Cajun Zombie Chronicles: (Book 3): The Kingdom Dead

by Smith, S. L.

  “Seriously?” Holly asked. “It doesn’t look like he’s even moving it.”

  Jarrah got back down on the floor by the trapdoor. He opened it just a hair and lowered it again softly. He exchanged glances with Isherwood and Padre and nodded.

  There were still a half dozen or more zombies clawing at the door. The door had begun collapsing inward. Arms and withered hands were already reaching into the small control room. Padre and Isherwood were moving to either edge of the doorway. Isherwood could have easily sunk his blade into the first few skulls, but he didn’t want to clutter the doorway just yet with bodies to trip over.

  “Can’t we give it a little more time?” Chet asked, now whispering. “He’s – little dude’s – gonna have this place completely clear in like just a second.”

  “We can’t just leave him hanging like that,” Isherwood was shaking his head. “He might be the one that’s surrounded a minute from now. We gotta move when we can move. Rule number 42 of the apocalypse.”

  “Y’all get ready.” Padre said grabbing hold of the doorknob. “Next stop, home. Your new home.”

  They were forming into a semi-circle, all eight of them. There was Padre at the door. Chet, Gill, then Holly were next. Lee, Hoskins, and Justin were in the center with a dozen or knives between them, plus a frog-gigging pole. Last were Jarrah and Isherwood facing the crack in the door.

  After a five count, Padre turned the lock in the doorknob. He sidestepped out of the way as the door flung open with the sudden rush of four zombies spilling inside. These were quickly trampled. The semicircle of survivors didn’t immediately rush into the breach. They were letting the zombies come to them. Otherwise, the doorway would soon fill up with twice-killed bodies.

  Nevertheless, a mound of bodies was quickly filling up the small control room. Jarrah took it upon himself to start sliding bodies through the trapdoor. A second after the feet and legs slid through the little door in the floor, there was a sickening crunch. Five or so bodies later, there was no more crunching sound, just the slap of bodies.

  After pushing the legs and waist of a zombie through the trapdoor, Jarrah suddenly leapt backwards. The zombie had suddenly thrown its arms out wide across the opening in the floor. Only one of its arms was actively reaching into the control room. The other arm was mangled by several apparent breaks, one of which was evident from its ulna protruding upward from its forearm like a Wolverine Halloween costume. Jarrah, having passed through a moment or two of mindless panic, suddenly recognized the zombie. It was the first zombie, the one who had been pressing his face against the glass. It had been stampeded when the door opened. That’s likely when the thing’s arm was mangled, Jarrah thought to himself.

  Justin turned and gigged the thing before Jarrah had time for much more revelry. “Focus, will ya?” Hoskins kicked at Jarrah as he momentarily sat back against a filing cabinet. “No time for pickin’ daisies.”

  “Or I’ll be pushing up daisies, ain’t that right, skins?”

  The landing of the stairway had been packed tight with zombies. After they had emptied it and the initial rush was over, the pace of zombies staggering into the room subsided. Jarrah now made sure to skull-tap each body as he dragged them through the trapdoor. Hoskins had begun dragging bodies to him, as well, now that the killing crew seemed to have the job well in hand.

  *****

  “Hey, buddy,” Chet said. “You really did us a solid up here.”

  After another fifteen minutes, the group had divided up. The killing crew, including Gill, Holly, Lee, and Chet, were chewing up the long line of zombies leading all the way to the front gate. Isherwood, Padre, and Justin left together in Isherwood’s Jeep to liberate the other vehicles from their parking spots in the canyons.

  “Yeah,” Gill shouted, as she slammed her bo staff against a long-haired zombie. The creature’s face visibly contorted as the bones receded inward and rearranged themselves. It almost seemed to smile, as its cheekbones collapsed inward. “That was a pretty cool thing you did.”

  “Oh,” the man at the gate said. He had been dabbing madly at his poncho. The soiled Wet-Nap in his hand soon joined a pile of similarly soiled wipes beside the man’s feet. “That was,” he stuttered, clearly taken aback by the compliments. It was also the first time he had spoken to another living person for some time, unless you counted his screaming at the boat that was passing underneath the bridge several days back. “That was nothing. Happy to help. It’s not like I was ever really in danger, you know.”

  “How old are you?” Holly asked.

  “Slow down, chica,” Chet scolded. “How ‘bout we get his name first?”

  “Where’d you come from?” Gill asked. Her gratitude had quickly melted into suspicion.

  “Seriously,” Lee winced. “Lay off the guy.” Lee pulled back on the gate and rolled it open a couple feet. “Get it here, friend. I’m Lee Majors.”

  “Like the Six Million …” The newcomer asked.

  “That’s me,” Lee answered in his sneering smile.

  “I’m Wilson.”

  Holly turned to Wilson as a zombie slumped to one side behind her and then toppled backwards. “So,” she said. “Are you coming with us?”

  CHAPTER SIX: HOME AGAIN

  “Let’s just get to Smithfield tonight. Hole up there, pick up the Youngs.” Isherwood had suggested. “We’ll radio home and let them know we won’t get back until the morning.”

  “It’s been a good day,” Padre said in answer before getting back in his own vehicle. He would have said, ‘nobody died today,’ but they had stopped saying that sort of thing. Nevertheless, he quickly regretted even remarking on the day.

  It turned out there was to be at least one injury that day, despite their run of good luck. As they were loading up the vehicles, one of the guns misfired. Luckily, it had just been a handgun. Chet collapsed in pain, but they were all relieved to see that the bullet had just sailed through the meat of his thigh, completely missing the femoral artery.

  Not much later, they had parked the vehicles on the road in front of Smithfield. They still parked in the Old Blue formation, even though Old Blue had been given to Livonia. The Old Blue formation had taken on new meaning. They wouldn’t declare any sort of victory out loud, but they nevertheless parked in the victory formation. Isherwood’s Jeep and Justin’s Escalade were parked on either side of the road with Padre’s Humvee standing in the center and a half-car length behind.

  Before they had set foot on the front steps, one of the front doors swung open. It has Hillman, but Miss Abby could be seen just inside the door seated in her wheelchair. “Wasn’t expecting you lot for another half hour, at least,” the old woman said.

  “We caught a tail wind,” Padre said, nodding to Wilson, who was still wearing his poncho.

  “Is that Joey?” Miss Abby asked.

  “His name’s Wilson, actually.” Isherwood corrected politely.

  “No, suh.” Miss Abbey said, sticking out her lips over toothless gums.

  “She’s right.” Wilson said.

  “’Course she is,” Lee said. “Woman never misses a trick.”

  “Joseph Wilson. Wilson’s my last name.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Justin said.

  “No, not you, chère,” Miss Abby said quickly and with a smirk. She turned to Padre, “He’s a seminarian, or hasn’t he told you yet?” A few of them stopped in their tracks, but most were too tired to wonder at the woman’s abilities and too eager to get into the house and maybe a bed. Besides that, there was something incredible spilling out of the house.

  “What the … what is that?” Chet said, wincing as he limped beside Hoskins. “It smells like a miracle.”

  “Mama’s been cooking,” Hill said. “Tried telling her to stop, but, well, you can imagine.”

  *****

  There had been a feast that night. Miss Abby had sent Hillman down into what amount to a basement in southern Louisiana. Down a small flight of worn, wooden steps, Hillman h
ad found the root cellar. It had been where, Hill quickly discovered, Smithfield’s former occupants had stored the bodies of their dead. They had been properly dispatched. Otherwise, it would have likely been the end of the entire Young family. Once his panic had subsided, Hill realized that the floor of the root cellar was stacked high with potatoes, as well bodies. And then he had seen the true treasure of Smithfield. He had nearly smacked his face into it. The ceiling of the cellar was cluttered with hangars, and the hangars were full of salted and cured meats.

  The next morning, they piled into the three vehicles. There was plenty of room for everybody, even enough room for Chet to stretch out his leg. Miss Abby’s wheelchair, too, fit easily into the Escalade’s cargo area. Isherwood had asked that they leave the cache of cured meat in the root cellar, hoping it might later serve as an enticement to return. He knew they would need Smithfield to become an outpost.

  *****

  “So relieved to see you all back and unharmed,” Patrick sighed in relief as the small caravan passed him. He had opened the back gate of the church parking lot and would slide it back into place as soon as they were all through.

  Justin and Isherwood’s kids were spilling out of the Parish Hall as the SUVs slid into the open parking spots. Their wives, Chelsea and Sara, both gave up holding the kids back and joined them in lunging for the men. Isherwood’s kids were soon plastered against each shin. His boy Charlie was grunting at him to be picked up. He would have to wait, though. Sara had wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and wasn’t letting go. “You … stop … leaving … us,” she was saying between kisses.

  “How’s the place been holding up without us?” Isherwood asked. “Oh wait, I need to introduce y’all. Lee Majors, Hoskins, Jarrah – this is my family.”

  “Like the six million dollar …?” Aunt Lizzy had started to ask.

  “The very one,” Lee answered with stifled frustration.

  Isherwood knew that Miss Abby would be eager to meet Monsignor. The old priest was leaning back against the doorway of the Parish Hall, watching and smiling. Padre and Hill, Isherwood noticed, were taking her right over to the priest.

  “Who’s that?” Sara whispered as Isherwood took turns hugging his kids and family.

  “Yes, Isherwood,” his Gran said. “She looks a good twenty years older than me, if that’s even possible.”

  “Mom, that’s rude,” Aunt Lizzy chided. “She’ll hear you.”

  “You’re the only one not whispering,” Isherwood said through gritted teeth, scolding his aunt. “Woman, if anything was gonna teach you how to whisper, you’d think it’d be the zombies.”

  “That’s enough, Isherwood,” his Gran said, patting and tugging on his sleeve. “Also, it’s time you shaved.” Isherwood grumbled in response.

  Aunt Tad was going around giving all the newcomers a warm bear hug in greeting. Isherwood made a point to watch Gill’s reaction to Tad. He had been expecting the girl to anticipate the attack and step out of the way before Tad could find her. He was surprised to see Tad get the jump on the girl and even more surprised to see the redhead blush and melt a little in response to the affection.

  “Come on, now, all you adventurers,” Tad announced. “I’m sure we can put some plates together for you in the rectory. There’s some newcomers for y’all to meet, too.”

  *****

  “What do you mean ‘strange,’” Justin asked Patrick, who had been describing the goings-on since they had left just a couple days ago. Isherwood had asked Tad to take Chet off to attend to his leg injury, while the others were treated to a meal.

  “Well,” Patrick answered. “Not menacing, exactly. Just strange. We saw the car in the distance and eventually it just drove away. Then, Jerry said he had thought he’d seen something like it before, maybe a week ago. Also, Jett and his wife, some of the new people, said they’d been hearing things.”

  “Huh?” Jerry said squinting at Patrick. “Oh, yeah. Thought I was just imagining things until Patrick said he saw similar.”

  “Not much we can do about it now,” Isherwood said dismissively.

  Lee waved his hand and then said with a mouthful of food, “probably just shy.”

  “So what’s next on the docket,” asked Glenn, Sara’s dad. Sara’s parents and brothers and sisters had joined the others in the rectory. It was where they had been staying while being nursed back to health. The brothers and sisters were well in hand already, as their parents had given them the lion’s share of the food. Dale and Missy, however, were slower to recover.

  “Hey, how’s Missy’s arm doing?” Isherwood asked. The only injury, apart from Marshall’s death, in their rescue of the LaGrange family had been Sara’s mom’s arm.

  “Still gone, I’m guessing,” Justin interjected with a smirk and then immediately regretted it. Glenn gave Justin a look before answering. Justin winced and looked away.

  “She’s getting along just fine,” Gran said.

  “We’re both nearly recovered,” Glenn added.

  “Good,” Isherwood said. “We’re gonna need your and the boys’ help with our plans for the cattle and livestock.”

  “There’s something I’ve been wondering,” Monsignor said from the head of the table. He was holding his hands in front of him. As he began to speak, he leaned forward heavily onto his elbows. “You know, this town has an airport.”

  “Sure,” Isherwood was nodding. “We had talked about using it for cattle since it’s the largest fenced-in area around which also has a fence taller than the zombies.”

  “Well, that may be, as well, but I was thinking the airport might be more useful as an airport,” Monsignor said, grinning down the table at Miss Abby.

  “But we don’t have any pilots,” Isherwood said. “… Do we?” He, too, was now looking down to the old woman in the wheelchair.

  Everyone was slowly looking to Wilson, who was holding a plate and standing beside the buffet table, as there were no seats left at the table. “Don’t look at me,” he said, when he realized people were beginning to stare at him. “I’m scared to death of flying. Much rather walking.”

  “Well, who then?” Patrick asked. “Is it you, Ish? You were always picking up new things.”

  “Not me, though you’re right. I wouldn’t mind learning,” Isherwood answered.

  Eventually, everybody turned back to Miss Abby. “Ah, no,” she said. “Ain’t my place to say.”

  “Seriously?” Gill said. “Nobody’s fessin’ up? Whatever.”

  “There is another matter, even if the pilot among us wishes to stay anonymous, for now.” Monsignor said the ‘for now’ with a certain gravity. “Vanessa brought this to my attention. She says the airport’s radio equipment would be far superior to anything we’ve yet collected.”

  Isherwood sighed heavily and rubbed his scalp in irritation. “Of course,” he said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Sara whispered to him.

  “Just makes me wonder,” Isherwood said turning to his wife. “What else am I missing?”

  “How could anybody answer something like that?” Sara grumbled. “Honey, maybe it’s time you left the front line for a bit. Give yourself a chance to mull things over. See what you might be missing.” As she spoke, her hand was rubbing her husband’s neck and then his head. She had never felt his muscles so tight before. Even in times of stress in the old days, his muscles stayed pretty loose. Isherwood’s head started lolling to one side. Sara had always been amazed at how quickly she could put him to sleep with a neck massage. It was like tucking a hen’s head under its wing, she thought with a smile.

  When Isherwood and Sara turned back to the conversation, Jarrah was volunteering to help with the communications equipment at the airport. Glenn was volunteering himself and his boys to round up all the remaining livestock in the area. Glenn liked Isherwood’s idea of repurposing all the neighborhood fences as livestock pens, as well as building long sections of walls. He wasn’t so sure,
though, about the chicken coop plan to distract the so-called “river dead.”

  “There’s also another matter,” Monsignor began again. “The St. Francis Chapel. It needs to be cleansed. It was once and I’m sure will remain the oldest continuously used church building in all the Louisiana Purchase. I would do it, the cleansing that is, but I’m afraid an old man like me isn’t much use beyond the walls these days.”

  “I’ll take care of it, Father,” Padre said. He was usually not one to speak up in large groups and usually didn’t say much at all unless addressed directly. “Good fence around the chapel, too, if I remember.”

  Most of the rest of the lunch conversation consisted of Glenn asking questions about the farming operations. He was keenly interested in Isherwood’s plan to make the town an island between False River and the Mississippi River. Isherwood returned again to the old map of the area, as he had only a week before. He explained how the Morganza and Smithfield outposts were pivotal for sealing off the island. These two sites covered the gaps of land that prevented the lake and the river from making a complete circle. The Livonia Fort was also critical as sort of a forward base of operations. “It’s sort of a lightning rod for any hordes that might otherwise overrun us,” Isherwood explained. “Livonia gives us a heads-up, as they did just a day ago. It kept the swarm busy while we put our ‘clean-up’ strategy together. The gravel factory strategy might well be used again. We ought to think seriously about posting people at Smithfield and the factory going forward.”

  Midway through what amounted to a PowerPoint presentation in the post-apocalypse, he decided his wife was right. It was time he had a furlough from the ongoing battle against the zombies. He had found reinforcements, lots of them. They all seemed more than capable of continuing on without him. He was struck momentarily by the fear of being replaced as the leader of this place. Then he remembered, it was Monsignor, not him, who really led this place. Besides, he thought, that’s ridiculous. My ideas aren’t the only good ones around here. He started wondering, had he even really thought about the airport’s potential until now.