Resource Economies

by Traverse Davies

  "House, there. Not much left of it."

  It was an old farm house, missing most of its roof, but it was a two story, and despite massive holes in the walls there was a chance they could find shelter.

  Inside it was bad, decayed, ruined. The furniture was covered in mildew, and some parts were thick with green mold. There were massive holes all over the place. The kitchen itself was the most intact room, cheap linoleum peeling off the plain wood of the floor, the wood itself soft and spongy. It felt like it might give way at any moment, sending them into the basement. There were a few spots where the floor had fallen in, showing them a lake in the basement. It was the best shelter they had found, and the only option they had.

  The three of them put Evie in their middle, huddled around her, in a corner between kitchen cupboards. Impossible to know if the girl would survive, but she was still breathing, still had a pulse, they had to try. Chad wasn't sure he had much longer anyway, so might as well try.

  They slept in the farmhouse, huddling together, and shaking. None of them had any tears left, any strength.

  The Shining City on a Hill

  The storm rolled over them like an avalanche. His troops were prepared for it, disciplined and well equipped. Each man had a mini shelter in his pack, quickly erected and secure. They hunkered down and waited out the worst of it. It was a far cry from the command tent, but Bennett was happier here than he had been there. Most of his adult life had been spent engaged in operations, mopping up zombies, making sure the marauders were driven away from New Hope and the surrounding area. Before New Hope became what it was, there had been years where he spent months in the field with Naomi and Jasper, securing a future for humanity among the dead. Now, they had an island, an entire island without zombies. Now he was supposed to be the general, the man in charge. He didn't really want it, didn't know if he could do it, but there wasn't anyone else, so he did it.

  Still, huddling in this small tent near the top of a rocky outcrop he felt more at home, more like himself. The men waited, and by morning the storm was mostly gone.

  The village below was pretty, prettier than Bennett had expected. It was ramshackle of course, built on the bones of an older village. Much of what made it so pretty was the children. Children were rare in New Hope, but in this place, they seemed to outnumber adults by a large margin. There were fishing boats out on the water, men hauling lobster traps on board, fish drying in racks. It was amazing in so many ways, but horrible in others. There was a large shack in the middle of the town that had boards holding it together. It had a basic gate, held in place with a large board. Arms reached out from time to time. It was clear that the arms belonged to the undead. There were other ways it was obviously wrong, that first impressions had very little to do with the reality of the town. There was the number of residents who walked oddly, almost a shuffling, lopsided gait. They had more in common with the zombies than with normal humans. There was also the redness around the eyes. All the classic signs of widespread Kuru. For it to be this common they had to have been eating humans since the very beginning.

  It was time to make an impression. Bennett got his people together and marched forward, a line of soldiers with automatic weapons, clad in black armour, faceless beneath their helmets. Bennett had a moment of reflection. If this was a movie his people were the villains. Faceless soldiers about to exterminate a village full of women and children. Still, it had to be done. The risks were far, far too high.

  Bennett gave the order and they moved forward in a line, firing as soon as they were close enough to be spotted. Automatic weapons fire barked out, the smell of cordite filling the air. It was instant, bodies started to fall. His soldiers were indiscriminate, killing everyone in front of them. It left him sickened, but he did it anyway. He spotted a small boy, running away from the noise, crying. He fired, dropping the small body with a single round to the head. The boy might or might not have been infected, and it could easily take thirty years before there would be symptoms. It was worse than a zombie in many ways because someone with Kuru might be a normal person and suddenly go into a murderous rage, but they would still be a rational, thinking person, driven to kill as many as they could. Each of the people they killed would probably become a zombie. One case of Kuru had almost ended New Hope fifteen years before. Bennett hadn't been there, but he'd seen the aftermath, the burned areas of the city, the mass graves. It was heartbreaking, but it was better this way.

  For a minute it seemed like Bennett and his people would walk straight through the town, no opposition at all, but then arrows started flying at them. Their armor wasn't built for arrows, and a couple of his men went down. They concentrated their fire on the source of the arrows and after a minute there were no more arrows.

  The houses that had seemed pretty from afar were obviously hastily and poorly built once Bennett saw them up close. There were probably people hiding in most of them. Well, they had a protocol for that. Bennett took a torch and started setting them alight, as did his men.

  The village only contained about a hundred structures, including the church. In a few minutes, they had half of them on fire. The ships out on the water were all heading back, but far, far too late. By the time the fishermen reached shore the village would be ash. The landscape heavily favored the soldiers. The one building that looked like a potential challenge was the town church. If they held out in there it might take some real work to root them out.

  A child ran out, flames streaming off its small body. Bennett couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl. He took aim and fired, crying as he did it. This was the worst part of what he did, by far.

  A single rifle shot fired from the church steeple. One of the black clad figures near Bennett fell, blood splashing over the landscape. Bennett had been instrumental in the design of the armour and he had a sneaky reason for one of the features. The man rose and tried to grab the soldier nearest to him. Of course, the face shield made the impossible, no reclamation soldier would be able to bite his squad mates after rising. The men hated the face shields.

  There was no way to get a good bead on the church steeple, the cover was too good. Bennett walked to the church door, leading a squad of soldiers. It was sealed up tight, the large main doors were locked when Bennett tried them. "Take the door."

  The soldiers with him started firing at the door. It was a waste of ammo but under the circumstances, time was their most important asset. They had to be on top of the cliffs before the fishing boats made it back home. If they were it would be a simple slaughter, otherwise, they took risks. Bennett hated taking risks.

  Enough bullets hit the door, splintering it. Each round did almost no damage, cumulatively they broke the wood around the locks into a million pieces. When Bennett tried the door again he found that there was a heavy board across it, but almost nothing left of it. He slammed the door with his shoulder. It gave, at least a little. He did it again, motioning the other soldiers to join him. In a minute the wood splintered apart, and they were inside the old building.

  Rows of pews lined the room. A traditional church in most respects. The one things that stood out was the crucified body. They had a figure splayed open, hands and feet bleeding, blood dripping down the walls. It was dead, although it was clear that it had once been a young woman. There was no damage to the head. The body was trying to pull free from the cross it was attached to, slowly working the wide nails out. Bennett took aim and fired a single shot into the creature’s head. Her long hair dropped across her now still body.

  There was nobody else here, not on the main floor. A quick search showed that there were stairs going up and down in the back of the building. Bennett motioned two soldiers to accompany him, the rest to go downstairs and make sure it was clear.

  The stairs led up, poorly lit, but not dark enough for the NVG's.

  Bennett was on edge, waiting for a shot, but it was still a surprise when it came. He felt a burn in his shoulder, and his right arm went limp, useless. He dropped his gun and fe
ll back. The soldier behind him fired a quick burst up the stairs and moved in. The two soldiers he had with him leapfrogged out of sight, taking turns firing. When they came back down Bennett was lying against the wall, bleeding and suffering.

  "We got him, sir. One guy with an antique deer rifle. I'm surprised that thing worked at all."

  "Antique or not, damn thing still got me. Teach me to stay in front."

  "Yes sir, officers should be home staying out of the way, not acting as bullet stops. Next time try to remember that."

  There were a few sporadic bursts of fire from downstairs, and then it went silent. The gunfire outside had also stopped. It was over - at least the first part. They still had to deal with the fishermen, a small issue, one easily surmounted. Bennett knew that his mission was done though. He could still give orders, but he wasn't going to be able to take part in the shooting. He was glad for that, one small mercy in this world.

  He walked outside, helped by one of the soldiers who'd taken the tower. It was still a beautiful day, clear and sunny. The storm had washed away the mugginess in the air, leaving a perfect fall day. So long as he looked up, so long as he ignored the ground, he could pretend the world was okay.

  He made himself look down. The ground was littered with bodies. Almost all were women or children, only a few old men mixed into the group. The men would be out fishing, or farming, or whatever else it was these people did to eat. There was a cluster of small corpses just to his left, it looked like a daycare had been mowed down, and in fact, that might have been what happened. Each body had a single bullet wound to the head, along with whatever other wounds had been inflicted. His men were efficient.

  This. He didn't know if he could justify this. Every time they'd cleared a group of cannibals it had been a few, once a dozen. This was hundreds, a town full of people. All of them dead, slaughtered without a chance. The zombie paddock hadn't

  The zombie paddock hadn't been dealt with. Bennett figured it would wait until they had a chance to deal with the men.

  He got his aide to bring him to the cliff face. The men were pulling ashore, heading for narrow stairways that had been erected against the naked rock. Ragged men, weathered and hard. They were rushing up, every one of them trying to reach their homes. Once again Bennett felt like he was a monster, like everyone with him was a monster. He gave the order and fire rained down on the villagers, killing them by the dozens. A few soldiers focused on boats that were still in the water, punching holes in them by the hundreds. In minutes every single boat that wasn't docked was sinking, every man was felled. Not all of them were head shot yet, but that was mop up, not the main operation. The town was dead.

  Bennett directed his squad back to the zombie paddock and they took out all the zombies inside, a few dozen. None of them appeared to be his people, nobody from New Hope. They searched the village and did find a few, less than he had feared.

  Burning the village took very little time. They took all the boats that could still float and put enough crew on them to get them to Sydney. It was over, and it was time to go back to base camp.

  Bennett knew he'd see the face of that first little boy every time he closed his eyes for the rest of his life.

  Clyde Catches Up

  Tyson was the first one to notice their pursuers were catching up again. He heard them while he was trying to find something to put on his feet. It was getting desperate, reaching a point where he thought he might lose his feet if he didn't do something, so he said to Chad, "Hey man, catch some alone time with your girl. I'm gonna see if I can find something in a size thirteen."

  "Sure, be quick though."

  "Yeah, will do. You think we're close?"

  "Pretty close. Evie doesn't really know, I asked her. She's never been to Sydney, although it is somewhere her people use a lot."

  "Yeah, cool, look, I gotta find shoes man. If I walk much further barefoot I might not be able to walk again."

  "Go."

  Tyson went. He found a few houses and started looking through them. Most of the shoes had given way to mold years earlier and now they were unusable. Time to get creative. He found an old wooden table and smashed it to pieces. A few of the pieces were larger than his feet. He'd just started carving a couple of them into shape when movement caught his eye.

  It was through the missing glass in the living room window. He could see a fair distance. The giant shape of Clyde was plainly visible in the clear day. Just for a moment, but Tyson thought they were about fifteen minutes away from being able to see him.

  Ignoring the pain in his feet he ran, each step agony. He reached the others quickly. "Clyde, closing fast."

  "Fuck." Chad stood up and they started moving, as fast as they could. How Clyde was able to walk so soon was a mystery to Tyson. Time to run again. They ran, fast as they could. The beautiful day had a bite to it, a bit cold to get their blood going. They pounded down ruined road, using every single ounce of strength left in their bodies. Tyson had gone far beyond the wall, beyond the point where his body felt like it was going to die. He started to feel a euphoria, still, he ran. His feet started to recede, the pain no longer registering for him, and he kept running anyway. There was a loose feeling in his entire brain, it felt like he could run forever. Then he couldn't. His legs gave way under him, pitching him on his face. He turned, looked back to see what he had tripped on. There was nothing. He tried to stand. His legs didn't work. There was nothing left in his body, everything around him was distant, meaningless. He saw Chad walking over to him, heard him saying something, but he couldn't make sense of the words. Chad grabbed his arms, seemed to be trying to help him stand. He tried to say that it wouldn't work because he didn't have legs anymore, but he couldn't make words.

  Chad started dragging him off the road. That seemed like a good idea. For some reason being in the road was a bad thing. He wasn't really sure why, but he'd been running from something right? It was all blurry. When he woke up he was in the bushes, lying there with the others. They were huddled together when a noise came.

  Clyde was there, almost right on top of them, bellowing "God will judge you through me. you whores, you sons of whores. You wear your sin on your face, it's clear as day. I will cleanse you, I will send your souls to the next world and I will WEAR YOUR FUCKING SKIN."

  He wasn't making any sense at all, just screaming. Tyson tried to point this out, but Chad put a hand over his mouth, so he stayed quiet.

  Clyde walked over to the bushes, his long coat sweeping the road. He looked right at them. "I found you. Time to come out and play."

  Chad did. Chad stood up and ran at Clyde, hitting him in the chest with his shoulder. Clyde didn't seem to notice. He picked up the much smaller soldier and threw him into the wall.

  Evie came, sneaking, sliding, she was half hidden by the bushes but there was too much distance between the edge of the bushes and where Clyde was still standing. Only a foot or two, far too much. Evie sprinted the last foot, blade outstretched. Clyde grabbed her hand. "Whore. I was going to marry you to my son, I was going to make you part of my family, part of the chosen. This is how you repay my kindness?"

  He threw her against a tree. There was a cracking sound and the girl cried out, the first time she'd reacted to pain in the brief time Tyson had known her.

  Tamra was right behind her. Tamra stood in front of Clyde. "You call me a whore? You're a cannibal, you'd be a rapist if your cock worked. I don't even hate you, I just pity you."

  Her hands were behind her back.

  Clyde swung at her, moving a little slower than he had in the past. Tyson was slowly coming to, slowly understanding what he was seeing in front of him. Tamra had a long blade in one hand, Tyson's walking stick in the other. She slipped under Clyde's arm, slicing into him with the blade. Blood flowed from his wrist. He bellowed and charged but the slender girl was faster. She stepped aside, and the blade flicked out again. It drew a cut on his side.

  The rest of his men closed on her, she turned and slashed a
t the nearest one, drawing a line of blood across his face. The blade kept flashing, moving fast. Each time someone was cut. For a moment it even looked like it might work, but there were twelve of them plus Clyde and only one of her. Finally, they bore her down to the ground, piling on her.

  Tyson managed to stand, legs shaky. Time to run again. He ran, straight for the villagers. The first one he hit flew, Tyson was a very large man himself, if not nearly as large as Clyde, and his weight, even with his strength diminished like this, was still enough to knock the men senseless. Tyson started kicking, stomping on anyone he could get near.

  A hand closed on the top of his head, enveloping his skull. Right. Clyde was still there. Tyson felt himself lifted from the ground, then he flew until he landed on the ground in a heap. When he managed to look up he realized that two of the villagers were lying away from the group, dead. A third was looking like he didn't have long to go. Chad was up again, smashing his way through the villagers with a long stick. His compact frame nearly obscured by the villagers. His staff whipped out, knocking wrists, hands, knees. One of the villagers cried out, his knee bent at an impossible angle. Now there were only nine of them. The woman was trying to hold Tamra down.

  There, in the middle of the road, they were fighting to the death. Clyde tried to close on Chad, but Chad moved around, keeping the villagers between him and the giant. He was whirling the staff in intricate patterns, each time it whipped out someone cried out in pain.

  Tyson stood, even shakier. With everyone except the woman focused on Chad he had an opportunity. The woman who was holding Tamra down was young, probably had been pretty before life beat her down. Oh well. Tyson had enjoyed playing football when he was a child. He'd been especially good at kicking. He moved in with a loping run, building momentum as he went. Two more steps. One. He kicked, exactly like he would a ball, driving every ounce of his frame into it. That was a three-hundred-yard kick if he ever saw one. He hit the woman in the ribs.