Refuge From The Dead (Book 1): Lockdown (16 page)

Betty’s eyes widened. She pulled Lindsey’s hands close to her own and smiled. “You’re pregnant?”

“Yeah, I think so. I took a home test and it’s positive,” Lindsey said. She didn’t know whether to smile or burst into tears. She and Michael talked about having another child, but nothing serious. Now she was pregnant in the middle of the apocalypse.

“Honey, I know Michael will want to stay here if he finds out that you’re pregnant. Truth of the matter is that we need to get to Kansas. Now more than ever. They have a medical staff with doctors and everything you’ll need for delivery. That gives us plenty of time to get there before you start showing, so let’s just keep that between us girls, okay?”

Lindsey smiled, holding back tears. “Okay,” she replied meekly. Betty hugged her daughter lovingly.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Michael said, entering the kitchen.

“Not at all sweetie,” Betty said, releasing Lindsey. Lindsey quickly swept away tears before turning to Michael.

Michael held her hands gently. “Everything all right?”

“Just worried about the trip is all, babe. I think I need some rest.”

“Well your dad and I are going down to the basement to get some things to take to Black Mountain, why don’t you and your mom just hang out in here? I don’t want you guys going outside unarmed and unprotected.”

Lindsey made a mock pouting face. “Come on now, Michael Caine. You aren’t trying to be all protective of me, are you?”

Michael didn’t say anything; he just pulled his wife close.

If you only knew how much I want that to be true…

CHAPTER 25

Officer Henderson swung with all her might, connecting the monadnock baton with skull. The resulting bash splattered brains and blood like undercooked gelatin. The batons were wooden, so they broke a little easier than they would have liked, but they had plenty of them. Putnam and Henderson had spent the last twenty minutes hitting the undead with the bumper of the Explorer. Henderson tried Putnam’s idea of hitting them on the move, but the stinging sensation in her hands hadn’t gone away. The idea sounded good on paper, but she couldn’t execute it properly, so to speak. After the third or fourth swing-and-miss in a row, they’d decided to nail the shambling corpses with the business end of the Ford. Once the dead were incapacitated, they went around and put them out of their misery. The latter idea worked much better.

Henderson masked her face as the stench became unbearable. “Jesus, these things reek!”

Putnam laughed. He’d been eating sunflower seeds the entire time. He popped another in his mouth. “Well, they ain’t been dead long. Give ‘em a few months and then they
really
gonna stink.”

Henderson shuddered. “Thanks for that mental image, Putnam.”

Putnam tossed another seed in his mouth and grinned. “Anytime, Janey.”

Henderson wiped off the business end of the baton. “None of this shit seems weird to you. Does it?”

Putnam chewed on his seeds. “Nah. I kinda figured somethin’ like this would happen eventually. All those goddamn viruses, GMOs, insecticides, shit like that. Hell, it’s a wonder this ain’t happened long before now.”

Henderson furrowed her brow. “I didn’t take you for one of those tree-hugging, organic banana-eating assholes, Putnam.”

“I just don’t like nobody fuckin’ with my food,” Putnam said.

Henderson shrugged. “Fair enough, but you seem awfully attached to those sunflower seeds. Don’t you think those things had all those herbicides and whatnot sprayed on ‘em?”

Putnam opened his hand, showing the seeds. “These? Hell, I grew these myself. Didn’t need no Miracle Grow, either. I make a helluva lot of my food myself. I am damn well suited to be just fine nowadays. Just get me out and let me hunt some turkeys. You ever had turkey jerky? Got some deer jerky at home, too.”

Henderson waved him off. “All right, all right
mountain man.
”

“Hey ev’body makes fun of the rednecks til the apocalypse hits. You better be awful glad I’m your friend.”

Another cadaverous sound made its way across the parking lot, followed by the ghastly creature that made it. Henderson and Putnam both stopped and listened for a moment. The lone walker wasn’t far off, but something about the sound drew their attention elsewhere. There wasn’t much for sound to bounce off, so pinpointing a location wasn’t that difficult. There were a few dirt berms at the edge of the parking lot, but this sound emanated from somewhere else.

Henderson tossed the baton to Putnam. “Batter up, big boy.”

Putnam caught the baton, spilling a handful of sunflower seeds. He looked forlornly at the ground as they scattered. “Ah, dammit Janey.”

Henderson laughed and pointed to the general direction of the sound. “Go get it, ya big goon.”

Putnam glared at Henderson. He pointed the baton at her. “I’m gonna get this one, but you got the next three for spillin’ my seeds.”

Henderson rolled her eyes playfully. “Whatever, just go get it!” She hissed.

Putnam meandered over between two cars, trying to pinpoint the sound. After a few seconds, he spotted the lone walker, its shorts caught on the trailer hitch of a pickup truck. Comical as it may have been, he didn’t waste any time dispatching the infected with a swing that Barry Bonds would have been proud of. The monadnock hit with such ferocity that it nearly split the wooden baton in half. Luckily, there were a dozen more in the Explorer. Putnam broke the baton the rest of the way in half, cracking over his knee like an oversized twig.

That’s when he heard Henderson scream.

Putnam looked up smartly, trying to see what caused the fright. Henderson wasn’t one to overreact, so whatever scared her must be something godawful. He ran as fast as he could back to the Explorer, dodging past parked cars as he did.

“Get off me you fuck!” Henderson screamed. Several infected had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. One in particular was wrestling with Henderson, desperately trying to take a chunk out of her. She elbowed the walker in the face, flailing away at it without much effectiveness. The creature knocked her to the ground, pinning her down. Without being able to get her hands up, she was doomed. The infected bit down on her neck, just above her collarbone, making a sickening crunch as it did. Henderson tried to push its face away, but to no avail. The creature simply bit down on her hand, severing two fingers and showering her in more of her own blood.

“Shit! Hang on, Janey!” Putnam yelled. Once he got within a few feet, he reared back with the broken end of the baton and thrust it into the right eye socket of the walker. The creature’s eye exploded in a shower of blood and pus, spraying all over Putnam’s face. It immediately ceased its attacking and fell onto Henderson. Putnam flung the deceased walker off Henderson. Once he did, he saw the severity of her wounds.

“Oh fuck, Janey! Ohshitohshitohshit!” Putnam rambled out. He tore his shirt off and pressed it against the wound on her neck, trying to stem the blood loss. Henderson was already turning a sickly shade of gray; he knew she didn’t have long. The harder he pressed, the more blood pushed through his fingers, oozing across the top of his hand.

Henderson coughed. When she did, it sounded almost like vomit. The blood was already seeping into her lungs, drowning her in her own body fluids. Putnam pressed harder, trying to stop the bleeding.

“I’m so sorry, Janey! Oh shit, I’m sorry!” Putnam blubbered. He was trying not to cry, but the tears were already flowing. He couldn’t help it. It was his fault that Janey Henderson was now bleeding to death in front of him. He reached down and lifted her head up. She was fading fast.

“Hey, Putnam,” Henderson said weakly.

“Yeah, Janey. What is it, honey?”

Henderson’s eyes widened as if she was trying hard to keep them open. “Don’t you let me turn into…one of those…things.”

Putnam nodded vehemently. “Okay, Janey. Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

In his grieving daze, Putnam didn’t notice the other infected slowly shambling behind him, but Henderson did. She reached up and pointed behind him. Putnam turned around and drew his Glock. There were three infected directly in front of him, about thirty feet away. He drew a bead on the first one and fired, striking it directly in the nose and blowing its brains out the back of its head.

“That’s right, motherfuckers! Daddy Putnam got something for your ass!” he screamed. As soon as the first one fell, he aimed at a second and fired. Shoot, adjust, repeat. He fired off three more rounds at oncoming undead, each one hitting home directly in the cranium. As cordite hung in the air, he turned back to Janey Henderson. Whatever life remained in her had left and she lay dead on the ground. Putnam brushed aside tears and aimed the Glock once more.

“I’m sorry, Janey,” Putnam said, and pulled the trigger. Ending Henderson’s suffering was the only thing he could do right now. His body refused to function. Maybe he wasn’t as cut out for this kind of life as he thought. Too much death, destruction, and loss already and it was only the second goddamned day.

The sound of an engine hitting high RPMs drew his attention away for a moment. Putnam looked up, expecting to see a car doing a hundred-plus through the parking lot. Whoever was coming, they were hauling ass.

Putnam reached into the Explorer and grabbed the 870 out of its cradle. As the sound got closer, he racked a round into the chamber and brought it up. Whatever was coming was going to get a load of 00 buckshot if they weren’t careful.

Tires screeched as the SUV came roaring into sight. Putnam stalked forward with the shotgun raised, ready to unload. A white Chevy SUV came barreling into the parking lot, straight towards him. Putnam eased his finger onto the trigger, ready to fire. He slowly squeezed the trigger, but before he could fire a round, he saw a white shirt being waved excitedly. He let off the trigger, but kept the gun raised. The SUV came to a halt about fifty feet in front of him.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! It’s me!”

Zachary Grant came bounding out of the driver’s seat, waving a white shirt in surrender. Putnam lowered the shotgun.

“Dammit, Grant! I almost shot your fuckin’ ass! What the hell do you want?” Putnam yelled. “You done run off once. You had your chance, dick cheese.”

Grant wasn’t listening. He motioned for his passengers to get out of the vehicle. He pointed to the front entrance to the prison, and they ran towards it. Putnam watched in confusion as a young woman and two children ran into Black Mountain’s main entrance. Grant came running up to him.

“Putnam, we need to get inside. Like…now,” Grant said exasperatedly.

“What the fuck are ya’ll doin’? Why you haulin’ so much ass up here?” Putnam asked, looking behind Grant as he did.

Grant smiled, placing his hand on Putnam’s shoulder. “Buddy, if you only knew how many of those zombies are on their way up here, you’d be haulin’ ass, too.”

CHAPTER 26

Travis Pierce’s basement was a gun lover’s wet dream. The fully furnished basement was nice enough on its own. Travis had a pool table, bar, eighty-two inch LCD TV, and wall safes lining two of the walls. Both of the wall safes were hidden, of course, but what was locked up in them made plenty of noise. Two rows of rifles were nothing but M4s, not civilian AR-15s that only fired semi-auto, but fully automatic, military grade M4s. Michael looked at the rifles in awe.

“Do I even want to know how you got hold of these, Travis?” Michael asked.

“Nicaragua had a really bad arms smuggling problem about twenty years ago…” Travis started.

“I get it. Don’t ask questions that I don’t want the answers to. Understood,” Michael said, browsing through the rows of rifles. “That being said, do you have any more of those HK416s?”

“No, but I have a SCAR L that hasn’t had a round shot through it yet,” Travis said, laughing. “That HK416 came from a buddy at the Capitol Police. They’re damn hard to come by.”

Michael eyed the desert tan rifle. The SCAR L (Special Operations Forces Combat Assault Rifle – Light) was a 5.56mm assault rifle used by America’s elite forces such as Navy SEALs and USAF Special Tactics Officers. The rifle was originally set to replace the oft-used M4, but for some reason, the US Army decided not to use it, despite its clear superiority to the M4 platform.

Michael grabbed the rifle from the rack. It’d been a while since he’d held one. During the academy, he’d only fired ten rounds through an AR-15 that desperately needed cleaning. Being an ex-military man, he was tasked with cleaning the thing once he’d finished. Half the class he was assigned to had no idea how to shoot weapons, let alone clean them. Those were the kind of people he’d just defended to Travis Pierce. The kind of people that liberal America had deemed to be “good citizens” because they didn’t believe in owning guns, let alone use them. In his haste to defend the bleeding hearts, he’d forgotten what a pain in the ass they’d been for the last eight years. They were the kind of people that didn’t believe in “shaming” someone simply because they couldn’t keep up with the rest of the population. They gave kids “participation trophies” for simply showing up to sports. The sad fact was that not everyone was suited for certain things. It wasn’t a sleight against kids for not making the team. It was simply natural selection. The more he thought about it, the more he realized what he’d resigned himself to doing. He was going to have to go out and save people with the survival instincts of a dead possum. People who didn’t believe in what he’d done in Iraq in the defense of the freedoms that those same people so disappointingly took for granted. It reminded Michael of a song he’d heard a couple years back.
How does it feel to know that someone’s kid in the heart of America has blood on their hands, fighting to defend your rights so you can maintain a lifestyle that insults its very existence?
Truer words have never been said.

They never contributed a fucking thing to the country they love to criticize.

Damn right,
Michael thought.
Too bad I still have a conscience.

“How many weapons are at Black Mountain? I assume they still use the .40 Glock, .223, and 870 shotgun?” Travis asked, breaking Michael away from his thoughts.

Michael thought for a moment. He honestly had no idea. He’d heard one officer say that there were enough to arm an entire shift with firearms, but he hadn’t paid attention to the exact numbers of guns.

“Somewhere around forty to fifty total. I know we don’t have a lot of ARs, but I know they have at least twenty Glock 23s. Why do you ask? We got plenty of guns here, that’s for damn sure.”

Travis patted his HK416. “You think I’m going to let those assholes use my good shit? Hell no! They can have ammo, but I’m keeping my good shit for our trip. The safes are fireproof and next to impossible to break into. Whenever we decide to head out west we’ll stop by and get the rest.”

Michael sighed. “All right. Fair enough. So what do you want to take with us?”

“Take the 5.56, .40, and twelve gauge shells. We’ll have enough for us and enough to give them a little. I assume they have some extra ammo?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, a couple thousand rounds total.”

Travis stared at Michael for a long moment. “You sure about this, Michael?”

“About helping people? Yes. About whether or not they deserve it? I’ll plead the fifth,”

“Look it don’t matter if they deserve it or not. Like you said, it’s up to the sheepdogs to keep the wolves away. The longer this…whatever it is goes on, the longer people will start to take advantage of the weak and less able. I ain’t no saint when it comes to my past, but I’ve helped people get rid of dictators, drug lords, and other generally shitty fucking people. People aren’t generally good deep down, I don’t give a shit what they say, but they do have one thing in common.”

“What’s that?” Michael asked.

“They want to live.”

“So do I, Travis. So do I,” Michael said.

“Well, then let’s get loaded up and head to Black Mountain. We can always make another trip back down here if need be. We can bug out of the prison and be back here in ten minutes or so. I know you mean well, but I don’t go anywhere without a backup plan,” Travis said, and head back upstairs.

Michael let out a sigh of relief. Just being around Travis made him nervous. Hell, it made him nervous when he
didn’t
know about his past. The man just had a presence about him. It was the kind of presence that he would need to back him up on difficult decisions. If he could convince Travis to stay at Black Mountain long enough, it had the possibility to do something truly great. Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn’t, it was too difficult to tell. Travis’ idea of goin out to Kansas was great and all, but he didn’t relish the idea of leaving his corner of Virginia. Aside from being in the Army and the places he’d seen while training and deployed, he’d rarely left Virginia. There was something about the mountains and the way the sky looked when it was about to snow. There was a veil of privacy to the mountains, as if nothing bad could get through them. They seemed like curtains meant to hold the terrors of the world at bay. Obviously, they didn’t work. The world had unraveled at the seams. The curtains had parted.

It was time for humanity to take a bow.

* * *

Captain Winston stared at the monitors, although he really didn’t need to. The rattling of the chain link was plenty audible, even through the thick glass of Master Control. Winston wasn’t able to count all the undead, but they numbered at least a hundred. Most of them were banging away at the fences, trying to get to their cheese at the center of the maze. Winston hung his head.

“Alpha building is full of fucking zombies. The goddamn parking lot is full of zombies. Now, the goddamn fences are lined with zombies. That about sum it up?” Winston asked rhetorically.

Zachary Grant was still trying to catch his breath. Running for your life was good exercise. As he slowed his breathing, he tried to explain what exactly was happening.

“Look, Captain. Those damn generators make a shitload of noise. You can hear them from the bottom of the hill, and that’s three-quarters of a mile away. Once one of those dead things hears another one, they follow. One becomes two, two becomes four, well, you get the picture.”

“We have enough ammo to take care of all of them, sir. We can tell the tower officers to start getting them off the fence. Shouldn’t take but a few minutes,” Lane suggested, pointing at the monitor.

Winston shook his head. “If the noise from the generators draws ‘em here, what do you think firing off a couple hundred rounds will do?”

Lane sat down, dejected once again. It was starting to give her a complex. If she wasn’t built for this kind of world, it was going to kill her quickly.

“How did the drive-by-mailbox-baseball approach go?” Winston asked.

“It got one officer killed, sir. That’s how it went,” Putnam said sarcastically.

“Well I am all for any better ideas, Putnam! You got any? No? Then shut the fuck up!” Winston yelled.

Putnam looked up indignantly. He wasn’t one for talking out his problems and he damn sure wasn’t one for taking shit from the brass, despite the situation.

“Fuck you, Winston. I did what I could to help Henderson. If you got a problem with my tone, you can shove it up your ass. Why don’t you turn the fucking generator off?”

“Fat lot of fucking good that will do, Putnam!” Winston said, pointing outside. “They’re already fucking here!”

“I’ve had about enough of your bullshit, Winston! If you want to kill the fuckin’ zombies on the fuckin’ gate, then you can do it your
fuckin’ self!
” Putnam screamed, quickly getting up out of his chair.

Grant could see the fracas that was about to ensue, so he stepped forward and put himself between the two men, placing a hand in each one’s chest.

“If ya’ll want to measure dicks, then I suggest you do it out of sight of the lady here,” Grant said.

Putnam turned his anger towards Grant. “I ain’t in the mood for fuckin’ jokes, Grant.”

Grant turned to Putnam. “And I’m not in the mood for you two to beat the shit out of each other. Fact of the matter is we need to take care of these dead fuckers outside.”

“And what about the pod full of ‘em in Alpha? What the fuck does Captain America plan on doing about that?” Putnam asked.

“Why? What happened in Alpha?”

“Captain here almost got himself killed when he tried to clear out Alpha. Bill Young damn near put a bullet in his ass. If it weren’t for Henderson, your ass would be fucking dead right now. You know that, Winston? Why don’t you show a little fuckin’ respect? She’s dead, and you’re alive. Don’t fuckin’ take that for granted.”

As much as Winston wanted to argue, he couldn’t. Lack of sleep combined with overwhelming stress was getting to him, and fast. In fact, he could almost feel his arteries narrowing as he waited. A sharp pain started on the left side of his chest, followed by a radiating pain to his neck and shoulder. At first, he dismissed it as gas, but as the pain started to run up his jaw, he got dizzy. Winston instinctively clutched his chest.

The world spun. The ground seem to fall away slowly. It was such an odd feeling. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, but the fact he couldn’t breathe gave him a spat of panic. He felt unsteady on his feet. His legs were tubes of flesh void of any solidity that might be able to hold up his two-hundred-pound frame. His knees started to become weak and buckled.

“Shit…” Winston started. As blackness started to creep in, he watched as Putnam, Lane, and Grant laid him down on the floor. He didn’t actually see it, but he knew they were doing CPR on him. For some reason, he couldn’t move, though. There he was, leaving his body, dying of a heart attack in the middle of the zombie apocalypse. Captain Robert Winston wasn’t prepared to die, so his last parting thought was somewhat abstract.

I’d love to have some blueberry pancakes right now…