by Brown, TW
“Normal?” Jason scoffed. “Then he is doing better than everybody else still alive, because I don’t think anything will ever get back to normal again.”
“You know what I mean.” Juanita brushed aside his comment. “He will be up and around again.”
“Well you can break the news to him that he won’t be working on any of the field crews.” Jason joined the rest of his work crew around the large wash basin to at least rinse some of the day’s grime from his hands and face before the meal.
“You do know this is an open barn and I can hear you,” a voice wafted down from above.
Jason wiped his hands and face on the towel and craned his neck to look up to the rafters of the barn where everybody slept and where Ken Simpson had been kept since his heart attack. “Yep, sure do.”
With that he headed over to the table, ignoring the muttered string of profanities that had Gabriel covering his mouth to stifle his giggles. One of their new and crowning achievements was a wood fired oven. Jason had spent three days on it, and today was the first day it was being put to use. Juanita had kept the kitchen area clear, insisting that she and the other three cooks wanted to surprise the group.
Looking around, Jason was amazed at how many people were now living here. In fact, a discussion was scheduled for tomorrow about perhaps setting a limit or making plans for what they could do to accommodate more.
In the books and movies, there were only a handful of survivors. In the real apocalypse, things were playing out very differently. They had not only taken in a fair number of survivors, but they had also encountered their fair share out in the wilderness of this new world. Some were fearful, some friendly, most simply made a passing acknowledgement and continued on their way. There was even a rumor of a community being built up at Timberline Lodge. That might be great for the summer, but if they survived the first winter, he would be very surprised.
At this morning’s count, they now had forty-one people living here. As of today, Gabriel was still the only child. Jason was not a fan of children, they could not really contribute, and as selfish as it might sound, everybody needed to pull their weight in these first months.
That brought his thoughts back to Ken. He had been the one to administer CPR, but since that day, he had actually found himself wondering if that was the right thing to do. There would be no after care. No special diet or anything else. And again, everybody needed to pull their weight. Would it have been such a bad thing to let the man die? If he lived for an extended period, but could do nothing more than sit around and consume the precious supplies they managed to scavenge or grow in the garden, then wouldn’t it have been better for the community if the man had been allowed to die on that road?
Normal? Jason thought. Things are never going to be normal again. We are going to have to make some tough choices ahead that would be unthinkable just a few months ago.
“Pizza!” Gabriel squealed.
Jason shook himself free of his morose thoughts and looked up as Juanita and the others who had put together this evening’s meal came to the table with round platters of a familiar treat.
That night, he tried to put away the darkness that was creeping into his thoughts and simply enjoy a meal with everybody. He made it a point to wander around and talk to as many people as he could. He told himself that he was not judging or gauging their worth, but simply trying to get to know them.
However, no matter what he told himself, he knew what he was really doing. One moment in particular would haunt him in the months to come. He was talking to a young man who had obviously spent a considerable time behind a desk and out of the sun. The man was a whiz with numbers, he always talked about spreadsheets and all he could do if he only had Excel to make things run smoother. When Jason asked him why he couldn’t do it with pen and paper, the man rambled and babbled on with what were, in his mind, nothing more than thin excuses. He glanced up to see Ken staring down. He made eye contact with Jason, and in that look, he knew very well that the older man was, whether he would admit or not, thinking many of the same things.
All Ken did was give a slight nod, but it was as if the man had been inside Jason’s head. This was the height of summer. The garden was producing, there was a stall stacked full of canned goods, improvements were being made to prepare the outer perimeter and make it not only zombie-proof, but also a deterrent to the living that might have mischief on their minds. Yet it could not be denied or avoided.
Winter was coming.
He knew he had read that line somewhere before, and he knew that it was actually written as some kind of ominous warning. And now, here he was, thinking those very same words and wondering how many of these smiling, laughing individuals would be here when the first buds of the next spring began to show.
17
Winter
Jason tromped through the snow. It was only a few inches, but the sky and the feel of the air let him know that things were just getting started. It was early, so everything was a dazzling white with just a hint of gray as the dawn broke. Large, fluffy flakes drifted to the ground, some swirling in the gentle wind that was making the chill seem just a bit more intense.
The dozen RVs were perhaps the only thing not under that blanket of white as the heat from within did its best to melt it all away for the most part. That had been a pretty damn good idea. Although, when they had first thought of it, they had planned for doubling the size of their community and brought in far more of the luxury vehicles than they thought they would need. Now people were doubling up. They had grown much faster than he could have ever imagined.
The vehicles were arranged in a giant square. There was an outer and inner ring along with catwalks and all sorts of things that were designed to aid in their defense should the perimeter fencing and defenses ever be breached. So far, nothing had come close. The zombies were simply not agile enough to climb the berms. Up to this point, they had not even seen a single one of the walking dead make it up, over, and into their trench. Humans had been another story, but none had come in numbers able to really pose a threat to this burgeoning community. Jason was actually very proud of what they had managed to create over these past months.
The first stirrings of people waking and preparing for what would be another grueling day were just being heard. Above it all was Ken’s voice.
“Dammit, Juanita, I don’t need to be dressed up like a four-year-old. I can do this myself!”
Jason smiled, feeling his cheeks crinkle as they shifted under the frigid air that, according to the large, round thermometer, was an icy nine degrees. For Oregon, that was akin to being in the Arctic Circle. The weather simply did not make a habit of plummeting to temperatures of that nature very often.
“We had some activity last night on the back side of things,” Erin said as she fell in step with the man.
Actually, that was his destination. He’d already been made aware of this latest attempt by some small marauding gang of what were now referred to as “Wasters” due to everything outside of their little realm now being referred to as The Wasteland. It certainly seemed fitting.
Jason’s last trip outside the fences a few weeks ago had shown him a world that he could have never envisioned. Buildings burnt and falling over, vehicles starting to settle into their final resting places as tires lost their air. The bodies of the truly dead in varying stages of rot and decay littering the landscape and bringing out all sorts of vermin. Next spring was going to pose some problems as all manner of disease would likely be spawned from the abundance of rotting corpses.
Today was a big deal. He and fifteen others were making a run to, of all places, a mall. He was torn between seeing the humor and being more than a little nervous. A mall was a big and dangerous place now more so than in those early days. They were havens for warring tribes of Wasters.
They were not actually going to the mall proper as their primary target. Actually, they were hitting a few locations around it that the newest additions to the community h
ad sworn were largely untouched, along with what was designated as the priority target. That was another thing about the apocalypse; in the stories, people travelled along, little to no mention of re-supplying, and when they did, it was always some magical cache of goods that would appear at the worst of times just as things looked bleak. That was almost the situation here at what was now just known as The Compound.
Game was scarce for whatever reason, and canned goods were running low enough that the latest report was that there was maybe enough for four days if they watered everything down and gave out minimal portions. They had felt so confident that they had scavenged enough when the last of the fuel had been used up. They did not count on the fact that their population would continue to grow; or that all that hard, physical labor required a regular infusion of energy in the way of protein to fuel the body.
“It is a small warehouse complex,” the new arrivals’ spokeswoman had explained. “I was a shipping clerk for the place. The reason nobody has hit it is because it is just a few long buildings with no sort of signage out front. However, this was the overflow warehouse for the local Costco. As you can imagine, that store was emptied long ago, but this overflow warehouse just down the road is stacked.”
Of course that had instantly raised a flag for Jason, Erin, and Ken. “Okay, so why didn’t you hit the place?” Jason had asked.
“Because there is a group of people that have turned it into their home. They are dug in pretty good and keeping a low profile.”
“So we are raiders now?” Erin asked. However, there was not so much anger in her tone as acceptance.
“If we don’t find something soon, we are gonna start running into serious problems,” Ken said in his matter-of-fact tone. “Maybe we can work out a deal with these folks.”
“They don’t do deals,” the woman said with a darkness in her voice that made all three of them turn their full attention her direction.
“Okay,” Erin finally gave a wave of her hands to indicate that the woman needed to spill what she had not been coming out with up to this point, “out with it.”
“The man running the place is my ex-husband, Larry Ralston.”
That statement just hung in the chill morning air like the ghostly vapor coming from everybody’s mouths and nostrils. It was said with a certain degree of bitterness and open hostility. That gave Jason pause. However, Erin was a bit more practical.
“You guys didn’t split on good terms?” Erin prodded.
“He was the foreman and warehouse supervisor. I was the last person in the place to find out that he was nailing some damn college girl who was working there for the summer,” the woman spat.
“Okay, we will check it out,” Erin had said. “You will give us the address and basic directions, but you won’t be going on this run.”
The woman started to protest, but Ken shut her down. “We don’t have a democracy here. And you might be setting us up, or, even worse, you might be tempted to do something stupid. That means that you and your people stay here in isolation until our group gets back. Three days out, three days back. Five days leeway for any problems that will occur, and if they don’t make it back, you are sent on your way with the clothes on your back and no supplies.”
“But—” the woman had started to argue. Now it was Jason’s turn to cut her off.
“I will be leading this run, and if it smells bad, I will simply return home and we will kick you and your little group out on your asses. But if this is a trap and we bite it, then we are dead and you are just out all of your supplies.”
This was the standard operating procedure anytime they brought in a group that “knew” about some treasure trove of supplies and wanted somebody else to do the dirty work to obtain it. Twice, the people had simply shouldered their packs and left. Once, they had been taken up on the deal. It had led to an unassuming trailer beside the Clackamas River that a group of seven men had turned into a small outpost. The thing was, they would pretend to trade with passers-by, and then allegedly sneak out after whoever they did business with (provided that they were a small enough group) and then kill everybody and reclaim not only their own goods, but any supplies their target might possess.
That had been right around the end of summer and actually accounted for a very nice haul. It had taken three weeks to get everything brought back, and in the process, they discovered that it was not exactly worth the hard work. Between the supplies consumed on the run (you could not skimp if you were going to be out in the Wastelands) and the two people they lost—both in the attack and resulting firefight, neither to zombies—they figured that the net gain was only just a bit more than they had spent in field supply load outs.
Even if you could count on some degree of foraging, which, the rule of thumb was that you could not count on any at all these days, the haul had to be very well worth it. The thing that tipped the scale was that this place reportedly had a pair of old UPS vans that still worked. They had treated gasoline that was still useable, and at a bare minimum, they could expect to be able to make three trips there and back with both vehicles. The woman insisted that three trips would almost empty out the warehouse in question.
“Maybe we put this run on hold,” Jason finally suggested as he and Erin reached the sentry tower where the night’s activity had been reported.
“If we do, people will start going hungry.” Erin started up the ladder to where the person on watch waited, staring down at them while rubbing his gloved hands together and blowing.
“People are already going hungry,” Jason blurted, not realizing until he opened his mouth that he had fallen into Erin’s trap.
“Exactly!” she called over her shoulder as she hauled herself over the rail and onto the platform.
“I really hate when she does that,” Jason grumbled.
At last, the three people stood cramped in and close on the covered watch tower’s platform. The man repeated his account, obviously having it down to the pertinent facts by now after what was likely his fourth or fifth re-telling.
“But none of them came close or tried to tests the perimeter?”
Erin had heard the same story Jason had heard. They had stayed about twenty or so yards away, often ducking in and out of the woods that bordered the property on this side. He saw his own annoyance mirrored on the man’s face as he answered to the negative.
“I say we double the magazine load out for all tower watch sentries and also put five rovers on the track instead of the usual two.” The “track” being referred to was a five foot wide raised path that ran along the interior of the fence line, allowing whoever was walking on it to see out over the berms. Fires were lit every night in specific locations outside the fence in the cleared area to allow sentries to have a better chance of seeing approaching humans or zombies. “Have them double back at their discretion to keep it random and keep prying eyes from finding a pattern. Hold a meeting today to make the changes and post the new watch bill by lunch time.” Jason glanced at Erin who nodded her agreement.
With that, the pair headed back to the main grounds and Jason accepted his field pack for the trip. He really did not want to do this. He credited it to all the books and movies, but he had a bad feeling, and that always meant disaster.
Ken and Juanita were among those there to see him and his team off. Ken was bundled up worse than the Randy character from A Christmas Story. Juanita and Cherry had taken it upon themselves to act as the man’s nurses. His condition was worsening as the cold really set in and took hold of things. The newest problem seemed to be what was likely a bout with pneumonia. Still, Ken had insisted on seeing this group off.
“Hey, convict,” the man coughed, summoning Jason over and making a point of brushing off both women so that he could speak with Jason at least semi-privately.
Jason walked over and stopped. Despite all that had happened, and even the fact that he had saved the man’s life those weeks back, their relationship had never warmed up. His calling Jason “convict�
� was no term of endearment. It was Ken’s way of reminding the man of how they supposedly differed. There had been no long talks where they got to know each other and discover they had more in common than they realized. That worked great in fiction, but the truth was that neither man really liked the other. Period.
“Look, I hate to ask you, but I know your type have a code against tellin’ so you are really my only hope.” Jason gave the man his best bored stare. Inside, he wanted to just punch the man in the face. “If you find a bottle of whiskey…a small one even, and could bring it back to me?”
Jason waited; this was normally the part where they would say something about how they would “owe ya one” or some other sentiment. Instead, Ken leaned back and eyed the man with pursed lips.
“Sure. Whatever.”
Jason turned and walked away. He passed Gabriel sitting on the hood of a defunct car on his way out. The kid had a bright red ball in his hand and both Imp and Stupid were staring up at him with rapt attention, waiting for the next throw. The kid waved. Jason nodded and pulled his knit cap down over his ears. His feet were already starting to feel numb.
Yep, he thought, this run is gonna suck.
***
Jason slipped up beside the building and held his breath. The voices were louder now. Whoever this was, they obviously did not care about making noise. He could understand that out in the boondocks where they lived, but here, close to the city on what had once been 82nd Avenue, a main strip lined with business of every type back when Portland was alive, the living and the undead had a presence. They had seen more than their fair share of both since arriving in the area.
He pointed to the two bundled figures across from him that were crouched low behind a snow covered hedge and a sign that had all the actual signage busted out and indicated for them to hold and cover his back. They nodded and he imagined they were probably more than happy to oblige.
