Z14 (Zombie Rules)

by Achord, David

  Z14

  A Zombie Rules Novel

  By David Achord

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2013 David Achord. All rights reserved.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 – The Captain

  Chapter 2 – A Matter of Trust

  Chapter 3 – Operation Gas

  Chapter 4 – The Journal

  Chapter 5 – Fred’s Journey Begins

  Chapter 6 – An Appointment With Andie

  Chapter 7 – A Near Ambush

  Chapter 8 – Fred

  Chapter 9 – Julie’s Surprise

  Chapter 10 – Kuru!

  Chapter 11 – A Newborn

  Chapter 12 – A Death

  Chapter 13 – Fred

  Chapter 14 – Getting to Know Andie

  Chapter 15 – Rocky Fork

  Chapter 16 - Fred

  Chapter 17 – The Loss of Moe

  Chapter 19 – Dentistry 101

  Chapter 20 - Fred

  Chapter 21 - Winter

  Chapter 22 – Fred

  Chapter 23 – A New Year

  Chapter 24 – A Fine Blend

  Chapter 25 – Fred

  Chapter 26 – The Truck Stop

  Chapter 27 – Fred

  Chapter 28 – Secret Notes

  Chapter 29 - Fred

  Chapter 30 – For Macie

  Chapter 31 – Carry Your Own Water

  Chapter 32 – Fred

  Chapter 33 – Rowdy

  Chapter 34 – A Most Unpleasant Radio Conversation

  Chapter 35 – Fred

  Chapter 36 – Arson Most Foul

  Chapter 37 – Payback

  Chapter 38 – A Message From Above

  Chapter 39 – A Family Dinner

  Chapter 40 – George

  Chapter 41 – Fred

  Chapter 42 – Bernie

  Chapter 43 – A Sad Goodbye

  Chapter 44 – Big Mac

  Chapter 45 - The Radio Station

  Chapter 46 - Bo

  Chapter 47 - The Women of Birmingham

  Chapter 48 - Departure Aborted

  Chapter 49 - Memory Lane

  Chapter 50 – The Long Road Home

  Chapter 51 - Prancer

  Chapter 52 – A Sentimental Return

  Chapter 53 – Oh Rowdy, Where Art Thou?

  Chapter 54 – Punishment

  Chapter 55 – The Mother Lode

  Chapter 56 – Weak Moments

  Chapter 57 - Evolvement

  Chapter 58 – Bath Water

  Chapter 59 - Frederick

  Chapter 60 – An Overdue Reunion

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  There was a sprinkle of snow dusting the roads as we turned east onto Old Hickory Boulevard from Nolensville Pike. There were eight of us in three different vehicles. Julie sat in the passenger seat.

  “Is it going to snow all day, do you think?” She asked.

  “I hope so. It’ll make it a whole lot easier for us.” I replied.

  We knew they were coming. One of our group, a former corporal in the United States Army, had stumbled upon a large mass of them slowly moving down Bell Road at the Interstate twenty-four overpass. He had hurried home and told us about it, estimating there were over a thousand of them. They had probably made it to the Blue Hole Road intersection by now.

  They were too close to our homes for comfort. It was unacceptable. We decided something had to be done. So, we took a page from Sun Tzu. We were going to take the battle to them.

  Their strategy was ingeniously simple, keep walking until you happened upon a food source, and attack it. They had a herd mentality and they followed the path of least resistance (zombie rules nine and ten respectively, in case you’ve not been keeping up), which made it fairly easy for us, in a manner of speaking.

  We drove east on Bell Road until we spotted them. I stopped my truck in the middle of the road, opened my door, and took up a shooting position. The others parked and followed my lead.

  “Alright, here they come.” I said, pointing out the obvious. “Keep your rate of fire calm and controlled, and remember, we only have four thousand rounds of ammo. When they get too close, we’ll pull back a quarter of a mile and do it again.”

  I heard a few grunts of acknowledgement as I pulled the charging handle on my AR-15.

  Chapter 1 – The Captain

  Fuel was essential. We hadn’t yet acquired the ability to survive without it and we needed it. And, more importantly, we needed a way to transport it.

  Hence, the need for us to reclaim the five hundred gallon fuel tanker we recently had to abandon. It wasn’t a big tanker hauled by a semi. This type was small enough to be hooked up behind a pickup truck. It was perfect for us, and I assumed the Captain thought the same.

  It was a muggy August morning by the time we got going. I sat in the back seat of the dually truck and looked at my two friends. Fred, the taciturn gunslinger, and Howard, a jovial father of two sons, were riding up front. Both of them were old enough to be my father, but I considered them close friends anyway.

  Fred took a surreptitious route back to where we had abandoned it the night before. Our plan was to park a safe distance away, sneak up to a suitable spot, and recon the site before any of us went in.

  We spotted a burned out house on a side street approximately three hundred yards away from our destination.

  “Looks like a good place.” Fred said and parked our zombie-proof truck behind the house. It seemed abandoned, and we assumed as much. I mean, why in the world would zombies be hanging out in a burned out house? Alas, you know what they say about people who assume.

  “Look out Howard!” I shouted as he stepped out of the truck. Four of them, two adults and two kids, emerged from the charred remains and set upon him at once.

  Howard began running backwards while attempting to bring his rifle to bear. He ended up falling on his ass. The kids were going to reach him first. Howard froze in fear.

  Fred calmly stepped out of the truck, drew one of his pistols with lightning speed, and fired four times. The result was four zombies with an extra hole in their respective heads. Howard collected himself, stood shakily, and walked back to us.

  “Holy shit Fred, you sure can shoot!” Howard exclaimed as he caught his breath. I nodded in agreement. Fred was hell on wheels with his six-shooters. I walked over and looked over the zombies. Even though they were horribly decomposed, the kids looked a lot like the adults. I pointed this out.

  “They look like a family.” I said. “I think these two are the parents to these kids. They’ve stuck together all these months. And, they were staying inside this house.” I frowned. “Why in the hell were they hanging around inside this burned out house?”

  “What do you mean Zach?” Howard asked. “They’ve got to go somewhere, don’t they?”

  “It seems odd Howard. Look at them. Their clothing is not burned or charred, so they went inside the house after it had burned. It seems weird to me. I wonder if they lived here at one time. If they did, it means they remembered it somehow.”

  Howard scratched the small amount of hair remaining on his head. “I think I see what you mean.” He stared at the dead zombies for a minute, trying to figure it out in his mind. “How in the hell did they remember this was their house, and why have they stuck together? Yeah, you’re right Zach, it’s weird, and it’s totally over my head.”

  I laughed. Fred, as usual, had no commentary on our observations. I guess he had other things on his mind at present. We cleared the house for good measure and then made our way through an overgrown field.

  “What d
o you think Fred?” I asked.

  Fred pulled up the mosquito netting from around his face. The two girls, Julie and Macie, had taken Boonie hats and sewn mosquito netting around them. We all wore them now. They kept all of the flying insects, which were horrendous this summer, out of our mouths, ears, and nose.

  Fred stretched. “Well Zach, we have three possibilities. They found some lug nuts, put the wheels back on, and took it with them. They abandoned it. Or, they’ve got an ambush set up and are waiting for us to mosey right into it.”

  He was talking about the tanker we had abandoned the night before. It had several gallons of fuel in it and we wanted it back. As I digested what Fred said, I resisted the urge to scratch the scar on the side of my head. It was healed now, nothing more than a linear scar above my ear, but it still itched constantly.

  “Let’s work our way closer.” I suggested. Fred and Howard nodded in agreement. We slowly worked our way through a sparse tree line until we got within a hundred yards. As the tanker came into view, we saw a solitary man sitting beside it in a lounge chair. He appeared to be reading a book. A dusty black four-wheel-drive truck was parked nearby. Two block letters were painted in red on the door: W-E.

  “I’d say it’s the Captain.” Fred whispered. He handed the binoculars to Howard for confirmation. Howard took a short look and grunted.

  “Yep, that’s him alright.” He lowered the binoculars and looked at the two of us. “Are y’all going to kill him?” He asked. Fred shook his head. He and I had already discussed what to do if, and when, we encountered this man. Since Fred was leaving, we agreed it would be better if I tried to work something out with the man, even though we strongly suspected he was a nutcase.

  I looked at Howard. “When you first told us about him, Fred and I talked about it at great length. If we kill him, it might eliminate the possible threat, or it may instigate his group to come after us. We’re thinking it may be better to form some kind of truce with him. Besides, I’d kind of like to hear what he says.” I said.

  I pointed toward the Captain. “How about I drive over there and introduce myself. Fred, you can take him out from here I’m guessing?” Fred nodded as he took the protective caps off of the lenses of his rifle scope.

  “Howard, is it agreeable with you?” I asked. I remembered how Howard literally shook when he told us of the meeting he had with the Captain not so long ago.

  Howard shrugged. “It’s your funeral, Zach. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  We worked out the usual plan. If I raised my hands, or if any aggressive move was made against me, Fred would open fire. I had a feeling of confidence because Fred did not miss when he shot a firearm.

  I walked back to the truck and drove to the waiting Captain. He looked up from his book as I drove up. It was then I noticed a second chair beside him. He had been expecting this. I parked the truck and exited warily.

  “Why, I’m guessing you are the young man who penned the note I found on this tanker. You are none other than the mighty Zach, are you not?” He continued without waiting for my answer. “You’re much younger than I imagined. Please sir, come join me. It is my honor to finally meet you.”

  I walked up to him, all the while looking around with my peripheral vision. There was a teenage boy standing beside the truck. He was short, maybe five-three, and slender. His arms were also very slender, but I could see some musculature. He had dyed black hair which was cut short, dark brown eyes, accented with some black rubbed under them, and his face would have been feminine looking if he wasn’t trying so hard to look like the meanest man on earth. He also had an assault rifle hanging from his shoulder in a sling.

  He and the Captain were dressed almost exactly alike; camouflage pants, black lace up boots, wife-beater tee shirts, and tactical vests. Both had side arms, and little dude’s weapon looked like an M4 assault rifle. Very lethal. I only had a Kimber forty-five secured in a holster on my side.

  I walked up to the big man and held out my hand. “You must be the Captain. I’ve heard of you. I’m Zachariah Gunderson. Call me Zach.” He was as big as Howard had described him. Hell, his tattooed arms were almost as big around as my legs. He stood easily and extended his hand. His grip was like a vise and I had to keep myself from wincing. He held it a moment longer than was necessary, smiled, and motioned toward the empty chair.

  “Please join me Mr. Gunderson.” He said warmly. “What was the gunfire I heard a few minutes ago?” He asked.

  I nodded. “A couple of zombies back there. Nothing to worry about though, I got them in the head, and I’ll burn them later.” I repositioned the chair where I no longer had my back to the armed boy and sat down. The Captain sat a moment later as if he had not noticed. The boy remained beside the truck, glaring at me.

  “So, Zach. Zach the Zombie Killer. We meet at last.” He made a casual sweeping motion with one of those big arms. “When journeying around this area, I have been seeing signs, a pattern of behavior of which I’ve not seen anywhere else. Your rules, the FEMA signs painted on houses, the gas caps on vacant automobiles. Oh, and let’s not forget the dead, head shots and burned afterward.” He held up a finger and waggled it slightly. It looked like an oversized Vienna sausage. “When I observed these things, I knew there was somebody operating out here with an intelligent, orderly mind.” He stared at me a moment longer, and then reached for the book he was reading. He held it up with a challenging smile. “Have you ever read any poetry by Rudyard Kipling?”

  “I’ve read a few of his works.” I said.

  “Oh? Which is your favorite, might I ask? I can tell the cut of a man by his favorite poetry.”

  In truth, I had read them all. As a young boy, I found Kipling fascinating. But I did not say as much. “The first one I ever read was The Thousandth Man. I like most of what he’s written, but the first one has always stuck with me.”

  He smiled again. “The Thousandth Man you say? Ah yes, a very good poem, a poem of unwavering loyalty.” He slowly nodded his head as he stared at me. “Yes, I can see it in you.” He motioned at the book. “I just finished reading Young British Soldier when you appeared. I have my own variation of a part of it.” He looked out into an imaginary audience and began his soliloquy.

  “When you’re wounded and left on the Tennessee plains, and the zombies come out to eat up your remains, just roll to your rifle and blow out your brains, and go to your God like a soldier!” He finished with a triumphant pointing at the sky and looked at me questioningly.

  “I must admit, I like it. Kipling is probably rolling over in his grave though.”

  The Captain smiled, pleased at the compliment. “How did you survive the Apocalypse?”

  “I had a friend and mentor who foresaw this event and planned accordingly. I suppose you could say he would be a thousandth man.”

  The Captain arched an eyebrow. “Oh? I would like to meet a man of this caliber.”

  “I’m sorry to say, he is now only with me in spirit.” I said without any outward emotion.

  “Ah, sad, very sad. I hope he went to his God like a soldier.” I did not respond. Rick died in his sleep, whether or not he died like a soldier could be debated. It was not something I cared to discuss.

  “And yet, you have survived.” The Captain said.

  I gave a slight shrug. “I can only guess I am somewhat immune to the plague, as I would guess you and others are as well. Would I get infected if I were bitten?” I shrugged. “Probably. How did you survive?” I asked.

  “A group of us have a compound near Eagleville. When we saw the signs, we gathered together, put up barricades, and waited it out. You look like you have some Viking heritage. Gunderson, that’s a Nordic surname, is it not?” He asked.

  I nodded. “My father’s family is from Sweden. My mom was of British ancestry.”

  “Ah.” He looked at me a moment before continuing. “What is your opinion of this so-called plague?”

  I thought it over before responding. “It started with
people displaying typical flu like symptoms, fever, jaundice, and ague. A degradation of physical acuity followed, and then they would become extremely violent. The virus, along with the fever, affected the brain somehow. I’d guess the hypothalamus was greatly affected. The infected seemed to have diminished cognitive functions, but their extreme aggression and acute gross motor skills seem to indicate a high level of adrenalin being dumped into the body.” I took a breath.

  “From the onset of the infection, the body tissue is breaking down and decomposing. It is my opinion that they will eventually die out.”

  The Captain gazed at me intently during my diatribe. “Die out, you say? Interesting.” He pointed at me suddenly. “You should join my group Zach. You’d fit right in.”

  I grunted. “I’m getting the impression you and your group do not welcome anyone other than Caucasians.”

  The Captain shook his head slowly. “No Zach, we don’t. Now don’t get me wrong, I have no personal hatred of niggers, kikes, slopes, spics, ragheads, fags, or any other minority, but they don’t belong with our group, nor do they have any place in my plans of rebuilding this world.”

  I shook my head slowly. “We’re going to have to disagree then Captain. In my world, using a disparaging term to label a group of people is just plain wrong.” I pointed at his book. “I believe Kipling agrees with the sentiment.”

  The Captain scoffed and waved the book around before tossing it in the weeds. “Now Zach, it is nothing but poetry after all. I would assert to you, your rules are far more worthy in today’s world than most poetry.” He paused in reflection for a moment and looked back at the tanker. Someone had apparently tried to tow it off. All of the wheels had fallen off and it was now sitting on the ground.

  “I believe I have something valuable to add to your list of rules.” He said. “What number are you up to now?”

  “Ten.” I said. I had many more in my head and written in my notes, but I had not posted them as of yet.

  He held up a finger. “A zombie rule: Zombies have no need for logistics. On the face of it, it is a very simplistic sentence. But, like your rules, there is a deep meaning within. Think about it Zach. Those things don’t require food or water like regular humans. They don’t need warmth on a cold night. They don’t need sanitary conditions. They don’t need medication or sleep. Hell they probably don’t need air to breathe.” He pointed at the tanker. “They most certainly don’t need fuel.”