When night fell, she started another fire in the woodstove and heated a bucket of water—with some rose-scented bubble bath in it. Of course, there weren’t any bubbles, but just the sweet aroma of roses was enough to transport her as she indulged in a long, long sponge bath, slowly going back and forth over every inch of her body. It was an almost erotic experience; except for when she ran the sponge over the ugly bite wound scars. She even washed her hair, or least what was left of her hair after shaving half her head so she could stitch up the gash she had received in the accident.
After a few days of eating well and sleeping by a warm fire, Becks was starting to feel like herself again. While she was safe in this house and had plenty of food and water, she obviously wasn’t going to live here the rest of her life—at least she hoped that was the case! She needed to start making her way westward to get back to Interstate 287, and wait for one of the daily army patrols. But not knowing just where she was and how far she was from the highway, she would just have to keep going west as directly, and safely, as possible. She had searched both houses and the RV for maps, but BZA everyone had relied on GPS units and digital directions, so no one seemed to bother with ancient paper maps anymore.
Her plan was to begin by establishing safe houses every few blocks. This way she could search for more supplies, check the lay of the land, determine where the concentrations of zombies were the heaviest, and never be more than a few minutes’ dash from a place of safety.
A three-inch snowfall delayed her first reconnoitering mission for a couple of days as she waited for it to melt. Then she donned her silverware armor over the hockey and football pads, strapped a 9mm on each hip, and her .44 in a shoulder holster, slung one of the hunting rifles over the other shoulder, grabbed her hockey spear, and put on the helmet and a fresh surgical mask. Even under these dire conditions, a look in the mirror made her laugh.
In a knapsack, she carried water, MREs, matches, a medkit, bleach (for any stray drops of zombie blood that might get on her skin), and antibiotics, just in case she couldn’t get back to the house for a while. Her plan was to go west two or three blocks and try to find another house to break into. But Becks should have remembered what happened to plans during a zombie apocalypse.
Fortunately, the recent snowfall and cold temperatures had driven many of the zombies into sheds and basements to huddle together in packs for warmth, and made the rest rather sluggish. There were just a handful standing in the street, and they looked to be in a twilight state—the unique form of standing hibernation she had witnessed the previous winter. Of course, those that remained in the twilight state outside for too long froze to death, which was just fine with Becks. But rather than wait for that to happen, she used her hockey spear to quietly dispatch the oblivious zombies in her path.
She quickly made it about six houses down Sparrow Lane to the south to the intersection of a larger east-west running road, crisscrossed with just enough downed trees to make it impassable by car—or RV. Small clusters of zombies stood shoulder-to-shoulder here and there, but just a few blocks up, the road curved to left so she couldn’t see any farther. If she could make it to the start of that curve and clear a house, it would make good strategic sense. She would once again stick to the bushes and cars for cover and avoid confrontation if possible—let sleeping zombies lie. Little did Becks know a hornets’ nest of zombies was about to be whipped into a frenzy.
Making good progress, she had quickly traveled the length of a long block without attracting any attention when she heard screaming. It was a woman, and she was screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs, which immediately snapped all the neighborhood zombies out of their twilight state. Back in the direction she had come, and another full block further down, Becks spotted the woman desperately trying to fend off four zombies who were after her and the large baby stroller she was pushing! Rather than run, the woman was clearly ready to give her life for whatever was in that stroller, so Becks assumed it was something far more precious than canned corn.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Becks yelled as she abandoned her stealth mode and ran full tilt back toward the woman.
Zombies were starting to pour out of those basements and sheds and the streets were filling up fast. Becks used the blade on the curved end of her hockey spear and swung it like a baseball bat to take out a fat female zombie who must have eaten her entire family, and a distinguished, elderly, male zombie who had managed to keep his ascot neatly tucked into his smoking jacket even months after death. But there were too many zombies and too little time to stop and swing the deadly-bladed hockey stick. The woman and occupants of the stroller were running out of time as they were now surrounded by six very hungry predators, although two of them suddenly dropped after the woman thrust something at them. But the other four were just reaching out to grab her.
Despite the imminent danger Becks was in, she swung the hunting rifle over her shoulder and into position, and dropped to one knee. She hadn’t practiced shooting in quite a while, but with the scope on this gun a novice couldn’t miss. Four quick shots, four quick kills, giving the woman a little breathing room. Becks shouted for the woman to run towards her. Stunned by the sudden shots, it took the woman a moment to get her bearings, but then she grabbed the stroller and started running like a crazy person, zigzagging through the growing crowd of zombies.
Becks shouldered her rifle and drew both 9mm pistols. The woman would not make it far without help, so Becks ran towards her, picking off the zombies closest to the woman, and herself. The large, covered stroller was definitely slowing down the woman, but when Becks shouted at her to leave it, she screamed back, “My babies! I can’t leave my babies!”
That’s what I was afraid of, Becks thought, as she rushed forward to the side of the stroller and put a few rounds in the nearest group of mindless cannibals, but there were dozens, if not hundreds, more that would quickly take their place.
“This way, hurry! Hurry, god damn it!” Becks shouted, pushing the woman in the back to go faster.
Both 9mm pistols were empty by the time they reached Sparrow Lane. Pulling out her .44, Becks knew she would have to make each of those six rounds count. Fortunately, there was only one small group—the five former occupants of the house in which she was living. Unfortunately, they were more energized after their recent big meal of former relatives, and they were standing in the driveway of her safe house.
“Never let a zombie live another day, or they will come back and bite you!” Cam always used to warn her.
If she had the strength the day she cleared the house, she would have killed them all, but she couldn’t change the situation. She would just have to deal with what was before her now.
As they ran up the street toward her safe house, which would take five of her six rounds to clear, Becks suddenly switched gears in her head. Realizing that she didn’t know if this woman or her children were infected, she kept running past the house she had been living in the last week and headed for Dylan’s house.
Wild with panic, just as they reached the front lawn the woman rammed the stroller into the curb, tipping it over. The zippered cover kept the little passengers from falling out, but there were strange and pitiful yelps of pain inside. Becks would deal with the injured babies, after they got off the street. Picking the stroller up by its sides, she carried it to the back of the house, all the while yelling at the woman to hurry. Once inside, Becks put down the stroller and then made a scan of the entire house to make sure nothing had wandered in since she left.
The woman collapsed on the floor, clutching the front of the stroller in full-blown hysteria. Becks was very tempted to smack her back to her senses, but she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop hitting her. Plus, the woman looked to be in her sixties and rather fragile.
So just what kind of an idiot takes their children for a stroll down zombie-infested streets, without any weapons? Becks thought. But she quickly corrected herself when she saw that the woman had used a knitting
needle to kill two of the zombies, but that was pretty close to being defenseless.
“Lady, I’m a doctor. Move away so I can see if your children are okay,” Becks said, slipping into the practiced calm demeanor she had cultivated from years of working in the emergency room of the hospital.
“My babies! My poor babies!” she shrieked, clutching the stroller even harder.
Becks tried to use soothing words and a reassuring touch, but when the hysteria continued—threatening to bring the entire neighborhood of zombies to their doorstep—she had no alternative but to slap the woman as hard as she could. The woman went tumbling to the floor, clutching her face in pain, but at least she shut up.
“Now, what is your name?” Becks asked, returning to the calm, controlled veneer.
“An—Angie,” she replied, shaking like a leaf.
“Okay, Angie, we are safe now. Okay?” Becks said, starting to slowly unzip the stroller cover. “And what are their names?”
“My babies! Yes, my babies,” the woman said, looking more relaxed and actually smiling. “Buttons and Smidgey.”
“Buttons and who?” Becks asked in anger and disbelief, suddenly putting the pieces of the puzzle together—the woman was much too old to have young children, she did appear to be a bit insane, and the cries of pain from the stroller had not sounded human. “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
As Becks finished unzipping the cover, she folded it back to reveal two trembling Shih Tzu dogs with pink ribbons in their hair. At the sight of her “babies” the woman pushed Becks aside and grabbed a dog in each arm, showering them with kisses, and getting licked all over the face in return.
For a rare moment in her life, Becks was utterly speechless. Sitting on the floor with her arms raised with a what the fuck expression, she thought she was going to blow a gasket in rage. Finally, she found her voice.
“Do you mean to fucking tell me, that I fucking risked my life and wasted my precious ammunition to save you, and them?” she shouted, seething with anger.
“But Buttons and Smidgey are my babies,” the crazy old woman whispered, bursting into tears again, and then said between choked sobs, “They…are the only…children…I have left.”
The black rage fled Becks’ heart as swiftly as if a powerful laser had evaporated it. Who was she to judge this woman? Who could tell what horrors she had endured, how many family members she had lost, and what she had to do to survive in these conditions? So what if she had gone a little crazy—hadn’t everyone to some degree and at some point since this all began? And if this poor woman found some tiny bit of solace and happiness with these dogs, then she was one of the lucky ones in this world filled with misery and despair.
“I’m sorry, Angie. I’m very sorry,” Becks said in a genuinely contrite and soothing tone. “Of course they are part of your family. I completely understand.”
After the dogs licked away her tears, Angie spoke in a steadier voice.
“I’m sorry you had to risk your life for an old fool like me,” she said, actually sounding normal for the first time.
“That’s okay, I’m glad I could help. But would you mind telling me what you were doing out there with only a knitting needle?”
“Well, Mr. Reggie said that my babies couldn’t eat any more of our food supplies, so I thought I would just go to the store and get some proper dog food,” Angie replied, jumping right back on the crazy train. But that’s not what bothered Becks.
“Mr. Reggie? Is he your husband?” she asked, as she felt her anxiety level rise a few notches.
“Husband? Oh my heavens no,” Angie said, giggling like an embarrassed school girl. “Mr. Reggie is our leader. He keeps all the bad people away and keeps us safe.”
Over the course of about an hour, Becks coaxed as much information as she could out of Angie—who actually turned out to be 72 years old. The woman was guileless—as well as partially mindless—and told the long story of how Mr. Reggie’s group—The Rovers, as they called themselves—had found her when they were scavenging for supplies. She was alone in her home—her family all dead—and they had brought her into their group, which occupied some of the larger homes closer to town. There were about 150 of them, and everyone earned their keep by doing chores. Angie was particularly proud of the fact the she had the honor to wash Mr. Reggie’s clothes, and those of his inner circle.
When Becks asked what kind of man he was, Angie innocently replied, “Oh very fair. Very fair indeed! He only beats me when I deserve it. Yes, a very fair man.”
As the rest of the story unfolded, it became apparent that the Rovers were the worst kind of scavengers. If they found you, they “rescued” you, took all your supplies and let you live if you basically became part of their slave labor force. Angie had never actually witnessed anyone being killed, but quite a few people “had gone missing” over the past year.
Becks’ anger and fear continued to grow as Angie related stories of the younger women who had the honor to serve Mr. Reggie and his inner circle. Some of the less cooperative ones “had gone missing” from time to time, but Angie was sure those ungrateful women had simply run off. The children worked just as hard as everyone else, and discipline was swift if they didn’t do as they were told.
Mr. Reggie and the Rovers Concentration Camp, Becks thought, as she realized she would have to accelerate her plans to reach the highway. She just considered herself fortunate that they hadn’t “rescued” her yet.
“Well, you’re out of that hell hole now, and you’re free to stay here, with your babies, of course. There’s not a lot of food, but enough for a while, and I can always find more,” Becks said, deciding it would be wise for now to not mention the other house and all of its food and supplies.
“Oh, no! I must go back! What would Mr. Reggie do without me?” Angie replied, stunned at the mere thought of abandoning her great leader.
“I don’t know, wash his own dirty underwear?” Becks replied with unmasked disgust.
“You don’t understand. Mr. Reggie keeps us safe from the bad people,” she said, as if speaking to a child.
“I keep myself safe,” Becks replied, instinctively reaching for the grip of her Smith & Wesson. “And I can keep you, Buttons, and Smidgey safe, too.”
Becks was about to add that if Angie stayed she would never be beaten again, but as she had recently smacked the woman to the floor, she decided to keep silent on that point. There were no guarantees that she wouldn’t have to smack her again sometime.
“You’re very sweet, dear, but Mr. Reggie needs me,” Angie said in a tone that signaled that her scatterbrain was most definitely made up.
However, after Becks gave Angie two MREs—one for her, and one to split between her babies—her firm resolve softened considerably.
“Well, perhaps we could stay for a little while,” Angie said, making sure her babies ate every last morsel on their plates, and then dabbed their mouths clean with a napkin. It was remarkable—Angie looked, and smelled, like a bag lady, yet her dogs were spotless and groomed as if they were about to enter the Westminster Dog Show.
It wasn’t that Becks wanted Angie to stay—quite the opposite. It would be hard enough to get back to the highway on her own, let alone with a crazy lady and two dogs in a stroller in tow. And she certainly didn’t need to have three more mouths to feed. But in good conscience, she just couldn’t send this woman back to that monster so he could abuse her some more. Chances were, Mr. Reggie didn’t even want her there, and was hoping she would wander off and get killed. Keeping Angie in this house was a short term solution, but until she could think of something else, or the situation changed, that’s the way it would have to be for now.
Becks got the exhausted woman settled on the couch, with her babies, and as soon as they all drifted off to sleep, she headed back to the other house. It took some fast maneuvering, but she managed to lure the five adult zombies down the street toward the intersection, and then used the hockey stick spear to dispatch t
hem all. She was getting pretty good at yielding her homemade weapon, although her pistol was still her favorite. But with all of the zombies having been whipped into a frenzy just a couple of hours earlier, she would try to refrain from agitating them any further.
News of Mr. Reggie’s Rovers had inflamed Becks’ paranoia, and with good reason. Having lived through The Reverend’s army taking over Cam’s compound, she knew that such people were worse than zombies, and shouldn’t even be given the consideration of a headshot. No, a nice bullet to the abdomen was what they deserved, so they had plenty of time to know they were doomed.
With that cheery thought in her head, Becks went about splitting up and hiding all of the food and supplies, putting some in the shed under Christmas decorations and some in the attic in a trunk of baby clothes, among other inconspicuous places. She started down the basement stairs, but decided she didn’t want to put any of her food near the plastic coffin which contained the two bodies of the children, who must be pretty ripe by now. But it did give her an idea.
Gathering up all the bones and bloody clumps of hair and clothing from the upstairs closet, she strategically placed them in the RV, yard, and at the front and back door entrances to the house. She also tossed things about, like emptying some of the luggage in the yard and driveway, to make it look like the entire property had been thoroughly searched by scavengers. Just in case the Rovers came calling, the body parts and ransacked condition might convince them that the place was uninhabited and already picked clean.
She also decided to always carry all of her weapons and ammo wherever she went. The threat level had just skyrocketed, and she just might be caught in a situation where she needed every bullet and every homemade spear.
Despite the activity of the day, Becks took the time and trouble to break into a garage of one of the houses that had a big dog house in the yard. For her effort, she was rewarded with several bags and a case of cans of dog food. She loved dogs, but she would be damned if Buttons and Smidgey kept wolfing down her precious MREs. She knew a lot of people who would have been thrilled to find dog or cat food for themselves, but fortunately, she had not had to stoop to that level, yet.
HVZA (Book 2): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse 2 Page 7
