The little girl smiled at her mentor Kellie who was smiling back at her. She’d written down the whole thing on her tablet just as Kellie had taught her.
Mrs. deJesus broke up the meeting with the calling of dinner being ready. It was a good ending to a very busy week and the meal Mrs. deJesus had fixed was the best they’d had together in a while.
* * *
So much had happened in the last two days and the last two months to Amanda, she was surprised that she didn’t wake up to some new nightmare. Looking out at the empty airport, she realized it was just the same nightmare. She got out of the truck in the mist. She could only see a couple of hundred yards in any direction.
“Well, truck,” she said to her HUMVEE. “What’s say we go to Spokane today?” She walked around the truck, checking the tires, cleaning the windows and checking the fluid levels. Her military training held her in good stead in taking care of the HUMVEE.
She got back in the truck, but left the door open while she ate two breakfast bars and drank one of the bottles of water she kept in the truck. It was cold, but once she got back on the road, she’d warm up. She would need to find some more cold-weather gear. The gear she’d brought from Ft. Wainwright was now in a house in Canada.
She looked at her map and decided to take US-95 into Spokane. She’d never been to Spokane before, but it looked to be the quickest route.
Ten minutes later, she was turning around. The bridge that crossed Lake Pend Oreille was gone. Parts of it were there, but the middle section was now in the lake itself. She couldn’t tell what caused the collapse of the bridge. With the heavy mist she couldn’t even see the other side.
She turned around and headed back to take US-2 into Newport then into Spokane. Once there, she would begin looking for her mom and step-dad’s place. She’d never been there, but her mom talked about it often in emails.
Amanda’s mom was not happy with her daughter being a soldier and for the first six months after she enlisted, her mom hardly spoke a word to her. Amanda’s dad had told her to not let the communications stop between her and her mom so Amanda emailed her weekly.
The soldier had never been as close to her mom as she had her dad. Her dad was an outdoorsman, enjoyed getting his hands dirty and working the small farm. Her mom was less interested in farming. Her contribution leaned more toward the farm’s yard and house work and taking care of the farm’s finances.
Growing up in the south had advantages and disadvantages. She was always expected to help out on the farm, which curtailed her playtime, but it also instilled in her a good work ethic. Her mom, who did a lot of volunteer work in the community was a loving and caring woman, always made sure they were well-fed and made it to soccer practice summer camp. The biggest disadvantage was while her friends in high school were partying in town Amanda was on a curfew that she broke only once.
The night she was 48 minutes late, her parents were both waiting for her when she arrived home. A month of reduced privileges and extra chores followed the raised voices and the excuses. Her mom had wanted to go easy on the girl, but her dad had been insistent. He named three of her classmates who were already pregnant in high school and that was the clincher.
The month dragged, but in that time her dad allowed her to operate the tractors and equipment. He spent a lot of time with her, showing her why things on the farm were done a certain way. He talked to her about his thinking process and what he wanted for her future.
Her dad was a different man around her than he was around Randy. With Randy, there was often gruffness in her dad’s voice. With her, her dad was softer and more gentle but no less strict and demanding. He often said he loved his children equally, but different.
By the time the month of punishment ended, Amanda was as capable as Randy at driving the tractors and operating the other equipment on the farm. That might have been the turning point or the crux of the wedge her mother saw between her and Amanda. They had been close, but now Amanda had more experience with the equipment, she wanted to use them, leaving her mom feeling like she’d lost a little bit of her baby girl.
Amanda and her mom talked for hours when Amanda chose to join the Army. Her mom almost persuaded her to go to the community college and get a degree in accounting so she could one day take over the farm’s finances. There was a special bond between them that Amanda didn’t have with her dad.
Looking back, Amanda thought that might have been a clue that her mom and dad were headed toward a divorce.
Driving down US-2, Amanda saw now that her mom hadn’t been happy in the role she was filling. Her mom might have already been thinking of leaving her dad. Her parents had argued, like all parents do, but it never escalated beyond days of silence and over-the-top politeness between them.
Amanda wondered if it was not her joining the Army that had been the impetus for her mom to file for divorce, but rather the threshold of her mom’s tolerance. Once Amanda was out of the house and on her own, her mom had no reason to be a parent anymore.
Amanda hoped her mom was still alive somehow and living in Spokane. She wanted to see and talk with her mom.
Amanda, as she drove through the low mountains felt like she needed to talk with her mom and make sure she knew how much she loved her.
She arrived in and drove through Newport Washington. She headed south and as the sun burned off the mist and low-hanging fog, through Colbert. She’d never met her step-dad, a firefighter, but her mom spoke highly of him.
Spokane was as dead as every other town and city she’d driven through. There were dead cars and dead bodies. She parked along an overpass and looked around. The city had smoldering fires in many parts of what she could see. The smell was as bad as any farm. Carrion birds circled and dropped down to feed on something, Amanda refused to look.
The only movement was that of wild animals that were taking back the city. After two minutes, she couldn’t look anymore. Her mom’s place was east of Spokane, just off I-90 in a suburb call Liberty Lake. It would be a 20 minute drive from where she was. Getting back into the HUMVEE, she already knew her mom was gone, but she had to make sure.
Chapter 7
The security systems wasn’t completed and tested 48 hours before it proved its worth.
The Padre was on watch early that Thursday morning when the perimeter light for camera two started blinking and the buzzer sounded. He figured it must be another animal until he pulled it up on the 42-inch monitor. Camera two had a view of the main driveway and burned out farmhouse.
The grainy picture from the low-lux cameras showed seven zombies ripping the gate off its hinges. They were working together and the Padre was shocked at the savagery he was seeing and hesitated in shock a moment before hitting the big red button in the control room.
The alarm sounded on the farm and everyone was jerked from their sleep. “Zombies at the main gate,” they heard the preacher man tell them over the PA system. “Zombies at the main gate. This is not a drill.”
Listening to his voice echo around the farm, Journey “Padre” Stone still couldn’t believe he was here. It was not where he thought his life would end up.
* * *
In his 40 years on this earth, he’d spent time in juvenile detention three times and six different foster homes. He never learned who his real parents were and he didn’t really care.
When he finished high school, more because the school wanted to get rid of him than because of his grades, he bummed around Texas before heading east, taking on jobs until he had some money. With dollars in his pocket, he’d find the drugs he needed to lose reality.
Once he reached the age of majority, he spent some time in jail for drug offenses. Loud music, drugs, women were all his life was about. He moved around the great state of Texas until it was better to leave the state than to stay.
On his 37th birthday, the Padre walked out of the Garden City jail north of Savanna Georgia. He’d been their guest for 271 days for drug offenses. He had been facing a third strike
felony conviction and a lengthy prison term, but the prosecutor agreed to a lighter sentence when the Padre gave up the name of his supplier.
He’d been clean for 272 days, paid his debt to society and was thinking it might be a good idea for him to leave Georgia and maybe head back to Texas. He had $97 in his pocket and was walking to the bus station when he was hit by a car that had swerved to get him on the sidewalk. The car then drove off at a high rate of speed.
As he lay on the sidewalk, he knew his legs were broken and he tasted blood. The pain was more than he’d ever felt, including the time he was shot in the neck during a drug deal.
He was looking up, unable to move, thinking he was about to die.
The Georgia sun was bright in his eyes and he heard himself say, “Oh God, if I live through this, I swear I’ll be a better man.”
Some woman was screaming and time melted around him. He was in and out of consciousness, but he heard the sirens from the ambulance and police cars. He briefly came to in the ambulance. He heard the attendant saying something about having a hard time finding a vein. He passed out again.
He drifted in and out for days, hearing voices that he couldn’t understand. On the ninth day, he finally woke up when a portly nurse in a wrinkled nurse’s uniform was giving him a sponge bath. “I see you’re finally awake, Mr. Stone. Good to see you’re going to be part of the living.”
The Padre had been taken to St. Josephs Hospital in Savanna. The state was paying his bills because he had no insurance. He found out the man who had hit him had died later that day after crashing the car during the police chase.
His recovery was long and painful. His injuries, according to the doctor, should have killed him and it was only a miracle that had saved him.
Journey Stone, remembering what he’d said as he lay on the pavement and during his months-long recovery, spoke with the hospital chaplain as often as he could. He knew he could never attend a seminary, or get into a college, and was really afraid to go inside a church, so he went another way.
Journey was a man from the fringes, long hair, beard, dirty clothes and street-wise. The street became his pulpit. His injuries left him with a limp, but he walked the streets and preached from the Good Book to others like himself. He forewent trying to preach to those with money and homes and jobs, instead he preached to people like himself.
He became known on the streets as “Padre” when he spoke of salvation and surrendering to the grace of God. It was a simple yet powerful message that crossed all denominations and he preached it with his soft Texas accent, without the fire and brimstone used by most street preachers. Some would mock him. Some threw empty liquor bottles when he preached. Some told him to leave or shut up.
When he wasn’t welcome he would go elsewhere until someone wanted to listen to what he had to say.
When people started dying around the world, Padre was on the streets, with his brethren. He stayed with, and closed the eyes of hundreds who passed, asking for God to forgive them for any sins they had committed in this life.
With nearly everyone else dead, he wandered the streets alone until he came to a camp near Atlanta. The camp commander was a militant, too militant for the Padre. He escaped with two ladies who were to be “comfort” women for the commander’s men and a 17-year-old girl who would be the commander’s newest wife. It was a dangerous escape, and once free, Padre knew he wanted out of Georgia. The four trekked westward, surviving three days of hurricane weather by cowering in a brick building.
They continued their walk until found by the men from Jerry’s farm. They felt welcome and they stayed.
* * *
In the heartbeats the Padre recalled the path his life had taken, he was also checking the other cameras around the farm to make sure there were no other zombies attacking.
Picking up the microphone he called Jerry. “The zombies are only coming in from the front gate, Jerry. I don’t see any others.”
Walkie-talkies came to life as the defenders of the farm took up their assigned defensive positions. In three minutes, Jerry, Cleve and Danny were in positions to see what the zombies were doing. Cindy had the baby already, and Kellie ushered her and the teenagers who were running through the main door of the shelter, to the cellar then turned on her equipment to back up the Padre.
The zombies had the gates off by the time everyone was in position. The gates were bent and two of the zombies had been cut by the sharp metal, but the others didn’t care. The low-light cameras were proving their worth as they picked up the zombies working as a pack, like wolves, to tear the gate down.
No one was sure what drove the zombies, how they’d become stronger than any normal human had ever been, or why they sought out human flesh, but they were here on the farm and looking for food and they’d already broken through a gate that had taken half a day to erect.
From his position on top of the hill above the shelter, Jerry used his binoculars to get a good look at the zombies. The zombie’s eyes were all black, blacker than the darkest night, and they avoided bright lights, something Jerry thought they might want to install if they made it through this day. Katie had told him how the zombies had attacked in heavy overcast, but mostly they hunted for food at night.
Jerry never expected them to attack this far away from a city. They’d prepared their defenses for humans, not thinking zombies might attack. He hoped the people here could adapt.
The zombies were not stupid beasts, but they were driven to eat. No one knew how long they could go without food, but it had been months since the fall of civilization and the virus which had killed most people and turned half of the people left alive into these monsters. It had been more than five months since the hurricane which undoubtedly killed many more.
Fresh dead bodies for food were probably running low so the zombies were more of a danger to anyone still living and breathing, like the many people on the farm.
* * *
Getting off the interstate, and a little afraid of what she might find, Amanda stopped to re-fuel the truck from a semi that was sitting on the side of the road. The temperature had risen to the mid 50s and the sun was warm.
As she drove into the town, she passed a number of buildings that had been ransacked by the wildlife. Fires had claimed many others. A bank stood in solitude, looking much like it had two months before, she assumed.
Amanda saw a clothing store in a commercial area that didn’t look like it had taken much damage. Needing more clothes, she pulled into the parking lot and turned off the truck.
Rolling down the window of her truck, she listened to the silence. She heard animals fighting and birds making noise, but no sound of humans. There were no cars honking horns or brakes squealing. Without someone with her, Amanda felt more alone than at anytime in her life and it frightened her.
She was anxious to get away from here and to find out what happened with her mother. She listened for another minute before reaching for the five-shot shotgun. She made sure it was loaded and got out of the HUMVEE. Every sound she made echoed eerily to her ears.
The clothing store’s front windows had been shattered and there were no lights, but Amanda could see winter jackets and clothes inside. She stepped across the sill and sat her gun down against a display and looked through the racks. The clothing felt damp and on two of the racks she frightened mice from their homes.
She found two winter jackets and enough clothes to replace all she had left behind back in Canada. She’d miss her field jacket most, but the replacements were well-designed and fit her, so she liberated them from the boutique. She turned the truck on and the heater to full blast while she looked for other clothes she might need. The heat dried the jacket and outwear, but left the truck smelling musty.
Amanda was returning to pick up the shotgun, after finding a good pair of work boots and underclothes which she threw into the truck, when she heard a low growl that was out of place. She stopped, one foot in the store’s front display window, the other still on the s
idewalk. The gun was three feet from where she was standing. It was loaded, but with the safety on.
She heard the growl again. It was a low growl, deep, feral and foreboding. Amanda swiveled her head until she saw where the growl was coming from. Down the street, maybe 25 feet from her was a large American Bulldog. It looked feral and ready to attack. It had huge paws which held up its 90-pound bulk. It was a muscular dog and its shoulder muscles rippled.
It was stalking her, head low, padding one paw in front of the next with careful precision. Its white and black spotted ears were flopped back against the skull. The animal’s short fur had seen a few fights and she could see the dog had scars around its muzzle.
It was moving closer to her at a steady walk. It looked like it was waiting for her to run.
As much as Amanda hated to do what she was going to, she lunged for her shotgun. As soon as she moved, the dog ran at her full speed. Amanda grabbed her gun and was clicking off the safety in one smooth motion as she rolled to one knee and spun to face her attacker. A round was already in the chamber as she turned to where she knew the dog would appear outside the display window.
The dog ran at full speed, hind legs propelling it in five long gallops to where she had stood a second before. It ran across the front of the display window almost too fast for Amanda to see and then it was gone.
The next thing she heard was barking and growling and a dog fight that was in full fury.
She looked out from the display window and saw a German Sheppard, a Husky and two mongrel dogs fighting with the American Bulldog. The big animal hadn’t been coming for her, it had been stalking the other four, maybe defending its territory.
Amanda knew the smart thing for her to do would be to get in the truck while they were fighting and leave the area as fast as she could.
But something about the way the big dog had acted made her stop. It would lose a fight against four dogs, but if it hadn’t been for him, the four other dogs could have killed her.
Hell happened (Book 2): Hell Revisited Page 12
