Zombie Rules (Book 7): The Fifteens

by Achord, David

  “That’s what they believe,” Logan said. “But it’s supposed to be top secret information. If any of you go blabbing it, I’ll deny telling you.”

  “That’s why they all of a sudden wanting to build an ammunition factory,” True said.

  Melvin nodded. “I believe you’re correct, buddy.”

  The rain hit with a gusto and was exacerbated by strong wind gusts. The four men quickly packed up and retreated to the safety of the Peterbilt.

  “Hopefully, it’ll blow through in an hour or so,” Logan said.

  “I hope so too,” Liam said. “Nothing’s worse than dropping the kids off at the pool in the middle of a thunderstorm.”

  Melvin chuckled. “You crack me up.”

  “Is this your longest mission with Mount Weather?” Liam asked him.

  “Yep,” Melvin answered. “This is the third longest mission ever sanctioned by Mount Weather. Two thousand miles round trip.”

  “Give or take,” Liam added.

  “Yeah, give or take.”

  “What was the longest?” Logan asked.

  Melvin scratched the stubble on his chin. “Let’s see, it was the second year, I believe. When President Richmond was still alive, he sanctioned an expedition to Cheyenne Mountain to see if anyone in there was still alive. That trek was about fifteen hundred miles one-way. That team is missing in action and presumed dead. There were a couple of others that were over a thousand miles. They never returned either.”

  “Where all have you been, since it all went bad, that is?” Logan asked.

  Melvin scratched himself. “I’ve been all over Virginia and West Virginia. I dare say I know the terrain of those two states better than anyone left alive. In the south, I’ve been through Kentucky, Tennessee, and North Carolina. Up north, I’ve been to DC and areas of Pennsylvania, but I’ve never been this far west. Not since the outbreak, that is.”

  “I bet you’ve seen some outrageous shit,” Logan said. Melvin gave an offhand nod.

  “Like what?” Logan asked.

  Melvin scratched himself and wondered if he was getting jock itch. The summer heat and humidity would do that to a man. The last time he got it, he had to sun his groin for a couple of hours a day until the rash and uncontrollable itching subsided.

  “Ah, a few odd things here and there,” he answered.

  “Oh, I’ve got to hear,” Logan said.

  “Well, let’s see. I came up on an area outside of Huntington, Kentucky that was weird. There must’ve been over a hundred zeds that’d been impaled on poles along the side of the road, like Vlad the Impaler was living there. Several of them were still alive, or whatever you call it, but I never found any live humans.”

  “That’s a little creepy,” Liam remarked.

  “Yeah,” Melvin agreed. “I always wondered about that. It seemed to me that it took at least three or four people to do that, and so it got me to wondering why a group of survivors would spend all that time and energy to do something like that. I was going to ask, but I never found them. Anyway, in Marietta, I stumbled upon a small group of six people that’d resorted to cannibalism.”

  Liam looked in surprise. “Cannibals? Really?”

  “Yep. People will go to extremes when they’re starving. They wanted to make a meal out of me and I had to shoot one of them to make them back down.”

  “How many were there?”

  “Six altogether. I think they were a family. I would’ve killed the rest, but they were almost dead anyway and weren’t worth wasting ammo on. Zach said he ran into a group back in Nashville. The way he explained it, eating human flesh can cause a person to get holes in the brain, or something like that.”

  “Damn,” Liam drawled. “We ran into all kinds of crazies back in Pittsburgh, but no cannibals that I know of. We had two babies die in our group, back when we had a group, and one of the mothers was so distraught she killed herself.”

  “Have you two done any military service?” Melvin asked.

  “Nope,” Liam said. “All we’ve ever been is cops.”

  “We grew up in a family of cops,” Logan added. “Our dad and his two brothers were cops and our mom was a dispatcher.”

  “Did you guys like it?” Melvin asked.

  “Loved it,” Liam and Logan answered in unison.

  “We were having the time of our lives, but all good things must come to an end,” Logan said.

  “But every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end,” Liam quipped.

  “Ah-hah, I know that one. Closing Time by Semisonic. Good one, brother,” Logan said with a grin and glanced over at True. “What about you? Was it your lifelong ambition to be in the National Guard?”

  True shook his head slightly. “I got into some trouble when I was a teenager, so I was given the choice—jail or the military. Somehow, I ended up full time in the Guard.”

  “Did you do any deployments?” Liam asked.

  “Iraq for six months, but I was service support, not a combat soldier.” True did not elaborate. In fact, he earned a Bronze Star with a V for valor. He got the reward for his actions during a series of attacks on his base. It wasn’t much to talk about, and besides, it might’ve encouraged them to ask about how he’d been living since it all went bad.

  “With you being on an A-Team, you must have done quite a few deployments I imagine,” Logan said to Melvin.

  “Oh, yeah. We traveled a lot,” Melvin said. “When you’re on a team, you’re either training or on mission.”

  “Including Afghanistan,” Logan said.

  Melvin nodded. “The ‘Stan, also known as Ass-Crap-Astan. Yep, I’ve been there. Two tours. Hated the place.”

  Liam and Logan looked at each other. Liam cleared his throat. “The rumor is, you were going to get the medal for stuff you did over there.”

  “Yeah, well, I got kicked out before that happened,” Melvin said.

  “We’d love to hear the story.”

  Melvin’s features darkened and he shook his head ruefully. “I generally don’t talk about it, but I like you boys and I think you can relate. It kinda goes like this; I was the light weapons specialist on an A-Team. Like you guys, I was having the time of my life. On my second deployment, they got some Intel of a large Taliban unit in the area. Our mission was to set up an ambush at the mouth of a valley. Sure enough, right at sunset, a battalion-sized unit of those rascals came out of the hills and walked right into the kill zone. It was a classic textbook set up. The only problem was, our artillery strike never materialized. Something got messed up in the lines of communications. So, we had to deal with them on our own.”

  “Wait a minute. How many soldiers are on an A-team?” Logan asked.

  “Twelve normally, but at that time we were down one man,” Melvin answered.

  “And how many soldiers are in a battalion?” Liam asked.

  “Generally, about three hundred.”

  “Are you telling us eleven of you held off three hundred Taliban?” Logan asked in disbelief.

  “I wasn’t counting, but yeah, that’s what they say,” Melvin answered. “They generally don’t mass in numbers that size, but they were planning a major offensive on an FOB south of the valley.”

  “Holy shit, Sarge,” Logan said.

  “Yeah, holy shit,” Melvin muttered.

  “They said you were the only one who lived through it,” True said.

  Melvin shook his head slightly. “Me and the CO, but he was shot up pretty bad and died later. It all sounds bigger than life, but I’ll tell you right now, if I hadn’t gotten kicked out and they offered me that medal, I wouldn’t have taken it. I didn’t deserve it. Yeah, I lived through it and killed a bunch of Taliban, but that doesn’t mean I did anything better than the rest of my team.”

  “That was bullshit about them kicking you out, Sergeant,” True said.

  Melvin shook his head again. “No, it was the right call. I deserved it. I could sit here and rationalize everything I did, blame it all on PTS
D and my crazy wife, but I should have never put my hands on her.”

  Logan nodded and decided to change the subject.

  “What if that ammunition plant is stripped or in shambles?” he asked.

  “If that’s the case, we’ll take some photos and go home. We’ll scavenge along the way and hopefully encounter pockets of survivors to bring into the fold,” Melvin said. “If Russia is heading our way, we need to recruit soldiers.”

  “Do you really think Russians are heading our way?” Liam asked.

  “I don’t know, but one thing is certain—we’re undermanned.”

  Melvin had the second watch. True had awakened him by tugging on his boot. Melvin sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked at his watch. It was 0200 hours. True had let him sleep two additional hours.

  “Thanks,” he whispered and climbed out of the semi.

  “I’ll sit with you a spell,” True said. “I ain’t sure I’m tired enough to fall asleep while smelling Liam’s gas.”

  “Glad for the company,” Melvin replied. “If you keep an eye on me, I’m going to put out a pail or two and collect some rainwater.”

  True nodded. Melvin got some plastic pails, but they kept blowing away. He finally secured them around some signposts with bungee cords. When he walked back to the truck, Melvin was sitting against one of the concrete pylons, sound asleep. Melvin grunted in amusement.

  He walked back out in the open and took a deep breath. The front had brought a heavy thickness of precipitation, but the air was fresh. He walked around, checking the area with NV goggles. When he decided they were alone, he stretched and sat in a folding chair. His thoughts soon drifted to the mission.

  They needed a sustainable source of ammunition. It was critical. If there were Russians moving in, there might be Chinese invading California, or even worse, Canadians invading New York. Melvin chuckled at himself. He’d gone on a mission with a couple of Canadians back before. They were good dudes. Melvin hoped they survived.

  The storm moved in with an angry gusto. It was a doozy. Lots of rain, lots of wind. Melvin retreated into the cab of the semi. It was pitch black outside, but occasionally there were streaks of lightning. All he could see were sheets of pouring rain.

  He wondered how it was going back at Mount Weather.

  Chapter 16 – An Emergency Meeting

  I was miserable. Absolutely miserable. I would have rather been tasked with a week of latrine duty than listen to this nonsense.

  The trial was due to start in the morning, but the esteemed senator Rochelle VanAllen showed up a couple of hours ago, marched straight to the president’s office, and filed a crazy rambling appeal. She then demanded an emergency meeting. President Stark was livid, as were several others, but seeing no other alternative, a meeting was convened immediately after dinner.

  Since it was a formal appeal relating to the upcoming trial, a quorum was required, which meant mandatory attendance. In other words, I could not make up some excuse to get out of it. Lydia was forced to rearrange several work assignments, which angered some people, but it could not be helped. I came in early and helped get everything prepared. Then, Kate and I sat off to the side and watched as everyone arrived.

  Kate is officially President Stark’s personal assistant. She is also his mistress, perhaps the most poorly kept secret in Mount Weather. She took over Ruth’s position a while back and Ruth is now the second-in-command of Mount Weather security.

  “Everyone seems pissed about this,” Kate whispered.

  I glanced over at her. She was an attractive woman of Native American ancestry. We’d never been friends, clash of personalities and all that, but we got along well enough.

  “Yeah, they are,” I said in agreement.

  She was right. Everyone had a sour expression, especially Vice President Rhinehart. He was glowering like a constipated basset hound.

  Kate took a running headcount. When a quorum was reached, she fetched President Stark. When he walked in, the meeting was quickly called to order, and after the usual preamble, Senator VanAllen was recognized. She summarily, and loudly, declared the upcoming trial was unconstitutional and illegal. It went downhill from there. The ensuing back and forth would have been comedic under any other circumstances.

  “Banishment,” the VP said. Again. He’d said it three or five times already. “And, if necessary and only as a last resort, the death penalty is imposed. Those are the two forms of punishment here at Mount Weather for capital crimes.”

  His impatience was showing. Honestly, I was surprised he hadn’t already blown a gasket on gone off on a tirade, which he was known for. He and I had a few run-ins over the past couple of years, but for the most part, we were civil toward each other.

  “And who decided this?” Rochelle questioned with an arch of her left eyebrow.

  “It was voted on by Mount Weather personnel in a public referendum,” Rhinehart replied. “When the magnitude of the infection was apparent, the applicable COG protocol was activated. This protocol was later ratified by a majority vote under the same referendum. It was a unanimous vote, as I’ve already explained.”

  He took his glasses off and rubbed his temples. Rochelle smirked, which confirmed to me she was deliberately trying to provoke him. I think he knew it as well, that’s why he was making a deliberate effort to keep calm.

  “There is nothing in the Constitution about banishment,” she declared, like she had scored a victory. Rhinehart took a deep breath.

  “No, Senator, there is not. Nor is there anything in the Constitution about the death penalty. The only thing the Constitution says is the punishment cannot be cruel and unusual. That would fall under the Eighth Amendment. You are aware of the Eighth Amendment, Senator?”

  “Of course, I am,” Senator VanAllen retorted.

  “Then you should be aware there are several things that are not in the Constitution, which is why the concept of Martial Law was created many years ago and the COG protocol was developed and activated.” He took another deep breath and tried a different tact.

  “Senator, as I am sure you are aware, when Martial Law is imposed, the Constitution is suspended. Now, you may not know, Martial Law was enacted by President Richmond shortly after the seriousness of the outbreak was realized. Some years ago, a government think tank created the Continuation of Government protocol. This protocol was approved by both the president and the Senate committee of Homeland Security and Government affairs, a committee I was the chair of.

  “They created many different disaster scenarios. Surprisingly, one of those scenarios was almost exactly what we are going through. One of the many things they realized was there would be no resources for running a prison, so they created alternate forms of punishment. Banishment is one of those alternatives. If we were to eliminate banishment, under current law, the only other alternative for a capital offense is the death penalty.”

  Her smirk broadened. “And which one of you here has the intestinal fortitude to carry out the death penalty, if it were imposed?”

  Her two butt-sniffing cronies, a middle-aged woman and her ugly as sin daughter who looked like the ass-end of that same constipated hound dog, pointedly stared at me, as if I was going to jump up and rabidly declare it was going to be me.

  It was true, my reputation around here was not what you’d call angelic. When my people and I first arrived, back about six years ago now, I put a beating on two people whom I had caught breaking into our trailer. The latest thing I did that kept the gossipers busy was killing General Harlan Fosswell Senior.

  “We have designated personnel for that task, if it becomes necessary,” the VP said. “You may not be aware of it, Senator, but we have several seasoned veterans living here who are prepared to act as the executioner.”

  Senator VanAllen was not stymied and the prattle went on and on. She pontificated in a shrill voice on the morality of what she believed was an egregious breach of the Constitution.

  I was at a loss for this behavior. Human rights
were alive and well in Mount Weather. We used arbitration to settle minor disputes and the only capital offense we had so far was the treason committed by Fosswell. Otherwise, crime in Mount Weather was virtually non-existent. I believe part of the reason was all newcomers were briefed on the laws and policies of Mount Weather and had to make a verbal commitment to agree to abide by those terms if they wanted to live in our communities.

  Rochelle VanAllen was also briefed. I know because I was the one who briefed her and her husband. I recall both husband and wife praising our adaptation of the COG plan. Suddenly, she has declared that our judicial system was evil.

  Sighing to myself, I focused back on my laptop. I opened the file from Roscoe and started rereading it. I had tuned out the prattle, but that was a mistake.

  “Mister Gunderson, would you please answer my question?”

  I looked up to see Senator VanAllen staring pointedly.

  “I apologize, Senator, could you repeat the question?”

  She responded with a withering stare and then glanced around. “Apparently, there is something more important on his computer than innocent people having their civil rights trampled upon here at Mount Weather.”

  A singular chuckle came from the audience, but I believed everyone else thought as I did; that she was a joke. I fought the urge to make a smartassed retort. Instead, I took the advice of my deceased mentor, Parvis. He and Fred had both told me I was often impetuous, and I needed to curb my temper. So, I maintained a calm demeanor, gazed at her steadily, and waited. After a moment, she huffed and repeated herself.

  “I asked who decides when the death penalty is imposed. I’ve read the Mount Weather by-laws extensively and there is nothing to indicate who has the final authority on the matter.” She looked around at the audience. “Perhaps the tooth fairy decides.” She punctuated her snide remark with an inane giggle. I wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

  “You are incorrect, Senator. There is indeed a section in the bylaws that covers this. If you will refer to section seven, paragraphs three through eight, it explains the procedure for judicial process and the imposing of a sentence upon a convicted defendant.” I had it all memorized. The Senator did not and gazed at me with a brief expression of befuddlement before changing it to a scowl. I decided I needed to hurry things along. “Would you like me to summarize?”