Zombie Rules (Book 7): The Fifteens

by Achord, David

  I laughed. Isidro was Brenda’s son. She and Jorge had hooked up and Isidro suddenly found himself with a family who treated him like one of their own. Josue especially doted on him.

  “I like that kid,” I said.

  “Yeah, he’s smart, but he’s also a smart-aleck. Seth was there and heard what he said, so he suggested an impromptu school group project. So, we changed some things.”

  “Oh yeah, like what?” I asked.

  “We arranged all the chairs for the spectators and put the judge’s bench on a raised platform. We then hung black curtains along the bottom of it so it looks more official. I think Seth and Ruth went back after dinner to finish up. It looks like a real courtroom now.”

  “Good. I had not thought of that. It’ll create a good, judicial type of vibe.”

  “Yep, exactly. Seth thinks the trial will only last a day. Two at the most.” She paused a moment. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They had a random draw to pick jurors. Guess who was picked?”

  “You?”

  She grinned. “Yep. Twenty people were picked, and Connie and that woman questioned us. Out of the twenty, they picked twelve jurors. I’m one of them.”

  When she said that woman, she meant Rochelle VanAllen. Kelly was well-liked in the community and she seldom met someone whom she did not get along with. Rochelle was one of those people.

  “How’d that go?” I asked.

  “Connie’s questions were direct and thoughtful. He mostly asked everyone if they thought they could be an impartial juror. That woman’s questions were all over the place. She actually asked if I slept with you.”

  I frowned. “What’d you say?”

  “I told her you were my husband—of course I slept with you. She gave me this look like she would not have expected me to give that answer. She’s an odd duck.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” I then told her about the recon mission. “Bob is going with me. We’ll probably be gone a day or two.”

  We talked some more, but I honestly don’t remember what we spoke about. Somewhere during it, I fell asleep.

  Chapter 21 – Fred and Sammy

  “Don’t you want to stay and watch the trial?” Sammy asked.

  “You can stay if you like, but I need to go check on those women,” Fred replied.

  The two of them had finished their breakfast and were waiting at the motor pool for one of the Garcia men to open it up.

  “How do you think it’s going to go?” Sammy asked.

  “The trial? Who’s to say,” Fred said.

  “Do you care?”

  “I don’t have a dog in the hunt,” Fred said. “I’m sure the proper decision will be reached though.”

  After a minute, Josue came hustling up. “Lo siento,” he huffed as he unlocked the door to the motor pool. He led them to a Chevy Colorado parked in the fenced-in lot and pointed.

  “Almost new. A few scratches, but nice,” he said.

  It was white in color, a four-wheel drive with the standard add-ons; caged windows, a CB radio, and a couple of other items.

  “It’ll do. Thank you, Josue,” Fred said.

  The two of them filed their travel plan at the main gate and were soon on their way.

  “How’d they get to your place?” Sammy asked.

  “Horseback,” Fred replied. “I found them tied to a tree about a quarter-mile down the road. They were in rough shape. You know what we think of men who don’t care for their horses, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sammy replied. “And they never said what they were after?”

  “Nope.”

  “Because you killed them before you talked to them,” Sammy said. Fred glanced over at him. Sammy noticed. “I mean, I’m not second-guessing you. They needed killing, I guess.”

  “What if it was you and Serena in that situation. What would you have done?”

  Sammy bit his lower lip. “I would’ve shot them too, I guess.”

  “When situations like that happen, you have to think fast and act even faster. Remember the OODA loop?”

  “Yes, sir. Observe, Orient, Decide, Act,” Sammy said.

  “Yep, and it has to be a quick thought process,” Fred said. “Microseconds.” He glanced over at Sammy again, who was staring out the window, lost in thought. “How’s the pregnancy coming?”

  Sammy shrugged. “The doc says everything is alright.”

  “How’s Serena? Is she having big mood swings?”

  Sammy hastened a glance at Fred. “Yeah, sometimes. How’d you know? Did someone say something to you?”

  Fred grunted. “Didn’t have to. Back when my wife was pregnant with our daughter, she’d have some doozy mood swings sometimes. Some women don’t have them, some do. It’s normal. A month or two after she’s given birth, she’ll be back to her old self.”

  Sammy nodded thoughtfully and seemed lost in thought again. Fred was content to drive in silence but thought maybe he’d go with Zach’s suggestion.

  “Yeah, there was a time or two during her pregnancy where I didn’t think we’d make it. We had a couple of pretty heated arguments, but we managed to work things out. I guess it happens with all couples.”

  “What did y’all argue about?” Sammy asked.

  Fred searched his memory and surprisingly, gave a small chuckle. “You know, I don’t even remember anymore, which goes to show you it wasn’t over anything important and it was probably all my fault anyway.”

  “Did you…?”

  When Sammy didn’t finish the sentence, Fred glanced over. “Did I what?”

  “Did you ever suspect that, that the kid wasn’t yours?” he asked.

  Fred glanced at Sammy again and caught the young man wiping away a tear. Fred stopped the truck and shut it off.

  “What’s going on, son?” he asked.

  “Well, there’s a rumor going around about her and Zach,” Sammy said.

  “Yeah, I’ve already heard that,” Fred said. “Don’t you believe it for a minute. That’s nothing more than dirty politics by that VanAllen woman and her people.”

  “But there’s some things that aren’t adding up.”

  “Like what?” Fred asked.

  “There were times where Serena would just disappear for a few hours here and there and nobody knew where she was. I’d look everywhere but couldn’t find her. When she’d finally show up, she wouldn’t say where she was, only that she needed to be alone for a while. We figure she got pregnant in February and that’s when she was acting weird.” He wiped his eyes again and cleared his throat.

  “I didn’t know what to think of it at the time, I just believed her. But now, when I think back on it, there are certain areas down in the bunker that are restricted to all but a few people, like Zach. He could have taken her to some secret spot down in one of the lower levels.”

  Fred reached over, put a firm hand on Sammy’s shoulder, and fixed him with a hard stare. “Hoss, I want you to listen to me. Zach is an honorable man. He’d never, ever do anything like that to you, no matter what. He considers you his friend and places a high value on your friendship.”

  Sammy stared back for a moment before nodding his head. Fred loosened his grip and gave him a fatherly pat. “Alright, there were five of them when we put them out of Mount Weather, so presumably there’s only three of them left; two women and a teenage girl. The girl is about your age.”

  “Yeah, Keeley,” Sam said. “She’s a couple of years older than me, so she’s like eighteen or nineteen. She was always a little strange acting. We thought the zeds messed her up in the head.”

  “Yeah, it’s possible, I suppose. Would you have any compunction about putting a round between her ears?”

  Sammy stared at Fred now in confusion.

  “They may need help, or they may be hostile. Here’s my plan,” he said. Sammy listened attentively. When Fred was finished explaining, Sammy nodded.

  “I’ve got your back,” he sa
id.

  Fred stared a moment and then gave him a nod. “Alright then.”

  Chapter 22 – The Trial of Clay Fleming

  Despite Senator VanAllen’s antics and the attack of Fort Detrick, the trial was a go and due to start this morning promptly at nine. It wasn’t for lack of trying though. When she chased after me, the meeting was promptly adjourned. She filed a written motion for another meeting, along with a motion to suspend the trial. It didn’t work.

  The room started filling up before breakfast was over with and soon it was a packed house. Aside from Rochelle’s ridiculous lawsuit, there had been no trial in years. The witnesses from Marcus Hook had come in the prior evening and a lot of people from the surrounding communities showed up.

  “I didn’t realize this trial would draw the interest of so many people,” Ruth said. She and Priss had been designated the court’s bailiffs. “It’s like the Scopes monkey trial or something. You’d think they have better things to do.”

  “They’re curious,” I replied. “They haven’t seen anything like this in a while. Besides,” I lowered my voice, “I’ve been told some people are questioning whether or not this is still a government that is for the people.”

  Ruth gave a reluctant nod. “I’ve heard that too,” she whispered. “When they see the trial will be impartial and by the book, that’ll quash those thoughts, right?”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I hope so.”

  I really did hope so. Mount Weather wasn’t designed to house more than a certain number of people for the long term. Our paradigm was to encourage people to create a network of communities outside of Weather, and it was working. But lately, the people that lived in these communities seemed to have forgotten how much we had done for them and there was a growing sentiment among a few that they could be independent and autonomous.

  “I’m going to go check on Seth. He’s a little nervous,” she said and disappeared through the back door.

  Seth Kitchens was an Army Jag officer, back before. As one of the few attorneys we had, he had been tasked with adapting the old judicial system to the needs of post-apocalyptic America. And this was going to be a major test to see if it worked.

  Seth lived in a community outside of Roanoke now, so he was picked as the acting judge due to his perceived lack of any bias. Senator Conrad “Connie” Nelson had been chosen by vote to be the prosecuting attorney. He was arrogant, cocky, and thought of himself as a lady’s man. He had been a successful attorney in Florida before trying his hand in politics. All his legal briefs were in the Mount Weather library, supplied by him of course. I read a few of them and I had to admit, I was impressed. I smiled to myself. With Rochelle on one side and Cocky Connie on the other side, there were bound to be a lot of fireworks.

  Ruth reentered the court promptly at nine and court was called to order. Seth walked in looking austere in his black robe and once he was seated, wasted no time in getting started.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to begin the trial of the United States of America versus Clay Fleming on the charge of murder, as defined under U.S. Code Eighteen, One-One-One-One. The defendant has entered a plea of not guilty and a jury has been sworn in. Is the prosecution ready?”

  Senator Nelson stood and gave Seth a small nod.

  “The prosecution is ready,” he declared.

  “Is the defense ready?” Judge Kitchens asked.

  Rochelle stood as quickly as her stumpy legs would allow. “The defense stands ready to not only prove my client’s innocence, but to prove that this whole proceeding is a mockery.”

  I glanced at Connie, who was smirking. He probably suspected the same thing I did; Rochelle had never been an attorney. I’d never been to law school but even I knew that innocence did not need to be proven in the American judicial system; it was the prosecution’s burden to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.

  Or, maybe it was nothing more than silly courtroom theatrics—I didn’t know—but one thing was certain; her conduct during the trial would either validate her claims of being an attorney or expose her as a fraud.

  “The prosecution may now proceed with your opening argument,” Seth directed.

  Conrad’s opening was direct and to the point. He pointed out there was no disputing Clay stabbed Dalton to death and that the state would prove that the act was in fact murder and not self-defense.

  After he sat, Seth made eye contact with Rochelle, who needed no prompting. She stood, faced the audience, and smiled like she had a secret. She slowly raised her hands outward and then moved them out like she was nailed to a cross. Suddenly, she let out a blood-curdling scream, startling everyone, including me.

  “That, good people, is the shocking sensation of being raped.”

  “What the ever-loving fuck?” someone in the audience said.

  Seth responded with a rapping of his makeshift gavel, which was a sixteen-ounce wooden mallet requisitioned from the tool locker.

  “Rape, I said!” she bellowed, and then stabbed a finger at empty air.

  “One night, not so long ago, a predator by the name of Dalton Pentecost lured poor innocent Hermione Fleming to a party, whereupon he forced alcohol and other illicit substances on her before luring her back to his room, whereupon he proceeded to brutally, savagely, rape her.”

  “Bullshit,” someone in the audience muttered. Seth rapped his gavel again. Rochelle scowled at the audience, trying to determine who made the remark. Failing to do so, she continued her diatribe, otherwise known as her opening argument.

  “When my client, an honorable man, learned of this heinous atrocity, he immediately confronted the monster and attempted to make a citizen’s arrest. The rapist, the sex fiend who you all know as Dalton Pentecost, attacked my client. Clay Fleming had no choice but to defend himself, as you all would have done.” She then turned and fixed Seth with what I am certain she thought was an intimidating stare.

  “It is obvious my client is innocent. Therefore, I demand that this case be dismissed, and Clay Fleming be released from custody.”

  Seth returned her stare. “Motion denied. Will the prosecution call the first witness, please?”

  Rochelle had a look of exasperation on her face and was about to argue, but Connie had already stood and was speaking to Priss.

  “The people call Mary Wilson to the stand.”

  Priss nodded, stuck her head out the back door, and shouted, “Mary Wilson, step forth!”

  Mary was a twenty-two year old who, before coming to Marcus Hook, was living in the same school Dalton was living in. She was fourteen when it went bad and was still wearing braces. It wasn’t until a few years later, after the group was rescued, that Johnny G realized she’d had her braces on for far too long and snipped them off with a pair of electrical wire cutters. I wouldn’t say her teeth were FUBAR’ed, but when she smiled, they certainly looked a little strange. After Ruth swore her in, she was directed to state her name.

  “Mary Wilson,” she replied with obvious nervousness. Connie gave her a warm smile.

  “Hi, Mary,” he said. She smiled back.

  “Hi, Connie.”

  “Mary, I’d like for you to start by telling the court a little bit about yourself. Where are you from and how did you end up in Marcus Hook?”

  “I’m from Norristown, Pennsylvania. I was in class one day when the school went on lockdown. We thought it was a big riot going on outside. Everyone seemed to be going crazy. That was the zombies. They were everywhere.” She looked out at the audience. “I guess it was the same with all of you. Everyone seemed to be getting sick and, on that day, it seemed like most of my homeroom was out sick with the flu. Anyway, I don’t mean to bore everyone, but some of the students became infected and a lot of people were getting killed. Mister Struthers, that was our science teacher, gathered up what was left of us and kept us safe.”

  “Was Dalton Pentecost part of that group?” Connie asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “So, let me summa
rize for you, was there a time when you came into contact with people from Marcus Hook?”

  “Yeah. We’d been living at the school for over a year. We were mostly trapped because there were zombies everywhere. Sometimes people would go out looking for food and not come back. That’s what happened with Mister Struthers—he never came back.”

  She looked like she was going to cry for a moment, but quickly recovered. “Anyway, one day a truck drove up. It was Johnny G and Jimbo. They brought us back to Marcus Hook and I’ve been here ever since.”

  “Would it be fair to say you knew Dalton pretty well?” Connie asked.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She looked around. “I’ve known him longer than anyone else here, with the exception of Jesse.”

  “Describe Dalton, please.”

  “When I first met him, he was a skinny, acne-faced kid. He was nice though and was always helping Mister Struthers.”

  “Was Dalton a bad kid?” Connie asked.

  “Not at all,” Mary replied. “I guess you’d say he was a typical teenager.”

  “In fact, the two of you were once kind of dating, were you not?”

  Mary smiled slightly. “Yeah, for a short time, but that was back when we were still in the school. Then I started going with Jesse and we’ve kind of been together ever since.”

  “Did you dislike Dalton?” Connie asked.

  Mary quickly shook her head. “Oh, no. We were still friends. Like I said, he was a nice guy and he put a great emphasis on friendship.”

  Connie nodded, as if this was extremely important information.

  “So, you guys lose Mister Struthers one day…was he the only adult in the school?”

  “Yeah, we were on our own after he was gone. We were afraid to leave the school and weren’t doing so well.”

  “And then you kids are rescued by Johnny G and Jimbo.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How is life at Marcus Hook?” he asked.

  “It’s tough, but better than it was back at the school. Back at the school, we were slowly starving to death.”

  “How did Dalton assimilate life at Marcus Hook?”