Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation (2 page)

It took
six weeks before the dead stopped coming. There were more in the city of
course, but we had gotten as many as we were going to. The looting then began.
We stocked up on literally tons of canned goods. Plenty of guns were found,
along with more than enough ammunition to replace what we burned through in the
fighting. The Air Force base was even better. We had military arms, aircraft,
and ground vehicles. Granted, we had no one knowledgeable enough to pilot a
fighter jet, but it’s still pretty awesome to say they’re ours. The
helicopters, on the other hand, are within our level of expertise.

While I
was off clearing vermin and taking things that did not belong to me, Briana was
just as busy. We have several farms in our hidden valley, and most of the
inhabitants planted tiny gardens next to their cabins for personal use. Unfortunately,
it wasn’t enough to ensure our bellies remained full. More was necessary, so
Briana selected several nearby valleys, all of which were easily accessible.
Large vegetable gardens were established and fields plowed in order to grow
corn or wheat. We couldn’t leave these untended, so several small outposts were
likewise built. These have the secondary purpose of keeping watch for any
potential threats.

Work
also began on the citadel. This dual purpose structure is situated in the rear
of our valley on a gently sloping hill, and the walled compound provides a
secure location to take shelter within, in the unlikely event the outer wall is
ever breached.

Of
greater interest is the fact that we were once more in communication with the
American government. Early on, remnants of the military evacuated to islands
along both the east and west coasts, as well as to Hawaii. The Ranching
Collective in Wyoming had been in regular contact with them from the start, until
the relay tower we depended on suddenly collapsed. Afterwards, the raiders’ invasion
altered our priorities and absorbed all our attention. With that unpleasantness
concluded for the time being, our friends in Yellowstone sent a couple of planes
west. These managed to link up with the authorities, and after some logistical
problems were sorted out, both Yellowstone and the Black Hills received new
equipment via airdrop. All was good in the radio world.

By the
way, the islands in question are no longer under the direct control of the Army
and Navy. Elections have been held, and civilian representatives selected,
making everyone happy. It also allowed military personnel to work on other
projects, namely getting rid of the zombie menace. There were some inquiries
about us relocating to the islands, but the government balked. They would take
people if need be – that was promised – but it would be better if we stayed where
we were in order to ensure a secure foothold was maintained on the mainland.
After a lot of debate, we agreed. Some left, but surprisingly few wanted to go
after we received a second promise regarding assistance against the raiders.

Whether
or not we would actually need any help was unclear. You see, the raiders had
unexpectedly abandoned their compound in Salt Lake City. One day they were
there. The next flyover showed it empty. They had a scattering of farms which
were still manned by skeleton crews, but the bulk of their population had vanished
without a trace. The only thing we knew for certain was that they were not on
the roads heading toward either of our settlements. The threat posed by the
prophet was now completely unclear.

Countering
the fog of war, or the uncertain peace as the case might be, was the deployment
of several officers and enlisted from the islands. These were to train us in
the use of all the nifty weapons we recovered from Ellsworth Air Force Base.
Sadly, we were not allowed to keep the fighter jets. Air Force pilots and
mechanics were parachuted in. They got them working and took the things away.
But, we did get to keep some of the attack choppers, so it wasn’t all bad.

*
* *

The
third year of the zombie apocalypse began. That’s right, two years had passed.
The first was horrible. Our world collapsed. Friends and family died. Then,
after so much hardship, there was the brief sensation of security. We had found
safety in the Nebraska National Forest. The raiders crushed that notion, and all
out war soon erupted. In contrast, the second year was rather low key. We
cleared out Rapid City and raided an Air Force base, but that was just a
flicker of excitement. As stated earlier, most of our time was utilized
preparing, building, and farming. The raiders did not attack, and while I
wanted so very much to find and butcher every last one of the bastards, my
energies were better spent making sure that when we did act, it would be
decisively in our favor.

There
were a few high points, however. Briana and I celebrated our first wedding
anniversary on October 17, with the entire settlement declaring it a holiday. I
suspect this was primarily because people were looking for an excuse, any excuse,
to have a party. Then again, Briana is quite popular, much more so than me. I’m
respected due to my victories against the raiders and willingness to face the
zombie threat head on, but she is the one who deals with all the regular day to
day issues, including personal conflicts.

Months
later, on the fifteenth of June, Mary turned sixteen. My adopted daughter and
favorite pixie was old enough to get her driver’s license. She’d been driving
for years already, so I suppose I should dock her allowance to help pay for the
fines that have been racking up. There have to be at least a half dozen bench
warrants out for her arrest as well. In all seriousness, driving was proving
complicated. We had no way to drill for oil or refine it. While the islands had
access to some small refineries and offshore rigs, they were unable to transfer
the final product to our settlements. We were thus forced to conserve, big time.

The
harvest that fall was excellent, and our granaries were filled to overflowing.
The winter passed more smoothly as well. There was no outbreak of anything
unpleasant, just the normal colds that people get from time to time. We were
doing well. Additionally, those military guys and gals who were sent our way
had become part of the family. They taught us all they knew about our weapons
and equipment and held detailed classes on tactics. We even had a functional
militia with actual ranks and positions. I was put in charge. No one wanted an
outsider in the top position, and I actually possessed more combat experience
than the soldiers teaching us. Yellowstone was a little different. They received
a few who served in Iraq and Afghanistan and readily accepted their leadership.

Spring
saw a handful of road trips, mostly to bring back survivors who were discovered
by the military, either with aircraft or using satellites. I would love to have
my own spy satellite. I don’t think it’s going to happen, which is a pity, but
I can dream. Most were American, but we did get a handful of Canadians. Of
these, about half ended up in the islands, the remainder staying with us.

With the
raiders AWOL, we decided to fortify the Black Hills as a whole. This was not as
difficult as one might think. On the internal side, Briana had the valleys used
for farming walled off. These weren’t elaborate fortifications, but large
animals and zombies were not going to bother our gardens and crops. We even created
areas specifically for livestock. It’s much better to have our cattle and sheep
and whatnot wandering about an enclosed area than to keep them penned up all
the time. We were also able to disperse sizable numbers of people, greatly
expanding those initial outposts. Most chose to remain in the main valley, which
was both our commercial and social hub, but enough were willing to relocate
that crowding went down.

As to
the exterior defenses, that fell to me. Most of my efforts were intended to
keep the zombies at bay. This was done by building walls of debris or stone
along creeks and other natural barriers. Zombies tend to follow easy routes,
like roads or trails, and rarely go over anything rough unless they are
pursuing a breather. That being the case, this was much easier than it sounds.
Granted, the Black Hills are huge, but significant portions are hard to get
into to begin with, no shortage of steep mountains and cliff faces.

The more
open areas took a bit more work. For these, we used a backhoe to create
ditches, along with felling trees and piling up stone. Actual walls were
considered, but those would have to come later. We did the same regarding the
handful of roads in our vicinity, with one notable exception. It is important
we be able to get in and out easily. Therefore, we left large gaps which we
obscured with false obstructions. All of this did have the effect of making it
appear, rather blatantly, that someone was living in the Black Hills, an issue
to be sure, but the dead were getting out of hand. Keeping them away was too
important to do otherwise.

Leaving
Asher in Mary’s capable hands, Briana and I clambered inside a plane piloted by
Xavier, one of our top flyers. This was so we could see firsthand what our
aerial scouts had been reporting. And yes, most positively yes, zombies had
once again taken the number one spot on our list of concerns. They were
everywhere. The monsters never stop moving, but for the first couple of years
they had tended to congregate in and around cities. I have no idea what, if
anything, changed, but I can say with certainty that the highways, even the
back roads, were swarming with the shambling dead. It wasn’t too bad in the
more isolated portions of northern Wyoming and Montana, but that was the
exception. The days of relatively easy travel had come to an end.

I will
also let you know that while we fortified our settlements, the United States
military began to clear stretches of the coast. This wasn’t a large scale
effort such as what we did with Rapid City. Instead, they would bring in a unit
via helicopter and drop it atop a low rise building, providing the men with a
safe firing platform. After putting down every zombie in sight, the soldiers
would leave. This did not significantly decrease their numbers, but it did
allow for the development and testing of new techniques and strategies, and to
give their personnel plenty of real life experience shooting things that,
despite their vile nature, looked just like men, women, and itty bitty
children.

We also had
the pleasure of receiving the occasional supply drop. Huge transport planes
flew in from the west and lobbed out pallets of ammunition – this was being
manufactured on the islands – grenades, guns, and a mixed variety of food,
including fresh pineapples. Bullets are nice, but I think our people hold the
pineapples in the highest regard. It never took more than a day or two for the
entire lot to be eaten.

*
* *

August
again rolled around, and we entered the fourth year of the zombie apocalypse. At
first, not much changed. Our friends in Yellowstone remained hidden within the
forest, expanding their settlement and preparing as best they could. Likewise,
Briana and I mostly stayed put, fortifying, fortifying, and fortifying some
more. I also oversaw several scavenging raids into Rapid City and the Air Force
base in an effort to recover items of value. By that point, the Black Hills had
been stripped bare. Houses were torn apart for wiring, pipes, lumber, shingles,
and so forth – there had been discussions about using them for living space,
but for security reasons we chose to remain in our hard to reach valleys – the
same for commercial buildings.

We had
another great harvest that fall, although the potato crop was a little
lackluster. So much for a ready supply of fries and tater tots. In December,
Briana celebrated her twenty first birthday. She’s getting old, but her figure
is as good as ever, lots of curves and no extra weight in the bad places. I’m
sure she’ll slap me after reading this.

Then, in
the depths of winter, the raiders returned. We believe they’d separated into
numerous small bands around the time of their disappearance. A few of these
never moved, namely the ones tending their farms and cattle herds. There had
been no trace of the remainder, however, until reports began to drift in
indicating they were traveling throughout the west. The piece of news that
really got our attention came out of Oregon. A group of survivors living in the
mountains was attacked, suddenly and without warning. This was a small band of
sixty eight, mostly adults. They were also in regular contact with the military,
operating as a landward facility where helicopters could refuel. Assistance was
immediately requested.

The
soldiers, who were there in just under six hours, arrived too late. The women
and most of the children had been raped or sodomized. An even dozen of the men
were impaled, and three of the ladies had been tied to stakes and burned alive,
the word “bitch” having first been carved into their foreheads, deep enough to
etch the skull. Their fury up, the aircraft ferrying the ground troops went
searching. They soon spotted the raiders driving along a back road on their
motorcycles. It’s terrifying what a well placed, five hundred pound bomb can
do.

While I
applaud the efficient extermination of this filth, I feel it is necessary to
comment on how so much pain and sorrow could have been avoided if the Air Force
had reacted similarly when Salt Lake City was being attacked. Of the forty
thousand who fled that place, a few hundred joined us. About three thousand
eventually made it to the islands or were otherwise accounted for. Of the rest…
No one knows. Their excuses, and they are excuses, don’t interest me. The
military, or perhaps some remnant of the original civilian government, failed
us.