it all down. Her husband, Dale; second oldest son, Roger; son-in-law’s brother William; and the farm’s foreman, Hector Martinez, all lie on the ground, dead, and covered with blankets. As she stares at the bodies, Virginia’s mind goes back to last night’s events.
***
When Ben Puckett drove through the first gate, he tripped a motion alarm that, in turn, sent an alert to Dale’s phone. His sons and daughter also get these alerts. Dale’s phone rang within a few seconds. Dale Junior, or DJ, was on the other end.
“Are you getting this alert?” he asked.
“I am. Probably a coyote,” Dale said. Coyotes often jumped through the gates rather than over the fence, tripping the motion sensors in the process.
“All this shit on TV, these riots and you’re not concerned about this?” DJ asked.
“What, DJ, do you think the meth-addled miscreants down in Denver are going to come all the way north to our farm and use the gates to access our land? Don’t get panicky, son,” Dale Senior replied.
“All this shit going on gives those Milford bastards the perfect cover to sabotage our equipment again. You think the cops are going to come out for a trespassing complaint on a night like this?” DJ countered.
“We’re not going to panic, Deej. Just keep your wits about you and let’s see what happens,” Dale said.
About fifteen minutes passed, and another alert buzzed on Dale’s phone followed immediately by another call from DJ. He didn’t even issue a greeting when Dale answered.
“You still think it’s coyotes? Think they’re going from gate to gate tripping the sensors? I’m telling you; it’s Milford. They’re pissed off that they lost in court last week, and they’re going to sabotage our shit, Dad. It has to be them.”
Dale pondered the issue for a minute. On the one hand, DJ has always been quick to anger. Growing up, he started more than his share of fights, always saying it was “pre-emptive.” If he didn’t strike first, he’d be at a disadvantage when—not if—the other guy started it, and Dale had, on more than one occasion, warned his boy that a quick fuse was liable to get him burned one day. On the other hand, Hector had seen several Milford trucks crawling past their land earlier in the day, lingering near the gates that accessed the irrigation ditches, and by proxy the pumping stations that kept the water flowing to the crops.
“Okay, son, it won’t hurt to be ready. You organize it. Get your brothers, Hector, whoever else you can get to come over, and let’s have a welcoming committee in case there is something bad going on. But let’s be smart about this. The last thing we need is to wind up back in court with Milford. They’ll end up bleeding us dry in that courthouse. They can afford to pay lawyers to harass us; we can’t afford to keep paying to defend against it.”
DJ and two of Dale’s other sons, Roger and Tim, were at their house when the third alert hit their phones. Roger was beaming because he was the one who set up the motion sensors and the system that sent alerts to the family’s smartphones. After a series of covert attacks—they believed by Milford employees, but could never prove it—damaged one of their harvesters and several pump stations, Dale okayed the expense and Roger had everything up and running in two weeks. They got a fair number of false positives from coyotes or deer, as Dale said. However, in light of more than $60,000 in damages from the sabotage, they all figured it was a good trade if it could prevent another attack, or offer proof of who was responsible.
This third alert also triggered an infrared camera, similar to the ones that hunters leave in the woods to capture evidence of game in their hunting areas. The camera sent the image to their phones.
“Holy shit!” DJ exclaimed. “They’re armed!”
Everyone was pulling up the images, and sure enough, captured on screen was a trio of people in a truck. The barrels and handguards of what look like at least two AR15s were visible in the cab.
“We have to load up,” DJ said.
“No!”
They all turned to see Virginia standing with her hands on her hips. She raised a finger and pointed it at DJ.
“That’s the last thing you need to do, DJ; go out in the dark with your gun and get yourself killed,” she said. “You have no idea what they’re doing or what their motives are. This night has been bad all over, and we don’t know what those people have been through. We don’t need to be making it worse for them, just like we don’t need to be making a bunch of trouble for ourselves.”
***
A fresh round of sobbing from Vanessa breaks Virginia out of her mental replay of last night’s events. Even though she feels like she’s dying inside, she has to be strong for the rest of them. She won’t let this tragedy stop her from providing stability for the remaining family. Dale would do the same thing, she knew, were the roles reversed, and holding the family together feels like the best way to honor him right now.
After the firefight with the trespassers, which she had warned her men not to start, she had the bodies brought down to the barn. She had no idea if they would rise as the people they’d been showing on the news, but she’s seen enough on the news to know that it wasn’t meth heads doing the rioting, and she wasn’t taking chances by bringing the bodies into the house.
Once they had recovered the bodies, she sent DJ, her middle son, Tim, and her son-in-law, Steve, out to search the old Toyota the others had left. The kids were returning on the ATVs now, so she breaks her attention from the blankets on the ground and walks toward the men that she still refers to as “her boys.”
“Tell me you found something,” she says as they roll to a stop.
DJ swings a leg over the ATV and steps off of it.
“There’s not much in there. Some clothes, girl’s clothes by the way, so it seems like they weren’t just a bunch of guys. And there’s this,” he holds out a piece of paper, which Virginia snatches from his hand.
The Colorado motor vehicle registration lists the owner of the FJ40 as Ben Puckett. His address is in Fort Collins.
“Puckett,” she says the name like she’s cursing. “He said they were going to Longview, right?”
“That’s what the guy said, that they were only trying to get through to Longview,” Tim says.
“Yeah, right before you let them get away.” DJ snarls at Tim.
“They shot Dad right in mid-sentence, Deej! Bill was hit, Hector and William were already down …” Tim is cut off by Virginia.
“Your brother did the right thing, DJ. You and your father should never have picked that fight. Those people would have passed right on through if you had left them alone. You had no idea what they were doing, but they were sure as hell NOT sabotaging anything of ours. All you had to do was watch them and make sure they’re weren’t going after our equipment. Shooting at them cost us your father, your brother, Hector, Steve’s brother, and Bill is all shot up. Tim kept us from having to bury more of our own.” Virginia pauses and stares at DJ, who is still spoiling for a fight.
“So we’re just going to let them get away with killing our people?” he asks.
“I didn’t say that, but we’re going to be smart about this. Puckett can’t be too common of a name. We tell the Sheriff about this, and he goes and tracks them down. But remember, we shot first with no
provocation …”
“They were TRESPASSING!” DJ shouts, interrupting his mother.
“And we fired on them with no provocation! DJ, we may live in the country, but we don’t live in the 1860s. You’re not John Wayne, and there’s no such thing as frontier justice. The law may not side with us.” Virginia is trying hard to retain her calm exterior.
Steve Anderson, Virginia’s son-in-law and owner of Anderson dairy farms (now part of the Nelson LLC), speaks up.
“You’ve seen the news, Virginia. There is no law anymore. If justice is going to be done, it’s going to have to come from us,” he says.
“Well, if that turns out to be the case, that’s different. But we don’t know that yet. We don’t know much of anything right now other than we have people to tend to. Vanessa is a wreck, and we need to try to get in touch with Hector’s wife. Tim, take the truck up to the ridge and you and Steve tow that FJ down here. DJ, you get in the house and help tend to your brother Bill. He took a bullet in this fight you were so keen on having; you can help clean up the mess.”
Virginia turns on her heel, telling the trio that the discussion is over, and she puts an arm on Vanessa’s shoulder.
“Come on, honey,” she says, “let’s get inside and get something to drink. I could sure use some coffee right now.”
Vanessa nods and they start walking to the house.
DJ points back toward the ridge where the FJ rests just out of sight.
“This,” he says, waving his arm, “isn’t over. We’re gonna find these fuckers, and we’re gonna make them pay.”
Neither of the other men objects.
Fourteen
The black Ram pickup approaches Gypsum Highway at a crawl. Robert doesn’t want to chance getting caught by any police or military personnel. They’d have a hard time explaining Toni’s wounds to the authorities, and based on what the news on the radio has been saying, there’s a good chance they’ll just be shot rather than risking any infected getting into the city. He sees no activity in either direction, so he hits the gas, crosses the road, and enters the Shadow Valley neighborhood.
“Okay, we’re on Alpen View Street,” Keith says. “Just stay on this street until we come to the golf course. It cuts the neighborhood in half. You can jump the curb and take the cart path from the end of the street, cut across the fairway, and we’ll be back on Alpen View. We’ll come to a stop light, and we’ll make a left there.”
Robert nods his understanding and looks in the rearview mirror.
“How’s she doing?” he asks, looking at Ben.
Ben has Toni leaning into his lap, holding pressure on the wounds in her back and her side.
“She’s doing okay,” Ben says, “but she’s in a lot of pain.” Toni has her eyes clamped shut and winces whenever she moves too much or they hit a bump in the road. “Can we go any faster? I don’t want to put her through this any longer than we have to.”
“I’m going to get us to your folks’ place as soon as I can,” Robert says, “but I’m going to keep the speed reasonable. I don’t want to crash before we get there, or she’s in real trouble.”
“Shouldn’t we be going to the hospital?” Natalie asks. She’s in the seat next to Ben and has a hold of Toni’s hand.
“You heard the radio, right? The news says that the hospitals were like ground zero for this stuff. The first responders were getting overrun with …” Robert trails off.
“Zombies.” Keith finishes the thought.
Robert flashes Keith a look and then softens his tone a little. “Yeah. Zombies. I guess there’s no other word for them. Anyway, we should get everyone to safety and then we can find out if the hospital is okay or not.”
“And if it’s not?” Natalie asks.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? Let’s just get to point B as soon as possible. I’d like to get this night behind us,” Robert says, ending the conversation.
They come to the golf course, and Robert slows down, drives onto the sidewalk and then onto the cart path that winds its way through the golf course. He follows the path around the tee box with the big sign that reads “8” and has a crude map of the hole, which doglegs to the left. On the other side of the tee box, the cart path ends at the seventh fairway. He drives over the closely cropped grass, picks up the cart path again on the far side of the hole, and continues for a few dozen more yards.
Just past the seventh tee, there’s a sign like a deer crossing warning, only it has a picture of a golf cart on it. This is where the golfers cross the street, and Robert exits back onto Alpen View.
In the bed of the truck, Annie and Stephenie watch the area around them with sharp eyes. Stephenie hits Annie’s leg and points to a side street. Three houses off of Alpen View a trio of the undead feast on a man who has been pulled from a car that rests half on the street, half on the sidewalk and into someone’s yard. The remains of a brick-enclosed mailbox are scattered around the yard in front of the car, and steam pours out from under the hood.
“Not good,” Annie signs to Stephenie.
“You think?” comes the reply, which even though it’s not said out loud, Annie can tell it drips with sarcasm.
They approach the intersection of Alpen View and 17th Avenue, where Keith has instructed Robert to turn left, and they can see something is amiss. A big black SUV lies on its side, broken glass strewn throughout the intersection, glittering in the morning sun. Robert slows the truck down and stops before entering the intersection.
“Looks like they tried to make a right off this street …” he starts to say, pointing at the cross street.
“Seventeenth Avenue,” Keith interrupts.
“Whatever. And they lost it, flipped over,” Robert finishes.
Robert edges the truck into the intersection, turning against the red light, and creeps past the overturned SUV.
“It’s an Escalade,” Andy says from the far side of the cab. “You think it’s the same one from last night? The one the cops were chasing on 287?”
Robert points at an empty state patrol car a few hundred feet before the intersection to the west. “I’d say it’s a fair bet,” he says.
The overhead lights are still flashing on the cruiser, but there’s no one around, at least not that they can see.
There’s a pool of congealing blood around the back of the Escalade, making some of the broken glass sparkle red as the early morning sun hits it. Black, oily fluid is pooled all around the vehicle as well. Everyone exchanges nervous glances.
As they crawl around the corner, they see another police car, this time, a City of Longview squad car. It sits half on the sidewalk, facing west in the eastbound lane. Both doors hang open, but the occupants are nowhere to be seen. Again, there’s a lot of blood on the ground. Several spent shell casings litter the sidewalk, and a semi-automatic pistol lies in a pool of blood.
“This is not looking good,” Robert says.
“No shit,” Keith replies. “Let’s get moving. At the next light, make a right.”
Robert gets the truck up to forty-five miles per hour, and at the next road, he turns right. Off to the left-hand side of the road is a strip mall with a Safeway as its anchor. The gas station advertising twenty-four-hour pay-at-the-pump in front of the supermarket has a crowd of cars, all with people fighting to get gas. A couple of fist fights break out, and someone pulls a gun and starts shooting. As they drive past, a small horde of zombies—including one in a police uniform—comes streaming from a side street and heads straight for the crowd. Halfway across the street, one of the zombies, a portly man wearing a bloodstained t-shirt that proclaims “This IS my good shirt” turns and angles toward the truck.
A gunshot rings out, and the zombie’s shoulder sprays oily fluid. Its body turns from the impact of the bullet, altering its course enough that Robert doesn’t have to do much to steer around it, and the truck passes it without making contact. As the truck speeds away, the perforated undead man loses interest in it and turns
back to the crowd at the gas station.
In the bed of the truck, Stephenie sits back down with her rifle at the ready. They’re a mile and a half from the Puckett home, and it appears that things in the city are rapidly deteriorating.
At Ninth and Price—where Kyle Puckett’s sprint from the female zombie ended a few minutes earlier—everyone except Stephenie misses the body of the zombie that almost caught Kyle. She points out the twisted and broken form to Annie, who simply shakes her head.
Keith directs Robert to turn left, and then after three-quarters of a mile, Keith has him to turn right into the Sunny Meadow Neighborhood (a covenant-controlled neighborhood, the sign says). They go past a row of condominiums and town homes, then into a neighborhood of single-family homes. The garages all face alleyways, and Keith points to one just past a roundabout and tells Robert to turn into that it. Halfway down the alley, he has him pull into a driveway. They’ve finally reached the Puckett’s house.
“Toni, babe, we’re here. We need to get up,” Ben says to the wounded girl. She cries out when she tries to sit up, but then Robert is there helping to get her out of the truck.
Keith runs to the back door of the house and begins pounding on it. It takes a few moments, but Ben’s father, Kyle, finally opens the door. He’s drenched in sweat, still breathing hard from his run-in with the female zombie a few minutes earlier. Keith, unaware of that encounter, thinks it’s odd that the sight of nine young adults, two of which are women with AR15s in the ready position, and Andy holding Robert’s rifle casually propped on his shoulder, doesn’t freak him out more than it does.