Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation (11 page)

Michael
fired at the target on the far left. It was a black sheet of paper, the middle
of which was decorated with a bright red sticker. This was followed by the
remaining nine rounds, completed in exactly two minutes, twenty one seconds.

“Pretty
good, I think,” he said, with apparent and justified pride.

“Dale’s
turn.”

Mary let
out a groan.

“What?
Is he that good?” asked the teenager.

My
daughter didn’t answer.

Dale
fired off all ten rounds in a little over a minute. Tara followed taking three
seconds longer.

“Go get
the targets, Mary.”

She
glared at me before sprinting away. Okay, so maybe I deserved it.

“Here’s
Michael’s.” I held up the two by two foot piece of construction paper. “All ten
hit, and they are mostly around six inches of the center.”

“One’s
almost dead center,” pointed out Carter. “Good one. Taught him myself.”

“And we
have Dale’s.”

The red
sticker was untouched, but there was a circle of ten bullet holes around it.
This wasn’t a perfect circle, but there could be no doubt that he hit exactly
where he intended.

Michael
blanched after taking a look.

“And
Tara’s.”

This
target had a single shot through the red sticker, two above it, and seven more
below. They formed a little happy face. Again, it wasn’t flawless, but close
enough. If you ever saw the first
Lethal Weapon
movie, it was along
those lines.

Michael
expression became even more entertaining.

“Sorry,
but I don’t think you beat either one.”

“Dad!”

Mary was
a little too pleading. I sighed. I couldn’t keep teasing like this.

“Here’s
the deal. We’ve been working together for a long time. You’re a good enough
shot, but you haven’t trained with any of us. How am I supposed to use you, to
fit you in so quickly?”

“I don’t
know,” he admitted.

“Any
others want to come?” I asked. “You might get killed or just spend a lot of
time sitting around doing nothing. I don’t really know how it will turn out.”

Two men
raised their hands, and a lone woman stepped forward.

“They
any good?” I asked the mayor, softly.

“All go
hunting regularly. They can shoot, and they’re basically good people.”

“You
four can join up as an auxiliary unit if you want. Anyone here under sixteen?”

As it
was, Michael was sixteen, Lori eighteen, Rus nineteen and his brother, Sam,
seventeen. We had a solid run of sixteen to nineteen. It could be meaningful or
possibly random chance. Okay, it was clearly random.

“If you
aren’t going to listen to orders, don’t come along. We will not tolerate any nonsense.
I am serious about that.”

Michael
glanced at Mary who nodded.

“We just
want to help,” he said.

Later
that night I had Lizzy question them – she is good at prying information out of
others. It turned out that Rus and Sam had wanted to join the Yellowstone
militia but neither was very bright, and they had a tendency to get into
fights. They’d been tossed from the training program following a brawl. Lizzy
told them, quite clearly, that they better not try that with her around. Lori
had been going through life as normally as possible. She did not give a
specific reason for joining, just saying she thought it was the right thing to
do.

Interlude – Marcus’s Story

Marcus journeyed
north with three others, Tyler, Arlene, and Alan (not to be confused with the
Alan who handles our livestock and farming). Due to the shambling dead’s
widespread disbursement, travel had grown perilous, leading them to avoid the
highways altogether and take tiny county lanes and agricultural roads instead.
They had a pair of four wheel drive SUVs, were well armed, and carried ample
supplies including extra gasoline to cover their needs if the trip took longer
than expected. The way things were going, that was a very real possibility.

The
chosen route roughly paralleled US-85. The initial stretch had been confirmed
clear of obstructions – Ronnie overflew the first hundred miles – and they
passed through quickly. Things became more interesting once they reached I-94.

“What do
you think?” asked Arlene.

The four
were standing a few hundred yards from the crossing. There was an unusually small
number of abandoned and wrecked cars in sight, despite being only a few miles
east of Dickinson. However, there was no shortage of zombies, with several
dozen close enough to be considered an immediate threat.

“We
should be able to get up on the overpass easy enough,” replied Marcus. “Nothing
on it that I can see except for what looks to be a single motorcycle, and
that’s off by one side. Road beyond looks to be good too.”

“A bunch
are going to follow us when we cross,” pointed out Tyler. The young man had a
hammer in one hand. The composite handle was longer than normal, allowing him
to impact with tremendous force. “Want to try leading them away first?”

“No.”
Marcus tossed the binoculars through the open door. They landed on the back
seat. “We do it like usual, skirting around and driving on by.”

There
were no objections, so they piled back into their SUVs with Arlene sitting
beside Marcus. He led the way, moving as slowly as he dared, trying to keep an
eye out for anything that might prove dangerous, in addition to the shambling
dead. They reached the bridge without any difficulty, started across, passed
the motorcycle complete with scattered bones which might have belonged to its
rider, and came to an abrupt halt.

“That’s
not good,” said Arlene.

Barring
the way was a twisting pile of steel bars. They weren’t part of the overpass or
debris from a fallen sign. No, this was a mishmash of industrial metal,
possibly dropped by a truck years before.

“Area
behind us is filling up,” commented Tyler. “Want to pull back while we still
can?”

“I say
we just drive over it and keep going,” argued Alan.

“Can’t.”
Marcus shook his head. “Too many sharp edges, and some parts are pretty high. We
might get hung up, and at least one tire is bound to blow.”

“Guys,
we need a decision.” Arlene’s voice rose. “We need it now.”

“This
can be cleared, definitely. Okay, you and Tyler kill anything coming up after
us. Me and Alan will toss these.” Marcus went back to his SUV and retrieved a
pair of leather work gloves. “Alan, get your rifle and keep it handy.”

*
* *

Arlene
and Tyler hurriedly took up positions near the edge of the overpass. She drew
her pistol, but held back. Tyler had moved to the forefront, brandishing his
hammer. The man was large and possessed the necessary strength to put it to
good use. While there were plenty of zombies approaching, they were spread out.
Tyler should be able to engage them one at a time, and if she started shooting,
more would certainly hear and come to join in the fun.

Her companion
waited patiently for the first to reach him. Only then did he respond, lunging
forward and bringing the hammer down on the monster’s skull. It split open, and
Tyler jerked the weapon free before spinning to the left and striking another
on the temple. That zombie fell as well.

*
* *

“Damn,”
swore Alan. “These are heavy.”

He
helped Marcus drag one of the longer poles to the side.

“We have
to toss them over. Just dropping it here won’t work.”

“You
sure? That’s going to make lots of noise.”

“There
are too many,” confirmed Marcus, “and too many different shapes. They would tip
over or spill. The road’s too narrow.”

The pair
manhandled the bar up against the railing and let it fall. Alan paused long
enough to see the thing slam into a zombie, knocking the beast from its feet.
Nice.

*
* *

“Marcus
and Alan are making lots of noise,” remarked Arlene.

Tyler
gave her what might have been a nod of acknowledgement. He took down another
shambler and quickly hopped backward out of reach before the two behind it
could grab him.

“Can you
keep this up?”

“I’m
good.” He was breathing hard. “Don’t start shooting yet.”

“Got
more coming, your left. I’m guessing they’re a couple minutes out.” She glanced
over the side. “Lots on the highway are heading our way too, but they seem to
be going to where the debris are piling up. Not sure if they’ll notice us, at
least not right away.”

*
* *

Marcus
noted the changing situation as well. He and Alan were making progress, but a
few zombies were approaching their side of the bridge.

“You may
be using that rifle real soon,” he cautioned.

Alan
grunted in reply, and they tossed another of the steel bars over the edge. It
looked to be the last of the big ones. The remainder should go fast.

“Almost
there,” said Marcus. “I can get the rest. Go ahead and shoot any coming up our
side.”

The protective
covering over his scope was carefully removed, and Alan opened fire.

*
* *

“Fuck!”
Arlene hadn’t expected that. Zombies might have shitty eyesight, but they could
hear just fine, and every last one within a mile or so was now heading their
way. “I’m going to start shooting too. I’ll be on your right.”

Tyler
shifted his focus accordingly, trusting her to cover that flank.

*
* *

“Good
enough.” Marcus pushed the final few bars to the side. “Let’s get out of here.”

Alan
nodded and hurried back to the SUV he shared with Tyler. He paused for a moment
to shoot the nearest shamblers, then yelled for Tyler to get his ass in the
car. He came running, with Arlene only a few feet behind.

“This
was riskier than I like,” complained the woman, as she closed the door behind
her. “We really should have gone around. That was too much time in the open.”

“It
worked though. Didn’t it?”

Arlene
failed to respond, and Marcus accelerated. Swerving to the right, he clipped a
zombie with the edge of the bumper. It went airborne and splatted a second
later.

“You
know better,” she chided.

“Couldn’t
help myself.” Marcus let out a low chuckle. “Radio the others and tell them we’re
going to pick up the pace, until we get past the mob. Hopefully it’ll clear up
soon.”

*
* *

Things
calmed down soon after, and the group eventually reached the banks of Lake
Sakakawea. There had been several stops to refuel, and Marcus managed to
recover a few gallons from a wrecked sports car lying upside down in a ditch.
That was the extent of it. Most of their needs, as anticipated and planned for,
were met by the jerry cans they carried in the back. It was getting ever more
difficult to scavenge gasoline on the road.

It was
quiet near the water, and they took the opportunity to partake in a late lunch
before trying for the settlement. According to intel supplied by the military,
there were people living on a small island a hundred yards from the shore, roughly
three or four miles to their east.

“Ready?”

Marcus
received two nods and one thumbs up, so they pressed on. A few minutes later
they came across a small dock surrounded by a recently mowed field of grass.
That meant people were about, and he carefully pulled off the road, parking
near the water’s edge. The dock itself consisted of roughhewn planks nailed to
posts that had likely begun their lives as telephone poles. Someone built this
recently. It wasn’t pretty, but it appeared solid.

“Keep an
eye out,” he cautioned, stepping onto the dock. There was a faint mist covering
the water, but Marcus could make out lights some distance ahead.

“Zombie,”
announced Arlene.

Tyler
waited for the thing to reach them before he brought the hammer down. “Done,”
he said, simply.

“Good, and
we have some real people coming our way as well. Looks like a fishing boat.”
Marcus patted his side where the .45 automatic was resting in its holster. “Be
ready for anything, but try to look friendly.”

The boat
drew close. Inside were three men, all somewhere around middle age and well
armed. Still, none seemed surprised at the visit, nor did they appear overly hostile.

“You saw
the lights and decided to take a look?” one asked.

“I saw
the lights, yes,” replied Marcus, tipping his cowboy hat, “but it was the
government who told us you were here.”

“Government?”
asked another, visibly surprised. “What government?”

“The
United States. They’re still around. You know you can’t keep a good bureaucrat
down. No, really, there is a functioning government. Not on the mainland, but
they are situated over in Hawaii and have control of a whole lot of islands off
both coasts. We’re in touch with them and anytime one of their satellites or
planes spots survivors, a few of us head out to make contact.”

“So,
where are you from?” This came from the man who initially greeted them.

The question
was tinged with what seemed like honest curiosity. Marcus began to relax.

“South
Dakota, pretty much due south.”

There
were a few more, straightforward inquiries before the strangers invited them to
discuss things in a more comfortable setting.

*
* *

“These people
are weird,” said Arlene, “even for a group that’s been out of touch the past
few years.”

“Definitely,”
agreed Alan.

Marcus
nodded. “What do you think?”

“Not
sure,” replied Tyler. “Strange, yes, but a whole lot better than some we met.
Remember the trip in Montana up by the border, the time Lizzy came along?”

“I do.” It
was not one of Arlene’s favorite memories. “I almost quit volunteering after
that one.”

“Having
people shoot at you does suck.” said Marcus. “Thank God those adults knocked
the gun out of that kid’s hands. We might have had to kill him otherwise. Good
that he missed too.”

“Real
fucking good, and for a while I thought Lizzy would drop him anyway, after opening
fire on us for no reason whatsoever.” Arlene frowned. “Might have been better
if she did, way things are.”

He had
nothing to say against that. The boy had been diagnosed with extreme
schizophrenia at the age of six, along with a tendency toward violent paranoia.
Worse, he had been without meds for the past year. After things calmed down, the
entire lot was taken to an airstrip where a plane from Hawaii collected them. They
never so much as visited Yellowstone or the Black Hills, which was just as
well. Jacob would have locked the lad up. There was no way to treat him, and he
was far too dangerous to be allowed to move around freely.

“You
can’t trust cults,” continued Alan.

“We
don’t know for certain that they’re a cult,” protested Marcus, “or that all of
them belong.”

The man
spat on the ground. “They are wearing robes. What, you think they’re wannabe
wizards instead, like in
Lord of the Rings
?”

“They do
spend a lot of time praying and chanting in those stone circles they set up,”
added Arlene. “They’re not any sort of prayer I ever heard, and my parents were
nutty about religion, followed just about every last one at some point in their
lives.”

“I’m not
denying any of that,” said Marcus, “but less than half the adults are doing
that. All the little ones and the rest are wearing normal clothes and acting,
well, normal.”

They’d
met with the settlement’s leadership upon arrival. Marcus provided them with a
quick summary of the situation worldwide, along with a more detailed description
of what’s been happening inside the United States, focusing primarily on the
Black Hills and Yellowstone. Additional time was spent on the raiders and how
that conflict would hopefully be dealt with in the short term. There’d been a
lot of interest regarding this final part of the narrative, particularly relating
to the raiders’ tendency to attack and kill anyone they met. These people were
well placed, and even if the prophet’s cronies did discover their existence at
some point, it would take a concerted effort to cross the water and launch an
assault.