The Last Blade Of Grass (15 page)

“I guess that means we are locking down now,” I frown and nod. “We have a lot of supplies on hand and have plenty to do to make this property and the houses more secure. Let’s find Arthur and ask him to split us into work groups to start the fencing and reinforcing projects, then.”

“Arthur’s in the woodshed you built,” Simone replies as everyone gets up and starts heading outside. She grabs my hand as we walk out together, and continues, “Michael and I asked him to pick one of the buildings that we could remodel into a medical room. As time goes on, we’ll have other people that get bitten or seriously injured, so we are going to need a building where we can do minor surgeries.”

*

Even with the addition of the people who arrived in the last three days, we are at a net loss. Of the over fifty people that were here the first night to hear what was happening, almost all left the next morning in hopes of finding people or belongings they needed. About half of them did not return. I want to think that they found a better place to remain safe, but know that we will likely face them at some point in the future as infected and have to kill them.

So as we stand now, we have 44 people on the ranch. Thirteen age 12 and under, four in their teens, and twenty-seven people age 20 and up. I’m not sure what real bearing age will have in our future. Children won’t get to have the childhoods that we all knew. I guess everything will be determined by ability and maturity level rather than age. I know I will expect a lot from my own kids, especially Hannah and Olivia.

*

It is the middle of November now. It has been a month and a half since the infection first arrived. The winter hit early again this year. No snow yet, but very low temperatures for this part of the country in October and November. We haven’t had any more people arrive to the ranch since the first two days and fortune has prevented us from losing any. We have been completely isolated so far. The phones and internet never came back on. Electric service stopped just over a week after the collapse, and we had to switch to all of our alternatives and reduce overall usage.

We have used our time wisely, I think. We put up a chain link fence around a good portion of the land to stop or slow down any wandering infected. There are small bells from Christmas decorations, and used soup cans with coins inside attached all over the fence line as well, to sound off if someone or something touches the fence. There is also razor wire at the top to prevent anyone, healthy or sick, from climbing over to get us.

Everyone that can hold a firearm has trained extensively with them or with the airsoft training guns here at the ranch. We all rotate through various twenty-four hour patrols and lookouts. The cold temperatures have made the moving patrols favored over the lookout positions, even with heavy blankets.

Until just after noon today, we haven’t seen any infected at the ranch. I thought at some point we would have had a straggling infected person come through the woods and get hung up on the fence somewhere, but it never happened. Then today we had a slow but continuous showing of the infected arrive at the south fence line. They wandered up several at a time through the woods and directly at us. We shot forty-nine of them and that is probably all that was with this group. We haven’t seen any more for two hours now.

We were planning on waiting another week and then head into Rogue River or the outskirts of Medford to scout out what things were like, until the events of today. If these things are moving around in groups like this, then it won’t be safe to travel anywhere by car. Anyone could get easily blocked in by twenty to fifty of these things walking on the road. Tomorrow, if we don’t get hit by another group, we’ll gather the bodies to burn and scout out the forest to the south, to make sure there are no more wandering infected are out there.

*

It’s December ninth, and we had another attack yesterday. The recent group of infected was much larger than the first one. We counted 276 bodies during the cleanup today. We were more prepared for this attack than the last one since we suspected they were coming. Ashley and Megan were on patrol and said they heard music playing in the woods to the south. We thought the cold was getting to the girls’ heads when they told us, but we all heard it when we made it to the fence.

The fact that this group came from the same direction as the last could have been contributed to some random geography that is making the infected funnel toward my ranch, but Daniel and I don’t think so. With the addition of the music before the attack, and the behavior of the infected in Rogue River, we think someone might be driving them this way. We haven’t seen any infected grouping together in herds except for the ones approaching the ranch.

When we took a trip into Rogue River a week ago, the infected were still there. They were staggered all over town and not bunched up or traveling any particular direction like the groups that have attacked our place twice now.

Several of the infected broke through the fence this time when they bunched up on it. No one was hurt, and we were able to take out all the infected, but it was a closer call than any of us would have liked. We decided to organize a specific response routine that we will practice over the next several weeks, so we will be prepared if another even larger group of infected show up. I am so thankful we have the airsoft replicas of most of our guns, so that everyone can continue target practice safely indoors with these cold temperatures.

At least the cold weather is slowing these things down even more than they normally move. I just wish they would finally die off so we could think about retaking the world. I expected most of them to have starved or dehydrated by now since they aren’t the walking dead, but they seem to manage somehow. I wish we had a doctor or scientist and a lab to tell us what is going on with this disease.

Chapter Seven

Overrun

January

There are some things in life that none of us should see. None of us should, but all of us do, at some point. There is always death around us. Every step of the way it’s always like this. Death and destruction are Nature’s way. To me, the blatant horror of how people are dying now is what is so disturbing. In our previous pampered lives we didn’t have to witness the kind of destruction that the infected now commit. Even the history books do nothing to express the horrors that direct physical contact in battle causes.

Stories of knights and villagers fighting their foes on distant battlefields are always looked upon with honor or reverence. The sacrifice that those people made in order to survive were incredible, and the suffering during and after a battle must have been just as difficult as their sacrifices. The vicious bloodiness of a battlefield full of swords and axes had to have been overwhelming for those involved, and yet, survival always seems a better path to attempt when faced with such destruction.

We have all been sheltered in modern times. Before this plague hit us, we lived lives that were far removed from the horrors that our ancestors experienced. Today it seems that the past is revisiting us. Something drove the infected from the city, and they are headed right at us. They will be at the ranch within the next half hour, and I don’t know that we can survive the numbers we will be facing.

Hannah and Steven saw them while they were riding the horses in the hills, trying to find the music we’ve been hearing. They said they saw just a few at first, stiffly wandering up through the trees, and then more and more stumbled out into the open. They said the infected just kept slowly creeping into view and estimated the numbers as at least a thousand, maybe more.

The road exiting the ranch to the South is a lower elevation and flatter grade than we are at here, so if it is a random horde, it has probably already covered those roads. All of the roads are also covered in snow now and most of our vehicles wouldn’t make it. We could try plowing our way through with the tractor, but that just makes us a bunch of sardines in our cars waiting for the infected to stumble upon us. So all we can do is prepare for battle. If the numbers they think they saw hit us all at once like this, this will truly be a fight for our lives, and not just a shooting gallery like the last two attacks. If the plan we put in place and practiced for doesn’t work flawlessly, then I’m not sure we can survive. Too many
ifs
for my liking.

There are thirty-four of us able to fight. Beth, who is already injured, is staying with her two kids in one bunker, with Geraldine’s daughter. There are two other bunkers where we have split the groups to defend and fall back too if they get overrun. The hope is that everyone will survive. The fear, of course, is that none of us will.

I would love for us to be able to just hide in what we dub as our underground shelters until this crowd passes, but with the numbers of animals we have on site, the infected are almost guaranteed to want to stay for a longer period than the shelters are capable of keeping us alive. Also, there is the very real probability that the infected would just smash their way through the doors of the shelters, and get us with the numbers that are headed this way.

With all of the preparations my wife and I accomplished in the time we owned this property, we never got around to making survivable bunkers. They were just too expensive for us to buy at the time and not necessary for the training academy. So, what we are using as our shelters are nothing more than simple root cellars, shipping containers that we had buried below ground level to store survival goods. There are no air-filtration delivery systems installed in the containers, and with large groups of people entering the shelters, we have no idea how many hours of air they’ll have before having to crack open the doors to let more air in.

Because of the numbers we think we are facing, we decided to let most of the large animals loose. If we leave them locked up, the number of infected coming at us would be able to tear through the barn and stable walls, and eat the cows and horses we keep there. I’m hoping we will be able to find most of them when this is over. For now, we herded them all out through the gate at the north fence. Our goats and chickens we put into the stacked containers we have in the field.

We are all staggered in a line between our respective shelters and the fence, so we can kill as many as possible, before being forced underground or onto the stacked storage containers. Simone and I are together by one of the bunkers with eleven other shooters, including Hannah and Olivia. William, Amelia, and Benjamin are already inside with Christine, my mom.

The bunkers are on the east section of the property, which was a training field before things fell apart. Once spring hits, we are planning on plowing down the practice defensive hills around the stacked containers and turning the whole area into planted fields.

We only have the shipping containers out in this area of the property, the rest of the storage buildings and living areas are to our west. If the infected continue to swarm at us, our bodies as bait should draw them away from the houses, so those structures hopefully don’t get destroyed.

Now that we are all set up, I am feeling confident and that our chances are pretty good. Everyone here has been practicing non-stop with the airsoft replicas of our rifles and even a bunch of live fire training. Our shots are true. Most of us are even able to make headshots two out of three times. Hannah and Steven also said the infected are moving much slower than they normally do, most likely due to the continuing bitter cold weather. If they are really as slow as described, we should be able to take on a thousand of these things without even having to go to the stacked containers. I hope their estimate is accurate.

I grab Simone’s hand and squeeze it tightly before walking toward the fence from our position. Fourteen of us with scoped rifles are spread along the fence, looking out into the trees beyond. I’m waiting to get the first glimpse of the infected heading toward us. The rest of the group at the rear, are ready with carbines and rifles that we will all grab and fire once the forward group has to back away from the fence. But until they have to join in the fight, they are all frantically loading as many magazines for the AR-15s as possible.

Crack
. The sound of the first shot goes off to my left and makes me jump. I reset my eye to my scope and start searching the woods again. The first shot I have is a withered looking man, he is shirtless and dirty. Covered in a smeared blackness that is probably his own dried blood, and his head is cocked to the left side, leaning on his shoulder as if his neck is frozen in place. My shot is true, and he falls.

Just over nine minutes have gone by, and I have emptied three twenty round magazines, and I’m halfway through number four when I hear,
click
. My rifle has jammed. “Fuck,” I yell and drop down to my knee to clear the jam. The gunfire going on around me sounds like simple target practice at any outdoor range in the U.S. prior to this mess. The feeling in my gut is nothing that I’ve had before, however. The slow sound of steady shots as the shooters acquire their targets is speeding up as well. More bodies are emerging from the woods giving us more and more to shoot at.

I am a mixture of fear, anger, and sorrow all bundled together with the frustration at having my gun jam when I need it the most. “Just the bullet,” I say to myself as I clear the dud round from the chamber. The infected are close enough now that I don’t have to stand to get a clear shot over the bushes beyond the fence, and I resume shooting from my kneeling position.

*

Seven more minutes of shooting and most of us are backing away from our positions at the fence, with the rest of our people moving forward to start backing us up in mowing down this diseased onslaught. I am down to the last two loaded magazines for my FAL, so I know I shot one hundred forty rounds so far. The fear I am feeling is starting to build in my mind at the numbers we are facing. Between the fourteen of us that were at the wall shooting, we should have killed at least twelve hundred infected with the rounds shot and our bullet placement.

We’ve already shot far more than we thought we would have to deal with today and their numbers are increasing. I see at least as many ahead of us as we already put down, maybe more. Looking in the distance toward the main gate where we expect more might come from the road, at least there is good news from there, as none have made it from that direction yet.

The sound of shooting multiplies again as the remaining shooters join the firing line. The shooting goes on and on. I sling my empty FAL over my shoulder, grab one of the M4s, and continue firing. I’m glad I started with the .308 and switched to this thing instead of trying the other way around. The kick was really starting to wear on my shoulder. Hopefully, my sore shoulder will be the only thing that concerns me when this swarm is over.

Yells and screams emerge from the distance and in my own group as fear and anger grips us all. The ones close by are our screams of rage, exploding from the frustration of the continuing and growing attack that is wearing on us all. Some of these things are starting to move toward us faster, but perhaps it only seems that way because they are now so close. Some of the screams I am hearing don’t sound like battle cries, but there are too many infected at our location to go to anyone else’s aid.

The snow covered ground in front of us is littered with bodies, with pools of darkness oozing out from where they lay. Some of the infected who have been shot are still crawling their way toward us, and hundreds more are stumbling and walking over them. I yell over the shooting, and shouts of anger and defiance, to watch the ground for crawlers.

*

Twenty-one minutes after the first shot and we have been pushed nearly back to the ramp down to the storage container doors. I glance toward the front of the property, and see the infected are starting to pile up at the gate there, attempting to push through. It won’t hold much longer, and we will be facing the threat from two sides since we are the closest group to the front of the property.

Hannah looks at me, and yells, “We have to go now!”

I nod and tell Simone to grab Olivia and head into the bunker, and then yell to everyone else by us, “Head into the bunker now!” I make it to the door and continue shooting at the growing numbers of infected that are shuffling their way onto my land.

“Simone, you get in there, and take care of the kids. We’re going to climb the containers now.”

Simone kisses me fiercely and quickly, and gives me a look and a nod that says everything we want to say but have no time for. I turn to continue shooting. She shoves a radio into my pocket right before she walks down the ramp into the container and pulls the door closed.

Daniel and I run to one set of the stacked shipping containers, followed by Donald and his son Joshua. We have about thirty yards to cover from the buried container we were at and have to climb over the five foot defensive hill that encircles the containers. Daniel climbs up the ladder last, and we both pull it up to the top while the others start shooting down into the crowd below. There are two of these stacked storage containers on the property, which were used as lookouts and defensive forts of a sort, when the property was still used for survival training. I look in the distance and see three people climb onto the other stacked set.

Our final stand begins here, in the cold winter air surrounded by the infected and snow. Our job is to shoot every infected body that walks up to us until they stop coming or we run out of ammo.

When we put the ammo up here after the second group of infected came to the ranch, I thought we would have plenty to finish the job, but now I’m not so sure. Looking around at the property and at how many we have already put down, I know there must be at least two thousand infected that are already dead, maybe closer to three thousand, with thirty-four shooters on the line. I shot over three hundred rounds so far, and while they weren’t all headshots, many of them were.

They don’t have to be headshots to kill when you have a safe place to retreat to. These infected people aren’t the walking dead; they are just diseased with extremely slow metabolisms and burnt out brains. If you make a good shot to one in the chest, it will die in five to ten minutes from the shot. Five to ten minutes is still plenty of time for it to reach you though, so headshots are always the rule of the day. Put it down with one shot so you don’t worry about it hobbling or crawling up to you and taking a bite.

Looking around at what's on my land, what we have already shot looks like nothing compared to what we are facing. The yard looks like the stadium at a big concert. It is packed with bodies, and they are swarming around our container fortresses trying to get at us, the tasty meals that we are. The overwhelming sight causes me to freeze for a few seconds. I try to calculate what our odds are, which is probably a mistake that will overwhelm me even more.

We have six cases of .223 for the M4’s, which totals 3000 rounds. 200 slug rounds for the shotguns that we left up here. One 120 round battle bag of South African .308 for my FAL. One 500 round case of 40 S+W for the Glock and Taurus pistols we have, and two cases of 22lr for the Ruger 10/22’s. The two cases of 22lr are the only thing that gives me hope, and even that is slim. Each of those cases has 5000 rounds, giving us 14,800 rounds that we can fire into the crowd.