Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation (27 page)

“So, we
lack ingredients A, B, C, and D,” I said, “along with labs that will refine A,
combine B and C, and refine D. Then we lack different labs that would combine
refined A and refined D and further process the B/C combination. Is that about
right?”

“Exactly,”
said Briggs.

“Then we
can’t hope for computers or televisions anytime soon either?” asked Lizzy.

“Those
aren’t even on the list of products being considered,” answered Sergeant Brown.

“Bummer,”
muttered Mary.

“We have
stocks of those here and more in Custer and a few outlying warehouses,” I said.
“When ours break, we get more. We can keep going for a long time yet.”

“There
are not enough people to support that level of industry,” commented the
captain, “and most of what limited high tech we can produce is military or
communication based in nature, none of which approaches pre-zombie level.”

That was
no surprise either. You know, if not for the speed of the collapse, we wouldn’t
have been able to recover all that we did. There were virtually no riots, few
cases where people began to horde supplies or fight others to take theirs. For
the most part, the vast majority of the human race was dead within days,
leaving their belongings lying wherever, ready to be picked up by anyone who
passed by.

“I will
send what we can,” he told Briana.

She
didn’t respond. My wife was probably afraid to. The bouts of nausea had grown
severe. This sort of thing had happened before, and hopefully everything would
calm down in a few more days. But how she wished for a pill that would fix
everything, or at least make it a little better.

“We can
bring the prisoners to the airstrip,” I announced. “It is going to be a pain in
the ass, and these people will be tossed in the back of trucks and locked in.
I’m not going to worry about comfort or humane living conditions, not for a
drive that should take less than a day. Make sure the people coming to collect
them are aware that they might have to delay long enough to get the prisoners
cleaned up and fed.”

“You’re
not going to feed them?” asked the sergeant, surprised.

“There’ll
be water and whatever we recover from the island, probably fresh baked bread,
if they are at all like us and make it each morning, or maybe vegetables. Since
we are only going to catch and move them to the airstrip, I see no reason to
plan beyond that. Worse comes to worse, I will give them some of our supplies,
but, if so, it’ll be minimal. I’m not serving three nutritious meals a day.”

“Having
them weak, hungry, and scared may make it easier on the personnel transporting
them to Hawaii,” said Renee. “You can also use the situation to play good cop /
bad cop. That may help with integration as well.”

“Fucking
starve them on principal,” laughed Lizzy, “not for logic’s sake.”

Marcus
looked as if he agreed. I likely would think the same if our positions were
reversed.

“We will
get them to the pickup point alive and without any damage beyond what’s
necessary,” I clarified, “but I’m not going much beyond that. They don’t deserve
it.”

Interlude – Carter & Carlson’s Story

Old men
can be so trying at times. They love to play dominoes. They play with the
grandkids. They take lots of naps. Yes, they are super difficult to deal with,
so much drama, so much stress. Then we have men like Carter and Carlson who
take these issues to an all new level. In case you’re getting names mixed up,
Carlson is our resident demolition expert who after leaving the military spent
several decades working for various mining companies keeping his skills sharp
and up to date. Carter is the uncle of Mary’s friend, Michael.

Having
served in Vietnam and gotten out of that country mostly intact, the pair
quickly formed a friendship which was centered on war stories and drinking.
It’s as good a basis for a relationship as any other, and the two were soon
inseparable with Carter, to the extent his severe arthritis and bad leg
allowed, helping Carlson in his duties. Unfortunately, Carlson’s expertise was
not required all that often, giving him plenty of time with which to get into
trouble.

“Where
we going?” asked Carter. He took a swig from the bottle he was holding.

“Pass me
that.”

“You’re
driving.”

“So
what?” demanded Carlson. “Not like anyone is around to see.”

That
made sense, and there was plenty more, so Carter took another gulp of the beer
and handed it over.

“We’re
going up to Crazy Horse.”

“I saw
that on the way in, big statue. Rushmore’s better.”

“Crazy
Horse would have been if they’d finished it, and it had trailers and shacks
full of dynamite.”

“Oh?”
Carter liked the sound of that. “We going to be blowing stuff up?”

“Not a
chance. Jacob had me inventory everything right after we moved here. It’s all
in the valley in an underground bunker we’d dug. That’s for safety.” Carlson
ran a hand through his short, white hair. “I don’t have the keys and can’t even
experiment anymore.”

“That’s
a crying shame.”

“But I
got us something special that needs testing. It’s in back of the truck.”

“What’s
that?”

“One of
them new rocket launchers.”

Carter
chortled, not sure if he should believe Carlson or not. “No way Bruce would
have let you take it.”

“I
didn’t say he let me.” The words were slurred. The pair had been drinking since
early morning. “I was using initiative so the testing wouldn’t have to wait.”

“Initiative
is good. Not enough of it nowadays. The kids and youngsters are all lazy, just
waiting to be told what to do.”

Carlson
nodded his agreement. There were very few in the Black Hills capable of taking
care of business without getting orders from up above. It was sad.

“There’s
an empty shed off by a bunch of rocks. We’ll test it there. It’s empty.”

“We
should double check,” said Carter. “Wouldn’t want to blow up someone on
accident.” He burped. “Gotta be responsible.”

*
* *

Upon
reaching the spot, Carlson drove to the shack in question, peered out the
driver’s side window, decided no one was around, and headed up the service road
that led to the top of the Crazy Horse Monument.

“This is
far enough,” he said, cutting the engine.

Carter
took a final swig from the bottle, emptying it, before he clambered out. The
loose gravel shifted under his feet, and he tumbled to the ground.

“Shit!”

“You
okay?” asked Carlson.

“Mostly.
Help me up.”

The
grizzled vet assisted his companion in getting back to his feet, this taking
longer than it should even with Carter having a bum leg. Carlson was finding it
somewhat difficult to maintain his own balance.

“There
you go. Now, don’t fall over again.”

Carter
scowled. “Should’ve brought my cane.”

“Don’t
need it. We aren’t walking anywhere.” Carlson retrieved another beer from their
cooler. “Here you go. Let me get the SMAW.”

The
shoulder launched multipurpose assault weapon was essentially an infantry fired
rocket similar to the bazookas used in World War II. The maximum range against
a tank is around five hundred fifty yards. There were no tanks for them to blow
holes in, and this was unlikely to change. It was one of the reasons the
weapons had been placed in storage after they were delivered by the island
government.

“Looks
heavy,” observed Carter.

Carlson was
struggling to get it in position.

“You
need help?”

“I got
it. I’m just not as fit as I used to be.”

That
earned him a laugh. The pair wouldn’t say so when around others, but both were
feeling their age. The primitive living conditions, such as residing in log
cabins with no heat or air conditioning and limited electricity, did nothing to
help.

“Don’t
miss,” cautioned Carter.

“I won’t
be missing.”

Carlson
managed to brace himself by leaning against the side of the pickup. He glanced
to his side to ensure the back of the rocket launcher was not obstructed by
anything – that would have been bad – and lined up the sights.

“You
ready?”

Following
another sip of the homemade brew, Carter nodded. “I am ready. How loud is this
thing?”

“Don’t
know.”

Both men
found out a second later. They were also pleasantly surprised to see that
Carlson, who’d never touched a SMAW before and had not fired anything similar
since the early seventies, had struck his target. The weapon was made with
quality and ease of use in mind, and the manual that came with it was simple
and straightforward.

“We know
it works,” stated Carter. “Got splinters all over.”

“Not as
good as what I did to the raiders a few years back. I tell you about that?”

“Yep, a
good dozen times.”

“Well, I
plan on telling you again. How many more beers we have?”

“Seven
or eight.”

Carter
drew an arm back as he prepared to throw his empty bottle, but stopped when
Carlson shrieked.

“We
gotta take that back to be washed out and sterilized.”

“Oops.”
The giggle was amusing coming from someone his age. “Forgot all about that.”

While
crafting a decent beer was not at all difficult, manufacturing new bottles was
beyond our capabilities. Therefore, all bottles deemed suitable, meaning those
that could be easily sealed, were reused after being washed and disinfected.
Plenty of extras were sitting in old U-Hauls in Custer, which was the only town
of note inside the Black Hills, but Jacob and Briana still stressed the need to
conserve. Having shards of glass lying in what they considered their backyard
was unacceptable as well.

“Be more
responsible,” lectured Carlson. “Now, get me one.”

*
* *

“Briana,”
began Renee. Carlson and Carter were sitting on a bench behind her, holding
each other upright. “You are going to love this one.”

“How
much did they drink?” she asked.

“Only
two or three,” answered Carter.

“Dozen,”
finished Carlson.

Both men
broke into laughter.

“What
did they do? Shouldn’t they have been taken to their cabins to sleep it off, or
do they need to visit the hospital?”

“Those
two should be in the stockade,” replied Renee, “and they will be going there
shortly. Remember that explosion I called in about, the one our watch near the
southern border heard?”

Briana
nodded. Then she began to glare at the pair of vets. “Them?”

“We are
now short one rocket launcher.”

“How did
they get it? Don’t we have security in place?”

“Not
enough,” mumbled Carlson. He began to whisper to his friend who broke into
hysterics.

“Want to
deal with it, or should I find Jacob?”

“I’ll
take care of it.” Briana looked at them again and sighed. “There really isn’t
much to do. Go ahead and toss them in the lockup and keep them there for a
week. Find out how they got hold of the weapon too. Then get with Bruce and
make sure it can’t happen again.”

“Will
do.”

“No
alcohol of any sort for either. Let’s just put them on bread and water, maybe
some vegetables. See if Steph knows what kinds they hate the most.”

Renee
grinned. “I’ll see to that right away. Only a week?”

“A week
for now. I’ll reconsider before they get out. It’s a shame they’re both too old
to send off on work duty.”

“Not too
old to show a lady a good time,” called Carlson. “That’s all that matters.”

“Damn
straight,” agreed Carter. He lost his balance and fell off the bench, still
laughing.

“Two
weeks, Renee. Let’s make it two at the very least.”

Chapter IX

Going to
war, going to war, I was going off to war. This was getting old, but there
weren’t a whole lot of alternatives. The Brotherhood, to the north by Lake
Sakakawea, had to be dealt with. They’d killed three of ours without cause or
justification. Correction, they had a justification, but their reason for
feeding people to zombies, forcing them to turn, was not only irrational, it
was downright evil. These nut jobs could not be left to their own devices, and
when I was finished, they would be a footnote in history, just like the
raiders.

Traveling
with me was Mary. Taking her into danger had always been a point of contention
between me and Briana, but following her seventeenth birthday the arguments
against her tagging along had diminished significantly. Did this lessen the
danger? Of course not. Mary might very well be injured or killed. So many
others had suffered that fate. Even so, when you came right down to it, the
girl was an asset. I depended on my daughter, and the odds of the rest of us
getting out alive would diminish if Mary was absent.

The
twins were coming as well. Briana, true to form, instructed them, in no
uncertain terms and in my presence, to do whatever was necessary to keep both me
and Mary alive. She then went further and told them that I could not
countermand this order, barring some extreme crisis, and any attempts on my
part to do so were to be disregarded. Under our settlement’s charter, Briana
and I could veto the other’s decisions. So, technically, I had the legal right
to order Tara and Dale to do otherwise. However, that would be pointless. Those
two were not going to go against Briana, so I would simply accept my wife’s
decision and thus maintain the illusion of authority.

Rounding
out the leadership team was Marcus, the only person we had with direct
knowledge of the area; Renee, who was acting as my second in command; and
Xavier and Ronnie, who would be serving as our pilots. As far as troops go, we
have three squads of ten each. With the command team, that took us to thirty
eight total. Thirty eight men and women marching off to face several hundred. It
was what we’d come to expect. Still, this time we would have the element of
surprise, coupled with our greater firepower and experience.

Lizzy was
to remain in the Black Hills, managing security and making sure the people were
kept safe. She was rather unhappy and let us all know, repeatedly, that there
wasn’t a single damn reason why she shouldn’t come along. I responded by saying
it was Renee’s turn and that I needed her to stick close to Briana in case
anything unexpected happened. That didn’t help, so I shifted tactics and told
her she was our reserve and would be expected to fly in should assistance be required.
That didn’t help much either.

Michael
was staying in the Black Hills as well. He’d volunteered, and the lad was
capable. However, his training wasn’t anywhere near complete. Additionally, I
felt he was getting a little too close to Mary, and much too fast. While I
liked him just fine, some apart time would be best for both. It would also keep
Mary focused on the job at hand and not worrying about him getting shot or
killed.

Harvey
was denied a part, and he complained almost as much as Lizzy. Still, as before,
I had to keep some experienced, capable people at home, and he definitely
qualified. Tim Myers also volunteered, but he was still on the punishment work
details. I had spoken with his father, Alan, who assured me that Tim was
behaving. There had been no issues of any sort since I laid down the law, and I
hoped the matter was done with.

As to the
squad members accompanying me, Briana and I made the selection based on which individuals
we thought capable of killing, not necessarily in the heat of combat but
killing in cold blood. This had the potential to get very messy, and while
everyone pretty much hated The Brotherhood, there wasn’t the same long history
as with the raiders. Slaughtering them would be more difficult, psychologically
speaking.

There
was a little grumbling about the entire force being composed of Black Hills
folk, but that was simple enough to squelch. This was our fight. It was our
people who were drugged and fed to the zombies. That made it our
responsibility. Of lesser concern, but still valid, was the fact the
Yellowstone militia had suffered far greater casualties. They really didn’t
have the men to spare right now.

When it
came to weapons, we were armed to the teeth. Each man carried a M-16, half of
which included grenade launchers, one or more pistols, and a sniper rifle. A
few preferred hunting rifles, which served the same purpose even if they did
not appear quite as deadly at first glance. Three SMAWs were also taken. Now that
we knew how effective they were, I decided to give them a real test. On a side
note, I’m willing to bet the two weeks Briana gave Carlson and Carter gets
increased. If they were younger, she probably would’ve had them whipped.

For
vehicles, we had several tractor trailers – these were to move the prisoners –
with Marcus driving one. He was a truck driver by trade and could handle that
duty, although his injuries would keep him out of the fight itself. One of the rigs
hauled a flatbed to which a commercial helicopter was strapped, the same
converted news chopper we used in the battle for Yellowstone. This ensured we
could quickly evacuate any wounded to the Black Hills. Accompanying us were both
Cobras. These spent most of the time in the air scouting the roads. Our Pave
Hawk had been left in Baltis in case it was needed there, or to shuttle Lizzy
and Harvey over should we call for reinforcements.

*
* *

“What do
you want to do?” asked Renee.

I
hesitated, staring at the map which rested on the hood of my Jeep Wrangler.

“The
zombies will reach us in the next twenty or thirty minutes,” she pressed.

“How
many? Best estimate.”

“Xavier
and Ronnie are in agreement that we have over eight hundred moving down the
road, straight for us, strung out for a distance of roughly a mile and a half.”

“We can
take them,” commented Mary, “especially if they’re that spread out.”

“Or we
can have the choppers lead them away,” I countered, “although there aren’t any
really good roads in this area. They might drift back or circle around. We might
run into them a second time, maybe while we’re leaving the lake.”

“I say
we put them down,” suggested Renee. “We move the vehicles out of the way. Then
we establish a firing line and shoot them as they approach. Mary is correct.
The way they’re positioned means it shouldn’t ever be more than fifty or so at
a time.”

We could
handle that, and there was more than enough ammunition on hand to prevent this
diversion from hindering our upcoming assault.

“We’ll pull
back to the curve for the actual shooting.” The spot was a half mile behind us.
“There’s that big grassy area. We can make use of it so the bodies aren’t piled
up on the highway. Stash the trucks and vehicles here.” I tapped a nearby
intersection. “Leave a few guards.”

“Woo Hoo!”
exclaimed Mary. “We get to do a zombie hunt.”

“Extermination,”
corrected Renee. “They’re coming to us. This will be routine.”

“Best
way to do it,” I agreed.

“Well,
I’m going to shoot a bunch, and I plan on having fun,” she pouted, “no matter
how boring you try to make it.”

“In that
case, you get the center with the twins. We’ll have Ronnie and Xavier hover
overhead. They can let us know if any are approaching from other directions.”

“I’ll
have a few guys keep an eye on the rear and sides as well,” remarked Renee. “We
won’t need all that many for the actual killing.”

This
would be the fourth time we had to stop and clear a herd of the shamblers. Four
times, and we were only about halfway to Lake Sakakawea. I know I’ve mentioned
this previously, but the countryside had really grown much more dangerous over
the past year.

“How long
will this delay us?”

“Not
sure, Jacob. We have plenty of light, so if we can get past them in a timely
manner, we should make the campsite before nightfall.”

Based on
satellite imagery, we had selected a wooded area three miles from the lake
shore and about a mile off the highway. The gravel road appeared passable, and
being so far off the beaten path, it was unlikely we would be spotted. The
dangers posed by zombies should be somewhat less as well.

“Are we
going to spend tomorrow resting?” continued Renee, hoping I wasn’t going to
alter – she would probably say mess up – the rather solid plan she’d proposed.

“No changes.
Might delay further if the weather gets bad. I don’t particularly want to be
out on the water if it starts lightning.

“I miss
weather reports,” said Mary, wistfully.

“And how
often did you watch them?”

“Never, but
the people who made them were also the guys who put the stuff on the Internet.
I miss being able to look at my phone and see what’s going on. Make the people
in Hawaii fix it all faster.”

“Not
sure I can do that.”

“No one
can,” said Renee. “We don’t have any ground to argue. It’s amazing they have as
much up and running as they do.”

*
* *

It took
one hour and eighteen minutes to deal with the zombies, excluding a few
stragglers which were too far off to bother with. The killing was straightforward
and efficient, just the way I liked it. We stood in a long line, and whenever a
zombie came close, it was put down. A few of the better marksmen, most notably
Tara and Dale Zablocki, tended to fire at long range. This helped somewhat in
that we ended up with several piles, instead of a single mass of corpses. Bear
in mind that zombies are lousy climbers, and if the stack grew too large they
would simply move around. This sometimes affected our ability to see what was
happening and could result in a wave of the dead unexpectedly crashing against
our line.

The shambling
dead remain creepy. However, my fear of the things is all but gone. Yes, they
remain every bit as dangerous as before. They still refuse to decompose, aside
from the first couple of days. Almost all are nude, their clothes having rotted
away due to sun, wind, rain, snow, and every other nasty thing the environment
could throw at them, and this can be quite distracting. They do not groan,
moan, or make any noise beyond their footfalls. Having one come up behind you
without warning is always a danger. Nonetheless, zombies are slow and stupid.
If a person has a decent weapon, plenty of bullets, and a few buddies to help
out, he can deal with just about anything he comes across. The only really danger
was getting caught unprepared or being forced into a fight against overwhelming
numbers. Either could result in an untimely, not to mention horrible, death.

There
was one thing out of the ordinary that happened while clearing this herd. It
could have been bad, should have been really, but luck was with us. You see, we
were walking past a pile of corpses when a zombie grabbed William’s leg and
sank its teeth into his ankle. The monster had been pinned by the bodies of its
comrades, and the positioning made it difficult to see. Fortunately, William
was wearing leather hunting boots. The cowhide was somewhat chewed, but those
boots saved his life.

*
* *

“What do
you mean Rudy’s turning nice?”

Mary and
Renee were sitting beneath a tree talking while I examined the latest satellite
images. There wasn’t anything in particular I was looking for, and nothing had
changed. But, you can only sit on your ass resting for so long, and that’s all
we’d been doing the past eighteen or so hours.

“He’s
still flirting with any woman he sees, but it isn’t as dirty or suggestive as
it used to be, more like what normal people do.”

“I don’t
know,” said Mary, doubtfully. “That doesn’t sound at all like Rudy.”

“Like I
said, he still flirts with everyone. That hasn’t changed, but the level has
dropped.”

“You
going to start dating him? Tell me you’re not going to sleep with him. He’s
pretty sleazy.”

Mary had
that spot on. Rudy was great at rock climbing. He was a fair medic as well.
Yet, he was difficult to be around, and that grew worse the more time you spent
with him.

“I have
no intention of getting in bed with Rudy.”

It was
good to know Renee’s taste hadn’t gone into the toilet.

“But, I
have had dinner with him a few times, and I figure on doing so again.”

Shame,
Renee. Shame. Shame.

“I think
he might even be growing up.”

Mary
snorted. “He’s already grown up, but I think his brain is frozen at age
twelve.”

“He’s
not that immature,” protested Renee. “Thirteen, maybe, but not twelve.”

They
shared a giggle.

“What
about Michael? I’ve seen the two of you dancing more than once.”