The Haven Series (Book 2): Haven

by Brian M. Switzer

  “Wait wait wait,” Danny sputtered, rushing to grab Will by the arm and pull him back. “There’s no need for stirring up trouble or getting anyone all riled up.” He paused and let out a deep breath. “Actually, I am scared of Tara.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Jiri said, standing behind Danny. He had entered the tunnel a minute ago and approached the two of them from Danny’s rear.

  Danny whirled around and saw the ex-professor. “Shut up! Besides, you’re scared of her, too.”

  “You’re damn right I am. If I cross her she’ll gut me in my sleep and make me watch while she feeds my dick to the creepers.” He turned to Will. “Have you got time to talk a bit?”

  “Yassir. Go knock the snow off yourself and get something hot to drink. I’ll just be a minute.” Jiri gave him a thumbs-up and ambled over to a table covered with a smattering of drinks and empty Dixie cups.

  Danny brushed at a few flecks of dirt on his shirt. “What’s that about?”

  “He’s worked out a fix for the food situation. Plus, I’m in trouble because we didn’t get anything new to eat today.”

  Danny raised his eyebrows. “That’s some important shit we brought back.”

  Will nodded, thinking of the four truckloads of tools and equipment stashed away in tunnel six. “I know. He knows. We can’t eat it, though. He’s worried.” Not wanting to think about it just then, Will changed the subject. “So- who are you seeing tonight?”

  “Tasha- that short little blond girl down with Jody’s people.”

  Will groaned and looked to the sky with a ‘why me’ gesture. “You’re going to spend time with one of The Originals?”

  Danny blinked several times and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is I’d like not to go to war with those folks. Don’t roofie that poor girl.”

  Danny used both index fingers to point first at his own face, and then at his feet. “That’s just it- all this is one big roofie. I can’t help it.”

  Will snorted a laugh, then grew somber. “Seriously, be careful. Keep your head on a swivel and don’t get too far from help. Be smart.”

  Danny smiled and bobbed his head. “Will do, boss.”

  “And get some sleep. There’s work tomorrow.”

  “There always is, Boss, there always is.” Danny gave him a mock salute headed toward the entrance.

  “All right,” Will muttered to himself. “Time to find out how Mr. Happy-News Fun-Times is going to keep us from starving to death.”

  Will and Jiri

  * * *

  Will waited for Jiri to drain the last of his coffee then motioned toward the tunnel entrance. “Let’s go get some privacy.”

  Jiri nodded, grabbed two empty cups, and walked with Will toward the mouth of the tunnel. Ten feet from the entrance the temperature dropped a tremendous amount; it was like the difference between indoors and out. They stopped just before that point. Jiri handed the Dixie cups to Will, produced a pint bottle of Jamison’s from a jacket pocket, and looked at Will with raised eyebrows. Will nodded and extended the cups; Jiri poured three fingers of honey-colored liquid in each, and one to his friend, and raised his in the air.

  “May those that we love, love us;

  And those that don’t love us, may God turn their hearts.

  If He can’t turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles,

  So we’ll know them by their limps.”

  “Amen.” Will tossed the drink back in a gulp, wincing as it burned its way down his throat. The whiskey settled in his stomach and leveled off to a warm glow. He held his cup out and Jiri poured him three more fingers.

  They stood without speaking. Will waited patiently. He noted that outside, the snow had tapered off. Each time he glanced at Jiri, the tall professor was staring at the whiskey in his cup, his face impassive. After several minutes, he broke the quiet. “You’re stalling.”

  “It’s not fun stuff to say. It will be unpopular with The Originals.”

  Will gave him a faint smile. “They’ll like starving to death less.”

  “I know. But after the way that group of guys that took over treated them, I hate to do anything that appears we’re going down the same road.”

  “We’re not taking over- we’re working together. And you’re comparing food rations with slavery and gang rape. What’s the plan?”

  Jiri sighed and scratched his chin. “We lock up the food and eat a communal supper every day- we can do that until we’re up to around 250 people.”

  Will raised a hand to interrupt. “How do we prepare a meal for that many?”

  “There are eight different kitchens across the ten tunnels, with five gas stoves. We line up the stoves and hook them up to propane tanks. I’m sending out two crews when the snow melts to hunt for the tanks and as many barbecue grills as they can find.”

  “Do we have the pots and pans and tableware?”

  Jiri shrugged. “There’s a lot in the various kitchens. We’ll scavenge what we’re short. I doubt looters have been breaking into houses looking for the silverware.”

  Will pursed his lips. Everything sounded good so far. “Who will work in the kitchen, take care of the cooking and cleaning?”

  Jiri let out a long sigh. “I hope enough people will volunteer for us to put together two crews with a week on/week off rotation.” He shrugged his shoulders again. “If not- well, we make clear that this community has an ‘everybody contributes’ ethos. If you’re not going out on scavenge runs and you’re not manning a guard post or working in mechanical, and you’re not part the team that’s planting crops and raising livestock in a few months, then you better volunteer for the kitchen.”

  Will tilted his head. “There’s a dedicated mechanical crew? What do they do?”

  “Not yet, but we will soon. They’ll take charge of sorting items like we got today and making sure they are in good working order. They’ll be in charge of upkeep on everything with an engine.”

  Will shook his head, once again admiring the way his friend’s mind worked. A crew in charge of all things mechanical was classic Jiri- a good, simple idea that benefited the entire community, and an idea that Will never would have thought of. “So- back to the question. If you don’t have enough volunteers, then who will work in the kitchen?”

  “Everybody has to contribute. We’ll assign people to work if it comes down to that.”

  Will nodded his agreement. “That shouldn’t be a problem. There’s nobody in our group that’s afraid to work. If The Judge has people that haven’t figured out yet that the days of lying around all day are over then it’s time we help them see the light. So- there’s a communal dinner prepared by a kitchen staff. What about the other meals?”

  Jiri threw back his drink and poured two more. “Rule number one is any food that comes in is community food. Whether Coy shoots a deer or a scavenging team brings back a case of canned corn, if food comes into the facility it goes in the larder.

  “Beyond that, we encourage everyone to make the kitchen their own. Learn to make bread. Shoot a rabbit and make jerky. Pickle a dozen jars of cucumbers and make yourself some tomato sauce. Anything you make is yours to do with what you will.

  “We’ve got to get people into active thinking mode when they’re outside the quarry. If somebody on a scavenging run sees an apple orchard, write down the location. If Coy notices a blackberry bramble- tell somebody about when he gets back. We need to debrief after every run and find out every wheat field, corn patch and apple tree they spotted that day. You didn’t see anything? Bullshit. The old wheat field is too overgrown? You’re not a farmer. You don’t know how much grain a combine can pull from fifty overgrown acres. We’re not trying to feed the world anymore, man. There’s 150 of us. Ten percent of a twenty-acre sweet corn field might mean the difference between living well for a couple of weeks and scraping by.

  “Most important- you have to make the farm activities work. The newest canned, jarred, and package
food we can find will be two years old by the end of the summer. The very newest. And they ain’t making any more. You have to produce wheat, corn, garden vegetables, and meat, or the situation will quickly devolve to every man for himself. We are six months away from a time this country hasn’t seen in sixty years- one where no mass-produced food is to be had, anywhere.”

  Will thought for a moment. “But people need to eat more than one meal a day between now and summer.”

  “Yes sir.” Jiri took a sip of his Jamison’s and smiled. “Have you met Larry Murphy?”

  “Is he the scrawny kid with glasses and a cowlick that always looks nervous?”

  “He’s not a kid- he’s twenty-three, but yeah, that’s him. Larry was certain he would die when his turn came around to go out on a run. So he’s running the larder. Everything will be up on shelves and people are free during the day to come in and get what they need. When you’re done, run your what you’ve got by Larry. He’ll record it, and you sign that you agree.

  “Every family and individual has a file, and everything you take goes in it. Larry monitors the files and if there’s a problem he’ll sit down with the person or head of the family in question and discuss it. If they disagree it goes up the ladder to… That’s a s far as I’ve got. I’m still working on that part of the plan.”

  Will chuckled and shook his head. “Keep it away from me. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  “Shit, buddy, neither do I. I’m counting on a lot of monster scavenging trips, and you guys getting crops planted this spring and raising a herd of hogs and cattle. I don’t want this to be a problem for more than six months. And I’ll tell you something- I’m not going to be a food cop. If somebody is hoarding a case of fruit or a bunch of Twinkies I don’t want to hear about it. I’ve put a program in place to make or food stores last, found people to run it, and I’m moving on to other things.”

  “Fair enough.” Will took another sip of his whiskey. He was feeling pleasantly light-headed and was having to concentrate to keep from getting tongue-tied. It had been a long time since he’d been tipsy and he was enjoying it. “Here’s a question, though. How many people can we support down here?”

  “That’s not the question. We could put 50,000 people in here and keep them comfortable if we opened the tunnels on the other side. The question is how many people can you produce food for?”

  “A lot, I hope. We’ve got to start letting people in. Every time I turn away some guy or a family I feel like it’s a black mark against my soul.”

  “There’s no choice right now. We have to turn them away- we can’t feed them. Would it be better if you let a thousand folks in and half of them died from starvation?”

  “You know the answer to that.” Will blew out a breath. “In that case, riddle me this. What are we going to do with Cyrus?”

  “It would cause a lot of hard feelings if we shot him, so that’s out. What do you mean?”

  “I can’t imagine he has the capability to serve on any of the work crews you mentioned. Or that he would debase himself by working in the kitchen.”

  “Don’t worry about Cyrus.” He grinned and gave Will a wink. “I’ve got plans for Cyrus.”

  Will was about to ask what those plans were when the screams started.

  Will Takes a Tumble

  * * *

  Will and Jiri stood outside the entrance and peered into the dark quarry bottom. The screams — two of them, loud and long — had come from the north. The Original’s tunnel was that direction, but so was most of the quarry. A weak light spilled out onto the bottom but didn’t expose anyone, and the facility was quiet after the screams died away. Anger shot through him - they were in no position for that sort of screwing around. Screaming of that sort was the new world’s equivalent of yelling ‘fire’ in a crowded theater in the old days. Danny was down there with his date and Will wondered if he had anything to do with it. He vowed to rip him a new one if he did.

  A volley of screams and shouts rang across the night sky and a handful of figures ran out the opening.

  Whatever was happening, Danny could be caught up in it.

  He turned to Jiri. “You, Coy, Anrdo, Tara, and Justin.” His tone was calm but forceful. “Arm yourselves, but keep your weapons barrels down until we see what we’re dealing with. David needs to be ready to lead everyone else down there or out of here at a moment’s notice. Hurry.” Without waiting for an answer he left them and raced across the bottom.

  A group of people hovered around the entrance, but the light wasn’t strong enough to tell him who they were. The noise from inside grew louder as he got closer but he couldn’t tell what caused the commotion. The huddle suddenly scattered when two figures exited the tunnel in the creeper’s telltale shuffle. “Ah, fuck,” Will said in a choked voice. He made sure his knife was in place and touched the Berettas in his twin holsters.

  In may have been the liquor; it may have been because he was checking his weapons rather than watching where he ran; it may have happened no matter what. Whatever the reason, he didn’t notice the top of limestone slab sticking out of the snow. His left leg struck it at full speed, just below his knee. The pain was immediate and exquisite; a bright red flare that exploded in the darkness and swallowed his ability to cry out. The momentum carried him headfirst through the air like a missile hunting its target. His landing knocked the wind out of him and he banged his head against another, smaller, rock. Stars of pain exploded around him and his body heaved as his lungs fought for air.

  He forced himself to lay still, flat on his back and tried to take long, deep breaths. His stunned diaphragm slowly relaxed and allowed his lungs to draw air. He rolled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his head and limping on his injured knee. It was already swelling- his jeans constricted his movement and the joint was difficult to bend. He limped as fast as he could toward tunnel seven, dragging his injured leg behind him. Lucky if I don’t get shot for a creeper walking like this he thought.

  The entrance was in full tumult. People ran in every direction, screaming and crying out for friends and loved ones. At least a half-dozen creepers shuffled about in the mix, turning and lurching as their focus shifted the people close by and those making the most noise. A middle-aged man in a cowboy hat turned and ran away from the people outside, back toward the opening. As he did, a creeper with half its face eaten away came stumbling out. Cowboy hat ran right into it. Before he could react, the ghoul wrapped him in its arms, darted its head forward, and ripped a large chunk of flesh from the side his neck. Cowboy Hat fell to the ground, holding his hand to his neck and screaming. The creeper toppled over and landed on the man’s chest. The noise and the blood attracted others and in seconds five of them huddled around him, tearing and biting with ravenous glee. He stopped screaming and the snow underneath the squirming pile turned crimson.

  Twenty yards separated Will from the entrance when he heard several pairs of footsteps crunched through the snow behind him. He spun around, relieved to see Jiri and his team hurrying to catch up to him. Will pointed to the dead feeding on Cowboy Hat. “Coy, you and Tara put down that bunch and meet us at the opening.”

  Coy looked at him with concern. “Why are you limping?”

  “Go!” Will thundered and pointed again. Yelling set off the pain in his head; he closed his eyes and clutched it with both hands until the throbbing subsided. He looked at the other three members of his group, knowing they wouldn’t pepper him with questions about his injuries. They had been together for over six months and they knew the drill. Fight first; worry about injuries later, after the creepers were down. “Form a line at the opening. No more dead get out.”

  The foursome ran to the entryway and he limped over to help Coy and Tara. The creepers ripped and tore at Cowboy Hat’s remains, too engrossed in their meal to notice the pair approach. They put them down quickly and with minimal effort- Tara swung a machete three times and Coy’s knife rose and fell like a piston.

  The situation settle
d down. The Originals quit running around and screaming; most of them seemed to have found a place to hunker down. Will joined his team just as three creepers shuffled toward them from inside the shaft. The one in the middle caught his eye. It was grotesque in its obesity and wore a filthy and blood-covered golf shirt with the name ‘Pete’ emblazoned above the pocket. He did a double-take and sure enough, Pete stumbled along, wearing a bowling shoe on one foot.

  Will stepped to him. The snarling and drooling ex-bowler reached for his shoulders. He brought his forearm down hard, knocking its grasping arms away, and swung his knife around with his other hand. It sliced through the creeper’s ear and into its brain. He jerked the knife back and black liquid sprayed the snow beneath the creeper as it fell. In the split second after Pete went down, two meaty thuds sounded and the other two creepers crashed to the ground next to him.

  Coy and Tara rejoined them, standing behind the skirmish line. They waited to see what the tunnel offered up next.

  Danny Gets Some Action

  * * *

  Danny and Tasha sat side by side on her cot in the little cubicle apartment she shared with another woman in The Original’s tunnel. She had spent the last twenty minutes rattling off her life story. Danny interjected comments that made him sound interested in the appropriate places but he wasn’t listening. Instead, he considered the sorry state of his sex life.

  Seven months! Danny hadn’t gone a month without getting laid since Pete Blotski’s big sister Rhonda made him a man inside an empty horse trailer at the age of fourteen. And now seven months had passed since his last sexual escapade. Jesus wept.

  Danny had mixed feelings about the zombie apocalypse. No question they had experienced privation while on the road. For the first time in his life he’d gone to bed hungry, and he learned the true meaning of the word ‘thirst’. He’d lost people he cared for. Never known to turn down a drink or six before the outbreak, he counted on one hand the number of times he’d had a beer since. But no one said it was boring.