by Smith, S. L.
“That’s fine.” Monsignor nodded, “Please start with the cattle, gentlemen, but I would also like to see us round up as many of the domesticated animals as we can. We have some chickens and ducks from the Smith family. Horses, I’m sure, will also become more and more useful as our gas supplies begin to evaporate. Perhaps you could start pulling trailers behind your trucks to start collecting what you can. Cages, as well.” Monsignor stopped. “Isherwood, is everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, Monsignor.” He nodded heartily. “I just can’t believe what we’re doing here. It’s amazing. Everybody is really coming together. I had been feeling so overwhelmed with ideas for these that needed to be done. And now, this morning, as I’ve been listening, y’all have been rattling off every one of them. It’s not aspirations or plans, either – it’s stuff you’ve already accomplished. It’s just incredible. I’m so proud of everybody.” Sara had sidled up next to him and was hugging him around the waist. There were tears in her eyes.
“I think that is owed in no small part to you, Isherwood. Your own inspiration and enthusiasm is, well, infectious.” Monsignor smiled warmly at the younger man. “So, yes, in a time when we ought to be, by all odds, thinking of merely staying alive, we’ve all come together to form a much bigger picture. On that note, I’d also like for us to start thinking even bigger, beyond St. Maryville and the parish, beyond our little island kingdom. I have no doubt that God intends for us to think towards bringing back civilization, itself.” He let his words sink in, before he went on.
“All of you, remember this – humanity has been brought to the brink many times before this. As recently as the Middle Ages, the bubonic plague – the Black Death, as it was called – literally decimated Europe’s population. It killed a third of the continent’s population and took the world hundreds of years to recover. Now, I have no doubt that this disaster is global and has cut far deeper into the world’s population. Perhaps our species has never before been so close to extinction since the days of Noah.”
“When civilization roared back out of the so-called Dark Ages following the collapse of the Roman Empire, how did it happen?” Monsignor looked from face to face. “Isherwood? How did it happen?”
“The monasteries,” he answered. Monsignor nodded for him to go on. “Agriculture,” Isherwood said, picking up steam. “The monks, they pretty much rearranged the countryside of Europe, draining swamps, redirecting rivers. They became especially good at cultivating wine for the sacraments. Dom Perignon invented champagne, too. They built massive walled monasteries. There was Cluny in France that became just massive. Monks from Cluny farmed a vast section of Europe, I think.”
“That’s right,” Monsignor said, tapping his hand on the table like a gavel. “And I think a similar model would work for us.”
“I’m gonna be a monk?” Justin interrupted, incredulously.
“More like a Friar Tuck,” Patrick answered. Everybody cracked up at this. Even Justin nodded in agreement.
“Okay, yeah.” Justin agreed. “I can get behind this. I was going bald on top anyway.”
Monsignor raised a hand, still laughing. “Now, I said a similar model could work for us. I think a solid core of priests would be a strong foundation for us, but obviously married couples would be needed because almost all of you are and we have to work towards restoring the population. A solid core of priests could help us as missionaries.”
“This is why I’d like us to keep searching for survivors,” Monsignor went on. “But we need to look beyond our parish. I believe we will soon resolve our ‘infestation’ issues, as Isherwood described them. I believe these will be only temporary setbacks. Once our borders are secure, we will start planning longer range expeditions. It will be more dangerous. Much more so.”
“Monsignor,” Isherwood said, feeling Sara’s arm tighten his lungs. “I would go wherever you told me, but I’m worried about leaving my family behind.”
“I know you would,” Monsignor answered. “But you’re right. We’ll need more men. This is why I’m asking you to go to on a couple mid-range raids. First, I want you to go to Morganza. I have a very strong feeling that Father Simeon has survived. He may even have a group with him, like us, there behind the fences of St. Anne’s. Also, I hope that you, Vanessa, will be able to help us. I understand that you are very good with a radio.”
Everybody turned to Vanessa and Le’Marcus, who no one but Monsignor had noticed come down the hallway and join them. They saw the woman was nodding eagerly.
Isherwood and the men were nodding, too, excited at the prospect of survivors. “That’ll be our top priority, Monsignor,” Patrick said, speaking for the others. “Just as soon as we get a handle on the RDs. That’s what we’re calling the ‘River Dead,’ I mean.”
There were a few more odds and ends to address before the morning’s meeting ended. Monsignor finally closed the meeting, himself. “Today,” he announced, “is actually Sunday. Did anyone know that? I think it’s been a full week since Isherwood’s crew arrived. Doesn’t it feel like it was a world ago?”
The table murmured in appreciation for the time that had passed and what they had accomplished.
“Since it is Sunday, I would like all of you to join me for Mass. Jerry and Tad, I think you’re non-denominational, isn’t that right? But you were raised Catholic?”
Caught off guard, Tad was speechless and Jerry hadn’t heard the old priest anyway. Tad just nodded.
“Well, then, I think it’s time you came back to the church.” Monsignor had said it in his way, both gentle and firm, but the statement was somehow beyond questioning. “Vanessa and Le’Marcus – you, too. It’s about 10:45 now. I’ll be starting at 11 o’clock, though I always do start a little late.” He laughed. “The priests around here call me the ‘Late’ Monsignor Robert Bellarmine.”
“Now,” he continued once the laughter subsided. “All you coffee drinkers have broken fast, but that will be alright. We’ll do better next time. Come as you are. The kids are welcome in their pajamas. Isherwood, though, you better change that sweatshirt.” Monsignor said, laughing. Isherwood, too, was laughing. He was wearing his faded and somewhat tattered college sweatshirt, which was fine, except that the grey sweatshirt did not read “LSU”.
CHAPTER TWENTY: HERD
The Three Amigos stayed put on the church grounds Sunday afternoon. Justin called it a day of rest, but they didn’t want to leave just yet. They didn’t want to leave their families and home base just yet if another wave of RDs were about to swarm the church grounds. Isherwood watched from the church’s bell tower most of the day. Fortunately and amazingly, the downtown zombie population had diminished to almost nothing. Even if recurring, the problem of the River Dead, Isherwood hoped, might be only sporadic.
Sara had climbed up the bell tower to sit with him and watch the sun set. She brought her compound bow with her, too, just in case. She was rarely ever without it these days. She said it was just a good habit to grow accustomed to carrying it.
“I’ve been thinking about the River Dead – the ‘RD’ – problem.” Isherwood said. “Maybe you could help me brainstorm. I’ve been trying to thing how we could use our little cage idea.”
“To distract them?” Sara asked, leaning her head against his chest.
“Right, to distract them back towards the river, just far enough for the tide to drag them back in.”
“The tide is incredibly strong.” Sara agreed. “It wouldn’t take much. They’re not exactly steady on their feet.”
“Yeah, and if not something simple like that, we might as well build walls atop the levees. We just don’t have the manpower for that – and the fuel. Can you imagine the gas we’d burn? Even if we did short lengths of walls in just the hot spots, it would take forever.”
“So, you’d have a cage actually in the river? Like an animal floating in a barge anchored in place somehow? What kind of animal would survive? Even some kind of noisemaker would eventually get dragged under or somehow
destroyed.”
“Well, we’re not short on stuff anymore.” Isherwood was saying. “We could anchor whole tugboats or something out there. We could triple anchor it or something.”
“But what could stay alive out there indefinitely? Could you rig up something caught fish and water to feed a little flock of chickens, maybe?”
“Yeah, that’s the trouble. How to build these things to last without constant monitoring? We don’t have the manpower for that.”
“Well,” Sara said. “We might if it served a double purpose. I could see somebody going out a couple times a week to check trotlines. They could just toss the bad fish to the chickens, like hardhead catfish, and bring back the blues and channel cats. Probably some giant sac-au-lait, too. Bluegill. Giant everything, really.”
“That’s brilliant, Mrs. Smith.” He said, squeezing her. “We could rig up a chicken coop on a boat easy, I bet. Cover the thing in chicken wire. If we had a tug, we could store the water in the cabin to reduce evaporation and maybe rig it up with rain barrels.”
“This might actually be a great way to raise chickens, too!” She said growing excited.
Isherwood was laughing, “River chickens! Probably the first time anyone’s ever had a chicken farm on water. We could rig up trout lines clear across the river, I guess. Not too much traffic these days. It’ll probably be easier just to keep to the sides, maybe even some jug-fishing. We’ll have to figure out how to dry and preserve fish – we need to build a smoke house.”
“The Pilot Channel by Whiskey Bay is really good for trotlines,” Sara said. Isherwood noticed the abrupt change in his wife’s tone as her thoughts turned to her family. It wasn’t long before the tears began.
He took her by the shoulders so he could look right into her down-turned face. “That’s the very next trip we’re making after Morganza. Oh my God, honey – of course it will be. We’re almost there!” Sara breathed a heavy sigh and smiled. She settled back under his arm. “We’re setting out for Morganza bright and early tomorrow morning, too. Won’t it be nice to have Father Simeon here? And then we’ll be off to Whiskey Bay. Everything’s falling into place, I promise.”
*****
As promised, the three men left early the next morning. Each vehicle was now stocked with a group raiding kit, as well as a backpack for each person stuffed tight with an individual survival kit. The group raiding kit included, in addition to the large armory of guns, ammunition, and explosives stored in each vehicle, the following: a medical kit; an axe and a hatchet; two pairs of bolt cutters; two crowbars; a tool kit with pliers, screwdrivers, and saws; two rolls of duct tape; several hundred feet of rope and two grappling hooks, either just hook and rope or Army-issue LGHs; an extension ladder; digging tools; two sets of binoculars; three milk jugs of drinking water; compasses; a local and a regional map; a radio and extra batteries; and emergency flares.
The individual kits included, besides a primary and secondary firearm and fifty rounds of ammo for each, the following: a sanitation kit, a Nalgene bottle filled with about a quart of water, knife, a signaling mirror, a flashlight and radio with extra batteries, a hand-to-hand weapon, some flares, matches stored in a Ziploc bag, five Power Bars, boots, and fresh socks.
Old Blue was again at the head of their company as the set out through the northwest gate of the church yard. Isherwood rode along with Patrick in Old Blue, and Justin followed behind them in his Escalade. They had hitched a horse trailer to the back of Old Blue to pick up any cattle they might happen upon.
They had decided with Monsignor’s blessing that the threat from the river had been eliminated enough for now. Besides, Morganza was not much further from the center of town that Waterloo was. They weren’t sure why they hadn’t made the trip sooner, except that there wasn’t much to find in the small town besides survivors.
They again took Major Parkway to get to the back of town while avoiding Hospital Road. They stopped at the gas station at the end of Hospital Road where Isherwood had drawn the symbol across the concrete. There were steady waves of zombies coming at them, but nothing to compare with the River Dead from the other day. Patrick took a turn at the hand pump and they topped off their gas tanks. They hadn’t used much gas over the course of the week. At their current rate of consumption, it would take over a month to empty their tanks.
They stalled before leaving town and laid on their horns, hoping to draw away as many zombies westward away from town as possible. They drove slowly, never exceeding thirty miles per hour. The Morganza Highway, as it was called, followed roughly the same route upriver as the River Road and stayed consistently about a half mile from it. Following alongside the railroad track from St. Maryville to Morganza, it was a much straighter road than the River Road. They traveled with the river to their right and the tracks to their left. Just past Morganza, the other end of False River looped back to the Mississippi and nearly converged with it.
Isherwood took notes from the passenger seat of Old Blue. He had driven this road to his old job and back for two years, and had never noticed all the barns and orchards. There’s so much that we can use, Isherwood thought. “Whoa,” he called out suddenly to Patrick. “Look at that. Stop, stop.”
Patrick put up a hand. “Hold on, bro. I can only stop this thing so fast. That trailer will keep on rolling right over us or jackknife or God knows what.” He was still pretty inexperienced at pulling a trailer.
Isherwood couldn’t wait for Patrick to park the rig before jumping out. “Wait until the car comes to a full and compl—ah heck, nevermind. I’m just talking to myself, aren’t I.” Patrick parked Old Blue in the middle of the highway and Justin settled in behind them.
“What gives?” Justin called out from the window of the Escalade. Patrick just shrugged as jumped out of the vehicle to follow Isherwood.
Soon, they were both following Isherwood across the ditch in the general direction of the river. They realized what Isherwood had found nearly simultaneously.
“Can you believe they survived this close to the river?” Isherwood was asking them. He was standing on the first bar of a fence looking into a cattle pasture. It was a small enclosure and held just one animal.
“Dude, I ain’t loading that sucker up myself.” Justin growled.
“Isherwood found us a bull!” Patrick said, following Isherwood onto the fence. “Wow. And not just any bull, a freakin’ longhorn.”
“Yeah, and there’s more cattle over there, too.” Isherwood said pointing. “We can at least load up some of them. Uh, I think.”
Luckily, it was easy enough to load up a few of the cows. They seemed to be starving. The enclosure was likely too small for their numbers. The hard part was Patrick trying to back up the trailer into the pasture. He needed to learn how to handle the trailer himself, but the endless advice that Isherwood and Justin kept barking at him was doing more harm than good. Eventually, Justin took over.
They loaded up four cows, two side-by-side in the front two bays. This left the third bay at the back of the trailer empty and likely large enough to accommodate the longhorn.
“Are we really about to do this?” Justin asked, staring back at the bull in the first enclosure.
Isherwood raised his hands in a shrug. “I don’t want to do it, either. Believe me. But when are we ever gonna get this lucky again? I mean, the day right after Monsignor asks us to start looking, we find breeding stock? Who knows? This could be the last one we see for months or ever.”
“Alright,” Justin said shaking his head. “Let’s just do this before I lose my nerve.” He hopped back into Old Blue and started moving the rig to the other side of the pasture where the gate to the bull enclosure stood. Patrick had decided to start patrolling around the pasture and his two buddies. This houses were widely spaced and few along the road to Morganza. He had his .22 slung over his shoulder, but he’d likely only need his knife. The report of the rifle would likely be the end of the remaining cattle, as the zombies would probably finally come to notice
the walking meat. As yet, there was next to no zombie activity in the area, even with the river levees less than a few hundred yards away. This section of the river seemed straighter than the river bend they had fought near the other day. They were starting to think they understood how the River Dead phenomenon worked. Maybe.
Isherwood gathered up an armful of hay and took a shortcut to meet Justin at the gate. He had cut the shackle of the padlock with the bolt cutters and was ready to swing open the gate once Justin got in position. The trailer slid neatly through open gate, leaving just enough room for Isherwood to pass through comfortably. He made sure the door to the inside of the trailer was unlocked and ajar before stepping into the trailer to lure the bull inside the last bay. The door was his escape route, but he was fully prepared to hop the partition and stand with the cows if the bull got friendly.
The bull, too, was surprisingly docile, despite the smell of Isherwood’s fear being thick in the air. Isherwood clicked a few times and waved the fresh hay at the bull and he strode right up the ramp and into the last bay. Justin was right behind him lifting up the tailgate and latching it in place as Isherwood scooted out the trailer’s side door.
“Phew,” Isherwood exhaled audibly, as he leaned back against the trailer. “I thought zombies were scary. That thing is way bigger up close.”
“I’m just glad we loaded the cattle two-by-two,” Justin said. “Or else, that big’un would be lifting up the front half of the trailer and Old Blue with it.”
“I feel like we should go back and drop these guys off, before pressing on to Morganza. But we’re almost there.”
“Isherwood,” Justin said, scratching his head. “But dude, where’re we gonna put these things. They can’t just run free around the church. They’ll tear right through all the plantings and likely gore holes through all the kids.”
Isherwood had put his hands on his hips to think. “Well,” he said finally. “There’s always Monsignor’s backyard. How about a bull staring you down while you drink your morning coffee? We’ll just have to build some fences. Might as well press on to Morganza. We’ll need more people to help us build all these fences. It’d be nice for us to expand our territory, maybe enclosing some extra homes for all the families. A second layer of fortifications would be great, too.”
