Retribution: Operation Z Book 2

by G. D. Szepanski

  ###

  The sun showed bright reds and oranges throughout the sky, drawing an end to their gruesome day on the farm. Natasha found a tractor with a backhoe and buried the old woman zombie and the man in a grave together. After talking with Gwen, they put the pieces of their morbid story together. Someone needed to write a book about their bizarre love story.

  Michael, the man traveling with Gwen, received his own grave. He had been immune to the zombie virus, and Gwen and Diana were trying to get him to the CDC. A lot of weight rode on his shoulders, but now those worries ended for him. It would have been nice to have a cure and end this pandemic to return life back to normal.

  Gwen told Natasha how Donald ran out on her and Matthew once they decided to take the trip to the CDC. All the bravery he projected, and Donald was really only a coward and a fraud. If Natasha ever came face to face with him again, it would be his last day of life. She doubted it would ever happen.

  Helen patched up the tall woman as best as she could with the equipment she had on hand. Two bullets struck her. Both went clean through her, so Helen didn't have to cut her open. One bullet nicked the bone in her leg and the other damaged her shoulder. Diana suffered a possible concussion from striking her head after falling and hadn’t regained consciousness yet. They carried her into the house so she could rest inside.

  With Donald’s bunker off the table, the farm looked like a suitable alternative. They needed to secure it better to prevent any unwelcomed visits from the living or the dead and figure out how to take care of the crops. None of them were farmers, but they knew they would all work together to survive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  DONALD BISHOP

  With the destruction of their camp in Maine, Donald Bishop knew they needed to find allies. That’s why he agreed to follow those two to their encampment at the airport. Joey had things right, even if Donald hadn’t seen it before. Might makes right, and this statement proved to be truer now than before the fall of civilization. He needed to assemble an army to face down any threats they would find. This Michael character was completely useless, but Diana and others like her would make good recruits for his new fighting force. Now he just needed to convince her to follow him and think his way. If Michael got lost along the way, then so be it. Losing any dead weight would make them all safer.

  His relationship with Gwen grew boring during the past year. She questioned everything he did, but refused to make her own decisions. Yes, Gwen saved his life back in Boston, but that warrior goddess role she played back then died long ago. Taking care of the young boy made her soft, and they both needed to pull their own weight rather than continue to drag him down. Why should he keep taking care of worthless people? Time to take control of life and embrace the famous Bishop legacy of kill or be killed.

  Michael cooked them a barely edible meal made up of SPAM, canned vegetables, and fake orange cheese spread. Better than the stuff they ate while on the road, but not the type of hearty meal he enjoyed back in his camp in Maine. As the conversation turned to their plans, Donald lied about their true destination. Gwen would think he was being slick, but he didn’t want any losers knocking on the door of his secure bunker. Only contributors would make the cut to enter his new world order.

  “We had a camp in Maine and raiders came in a destroyed it a few days ago. As far as we know, we’re the only survivors. We have no destination in mind but are headed south to avoid the harsh northern winters.”

  “Maybe you could stay here with us a few days before you move on?”

  Please, no. Sleeping with rats and having his eyes gouged out would be more enjoyable than staying in this dump with this idiot. Getting Diana to follow and serve him was his only goal. Starting with her skills, he’d build an army no one would ever defeat again. They would become conquerors instead of the defeated.

  “Shit, Mikey, do you hear yourself? We aren’t here to fucking play house like the fucking Brady Bunch. We need to get your ass to the CDC.”

  Crap, she was delusional. There’s no government left anymore, only anarchy. He would try to change her mind and see things his way.

  “What makes you think the CDC still exists and why would you want to go there?” Let’s see her argue with this solid logic.

  “Where have you been, dumbass? The fucking CDC is operating at a location between Atlanta and Tennessee. Those brainiacs are looking for a cure, and Mikey here is the fucking key. He could end this fucking shit.” No, not just delusional. She was bat shit crazy.

  “How’s Michael the key to a cure? Is he a virologist?” Donald couldn’t imagine an idiot like him being any kind of scientist or doctor.

  “Shit, no. Mickey be a dumbass and got himself bit. Show him your fucking arm, dumbass.”

  Michael pulled up his sleeve and revealed a nasty scare made by human teeth. The damage healed a long time ago. Was there a way to use this information for his gain? Sell him to the highest bidder? Who would pay for his blood?

  “Fuckin’ A, huh? He’s fucking immune. Our duty is to get his sorry ass to the fucking doctors at the CDC. How’s the fucking veggie oil fuel shit work?”

  Our duty? Donald realized he misread this situation. Sure, Diana appeared to be a capable soldier, but she followed messed up priorities on this fool’s mission. He wouldn’t get trapped into doing the “right” thing anymore. Survival of the fittest was his only priority from now on. Better to placate her now and be ready to move out later when her back was turned.

  “Diesel engines will run on cooking oil as long as the oil doesn’t get too cold. If it gets cold, it will sludge up and the motor won’t start. Keep it warm and pump it out at any restaurant’s holding tank. They classified it as hazardous waste before the zombies ruled the world, so they stored the oil on site in containers until they could be disposed of properly. Easy as that.”

  “Aren’t you so fucking smart? How fucking soon until your asses are ready to go? We need to get our shit together and get our asses on the road.” It would be a snowy day in hell before Donald agreed to accompany these idiots on this foolish errand.

  “Hold on now. We never said we were going with you. We said we would talk about it. Seems like too much risk to me. How do we even know the CDC is still operational?”

  “Shit. Then I don’t have any fucking use for you three. Get the fuck out now. Too much fucking risk? We get Mikey’s ass to the CDC and this shit is all fucking over.”

  “Both of you clam down! I’m not sure I want to go to the CDC either. Would either of you want to become a human lab experiment? What do you think they’ll do to me there?”

  Donald stared at Michael and Diana. The atmosphere became tense, and Donald didn’t want to send it over the edge yet. If he could discover a way to manipulate distrust in the group and divide them, he would. Otherwise sayonara suckers.

  “Michael, thanks for the food. You’ve given us something to think about, Diana, so let us find a place to spend the night and we’ll talk it over in the morning. After we’ve all slept on it and calmed down, we can decide the best course of action.” Gwen said. There she was, sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong again.

  “You can stay here with us tonight. No need to run off.”

  “Shit, Mickey dumbass.” Diana spit out the words and stormed away from the rest of the group. She was way too unstable to make a good lieutenant in his new army. Bad news for her. He’d have to continue looking.

  “She’ll be fine after she calms down. Diana runs away from me most nights, but then calls me back to her bed. Please stay here. We can watch each other’s back.” That’s a sight he could never unsee, even if only in Donald’s imagination. Those two getting it on. Gross. A match made in Hell.

  ###

  Donald slept on and off all night, trying to decide the best course of action for his future. Part of him felt he owed Gwen his life, but the secure life he provided her during the past year paid the debt back, and then some. She would still be stuck in Boston with the cra
zy fat little gnome if Donald hadn’t found her and then rescued her. He had no genetic relation to Matthew, so why should Donald be responsible for his safety? Matthew recently turned eleven, but he was still too soft to last much longer. It might be time to finally cut his losses and look for greener pastures. There had to be other survivors out there.

  “I think we should go with them to the CDC.” Matthew blurted out the following morning to show how foolish and immature he was.

  “Matthew, you’re only eleven years old. You don’t have any say in this. We need to get to Virginia and stay safe. Look after ourselves. These two are nuts.” Donald stared the boy down after he delivered this taste of reality to him.

  “Donald, if she’s right, then we could have a normal life back. No zombies. Maybe baseball could even return. Don’t you remember the Red Sox?” The little sissy boy cried after he expressed his childish little rant. Michael saves the world and then the Red Sox win the World Series. How stupid and childish could he be?

  “Gwen, you need to handle this. I’m not taking survival advice from a little boy. You’ve stayed alive this long, Matt, because of decisions I’ve made.” He stomped away from the two of them. Donald saw where this ended, and he refused to show any weakness in front of them. Screw them both.

  ###

  Donald sat alone while he formulated his plans. If the four of them undertook this foolish mission, he would leave. He owed none of them anything, and they would all end up dead chasing this ridiculous dream. If he hit the road early enough, he’d reach the bunker before the end of the day. No one besides him could enter this secure fortress, so he knew it remained intact. Once safely locked away, he’d find other like-minded survivors and be proactive this time. They would become the aggressors by raiding other camps and taking what they wanted. Anyone who didn’t capitulate would die. Like his father Joey, Donald would rule Virginia with an iron fist.

  Watching Matthew, Gwen, and Michael wash the dishes made Donald’s stomach churn. They deserved each other and would die with clean dishes. It had been a fun year shacking up with Gwen, but the novelty wore off months ago. Now the time came to move on without her and the bratty kid.

  Michael cleared his throat and then spoke to the entire room. “Gwen reminded me that this decision about going to the CDC affects me the most. I’m the one that has to live with becoming a human lab experiment. My contributions to life have been fresh cut grass and children’s books. Neither has much worth in the apocalypse. So, I’ve decided to take the chance and go to the CDC. I hope you’ll accompany me on this mission.”

  Oh, brother. What an idiot.

  “Fuckin’ A Mikey. I always known you was a fucking hero!”

  Donald shouted from across the room in an attempt to give Gwen one last chance to change her mind. If she gave up on these two now, he’d consider taking her back. “You can count the three of us out. We’re going our own way!”

  “Look, Donald, Matthew, and I have decided to go with them. This is much bigger than any of us. It’s a chance to start the entire world over without the zombies.”

  Even after deciding to leave them, this felt like a punch in Donald’s gut.

  Donald smoldered inside, and he pointed at the four of them while he spoke. “You four deserve each other. Go on your fools’ errand and die. See if I care.”

  He turned and stormed out of the building, slamming the door behind him. The Suburban’s diesel engine roared to life, and Donald drove away from the building. A new chapter in this new world lay ahead of him, and he grabbed for it with eager hands.

  ###

  The old saying is, “Fortune Favors the Bold,” and fortune smiled down on Donald. He made Virginia before nightfall, and he dreamt of sleeping in his own bed at the compound that night. Donald’s thoughts made him sloppy, and he almost didn’t notice the armed men guarding the gates to the compound. Neither man looked like people to be messed with, and both pointed rifles at Donald with ugly scowls on their faces.

  “Are you some kinda dope? Drivin’ ‘ere like you own the place. This be the O’Ryan mansion, gobshite.”

  Donald only knew one O’Ryan who would have the balls to take over his place. His cousin Nathan O’Ryan had been the little brat who used to follow him around during family gatherings and harass him. Little Nate always wanted to be like Donald when they were growing up, and now he lived the life it seemed.

  “Tell Nate that his cousin Donald is here, and it’s time for him to go. This is my house.”

  “Aye, you’re thick boy. We ‘ave the guns. Get out of the truck and ‘ell go see Mr. O’Ryan.”

  There was no sense arguing with two Irish thugs when they pointed rifles at you, so Donald complied. They led him from the front gate and to the front door of his former home. If Joey were still alive, these punks would all be dead. Joey rotted in a grave for over a year now, so the role of ridding the world of cousin Nate belonged to him.

  “Aye, Mr. O’Ryan. ‘ere he is.”

  Nate strode into the room with the cocksure manner those in the Family put on when trying to impress. Did this clown think the mafia still held power during the apocalypse?

  “Donnie, what brings you to my home?”

  “Your home? Listen, little Nate, this is my home. Built by Joey ... Uff…”

  The orangutan standing on his right punched Donald in the gut, doubling him over.

  “Address ‘im as Mr. O’Ryan.”

  “Sean, Liam. You both can go. This is my family, and there’s no reason to treat him this way. Understand?”

  Both men released Donald’s arms, and he dropped to his knees from the pain of the blow to his stomach. Donald took a moment to catch his breath before he faced his cousin.

  “You ok, Donnie? Honestly, I don’t give a crap. The family always fawned over little Donnie, and you turned and stabbed us all in the backs. I brought my men here a year ago to see if you’d finally work with me. No one was here, so I set up shop. Yes, zombies walk the earth, but organized crime still thrives, thanks to me. Out of respect for our family, I’ll give you an option. You work with me here, or I put a bullet in your head, and we bury you out back. So, what will it be, cuz?”

  Nate had replaced all the bravado Donald felt when he left Gwen and Matthew with helplessness. He tried so hard to not become Joey and leave the Family behind. But now he rested on his knees in front of his cousin with an awful choice to make. Donald could embrace his inner Joey Bishop or die. How he wished he stayed with Gwen and Matthew. They would be together, and he wouldn’t be here facing down a monster by himself.

  After taking a deep breath, Donald pushed himself to his feet. He still stood a head over Nathan, and he used his extra height to his advantage. Can the intimidator be intimidated?

  “Ok, Nate. We’ll work together and rule this world.” He stuck his hand out to shake with his cousin.

  Nathan smiled and drew Donald into a deep embrace.

  “Welcome home, Donnie.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  JAMES “BIG JIM” Richards

  Big Jim still couldn’t believe they were dead. April, who he loved like a daughter. Max and his family and even the annoying Corinne and Isaac, all gunned down by the soldiers of the New American States (NUS). He swore President Carl Stevens and his crew would pay for their crimes, but Jim was only one man armed with a Glock 19 pistol and an old pump shotgun he found in the farmhouse where he spent the night. His choices included dying while executing a one-man vendetta or heading north into Virginia to honor Max’s last wish. Max hoped to reunite with Donald and the small crew of survivors he protected. The last radio transmissions from Maine put Donald’s status in doubt. But where else did Jim have to go? He started the apocalypse alone, when everyone died, but it hurt more now after having the company of others.

  With nothing left for him in Tennessee, Big Jim drove the Gator toward the state line. The ability to find enough good gas for the Gator concerned Jim, but he would solve one problem at a time. His fiv
e hundred mile drive would take a plenty of time travelling at a top speed of only thirty miles per hour. Big Jim had nothing but time after losing everything and everybody he cared about.

  The alcohol used in pump gasoline attracted moisture, which caused refined gas to go bad. Because of this worry about spoiled fuel, Big Jim stopped at a hardware store on day one of his trip. From his experience living on a farm, he knew many stores carried ethanol-free small engine fuel. If left in a sealed can, this fuel would remain fresh for five years. Big Jim discovered the helpful people at this store had a fresh order of this fuel on the shelf before the world ended. He filled the tank and loaded a dozen cans into the back of the Gator for later. This should be enough gas to get him to the bunker, but he’d keep his eyes open for other potential supply sources as he went.

  His overnight accommodations for the end of his first day of travel came from a remote log cabin. A pair of zombies roamed the yard and Big Jim neutralized them with the sledgehammer he grabbed, along with the fuel for the Gator. His twenty pound solid steel hammer looked like a child’s toy in Big Jim’s oversized hands. After a quick look inside of the house, he found no other threats. Living or dead.

  He used furniture to barricade the entry doors on the first floor to keep out any potential night time visitors. Jim wanted no surprises to wake him. A small stash of food and two hunting rifles were the loot he discovered inside the house. Big Jim guessed that this place had been someone’s hunting cabin during better days. Jim slept in the master bedroom after he secured the bedroom’s entry door. Three nights of fitful sleep caught up to him and he slept like a baby until the morning sun shone through the open window.

  After he finished the rest of the food from the pantry, refueled the Gator, and packed the rifles, along with the extra ammo, Big Jim headed out. He found peace in the slow travel speed the XUV provided. The pace was much faster than walking, and allowed him to steer clear of the wandering zombies. None of the zombie groups Jim passed had been more than half a dozen, and Big Jim could eliminate any of them without breaking a sweat. But why take an unnecessary risk when he didn’t have to?