Dead States | Year Zero | Nebraska

by Marty Brockschmidt

  Before communications from the outside stopped the scenes and warnings were very ominous. The last newscast out of Albuquerque made it clear, stay inside, stay away from anyone appearing sick, and stay away from the city. After a month the food stores of the restaurant were becoming taxed and Gael, the caretaker for The Mission, offered to hunt for antelope and deer, accompanied by Robert Peterson.

  The pair returned in a couple days having small success in taking two antelope and a small desert mulie. As necessary as that meat was, the news of the sick person they saw wandering the desert dominated their conversation.

  “I don't know we were afraid to get to close to him. He was just wandering, the sun and wind looks to have really taken a toll on him. We were watching from quite a distance, but he also looked to me like he had been hurt pretty bad.” Robert expressed to the groups queries.

  “Don't you think we should try to help him Bobby?” Emily Peterson asked of her husband.

  “The newscast was pretty clear to avoid anyone sick. We have next to nothing in the line of resources here. If this disease tore through Albuquerque with all they have, I don't see us being able to offer more.” Jenny answered for him.

  “How can you even think of exposing us all to whatever that diseased person is carrying?” Rita Jarvis asked nervously.

  Nearly a week later the Jarvis girls, seventeen year old Allie and fifteen year old Abby were in the bell tower of the chapel keeping watch when the first wave of the sick from Albuquerque made their way towards The Mission walls.

  “Abby go tell everybody to come up here they need to see this.” Allie directed her sister.

  Soon everyone was crowded in the bell tower each taking turns looking at the creatures shambling up to their walls. They were all in deplorable condition, nearly mummified from weeks in the relentless New Mexico sunshine. Beyond that most had wounds that no person could survive, entrails dragging on the ground, throats ripped out, and huge chunks of flesh removed from arms and legs exposing the bone underneath.

  Robert Peterson was first to speak, nervously stammering, “How can those folks still be alive.”

  Rita Jarvis buried her face in her husband's shoulder as he expressed what she didn't want to comprehend, “I don't think they are. I don't know how it is possible, but I can't think of any other explanation.”

  Rosa, Gael's wife and cook for The Mission kissed the crucifix she wore around her neck and then crossed herself before expressing, “El Muerto.”

  For the next few months the group at The Mission found an uneasy peace with the dead that continued to wander by. If they kept noise and lights to a minimum, the dead would wander off. On the occasions when there were few dead near their walls, Gael and Rob would go out to hunt.

  After one of the hunting trips the dead were at the gate when the pair returned. Emily Peterson fearing for her husband climbed atop the wall and began screaming at the dead to move them from the gate. Seeing this Abby and Allie each grabbed a pot from the kitchen and joined Emily on the wall. Banging their pots and screaming at the tops of their lungs encouraged the dead to move from the gate and allow Gael and Rob to enter.

  Over the past few months they had moved from owner and guest, employer and employee, they had become friends and comrades. That all changed the day they showed up. The Jarvis girls were in the church steeple again watching the recent build up of the dead. W hen suddenly a pair of pickup trucks pulled up and with a shooter in the bed of each truck began to systematically take down the dead.

  Allie looked to her sister who immediately understood what was wanted of her.

  “I know go get everybody to come see” Abby replied to the unasked request.

  Shortly, once again they we are crammed into the church steeple passing the binoculars around.

  “I thought we agreed they were dead, how do you kill whats dead?” Rita Jarvis asked.

  “Those guys are going for the head, I guess that's how you shut em down.” Rob remarked.

  “What are we going to do when they are done out there? They are going to want to come in here.” Carl surmised.

  “Gael, Rob stay up here with your rifles. Gael if you don't mind I'll borrow your shotgun. Carl come with me please and we will get ready for them to knock.” Jenny instructed.

  Once the numbers had been dramatically reduced by the gunmen the trucks stopped. A tall man dressed in black motorcycle leathers climbed out from behind the wheel of one of the trucks, carrying a machete in one hand and a pistol in the other he finished the remaining dead.

  Walking to the gate the tall man called out, “Hola anyone there?”

  Jenny climbed to the top of the ladder that she and Clay had put up, leveled the shotgun at the man and queried, “Who's asking?”

  “Hold on Senora not looking for any trouble, we barely made it out of Albuquerque. We're just looking for some place to hole up.” The man answered smiling.

  “I asked you to identify yourself” Jenny demanded in an attempt to take control.

  The man bowed, “My given name says nothing of me, to those who know me I am Señor De La Muerte.”

  “That is quite the title you've given yourself. How is that supposed to convince me to give you sanctuary?” Jenny retorted.

  “Senora, Albuquerque, hell pretty much everywhere is overrun with the dead. As you saw, I and my vatos have experience with the dead.” Muerte gestured generally in the direction of Albuquerque, “There are so many of those monsters that we cannot take them all. Even with your walls they'll tear this place to rubble. You need me to stop them before their numbers build and we need to be able to rest behind your walls. Everybody makes out.”

  Jenny pressed her lips tight, considering her response,“Leave your weapons outside. We will let just you in. You'll have five minutes to convince us that we are safer with you in our walls than the dead outside of them.”

  Jenny climbed down to the ladder and addressed Carl Jarvis, “I have no idea what the right thing to do here is Carl. I'm out of my element. Those men grew up on the streets, they are harder than you or I. I'm afraid Carl, more afraid than I have been since this all started.”

  In the end it wasn't anything that Muerte said that convinced them. It was what he didn't say, his intent was clear. If they refused those men entry, Meurte would just come over the wall and take their home from them.

  It still struck Jenny odd, how easy it was for Muerte and his men to turn over their weapons. It was like they knew beforehand they were going to be asked to do that and practically lined up holding out their guns. Jenny and Clay thought they were being smart. They kept Meurte and his three men together and there was always someone on guard in case trouble started.

  A couple of times in the next week small groups of the dead would wander up and Meurte would take his men out armed only with knives or bats. When the dead had been put down they loaded the bodies in Gael's trailer and Rob and Gael dragged them out to the desert. Beyond that Meurte began suggesting other defenses for The Mission.

  They worked together to build a guard tower near the front gate and plans were being made to construct a series of trenches outside the wall and link them with breastworks made from the excavated soil, wooden pikes and barbed wire. Clay grudgingly admitted that Meurte was proving useful, but he couldn't quite relax.

  It wasn't just that Clay's daughter Allie insisted on flirting with Meurte every chance she got. He also noticed that Meurte's men, his vatos, would steal glances at the women, especially Emily Peterson. Their uneasy alliance was tested again one evening at dinner.

  “Mama another fine meal. If you would be so kind, what is it that we are eating?”, Meurte asked Rosa.

  “It is antelope Senor, but we are getting low now.” Rosa replied.

  “Well that just won't do, we don't do much hunting in Albuquerque, but Miguel here has some experience. Let us help you restock the food you've given us.” Meurte announced with sincerity.

  The need to replenish their food supplies eventuall
y won out over any arguments against. On the outside Rob and Gael could take turns watching Miguel and Rosa would help Clay and Jenny watching the three on the inside.

  The hunters left early the following morning. The rest of the group spent the morning re-purposing materials to build another guard tower at the back of the compound. Around midday Rosa went to the kitchen to prepare lunch. A short while after that Carl called a break and keeping a close eye on Meurte and his men, Santos and Jorge, lead everyone into the cantina for lunch.

  Not one of them could recall exactly how, what happened next came to pass. Meurte in that same calm tone he always used was talking to Carl and Jenny. Santos and Jorge slipped behind Carl and Jenny. From some undetected signal from Meurte, Santos and Jorge struck. Santos' heavy fist smashed into the back of Carl's head and Jorge grabbed Jenny around the throat. Carl collapsed and Meurte relieved him of the shotgun.

  Several minutes later Carl came to tied to a chair, as he stirred Meurte addressed him, “Welcome back Senor Jarvis.”

  “What is this Meurte? What are you up to?” Carl demanded.

  “Let us not kid each other anymore Senor Jarvis. I have been in control here since we arrived. I have merely decided it is time to stop pretending that you are.” Meurte answered.

  Meurte let that sink in and then continued, “You have so much here, food, water, shelter, ... women. My vatos have been patient and I can make them wait no longer.”

  “The hell you say. I won't stand by and let you shits mistreat these women.” Carl shouted.

  Meurte laughed sardonically, but answered in his calm voice, “Senor Jarvis, you live, you die, it changes nothing. My vatos will get what they desire.”

  To punctuate this point Jorge roughly thrust his hand in Emily Peterson's blouse and squeezed a breast so hard she screamed.

  Meurte admonished him, “Patience will be rewarded my young friend. Go take watch, Santos here has earned first pick.”

  Once everyone was secured, Meurte took Allie and Abby with him to Jenny's house. Santos threw Emily over his shoulder and carried her to the nearest guest room.

  Mac approached 'The Mission' cautiously, stopping his car out of sight and creeping forward to a position where he could glass the enclosure, without being seen. Initially he was encouraged by the solid walls, trenches and breastworks. He could see a guard in the gate tower and what appeared to be men on watch over the people digging the trenches. That opinion quickly changed when one of the guards, a young Latino, helped a pretty woman from the trench and lewdly ran his hands over her. One of the young men, who had been working, quickly raised a fuss and received the butt of a rifle to his midsection.

  Mac's opinion of the Lord of Death, changed from potential ally to just another upstart taking advantage. Mac's initial inclination was to just pass by this place and not get involved. He had Ivy and all the others depending on him, this was a stupid risk. He got as far as starting up the car, but couldn't quite put it into gear.

  “Your a damn fool Mac.” He told himself.

  “I'm sorry Ivy, but I just can't leave these people like this.” Mac silently told his wife, wishing she could hear him, help him choose what to do.

  “I guess I better figure out a way to get a closer look then.” Mac concluded and climbed back out of the car and went in search of something to get him over the wall.

  Mac waited until well after dark to approach the back wall of the complex. As near as he could tell only one guard was posted in the tower near the front gate. He placed against the back wall the 'A' shaped ladder, he had made from lashing together a couple of thick branches and added rope rungs. He climbed up and cautiously peered over. Mac caught no signs of anyone patrolling within the wall and as luck would have it he was near the garden allowing him to quietly drop over the wall into the soft garden soil.

  Mac pulled his makeshift ladder with him and stashed it in the garden. Then using the garden plantings for cover Mac quickly moved to the first building he came to, the cantina. Mac tested the door of the cantina and finding it unlocked opened it and stepped inside. The smells from dinner still lingered and after living off of MRE's, jerky and protein bars the last several days, Mac's mouth immediately began to water. The restaurant also brought back memories of Tobin and Crystal.

  A fresh wave of guilt washed over Mac. It still felt wrong asking Crystal to look after his wife and daughters. He knew Crystal would do that without his asking, but taking care of his family was his place not hers. Crystal was a caring and nurturing young woman that should be enjoying her husband and birth of their first child. It wasn't fair that she was on the front lines against a zombie horde and directing the resistance against a maniac general.

  Mac left the cantina and began moving past the guest rooms. The first two had their curtains drawn tight and Mac could not detect any sounds coming from the rooms even when he pressed his ear against the window. The third room though the curtains were open, the moonlight cast just enough light for Mac to make out several bound forms in the room. Mac took a quick look about, making sure he was still undetected, turned the knob and entered the room.

  Rita Jarvis stifled a scream as the big man dressed in dark clothes slipped into their room. Mac raised a finger to his lips and knelt down close to Carl Jarvis, “I'm about the closest thing you folks got to a rescue. Quick as you can fill me in.”

  Carl Jarvis made quick introductions and explained they had been holding their own until Meurte and his three companions showed up three weeks ago. Carl explained that he and Rob had until they finished work on the trenches and then Meurte would no longer have need of them. Rita Jarvis sucked in her breath not realizing her husband's suspicions on his long term survival.

  “How often do they change the watch?”, Mac asked.

  “About every three hours. They switched just about an hour ago. Whoever is on watch comes and gets his replacement. Whoever, is going on break ... will pick.... one of the women to bring back to his bed.” Carl replied dumping out the last in an angry rush.

  “What about the leader Meurte does he take watch?”, Mac questioned

  “No, no he does not. He spends his nights in the house. He has my daughter's in there with him. We haven't seen them for almost two weeks. We do hear cries and shouts coming from the house sometimes though.

  Mac's heart beat quicker thinking of his daughters and wondered if they could be suffering similar treatment by Mayhue’s men. Mac forced himself to calm down and formulate a plan, “Okay I'm going to hit them when they change guard.”

  Mac pulled out a pistol and a knife, holding up the pistol, “Do any of you know how to use this?”

  Both Rob and Gael nodded.

  Mac stuffed the pistol and knife under the mattress, “Don't do anything rash. Wait till I distract them. Use the knife if you can. When you act, act decisively. Do not hesitate, take no prisoners. Don't fuck up. Make sure you finish the brain.”

  Carl nodded, “So what is the distraction.”

  “You'll know”, Mac replied.

  Almost exactly two hours later Miguel exited the platform to wake Jorge to replace him. Jorge hated the middle of the night shift, but as the youngest he always got stuck with it. That didn't keep him from trying to protest, “Hola Amigo solo un poco mas.”

  “Cut the crap Jorge, no more time, get your lazy ass out here now” Replied Miguel angrily.

  A moment later Jorge opened the door and pushed Emily out ahead of him. Entering the room which held their captives, Miguel quickly checked their bindings. Jorge couldn't resist taunting Rob by groping Emily and kissing her in front of him, “Gracias mamacita”, and then he tied her up with the others.

  Miguel hustled Jorge to the guard tower with a tongue lashing, and then went to stand over Rita smiling in anticipation of what he would shortly be doing with her. Miguel got Rita up on her feet and began leading her out of the room.

  Before they could reach the door Rita stopped and turned around and began pleading, “Please not tonight. Ju
st a little break. Please.”

  Rob was seated back to back with Carl. Rob slipped the knife from its hiding place and cut the bindings holding Carl's hands. Carl took the knife and freed his legs. Miguel was unaffected by Rita's pleas and attempted to turn her back around.

  Rita struggled back and began sobbing, “Please what would it hurt. Just one night for Christ's sake, is that so fucking much to ask for.”

  Miguel started to answer, but Carl's hand slipped over Miguel's mouth and drew the knife across his throat. The arterial spray painted Rita red, ignoring the blood Rita turned around and closed the door. Carl laid the dying Miguel down on the bed and then Rita reminded him, “The brain, he said finish the brain.”

  Mac had struggled to get set up before the guards changed, pushing his car nearly a half mile to get it in position. By the time Jorge had ascended the ladder to the guard tower, Mac had slipped over the wall and hid himself in the shadows. In one hand he held a length of heavy fish line which was attached to the light switch of his car.