Dead 09: Spring

by T. W. Brown

  Of course there was the whole matter of Gemma becoming pregnant. And then how would she actually be able to test the child for immunity.

  “Pardon me, Gemma, need to take your baby out to the fence for a little nip by a zom…gotta see if the little screamer is immune. Back in a jiff.” Vix stifled a snort.

  They reached the last hill that sat between them and the cottage. She was all the way at the top and looking down when Vix realized that she was alone. Turning, she saw the couple standing at the bottom, foreheads touching and Harold speaking earnestly. Each time he would finish, the girl would shake her head frantically.

  Vix wasn’t stupid, she had a good idea what this was about. Truth be told, the girl had every reason to be embarrassed. She had acted like a perfect fool. Still, if they were able to go back in with nothing more devastating than a sincere apology, then that was okay.

  Stomping back down the hill, she was ready to give the two wayward youngsters a lesson in growing up. Harold saw her first and held up his hands as if to ward off a blow.

  “Before you get all up in a huff…we aren’t coming back.” Harold stepped in between Vix and Gemma. “That place just isn’t for us.”

  “You mean her,” Vix snapped, pointing a finger at the girl. “We have come a long ways, and we have gone through seven different types of hell to get here. Now you want to leave because she got her bloomers in a bunch?”

  “No,” Harold said with a shake of his head. “You brought us here…this was your choice…your destination. We came along because nobody had any better plans.”

  “And where would you go?”

  Harold shrugged his shoulders, but it was now Gemma who stepped forward. She had a look in her eyes that said this was clearly not going to be something that Vix could talk her out of doing. For whatever reason, the pair had made a decision.

  “There are islands all around…just east of London there are a few,” Gemma started, and then turned to Harold for support.

  “Isle of Sheppey for one.”

  “And you think that maybe Queenborough escaped all of this?” Vix retorted. “When will you two figure it out! No place is safe…there is nowhere to run. The best you can do is find somewhere and try to create enough of a defense that you can keep the zoms away…not starve…and not die of thirst.”

  “This is England,” Harold said with an easy laugh. “The rain will keep us from dying of thirst. As for food…the sea is full of fish and maybe we can get a farm up and running. Folks lived here for a long time before we got so automated and relied on the market for our meals.”

  “You once mentioned going to an island,” Gemma was almost pleading now, “so come with us.”

  Vix thought it over. There was actually a lot to be said for the idea of trying for an island. And if not the Isle of Sheppey, Gemma was absolutely right in that there were a lot of smaller ones all around Great Britain.

  With a sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, Vix nodded. The three of them had become a bit of a family. They had their problems, but what family didn’t? If she settled in with Amanda and her people, she would be the outsider…the Janie-come-lately. Here, with Harold and Gemma, she was sort of the leader, and often the mom. Since she was not ever going to have children of her own, this would have to suit her. Besides, on the plus side, she had avoided all of that changing of the nappies business.

  “What about the stuff we left back at the cottage?” Vix grumbled.

  “I think we can find new stuff,” Harold urged. “C’mon, let’s go. I am sure that they were perfectly nice people…but wasn’t the point of this to set up a place that is ours?”

  “Fine.”

  Vix fell in beside the other two who were practically skipping away. She only looked over her shoulder once as they crested one of the many gentle slopes that stretched out before them.

  ***

  “Get everybody alerted. Tell them to be prepared for a fight. You know what you need to do.” Juan held Mackenzie’s arms to her side and looked into her eyes.

  “But—” she started to protest, Juan cut her off.

  “No buts, Mackenzie. This is serious. You get your team together and get the kids down to the boats. We don’t have time to discuss it.”

  “I love you, Juan,” Mackenzie breathed as she reached up and kissed him.

  Juan allowed himself this one moment. He had no idea what it was that Keith and the others had gotten so riled up about, but he had a feeling that they had misjudged their departure time. The enemy was at the door. It was very possible that he would die today because he would not surrender for any reason. That just was not in his belief system.

  “I love you, Mackenzie,” Juan returned the sentiment after the kiss. “Now go!”

  He watched as she took off. Looking up, he saw the little old lady out on her porch. She was smiling at him. “Glad you two worked it out, young man.”

  “Thanks,” Juan said as he turned to go. “Now I suggest you get someplace safe. Things are about to get nasty.”

  The little old lady cackled. “Then I guess it is a good thing I just cleaned my baby.” Juan looked over his shoulder to see Miss Schaeffer reach in the open front door and produce a massive double-barrel shotgun.

  “Jesus,” he muttered as he ran home with Tigah at his side. Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t pressed his luck and tried to get past that woman to see Mackenzie.

  At the house, Juan grabbed everything that he would have taken on a run: knives, machete, longsword in his over-the-shoulder harness, crossbow with a case of bolts, and the .30-30. With the scope on that rifle, he was not likely to miss anything…ever.

  Two men were running towards the house, both already packing similar loads to his. Juan pulled up and waited, taking the time to pat Tigah on the head.

  “You stay here, big fella, Daddy will take care of things and then come home with mommy. Would you like that, Tigah?” Juan said, surprising himself when he realized that even with all hell breaking loose, he had used his “doggy voice” with the massive pup. What did not surprise him were the quick thumps of the tail and then a pair of huge paws up on his shoulder. The dog soaked him with one pass of its tongue and then dropped to the floor.

  “What the hell is going on, Juan?” one of the men gasped.

  He was terribly out of shape and his face was already beet red. Juan had to wonder what the heck some of these folks were doing with their time. Personally, he was probably in the best physical shape of his life. Food was plentiful, but not so much that a person could gorge themselves. Plus, any and all junk food was but a distant memory. He would probably go into shock if he ate a candy bar these days. His body would reject it as something foreign.

  “It is possible that a large invasion force is trying to come and take us out,” Juan replied; no sense sugar-coating the situation. “A group left just a short time ago to scout them, their size, and, if possible, their intentions. I think we know their intentions.”

  More people were coming, many at a dead run. Men, women, and those who had once been considered children answered the call. Juan marveled at how fast the response had been. He knew that they had drills or something every so often—Mackenzie’s idea, and obviously one that had been taken seriously—and now the entire community was acting exactly as they were supposed to in such a situation.

  There was a buzz of expectancy once they were all gathered. Juan had certainly not realized the number of people that were now calling Sauvie Island their home. To see them like this was actually a bit awe-inspiring. He shook his head. He would have time later to marvel over such things.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his loudest voice so that hopefully everybody could hear, “it seems as if we have come under attack. Reports have a force of unidentifiable number moving our way. A team left just a short while ago, but I believe that we already know the answer for any chance at a peaceful resolution. They are coming to take what is yours…what you have worked so hard to create.

  “We
have been through a lot, and we have worked hard. Still, I know that some of you might not want to fight. That is your choice. Nobody will think different of you if you decide to leave.”

  Juan had to try very hard to say that last statement without an outward reaction. It had been Mackenzie’s idea. She had told him that she felt confident nobody would actually take that offer, but it would “earn him points” with the people of the community. Personally, Juan did not care about earning any points.

  He scanned the faces looking back at him and was surprised to discover that he was relieved when nobody walked away. Maybe the people here would make it…maybe this community would not just survive; perhaps it would thrive and grow in the coming months…years.

  “Then each of you has an assignment. You have practiced for this, and now, as sad as it seems, you are being called to action. Do not let these people come and take what is ours!”

  There was a cheer that rose from the crowd that actually caught Juan off guard. He felt a little like that guy who had painted his face blue in that movie, but damned if he could actually remember the name.

  Juan came down off the overturned washtub that he had used to stand on so that he could be seen better. A few people clapped him on the back as they hustled past to their assigned positions. Juan checked his gear one final time and then set out for the bridge tower.

  As he approached, he started to hear some sporadic gunfire. If this was a large invasion force, he expected that would soon change. Passing the old general store building, he saw that a group had already stacked some debris from bits of the bridge that had never actually been cleaned up after he’d blown up the middle of it. Nodding his approval, Juan hurried over to the five individuals crouched down behind some chunks of twisted metal and concrete.

  “So what’s the deal?” Juan asked.

  “Four or five people came out from behind that building,” an older lady in her mid-forties explained, pointing over to where a tan warehouse sat. “One of them shot up at the tower. Rick is hit, but he says it passed though and he is fine.”

  “So how did you all get here so fast?”

  “Keith has had this location manned for about a week.” The woman’s face flushed. “Look, he ain’t trying to take over or nothing…it was just that, with you being all messed up from that April girl, he was trying to help.”

  “Relax,” Juan said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Contrary to what some people might think, I ain’t trying to be in charge of anything. I’m glad folks are stepping up and taking things on when they need it done.”

  The woman looked visibly relieved and Juan made a note that he should probably address the community about the idea of people being able to do things on their own without thinking that they are stepping on his toes…if he survived this attack that is. He wanted this community to feel like everybody could just do their own thing. As long as they weren’t hurting somebody else, what did it matter? If folks wanted to make trips out to the surrounding areas and search for stuff, who was he to tell them that they couldn’t?

  The sound of a gunshot snapped him out of his ruminations when it was followed by the ting as the bullet hit a piece of a metal girder that he was currently sitting behind. Juan leaned to one side to try and get a look across the slough that was presently their best defense against being invaded. He didn’t see anything.

  “Where are these clowns?” he said to nobody in particular.

  As if in direct response, the watch from up in the tower—Rick according to the lady that had just filled him in on the situation—called down. “We got movement coming from the trees across St. Helens Road!” There was a brief pause, and then Juan thought he heard Rick utter, “Holy shit!”

  Peeking his head up, Juan was a bit discouraged to discover that he could not see much past the long warehouse. Unfortunately, that was resolved rather quickly as several figures came into view, running up the length of the bridge span that still jutted from the opposite side of the slough.

  “What the—” the woman beside him started, but the answer came on the heels.

  “They have some sort of platform!” Rick called down from the tower, confirming what Juan and the woman were both seeing.

  “These people have obviously been planning this,” one of the men in this group said.

  “Yep,” Juan agreed.

  This was bad…very bad. How had they missed this? Had it been his fault? He had stopped sending out foraging teams and patrols a long time ago. The belief was that they had no real need. In doing so, had he basically made them blind? So many questions and doubts came at once that Juan could not process them all.

  Juan had never felt that he was the person to lead a community of survivors. He might be good on his feet when it came to acting in the moment, but he was no leader. He was not a person who planned. Hell, his biggest idea had been to put a damn fence around the island! He had not thought about the possibility of other survivors coming. How had he missed that considering all that had happened? First with the arrival of Keith, Thad and JoJo; then there was that group that had come ending in Margaret being shot. And through it all, Juan had focused on the zombies.

  “What do we do?” the woman asked, turning to Juan and obviously expecting an answer.

  Looking back to the gap in the bridge, Juan watched as a huge flat section rose in the air and then fell with a loud “whump”. Bullets rained down from the tower…until a bottle arced and exploded in a ball of flame. There were screams, and then a burning figure flung itself from the tower and landed with a sickening thud on the concrete road.

  “Run!” Juan exclaimed.

  ***

  Heads began to turn. Cynthia peeked from where she had been hiding for the past few hours. She watched as the zombies, slowly at first, began to react to Glenn’s distraction. However, she did notice that every time he let up, many of the zombies closest to the boarded up entrance to the school would turn back.

  Something had to be bringing the attention of those zombies back. From her spot in the bed of the burnt up pickup truck, she could not really see what that might be. Her plan did not require that every single zombie be drawn away, but it would make it much easier for Glenn as well as far less dangerous for herself.

  The entire time that she had spent in the back of the truck, she had struggled with her decision to do what was basically a suicide attack. She had more than just a little doubt that this plan would actually be pulled off with any success. In all likelihood, she and Glenn would die. Still, the past year had worn on her in such a way that she did not see that possibility as necessarily a bad thing.

  Every day had been a struggle. Even with the four of them, things had been difficult at best. It seemed that every single time that they managed to find a place to possibly hold up, something terrible would arise.

  Their idea to try and make the journey back home had been folly. Who had they expected to find still alive? Why should the community that they lived in be any different from all the others that they had seen in their travels?

  For a few weeks, she had been trying to convince the others to perhaps swing north. She had been to a conference in Portland, Oregon a few years back and found the town to be a delight. Yet, there was one thing that had struck her most and left an imprint—she had chosen to drive up and had been treated to a wonderful stretch of road along Interstate 5 that was wide open farmland.

  On the way home, she had agreed to meet Glenn in Vegas for a mini-vacation. That had taken her through some gorgeous mountain roads. The foothills had been incredible. There were farms here as well. Miles of wide open space with an abundance of running streams and rivers cutting through lush fields and still more farmland.

  She had dreamt of that trip one night and the idea had struck. If she could convince the others, perhaps they could find a spot by one of those streams that were supposedly an endless source of trout and salmon. They could set up a farm and live like the pioneers.

  That was where h
er guilt was now starting to get the better of her. Yes, the loss of her brother and his wife, one of her best friends, had been tragic and terrible. The loss of the baby had been nothing short of evil. Yet, why was it now up to her to try and rescue Baby Xander?

  It all came down to the fact that she was tired of being afraid of everything. Daily life was a horror, and it had very little to do with the undead. This whole zombie apocalypse, or whatever you wanted to call it, had affirmed her belief that man was the scariest thing in the world. But that thought was tempered by thoughts of her husband, Glenn.

  She knew that it was mostly the fault of society. It had become so entranced on the terrible, evil, and nasty. Nobody had wanted to hear the story about the guy who rescued a kitten from his neighbor’s tree, or the tattoo-covered biker gang that raised money to donate toys for children at Christmas time. You never got to hear the story about the high school teacher that spent three hours a day after school donating his time to tutor the at-risk students. Those stories got buried by the predatory teachers and coaches.

  Maybe the good guys had lost the war. Perhaps it was won by people like that woman who called herself Ann. Perhaps it would not be terrible if the zombies won and everything got wiped out. If this was the world that was left, if these were the people in the majority as it certainly seemed, then she had no use for it.

  Cynthia stood up in the back of the truck and let out a few yards of the rope she had at her side. Jumping from the truck, she ran for the nearby tree. This one would probably be dead soon, but it was big enough and sturdy enough for what she needed.

  Tossing the line over a limb that was about ten feet up, she quickly began to climb. Reaching the branch that was about as thick as her leg, she took one more look towards Glenn. He was moving away and bringing most of the zombies with him. She hoped with all her heart that she would see him again. She prayed that if only one of them survived, that it would be him. She might not recover emotionally if he did not. After all, he was following her plan and she knew for a fact that he would have been just fine if they had simply made a run for it.