I took a deep breath, glad to have passed the leadership role over to Shane. Kira was right, I was too involved to have stayed objective enough to be fair and impartial. The punishment doled out was harsh, but the crime was dastardly and deserved harsh justice.
Kira stood talking to Marilyn as I waited for them to part. I caught her eye before she left. "I apologize for ripping you earlier at the lake. I didn't realize you thought you were on a mission to rescue me. Thanks for risking your life to save mine," I extended my right hand and she smiled as she grasped it in friendship and nodded once.
Paige stood beside Kira. She said, "Mom, I'm hungry. Can we go now?"
Nine days later, the southeast watchtower reported zombies were at the end of the gravel road leading to our compound. I authorized Connie to be taken from her cell to initiate her punishment. Shane, Ed, Kira and I drove Connie to an oak tree at the edge of the woods and straight out from the middle of our building.
I placed a heavy chain around Connie's neck and pulled it tight to the tree that was about her width. The sound of the padlock clicking shut sealed her fate.
"God damn you, Tom. You and that bitch cheated behind my back. I know you did. I don't deserve this, she does."
The four of us were silent. Connie's struggles, vile curses and screams were to no avail. We got in the truck to drive back to the compound as Connie relentlessly cursed us loudly. Her most vulgar diatribes were directed at Kira.
Eight of us took positions on the second floor at shooting ports designed to ward off a major attack by our undead enemies. I never dreamed in my most abhorrent nightmares they would be used against our own people. Kira stood at the station to the left of me, and Shane took my right side. Both were quiet and somber.
Connie lost all of her bravado and went silent. Through my rifle scope, her demeanor appeared fearful. Her neck twisted so her head faced toward where the undead could be heard as they scoured the terrain for living prey. It seemed fitting that she be submitted to the same horror her scheming actions had imposed first on Cory Petersen, then Emma, and finally on Kira.
A group of nine undead slowly approached Connie from our left. Deep guttural moans and occasional high pitched shrieks filled the air and drew us into their unreal world. I thought about how the undead sickness had ravished the planet, our country, and changed our lives so drastically. Connie had grown silent when the undead were close enough to hear her voice. The lead zombie focused on her, and it lurched forward at a faster gait. The others increased their shuffling, stumbling walk through the alfalfa to keep up. Three zombies stood out. They were fast and more coordinated. The faster ones quickly passed the slow monster at the front of the horde. These were the ones we had grown cautious of. A healthy person could easily outrun the slow undead, but these faster mutants could eventually catch and kill unarmed people. The undead didn't need to stop to rest or catch their breath. They simply kept coming and coming like a bowling ball rolling down Pike's Peak.
Connie watched the undeaed approach and finally couldn't restrain her fear any longer. She turned to face us and begged, screaming in a frightened, pleading tone. I could barely make out some of her words across the distance and filled in the rest. "Please someone, shoot me now, please. I beg you. Don't let them do this to me. I'm guilty, but for God's sake show me mercy. Please, I don't want to be torn apart by those dirty monsters. Please!"
I watched Kira's features soften and her bottom lip quiver. She raised her rifle, hesitated, then aimed and slowly exhaled. The zombies converged on Connie, and she screamed loud and nonstop in a terrified frenzy. Her legs moved in spasms as if to run away from the horror, but the chain held fast. Because of her thrashing, the chain cut into her neck so tight it drew a ring of blood. The fastest zombie was in a dead run four or five feet from Connie when Kira's first bullet jerked Connie's head back. Blood, brain and bone matter splattered the tree behind her. Her head fell forward as two more bullets buffeted her broken skull in quick succession. The rest of us shot the remaining zombies in their heads with lethal accuracy. And then an eerie silence enveloped us as no one spoke.
Kira was a conundrum. Her action in granting Connie's last wish of mercy showed more compassion than I'd expected or that Connie deserved for that matter. I was determined to learn more about this intriguing woman.
OUTNUMBERED volume 2
Prologue
We watched TVs and the internet in horror as the undead swept across Europe. Before the tragedy of Europe unfolded in living, colorful, gore, governments and the media tried to keep a lid on news of what was happening in Africa, Asia and the Mid-East. The mayhem was blamed on a new strain of virus that caused people to act crazy. Citizens of all the European countries fighting the invasion hand to hand lost first. Most of them were unarmed due to radical gun control laws. A few had shotguns, but birdshot wasn't effective against the undead monsters. However, it was through the European police and military we learned only a headshot that destroyed the zombie's brain would stop them.
In a few short weeks, they were here wreaking havoc on our coastal cities. From there, they spread in all directions as people infected by blood or tissue fled to safe havens only to infect the ones they loved.
Whatever the reason for their existence, zombies are our daily foe. Destroying them is at the heart and soul of all we do. There is a question only time will reveal the answer to—will mankind somehow survive, or will the undead zombies inherit the Earth? It's too early to know, but we'll fight and struggle until the scales tip permanently 100% one way or the other. We have no other choice.
Tom Jacobs – 2022, the third year of the zombie apocalypse.
CHAPTER FOUR
On December 1, 2021, Kira Schafer, Marilyn Jarnigan, and I left our base and drove toward Bloomington, Minnesota, for supplies. Kira often brooded silently as she fought personal demons imposed during a recent abduction and rape by another group of survivors. When we caught the lecherous scum, none escaped our vigilante wrath.
We filed our trip itinerary in the office with Elsie Talbot and left on a Wednesday morning. For the last three days, the sky remained murky and overcast. As we drove north, four inches of snow covered the ground; the remnants of the last two minor snow storms. I didn't feel we were due for major snow accumulation yet, but there was no way to predict when one would hit our area. One of the now extinct technologies I missed daily was the extended weather forecasts provided on TV, radio, or over the internet.
Frequent stops along Route 169 at small rural stores consumed several hours but yielded few goods. They were either sold out before the overpowering zombie tide reached them, or they were thoroughly pillaged afterward.
What we did find were small groups of zombies. Likely, they were the last inhabitants of the towns to be contaminated and hadn't been disposed of yet. Local sheriff's deputies and hunters held their own for a while, but they were eventually overrun by the sheer magnitude of the zombie onslaught. Only those who banded together, like us, had a chance of survival against the seemingly endless numbers of undead that outnumbered us by thousands to one. And even then, we routinely lost members to the attacking hordes and constantly looked for new people to repopulate our group.
Zombies close to the road, or in our way, made good target practice without taking an inordinate amount of time. In our own small way, we felt pleased to reduce the overall number of enemies roaming day and night in constant search of humans to devour.
A few miles past the Minnesota state line, Kira suddenly blurted, "Look! Off to the right across that field." She shifted her slender body forward in the seat and peered intently through the glass. "Over there. Two people are being chased by a pack of zombies."
I drove toward where a line of hedge trees ended near the road where the couple was bound. If they could stay ahead of the undead horrors long enough, we could help them. I didn't hold out much hope; they were at least one hundred and fifty yards from the road, and they were clearly struggling. The drainage ditch on my r
ight was too deep and narrow for the truck to cross, and there were no field entrance crossings nearby.
The human couple moved as if they were young, maybe eighteen or twenty. Both were thin, but their movements looked tired and haggard. I stopped along the highway short of the end of the hedge row and honked the horn to make sure they saw us and knew we were waiting for them. They glanced in our direction and surged ahead on the newfound energy a promise of hope gave them.
Outside the truck, I raised binoculars and observed the chase. Sadly the zombies were gaining, and the humans were losing.
The five zombies closest to the humans were all fast runners. The slow members of the pack, at least eight, stumbled along a hundred feet behind and lost ground by the minute. It wasn't at all unusual for one to trip and fall then go through absurd, animated, gyrations to get righted.
Marilyn and Kira groaned sorrowfully as the woman slipped and fell to one knee. The young man grabbed her arm and lifted her, dragging her onto her feet without stopping. Gallantly, he continued to support her as they sprinted ahead. The zombies closed the distance to about fifteen feet. The young male wore a light weight blue jacket and she wore a gray hooded sweat shirt, both unzipped despite the cold. She carried a big melon of a belly for such a slight frame. I heard Kira fire twice, then again. Marilyn and I leaned across the truck's hood and aimed. I hit my weaving, bouncing, target a bit low and punctured the female's rotted chest area below the neck, only slowing it momentarily. A second shot shattered its hairless cranium.
The fastest zombie surged ahead and quickly closed the gap to the struggling couple to ten feet. It was apparent the youngsters were fatigued. Their steps cut erratically across the rough terrain as they slipped and stumbled on mud and slush from melting snow.
Kira and Marilyn both fired several rounds, and the lead zombie fell to the ground. It was quickly replaced by another screeching undead horror in a burst of speed that brought it within an arm’s length and then into contact with its female victim. The woman screamed, terrorized as the rotting beast gripped her shoulder with its powerful emaciated fingers. I shuddered under the reality of what was about to happen. No matter how many times I'd watched similar scenarios unfold, their final endings were always the breeding ground of horrible nightmares for weeks on end.
Marilyn groaned audibly as Kira said, "My God, they're not going to make it."
The man grabbed the zombie's decomposed wrist and forcefully yanked it away from the woman. She tripped and fell and tumbled to her hands and knees as she screamed intermittently. High pitched, pitiful, fatalistic screams.
The zombie had both hands on the young man and wrestled him to the ground. The wailing woman scurried backward on her hands and knees like a crawfish in a futile attempt to escape the horror befalling her friend. Her screams became shrill and constant and carried across the cold air. Her pitiful cries of fear only whetted the appetite of the beasts in pursuit. We kept firing and had some hits on the bobbing, stumbling targets. My fears became reality when two more zombies fell onto the pregnant woman and commenced feeding on her. The screams of both humans mingled with the moans and screeches of the rotting undead were unforgettable and seared my mind as chunks of flesh and bone were ripped from the couple’s bodies.
In desperation as I aimed, I softly said, "Target the humans." I fired and my target shuddered. Marilyn and Kira stopped firing and turned to me with mouths open and eyes wide. "They're done for and shouldn't have to endure being eaten alive until they die. They'll only transition into the monsters devouring them and have to be stopped anyway." We three shot until it was evident the young man and woman were dead. A sick feeling lodged in my stomach and I gagged as I resisted the urge to vomit; but there was still work to do. We turned our rifles on the remaining zombies that were noisily feasting. The slow movers plowed ahead with loud moans as we finished the fast ones. Slowly we picked off the stragglers until all the zombies were prone on the ground. I watched Kira and Marilyn deflate and slump at the same time I did.
In the overpowering silence that descended, we stared in disbelief at the remains of the people we had mercifully killed. That was a new experience for all of us, and it didn't sit well with our vision of right and wrong. I stood with my head bowed, overcome by the unforgettable act we'd been forced to perform. I looked to my partners who had the same dazed reaction.
At that point, we cried. The young couple's unborn child would never know its parents' love. But it also would be spared the fate its parents suffered. Perhaps the unborn child was the luckiest of the three.
I checked the area behind us and then the entire open ground. We were still in the clear. We met beside the passenger door and embraced briefly as we wept. No one tried to vocalize our frustration and sadness. It was too painful to speak of because the ridiculousness of the situation was overpowering. After a few moments, I gently asked the ladies to get in the truck. We the living had to move on. I drove back onto the highway, and we continued in morose silence.
It still seemed strange to me that the undead affliction surrounding us at every turn could cause a human to transition into a monster by vicious biting and tearing of flesh. At first, I'd stood and watched as the victim died from the terrific trauma imposed on their bodies. The first transitions were embossed on my brain as the dead slowly became animated and rose as undead to join the attack on other humans. How could that occur in a matter of a minute?
Then we learned through harsh deadly lessons that the affliction could also enter the human body without the painful trauma of having chunks of flesh and bone torn away. Blood or body fluids passing through entry points like cuts and deep scratches could cause the dreaded change from human to monster; even fingernails and cuticles served as entry points. And those subtle methods of transmittal were so much more sinister because the affliction occurred over a period of weeks instead of minutes.
Worst of all was the knowledge that no one was immune to the affliction. There were no cures, no hope of the human immune system fighting it off.
I shook my head to clear it and put a soft instrumental disc in the player. Kenny G floated saxophone notes gently throughout the cab.
South of Mankato, we'd buried our grief and forced our minds back to our mission. What we'd seen and done was simply another day of life and death in our crumbling new world. Another day of winners and losers. The town passed around us without incident. A few zombies wandered the deserted parking lots, but no swarms ran out to have us for lunch. Past the north city limit sign, we encountered two small packs of zombies and eliminated them with a vengeance.
Our conversations circled mostly around happenings and immediate plans for the people in our group. After several hours, we grew silent. Marilyn snapped us out of our lethargic state. She was back to being her positive, outgoing self. "Why doesn't our compound have a name? It could be something to reflect the goals and ideals of the group,"
Both women looked at me. "I guess the idea was never pushed before. It's been on a back burner in my mind, but there are always more pressing matters. Since you've brought it up, will you handle getting suggestions for names the group can vote on?"
"Sure, I'll do that. Kira will you help me?"
Nodding, Kira said, "Thank you, I like this. After a name is chosen, we can put a sign on the end of the building toward the entrance road. It's dreary to think of our home as the compound or the metal building. A name would anchor it."
Marilyn sounded excited, "The name could be Libertyville, Iowa, or Survivorville, Iowa. I'm sure we'll get a lot of good suggestions from the group."
I thought for a few seconds as the women talked. Their excitement was obvious, but reality eluded them.
"The leadership committee has talked at length about something that relates to this. They've struggled to come to terms with my vision of our future and the future of mankind. Recently they've slowly come around to seeing and accepting the reality of our plight and our future.
“This is my view on usi
ng the state name, or the USA for that matter. Neither exists from here on. There is no United States of America or a state of Iowa except in the minds of us adults who lived up to the introduction of the zombies. Villages, towns, small cities, and even major metropolitan cities like New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles that we knew will fall into disrepair and become ruins like those from ancient times. The roads, highways, and bridges will eventually crumble, and many will be impassible. Our vehicles will wear out, or the refined fuel to operate them will be depleted or contaminated. Horses will again become the means for transportation and farming. All manufacturing has ceased, and I firmly believe in a decade, two at the most, mankind will decline back to the time of the pilgrims, or possibly even further back in history. Our lifestyles will eventually be comparable to that of maybe the sixteenth century, or earlier. Be prepared in our lifetimes to live without electricity, air conditioning, refrigeration, gas stoves and furnaces, computers, fossil fueled vehicles, all of the conveniences we still enjoy. Vegetables will be grown, harvested and canned, until the rubber sealed lids we're now hording wear out. Wheat and corn will be grown, milled by ancient methods, and made into flour for bread or cornmeal for cornbread or porridge. The firearms we carry today will become clubs when the ammunition is gone. People will return to religion for comfort, security and bonding. Incorporate that future into the name we choose."
Outnumbered series Box Set | Vols. 1-6 Page 7
