Knight of the Dead (Book 3): Fortress

by Smorynski, Ron

  Nick had matches and went to work lighting the rotted clothing of a corpse. It took a while of nervous flicking, but he finally got a small fire going.

  Dad and Steve stood like statues, watching the zombies interact with Rondo nearby. He went back and forth along the fence, around cars, barking and barking. They sort of followed but in that confused jittery state. One came up near them, sensing something. The burning pile began to smoke. The flames were small. Nick had a hard time keeping it going. He wanted to blow on it but feared that he would look too active for the nearby zombie. He blew gently. He slowly brought more of the dried clothing to the small flames, hoping it would catch on the parch dry material.

  Finally, the heat and flame were hot enough to dry out the surrounding materials and consume it. The smoke was acrid and sickening. For Dad, it was something to behold. It was the smoke of the future. He wanted to get used to it. He saw the zombie smell the smoke, the air, and it slowly, methodically -- turned.

  Steve looked at Dad, patting his shoulder, perhaps a little too quickly. The zombie did not care to notice as it limped away. Nick cringed in joy, gritting his teeth and tightening his hands into victorious fists. Randall came up, sneaking through the cars. He just wanted to be part of the veiled victorious crouching. Rondo seemed to know what was amiss. He came seeking attention by Dad, wagging his tail and having that coy furrowed look.

  Dad petted Rondo once, just to acknowledge him. It was enough. He stood tall and stared, watching through his helm as the zombie continued to avoid the smoke. Other zombies came forward, wondering about the movements they sensed, about the flame's subtle singeing noises, and about the zombie doing a turnabout. And then they too smelled the smoke and turned away.

  Steve pushed Dad's armored shoulder excitedly. It was a pat, a grab and a shake. Dad released the tension he felt and his body relaxed a bit. He turned to grab Steve's shoulder and shake it in congratulations, shake it into something, anything, a joy, a revelation. They hopped a little. Rondo hopped around with him, his tongue hanging out. He was not afraid of the smoke or fire, though he sniffed and snorted.

  Dad turned and waved for them to calm down, to relax, to wait... even though the thrill was rising in them all, the chance at something amazing, a freedom. Finally, they sensed a way to control the hell that had been all around them. Dad did not want this celebration to go haywire. They still needed to control themselves. He waved slowly for them to settle down.

  They complied and slowed. Then the sign language came out, to setup the fires. They found more open and safe spots, clearing out anything flammable, to set up a fireplace. The zombies moved away from the main entrance, where the smoke was slowly wafting.

  Nick and Randall spotted a grill across the street, down by the side of the house. Nick motioned to Dad who saw it and shrugged okay. Nick had keys now. He opened the gate and they went to get it. They brought forth a grill. Dad stood guard, watching as the zombies moved away from the smoke. But he could see they still sensed him by their movements as they circled about.

  They opened up the grill, put in flaming zombie body parts, used lighter fluid and fwoomp! They pushed the smoldering, burning grill to a corner of the street, outside the fencing. The zombies moved away. It was amazing. Nick and Randall leaped for joy.

  “You're still drawing them with all the hoopla,” Dad growled within his helm.

  They settled, shaking with nervous joy, with a smidgen of relief in this hell.

  As the warriors worked this system out, finding more grills and rolling them out, Lena and Lisa hurriedly found freedom to scrounge around the nearby homes. They scavenged for everything from food, to storage bags and boxes, to hardware tools, to kitchen and chef knives, to bottles of wine.

  Dad, of course, noticed. “Hey, whaddya doing with those?”

  “See,” Lena said to Lisa, “I knew he'd see'em!”

  Lisa laughed.

  “They're for the moms!” Lena said, pulling a red wagon she found at one of the houses. It had wine, kitchen oils, vinegar, flour, salt, all kinds of goodies.

  Dad continued on with their perimeter setup. They had grills smoldering zombie parts, each sizzling, smoking and controlled. There were plenty of body parts around and the grills were perfect. Each one was like a smoking machine, wafting plumes of acrid smoke in the area, slowly burning the parts. Nick and Tom discussed a system of feeding the fires, keeping them smoldering day and night. And it seemed there was an endless supply of zombies around to feed the fires.

  Every now and then, a CRACK gunshot would echo. Dad looked with annoyance at the roof and then realized Charlotte was training the kids to fire. They fired on slow zombies a distance away using the new 22 rifles. Each fire would have zombies turn curiously toward them, but the smoke turned them right back to head the other way.

  Dad went to the school building and stood far below, waving to Charlotte to come hither.

  She peered from high up.

  “Hey, only a few more,” Dad said, calling up.

  “But the smoke is working,” Charlotte said.

  “Yeah, but the shots still attract them from far out, and the smoke only keeps them at bay around us.”

  “Well, they gotta learn to shoot for real,” Charlotte said.

  “Just a few more.” Dad thought a moment. “Maybe you could set up a firing place from within one of those rooms, shoot out the window at zombies.”

  “Hey!!! That's awesome Dad!”

  “Shhh, if you can shoot from the second floor windows, and muffle the noise, that might work. Keep the sound from echoing far off.”

  “Yep yep, got it,” Charlotte said excitedly.

  “Just don't shoot anyone! Human wise!” Dad said.

  “Yep!” she disappeared, heading back up to the roof to get the kids.

  19. Relief

  It sounded more like a low thwump sound from Dad's perspective outside. There was a crack of the gunfire but it was muffled. The kids aimed out and up streets in the neighborhood from an open window, firing at zombies a distance away. The zombies dropped if hit in the head. If not, they'd twirl in the area with a small wound or detect the ricochet, seeking some sensory activation. When those dozen or so rambling zombies were dropped, the kids packed up, and looked out different windows in each classroom for new targets. Once they found some, they would take over the area, open up a window, and quietly focus on their new 'rich target environment'.

  One of the new survivors, Jake the hunter guy, took it upon himself to escort the kids around. He helped them with the rifles. At first, Charlotte was mistrusting, but figured some sort of adult supervision might be needed. Still, she asked Jake's sister Trish to come along as well.

  “You want me to come?” Trish suddenly woke from her forlorn state.

  “Yeah, to keep an eye on him,” Charlotte said quite direct.

  “On who?” Trish looked at the kids and Jake, whose eyes bulged.

  “On your friend, make sure he's okay going around with us kids,” Charlotte said.

  “Oh...uh...” she shared an odd gumption type look at Jake who returned a glum expression. “He's my brother. He's a little strange, but is into all those shooting games, hunting, outdoors...”

  “This isn't a game,” Charlotte interrupted.

  She glared at her brother whose eye brows danced. She turned back to Charlotte. “You know, I think I will come and watch over this guy, make sure he's okay.”

  “And make sure we don't shoot him,” Charlotte said.

  “What?”

  “Line of fire, make sure he doesn't like walk in our line of fire,” Charlotte reminded, as they setup their next target rich window firing spree.

  Trish and Jake shared an agreeable smile.

  Dad and Nick ran cables from the new set of solar panels he had seen on their latest outing that brought in the new survivors. These would give them more electricity to run things. They had to walk through the ravaged gun blasted zombies Charlotte and Nick annihilated in the street.
Any still alive were easy to dispense. They had two small grills set up, wafting smoke into the area, keeping others at bay.

  Lena stopped him as they were setting that up. “You going?”

  Dad knew exactly what she was referring to, rescuing the high school boys. “In a bit, we're just getting our perimeter more safe.”

  “These guys got it.”

  Dad looked at Lena, then up at the sun. It was well past afternoon.

  “We'll go first thing in the morning,” Dad said.

  “First thing.”

  “After breakfast.”

  That night, Dad ran a Bible study. Randall led with a few acoustic songs. He found a guitar and played some songs of Jesus and joy and hope, in trusting in God no matter what.

  Lisa and Lena came. Amador and his wife came, to find comfort. Beth came. Katrina came with her daughter Sofia and Amy, who was like her newly adopted daughter. Nick came. Many of the new survivors came. Jake and Trish were there. They seemed to hit it off with the kids. Beth's kids, Carl and Maggy, hung out with them. Charlotte kept her distance, keeping her M-4 close. She still eyed Jake.

  Amanda, the mom, wife, middle-aged Latina, was still distraught and teared the whole time. She had lost much but being brave, did not remind anyone. She used a math book, tearing sheet after sheet to wipe tears and blow her nose. “I hate math,” she said.

  She got along with Ronan's wife. The women were bonding. Eva, the other wife who lost her husband, the actress, was jovial enough, comforting. Dad noticed his wife seemed the most teary eyed, as if she were taking on their losses personally, and they were comforting her. Dad avoided rolling his eyes.

  Cory, the Native-American guy, was sweaty and had his hair tied up. He was training hard. He wanted to get the sword stuff down. He stood in the back, probably less interested in Bible study and just wanting to be around people who were happy. He had a stick he swung, continuing his practice.

  Eddie and Trek were messing with the phones with Benjamin. They were still into their gaming and stuff. Dad did not know where Ginger was. That made sense.

  Robert and Ellie, the newly saved old couple, were with Jerry and Julianne down in their classrooms on the first floor.

  “Oh let them be. They're enjoying each others company,” his wife said to him.

  “I guess... They're probably within 5 or 10 years of each other, all greying and old. Makes sense,” Dad retorted.

  “You're probably within 5 or 10 years of them,” his wife reminded.

  The old couples were allotted two bottles of wine and no more, until others were found. The women figured out a fair dispensing of the few wine bottles. Jerry quipped, “Well, hate to waste this. I mean, I could get eaten any day.”

  It wasn't that funny. But after a few moments, they all laughed.

  Dad let them be. The old liberal Hollywood anti-religious yet spiritual types needed their own little cabal. They got comfortable in their classroom facing the courtyard. They didn't mind being separated from the main building, from the main defenses. They liked seeing their garden at night. Dad liked them spread out. If anything happened out there, at least one of them could make it inside to warn them.

  Dad wasn't sure what he was going to teach or sermon on. After all, he did not really preach or do that.

  “Sorry,” he said to the attentive crowd. “I'm not really the preaching type.”

  Lena quickly responded, “He's more the ranting type.”

  Everyone chortled a bit too loud. His wife cackled like a witch. He stared wide eyed having to suck up a God awful amount of humility in front of an uproarious crowd. Even the teary eyed, the youthful, the tired, all laughed.

  Lena finally saw what she had started and waved her arms to settle the noises to a soft snicker. Dad's anger was easily swept away by the joy he felt, at seeing them all smile, through their tears and fears.

  He nervously flipped through a Bible Lena had acquired from one of the houses. It was on a book shelf of many books -- but she spotted it. She knew what it was immediately and grabbed it for Dad. It was a nice big one.

  Dad leafed through it as everyone looked up at him. Oddly, joyously, he then heard sniffles, coughs, throats clearing... just like church. He began with the Sermon on the Mount. He didn't know why or what he was doing. He just read it, and it brought many to tears. The way he read it was awkward, slow, misread and repeating, but he read it and the women cried. Not sorrowfully, but they cried in relief, in joy, in feeling hope. The men's eyes were red too, teary, like his. It was an oddly joyous bible study.

  20. First Plan

  Dad, Steve, Lena and Lisa walked through housing in the cooler morning of late fall or early winter. He wasn't sure. It was probably fall, but in Los Angeles that could be anything. It seemed a bit cooler and cloudy today. It was nice weather for a trek to rescue some young men stuck on a roof at his daughter's high school.

  Randall followed along on a motorbike. He coasted along quietly, slowly riding behind them, using his feet to balance the bike.

  They found what Dad was looking for, an opening in the traffic jam made by The Horde and its massive mowing of cars. They stopped at the edge of Sunset Boulevard, down a ways from their school. The cars were toppled and crushed up against the corner buildings. Dad knew it was the start of The Horde's pathway. They hurried down, slicing any zombies nearby. Some were alerted but the cold of the morning limited their activity, their barks and reactions. Dad and Steve slowly moved up, killing all the moving ones.

  “Remind me when it gets really cold to come out and have some hacking medieval fun,” Dad said.

  They got to the edge of the cars and saw the opening. It ran down Sunset. Dad knew it led to Fairfax, a clear path through the streets, compliments of The Horde.

  “We set up here. Lena, Lisa, you set up a fire, get some body parts smoldering. Look for older dead bodies, Dad ordered. “Steve and I will go. We just gotta find a car that will start.”

  The spot was behind the smashed up cars and gave them cover. In medieval times, this would be a crevice with a small covered spot, where a squad of soldiers could hide.

  Lena and Lisa isolated a dead zombie and squirted just a bit of lighter fluid on it. They lit it. They began hacking more body parts from the dead all around them, feeding the smoldering fire. They were not going to run out.

  Dad looked quickly at Lena and Lisa and observed what they were doing. They placed zombie bits in the fire and then they watched, sitting on a lawn chair and on a small stool they had found. They sat huddled against the pile of smashed up cars, hidden from Sunset.

  “Sit across from each other, so you can watch each other's backs.”

  They gave a thumbs up, scooting their chairs around. They had snacks and began sharing. Dad smiled in his helm.

  “Holy hell,” Steve said, peering down Sunset from the wall of cars. He stared at the cars moved aside like some vast giant snake squirmed its way through.

  They marched out slowly so as to not alert any cold ridden zombies. Dad peered around, looking for cars still intact, with drivers inside. Plenty had zombie drivers, quite rotted, stuck within their seat belts, convulsing when Dad got close. He calmly opened their car doors. He killed them quickly, then checked to see if the car would start. He went through a few as Steve followed. Both moved slowly. A few zombies came out from the pile up, crawling with severed legs or half a torso. Steve quietly took care of them.

  Dad finally found an intact car. It was small, a Corolla, neatly tucked against the wall of cars, but not crushed or jammed into them. It started fine. He yanked out the dead driver's body parts and wiped it as best he could. Steve cringed but got in the passenger side. Both had to scoot back and lower the incline of their chairs to fit.

  “We going to be able fit them in here?” Steve asked.

  “Sure, throw them in the back or on the hood, whatever it takes.”

  Randall came out from behind them, and drove the motorcycle up as quietly as he could.

  Dad d
rove forward. It was a bit creaky as it released from the wall of cars. The boulevard was wide with the cars pushed to the sides to create this canyon like opening, but the street was still littered with smashed bodies and hubcaps and debris. In some areas, the smashed up cars had fallen back down, causing pile ups. But all in all, Dad was able to wind his way through. He drove slow and sure.

  “Seems like an alien freaking world,” Steve gasped. “I can't believe were doing this.”

  “Well... if it makes my daughter happy,” Dad said.

  “Your daughter? Oh my God...”

  “No blaspheming...”

  “Oh right, I forgot... a Christian colony,” Steve used air quotes.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Dad sighed.

  “Sorry, really?” Steve replied. It was hard for either to read each others expressions in helms, jostling in a tight little car as Dad banged along.

  Dad did not respond.

  Steve continued, “So I'm risking my life to make your daughter happy?”

  “Risking our lives...” Dad said, driving over a bump and careening through a narrow part, screeching metal. Steve leaned away from the door as the side view mirror ripped off. “...for the next generation... They're the future.”

  “Speak for yourself old man. I'm way younger than you,” Steve huffed.

  “Hah... not like them, and the younger kids. It goes faster than you think,” Dad answered. “Children are the future.”

  “Yeah, well I'm gay. Can't have'em.”

  “Can if you have a wife,” Dad sang.

  “Hah... no thanks,” Steve replied.

  “Can always have a wife,” Dad sang again.

  Steve nodded, looking away... around.

  Zombies started collecting, chasing after them. Randall stopped a ways back as zombies began following the car. Dad noticed but kept going, driving ten miles an hour or so. Slow and steady but fast enough to keep the zombies in tow.