Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation (35 page)

She grew
up in a world devoid of the old politics and the near worship the media and
celebrities gave the holder of that office. This assumes the president was a Democrat.
If it was a Republican, they would do little but demean and ridicule him. I was
so glad the overtly partisan main street media was gone. I was less happy about
not having news coverage in general. It took forever to learn what was going on
nowadays.

The
political situation had shifted dramatically as well. You still had liberals
and conservatives and all the variations in between. However, the breakdown was
anything but even. Conservatives survived those initial chaotic days in far
greater numbers. Part of this was due to the tendency of liberals to live in
large cities and conservatives in smaller towns or suburbs. If you doubt this,
look at a map on how counties voted in previous elections. The bulk of the
country will be red with only a few blue dots encompassing the large population
centers, cities which proved to be deathtraps. Then you have the fact that
those to the right were far more likely to own guns. Guns are important during
a zombie uprising. Engaging the shambling dead up close with a baseball bat or
tire iron is something most people have difficulty with, and it’s always risky.

Additionally,
the circumstances afterward lend themselves toward the Republican system. Granted,
housing is provided to everyone, along with food, but that is out of necessity
and is more community driven than government. Also, many liberal policies such
as expansive welfare and social engineering no longer apply. Those programs had
gone the way of the dodo. Taxation was likewise a non-issue. There were no more
rich, no more poor, not in the way they once existed. What mattered most was
self-reliance and hard work. People shifted to the right, even if they did not
realize it. That would change in the generations to come – political winds
always change – but it would take a while.

“Being
president may not be particularly special,” said Briana, “but it is an
important position. He is the leader of our country after all.”

“No,”
countered Mary. “We are an autonomous dictatorship, and you are one of the
dictators.”

“I am a
consul, not a dictator.”

“We do
have pretty much absolute power,” I offered.

Briana
shot me a dirty look.

“The two
of you might hold such authority,” commented Briggs, “but you are so far from
abusing it that no one could honestly label you dictators. And, in case you
haven’t heard the rumors yet, the people here like the idea of a consulship.
Some have talked about amending the Constitution to that end, but I don’t see
this happening. It only works when you have two people who are in general
agreement. I doubt any two politicians would fall into that category.”

“You
can’t trust politicians,” I agreed. “They are all bad.”

“You’re
a politician too,” said Mary, “sort of.”

“Let’s
pretend I’m not.”

*
* *

More
meetings followed. These were varied with the majority involving only myself and
Major Briggs speaking with local military commanders. Now, I have a great deal
of respect for the Army, the Navy, the Marine Corps, and the Air Force. I would
include the Coast Guard but they no longer exist – any surviving personnel had
been absorbed into the Navy – but they have an obsession with paperwork and
formalities. I’ll be the first to admit that standards of behavior, the
constant saluting, and the discipline all exist for exceptionally good reasons,
and if the Black Hills had a proper military instead of a citizen’s militia, we
would do the same. The paperwork however, no, that is the result of
bureaucratic creep. It starts with a small number of necessary reports and
grows and grows and grows until half the force is wasting its time with meaningless
drivel instead of fulfilling the primary role of preparing for combat.

Normally,
Mary would accompany me to take notes, but the talks were not at all important,
and she was having far too much fun playing in the sun and sand. In fact, with
the exception of arranging for a new batch of weapons and the related
ammunition, I don’t think any of it mattered. As if I care about the logistics
of moving men from Hawaii and other outposts to Yellowstone the following
spring. I’m on the receiving end. The government has the planes. They have the
soldiers. They have the refinery that produces fuel. All I can do to help is
guarantee a safe spot to land. The rest is out of my hands.

In
addition to the military / militia conferences, there was one other social event,
a dinner shortly before we were to leave. Before I get to that, let me state
that Briggs, while a proper commissioned officer, was considered to be
essentially the same as me. We both led militias composed of local survivors.
They were not soldiers, and Major Briggs never treated them as such. It was as
if he was on detached duty or something.

To the
social dinner. Okay, this was a momentous occasion with all of us present.
Briana spent most of her time with Christine Lawson. They had their own table
to the side so the children would be out of the way. Several others nearby held
the families of other guests. It is a bit amusing how children are now included
in far more events than in the good old days. I think it is due to the massive
death toll. With so many gone, the little ones are a greater treasure than ever
before.

Mary was
hanging around me. The twins were with Briana, and Major Briggs was off
speaking with Senator Fletchle. I had definitely been wrong about that man. He
was every bit as supportive of the military as Briggs had previously stated. As
a part of this, Fletchle tried to arrange for us to get some fighter jets. I
quickly pointed out that while it was a nice sentiment, I didn’t have any use
for them, not any longer. Instead, I asked for equipment to upgrade our
civilian aircraft, such as the heat sensing technology on the Cessna Kimberly
had flown when we were fighting the prophet. I didn’t expect to get it, but the
senator made it happen. That would be going back with us.

“I’m
bored,” she said.

“This is
getting to me too,” I agreed. “We don’t seem to be as popular as the first time
around.”

“Yeah,
we’re boring now. It’s probably your fault.”

“That or
they’re all afraid you’ll tell them exactly what you think.”

Mary
smirked. “It’s easier than lying, and I always do the easiest thing.”

“You are
pretty lazy, not as much as me of course, since that’s impossible, but a close
second.”

She
looked around. “How much longer until we can go?”

I
shrugged. “Another hour at least. Briana is having fun, so there’s no chance of
prying her away. She looks to be feeling fine too, at the moment, and you know
there’s no way she’ll let that go to waste.”

“God,”
she sighed. “Maybe I should go play with Asher.”

“Don’t
you dare leave me alone. If you do, I’ll have to either mingle or go back to
Briana myself, and I don’t want to listen to another conversation on the best
type of cloth to use for diapers. That’s all those two have been talking
about.”

“Hey,
you were the one who got her pregnant. It’s your fault that Briana is dwelling
on baby stuff.”

I
repressed a sigh of my own. “Don’t I know it. Besides, you shouldn’t be on the
floor while wearing that dress, not unless you want to flash everyone.”

Mary
turned bright scarlet. The gown she was wearing was a present from the
president’s wife. It was a lovely shade of charcoal that went well with Mary’s blonde
hair and fair complexion. There was also a relatively high hem line, and it was
cut in a manner that didn’t lend itself to bending over. This dress was exactly
the sort of thing my daughter should not be wearing, but Briana had declared it
gorgeous, vetoing my objections before I had the chance to utter them.

“The
major is talking to some woman now,” she observed. “Think it’s a girlfriend?
They seem kinda close, and I know he doesn’t have one in Yellowstone.”

“He tell
you that?”

Come to
think of it, I had never heard Major Briggs mention a significant other, nor
had I seen him associate with anyone in a romantic way.

“No,
Michael did. It’s common knowledge over there. The gossip doesn’t ever reach
us.” Mary took another sip of her lemonade. “I wish Michael was here, but I’ll
be able to see him soon.”

“You
should fill a jar with sand,” I suggested, “to give to him.”

She
regarded me carefully. “Whatever for?”

“As a
visual aid for when you’re telling him how great Hawaii was, how nice the beaches
are, how warm the water is, you know, all the things he didn’t get to see.”

“That’s
horrible.”

I
chuckled. “Only a little. Michael will be asking you about everything you did,
so why not have some fun when he does?”

“I am
going to take a little sand back,” she decided, “but I plan on putting it in a
big bowl with Asher’s sea shells on top.”

“The
runt will like that. Let’s try to keep that in the living room though. Just
think of Briana’s reaction if she finds sand all over his room or in the bed.”

One of
the other guests, a senator I thought, staggered past us on his way to the open
bar. It was the fourth time the man had done so since the buffet style dinner
began. Actually, calling it a dinner was an overstatement. There was food, but
it was more along the line of glorified snacks than a true meal.

“We
should take a surfboard home too,” said Mary. “There are lots to choose from
that no one wants.”

“What
would you do with it?”

“Hang it
on the wall. I know, we can have Steph do a tropical style restaurant or bar.
It could be the first decoration she…”

Mary
squealed and spun about, slapping the hand of the inebriated senator. He had
grabbed her backside.

He
leered at her. “Don’t be so…”

Before
Mary could punch him – she was pulling her arm back to do exactly that – I had
my own hand around his neck, and I wasted no time in slamming his head against
the wall. The glass he was holding fell from his grasp and bounced on the
carpet.

“You
ever touch my daughter again…” I bashed him into the sheetrock a second time,
cracking it and leaving a streak of blood on the white paint. “…and I will cut
off your balls, stuff them down your throat…” A third strike. “…and then stake
you out on an ant hill!”

All
three of the security personnel in the room were heading directly for me. Tara
and Dale reached us first.

I let
go, and he fell to the floor.

One of
the police officers – there was no more secret service, but the local
equivalent of law enforcement also doubled as guards for the president, at
least when the military wasn’t doing the job – tried to push past Tara. She
swept his legs out from under him. Before he knew what was happening, he was
flat on his back.

“Tara,
Dale!” ordered Briana. “Stand down. Jacob is through.”

The
siblings glanced at me, but it was over, the man incapable of doing anything.
To be fair, I wanted to hit him again, several times in fact, but I held back.
I’d already broken his nose and knocked out several teeth. Anything more was
going to get me into trouble. My daughter was less concerned about possible
consequences. She grabbed the container of gravy off the serving table and
upended it over the man’s crotch. It wasn’t boiling. At least, I don’t think it
was. He screamed.

“Both of
you!” exclaimed Briana. “I swear I can’t take you anywhere.” She was glaring.
The remainder of the room was deadly silent. “My God. Just kill the fucking pervert
molester next time.”

She
looked over at Christine Lawson apologetically. “Sorry about the mess they
made.”

“Should
we kill him?” asked Dale.

“No
killing,” ordered Major Briggs. He pushed his way through the crowd. “Oh, that
asshole,” he added, looking down and seeing who it was.

Such
comments were not typical of the officer, and I had never heard him speak in that
manner about someone before, not in a public setting.

“Mr.
President,” he continued, “sexual assault of any sort is not tolerated in the
Black Hills or in Yellowstone.”

“We
would string the bastard up for grabbing a child like that.” This came from one
of the Yellowstone officials who’d accompanied the major on this trip.

Mary
stiffened. She hated being referred to as a child.

“Senator
Mons has been drinking,” pointed out the President Lawson.

“No
excuse,” stated Martin, “but a good whipping is in order, at the very least.”

There
was no reaction.

“Look
here. If you allow old men to go around fondling little girls with no
punishment, then Yellowstone is going to go from being autonomous to
independent.”

“Do not
try to coerce me,” said the president, stiffly.

“Okay,
everyone,” declared Major Briggs. “Let’s calm down.”