by Won, Mark
My wife was glad to have me back, if only for a couple of months. Spending time with my wife, daughters, and newborn son was a joyous time for me, one I was loath to leave behind. That’s why I’d left the military in the first place, to spend more time with my family.
Two months was how long it took my scouts to learn what they could. Also, I had to wait for a bus to return from its tour of western Canada. They did manage to save few computer geeks hiding out in an old strip mall, which was nice. When it came time for me to leave, Sarah and Lindsy begged me to stay. They were inconsolable. That’s when I resolved to make my next trip my very last.
Chapter 5: Yet another Roadblock, A Friend in Need, and A Good Deal
“Nice shot, Jake.” He had just taken out an ogre by leaning out the bus window, and firing his deer rifle while we’d been on the move. We hadn’t even needed to slow down.
“Thanks!” His marksmanship had really come along. Where we were going I feared that he would need those skills. The last time I’d been through New Orleans things had gotten messy and I did not want a repeat performance.
Jake said, “So, you’ve been to New Orleans before, what’s it like? Felicia tells me that you were thinking of going back there to settle down, after you picked up her family.”
“That’s true, but I’m glad we picked up the signal from Haven instead. Haven may be crowded but New Orleans was a mess. Full of criminals and hunger, it wasn’t where I wanted to raise a family. That’s all assuming things haven’t gotten even worse. When I left, the cops were in nominal control of things, but for all I know some warlord band may have wiped them out.”
“We always visit the nicest places. You think they still got shrimp there?”
That was how the trip went. Upon returning from searching out some way into New Orleans, our scouts had reported discovering too many zombies in too many former population centers. They had been forced to turn around before reaching the city. Which was a pity. I would have liked to have a clear route in. The best my scouts could do was tell me a couple of places not to go through. I hoped that with Alpha bus and a full crew we’d have a better chance.
Eventually we drove south between Lake Maurepas and Lake Pontchartrain until we came to three eighteen wheel semi trucks, complete with trailers, parked sideways on the road, end to end. The way forward was cut off. After the trouble I’d had last time through I was suspicious that it was some kind of trap. We didn’t see anyone lurking to either side of the road, but an elephant could have hidden in those trees. I told Pete, our driver, to back off, turn around, and go a different way.
No one caused us any trouble as we were leaving, so I decided to try again by a different route. That time we went over to the Pontchartrain Causeway. I was a bit worried about the potential zombie threat in that area. I made sure Pete was ready to lead any threats we might encounter away from our destination, since it wouldn’t do to show up new in town with a horde on our heels. Formerly, there had been a significant population at the causeway’s north end, but I needn’t have worried. We encountered almost no zombies.
Without even getting on the causeway we could see that it had gotten the same treatment as the first road we’d been on. It was totally blocked off. One main difference, though, were all the skeletons spread over the road. Clearly someone had used the roadblock as a choke point for some target practice. There must have been thousands of skeletal remains, which explained the lack of hostiles in the area.
The second roadblock was irritating, but it did suggest a certain level of organization. We still had a couple of ways into town. I decided to try going back the way we’d come, around Lake Maurepas the other way. I hoped whoever was in charge of things in New Orleans was smart enough to leave at least one roadway into town.
The roads were a little more dangerous by taking the long way around and I had to wonder why anyone in New Orleans would leave an open door in this direction. Of necessity we had to skirt at least one population center, requiring several stops and reversals in order to clear out the ogres and ghouls.
As we neared our destination, we were traveling on a long straight stretch. Up ahead, about a mile, we noticed another roadblock. I asked Pete to stop so I could get a better look with the telescope we’d brought along. The roadblock consisted of more semi-trailers blocking the way, except this time there was a gap in the middle fit with a chain link fence. The fence had a pair of gates wide enough to drive a bus through. Perfect. Somewhat less perfect were the four uniformed police officers standing on top of the trailers. Each was armed with a shotgun and was looking at us with binoculars. Fortunately, we were well out of range.
I could see them looking us over. Watching us, watching them, watching us. Eventually, one of them began to motion us to come forward. I told Pete to go ahead nice and slow. I told everyone take cover. All of the rescue/scout buses had extra armor plating added, but to say I lacked confidence in its ability to stop a 12 gauge slug would be an understatement.
As we approached I tried to hear anything that might be being said over the radio. I cycled through for a few seconds before coming across their frequency.
“-s. There coming this way. It looks like they have some kind of armor plating welded onto it.”
Then another voice, “If they open fire fall back. Get off the road and make your way through the swamp. They won’t be able to follow.”
The first voice again, “Have they got the road spikes set up yet?”
“Don’t worry about that. If they get past you we’ll stop them right in their tracks. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”
It might not have been very professional but I decided to break in on the conversation anyway, “Well, now I’ll know what hit me. You do realize anyone can use a radio, right? Listen guys, we’ve come a long way to trade. If you want us to go away just say so. There’s a whole wide world out there and we don’t need to borrow trouble. If it helps, my name is Paul Brand, and I sent your Chief Martin a letter with a bronze star enclosed. If it’ll make things easier we’ll wait right here while you confirm.” I told Pete to stop the bus.
Voice number one, “He can hear us, Jed! Don’t say anything!”
Jed replied (to me), “You’re Paul Brand? The Paul Brand? The one who took out the River Blood?”
My guys were staring at me as I answered, “Yes. Don’t take this as a slight, Officer Jed, but I’d really like to open negotiations with the Chief. Also, I’d like my medal back if that wouldn’t be too much trouble. Thanks.”
Jake said, “Why didn’t you tell us they knew you here? And who are the River Blood?” He was getting himself worked up again.
“Relax, Jake. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t know if Chief Martin had received the letter I’d sent him, or if he was even still alive. I’m still not sure how friendly he’ll be, so nothing’s really changed.”
Everybody was curious about the how, when, where, what, and why of my altercation with the river pirates that I’d killed. I hate that. Naturally, I gave them an abridged version. The version in which none of my victims were helpless. Or women. Or someone’s son. They wouldn’t understand. Even if they would, it’s not exactly the kind of thing I’m proud of.
So we spent our time with me telling stories until Chief Martin showed up at the roadblock. He called us on the radio and asked why we hadn’t driven up to his location yet.
I answered, “Because I didn’t want to get shot, that’s why. Obviously, you fellas have had a lot of trouble with bandits. I was worried one of the sentries would open fire if you weren’t here to handle things.”
He told us to pull ahead so we could meet in person. I had Pete take it nice and slow. I’d been keeping a lookout for movement in the trees but I hadn’t seen any. Once we got up to the roadblock I decided to man up and step outside. The gate opened and out stepped the chief.
He began, “I got your letter. Wiping out a whole fleet of pirates was quite an accomplishment, but after a year went by I never thought
I’d get the chance to thank you personally.” Chief Martin shook my hand and then he handed me my star back. I made a point of opening one of my medal holders and replacing it next to its companions.
I had mentioned in the letter that I’d sent him that he could know me, not only by description, but also by the other medals I kept in the case. That way if Jose, my mailman, had decided to screw me over with a pretender the chief would have a way to know it.
“It was an unfortunate necessity,” I replied. “As I said in my letter, I had planned to return sooner, but things didn’t work out that way. Right now I’m with a bunch of folks up in Wisconsin and they’re looking to trade one thing for another. But before that I want to make a goodwill gift, just to let you know we’re serious.”
I opened up the luggage space and brought out a few bags of grain, some .22 caliber bullets, and some bottles of antibiotics (not our homemade brand, but the old stuff). Chief Martin seemed pleased by the gesture. Then he invited us back to town.
I was still a bit nervous, but what could I say? Trust has to start somewhere, and if none of us made it back to Haven, then Mark would have to figure New Orleans was a dead end. That’s what scouts are for.
Following the chief’s car back into town I had to wonder how these guys were keeping their vehicles operational. I was hopeful that they had access to fresh gasoline. Maybe they were making their own, I thought. It was a comforting sight to be in the presence of a functioning police cruiser.
On the way it was obvious that someone had smacked The Big Easy with an Armageddon sized ugly stick one too many times. The place looked like it was one fallen brick from becoming a total ruin. The people looked apathetic, hungry, and hopeless. The only cars moving on the road were police vehicles. I saw a distinct lack of ranged weaponry. Back in Haven everyone had a firearm, it was the law. In New Orleans everyone was armed, too. With baseball bats and hammers. Once we got back to his police headquarters the chief had the guys wait in the receiving area while he took me into his office to converse privately.
“We have a ton of trouble here, Paul. I’m not sure what we could possibly have that anyone would want to trade for. We’re low on ammunition, our diet is limited to fish, our fishing boats are on their last legs, so we won’t even have the fish for much longer. We have no medicine, our cars require constant part replacement, and the situation seems hopeless. But you’ve helped more than you know so I thought it the least I could do to explain things in person. And offer you a drink. It’s the least I can do.” With that he poured out a couple fingers of whiskey into a pair of tumblers. It tasted pretty expensive.
I told him, “That’s pretty good.” Then I continued, “Why is it you’re fishing fleet is on its last legs?”
“Because all the fuel is going bad, even the diesel. It’s just a matter of time.” He looked the picture of a man holding on by a thread. “Right now the only thing keeping our cars running is a bunch of fuel additive. We’ve already used up all our replacement parts, so everyday we have to try and clean out a filter or fuel line.”
“I’ve got some good news for you, then,” I said. “I got a man in my crew who can begin converting your diesel vehicles into oil burners. With all the people I saw loitering about on the way in, surely some of them are mechanics.”
Chief Martin seemed interested, “You can do that? Is that how your bus runs?”
“Absolutely. I figure that if you got fish, getting fish oil can’t be too hard. You’ll still need a primer fuel, but I see you still have some alcohol,” I said while motioning to his bottle of whiskey.
He clutched the bottle more tightly, “You can really make this work?”
“I don’t see why not. I can’t do anything about you’re police cruisers, though. Different technology. But I don’t see why you can’t get a few old diesel cars and give them a new paint job, if you want.”
He wasn’t completely sold yet. It all probably sounded too good to be true. He said, “What can we give you for all that? Like I said, we got nothing.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist, Chief. I’ve got an idea or two for how we can help each other out, but you’re not going to be good to anyone, not even yourself, if you all starve to death. First things first. Grab a couple of mechanics and I’ll get Lou to show them the ropes.”
Lou was thrilled to tell a bunch of his fellow mechanics all about it. He’s got a big heart but can’t help being a bit of a queen bee. It only took a few hours to get the first boat converted. Then he showed them how to extract oil from fish. What a mess. Glad that wasn’t my job. The next day was more of the same but the process accelerated once the locals caught on. We (well, Lou) even showed them how to get wood alcohol out of trees. After a week of that I found myself back in the Police Chief’s office again, enjoying another drink.
He said, “We…I can’t thank you enough Paul. You’ve saved us. I had no idea we could pull all this tech stuff off. I thought all those days were done. Now, what can we do for you, Paul. You didn’t drive all this way for nothing.”
But I wasn’t ready to get down to business yet. “What I really want to talk about is your diet. Right now I thank God we brought our own rations because that whole seafood diet gets old fast. What you need is some cleared cropland you can plant. Maybe not this year. I’m not to sure about the growing season this far south. But next year for sure. You can’t live on fish forever, at least not without getting scurvy. Some of your people tell me that there’s plenty of arable land just west of here. Surely you have some people who know how to put a seed in the ground.”
He said, “That’s true, but we can’t keep the area safe. We’ve put up multiple roadblocks on every way into the city, except the way you came in by, to try and keep the monsters out. How can we push the zombies out of the land we want?” He seemed honestly curious.
“For starters, you know the Changed that my men and I call ogres and ghouls will not be stopped by those roadblocks. In fact, it’s a minor miracle a zombie horde hasn’t found some way around by now. I guess the swamp makes movement too difficult, at least for the normal ones.
“What needs to be done is for you to put up a big wire fence to keep out the riffraff. I know it’s a lot of work but you have a lot of people. I’ll take my guys and we’ll draw the mass of them off. Then y’all can move in and set up the barriers. What you need is a bunch of giant sawhorses. When you set them in place you secure them to each other using crossbeams. Add wire and you’ve got a quick and dirty barrier. Now that you have a number of trucks up and running this shouldn’t be too tough. Oh yeah. You might want to look into some kind of archery. I know from personal experience how that can really save on ammunition.”
“Draw them off! That’s suicide!”
“How do you think we got this far, Chief? It’s not that complicated. Usually the ghouls and ogres separate themselves pretty quickly, then we pick them off. After that the main trouble is driving slowly enough to not lose the general mass of enemies. Don’t you think it’s at least worth a shot?”
Chief Martin still thought that the idea, so common to my men and I, was pure madness, but for my sake he committed to giving it a shot. It took another four days to get the fence material pre-made for easy transport. Then we set out well ahead of the construction convoy.
We moved through the zombie infested area with our usual care. Every time someone spotted an ogre he’d call out a direction and Pete would either back up or accelerate as our needs required. A few times an ogre did close with the bus’s flank but they were never smart enough to attack anything important. You’re typical ogre would be lucky to get close enough to rip off a few bars, or maybe punch a hole through the bus’s side, before the nearest shooter would put it down. Alpha bus did pick up a few interesting new scars, however.
Protected inside our armored transportation as we were, the zombies and ghouls posed no meaningful threat. Indeed, once the ghouls and ogres were eliminated the rest were little more than a distraction. We led them
off for a day before circling around and returning to the city. Of note was the surprisingly few number of ghouls and relatively large number of ogres we encountered. It was a strange disproportion compared to what we were used to.
Once we passed by the newly positioned fence, the guards closed and locked the gate doors. Police Chief Martin was ecstatic. The next morning we were back in his office sharing another drink.
He spoke up, “I don’t know how you guys do it! I’d keep on thanking you but I feel like I’m just repeating myself!”
I thought it was time to get down to business. “You’ve still got one big problem left, Chief, you’re short on ammunition.”
He looked at me with a hopeful gleam in his eye and said, “I don’t suppose you could help with that too, could you?”
“Funny you should ask. Do you know the formula for gunpowder?”
“No clue. Please enlighten me.”
I told him, “Haven, where we’re from, needs sulfur, charcoal, and potassium nitrate. We can make all the charcoal we want. We have a deal for sulfur, but another source would be nice. What we’d really like is the potassium nitrate. Know where we can find some?”
His face fell. “I know we got to have some sulfur in a warehouse around here somewhere, Paul, but I wouldn’t even know where to look for that potassium stuff.”
“Well, I do, but you might not like it. Its kinda messy...”
And it was, too, but nobody complained. With over two hundred thousand people urinating in a designated (large) receptacle I had high hopes of collecting enough saltpeter to be worth the trip, in about eighteen months. The local cops (let’s face it, warlords) had a way of encouraging citizen compliance. Our tentative agreement was one finished bullet for four ounces of ‘refined urine extract’.
