Six Feet From Hell: Books 1 - 3

by Coley, Joseph

  An awkward silence followed Joe’s rant. The cool September air easing into the room, temporarily heated by Joe’s fervor, cooled off his brow. He stood, nearly panting and clenching his jaw shut. The smell of burnt oil reminded him that they needed to get to work if they were going to be able to get moving soon.

  “Look, we need to load up the Humvee with food, water, and the entire stash of extra diesel. It won’t be comfortable, but it is our only option for now. Once we get a little ways down the road, we will stop and get another vehicle. I figure if we can find a new car lot then we can get into the lock box and get pretty much whatever we want. If anybody has any other ideas, I will consider it. Make no mistake, though, whatever I decide is final.”

  None of the rest of the group had any objections. There was no discussion of what each individual wanted. There was no yelling, no bitching, and no quarreling over what was going to be done next. Joe had put his foot down, and in a manner that hopefully meant that the dissention among the group would be quelled, for now at least. He would be the leader that he needed to be not the person they wanted him to be. There was no sense in beating around the bush; he needed to get shit done.

  “Caller? You still on the line? Everything all right? Over.” Joe had wandered away from talking to LT Wyatt after the train had taken its massive dump on them, and still did not have an answer to the Marine’s question. Joe ignored the desperate and confused looks of his cohorts and picked up the handset.

  “Yeah, lieutenant, we’re still here. We seem to have had some mechanical difficulties with our train. It just took a giant shit on us and it looks like we are stranded for the time being. The last sign that I was able to make out was one about fifteen or twenty minutes ago that I think said…” Joe snickered as he recalled the name of the last town that they had passed, a welcome sign that he still had what was left of his sanity. “Monroeville, Alabama. I think that is a little ironic don’t you think sir? Over.”

  Lieutenant Wyatt scoffed into the mic as he answered. “Yeah, tell me about it, here’s to hoping that there isn’t anybody locked up in a mall anywhere. Looks like we are about twelve clicks from Monroeville, if you people are south of there then we will pick up the train tracks at Monroeville and make our way to you. We should make it to you by tomorrow morning. Normally we would be a little faster, but we are going to try to avoid the zeds as much as we can. Keep in contact with me and let me know if your situation changes or if you guys are not going to be there. We have been on enough wild goose chases the last 24 hours. Over.” Joe grinned ever so slightly at the fact that even a battle-hardened Marine knew about the original Dawn of the Dead.

  “Sounds good Lieutenant, we will hold up here and get everything ready. The only down side is that all we have is a four-door Humvee. You guys might want to try to pick up some kind of wheels before you get here. Keep in touch and be safe. Over and out.”

  Joe laid down the handset to the SINCGARS and looked at his watch. The faded, scarred, and dirty face of the display reminded him of his people. They also had faded in their faith, were scarred by the horrific events that had plagued them thus far, and they were fantastically dirty. No one had a shower since the ordeal began, and the musty smell of unwashed ass combined with the still swirling mist of broken engine smoke created a miasma of intertwined nastiness. His watch also showed that it was nearly noon and his stomach grumbled in acknowledgement of the time passed. Had it really been that long since he ate? He could not remember the last thing he had other than the “homemade” steaks that they had while in Rural Retreat, now seeming like ages ago. He held his hand up at Balboa as he exited the train.

  “Toss me the keys, dude. I’m going to get the Humvee out before we have a fire and lose all of what we have left. The rest of ya’ll get your personal belongings, weapons, food, whatever you need for a few days ride. I don’t know what this Lieutenant Wyatt has planned, but we best get prepared just in case we have to leave early. Balboa, grab the SINCGARS and hook it back up in the Humvee after I get it out.”

  “How are we going to fit all of that in the Humvee?” Jamie asked, frowning.

  “I guess we are just gonna have to cram as much as we can. Load up all the magazines we have left and as much as I hate to do it, we might have to leave some of the ammo if we can’t find room for it. It’s heavy and takes up too much space that could be used for water and food. Besides, if it is true what Wyatt said about the zeds not going down with a headshot, then it won’t do us much good. Will it?”

  “Good point, I’ll go ahead and get what I can loaded up. If anybody has any empty mags left tell em bring em to the first boxcar, that’s where all the ammo is.”

  Joe nodded in acknowledgement and climbed down the stairs leading out of the locomotive. As he walked past the still smoldering remains of the engine, he saw a figure standing about five feet away from the train off to his left. When he first looked, it seemed like Ronnie was standing there, his hand on his forehead to block out the sun. Joe slowed his steps until he came to the realization that he had forgotten a very simple truth.

  Ronnie was dead.

  Joe’s mind finally caught up with his sight and he snapped to. He grabbed for the handgun that was supposed to be at his side, coming up empty. He had laid the .45 on the floor of the train not long before falling asleep the night before and in the commotion of getting someone on the radio had forgotten to re-holster the pistol.

  “No need to go grabbin’ for your sidearm there, buddy,” an unfamiliar voice bellowed through the smoke of the ruined engine. “I was just wonderin’ what ya’ll plan on doin with this here broke ass train.”

  Joe frowned, partly out of confusion and partly out of curiosity. “What do you want, stranger?”

  The figure waded through the wisps of smoke and appeared in front of Joe. His last name was LOWE, as evidenced by the nametape on his uniform. He wore Army ACU’s and was carrying an M4 of his own, a ballistic vest, a large fighting knife strapped on his vest, and a faded black baseball hat. He looked to be about the same age as Joe, maybe in his mid-thirties and looked as if he was clean-shaven before the world went to shit. He walked up to Joe and raised his hands to show that he meant no harm. He slowly lowered his right hand, offering it up for a handshake to Joe.

  “Name’s Lowe. Curtis Lowe. Nice to meet ya.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The man named after a classic, old, Lynyrd Skynyrd song stood in front of a bewildered group as they all tried to size up the Alabama stranger that had wandered into their presence. Curtis Lowe stood in an equal amount of confusion at the ragtag, smelly group of survivors that had explained to him that they had made their way from southwest Virginia all the way to the far corner of Alabama that they now occupied. He told them that he was an Alabama National Guard soldier, currently assigned to a recruiter’s desk in Monroeville, well maybe not anymore, but was a seasoned soldier. He wore the rank of Sergeant on the center of his ACU’s, and carried himself as one. He looked to be around the age of 30, with a five o’clock shadow on his face. He had a square jaw and a relatively young look about him, as if he did not look his age. He stood just short of six feet tall, with all the look of an Alabama country boy. Curtis told that he was a native of the area and after a pair of tours in Iraq, that he decided to come “back home to ‘Bama” to try to make a difference with the youth of Monroeville. He was unmarried, no kids, and no other ties besides his parents who lived in far-off Utah. They had retired there after both had successful careers in the military as well. His father was a full-bird Army Colonel and a pastor, and his mother a retired Army Captain and a nurse. His demeanor was gentle but firm, and had a smooth Southern charm about him.

  Curtis went on to explain that he was on a scouting mission to see what all he could find of use. The limited expendable supplies that they had were already gone, mostly their food and water supply. He told that the supply runs he had made previously had nearly ended with him becoming one of the walking dead. He was making rounds o
n the outside of town and not trying to go into the city’s center. Monroeville, Alabama was not a horribly small town by any stretch, with a population of around 6,000. The resources that it had available were not of great importance to Joe and his crew, but Curtis was in a near-desperate search for anything of use. He kept his calm demeanor, but Joe could tell that he wanted and needed help.

  “I am just out tryin’ to find what I can for the rest of my people. We have food, just not enough to go around to the amount of hungry mouths that I got waitin’ on me,” Curtis said.

  “I think we could spare some of ours but I don’t know exactly how much. I understand that you need some help, but honestly, we don’t know you that well yet and from what we have been through so far – well I'm sure you understand. We left home looking for some real help for us as well, that is why we have the train. But, as you so bluntly put it, is broke ass right now and the only way that it is goin is backwards,” Joe explained, pointing back the way that they had come. “We are looking to get to the Gulf of Mexico,” Joe turned and pointed the other direction. Joe’s offering up some of the extra food drew glares from the rest of the troupe. Buffey stood with her arms crossed in disdain as Joe continued talking to Curtis.

  “I don’t think we should be trusting someone that is just sneaking up on us like this. Do you?” She said as she stepped in front of Joe, interrupting his conversation and directing a question his way.

  “Why don’t some of the rest of ‘your people’ come and help with getting more food? It looks like they just sent you out on your own to fend for yourself, or they just didn’t want you around.” Buffey put forth a blunt opinion as she stared down the stranger in their midst. She knew that they had plenty of food and did have quite a bit to spare, but she did not want to give Curtis the benefit of the doubt. Buffey continued staring at Curtis through the uncomfortable silence, as he did not flinch either. The group as a whole did not want anything to do with the argument that was inevitably about to happen. Curtis smiled and tried to stem the bickering before it got started.

  “Look, I don’t think ya’ll have made it this far ‘cause your naïve or stupid. On the contrary, you people have had a good run so far and I want to try to help some if I can. My people and I are holed up at the Monroe County Airport and we don’t have a whole hell of a lot to eat. Most of the stuff that was in there was gone before we even got there. I tried to get to the Wal-Mart here in town, but the whole damn place is crawling with those fuckin’ zombies.”

  “How in the hell have you managed to get this far without getting killed or at least bit. We’ve ran over a shitload of zombies with this thing,” Joe said, motioning to the now defunct train. “You are either lucky or just plain sneaky.”

  Curtis grinned again. “Take a look around here, brother. I know ya’ll are from the mountains and whatnot, but there ain’t much in the way around here. As you can see,” Curtis motioned around him, “there ain’t a whole hell of a lot to block your view.”

  “So how did you happen upon us then?” Ashleigh, who was holding Dakota, said.

  Curtis maintained his glowing persona. “Well ya’ll aren’t exactly stealthy with that big ass thing. We heard ya’ll comin’ from a long way off. To be quite honest, ya’ll caused quite a stir with those dead sons a’bitches before your ride even broke down. The ones that I have seen since I heard your train are all riled up. They ain’t real keen on noise, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Yeah, seems to attract ‘em, like dogs. Not much else we can tell ya that you don’t already know, other than we have had issues with ‘em not going down with a headshot. I still haven’t seen it for myself, but I will take the word of one of my guys to suggest that it might just be true.” Joe folded his arms as he exchanged mental notes with Curtis, the guy may have been on his own, but he knew his zombies. Curtis continued his story.

  “We have signs up along the main road to try and get some real help, but nothin’ so far. Most of the people that I have at the airport are injured and we can’t get to the hospital to get any medical supplies or anything. We are in some serious crisis here. I’ve got nine other people and no weapons other than this,” Curtis patted his M4 and looked back up at the rest of the group, a somber look appearing on his face. The smiling and friendly persona was still there, just a defeated, tired, and desperate man looking for some help. “My people are lookin’ for me to do the right thing and I can’t rightly do it on my own. I really could use some help takin’ care and tryin’ to help some of my people.”

  “Well, Mr. Lowe, this might just be your lucky day.” Joe paced around and motioned to all of his cohorts. “You have in your midst five EMT’s with a few medical supplies to spare. You help us find some decent transportation and we will come with you and do what we can for your people. After that then we will be on our way down the road with whatever transport we find.”

  Curtis nodded in acknowledgement. “That will work out just fine. I will help ya’ll as much as I can.” Curtis reached out his right hand in a handshake and Joe obliged, feeling a small bit of relief. After the last 24 hours, he needed some kind of positivity to work on his group with, and now maybe he had just that.

  “How far is this airport from here?” Joe asked Curtis.

  “It should take us about twenty minutes, given that we will have to take it slow and take a few back roads on account of the undead have set up shop pretty well here in Monroeville.”

  “Sounds good; we will gather up whatever we can fit into the Humvee and be on our way within the hour. We also have another issue, however.”

  “What might that be, stranger?” Curtis’ eyes piqued up with curiosity. “The meaning of ‘having an issue’ has changed a whole hell of a lot in the last week or so.”

  Joe let out a small grin. “No, this one is actually a good issue to have. We have been in contact with a couple of Marines that have said they are from…”

  Curtis’ brow furled. “The Gulf Coast, right? Damnit! Those sons a’bitches are still around?”

  Joe’s reaction to Curtis’ assessment of Lieutenant Wyatt awakened a deep seeded fear that had settled in the back of his mind. He knew that Lieutenant Wyatt sounded too good to be true. There was no way that Wyatt’s unit was “just on recon,” he figured that there was another reason that he had not tried to go back to the Gulf, and now Curtis had opened a can of worms.

  Curtis knelt down and lowered his voice. “They are Marines, but they have another agenda to whatever they have planned. About three days ago, right after everything had settled down a little from the first round of zombies, there was a Marine unit that rolled in here. They were led by a guy named Wyatt,” Curtis grinned ever so slightly. “We thought that the military had got their shit together and was gonna roll in here in force. Instead, we get the snot-nosed Lieutenant that comes in by the airport and starts askin’ our people what we knew about a missile silo or some shit. It didn’t matter; none of our people had a clue what the hell he was talkin’ about,” Curtis got back to his feet. “He came in there and started ‘interrogating’ some of our people anyway. They beat the hell out of quite a few of our people, too. I don’t know what that asshole is lookin’ for, but if he’s still wanderin’ around here then he obviously thinks it’s still close by.”

  Another pang of fear shuddered over Joe as he listened to what Curtis put forth. Lieutenant Wyatt had some severe ulterior motives to wanting to meet up with Joe and his crew. The Marines were after something that neither Joe nor any of his people had any idea about. Joe did not waste any time taking to heart what Curtis had said. He had people to protect. Just like the oath that he had taken in the Army that the Marines had taken as well, he had to protect from all enemies.

  Foreign and domestic.

  Joe sprang into action, getting his people together and explaining the situation to them. The water might have been a better choice, but given the new situation Joe decided only to take half of it and directed Jamie to load up all the ammo they could
hold. All the weapons were taken as well. The people they had waiting at the airport may not have been trained soldiers, but having a few more people armed was never a bad thing. Balboa pulled the Humvee out of the back of the train, the boxcars being emptied of their intended use. The massive freight train had done them well thus far, but now it was useless. Jamie laid all of the rifles they could handle into the cargo area of the Humvee as the rest of his crew gathered their respective belongings, mostly what they could carry, and essential survival items.

  Joe tossed an empty assault pack at Lucy as he was getting the last of the essential supplies out of the first boxcar. She had stood meekly by as the rest of the crew, including their newfound friend Curtis, had been silently grabbing up ammo, MRE’s, and all of the medical supplies that they had managed to get. Lucy caught the pack in the air, glanced at it with a puzzled look and looked back at Joe.

  “In case you want or need anything out of the train, we need to take all that we have to try and make it out there. If you see anything that we might need, just grab it. Don’t let anybody give you any shit about it; if they do tell ‘em that I said to.”

  Lucy smiled, just barely, and quietly thanked Joe for the pack. Joe acknowledged her and she went off to gather what supplies she could to help. Joe stood, puzzled momentarily. Lucy had not been the ass-kicking smartass that had taken him, Jamie, and Balboa hostage the day before, now seeming like ages ago. Since she was introduced as another member of Joe’s group, she had been meek, hardly saying a word to anyone since her initial contact and Mexican standoff that had ensued. Joe stuck his neck out for her, and he did not quite know why yet. Part of him felt sorry for her for being in the situation that she had been in, and part of him did not want to admit that he owed her. She had managed to lead them to where Joe was being held at, albeit she didn’t have much of a choice, but still. Ronnie had made a deal with her to keep her safe and alive, and Joe was going to honor that deal by doing just that. Ronnie would have wanted it that way.