by TW Gallier
I already didn't like the sound of that. I never was much of a follower. Roger and I liked to blaze our own trail through the world. We avoided joining organizations just because obligations came with them. Our community was dependant on each other's help to survive, so I didn't object to pulling my weight by hunting and guard duties.
"What exactly does that mean?" Fred asked. "What is this new information?"
"We found a working radio in one of the empty cabins," Sean said. "It didn't have much battery life left, but we found a station broadcasting news from around the world. In two hours we learned some really disturbing and important things.
"First and most important of which was the US Government has no plans to clean out the zombies," Bill said. "They're going to let them die out before exploring the possibility of returning to the eastern US."
"What?" I cried. "The Feds are abandoning us?"
"In a word," Sean said, grimacing. "Yes."
People started shouting questions, while others turned to each other and discussed it. I just sat there in shock. My family, and Roger's family, were mostly career military. Our families dedicated their lives to protecting the United States of America. Now, to learn the government was abandoning us in our greatest need was beyond comprehension.
"We have options, though," Bill quickly said. "The West Coast was not hit by the bio-warfare agent that is infecting so many on the East Coast. The US government is still operating west of the Rockies."
"Also, Canada was not hit," Sean added. "So we have two options."
"Uh-oh," I muttered. A chill slithered down my spine. "I know where this is going."
Sean glanced at me, then turned back to the others.
He continued, "We can pick up and go north to Canada." Absolute silence fell upon that deck as everyone considered what that would entail. "Or we can go west, and settle somewhere inside the remaining United States."
"We have to leave?" Ann asked. "I don't know if I like that. Why can't we stay here?"
"We will run out of food sooner rather than later," Sean said. "It won't be long before what the daily hunts bring in will be all we have to eat."
Not true for everyone. Roger and I had stocked our cabin pretty well. The boys and I could last for many months by ourselves. Leaving was not an option.
Roger was coming. I knew it in my bones.
"We're here to vote on where we go," Bill said. "West, or north to Canada."
"There's one other option," I said. "Stay here."
Bill and Sean looked at each other. I could see they were in it together. The two of them had decided we have to leave, and they didn't want to hear anything different.
"That is not an option," Bill replied. "To stay is death."
"We learned some very disturbing information, too," Sean said. He paused to look across the group. Dramatic effect? "The death toll across the Infected areas is staggering. Most are either dead or turned into zombies. And every single zombie is headed southward. All of the big cities of the north are coming, and they are all zombies."
"Tens of millions of zombies," Bill said. "Maybe a hundred million are coming down to Georgia. There's no way we can fight them off for long."
For a second I thought I would swoon. Heart racing, I struggled to breathe.
God help us.
One minute I was determined to stay and wait for Roger. The next I worried about Timmy and Harlan. My first priority was the boys. But surely it wouldn't take too long for Roger to reach us. After crossing the country he would know better than anyone what to do and where to go.
"Let's not be too hasty," I said, voice soft and strained. My throat was so tight I almost couldn't speak. "Roger will be here in a few days. He'll know what to do."
Again, Bill and Sean glanced at each other. Sean shook his head woefully. Bill spoke up, but with the soothing, comforting voice one used to a bereaving family member at a funeral.
"Jenny, I think you know it is unlikely a lone man can cross a couple thousand miles of zombie infested territory," Bill said. "I think Roger is dead and gone. It's time you thought about yourself and your children."
I just stared at him. My mind, my heart, refused to believe him.
Chapter 20
"How many dams do they have on this damned river?" Charlie asked.
"Too many," Mike said. "I bet it was some government works program, and the Army Corps of Engineers overbuilt just because they had the budget and it created more long term jobs for them."
Sounded about how the government worked to me.
"Flood control," I said.
"Then they did a lousy job of it. Every time I turn around there's another flood on the Mississippi," Mike said. "God, we're screwed."
I had to agree. The dam and lock before us was a disaster. There were boats and barges caught in the spillway, plus a barge was jammed in one of the two locks. The other lock was not open. Though, I wasn't sure the second was technically a lock.
And there were zombies crawling all over the jammed in barge and locks.
Every dam we'd seen had a lock with two gates. Next to it was a passage with just a single gate. I called it a lock, but suspected it was really for releasing more water if necessary. Truth was, I had no idea what it was for. But none of the single gates were open on any dam we'd passed through.
"I see five kayaks up on shore," Charlie said. "I bet we could go in and grab three of them before the zombies reached us."
"Seriously?" I asked. "You want to throw away all of our weapons and gear to float downriver on kayaks? Forget the fact we couldn't carry much ammo, do you know how much longer it'll take us to reach Tennessee?"
"And I don't want to cross the river in a kayak," Mike said. "It's rough enough going in this big pontoon boat."
Charlie shrugged. He didn't look happy about it. But I was with Mike, crossing that current in tiny kayaks would be scary.
"Let's go take a look at the other shore," I said. I turned the wheel, and gave it some more gas to cross across the current. I could see some structures peeking through the trees on the other shore. "It can't be any worse than the west shore."
"Want to bet?" Mike replied.
The water was rougher than normal. Another front was coming in. I could see dark clouds to the west. The wind was already whipping around, stirring things up. Continuing our journey in a car or truck sounded a lot dryer and more comfortable.
There was a parking lot next to the locks, with some Corps of Engineer buildings. The parking lot had a few vehicles in it. One of them might have started, but the zombies kept us away. If we couldn't continue on the river, then we needed to find other transportation. I did not want to walk the rest of the way to Georgia. That could take weeks, or even months.
Mike and Charlie stood on the bow and studied the far shore with binoculars.
"A camper would be nice," I said. "Make it happen."
"That's only because you've never owned a camper," Charlie said. "My parents have a Class A camper. It constantly has problems. They spend a fortune on maintenance."
The buildings I saw proved to be a farm. Barns and other outbuildings were scattered across a hilltop. We stopped a few feet from shore, shouted, and waited for zombies. None came down for dinner.
"Mike's the scout, let him go reconnoiter the place," Charlie said.
"I'll reconnoiter your ass."
"You were in the Navy?"
Before they got into it too deeply, I spoke up. "I'll take Mike and check it out. You stay here and guard the boat, Charlie." I pointed at a sandbar about fifty feet from shore. "Why don't you take the boat over there so no one can sneak up on you."
The shore was bare of trees and brush for a good hundred feet, so he could see us returning. If anyone was chasing us, he could move over to shore and pick us up easily enough.
We were in our BDU pants, but with just t-shirts. I went ahead and put on the camo shirt, too. WEB gear with pistol, canteen, and ammo pouches went over that. Then I put on my Kevla
r helmet. Mike followed my lead, though didn't look enthusiastic about it. It was hot and muggy. I carried my M-4, and Mike had his with the M203.
Charlie maneuvered up to shore, where we jumped off and headed up the hillside. I worked up a sweat real fast moving up that hill. It was a lot steeper than it looked from the river, but the farm wasn't too far from shore. We went in slow and stealthily, weapons held at the ready.
Most of the structures I'd spotted from the river were small feeding sheds for livestock. Basically, they were covered places to feed horses. I've never seen anyone use them for anything but horses. Either way, there were no horses, cows, or sheep to be seen. The main barn was on the other side of the small farmhouse. We decided to check out the house first.
The front door was hanging from one hinge. The windows were all shattered, and I noticed bullet holes all over the front of the house. Week old corpses littered the farmyard, mostly decayed. At least the stench wasn't too bad.
There was an older sedan and a two year old pickup parked in front of the house. Both had the keys in the ignition and the driver doors were left open. I tested the pickup, and Mike the car. Neither started. Even the batteries were dead.
I figured the house was thoroughly looted, but morbid curiosity pulled me inside. It was completely trashed. There were more bodies inside, all completely covered with black flies. Two were of an elderly couple, arms and legs bound together and their brains blown out.
"Fucking savages," I growled.
In almost every way, other survivors were worse than the zombies. You'd think everyone would want to join together to fight the zombies. Nope. Some men and women went feral and turned into cold-blooded savages.
Nowadays it was every man for himself.
"At least they killed some of them," Mike said.
He was standing over a big, bald man who still looked fierce after a week of decomposing. His skin was all yellow and black. He was laying across a rather scantily clad woman, an Uzi still clutched in one hand. It looked like a shotgun blast blew away most of her throat.
"I don't want to hate people, but god-damn, man," Mike said.
We checked the bedrooms next. They were torn apart, as expected. All of the clothes were ripped out of the closets and chests of drawers. Even the mattresses were cut open. Were they just that mean and hateful, or were they looking for something? I had a feeling money wasn't worth much, if anything.
The kitchen was torn apart even worse. The fridge lay on its side. Cupboard doors were torn off. Any food they didn't take, the savages did their best to make sure no one else would get it.
"Nothing here of value," I said. "Let's go check the barn."
Halfway to the barn I heard gunfire off in the distance. It came from inland, not the river. My best guess was it was a deer rifle at least a mile away. I listened for more gunfire, worried it was the same savages who raided the farm going after another victim. But it was just three shots and nothing more.
Mike and I shared a look and shrug, before continuing to the barn. The barn door was left open. I was sure the savages looted it, too. Still, they might've overlooked something.
"Score!" Mike cried upon entering.
"Wow," I replied. "But if it ran the men who killed the farmer would’ve taken it."
Our discovery was a 1968 Chevy K20 pickup. It was the most beautiful shade of blue, a stepside, and four wheel drive. My dream truck. The hood and driver's door were open, so I knew it didn't start.
Mike checked inside. "No key."
"Shame," I said. "That's a sweet ride."
I could imagine it was the farmer's pride and joy. He kept it in cherry condition. The truck in front of his house wasn't as clean. I was turning away when the engine roared to life.
"How did you do that?"
Mike wagged his brows at me. "I can hotwire a car, man."
"You just became my best friend," I said.
"That's great, but I'm still driving it," Mike said. He jumped behind the wheel and I quickly climbed in the other side. "Perfect. Four speed manual. No AC, though."
"Good enough for us," I said. "Let's go pick up Charlie."
"Do we have to?"
"He has the beer."
"Good point."
The pickup had less than a quarter tank of gas. Neither the other pickup nor the car looked like they were drained, but our siphoning tubes were on the boat. So we took off for the river. Mike never looked so happy as when we stopped and locked the hubs and put it in four wheel drive.
"You a mudder, too?" I asked.
He grinned. "Yeah."
That pickup went across that soft earth like a boss. For a moment I was able to forget that civilization had fallen. It was just two guys four-wheeling. We reached the shoreline way too fast. I waved Charlie over, and we started moving everything to the pickup.
"Can you drive a manual?" Mike asked Charlie.
"Yes. Why? Is the truck a manual?"
"Yes, dammit," Mike said. "I guess we have to split driving duties three ways."
I was with Mike there. I was hoping he couldn't drive a manual transmission. I wanted to drive it fulltime, and I'm sure the other two guys did as well.
Mike took the first shift as driver. Charlie and I got in back, standing behind the cab, in case we ran into trouble. It would be hard to defend the pickup from inside the cab.
I slapped the roof. "Mike, find a blacktop heading south. As soon as we figure out exactly where we are, we'll stop and plot out our path to Georgia."
Chapter 21
"St. Louis is up ahead," I shouted out the window.
I rolled to a stop on the highway. That stretch of road was gorgeous, with limestone cliffs to our left and the Mississippi to the right. Most of the time it seemed we were driving on a narrow shelf of land between the cliffs and the river.
The sun was low in the west. It promised a spectacular sunset, considering all of the clouds in the sky. To the east were dark, ominous clouds. The rains were moving past us and the roads still had puddles of water in them.
Charlie and Mike jumped down to discuss the situation. We'd pass many towns and cities on the river, and almost every one of them had hordes of zombies lining the river and staring hungrily at us. At least that is what it felt like. It was enough to make me want to avoid any and all cities.
"Is there a loop around the city?" Mike asked.
The map was unfolded on the seat beside me. I handed it out to them.
"Not unless that's an old map," I said. "At least most of the city is on the other side of the river."
"That's weird. St Louis is in two different states?" Charlie asked. "I've never heard of a St. Louis, Illinois."
"It looks like we need to go through St Louis, until we hit Interstate 64," Mike said. "Take that to Mount Vernon, and then south on Interstate 57."
"Or continue on 64 to Louisville," Charlie said. He caught my eyes. "How committed are you to going down to Tennessee before crossing over to Georgia?"
"Not that committed, but going through Louisville just takes us out of the way," I said. "Look at the map. If we follow Mike's suggestion that'll take us down toward Nashville, then Chattanooga. My cabin is just across the border in Georgia."
"I think we have our route," Charlie said.
"Great. I want to get through St. Louis before sundown," I said, glancing to the west.
We continued down the road. There were a few abandoned cars, which were our gas stations. Anytime the gas dropped below half a tank, we stopped and siphoned gas from other cars and trucks.
The next town we reached was Grafton. We stopped to top off, but didn't see any people. It was a ghost town, as was the next town of Elsah. I didn't see anyone until we reached the outskirts of Alton.
We drove straight into a gun battle.
Young men were shooting it out with others inside a building. I could see zombies heading for them up the side street. I didn't want anything to do with either side or the zombies, so tried to get around them. The y
oung men out in the street turned on us and opened fire.
"Fucking gangbangers!" Mike cried. "Light them up!"
He was right. They did look like gang members. Half the men I spotted were holding their pistols sideways. A few were armed with Uzis, Mac-10s, and even two AK-47s. There were an assortment of hunting rifles and shotguns, too. Charlie opened up with the M-249. Mike shot a pair of 40mm grenades at them.
The grenades really made them scatter. Three big yellow trucks pulled out in front of us, tearing out of there. They were rental trucks. Moving trucks. The roll-up door in back of the last one was up. I noticed a pair of gang members with pistols hanging off the back shooting at us, while uncounted young women cowered inside.
One of the women held her bound arms up, looking straight at me.
My blood ran cold. They were kidnapping women? There was no good reason for that.
"Roger, do you see that?" Charlie, who was standing in back on the driver's side, called.
"Yes!" I shouted back. "Let's get them!"
I hit the gas. There was no way in hell those bastards could outrun the 396 V8 in that pickup. We gained on them quickly. The kidnappers shot at us for a few minutes, but they stopped after running out of ammo. I grinned to see them shouting angrily at each other. One of them threw his pistol at us.
As I passed them on the right, I heard two shots from the bed, and both men tumbled out to the road. The truck hit the brakes. It looked like they were going to turn left, starting to move over to run us off the road. Three short bursts from back ripped into their cab. The truck suddenly slowed, and veered to the right.
It crashed into a corner store.
I slammed on the brakes. "Mike! Cut a few girls free, and then leave them the knife!"
He jumped out and ran over to the back of the truck. Young women were already tumbling out, all looking dazed and unsteady. I watched Mike cut free three women, before handing over the knife. He spoke with her a brief moment, and then came running back.
"Go!" Mike cried. "That girl said they are planning to trade them for guns!"
"God damned stupid mothers!" I growled, and then hit the gas.