Guns, Rations, Rigs and the Undead (Book 1): Guns, Rations, Rigs and the Undead

by Radke, K. E.

  Hand in hand, Lincoln watched them walk down the sidewalk. Melanie turned around to wave before they were out of sight. The tension released in his shoulders and he grumbled to himself, “Thank God I don’t have a daughter.”

  He’d been checking all his social media accounts and scanning the CB radio for information all morning. The alerts Dustin set up to flag certain uploaded videos and pictures were by the thousands. Lincoln had to call Dustin and tell him to shut the program down. Chaos was everywhere as far as he could tell. Live videos of people being attacked and eaten alive by other humans weren’t being blocked or taken down. Evidence the government was no longer in control of the situation.

  Cannibalism was sweeping the nation. Everyone on the lookout for the same features: gray skin, cloudy eyes, black veins, blood stains. Several live videos ended abruptly because the cameraman would get too close. Screams were the last thing you’d hear before the feed ended.

  Fellow preppers came to the same conclusion Lincoln did. If you’d been bitten by the ghouls, it was just a matter of time before you turned into one of them. Sometimes it was a matter of hours, for others it was a matter of minutes. Many were taking video diaries coming up with theories for the time difference. Calculating the size of bite wounds, considering if the person died beforehand, or was still alive before the virus took over.

  Everything was being shared across the forums. Notes and symptoms were being compared, everyone trying to gain access to as much information as possible.

  Lincoln focused on the videos of people turning without being bit. He wanted to know what was causing the phenomenon. While one of the first indicators was eating everything in sight, another sign was the extremities turning gray. Witnesses collaborated that it was similar to frost bite, and anyone with symptoms had less than 24 hours before they started sinking their teeth into human flesh. One woman’s video diary proved she fought off the virus for 36 hours and 39 minutes.

  No one could confirm if scratches spread the pathogen. Lincoln printed all the vital information so he could file it away before the electricity stopped working. Anything saved to a computer would be useless.

  He growled at the sound of the doorbell the second time around. Whoever was at the door didn’t plan on leaving until he answered it. On the third ring he could feel the heat rise up his neck seeping into his face making him stomp to the window.

  Through the blinds Camille stood a few feet from the porch eyeing the window waving and singing out yoo-hoo as soon as she saw them move. A cane was in her hand, and he could make out the rubber tip at the bottom. Son of a bitch, they’re actually getting smarter, he thought unplugging his electric gadget noting that he needed to make a call to Dustin for something new before he couldn’t reach the nerdy tech geek anymore.

  Cracking the door open he only showed half his face.

  “Hi Lincoln,” she greeted him merrily with a huge smile on her face. “I saw you had a little get together with Wyatt and Melanie.”

  She waited for him to confirm her sighting but he let the conversation lead into an awkward silence.

  “Well, I was hoping to get a baggy,” she tried to pretend like her request wasn’t a big deal. “You know,” she gestured to someone out of view and a little girl appeared beside her. The girl was sullen, frowning at her mother, and didn’t look like she wanted to be there. Lincoln didn’t blame her. Camille’s attempt to get free stuff was lost on him, he couldn’t fathom her reasoning for it.

  “I have a very low patience for riddles,” he said in between the crack of his door.

  “It’s just that I thought since you’re being helpful, well, I have three children. And I can use all the help I can get,” she laughed again trying to play off her solicitation like it was an ordinary, everyday request.

  “Girl,” he called to Camille’s daughter, “Go home.” He opened the door a little wider watching the little girl run down the street. Once she was out of earshot, Lincoln pushed the door open and it slowly arced back so Camille could get a glimpse of his home. Not that she could see anything.

  The door opened up to a wall, one of the main reasons he bought his house in the first place. In order for her to see anything significant she’d have to be inside, willing to come into his domain. Even if she had the guts to step inside she could only end up in one of two places, the living room or his bedroom. Everything else had locks on the doors, even the guest bathroom. So when he did have the occasional house guest, they couldn’t steal anything.

  Bringing women home was always a hassle. They were easily spooked by the outside locks on the bedrooms. It always led to weird looks and constant questions. If fucking them at their place wasn’t an option, he’d convince them to be spontaneous and do it somewhere publicly. It almost always worked, that and the fact they thought he was taking care of his dying mother at home.

  Every once in a while a woman would end up in his bed, so he found it difficult to hoard supplies in his room. Basic furniture took up most of the space, only his bed was custom made with hidden compartments. It held several guns, and his all time favorite weapon, Stella. She was a beautifully sculpted spear that sat in a velvet box waiting to be put together. A weapon all on its own that doesn’t require ammo. Just skill, precision and patience to hit the right spot. He really needed to make some time to take Stella out.

  Leaning his shoulder against the door frame, his voice lowered seductively, “No kissing. Unless it’s around my dick. I don’t know where your mouth has been.” Camille glanced down between his legs for a moment making the corners of Lincoln’s mouth slide up. “I get you backwards until I cum twice, so your time limit depends on how well you perform. If you let me fuck your ass hole I’ll give you an extra treat. Your tits,” he licked his lips staring obnoxiously at them, “are mine to do with as I please as long you’re in my house.”

  A red flush swept across her face as her jaw dropped slightly in shock. She didn’t realize it was open until Lincoln signaled it was and said roguishly, “While I’m not against doing it out in public. I would suggest otherwise, considering your husband is down the street.”

  Flustered and not able to respond, she turned on her heel walking as quickly as she could away from Lincoln. Giving him a view of her backside.

  “It’s not nice to tease, I have a whip to put you back in line,” he called after her. She practically ran away. Just in case she looked over her shoulder again, Lincoln stood there watching her escape and let out a wolfish whistle.

  Instead of going back to his research he felt invigorated to tackle the mess Mel left. The tent turned out to be flimsy and hard to put together. Canned goods were put back in their rightful spot according to the expiration dates, and he broke down her toilet paper fort stacking it against the wall again. Locking the door behind him, Lincoln decided to get the chicken coop ready while he had the energy.

  Unlocking the back door he gazed over the yard. Different targets stared back at him, all riddled with holes. Stella was calling to him without even being present. Without giving it a second thought, he raced over to the chicken coop so he could get the chore done and take Stella out.

  His backyard had more space than most with an area raised for gardening on the right. Permanent makeshift anchors were randomly spread throughout his backyard to keep his targets upright when he wanted to practice, or release frustrations. Not all the anchors were used at the same time allowing him to change the order of his targets so he could practice with different angles and distances.

  Near the back, his fence was part of the perimeter to the neighborhood park. It was one of the few things that he didn’t like about the location of his house until Dustin pointed out that it could be used as an easy escape route if Lincoln installed a hidden door.

  Not long after it was installed, Lincoln realized it was an easy way to sneak in late night visitors without alerting the neighbors to what he was up to. Visitors parked on the road instead of in his driveway. No one could poke their nose into his bus
iness and see who was coming around.

  The chicken coop was near the front entrance to his fence, but he’d cleared a spot for it months ago at the back of the property—to keep the clucking and smell bearable.

  Opening up the free camouflaged chicken coop for the first time, he checked the craftsmanship and sturdiness. Three nesting boxes sat side by side, the litter board slid easily in and out, and the perches were all there and accounted for. A sliding compartment made it effortless to collect eggs.

  While he couldn’t stand Noah anymore, he had to admit it was a nice coop. Rage shot through him at the thought of his missing whiskey. Not only did Noah break into his house, the man deliberately searched his cabinets, touching everything in order to find the liquid gold. Beer was easily accessible in his fridge and a beverage easier to forgive someone for drinking.

  The fury boosted his energy to move the chicken coop to the back of the property on the dolly.

  Gathering targets and set ups, he hauled them to his garage and stuck them in the Land Cruiser before he double backed for Stella. Catching sight of his front door reminded him to call Dustin before the towers went out. In his voicemail he mentioned pesky neighbors and a solution to his problem that won’t cause his house to catch fire or blow up.

  Stella sat like a queen in the top compartment of his custom headboard, all of her different accessories were stored under Lincoln’s bed. Reaching under it, he pulled the plastic case out grinning from ear to ear, ready to have some fun.

  Everything was tucked safely away before the garage door lifted and he caught tiny feet attached to scrawny legs scurrying off before he could see who it was. Obviously, someone’s child, playing where they shouldn’t be. If he had cameras installed, people would stay off his property, but in Dessarillo people only committed petty crimes. So it didn’t make sense to put in a security system, and he found something better to spend the money on. He rolled down the street coming to an abrupt stop in front of Karen’s house.

  Red soaked blankets were strewn over the dead bodies laying out front, hiding the gruesome details of the night before. Everything was as grisly as the night it happened only for the first time he was seeing all the tiny details in broad daylight. His eyes wandered over the bloody trails and dark stained grass. Nothing had been cleaned up. Police tape wasn’t cordoning off the house for investigation, and the Sheriff’s car sat at the curb. Lincoln tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he sat in the middle of the road.

  Wyatt suddenly appeared at his window. Lincoln rolled it down because he needed information but couldn’t rip his eyes from the bloody yard blurting out, “No one’s come to clean this up?”

  “We’ve been calling, but no one picks up,” Wyatt admitted rubbing the back of his head. Lincoln noted the word we. Understanding came over him on who Wyatt lost last night. “I was going to ask if you could drive by there, if it’s on your way,” Wyatt inquired keeping his eyes low. “Melanie keeps asking questions, but the bag you gave her is a good distraction from all of this,” Wyatt waved his hand outward gesturing at Karen’s house.

  Lincoln put the SUV in park, “Watch her for me will ya.” It was a statement, he wasn’t asking as he trudged up to Karen’s yard. The smell was unbearable, he couldn’t believe he was getting near the dead body. Lifting the blanket, it immediately fell back into place as the decaying, maggot infested body churned the contents in his stomach. He took a minute and tried again, searching the pockets of the blood encrusted uniform until he found a set of keys. Dangling them from his finger he jogged back to Wyatt.

  “Get in the SUV,” Lincoln demanded unlocking the doors. Wyatt stared at him blankly for a moment fiddling with the golf club at his side, then without asking questions jumped in the front seat. Wyatt texted Phoebe to let her know he was running an errand with Lincoln.

  As they turned out of the neighborhood Wyatt yelled, “Stop! Go back go back.”

  Lincoln reversed making sure no one was behind him and followed Wyatt’s line of sight. A white and gold jumpsuit disappeared around a house and Wyatt shouted, “Follow that man! He needs to die and stay dead.”

  Racing down the street Lincoln slowed down when they reached the house The Rock and Roll King was lurking around, but he’d disappeared. Wyatt left the vehicle and peeked behind the fence, he was about to enter the yard when Lincoln honked calling from the car, “If he’s back there he won’t be able to get out. We can come back for him. Plus, you’re about to trespass if you enter their yard without permission.”

  Wyatt grudgingly hiked to the front door to see if anyone was home to warn them about the false idol that could be in their backyard but no one answered.

  Back in the SUV he asked, “Where are we going?” He hoped Lincoln would answer him while he braced himself on the sharp turns as Lincoln raced through town.

  “To the police station,” Lincoln said absentmindedly. “To see if any are still alive.”

  Swerving into the parking lot Lincoln didn’t bother with a parking space he drove right up to the front door. From their spot, they could clearly see through the windows that no one was in the front area. The desks on either side of the room were empty, the lights were shining, and they could hear the faint sound of the phone ringing nonstop.

  The building was only a few years old, sitting alone on an undeveloped land plot because no one wanted to build next to it. Dessarillo built it because there was an incident with a prisoner escaping from a deputy before he was properly put in a holding cell. The former office was in a populated area and the mistake scared the citizens of Dessarillo. They didn’t want the Sheriff’s prisoners in the vicinity of everyday hustle and bustle. So, the city decided to give the Sheriff better holding cells and isolate the prisoners in an underdeveloped area.

  Lincoln thought the whole thing was a crock of shit because all the crimes in town are petty and the holding cells are really only used to sober people up. He used to run his errands every weekend and see the afternoon walk of shame when the Sheriff’s office was nearby.

  None of the shrubbery was mature enough to hide anything in the parking lot, so Lincoln toured around the entire square building. Examining all four sides to flush out any surprises. His only concern was the trees surrounding the tiny plot of developed land. The tree line would be the only place a person could stay hidden. But there was enough concrete between them and the copse of trees to give them a fair warning if anyone wandered nearby.

  Satisfied the lot was completely empty, Lincoln went around to the rear and jumped the curb driving straight up to the back door parking a few feet from it. He turned off the car strapping the carabiner with his keys attached to his belt loop, pulling on it five times to make sure it was secure. On his cell phone, Lincoln called Dustin asking him to hack the Sheriff’s office and turn off the alarm. It took Dustin less than four minutes.

  Wyatt stood backward watching the lot while Lincoln tried the different keys to unlock the back door.

  “Do you think everyone is just out because they’re shorthanded?” Wyatt asked scanning the perimeter of the tree line.

  “Nope.”

  “Then where are they?”

  “Dead, like the Sheriff,” Lincoln gave it some more thought. “Or walking around craving flesh if we’ve learned anything from Karen’s death.”

  “Why did you bring me here if you think they’re all dead?”

  “Because there’s guns and ammo in there. And I plan to get my hands on it before someone else does.”

  Wyatt turned around to face Lincoln but he was still trying the different keys to get in. In a higher voice than normal he asked, “So you planned to break in all along and brought me as an accomplice?”

  “Yes,” Lincoln agreed nonchalantly without the least bit of remorse.

  Before Wyatt could go over why they should not break into the Sheriff’s office Lincoln announced, “Well none of these fit.” He shook the keys before pocketing them. Relieved, Wyatt hiked back to the SUV getting in the fr
ont seat.

  “What are you doing?” Lincoln asked stopping to stare at Wyatt before he continued on to the trunk.

  “We don’t have the right key to get in.”

  “So?”

  “So, aren’t we were leaving?”

  Lincoln didn’t even bother to reply. He has a lot to learn, Lincoln thought scowling at him for being so dense. Opening the trunk he slid Stella’s box out, lifting the lid carefully. Both pieces reflected in the sunlight as he pulled them out screwing them together in the middle. He kissed the AUS 8A stainless steel once it became one. Only the point at the top needed to be chosen to complete it. He had an array of different points, but his mind was set on the traditional, triangular spear.

  “Why do you have a spear?” Wyatt asked startling him.

  “You’re in for a treat today Wyatt. Not everyone gets to admire Stella’s beauty. I brought her out to practice with because the world’s gone to shit,” Lincoln’s eyes finally flickered over to Wyatt. “I just didn’t realize how quickly it was happening until you told me no one had been by to check on the Sheriff’s death.” He slid his hand down the spear and muttered in awe, “Ole’ girl will see her first day of battle soon.”

  Snapping out of the moment, Lincoln unholstered his gun from his hip and held it out to Wyatt, “You need a weapon on you at all times from now on. I’m letting you borrow this one today. I swear to God if you shoot me I will wedge this spear down your throat before I die, I’m an excellent shot.”

  Wyatt gulped, “Maybe I should just take the spear.” He made a grab for it and Lincoln held the spear out of his reach with a ‘did you just try to take my baby’ expression on his face.

  Growling he narrowed his eyes, “No one touches Stella.” They stood there silently for a moment before Lincoln began, “We’re going into that building and if a cannibal is in there and they attack you, what are you going to do? Be a talking drum stick? Hope they understand you don’t want to be eaten?” Lincoln held out the gun again and Wyatt reluctantly took it.