Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation (40 page)

Excluding
the mental breakdown coming from the jihadists, you just have to love how fast
and easy diplomacy can be when most of the world was shambling about trying to
feast on the living. Actually, I think it was the elimination of the
bureaucrats and trained diplomats that allowed things to get sorted so quickly.
The vast tracts of land available and the fact that it would be centuries
before the population was large enough to even begin to make use of it all had to
help.

For
those paying attention, you may have noticed that a fair portion of the Earth
has not been mentioned. If not, shame for failing geography. Australia and New
Zealand were to be left alone for the next fifteen years at which time world leaders
would meet to discuss what, if anything, should be done with them. The same was
held for all of Africa, minus the large piece of Egypt claimed by Israel.
Antarctica was decreed to be international territory, as before, and used
solely for research.

And
while on this spree of treaties and agreements, the governments decided to ban
all large scale fishing for the next forty years. At the moment this means
nothing since the only fishing boats are little ones with similarly tiny nets.
This more than covers everyone’s needs, but between prior overfishing and
pollution killing off so much, it was a good idea. Four decades might be enough
for nature to repair the damage on her own.

Whaling
was also addressed, due to the fact that a single animal can feed a coastal village
for months. The old ban that most of the world honored was dropped. In its
place is a catch limit. For Beluga whales, found in the Arctic and of interest
only to Russia, it is fifty a year, growing to one hundred in the second
decade, then one hundred fifty, and finally two hundred. Minke whales are at
two hundred per nation, per year. Only Japan is likely to hunt them, and they are
abundant and in no danger of going extinct. Finally, we have sperm whales.
These are capped at fifty per year for each of the six nations / alliances. This
does not include the Caliphate which did not participate in the talks. All
other whales are to be left alone. Realistically, very few are likely to be
taken, but for whatever reason the powers that be decided an actual treaty was
necessary.

One
final bit of international news, the Caliphate is on the move. They have
rounded up the majority of their people and are heading for Saudi Arabia. Women
and children are largely going by ship with the men moving along the coast or
cross country. It is a massive migration effort, and their goal appears to be
the city of Mecca. I suppose they want to reclaim it, maybe as their capital.

*
* *

The
following day, I met with Randall to discuss the ongoing stone house project.
This was currently the item of greatest interest within our community and as
such was also the source of most of the problems. Everyone wanted one of the
new places, a perfectly understandable desire. Unfortunately, there was no way
we could build them fast. Log cabins were quick and easy. An experienced team
could erect the walls in less than a day. The roof and finishing work didn’t
take much longer. Stone was more complicated. To begin with, we could only
build when the weather was good. Once the temperature dropped, the curing of
concrete was affected. Mind you, we could continue inside stuff, like laying
floors, but that wasn’t the hard or time consuming part. It was the
foundations, walls, and roofs that caused the difficulties, and those were
dependent upon the seasons.

“How
much longer can you keep going?”

Randall
settled his huge bulk on a wood bench. It groaned beneath his weight, and I
briefly wondered if it would break.

“The
first snow is usually in October,” he said. “By November we are solidly in
winter. I think we are good through September with maybe a few weeks past that
if lucky. I’ve set my schedule to ensure all the core construction is done before
then. Nothing will be left half finished. I should have the last of the new
families inside their homes sometime after Halloween.”

 “What’s
the plan then? I know winter sucks, but if we can get anything done, we might
as well.”

“I’ll
mark out the future construction sites, and I will spend some time considering
a sewage system.”

“Really?”
That was a wonderful idea, and Briana would love it. “Can we do that, with what
we have?”

“I can
dig down under the streets. With our layout we already have nice straight
routes. I will require heavy equipment, which we currently do not have.” He
paused. “It would be easier to relocate to Custer and repair their system.”

“That
won’t happen. We all like our valley too much to leave, and you have to admit that
it is nice, even discounting the safety it presents.”

“I am
glad that everyone likes the valley wall I built, and I don’t mind the races
kids have across the top. However, I’m not too fond of them trying to climb it,
not at all a smart thing to do.”

“Be
fair. That only happened the two times, and Briana put an end to it by telling
everyone that Lizzy got to punish those misbehaving.”

He
scowled at the mention of my longtime friend. The two worked well enough
together but did not get along on a personal basis.

“The
citadel is pretty too,” I continued. “Give it twenty years, and that will be a
photo spot for tourists coming in from the islands.”

“I do
good work,” he agreed. “As to the sewage system, I am envisioning a dual
purpose sewer and storm drain. It will be for Baltis, the citadel, and
Venusville. The farms will be left with ordinary septic tanks, although we can
likely have real water pumped to them in a few years. I am going to build a
wall around both Baltis and Venusville as well.”

“A wall?”
A quizzical look crossed my face. “Whatever for?”

While we
had originally considered putting a wall around the town, that plan had quickly
been dropped as both redundant and unnecessary. The outer valley wall was tall
and solid. If something was strong enough to get past that, it would surely
overwhelm a perimeter wall around the town, which would be much longer and correspondingly
harder to defend.

“I want
to mark the boundaries of both towns. You’re right, Jacob. We do have a nice
valley. At present, most of it is either farms or open areas, and I want it to
stay that way. Do you remember all the towns that used to be so picturesque and
then turned into monstrosities?”

I
nodded. There was no shortage of that in the old world.

“We have
endless land to develop or reclaim,” continued Randall. “There is no need to
ruin this place. I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I want to put a wall
around Venusville and Baltis to mark the town boundaries. That will prevent
them from growing any larger. The farms will stay. The open areas where the
horses wander and children play will stay as well.”

“That’s
a pretty good idea. I’m all for it, and Briana will be even more so. Trust me
on that one. What sort of walls are we talking about, and how much will these
detract from the houses. I hate to say it, but people will be really pissed if
we delay getting them into nicer places without a good excuse.”

Randall
flipped through his binder before passing it to me. “I picture two feet thick,
seven feet high, with openings scattered about, not just where roads go
through. They are going to be ornamental. A circular road will run along the
inside giving easy access to any point in the town. I can put large parks along
the walls between them and the road, proper ones consisting of green space for
families to enjoy. I may have this span the entire length with bike and jogging
trails going around the town.”

“Let’s
do the latter, for Baltis at least. We can easily have a park that wraps around
it, except where the citadel is located since the stone hill it’s sitting on
will get in the way. We can put in more playgrounds, maybe some pavilions for
picnics. There should definitely be bike and walking trails. However, Venusville
is more of a militia base. That’s bound to change at some point, but because it
is so much smaller, I would only put in a few things, maybe two or three small parks,
and skip the trails altogether.”

His huge
head dipped slightly. “I’ll work on those changes and get some outlines and
sketches to you later this year.”

“Will
this mess up our house construction? Not to be pushing, Randall, but I do need
to know.”

“Anything
we do will subtract from that. We only have so much labor. It’s a zero sum
game. But, it won’t be by much, and I think everyone will like the idea of more
recreation areas, proper ones that are more than an open area between cabins. It
will have to wait until spring. No way around that.”

I wasn’t
looking forward to the winter either. The last few had been harsh, and I saw
nothing to indicate this one would be any better.

“Anything
else we can do in the meantime?”

“Not
really. I will have my people fixing whatever needs fixing. Otherwise they will
be gathering building supplies, mostly stone, and sorting it by size and shape.
It’s boring and dull.”

“That’s
putting it mildly.”

Randall
smiled. “Tedious and hard. Still, we will have plenty ready for when the snow
melts and we can get back to work. Things can get moving sooner next year.”

*
* *

One
final event for this chapter of my ongoing, horrendous, sometimes boring,
sometimes exciting tale of survival in the never ending zombie apocalypse. I
was coming back from a meeting with Marcus concerning the need to get specific
spare parts for the big rigs when I passed by the cabin Michael shared with his
uncle. The teenager was outside with Mary. The two were talking softly; then he
gave her a goodnight kiss. Mary pranced off, stopped once to wave, and hurried
on toward the citadel and our house.

The
thought of jumping out of the shadows occurred to me, and I did feel an urge to
embarrass them both. Shame on me. I really was getting a bit mean with my
teasing. I didn’t do it. Instead, I let them enjoy the moment. I suppose I
really am capable of repressing my intense desire for silly entertainment.
Whatever. The two were behaving, and I do like Michael. They could continue their
romance.

You
might ask how I knew they weren’t doing anything unacceptable. Well, keep on
pondering that one. I am not about to share my secrets. They are mine and mine
alone. Some things should never see the light of day. Certain tactics and
strategies are not to be shared. Nope, I ain’t telling.

Before
continuing on my way I lifted a hand to Tara who returned the friendly gesture.
Dale, who was on the opposite side of the road thirty yards away, lifted his
night vision goggles and likewise acknowledged my presence.

Interlude – Meredith’s Story

Here’s a
new one for my readers, who are most likely bored out of their minds. Sad to
say, this short interlude is not going to quench your thirst for bloodshed,
violence, gore, brutality, or zombie mayhem. Instead, you will be lulled to
sleep or possibly amused, depending on individual personality traits. Anyway, this
is the abbreviated tale of Meredith, one of the multitude living beside us in
Baltis. Born and raised in northern Colorado, she escaped with her two
children, currently ages nine and eleven, into the wilds of Wyoming during the
early days of the apocalypse. Her husband, unfortunately, was unable to
accompany them, having fallen that first day.

Traveling
on foot, the trio eventually encountered one of the local ranchers. They were
hungry, dehydrated, and close to collapse. All were having extreme difficulty
walking, their feet covered with blisters and sores. Even so, Meredith had
enough sense to shout out that she was not infected, that she and her babies
needed help. Due to their awkward, unsteady gait, all sorts of unpleasantness
might have resulted otherwise.

They
were taken to the fellow’s home so their injuries could be tended. A few days
later, they were handed off to the newly formed Ranching Collective, a term
coined by Mary to describe the loosely connected system of refugee camps and
ranches in Central Wyoming. Meredith went on to survive the prophet’s invasion,
being among the first to relocate to our settlement within the Nebraska
National Forest. Likewise, she and her children were included in one of the
early groups when we moved to the Black Hills.

Since
then she has lived quietly in the valley, adding a pair of adoptions to her
family. These children are currently seven and twelve. Let’s pause and consider
this for a moment. Meredith, a single mother, has four children. The youngest
is seven. The oldest is twelve. All of them are boys. My heart goes out to her.
Mind you, boys are way, way, super way less stress and worry than girls.
However, that doesn’t mean they aren’t getting into all sorts of trouble, and I
can say this with complete certainty because I have access to the disciplinary records.

*
* *

“Who’s
ready for the very first drawing!” yelled Mary.

We
originally planned on having Briana host the selection. Her all the time
sickness, a constant when she was carrying Asher and remaining so with the new
baby, nixed that. I wasn’t comfortable with the social aspects of my position –
this is one of the reasons why Briana handles most of the day to day business –
so I quickly demurred. Mary, our ultra extrovert in the extreme, jumped at the
chance to take over. I had no objections, and my wife was too busy throwing up
to give her opinion.

“Mary!”
giggled Asher. He was on top of my shoulders so he could better see what was
happening. “Mary! Mary!”

She
threw him a smile and reached into the first bucket, eyes closed, and pulled
out a golf ball. Each ball was numbered, and each number corresponded to an
adult’s name. Because there were several different sizes, we had established
guidelines on what could be sought based on the number within the household.
There were single bedroom cottages, double bedroom homes, and three bedroom
mansions, for lack of a better term. This first selection was for one of those.

“Okay, I
have the ball. It is white. It is shiny. It has all these little bumps on it,
no idea why. Could be golf chicken pox.” Mary laughed. “Let’s hope not. There
is also a number. Does anyone want to know what it is?”

“Yes!” came
the chorus.

“You’ll
have to bribe me if you want to know.”

Silence
fell on the crowd.

“Come on
now. You all know I’m dishonest and corrupt.”

“I’ll
give you two blueberries and one rock,” said Conrad.

“Hey! Doing
my job is going to cost you way more than two blueberries and a rock.”

“You
really are crooked,” observed Michael. “How about three blueberries and two
rocks?”

Asher
was laughing. I’m not certain if he understood what was happening or not, but
he was definitely enjoying himself.

“Seven blueberries,
two rocks, and one apple,” called someone else, “and nothing more.”

“Boo!” I
couldn’t even begin to tell who was shouting. “A baker’s dozen of blueberries,
and eight strawberries!”

“You
should slap the brat,” hissed Lizzy. “This is getting out of hand.”

“Slapping
is bad,” declared Asher.

“That’s
right,” I agreed. “Shame on Aunt Lizzy. She’s being naughty.”

“What!
Who are you to call me naughty?”

“Santa
doesn’t like naughty,” said Asher, with complete seriousness. “He’ll give you
coal.”

“Santa doesn’t
like silly little boys either,” she snapped, before reaching up to tickle his
ribs.

The
toddler let out a squeal and almost lost his grip. Lizzy moved fast and plucked
him from my shoulders. Placing him on the ground, she continued the merciless
tickling.

“No
abusing my brother!” shouted Mary. “Cut it out, or I’ll throw all the berries
I’m going to get at you!”

“You
really think this group is going to pay up?” she fired back.

Mary
hesitated and began to glare at the audience. “You better not be thinking about
cheating me. Only I get to break the rules. That’s cause I’m more special than
anyone else.”

“For
God’s sake, child,” declared Steph. “Enough with the fun. Tell us who the
winner is or else you will be spending the next two nights scrubbing all the
pots in the main dining hall by yourself.”

“Unfair!
That’s Mary abuse, but since you are such a mean, violent person – I think it’s
the red hair that does it – I suppose I can let you know.” She double checked
the golf ball she was holding. “It is number nineteen, lucky nineteen. Okay,
who is that?”

Randall,
who was standing beside me and Lizzy, checked his clipboard. “Nineteen, for a
three bedroom house, is Meredith Parker.”

“Meredith!”
shrieked my daughter. “Come on down and see your prize!”

For an
instant I wondered if she ever watched game shows, way back when.

“Meredith.
Meredith! No lollygagging and looking all unbelieving. You really did win.”

One of
her sons pulled on her sleeve. “Mom.”

“I… I’m
sorry.” She hurried forward with her brood in tow. “I really did win?”

“You are
the winner,” confirmed Mary. “Congrats. And this is your house.”

The
structure in question was very similar to the one my family occupied. There was
a large living room and an attached kitchen, essentially an alcove off the living
room itself. Rounding out the downstairs was a small workroom and a washroom.
The latter contained a bathtub suitable for proper bathing, if you wanted to
haul buckets of water in one at a time and heat them on the stove, or for the
more common sponge bath. There was also a built in seat with a spot below for
the chamber pot. Squatting over one of those could be very uncomfortable.
Sticking them beneath a specially made chair, complete with the requisite hole,
was far better. Upstairs there were three bedrooms and a lone hall closet. None
of our structures have much in the way of storage space, but we’d all learned
to use trunks and freestanding wardrobes long ago.

“It’s
lovely,” said Meredith. A tear formed in her eye.

“Ah…”
Mary was quiet for a moment, not that this lasted long. “I know you’ve seen the
inside already…” There had been an open house of all the new homes the day
before. “…so I won’t bother describing it in too much detail, other than to say
I picked out a new rug for you. It has a big picture of a lion wearing a top
hat on it.”

Silence
again fell upon the crowd.

“I’m
kidding.” Mary frowned. “Honestly. My taste is better than that.”

“Your
taste is not,” countered Lizzy.

“You
can’t eat Mary!” shrieked Asher.

“Eat?”
Lizzy picked him up.

“You
said ‘tastes’.” He poked Lizzy in the shoulder with one tiny finger. I think he
got that bad habit from Briana, maybe Mary. It certainly did not come from me.
I have no bad habits. “No eating Mary.”

I could
not restrain my laughter. Neither could Randall.

“Then
I’m going to eat you instead, and tickle you some more too!”

Giggling,
he managed to squirm free and darted off with Lizzy in pursuit. We might not
see it often, next to never in fact, but the woman does have a soft, nurturing
side.