Six Feet From Hell: Crisis (10 page)

CHAPTER 13

The world slowly passed by as Joe, Jamie, Balboa, and Rick watched. The once proud and well-to-do area of Lexington that surrounded them looked like a shell of its former self. The remains of houses here, the burnt-out shell of another there, all wasted buildings now. Most of them did not have a roof nor windows, their weak points exploited and hammered by Mother Nature for nearly a decade. The snow continued to fall in droves, obscuring the way forward at times and blowing through the derelict houses like confetti for a party long since gone. 

Traveling down the lonesome highway, Joe was reminded how much he missed life before the undead. Having fought his way across half the country, he was beginning to wish that he’d just stayed at the house in Rural Retreat. Virginia seemed like a lifetime ago. A lifetime that had been divided into
before
and
after
parts. The
before
part involved working forty hours or more a week and coming home. Home was a well-defined place, not where you could just lay your head for the night, with a roof over you providing cover from the elements. Such simple things had evaded him for the last nine years. ‘Home’ such as it was now, was that exact thing: merely a roof over your head and protection from the rain, snow, wind, and heat. The
after
now consisted of scavenging, fighting, and generally surviving from day-to-day.

Joe waited patiently for Jim to answer him as the Humvee scooted along slowly. After a few seconds, he did.

“What, y’all haven’t had any run-ins with those assholes? Damn, son. Y’all are lucky, that’s all I gotta say,” Jim answered, shifting in his seat. “They’re just some merry bunch of idiots that think this world has reverted back to the Old West. They are the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kind. We never had a problem with ‘em ‘til about a year or so ago.”

“A year ago? What happened then?” Joe asked curiously.

Jim wheeled the Humvee down what was once a four-lane highway. “About a year ago they came by the outpost in Lexington. They didn't want to trade much and didn't offer much whatsoever, so we didn't think anything of it. They came by a couple times and asked us if we still believed that the United States government was gonna come and save us all. Of course, we had given up on the government a long time ago, just like everybody else had. They wanted to know if we considered ourselves ‘patriots.’ We told em ‘of course we do.’ Once they heard that, then all of a sudden they wanted to be all buddy-buddy with us. They said that they were rounding up all the patriots left in America.”

“Rounding them up for what?” Jamie asked from his uncomfortable position in the middle of the Humvee.

Jim looked back at Jamie. “That’s what we wanted to know. They said they wanted good, strong, able-bodied men to join up with them to take back Washington D.C. and ‘restore the nation,’ as they put it. Of course, some of our guys were all for it. They offered food, protection, and the promise of great rewards for anyone who joined up with ‘em. I could see through their bullshit, though, and turned ‘em down. I told ‘em that an old man had no place in fighting anything other than to keep his family safe.”

“So what happened after they got some of your people?” Joe asked.

“Well, they stayed gone for a good while. Probably didn't see ‘em again until about three months ago. I told ‘em that we didn't have any more people willing to join up with ‘em and that they should just go about their business. They didn't like hearing that. They camped outside of the outpost in Lexington for a couple hours. We couldn’t tell what they were up to until we heard the helicopter coming in. By that time, it was too late. Once the chopper got there, they assaulted the outpost. We tried to hold ‘em off as best we could, but we were no match for the hardware they had. Military-grade stuff: grenade launchers, machine guns, and the like.”

“Let me guess, they were led by a man that calls himself ‘The Captain.’” Joe shook his head and came to the realization quickly who these supposed “Peacemakers’ were. “So after that is when you guys took off from Lexington?”

“Yep. We were on the move for about a month or so, trying to find somewhere to fortify. They said something about their leader; if I'm not mistaken, that’s what they called him. Some one-legged guy that cut his own leg off to survive. Said something about getting shot years ago.”

Joe grinned a little at the mention of the Captain being shot. He was nearly certain during the exchange of gunfire in Monroeville, Alabama that he’d hit the bastard at least once. He may have been shot, himself, but at least some good had come from him being wounded. As Jim continued the story of his plight, Joe thought it over. Moving around two hundred people would have been difficult, especially if any were wounded or sick. Add that in with not having anywhere for them to stay, and disaster was inevitable. “How many did you lose before you got to where you are now?”

Jim looked down slightly, sullen. “Over half of ‘em didn't even make the trip out of Lexington. We only got two vehicles, and the other is barely running. We tried packing in the sick and injured, but all of our medical supplies were still in Lexington. Hell, we’d lose two or three people a night sometimes.”

The words Jim spoke hit Joe a little harder than he expected. While he and his team had ample food, supplies, medicine, and ammo, there were many more people considerably less fortunate. Joe lamented losing his people, even as few as he had. He couldn’t imagine losing a couple people a night.

“So,” Jim continued. “We are currently squatting at an old UPS package center. It’s not much, especially compared to what we had before, but it’s spacious enough for thirty people and it has a barbed wire fence that is still intact. We’ve done a little reinforcing on it here and there, but it should hold up against a few dozen deadheads if need be.”

Jim drove on for what seemed like an hour or more. They casually passed by several zombies over that time. Most of the undead were mired up in snow – sluggish and nearly immobile. Several times the Humvee had to dodge into the median - not because of zombies, but for wildlife. The animal population of Kentucky was more than ample before the end of modern civilization, and now it was booming. They passed black bears, deer, and a lone mountain lion as they made their way down the road. From what Joe noticed, they were heading south by southeast. The exit and route signs that still stood were indicative of their direction of travel.
Good, in spite of everything else, at least we are headed in the right direction,
he thought.

The day waned on to late afternoon. They traveled off the main interstate and onto a limited-access highway. Jim and Scott kept quiet, as did the rest of the passengers of the Humvee. The only noise came from light snoring on the part of Rick and Kane. The dog had not exactly fallen asleep, remaining vigil throughout the trip, but he occasionally nodded off. He would sporadically snort and wake up, typically due to the poor condition of the road. Joe noticed the tire tracks in the snow as Jim slowed his approach.

“Here we are, boys. Welcome to Camp Brown. It ain't much, but it’s home.”

Jim rolled the Humvee off the main road, making a left turn towards a chain-link gate. Two men stood guard at the gate with weapons. The one on the left carried an old hunting rifle, and was dressed in dirty coveralls and an oversized filthy jacket. The one on the right rested his hand on an old revolver. He was dressed in old woodland camouflage from head to toe,
complemented by a matching military patrol cap. Both men looked weary and dirty, sporting full-length beards similar to Jim and Scott’s. The snow piled on their shoulders as they stood there. It looked as if they had been out in the cold for quite a while. As Jim turned the Humvee, the man on the right cautiously looked around before opening the gate. He grabbed and slid the gate towards him, the task being made all the more difficult by the heap of snow underneath it.

“Why name it Camp Brown?” Joe wondered aloud.

“Well, it was an old UPS distribution center, so ‘What can brown do for you’ just kind of made us think about the color. The name stuck,” Jim answered as he pulled through the gate. The woodland-camo guard pushed the gate back closed and resumed his position.

Joe leaned forward and had a look at Camp Brown. The building was solidly constructed brick from top to bottom. It looked as if it had been painted UPS brown and tan during its heyday long ago. The building was now a tall, two-story monument to dirt and grime. It was still brown, but for a different reason, and not all over. Bits of green and black poked through the chocolate-colored façade. It stretched as long as a football field. The section ended in a squared building that jutted out into a turnaround and what was once an office area. The main part of the building was obviously used for shipping and receiving. Two dozen roll-up doors marked that area.

“As y’all can see, the office area’s roof collapsed a long time ago. The shipping bays are much better built, but they ain't much for warmth. We went through the packages and used what we could out of ‘em. The mice got to quite a bit of it, but what they didn't destroy we put to good use. We found everything from knives, axes and swords, to clothes, lighter fluid, and a couple cases of MREs. Unfortunately, the MREs didn't last long with thirty hungry people to feed. Everybody ate well enough to get some strength back, which we needed more than anything.

“After we’d eaten our fill, we decided to strike out and see what all we could get. We tried makin’ a trip back to the outpost after we got ran off, but we lost two men in the process. I'm sorry, Joe. If we’d been able to take back Lexington then maybe you wouldn’t have lost your man back there.”

Joe absorbed all of the information. It didn't dawn on him for a few seconds that he hadn’t told Jim about Chris’ untimely demise. “How do you know that we lost a man?”

“We saw the crash and the body that was in it. I figure that was one of your men. We don’t run into fellas that are as well trained as y’all are. Since he was dressed in military ACUs with a ZBRA patch, I figured he belonged with y’all,” Jim answered quickly.

Fair enough,
Joe thought. The ZBRA units had visited Lexington before. Joe had only made one other trip out to them before. Jim apparently hadn’t recognized him from just one visit, however.

“Welcome home, boys,” Scott declared.

Home. There’s that word again,
Joe thought.

CHAPTER 14

Jim pulled the vehicle onto a ramp at the end of the shipping and receiving area. It was the only door that was level with the ground. A weary-looking woman appeared as the door was raised by hand. Jim drove the Humvee into the shipping area and the door was lowered behind it; then he clambered down from the driver’s side of the vehicle, followed by the rest of the troupe. Clowns getting out of a clown car. That’s what it reminded Joe of as he tried to help his cohorts out of the Humvee.

Jim waved to the woman that had opened the door. She finished dragging the chain down, the door closing with a metallic crash. “Hello, Maria! I picked up some friends along the way.”

Maria walked over to Jim and shook an angry finger at him. “Where the hell have you been? It’s been two days, Jim!” she scolded. She irately crossed her arms and leaned back, trying to make eye contact with him. He had lowered his head and tried to avert his eyes. “Don’t tell me you were trying to go back to Lexington.” Maria’s face lightened some, but remained firm. “You know damn good and well that we aren’t gonna get any of that back anytime soon. You need to come to terms with the fact that it’s gone. And so is
she.
”

Jim cringed at the mention of the word
she.
He had evidently lost someone close to him of the female persuasion. Joe could relate to his situation. He had lost Buffey a long time ago, but it still bothered him from time to time. He had never regretted parting ways, but the fact was that Rick was the one who had
really
suffered because of it. He had been without his father nearly as long as he had been with him. Joe had wanted to be around for Rick’s formative years, years that were spent on an oilrig far from the possibility of a “normal” life. Joe sighed and shook off the regrets one more time, then turned his attention back to the group of people around him.

Jim carried himself and his dour look away from the rest of his people. He shuffled away and was out of sight within a few seconds. He reappeared a few minutes later with two steaming bowls of stew. Joe’s mouth drooled incessantly, nearly as much as Kane’s. The dog stepped forward in front of Rick and licked his chops. Joe was certain that the dog hadn’t had anything other than the MRE crackers that Rick had given him earlier. Joe couldn’t tell if the growling sound was coming from the dog or his stomach.

“Here ya go, boys. We got some more to go around. It’s mostly just venison, potatoes, and some brown gravy mix. For some odd reason we found a shitload of gravy packets,” Jim put forth. He handed the bowls to Joe. “So if y’all plan on staying any amount of time, I suggest you get used to beef-flavored everything.”

Joe stared at the steaming bowls of stew for a few seconds. He lowered one of the bowls down to Kane, and handed another to Rick. The dog looked to Rick before eating, mentally asking for his permission to proceed. The K9 officer was far smarter than any of them could have imagined. Rick looked down and met Kane’s hungry gaze.

“Go ahead boy. You’ve earned it.”

Kane made a low grumble, and then proceeded to devour the small bowl of stew. He stopped only for a moment once all the big chunks were gone, and then licked the bowl clean. He licked his lips and nuzzled the bowl.

“Sorry, boy. Not enough for seconds,” Jim said, returning with two more bowls. He handed them to Balboa and Jamie. As they dug into the delicious-smelling food, they realized just how hungry they really were. They hadn’t eaten anything since right before leaving Camp Dawson the day before. Add in a night of drinking and trudging through the snow, and they were famished.

“Come with me, Joe. I’ll introduce you to some people,” Jim waved Joe towards him.

Joe patted Rick on the back and leaned towards him as Jim turned around. “If anything gets hinky, you guys bail. I’ll find a way out on my own, but
do not
stick around,” Joe whispered. He followed Jim out of the area at a distance.

“And go where?” Rick managed out disconcertedly.

Joe turned around and stepped backwards for a moment. “Home.”

Joe caught up to Jim and walked in stride beside him, leaving his men to eat. Jim hadn’t brought Joe food. Joe assumed that he would lead him towards the source of the foodstuffs. As they walked along, he noticed some of the citizens of Camp Brown. Going past a large stack of empty shipping shelves, he observed several of the residents sleeping on the shelves. The racks served as giant bunk beds, each with either a worn mattress or a sleeping bag as bedding, and pillows made from rolled jackets or towels. A few of the beds had honest-to-God pillows, but they were few and far between. As they continued on, the shelves gave way to an open area with what looked to be a plastic-wrapping machine and staging area.

The warehouse had ample room for the small amount of people within it. The large, open area of the entire complex didn't afford much in the way of privacy, but no one seemed to mind. The temperature inside the enormous facility was warmer than Joe expected, but still lacked the warmth of a comfortable household. The temperature hovered around 55 degrees. The lack of lighting in the warehouse was supplemented by Lexan glass on the roof. It was by no means bright, casting merely a pale white across the enormous area. As Joe looked up, he could see the glass covered by what now amounted to a little under a foot of snow.

In spite of the less-than-optimal conditions, most of the people Joe passed seemed to be in high spirits. A couple of older gentlemen sat on cinder blocks and played cards on a wooden crate, Several younger men stood around a hobo campfire, warming themselves from the mediocre temperatures. All four of the men were rubbernecking Joe as he walked with Jim. They did not look as if they wanted to do him harm, but gave a him some disconcerting glances  nonetheless.

Jim led Joe past the main area where his people congregated. Jim exchanged handshakes and a few short conversations with several of his refugees. Joe stood back, his hands behind his back out of respect, and did not converse. Although he didn't speak to anyone, he still minded a watchful eye on the individuals. Most of the men carried a handgun and some sort of shotgun or rifle. Throughout the course of walking through the warehouse, he had noticed three hunting rifles, four shotguns, one AK-47, and one AR-15. Most of the pistols were revolvers; they held up better and longer without maintenance than most automatics. Fewer moving parts meant less to screw up.

Most of the men looked reasonably healthy. A few sported a small pooch of a departed beer gut, but overall were in decent shape. Most of the women looked a little undernourished, but not alarmingly so. In spite of their less-than-optimal circumstances, they looked reasonably healthy.

Jim walked past the remainder of his people, patting a final hand on one guy’s back, and then waved Joe on. “Sorry, buddy, but we’ll have time for introductions later. All of us usually meet after dinner to discuss any goings-on or problems. We did the same thing back at Lexington, and it seemed like a decent way to get people used to new surroundings. Here’s my office, so to speak,” he said, walking up to an office door marked
Fleet Maintenance
.

Joe stepped forward and came in as invited. The office was bare, aside from an aluminum desk and a long-past-its-prime rolling office chair. Jim took his weather-beaten jacket off along with his pistol belt and hung it on a couple of hooks to the left of the door. The office was small; it measured only twelve feet square.

Jim grabbed the handles of the rolling chair and slowly settled into the seat, the pain in his body visible in his face. The colder the weather got, the less favors it did for his aching joints. He kicked back in the chair, putting his feet up on the desk and putting his hands behind his head. “I wish I could offer you a seat, but the kind folks that I'm in charge of gifted me this one, and sadly, it’s the only one we have. I don’t usually talk much to outsiders. Honestly, I haven’t met anyone worth conversing with for quite a while. Those Peacemaker assholes were the last ones we had any dealings with and, well, you see how that went.”

Joe grinned ever so slightly and sat on the corner of the desk. “Ah, don’t worry about it, Jim. What I
would
like to talk about is how to get my boys back towards home.” Joe gazed around the inside of the office and looked out to the shipping floor. A pair of people passed by the lone window to the office as he did so. “As big as this place is, I'm sure you have some tractor-trailers and some old UPS trucks that you could loan us. And just out of curiosity, where exactly are we?”

“You, my friend, are just outside of Hazard, Kentucky. Which direction are you planning on goin’?”

Joe crossed his arms and contemplated. “My immediate goal is Tazewell, Virginia. I don’t have much in the way of plans after that, just trying to get back to a familiar area seemed like a daunting enough task.” Joe chuckled lightly. “I don’t wanna press my luck going any further.”

“Well, just tell me what you need and I will see what I can do. We pretty much hunt our own food and, up until winter, grew some of it. I can give y’all some, but it ain't gonna be much.”

Joe stood up from the desk corner. “I appreciate anything you can do for me. I'm in your debt, Jim.”

Jim leaned forward in the chair and propped himself on the desk. “Now, on to more pressing matters. How do you plan on gettin’ your boys back? I can’t spare the Hummer, but there are some semis around the back of the building, but…” Jim trailed off.

Joe frowned. “But what?”

Jim pushed himself up from the chair and waved Joe to follow. Joe did, reluctantly. He clutched the pistol grip of his M4 as he trailed behind. Jim walked to the back of the office and moved a curtain aside from the small window inset in the back door. The door had been boarded up, minus a couple inches square that allowed a person to look outdoors. Jim moved to the side and motioned Joe to have a look.

“There ain't no way in hell to get out there without losing some people,” Jim said in a hushed voice.

Joe peered through the makeshift peephole. There were about fifty zombies in the shipyard, surrounded by a dozen or so tractor-trailers. Joe leaned back and grinned at Jim. “Piece of cake, brother.”