Dead America The First Week (Book 7): Portland

by Slaton, Derek

  Zion turned to address them as he got to the front doors. “You all stay right here in the courtyard,” he said, “and you won’t miss a second of what’s going to happen to the good Sergeant.” He reached over and patted Holcomb’s head like a child.

  His prisoner scowled, but there was fear in his eyes, and Zion relished it. He led the man inside, where four women stood in a line, dressed in a mishmash of clothes. The last one was Abby, and she stood with her assault rifle, still dressed only in her lingerie.

  She lashed out and grabbed Holcomb’s crotch, squeezing and twisting as he squealed like a pig and fell to his knees. She let go of him and looked him dead in the eye.

  “Your dick was so small I couldn’t even feel it,” she said, voice low.

  Calvin barked a laugh. “Well, that explains a fuck of a lot.”

  Zion gave the chain a yank and Holcomb whimpered, leaning against the wall for support. His arms hung limply at his sides, not even sure where on his body hurt the most anymore, and between Calvin continually jabbing him in the ass with his rifle and Zion half-choking him with the chain, he didn’t know how he even made it up the stairs.

  When they exited the roof access, Holcomb’s stomach sank.

  “Don’t,” he pleaded, but it came out as a strangled gasp, as Zion dragged him across the roof to the front of the building.

  The new leader of the complex was officially out of fucks to give, and he grabbed the back of the Sergeant’s collar, holding him up to look out over the expectant faces of the civilians he’d tortured. Calvin secured the loose end of the chain around a nearby beam.

  “This is what happens to those that cross us!” Zion bellowed, and slashed his claws across Holcomb’s stomach, kicking him off of the edge of the roof.

  The Sergeant didn’t even have time to scream before he hit the end of the chain, the momentum sending his guts spewing through the hole in his stomach. His neck didn’t quite break, leaving him to sputter until he fell still, swaying gently back and forth, innards dripdripdripping on the asphalt below.

  Zion spread his bloody hands. “This is what happens,” he said loudly, over the heads of his new flock. “Brent is dead, because he was fucking stupid. He put us in this position with his stupidity, and that stupidity ended his life. It ended Jerry and Cory’s lives. Tom’s too. It made the rest of our lives a hell of a lot harder than they needed to be.

  “I keep getting asked if the rumors are true about me.” He paused for effect. “I think it’s fuckin’ clear that yes, they are. And guess who’s skills saved your asses, protected you? Mine. So going forward, I’m in fuckin’ charge. And you won’t be getting tortured and killed on my watch. Because I’ll torture and kill anyone who fuckin’ tries.

  “Monique is at a settlement in the city, and we met with a few very nice groups of people who were integral to our survival in coming back here to save our home. We’re going to connect with these people, trade with them, form relationships so that we can be strong together. That being said… I won’t take any unnecessary risks. I won’t put your lives in danger with lack of intelligence nor blindness to the truth.

  “But I’m not going to hold you here and bend you to my will. You have a choice.” He gripped the cement ledge and leaned forward, jaw set. “What do you say?”

  The roar was thunderous for such a small group of people. The relieved citizens, cheering for their new leader that had come back to save them from their fate. Calvin stepped up and clapped his comrade on the back.

  Zion nodded at him, and then raised a blood covered clawed fist to his subjects below.

  END

  EPILOGUE: STATE OF THE UNION

  CHAPTER ONE

  Day Zero +7

  John Teeter and General Adams hovered over a desk, sifting through a veritable mountain of paperwork. There were maps, diagrams, and more information than they felt a single human could ever hope to digest. They were exhausted, but determined, and knew they had a job to do.

  They were quietly studying, attempting to continue to comprehend information in their tired minds, when the General’s lead researcher, Whitney Hill, entered with another stack of papers.

  “Here are the latest east coast reports,” she said as she set the stack down on the desk. She was a fiery redhead with a no-nonsense attitude, and it showed with her crisp casual business suit even in the apocalypse.

  John scrubbed his hands down his tired face. “I thought we already had the east coast reports?”

  “Those were state by state reports,” Adams replied. “Given that the invisible lines on a map don’t really matter anymore, I had Whitney combine it into a regional report.”

  “And to clarify,” she put in, “when I say east coast, I mean everything east of the Mississippi River. I’m preparing two more reports one for the west coast which is everything west of the Rockies, and central is everything in between.”

  John groaned. “Son of a bitch.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly through clenched teeth. “Okay, well, I suppose going forward this will be easier. Although without reading a single page, I’m going to assume that the situation is still fucked?”

  The redhead nodded gravely. “Six ways from Sunday, John. Six ways from Sunday.”

  “How is your research team holding up?” Adams asked.

  She shrugged. “About as good as can be expected,” she replied. “Most of them have lost contact with their families, and they’re doing their best to handle it. A couple of them have military spouses so they’ve gotten word that they’ve been evacuated to the sea. That’s the closest thing we have to good news.”

  “I’m guessing that’s a pretty common theme throughout the entirety of the bunker,” John piped up.

  Whitney nodded. “Unfortunately it is.”

  The phone on the desk beeped, and John smacked it haphazardly to trigger the speakerphone. “Yes, can we help you?”

  “Sir, the President is ready for you in the War Room,” a female voice came through.

  “Thank you, Vicky,” John replied. “Please inform him that we’re on our way.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the reply, and then a click.

  The two men stood up from their desk, gathering up a few of the documents that they knew they would need to show.

  “Whitney, I’d like you to join us in the War Room for the meeting,” Adams said, and she blinked at him in surprise.

  “I’m more than happy to assist you General, but everything I know is in these reports,” she explained. “I’m not sure how much help I would be.”

  “Ma’am, the General and I are both a bit past our prime,” John said with a chuckle. “Frankly, we could use a set of young eyes that can throw out information quickly. We’ve read the reports, but you’ve been living and breathing this for a solid week. You would be a great asset to us in there.”

  The redhead nodded. “Just let me tell my team what I need them to focus on next, and I’ll be in there.”

  “Thank you, Whitney,” Adams said sincerely, and the woman left briskly.

  John sighed as the duo began the walk to the War Room. “Let’s hope the President is in a good mood today, because I don’t think we have a single bit of positive news to deliver to him.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  General Adams and John entered the War Room, which was empty save for President Williams at the head of the table. His presence seemed to fill the room, despite the fact that he looked like he’d aged a thousand years in the span of a week.

  “General, John, thank you for coming,” Williams greeted them, motioning to spots to his right. “Please take a seat and we’ll get started.”

  “Mister President,” Adams said. “I’ve asked my top research assistant, Whitney Hill, to join us for this meeting.”

  Williams’ brow furrowed. “Do you not have all the information?” He eyed the documents the men set down on the table.

  “Yes sir, but she knows it better than anyone in the building,” the General assured him. “She�
�ll make sure we don’t miss anything.”

  The President sighed, but nodded. “Very well.”

  Vicky poked her head into the room. “Mister President, General. Would anybody like some coffee?”

  “Gentlemen?” Williams asked.

  John raised his hand. “Yes, I would love some, please.”

  “I could use a cup as well,” Adams added.

  “Vicky, go ahead and make a full pot and bring four cups, please,” the President instructed.

  “Yes, Mister President,” she nodded and left, nearly knocking into Whitney as the redhead headed in.

  “Apologies for the wait,” she gushed.

  “It’s perfectly all right, Miss Hill,” Williams assured her, and motioned to the seat on his left. “Please take a seat, and we can get started.”

  She sat across from John, and laid out several reports on the large conference table in front of her.

  “All right,” Williams said. “Let’s have it. What’s the situation looking like?”

  The trio looked at each other, and John finally shrugged his shoulders.

  “There is no good way to put this, so I’m just going to throw it out there,” he declared. “The world as we knew it is no more. The virus has spread worldwide. As best as we can tell, every country on earth has been affected.”

  The President nodded gravely. “How are our allies holding up?”

  “Western Europe was hit almost as hard as we were, since several infected flights from New York and Atlanta landed there shortly after the outbreak,” Adams said. “Given their near complete lack of warning, they were overwhelmed before they knew what hit them. South America was also hit especially hard since they not only had no warning, they didn’t have the sophisticated communication systems to alert their populations.” He flipped through a few pages of his notes. “My apologies, Mister President,” he huffed as he dug through his reports, finally sighing and motioning across the table. “Whitney, would you be so kind as to cover the Far East?”

  “My pleasure General,” she replied. “Mister President, Asia has fared a little better with the plague since they had roughly a day’s warning before it struck. Granted that’s a low bar considering the devastation most nations have faced. Out of all of the countries, China was hit the hardest, with an estimated billion dead already. Most of the Asian nations, China included, were able to set up protective shelters for their best and brightest.”

  “And let’s be honest,” John piped up, “those with the best connections.”

  “Very true,” Whitney replied with a nod. “However, there is a bit of concerning news regarding South Korea. Not wanting to waste an opening, North Korea pushed across the border a few days ago. We don’t know how successful they were, as communication lines with the Korean Peninsula went down shortly thereafter.”

  Williams furrowed his brow. “What about our troops stationed there?” He pursed his lips.

  “They were successfully evacuated to sea and are on course for home,” Whitney assured him. “As are most of our troops worldwide.”

  The President took a deep breath, folding his hands in front of him. “It pains me to know that I’m the President that oversaw the complete and total withdraw of America from the world stage,” he said. “However, I do take some comfort in knowing that if we aren’t successful in the coming weeks, nobody is going to be around to be angry with me.”

  There were some light chuckles around the table despite the morbidity of the joke.

  “Thank you for the update, Miss Hill,” Williams said. “Now what can you-”

  Vicky knocked at the door and poked her head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mister President,” she said, struggling with her serving tray.

  John leapt from his seat and held the door for her. “Nonsense!” he declared. “You are providing us with the elixir of life. You can interrupt us anytime you like provided that pot is full.”

  She smiled at him, relieved nobody was angry with her. “If you need anything else, please let me know, I’ll be right outside.” She set the tray down on the table.

  “Thank you, Vicky,” Williams said, and she nodded before leaving, closing the door quietly behind her.

  There was a quiet moment of contentment as everyone poured their coffee, taking a few long sips before focusing back on their task.

  “Okay,” Williams finally said, setting his mug in front of him. “Where were we? Oh, yes, the home front. How bad are things here?”

  “Generally speaking, the larger the city, the harder it got hit,” John explained. “Cities with international airports were the worst. Obviously the Texas big four cities were decimated as they were closest to Ground Zero. Austin and San Antonio are nearly a complete loss, partially because of the bombing runs we did in an attempt to distract the news media and buy us precious hours to enact our plan. Which is going surprisingly well, I might add-”

  “Forgive the interruption John,” Williams cut in and put up a hand. “But I’d like to hear more about how hard we were hit before moving on to how we’re fighting back.”

  “Of course, Mister President,” John replied, flipping through his notes. “Cities like New York, Boston, LA, Atlanta, and Chicago are near total losses. The streets were flooded with zombies before anybody knew what was happening. Those who weren’t infected or killed are trapped in their buildings without any hope of escape or rescue. Our best guess is ninety-eight percent dead in those cities, and will be close to one hundred percent within a few weeks.”

  Williams nodded grimly. “What about overall numbers?”

  The two men began to dig through their papers.

  The President turned to Whitney. “Miss Hill, why don’t you field this one?”

  “Of course, Mister President,” she replied, turning one page of one of her reports. “Conservatively, we’re putting the number of dead at eighty-five percent, but more than likely it’s probably at ninety percent. Unless drastic measures are taken in the next day or two, our projections have ninety-eight percent of the population dead by the end of the month.’

  “Mother of god,” Williams balked, all of the color draining from his face. “Why so high?”

  “A wide variety of factors,” she replied. “Aside from the obvious zombie attacks, there is a dwindling food supply which will not only cause starvation, but prompt violence as groups of desperate people fight for the scraps that remain. We’re also well into flu season, and without easy access to medication, it won’t take much for it to decimate a group of survivors.”

  The President shook his head, chewing his lower lip for a moment, contemplating the near total destruction of his country.

  He finally sighed. “Does anybody have any good news?” he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. “General? How is your stadium plan going?”

  “We were able to secure approximately twenty-seven thousand key personnel at eighteen stadium fortresses throughout the country,” Adams said. “We have everything from engineers to scientists to gunsmiths. Everything we need to mount a proper war effort when the time comes.”

  “And these stadiums are secure and well stocked?” Williams asked.

  Adams nodded. “That’s correct. They are locked down and have enough basic supplies to keep them afloat until their greenhouses begin bearing fruit.”

  The President raised an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe I’m bad at math, but if ten to fifteen percent of the country is still alive, then where are they all at? If we only have thirty some-odd thousand in our fortresses, and a few hundred thousand troops, that leaves about thirty million people unaccounted for.”

  “Small towns have proven to be very resilient,” John explained. “Not only are they statistically prone to be armed to the teeth, but their isolation from large populations have allowed them to turn their entire towns into fortified outposts.”

  “While we haven’t been actively looking for them on satellite, we have discovered the existence of a few hundred of these communities,” Whitney adde
d. “In all likelihood, there could be thousands of them.”

  “That is fantastic news!” Williams exclaimed. “Small town America is what put me in the White House, and knowing they are still alive and kicking will certainly give a great boost to my re-election campaign.” He barked a laugh and the others followed suit, happy to have the tension broken, if only for a moment. “So, how can we help them out?” he asked.

  “Well, Mister President, right now, we have a quarter of a million troops sitting in rural Kansas,” Adams said. “A lot of this year’s harvest has yet to be shipped out, so there is a plethora of food. If we spare a couple thousand men, we could get them running convoys to these communities.”

  “That is an amazing idea, General,” Williams said. “I want to make this our top priority. Use any means necessary.”

  John took a quick breath. “With all due respect Mister President, before we do anything else, we need to figure out what to do with the military.”

  “Why do we have to do anything with them?” Williams asked. “You all just told me that rural communities are flourishing and are relatively safe. And they’ve got to be extra safe with the greatest military in the world there.” He waved his hand in a dramatic arc. “General, just have them set up a perimeter and protect Kansas. Turn it into the Heartland Safe Zone, it will be a beacon of hope that radiates throughout the land.”

  John and Whitney glanced at each other with drawn expressions.

  “Sure,” John said gently, “we could do that, assuming the goal is to turn Kansas into the largest all-you-can-eat zombie buffet in the world.”

  William’s glared at him. “I don’t appreciate the attitude, John.”

  “Well, sometimes a little attitude is necessary to get the point across,” his confidant shot back.

  Williams folded his hands in front of him. “Very well. State your case.”

  “Well, for starters,” John said, “they’re surrounded.”