Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation (6 page)

The plan
was solid. They were going to come at us here, likely on dirt bikes, which
could easily handle the terrain, with a variety of four wheel drive vehicles to
carry supplies. This would also have the effect of keeping the raiders largely
out of sight. It’s easy to watch the highways. They are unobstructed, readily
visible ribbons that naturally draw the eye of anyone flying overhead. The
wilderness, on the other hand, seems to blend. A bright red truck driving
across a meadow might be spotted, but men moving slowly, wearing drab colors
could be overlooked. They would do whatever necessary to offset the advantage
our aircraft held. Yes, it would almost definitely be right here.

“What do
you think?”

Mary
pointed at a nearby rise. “I say we put the camp there. We’ll have the high
ground.”

“Too
many trees. Our vision would be limited. Try again.”

Mary
scowled but didn’t say anything at first, instead marching a quarter mile west
before stopping.

“What
about that one?”

The
mound of earth in question wasn’t as tall as the previous choice, but it was
surrounded by mostly open ground, going out at least a hundred yards.

“Minimal
cover, but anyone up there should have a good line of sight in all directions.
Dale, run on over and take a look. Make sure it has whatever we need.”

He did
so without comment.

“Those
two are pretty quiet,” observed Lieutenant Gikas. He had accompanied us so he
could inform the captain and others in Yellowstone’s leadership where we were
going to set up the base and to issue his own veto if we made a poor choice.

“They
tend to be,” I replied.

“Are
they as good a shot as people say?”

“Hell,
yes!” My daughter was nodding vigorously.

“Mary,
mind you language.”

She gave
me a look and giggled. So much for parental discipline.

Lifting
her radio, she waved at Dale who was by then standing atop the hillock. “When I
wave again, shoot the water bottle.”

Mary
swallowed the last few gulps before setting it on the ground and walking off.

“He’s
about six hundred yards away,” pointed out Gikas.

“That
little?” Mary stepped forward, to stand approximately four feet from the
bottle.

“I don’t
think…”

She
waved, and a bullet struck the target dead center, sending it spinning.

“Now,
both of you tell me if that does or does not deserve a ‘Hell, yes!’.”

The
lieutenant shook his head. “I know you’ve been struggling to stay alive for
more than three years now, but, honestly, there are safer ways to demonstrate
skill.”

“Tara,”
I asked, “was Mary in any danger?”

“No.”

“See,”
declared the teenager, “they really are super good. They can hit anything at
three hundred yards with open sights, and they hit zombies in the head with a
scope at more than a thousand, consistently.”

“Really?”
Gikas turned to regard Tara, then me.

“It’s
true. Like one of my friends said, way back when we first met them, they are
Olympic caliber and definitely among the best ever.”

“My dad
here isn’t nearly as good,” added Mary, “but he has killed enough zombies and
raiders that I don’t feel the need to run away from home or to die from
embarrassment.”

I would
ask Briana to speak with her, but their relationship was like that of sisters. My
sweetie would side with the twerp.

“I’m
solid up to five or six hundred yards, under proper conditions and if I have
the gun braced on something. Most of the militia members are lifelong hunters,
and we have them practice at between two hundred and five hundred yards.” I
noted his quizzical expression. “We found a long stretch of road and drew a
firing line at one end. Then there’s another white line at every hundred yard
mark up to five hundred. We move our targets back and forth.”

Mary
pulled some beef jerky from a pouch on her belt. “They get moved every day too.
We roll dice, for real, to see where.”

“We do
change the ranges daily, to keep people from getting into a rhythm.”

“Good
plan,” he acknowledged. “And while I’m thinking about it, Captain Briggs thinks
we should give you the rank of captain while the Black Hills militia is in the
field.”

“He
should be a general,” protested Mary, only half-jokingly, “or a field marshal.”

“There
are no field marshal’s in the United States,” I commented. “You know that.”

“There
are in
Stratego
.”

“This
isn’t a board game.” I tousled her hair, and Mary slapped my hand away. “I’ll
be going by my name. We have positions and ranks in the militia we set up, but
we don’t use them in any sort of formal way, more for bookkeeping. Considering
how few we are, it’s first name all the time.”

“Whatever
works best,” said Gikas, apparently disinclined to argue and more than a little
disapproving.

Both the
lieutenant and captain were quite formal, as were many of the other soldiers in
Yellowstone. Those who’d ended up with us tended to be much more relaxed. They
sometimes saluted one another, but even that was dying out. There were less
than a dozen in the Black Hills at present, with the most senior being a
sergeant. The way we were affecting their discipline was probably not for the
best.

“More of
the raiders were spotted yesterday, including some children.” Gikas checked
something on his clipboard. It was the old fashioned sort.

“Similar
to the last time,” I murmured.

“How
so?” asked Mary.

“Remember
how they were split up at first and then banded together before hitting Salt
Lake City?”

She
nodded.

“After
they did that, their families were all put in one place and kept there while
they made war on the Ranching Collective and us. Then the raiders split up, and
so did the non-combatants. Well, they are gathering together again, so it
stands to reason that their loved ones will be placed in a single group, to
keep them out of the way and safe.” I turned toward Gikas. “Last time they
fought from Rawlins in Wyoming while they left their kids several hundred miles
away in Utah.”

“From
what we’ve seen recently, they can’t be more than fifty or sixty miles off.”

“That
doesn’t fit the pattern,” I acknowledged, “but I still think they will be in a
single large group prior to any attacks.”

“I bet
they’re worried zombies will get em,” said Mary. “Things are worse than before,
so they want to be able to help if something bad happens.”

“Could
be. The things are everywhere.”

*
* *

We were
almost back to the Jeep – it had been parked on a dirt track a good five miles
from the spot we’d be fortifying – when some locals rushed over to speak with us.

“Did you
see it?”

“See
what?”

I had no
idea what they were talking about.

“The
tiger!”

We all
stopped.

“A
tiger?” asked Mary. “As in orange with stripes?”

One of
the men nodded. “It was a big one. We were checking our snares when it ran
past, grabbed one of the rabbits we caught, and darted off.”

I
smiled. “That would be something to see. It didn’t hurt anyone, did it?”

He shook
his head. “Nah. Just took our dinner and ran away.”

“I’ll
let the captain know about this,” remarked Lieutenant Gikas. “We’ve spotted
some on the west coast, pets, maybe zoo animals, that escaped or were released.
They are going to become an established species soon.”

“Maybe
that will keep them from going extinct,” said Mary. She rounded on the men. “No
shooting the tigers! Unless they try to eat you.”

Interlude – Briana’s Story

“What do
you mean there are forty thousand zombies on the interstate?”

Harlan
Jones, resident expert in charge of our communications system, winced at her harsh
tone. “That’s what the pilot said. There are at least that many marching down
I-90 toward Rapid City. The things are strung out for over ten miles with more
lagging behind.”

“Zombies
bad,” declared Asher. The toddler was sitting on the carpet playing with his
wood trains. He had yet to see one of the monsters with his own eyes, but the
boy knew full well that they were something to be avoided.

“Yes,
they are,” affirmed Briana. “How far away?”

“Maybe
twenty miles from the city limits. They will be inside this time tomorrow.”

“No,
they won’t. Jacob didn’t go through all that trouble clearing the place so it
could be looted to have to restart now. We can’t do it all over again, not with
so many having to go to Yellowstone.”

“Not
much we can do about this,” said Marcus. “That’s too many for us to simply
shoot. We would have to set up firing lines and major obstacles, and we can’t
do that in the time we have.”

While
Briana and I were technically in charge with the nifty titles of consul, it was
standard practice to bring in others whenever anything important arose. The
people consulted varied, based on what was being discussed and who was
available. In this case Marcus, Steph, and Lizzy were participating.

“The
fu…” Lizzy stopped herself, glancing at my son and pointedly avoiding the look
of death Briana was sending her way. “Since we can’t shoot, we get them to go
somewhere else instead.”

“Same
problem,” pointed out Marcus. “That’s too many to risk sending a car out to
lead them away. The driver’s bound to get swarmed.”

“Why do
we have to use a car?” asked Steph. She ran long fingers through her fiery red
hair. The color was spectacular, and it was natural, something that resulted in
widespread irritation and envy among a significant portion of the female
population.

“What?
You want someone on foot to do it?” demanded Lizzy.

Briana
brightened. “How about a plane?”

“Nah,”
replied Marcus. He dug some marbles out of his pocket and sent them rolling
toward Asher. The boy squealed with excitement and promptly began placing them
on the train tracks. “Those move too fast. The dead heads are going to lose
sight right off the bat, and I don’t know if they would follow the sound if
it’s coming from up high.”

“I was
thinking of a helicopter,” continued Steph. “Ronnie takes his out and hovers
just off the ground and moves them down another road away from the city or
maybe gets them turned around so they go back the way they came.”

“Could
work,” said Briana, “and it’s better than the alternatives. Harlan, go find
Ronnie and get him over here, will you?”

“Sure
thing, ma’am.”

My
sweetie repressed a sigh. Briana hated being addressed that way, even if she
was the boss and a mother to boot. I think it made her feel old. Such respect
was the norm however, at least outside our inner circle of longtime friends.

“Not
ma’am, mommy,” corrected Asher, speaking to no one in particular.

“That’s
right.” Briana retrieved a lollipop from a jar on the desk and gave him one.
They were homemade, crafted by Steph and her ingenious cooks. “Here you go.”

“I’ll go
with Ronnie to make sure he doesn’t mess up,” stated Lizzy. “We’ll put some
spotters on the ground too. I can radio them if anything looks funny, so it can
get relayed back here, if we end up past normal range.”

“Not
you,” corrected Briana. “Marcus can go, if he wants.”

“I’m in
charge of security, and this is a security matter,” she protested.

“That’s
stretching things,” commented Steph. “I think you just want out of the Black
Hills for a while. Still mad at Jacob for leaving you behind?”

“I might
be…” Lizzy looked at Asher a second time. “Unfair having the dirty diaper
factory in the room.”

“This is
our living room,” said Briana. “It’s his house. Sides, it’s have Asher here to
keep you in line or get a swear jar, and since we aren’t using money for
anything that wouldn’t work. Anyway, no worrying. I’m sure Jacob is going to
take you when he goes off to fight for real.” She grimaced. It was not a topic
Briana cared for.

“He
better, and Mary needs to stay home this time.”

“I
agree, but Lizzy, you know that’s not likely to happen. She was fighting at
fourteen. Think Jacob will refuse now that she’s sixteen?”

“Girl
can handle a gun as good as anyone,” added Marcus. “She knows what she’s
doing.”

“That’s
not the point!”

“Mommy,
why is Aunt Lizzy mad?”

“Well,
Asher…” Briana picked him up and deposited the child in Lizzy’s large lap.
“…she gets cranky because your sister gets to have more fun than she does.
That’s why her face is turning purple, just like a plum.”

“When’s
Mary coming home?” he asked, addressing his honorary aunt. “What’s a plum?”

“Not
soon enough,” growled Lizzy. She gave him a kiss and plopped him back on the
floor. “Plums are fruit, like apples. Now, go find a marker and draw all over
Marcus’s boots.”

“What I
do? Asher, get back here. She was just kidding. No scribbling on my shoes.”

The
boy’s shoulders slumped. He loved drawing on things.

“You’re
not going to be stuck here chopping down trees and stacking rocks. You get to
have some fun. It’s not fair, and don’t you dare say life rarely is.”

“Speaking
of trees,” began Briana, “we need a whole bunch more. The newcomers might spend
the entire summer with us, and I see no reason to keep them doubled up like
they are now. We should go ahead and build some more cabins, and we can always
use them for other things later.”

“The
area’s getting tapped out,” said Steph. “We cherry picked the best ones already,
and if we keep at it, there won’t be enough left. Remember that rockslide back
in March? We keep cutting for building or firewood, and that sort of thing is
going to happen more often.”

“I can
go out with some flatbed trailers and get them elsewhere,” suggested Lizzy.

“I
suppose that would be best,” agreed Briana, thinking on it. “Marcus, you going
up with Ronnie or would you rather help Lizzy with the lumber?”

“I’ll go
with the sour puss.”

“I am
not…” Lizzy trailed off and took a deep breath.

“Ronnie
can get someone else to spot for him,” he finished. “I don’t like the idea of
flying over so many biters.”

“Get to
it then.” Briana waited for the pair leave before turning to Steph. “What’s up
with Lizzy? She was way more restrained than normal. I didn’t even have to yell
at her for swearing.”

The
redhead snagged one of the lollipops for herself. “No idea. Because Asher is so
cute and easily corruptible?”

“Maybe.
But I’ve seen her that way when the munchkin isn’t around too.” Briana moved
the jar to the side, preventing our son from getting a second treat.

“I want
one,” he announced, in his most demanding tone.

Bad
enough he couldn’t draw on Marcus’s shoes. Asher was not going to be denied a
second time.

“No more
until after dinner, and if you throw a tantrum you’re going right to bed.”

“Want
one! Want one now!”

“Aren’t
you being fussy all of a sudden,” said Steph. “Want me to take him for a bit?”

“No.”
Briana picked Asher up and headed for his bedroom. “He’s been told. It’s night
night for you, young man.”

“It’s
not sleepy time yet!”

The
pouting was on the verge of turning into full bore screaming.

“Are you
going to behave? If not, it’s right to bed. I mean it.”

Asher paused,
looked at Briana’s face, and finally sniffled, wiping his face with one tiny
hand. “Yes, Mommy.”

“Then
you can play some more, but no more candy unless you eat your dinner.”

“You’re
good with him,” observed Steph. “Ready for some more?”

“Please,
I can barely handle the one. How do you get along with four?”

Steph
had a quartet of children, all orphans whom she adopted, ranging between six years
old and ten.

“I
threaten to have Lizzy babysit if they misbehave.”

Briana
laughed. “Ooh, that’s mean.”

“Nah, it
was Lizzy’s idea, sort of. She’s the one who made the threat in the first
place, back when she caught Johnny throwing rocks at one of the cows. I just
built on it.”

*
* *

“I’ll be
starting school up again after the spring planting is completed, same as last
year.”

Briana
and Laura, the head of the valley’s school system, were walking along the
citadel’s battlements, overlooking our bustling town. There were rows and rows
of log cabins, all with a peaked roof, surrounded by a grid of roughhewn, stone
roads. Larger structures were scattered about including chicken coops, stables
for dairy cows, stables for horses, several pubs, and a single church. That was
also composed of logs but possessed two stain glass windows, both of which had
been recovered during a scavenging trip.

“You
need anything special for the kids who just came in?”

“Not
really. Since we have different school houses for each grade, there’s plenty of
room.”

That had
been one of their better ideas. Not only did it save us from having to construct
another large building, always a chore, it also had the effect of lessening
distractions. And, with plenty of people possessing teaching experience or
inclined to give it a shot, staffing was not a problem.

“We need
to increase the focus on traditional academics,” added Laura. “That means
cutting down on the practical stuff, or extending school hours.”

“Really?
Go ahead and extend the hours. The practical classes need to stay as is, at
least for the next few years.”

“Briana,
some of the parents are getting upset. They want their kids studying math and
spelling and history. They don’t want them spending so much time on horseback
riding, animal husbandry, shooting, and so forth. They think of those as
hobbies to do at home or something along the lines of a profession.”

“How
many are bitching?”

Laura
hesitated. “I don’t have a list, but there are six or seven who have met with
me or complained to the actual teachers.”

“Less
than ten.”

“For
everyone who says something, you know there are several more who are quietly
agreeing.”

“Maybe,
but it’s not very many regardless. And do you know why? It’s people understanding
how essential it is to learn these skills. None of their kids are going to be
attending college, probably. Now, I’m not saying mathematics isn’t important,
but being able to survive has to come first.”

“They
don’t like hearing that either.”

“As if I
care.” Briana shook her head. “You wouldn’t think they’d forgotten what it’s
like outside the valley so fast. Maybe we should make them go on a looting run.
Let them do some real work for a change.”

“I’m
going to go ahead and say that that would be a bad idea.”

“Think
they’ll protest?”

Laura
shook her head. “Oh, no. I think they’ll run and hide, scream, or try to claw
your eyes out.”

“Such
babies. Oh, I know what to do.” Briana leaned in close. “I’ll have some people
go out and film the zombies up close, maybe let a few attack Lizzy so she can
whack them in the head with her tire iron, something that shows how dangerous
they are.”

“That
might just work,” admitted Laura, after a lengthy pause. “You know, most
haven’t left the valley since we moved here, and most who did have only gone a
few miles to one of the others next door. A reminder of what’s out there would
be beneficial. I can play them at the schools, have the parents or guardians
come. We already have big screen televisions set up for running educational
videos. What age cut off would you want?”

“What do
you mean cut off? All the adults should see.”

“I meant
the students, the children,” clarified Laura. “Aside from traumatizing the
little ones, most of whom already have issues, you know the zombies are pretty
much all naked. I’m not getting prudish, but do you really want first graders
asking about that?”

While
the shambling dead are immune to decay, their clothing is not. Also, the
quarter of the population who initially fell and re-animated did so in the middle
of the night. These were either nude or clad in flimsy pajamas, nightgowns, or their
underwear, none of which was particularly durable. Even those properly attired
when they changed had spent the past three years shambling about outside, three
years of constant exposure to the elements and the never ceasing movement
common to all zombies. As it stood now, the vast majority were clad in rags or
less, usually less.