Man Eaters (Book 2): The Horde

by Linda Kay Silva

  Einstein spoke again. “Based on the manner in which this virus took off nine months ago, exponentially, there’s probably between three and six million of us left. The majority––well, let’s say the vast majority––of those who have survived are gay. To create an army the zombies can’t turn or eat would certainly make us a formidable group. The fact remains, as long as even one zombie exists, we are all in danger. A gay army that spends its days cutting their numbers seems to me to be the only reasonable way to get our lives back. The key would be how to methodically do so. We would have to create whole towns walled off from the potential dangers of that one infected individual getting in. Unless and until our military or our scientists can figure out a way to kill them en masse, then it’s up to us to get in there and do it ourselves. The gay population is our only hope.” Einstein nodded to Dallas that he was done.

  In a bizarre moment nine months ago, Dallas and Roper had discovered that the virus was intended to destroy specific human DNA. What they realized when a horde walked by and completely ignored them was that their homosexual genes, genes they were born with, did not make the man eaters come after them. It seemed they were not on the menu. They were not of the genetic code the zombies were programmed to kill. The bioweapon meant to destroy humans did not recognize the DNA of homosexuals, and this made them invisible to the horde.

  The knowledge that people were born gay would change the world one day but for now, all it meant was that those who were gay and still alive were safe from the virus and from being eaten. They were the hope for the future that would be different in the United States…if they made it that far.

  That was a big if.

  “I am proposing we find a more secure, yet accessible position where other survivors can find us and where we can draw the man eaters to us. If we are going to do more than survive or exist, we need to start clearing them out. We need to take our country back before some other country does it for us, and that begins with killing as many of them as we can every day.”

  Roper cleared her throat. “What Dallas is suggesting is for us to start hunting them, only instead of seeking them out, we bring them to us, and we kill them. We know they travel in hordes chasing after their food source, so why not lure them in like a spider in a web?”

  Dallas nodded to Einstein, who cleared his throat. “To give everyone an idea of just how much work this involves—if we assume there are at least one hundred million infected east of the Rockies—in order to clean this region we’d need to kill two hundred and seventy four thousand a day for a year.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jones said. “That’s impossible. We don’t even have enough ammo for one day.”

  Dallas nodded. “My point exactly. We can’t fight without proper weapons and ammo. We need a strong base, supplies, and the ability to kill at least ten thousand of these a day.”

  “Where could we go that would be safe for those of us they’d eat?” one of the twins asked.

  Dallas looked at Roper and Butcher. “We’ve given it a lot of thought and I believe the safest place from which to battle is Angola.”

  No response.

  Seconds ticked by until finally, someone said, “As in the federal prison?”

  Dallas nodded. “Yes. Think about it. That prison has everything we need. It is secure, has garden areas, a manufacturing plant—hell, it’s even got an airstrip. It can be self-contained and once we clear them out, it would be nearly impossible for them to get to us if we maintain strict entry protocol.”

  “Not to mention it backs up to the river on two sides. Those who came at us from the river would be ‘gator bait.” This came from Luke. “With shooters ringing the walls, it’d be like shooting fish in a barrel.”

  Einstein cleared his throat. “We need a place we can go that’s self-sufficient for now. Once we have a home base, we can train others to then do the same at another facility, until there are satellite groups of the living all over.”

  People whispered about this possibility until Dallas continued. “Skeeter and I believe the hordes are migrating toward their food source. This means all of those undead in the lower states may come through here. From the prison, we can easily exterminate tens of thousands without ever having to leave the safety of the walls.”

  “And the prison would be incredibly safe,” Einstein added. “Cement walls, barbed and razor wire fencing, and plenty of supplies to keep us set for a few months. Even if the place has been ransacked, we can still fish and smoke meat like we do now. It could actually be far safer there.”

  The entire group remained quiet for a long time.

  “You want to bring those things to us?” Jones’s wife wrung her hands and shook her head.

  Dallas nodded. “We either live in fear all our lives, or we take our lives back and start culling the herd. It’s been a long eight months out here. Does anyone want to imagine how it will feel to do this for eight more years? Ten? Twenty?”

  Einstein cleared his throat again, puberty making his voice rise and fall. “A zombie can live up to five years before its tendons finally give out. They don’t even really need skin. Even when their muscles have rotted, they can keep moving, so it isn’t until the tendons finally break down that they stop moving all together. That could take five years, maybe longer, depending on the area.”

  “Five years? Are you certain? That seems like a long time.”

  Einstein nodded. “It’s basic human physiology. These things aren’t just going to rot away and fall apart. Their tendons have to wear out, and tendons are awfully tough. Their bodies actually have to stop working. That’s why one cut in half still keeps coming. It doesn’t register it’s dead. Unless our scientists can figure out a way to destroy their cerebral cortex, they’ll be dragging those limbs around for years to come.”

  More whispered discussion.

  Finally, Butcher stood up. “Here’s the deal, folks. Down to brass tacks. Dallas, Roper, Einstein, Luke, and I are going. We’ll take both the Fuchs and the yacht. You are invited to come with us or stay here. We’ll understand whatever each of you decide, but we’ve decided we are going to change our situation here. Plain and simple.” She reached for Roper’s hand, who grabbed on, slightly surprised she hadn’t reached for Luke’s. “We have what it takes to defeat a mindless mob. You’ve heard the stories. They’re all true. Those two women,” she waved her hand at Dallas and Roper, “will create an army that will slice through those fuckers like a hot knife through butter. I put my faith in them nine months ago and I’m alive today because of it. It’s a no-brainer to me. Wherever they go, so go I.”

  Dallas nodded. “Thank you, Butcher. Does anyone have any questions?”

  Several hands went up. “How do you know it’s not already overrun?”

  “We don’t. But if they’re there, we’ll clean them out. Those things can’t get through cement. What was made to keep man in is where we need to live to keep man eaters out.”

  “What will we do with the dead we kill?”

  “We’ll have to dig a pit and burn them. That’s an issue that’s going to plague this country if we don’t destroy the disease ridden corpses.”

  “How will we get there?”

  “Some by boat, others in the Fuchs. I won’t lie to you. Being on the move is dangerous.

  We’ll have to fight off other survivors who want The Beast, our food, our supplies, and our weapons. I won’t downplay the dangers. At this point, the living are more dangerous to us than the undead.”

  And so the questions went as people expressed their fears about leaving the relative safety of the bayou. Dallas answered every question and every doubt with calm patience. For eight months, they’d seen very few of the rotting, moldy creatures stalking the countryside. For the last eight months, people had been able to fill their bellies, sleep at night, and actually laugh around the fire.

  But that was merely a temporary reprieve, and they knew it. What she was proposing was nothing short of a war—the livin
g versus the undead—and she was certain that with the right place and enough ammo, they could, in fact, cut the numbers and make their country safer.

  After adjourning the meeting, the core group remained around the fire. “That could have gone better,” Luke said softly.

  “Change is scary,” Roper replied. “They’d rather exist in the swamp than fight for their lives.”

  “Then we leave them.” Butcher’s voice was almost harsh, a fact that did not go unnoticed by those who knew her best.

  “Give them some time,” Roper suggested. “They’ll realize this is the best thing to do. We could live a long time behind the safety of the prison walls.”

  Dallas shook her head. “I’m not suggesting we stay there.”

  Everyone stared at her in disbelief.

  “Excuse me?” Roper said.

  “You heard me earlier. I think we need to establish a mobile army that moves from prison to prison destroying those things. We can collect survivors along the way and it’s those people we leave within the prison walls. We create small cities within the prison system and systematically kill the hordes each and every day until there are more survivors than undead. It’s a doable solution.”

  Roper blinked. “Looks like you’ve put a lot of thought into it.”

  Dallas nodded. “If we don’t take our country back soon, someone else will. Then what? Will we be stuck in a concentration camp? Hunted down?” Dallas pointed out to the ocean. “Look out there. Those ships have never left. What are they waiting for? They’re waiting for us to lose the battle. They’re waiting to see how long it takes for those things to die before they swoop in here and take our land from us. Well I, for one, am not going to sit around waiting to replace one danger with another. Our people are alive out there! All we need to do is begin gathering them. We need to let them know there is a safe place and others who are willing to fight.” Dallas slowly shook her head. “I understand the irony of the saving of our country falling on the shoulders of those it turned its back on, but now we have a chance to right those wrongs. Now, we can create the change we wish to see in this world.”

  Suddenly, Butcher rose. “You have my vote, Dallas,” she said, starting toward the stilted house. “And I say, the sooner we get the hell out of the swamp, the better. I’m sick of this fucked up place.”

  As she walked away, Roper looked at Dallas. “What’s up with her?”

  Dallas shrugged. “I’m thinking she wants to get the hell out of here.”

  ****

  Butcher’s Log

  Oh god. I won’t be able to keep my pregnancy a secret for very much longer. Four months along and I am beginning to show…well, I already show, but it’s not physically showing yet. It’s my bad attitude that’s showing. It’s like I am hovering above myself as I act like a bitch on wheels, and I can’t stop it. Poor Luke. He has no idea what the hell to think. The roller coaster ride of my emotions is evidence enough of my physical state, and if I can’t put a lid on it soon, everyone will figure it out. I don’t want everyone to know. Not yet. Once I say it out loud, it becomes real. I don’t know how ready I am for real.

  A real baby? A real reason to live?

  Too real.

  I have my reasons for not telling Luke.

  Men change when their women are pregnant and I don’t need him hovering over me thinking I’m somehow incapable of doing what I’ve always done. Dallas is going to need him to be on his game if we are going to move thirty-two people out of the bayou and to Angola. Hell, getting the six of us here was nearly impossible. I can’t fathom moving that many, but if Dallas has a plan, I’m backing her one hundred percent. I am only alive because of her, and if she is ready to DD out of here, then so am I.

  Not just because I think she rocks as a leader, but because I have to start thinking about another life besides my own. Sure, we could stay in the bayou and make a go of it, but what would I be teaching my child? That hiding out was preferable to fighting for what you believe in? That living in fear is an acceptable lifestyle?

  Not for my kid.

  That just isn’t how I roll, and a goddamned zombie invasion didn’t change that. I am either going to fight for our freedom or die next to Dallas and Roper, but I am done hiding out in the swamp.

  Done.

  I am sick of the smell, sick of the muck, sick of the bugs, sick, sick, sick. I think I’d rather fight those fucking things than sit around waiting to die. That’s what it feels like we are doing. I don’t even want to think about trying to raise a baby in the swamp. Oh hell no.

  So now, I have to move this along before I really start showing. I know I should tell Luke, but I just can’t chance it right now. I’m not even sure he would agree to the Angola idea if he knew the truth, and I am not going to give him that chance. We need to get the hell out of here, baby or no baby. Luke may be the father, but he doesn’t get a say in what I do before the kid is born.

  That’s what I keep calling her. Kid. I can’t even conceive of trying to raise a child in this apocalypse, let alone in a swamp. Too many dangers lurking around every corner. If Angola can be cleaned up, we might actually be able to create a place where she can grow up playing outside. At least, in the end, regardless of the outcome, I’ll know I gave my kid a fighting chance.

  My kid.

  It’s so weird to think that, let alone write it down. It makes it all the more real, and I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. Once she becomes real, then I have to take her into consideration. I’ll have to think twice and when you’re fighting zombies, that second thought could be your last.

  Never would have thought zombies existed, but here they are. I fought over in Iraq against thinking people, but nothing can prepare you to fight a sharp-toothed amoeba. That’s what man eaters remind me of. Amoeba. The way they clump together to create one large organism with the singular pursuit of hunting down heterosexuals.

  Funny thing that.

  Our scientists created a virus that goes after very precise genetic coding, thinking it would kill all humans. Come to find out, there is a gay gene after all, and so the preprogrammed zombies leave gays alone. Completely alone. They are uninterested in lesbians and gays. Their genetic marker is unreadable by the man eaters. I’ve seen it first hand and it’s the most bizarre thing. They surrounded Dallas and Roper once. We thought they were dead women walking, but the fuckers just stared at them like they were confused. Eventually, they just walked away. Not one chomp of the teeth, not one bite. The entire horde walked right on by, leaving them unscathed.

  That’s when we knew.

  Einstein estimates about 75% of the survivors are gay or lesbian. All we need to do now is to find them and create an army that will go up against the horde. Problem is, people are still in hiding. Like us. In the eight months we’ve been here, we’ve only collected twenty-four others, and only three of them are gay. That leaves us with a total of five CGIs, or Can’t Get Infected. CGIs are our only hope, but we sure as shit need more than five if we are going to take it to them.

  Just the other day, Roper had mentioned going back to California or up to Provincetown to see if we couldn’t grab some more, but Dallas squashed that idea, saying it was far too dangerous to travel alone.

  She’s right, of course, but that begs the question, is there any place that’s really safe?

  It’s weird. While Roper and Dallas are safe from the zombies, they’re at risk from the outlaws who roam the country plundering like they were entitled to anything they wanted. I hate them most because they have no vision beyond the moment. We’ve had our fair share of run-ins with them, too, and so far, we’ve come out on top. Having The Beast helps. Anyone trying to take that from us gets a belly full of hot lead. A few tried. They’re just picked over bones by now. We may appear to be nothing more than a bunch misfit folks, but we’ll gut you like a fucking pig if you try to come at us.

  Still, Roper’s right about getting more survivors, gay or straight. To run a prison like Angola, we’re going
to need numbers. Many hands make light work, as my grandmother used to say. Hell, just digging a pit large enough to hold that many truly dead is gonna take a ton of people.

  Truly dead.

  That’s what Einstein christened those who are done and gone and can only return in another life. Truly dead. He made us all promise to make him truly dead if he were ever bitten. That would, without a doubt, be the hardest promise I would ever have to keep. If that boy is ever bitten, I might just have to shoot myself. It would be too hard to do this without him.

  I think that’s been the toughest adjustment since this virus broke out: Everything is so damn hard. Nothing comes easy. Nothing. Not getting water, not cooking—hell, not even going to the bathroom. It took only one month for everything to shut down and go to hell in a hand basket. One month. There’s no electricity, no running water, no way to keep food fresh. There are no stores, no agriculture, no way to easily get and store food. Everything is a chore. Everything is a luxury. The fact that we eat fresh fish almost every night might sound boring to most but it’s a hell of a lot more than what many others eat.

  I guess in the end, I don’t want to raise a child in a society where hot showers sound like a myth. I don’t want to try to explain to a little girl why we are caged in while the ghouls still roam. I don’t want to explain why mommy gave up. I guess I’d really rather die fighting than live in captivity.

  At least that’s what I tell myself.

  There are times when I watch Dallas and Roper together and I envy the way their relationship works. Without preconceived social expectations, they have to—or is it get to—negotiate many interactions that, for straights, tend to be viewed as gender-specific. Dallas once laughingly called gutting a deer “a blue job.” When Einstein appeared puzzled, she replied, “You know, moving heavy objects is blue, vacuuming is pink. That sort of thing.” Well, that sort of thing is one more reason why I haven’t told Luke. Men so often get weird around pregnant women—as if we somehow turn from thoroughbred to lame horse overnight. If he ever did that to me, it would be our demise. I’ve never allowed a man to stay in my life who didn’t treat me with utmost equality. Luke has never treated me as anything but equal and it would break my heart and break us up if he started to simply because I am carrying his child.