Outnumbered series Box Set | Vols. 1-6

by Schobernd, Robert

  She laughed. "That indicates you think half the people are mindless idiots."

  Seriously I said, "Yeah, I do. At least half have proven me right as long as I can remember. How did the incompetent and crooked politician's stay in office? Over half the voters kept them in power because they were so uniformed they didn't know what they were voting for."

  I stood, clicked the switch on my light, and we continued our scouting mission.

  She needed closure on my short, hasty, unprepared, verbal treatise on the subject of our future. "So you believe the worst of mankind will rise to the top again?"

  "Absolutely! It's human nature for some people to want to assume leadership and control others. And if good leaders surface to stop the crooked ones they'll be condemned, ridiculed, and denigrated until the people turn on them, just like in our lifetime. You'll start seeing signs of it before we die, if we survive the zombies to live to old age. Even in our group, if things start to go bad and stay bad for an extended period of time who will be blamed; will the average person accept a measure of the blame, or will they point at me and the others on the leadership committee?"

  Kira remained silent. I assumed she was analyzing our conversation as we continued our stroll with flashlights in one hand and the other hand near our pistol butts purely out of habit.

  Out thoughts were quickly overridden and pushed aside. Our light beams highlighted stacks of food as far as we could see. There was enough food to feed our group for years on end. We'd have to decide which items were the most important to take before we looked for Shane and Vince and shared our plan of taking an entire truckload of food with us.

  While the forklift's batteries charged, Shane and Vince worked on a huge maroon Peterbilt tractor to haul the food we'd chosen. Kira and I braved the closeness of the zombies still congregating at the fence to locate a sixty foot long insulated box trailer with heating units. The undead’s wailing increased noticeably the closer we got to them: and their clawing caused us to shudder at the thought of being in their grasp. During our outing three zombies found a way inside the fence, and we blasted their brains out. We assumed there must be a hole under the fence or a tear giving them access inside.

  After getting it started, Vince connected the tractor to the trailer we'd found and backed it up to the loading dock. Ed and the others fired up the forklifts to load both pickups and trailers with crates of ammunition and firearms on pallets.

  Well after dark, the box trailer was finally loaded with pallets of food Kira and I had selected. If the building's heating system continued to operate, we planned to return in a year for another trailer load. The place was a virtual gold mine for us.

  We stopped to eat at seven. Shane rigged a converter to both pickups' electrical systems to run microwave ovens and a few twelve volt lights. We enjoyed a hot meal of shrimp jambalaya and cornbread that Andrea Michaels had sent along. We were tired when we laid down for the night on pilfered blankets and pillows, falling sleep in the total darkness of the windowless tomblike warehouse.

  Early the next morning, we ate a hot breakfast with fresh coffee, thanks again to the converters Shane provided.

  We were making ready to leave when Vince opened the door to go outside and get in the Peterbilt truck he would drive back to the compound. The humming sounds of hundreds of moaning creatures filled the air and instantly put everyone on edge. A leprous hand flashed through the opening, missing Vince's face by under an inch as he dodged nimbly to the side. He slammed the door against the rotted forearm and yelled, "Zombies are inside the fence. A bunch of the damn things are standing outside this door. Help." Although its muscles had long ago rotted, the devilish monster somehow was able to push the door open slowly against the resistance of Vince's planted feet.

  At six feet away, I drew my sidearm. I nodded and Vince let the door open slightly. The echo of two .45 caliber shots echoed through the airplane hangar-like space; the zombie's grip loosened as it fell backward out of the doorway. Vince slammed the metal fire door shut and turned the deadbolt.

  Everyone gathered around as Ed and I took firing positions in front of the door with our Glocks in hand. Vince flung the door open, and we concentrated on head shots at a dozen undead milling on the concrete slab outside the door. They were only six to twelve feet away and instantly clamored loudly as they rushed to reach us. Ed and I stepped through the doorway and across the dead hulks. We split; he turned left and I went right. Vince followed right behind me and the others split between me and Ed.

  At least twenty zombies milled about in the yard and then turned toward the humans they hungered for. Rifle fire from beside me dropped them to the ground as I inserted a new magazine in the Glock and jacked in the first bullet. I took my rifle from Kira at the same time Ed grabbed his rifle from Marilyn. A huge mob of the undead monsters still lined the fence and surged against it to reach us. The fence played an eerie high pitched tune as the mesh was pushed and jostled back and forth by the mindless beast.

  I barked instructions, "Marilyn and Elsie stay here. Cover our backs and guard the door. Ed, take Vince and Martin and go left around the building. I'll take Shane and Kira and go right and meet you at the other side. Let's find where the stinking things are getting through the fence.”

  The moans and screeches increased as we walked away from the hungry horde. We shot more zombies inside the fence as we walked to the end of the building. After we made our first right turn and walked hundreds of feet toward the next corner, we saw the problem. A forty-foot section of fence was down where a UPS delivery truck had crashed into it. The fence laid flat to within a foot of the asphalt with the truck on top of it. Three ungainly zombies struggled as they crossed the fencing alongside the truck. I couldn't hide a grin as the clumsy monsters stumbled and fell and clawed their way over the bouncing wire mesh material as if they were playing on a trampoline. On firm asphalt again they stood upright and turned to us. More target practice and a further delay of least two hours. But the fence needed to be fixed before we left. If not, returning to the warehouse on our next trip might be impossible. There could be as many zombies inside the fence as out. We'd never have enough time to get the gate opened if that happened.

  The six of us met and agreed to hook the Peterbilt to the delivery truck and pull it on across the fence material. Then as several of us held the zombies at bay the rest of us would push the downed fence section back up while Vince backed empty trailers against it to hold it up and in place.

  All of us ran from one job to another as fast as we could. Help Vince unhook from the loaded trailer, shoot a zombie or three, help hook up to the delivery truck, shoot more zombies. The steady stream of shots from back at the downed fence attested to the steady influx of more undead.

  When the jury-rigged patch job was completed, we gathered at the entrance door and looked at the mob along the fence and near the exit gate. Elsie estimated there must be three to four hundred zombies clawing the fence as they moaned their dreaded tunes. No one refuted the guesstimate. We reloaded our empty magazine and readied to shoot again.

  A cold, light breeze blew against our backs as six of us walked to the gate. Once there, we split into two groups of three. We walked along the fence in opposite directions for fifty feet without shooting, and then stood there waiting. Finally, the undead pushed and clawed their way to us and massed in front of each of our small groups. Our plan to lure them away from the gate worked. We didn't want to be blocked in by a tall pile of rotting corpses.

  We began systematically firing at the monsters wanting to kill us because of some evil, ungodly reason we didn't comprehend. Elsie and Marilyn faced away and covered our backs to ensure none of the dirty, rotted horrors sneaked up behind us.

  It was after eleven when we finally opened the gate. Vince mashed his way across the few prone corpses with the Peterbilt and semitrailer, and the two pickups and trailers followed. Two shooters kept more zombies from reaching us as we worked to close the gate. Shane and I pushed the gates
together and snapped the lock through the heavy chain before we and Kira and Elsie jumped in the trucks and followed Vince away from the life sustaining warehouse.

  Slight snow flurries blew as we retraced our route through towns we'd entered the day before. We expected our trip to end on a high note after all the booty we'd found. About thirty minutes from the warehouse we encountered a frightening low note scene. A group of humans ran down a major intersection and crossed directly in front of our trucks. We were only driving thirty MPH, but still barely had time to stop without hitting anyone. Our truck led the convoy and halted in the middle of seven people. The small group was followed by another three figures two-hundred feet away. Behind them ran a group of at least twenty zombies that were maybe thirty feet behind them and closing fast.

  We bailed out of the three vehicles and ran to the people in front of us. They appeared to be as afraid of us as they were of the zombies. I gave the area a cursory inspection and saw more zombies in the opposite direction a full block from us.

  The other three people about to be caught appeared to be elderly. They struggled to hobble along and steadily lost ground to the zombies with every short step they managed. As we watched all three were brought down in quick succession. The pitiful screams rang clear above the ragged noises of the undead.

  Our sharpshooters picked off the zombies on the edges of the horde, and then they began shooting anything that moved. The elderly people were done for anyway. When all three were prone and unmoving, I directed Elsie to watch the unfortunate geriatrics for movement. If any even twitched she would blast them again. The rest of us turned to the new threat of zombies approaching from the other side of the intersection. Fast runners streaked ahead of their slower counterparts and were the first to go down as we fired volley after volley. I noticed several of those at the front of the line were full bodied and ran with a curious gait. Through my rifle scope, their eyes appeared bloodshot. Were these newly transitioned bodies that hadn't been dead long enough to rot? Or was a mutation taking place among the undead? It would be a subject for discussion with the leadership committee and a development to monitor closely.

  The slow movers continued to advance like a herd of lemmings moving toward the sea. They met their fate against waves of lead until all were cut down.

  I looked at the motley crew of strangers, not enthused by what I saw. A youngish man and woman held hands and appeared to be between twenty-five and thirty. Their clothes were ill fitting and dirty and their sunken eyes were dark ringed. They looked like homeless drug addicts. He looked short, five feet four, one-hundred-ten pounds with brown hair and pleasant looking at best. She was a plain looking blonde and tall, maybe five feet ten and one-hundred-thirty pounds.

  Next, I focused on two young men around twenty, one Caucasian, the other black. The white man on my right pulled a small revolver from his pants pocket and stepped closer to me. "If any of you try anything, I'll kill this dude." He motioned. "The rifle, hand it to Demetrius and give me that pistol.”

  He was clearly thrown off stride as I grinned and smirked but didn't comply. My rifle butt rested on the roadway with the barrel loose in my left hand. Demetrius scurried behind and then around his friend toward me and made a move for my M14. In a flash, I turned to my left and my right hand knocked the revolver aside and down.

  The gunman's head exploded, and a gunshot echoed through the tall buildings that rose around us. A surprised Demetrius turned his head toward the source of the shot as two more bullets shattered his skull. I turned and saw all seven of my friends held their Glocks in hand, pointed in my direction.

  Ed walked to me as he holstered his handgun. "Thanks for giving me the opportunity to take them out. The dumb shits actually thought they could rob us without a fight after we'd saved their worthless hides." He stooped and picked up the cheap Saturday night special piece of crap revolver. He flipped the cylinder out. "Look at this little nine mil. It's empty. The dumb shit was running a bluff without ammo." He tossed the worthless gun away.

  The five new people stood anxiously waiting. Fear etched their faces. A young girl about twenty asked, "Are you going to shoot us too?" Her clothes fit too tight and painted her like a floozy. Ultra short black leather skirt, torn fishnet stockings on pale legs and a ridiculously low cut blouse under an open short winter jacket. Her dyed black hair and extreme makeup looked harsh and tawdry. She stood about five feet six inches and looked slender.

  "Only if you threaten us."

  I turned my attention to the last people. The two appeared as a couple, mid forties, he thickset but not fat, she slender and stark looking. He was close to six feet tall, she about five feet six inches. Both had dark completions, he with curly black hair, her hair straight and long, hanging down inside a winter coat. We never saw fat people anymore; most humans were closer to starving than well fed.

  Shane said, "We need to get a move on, we've a long drive ahead of us. We're from Iowa and have a total of thirty-one people in our camp. Do you want to stay here or come with us? Make up your mind quickly because we're leaving."

  They all looked relieved and said yes or nodded.

  I looked at Vince, "We can't take a chance of putting them in the cabs with us until they've gone through the waiting period. There's room in the trailer you're pulling alongside some of the pallets, and it's warm inside. Let's get them situated back there and then move out." The snowfall had thickened slightly, and a half inch layer had accumulated on the concrete pavement. As we spoke, several more shots rang out as Martin and Elsie spotted and shot approaching single zombies.

  We encouraged the people to empty their bowels and bladders, gave them food and water and locked them in the darkness of the semitrailer with the piles of blankets and pillows we'd used the night before. I silently bet they'd be grateful for a safe eight to ten hour period to sleep.

  Hours later as he drove, Ed was still talking guns, his favorite subject. "It's still hard to believe the number of premium brands of guns Walmart stocked back there. I saw S&Ws, Berettas, Glocks, and most of the other top of the line handguns. And those were in addition to a dozen cheaper brands. I didn't know they carried so many high dollar firearms. A lot of the rifles stored there were .22 caliber, but we did find some decent ones in 5.56 and 7.62 millimeter."

  I'd had my fill of gun talk. Although I was a sniper in Delta Force, I'm not a certified gun nut. To me they're tools, not a love affair.

  I changed the subject. "Reports of changes in the zombies, in addition to those we've seen previously in the fast runners, are becoming more frequent. In the last month, three crews have documented seeing the same subtle differences; there are more undead that aren't rotting like the original ones have. The one that came up onto the hood on the way here hadn't started to rot and many we stopped this morning hadn't either."

  "But those could be," Elsie injected, "recently infected bodies that hadn't turned long enough ago to start deteriorating."

  "It could be, but the vast majority of humans have been dead for quite some time. We seldom see even a few human stragglers when we travel. That bunch of ten today was unusually large. At the compound tonight we'll learn what brought them together. Most of the people who are still alive have done as we have and banded together for safety in numbers. And I'll bet most of those groups that are still alive have left the cities for the rural areas where zombies aren't as plentiful.

  "Of course, there's no sure way of knowing for certain when a zombie turned. But Ira agrees that a new mutation has possibly taken place and we're only now seeing it as more undead migrate from the population centers out to the rural settings. The three sightings this month and four in the prior two months were scattered across the entire range we frequent. Plus, there were at least twenty yesterday besides the twenty-five or more this morning. That indicates it's not a local phenomenon, but something widespread. They're the same fast runners, only they haven't begun to decay. Their bodies are remaining intact except for where they were bitten and inf
ected. Also, they're quiet most of the time. It's easy to turn a corner and find them standing there waiting for you with arms and mouth opened wide."

  Ed grunted. "Yeah, that's what happened to Jerome Watters last year. He walked right into them and died because of it. So it's not a new thing."

  I continued, "Something else I noticed today was a strange way they ran. If you see them at a good distance running toward you look for a peculiar gait as they run. I don't know how to describe it, something like a half step or a slight stumble every few steps.”

  Kira turned onto our gravel lane when we reached Deliverance at eight that evening. I called the guard towers on the radio and the gate slowly jerked opened. While on the radio I told them to get Ira Sparrow, our doctor, down to door nine because we had five new potential members. Vince parked the tractor and semitrailer against the fence as far from the compound as he could and let the diesel engine run to keep the food in the trailer from freezing.

  While Ira and our nurse Marcie Tanka saw that the new people had baths, meals and then were examined, Kira and I did the bath and meal thing too. Close to midnight, the last of the five people were put in the holding cells where they would remain for three weeks to ensure they weren’t contaminated by the undead. If they transformed while in detention they would be exterminated like any other zombie. Sometimes even I cringed at the harshness of our new lives.

  After the last cell door closed on our reticent new recruits, I found Ira in his office. He'd waited for me to finish locking our guest away. He looked tired and haggard. I sat and felt concerned at him. "Are you okay? You look exhausted."

  He smiled weakly. "I'm fifty-four years old. That in itself is good reason to be tired these days, but then everyone is as tired as I am. I'm fine. A few good nights sleep will put me right again."