OUTNUMBERED (Book 5) (3 page)
I pulled my Glock from the holster and laid my rifle beside the path. Jesse stooped and did the same. We walked closer; still there was no movement. I drew back my right leg and kicked the bottom of the zombie's crusty left foot as hard as I could muster. The force of the impact moved the leg and made it bend at the knee. Still the creature didn't move.
"Keep a close eye on it while I get my rifle," I told Jesse.
I stepped off the trail to walk past Jesse with the rifle in my hands and slipped the barrel under the naked body. Jesse squatted and had a two-handed grip on his handgun. A hard upward tug on my rifle flipped the corpse over onto its back. A gaping hole was left where the bullets exited. Just so I'd feel safer, I fired a round into the zombie's forehead as it lay staring up at the tree canopy above us.
Jesse said, "It looks like at least one of those bullets went through that little monster's heart."
I grinned broadly. "That's good news if a chest shot will kill them. Our folks will be glad to hear a body shot will work. Some have trouble hitting the top of a skull at a good distance."
We were at Deliverance well before lunch time. Twenty minutes later, Mitch and Paige rushed in and found me and Ed in the armory. "Dad," Paige blurted, "wait till you hear this. Mitch and I sat in our blind all morning working that deer call. We didn't lure any zombies to us, so we left the stand and started back. On the trail, we were about ten feet apart. Mitch was leading. Suddenly, a zombie rushed us from a huge tree about eight feet away. It had its arms spread and its mouth was open. It scared the shit out of me, and I lurched backward away from it and fell on by butt. As I dropped my AK and pulled my Glock—"
"When she fell," Mitch ran with the story, "the zombie hesitated just a split second. I guess it was deciding which of us to go after. That gave me enough time to raise the M16 and fire from the hip at about four feet away. As the barrel rose, I kept pulling the trigger putting three round burst from its crotch up to its neck." He looked at Paige. "She was shooting her .40 caliber non-stop at its chest. All of a sudden, its knees buckled and it keeled over backward. It was dead when it hit the ground. I still put a burst into its brain to be sure. But we're sure the shots to its heart killed it."
I shared my earlier experience that morning with them. Then we wandered throughout the building spreading the news of our morning discoveries with our friends.
Outside by myself, I heard the sounds of tractor engines running under a heavy load. Tony Osmond was plowing the fields before the disk and harrow equipment was pulled over them. If all went well, and the weather cooperated, initial planting was scheduled to begin in two weeks. The two acre vegetable garden was ready to plant, but we were waiting for the threat of heavy frost to pass. This would be our last year at Deliverance, and we'd need enough canned and dried reserve food to last until after the following harvest at our new home site.
I agreed with Kira's feelings about Deliverance. Leaving this place of refuge would be difficult. So many memories had begun in that two-story metal building. Thoughts of Emma still occasionally swirled through my mind. Some memories of our time together would likely remain with me forever. I was positive Kira would understand and encourage them. I supposed she also still had residual feelings for her deceased husband. We wouldn't have married our first mates if we didn't love them dearly. Just because they were past history wasn't reason to deny their existence or the love we'd shared so long ago.
In hindsight, I realized it had been a huge mistake from the beginning to expect to live at Deliverance long-term. At the start of the zombie apocalypse, we'd held out hope that many more humans would survive. None of us was willing to accept the near annihilation of the human race by some devilish undead horror. It was too mind-boggling and unfathomable to even contemplate. How were we to accept the unimaginable before it happened?
As time advanced, I realized how dire and precarious our position had become. Gradually, I accepted that our current location depended on having electricity forever. We were totally electrified: geo-thermal heating and cooling, computers and printers, deep well water pumps, kitchen and laundry appliances, air compressors in the shop, welding machines, lighting, and electric gate openers. All of those conveniences and many more would soon be lost.
We would eventually go in the opposite direction: hand powered tools, water carried from a river or pond, horses and mules to pull equipment, wood fires for heat and cooking, animal fat for lighting, wool from sheep to weave cloth. The challenges for people from an advanced society like ours would be daunting. Like Elsie, a few more might eventually opt out when the hardships became reality and proved to be more than they could bear.
One day after planting began, I discovered something useful in boxes of items I'd stored away after Emma's death. Three aerosol cans stood at the end of a box of miscellaneous junk I'd saved. They were safety air horns left from my fledgling construction company days. They would be useful for people working in the fields, especially youngsters in the vegetable garden, to alert everyone to zombie sightings. I grinned as I recalled a day when Emma snuck up close behind me and Shane and shot off a long blast. We'd been engrossed in studying drawings and panicked when she scared the hell out of us. In retaliation, we put her on the floor and tickled her to the point she could barely breathe between fits of giggles. Those were great times worth remembering.
Even with the additional survivors we'd recruited, we encountered labor shortages. Planting crops took priority and was worked anytime the weather permitted. On random rain shower days, we searched for wild game to feed us, butchered domestic cattle, pigs, or chickens, or hunted zombies. Only when rain poured down relentlessly did a few of our people have a full day off to themselves.
Since discovering zombies could eat and digest other mammals as well as humans, we understood why wild game had become alarmingly scarce. In prior years, rabbits, wild pigs and deer were a primary source of fresh meat. With the luxury of refrigeration, we had taken advantage of plentiful game and froze much of it to use later. Later had come and passed, and we now often found the freezers empty of meat. We were forced to eat more filler foods to stretch the meat supplies. Rice, bean, and potato casserole recipes were being prepared more and more often. Luckily, we had a great chef, and Andrea could season anything to make it flavorful and enjoyable.
During the third week of July, Doc and I were at the barn checking the milk cows. Suddenly a loud irritating noise I knew all too well blasted through the open double doors. Someone working in the garden had activated an air horn; gunshots followed almost immediately. We ran outside with our rifles ready to fire at an encroaching enemy. Instead, we arrived barely in time to catch sight of naked bodies streaking from the edge of the surrounding alfalfa field into the woods. Multiple gunshots chased after them. The four undead monsters held their hands pressed over their ears and sprinted and weaved as if fearing for their lives. I joined the vegetable garden crew after gladly watching two of the zombies stagger and fall. Who would have believed the monster's hearing was so sensitive an air horn would cause them intense pain and make them flee?
The following morning, a crew set out to visit construction supply stores in three towns. They returned with nine cases of air horns. Everyone who ventured outside the protective chain link fence at Deliverance would carry the horns for personal protection. When the crew returned, they confirmed what other trips had indicated: zombie sightings had declined to where seeing them out in the open became rare.
D
oc saw me leave the exercise room and motioned for me to stop and wait for him to catch up. I saw in his expression that something troubled him.
"Let's step outside," he said. I stopped by a table, but he pointed and said, "Farther."
We walked across the open area and stood near the chain link fence. Three others sat fifty feet away taking a break. I glanced upward; the sky had clouded over.
"Tom, I believe we're about to confront a serious problem we've never dealt with before. I've been monitoring the Masters group since they arrived last April. Every time I've examined Joe Hastings and young Ronnie Masters, the data I collect has slowly changed. Their blood pressure is in the dangerous range and it won't respond to medication or diet to lower it. Their pulse rates have elevated to where it is over 130 beats a minute when they're calm and relaxed. During the past three weeks their eyes have colored to pale pink approaching blood shot."
Doc stopped to momentarily close his eyes and take a deep breath. "This morning, I watched them walk away after their exams. They each walk with that curious gait the zombie's exhibit. You know, sort of a half-step now and then. I sincerely believe they are infected, but this is the first time I've seen the transformation take so long. With the original zombies, the full cycle of an infection, other than direct contamination through a bite or scratch, was under three weeks. The Masters came here in late April, and we're now nearing the end August. More than four months have elapsed. I believe Joe and Ronnie are approaching the final stages of the infection and could soon pose a danger to everyone they encounter."
I placed my hand on Doc's shoulder. "Have you told them of your concerns?"
He shook his head. "I've waited until the evidence was irrefutable. We need to discuss it with them and Ronnie's parents to try and learn how they became infected. I feel absolutely terrible about this and dread going to the next steps."
"Me, too," I said, "but it's got to be done before anyone else is attacked and infected. I'll get the leadership committee together, and you can tell them your findings."
We met an hour after supper. We sat around the meeting table: me, Shane, John, Ed, Morgan, Andrea, and Doc. Doc's revelation left all of them aghast. No one wanted to divulge the bad news to Tim and Georgia Masters that their son and a good friend were on a direct course to becoming nasty, deadly zombies.
Andrea asked Doc, "What do you suggest we do?"
"Both patients need to be confined to the isolation cells immediately and held there until the transformation is complete or far enough advanced that it is irrefutable. Of course, if the symptoms disappear, they'll be released."
"And how," Morgan said, "do you intend to break the news to Joe, and to Ronnie and his parents?"
Doc looked at me for support. "First, do all of you accept Doc's findings?" Within ten or so seconds there were yeses or nods from everyone at the table. "Then I think we should get Joe, and Ronnie, and Tim, and Georgia in here now, so all of us can give them the bad news."
Doc had a request. "We also need to learn how they may have become infected. If we can pinpoint the method of contamination, our whole group needs to be made aware of it."
When everyone was gathered, Doc and I explained the issue, and our resulting dilemma, to Joe and the Masters. Doc reiterated the test results and his observations since their arrival.
Ronnie and Joe were visibly shattered and defensive. Their reaction was normal and one we all expected. Who on earth could calmly accept they were slowly evolving into a monster that had to be executed. They each muttered variants of, "No that can't be true, I'm fine, there's got to be a mistake." Both were clearly confused and depressed.
Tim was more defiant and abusive. At the same time Ronnie and Joe spoke, he yelled, "Who the hell do you people think you are, accusing my son and Joe of being infected and telling us you're going to murder them? I'm telling you right now you'll do no such thing based on the word of a horse doctor. It's not going to happen. If they get shot, so will all of you."
Everyone was talking until I banged on the table. "Everyone calm down. No one is going to be taken out and shot. But Ronnie and Joe will be put in holding cells and monitored to see if Doc's prognosis is correct. I'm sorry this has occurred, but the safety of the other sixty-three people here has to be the priority concern."
Tim spoke loudly, "Just because some blasted tests are higher and their eyes are redder doesn't meant they're turning into the undead monsters you're accusing them of being—"
Finally, I overrode his rant. "Tim, stop it now. Joe and Ronnie, we don't understand how this infection or whatever it's called works. We all know that when humans are directly bitten or even scratched to draw blood the transformation to the undead occurs almost instantly. The symptoms you've exhibited are very slow to materialize. Have the two of you had any intimate contact with zombies in the last year?"
They looked at each other and both shook their heads. Joe said, "No, of course not. If we had, we would have turned then."
Doc laid his hand on Joe's arm. "Not that type of contact, Joe. Did you and Ronnie together handle zombie carcasses without gloves or other protective clothing? You could have done it individually or when acting together."
They looked at each other for a long minute. "Me and Ronnie carried a zombie out to a brush pile and threw it up on top. That was the morning Tom and his missus visited." Ronnie nodded slightly. "Then a few days later, two more zombies were shot near the house, and we took them out to the same brush pile and burned all three. That's the only time I've touched them. A day or so later, we came here, and I haven't been near any since then." Ronnie nodded.
Doc was interested. "Did you wear gloves and change your clothes after handling the zombies?" Joe and Ronnie nodded. "When you burned the brush pile did you leave right away or did you hang around to watch it burn."
Joe slumped back in his chair and frowned. Ronnie meekly said, "We stayed a bit and watched the monsters burn."
Doc hesitated then slowly asked, "How was the wind that day? Was it at your back?"
Joe straightened and spoke softly. "It was windy. The direction kept changing and we had to move a couple times because the wood smoke was dense and burned our eyes. We finally left and went back later after the fire died down. The bodies were incinerated, nothing was left of them." He looked to Doc pleadingly. "You really believe we're infected, don't you?"
A tear rolled down Doc's cheek. He couldn't speak, so he nodded slightly. He coughed, removed his glasses, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. The room was silent as we waited. "I don't know for certain, but I strongly suspect you breathed the ash of the zombie's bodies as they burned and were contaminated that way. But there's no way I can pinpoint that as the cause. It's possible, and I believe it's the most probable cause of your infection. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, but I just don't know."
Georgia was devastated and slumped in her chair crying. Tim didn't speak but stared harshly at the committee members as he engaged us one by one.
Shane stood. "Joe and Ronnie, go spend the rest of the evening with your family and friends. I'll meet you at the holding cells at midnight." It was clear he supported the decision, but his sympathetic tone of voice indicated he didn't look forward to implementing it.
The hostile meeting ended, and I went to my quarters to be with Kira and the kids. At quarter of midnight, I met Shane at the cell area. Joe and Ronnie approached sullenly at ten minutes past midnight. They were accompanied by Tim, Georgia, and Nate Robard.
Nate started bellowing from twenty feet away. "What the hell’s wrong with you, Jacobs? There's nothing wrong with these boys that God can't cure. They're not going into those lock-ups. I'll keep them in my custody and take full responsibility for them."
Shane stepped over to the first cell door and swung it open on squeaky hinges. I opened the second door and nodded to Joe. He looked to Tim and Nate pleadingly before he shuffled over and stepped inside. Nate interfered loudly. I closed and locked the door behind Joe. Ronnie walked toward Shane after I silently motioned to that side with my head.
Nate continued to protest. "This isn't right. You have no valid reason to lock those men up and threaten to murder them on the word of an old quack." He punched my chest with his right index finger. Nate gasped and sank to his knees after I gripped the offending digit and bent it backward until he cried out in pain.
"Nate, neither of these men will be harmed unless it is obvious they have fully transitioned into the undead. Doc's observations are valid; he doesn't have an axe to grind with either of them. But they will not be allowed to roam at will and place all of us in danger. You will stay out of this and not get in my face again, or you'll be locked up for your own safety." I released the offending finger and let Nate stand. He rubbed and flexed the finger and stared wide-eyed. Tim had advanced and stood two feet off from me with his fist clenched menacingly. I read in his eyes that he wanted to lash out but knew he had hesitated too long.
I put the keys to the cell locks back in the lockbox and locked it. "Go to bed folks, Ronnie and Joe will be monitored and well cared for. Good night."
I winked at Shane, and we headed for our rooms. When we were out of hearing distance, Shane grinned as he commented, "For a few seconds I thought Tim would attack you. I guess he's smarter than I gave him credit for."
Three days later I was accompanied by Kira, Shane, Ed, John, and Doc. Two large dogs lay in the back of the SUV, drowning in boredom. We were in the Mark Twain Forest in South Central Missouri. The weather was hot, near ninety in the early afternoon. Rain had fallen recently because the ground was moist; it wasn't wet, but under the leaf cover the ground was damp. We covered a lot of miles in the Expedition and inspected many sites. So far we'd come up empty handed. There was something lacking at every possible location: too far from water, no tillable land close by, or small cabins were spread out over too large an area. We wanted all members to be in close proximity for safety and to instill a sense of unity. The one thing we observed at all the locations was wild game. Deer, wild pigs, turkeys and squirrels were abundant. That also indicated a lack of zombies in the area. That alone made us like the area more and more.
Finally, on the third afternoon, we found a site that was suitable to all the members of our exploratory party. A large, abandoned, resort sat atop a wide rock outcropping twenty feet above a fast, meandering river. Scattered around the large main building were twenty cabins of various sizes. The property dropped in elevation until the outlying cabins on each end were near the river level. Some were single buildings, others were duplexes. After cursory inspections, all were found to be in relatively good condition. Rodents had burrowed through walls at several buildings and would need to be forcibly evicted. The roof shingles of about half the structures had deteriorated and needed to be replaced.
Across the potholed oil and chip main road was a twenty acre tract that had been used for overflow auto, camper and motor home parking during special staged events. The faded paint on the deteriorating sign indicated which dirt path customers should turn to. Now, after ten years of neglect, the land was covered with an array of noxious weeds and tree saplings. Many of the trees had grown past ten feet high. I knew Tony would definitely want a diesel powered tractor to reclaim that future parcel of farm land. He'd also want the nineteen mature trees scattered across the acreage taken out, stumps included. Ed and his explosives training would solve the stump and major root problem quickly.
As a group, the six of us wandered through the complex for over an hour. There was a lot to see and many decisions to be made. Then we broke into pairs or individuals and examined the place on our own. At some point, there had been minor vandalism to the main building and several cabins, but overall the site survived the ravages of neglect in good form. The two guard dogs traveling with us made several runs around the perimeter before swimming in the fast and clear but shallow river. Exhausted from their efforts, they made themselves at home and took a nap lying under the small trailer carrying extra fuel and luggage.
Before dusk, we pitched tents, made and ate supper, and discussed details about the new homesite and our proposed move. Ed claimed a cabin on the edge of the complex for the new armory. He'd already planned to place bars on the windows inside and out and reinforce the doors and add multiple new deadbolt locks. He and Marilyn would occupy a cabin twenty feet away. Doc proposed living in two rooms of a four room cabin and using the other two rooms for his medical practice. Another cabin had been reserved to be used as the office. Sadly, we were short at least eight cabins. Additional housing would have to be built before we moved.
As darkness enveloped us, wood was added to the fire, and we lingered to talk several more hours. As we discussed the move, more tasks were identified with each issue we addressed. Before we turned in, Shane said, "It would be easier and more productive to leave a ten or twelve person crew here all winter to accomplish the list of work we've discussed." It was a good idea, but I hesitated to split our group and maintain two camps throughout the winter and early spring.