Now, she was back from the nurseries. The work wasn't done but the others could finish it. She would check sometime tomorrow on their work but she actually expected them to be done today. She needed to proceed to the next set of greenhouses, west towards Fremont. They would be very busy for a very long time.
"Nina?" she called out softly as the nice soldier held the door open for her. She had him knock for her, then open it so as not to surprise the poor girl. She saw Ashley sitting at the window seat, just staring outside, and walked over and set her plates down. "I am glad you are finally awake and I have brought you something to eat. You must keep your strength up. I have also brought some sweet tea for us to drink." She saw Ashley look up and smile. Asombroso, this chica was amazingly beautiful, and if you were not standing next to her, you would think she was tiny except for her too large pechos. Perfectly proportioned was this girl and even Rosita was astonished at her beauty.
"Thank you Rosita. I am famished."
"Then eat, girl." Rosita smiled at her as Ashley started eating. Today's lunch was fried potatoes with some chicken and carrots. They had quite a bit of all three. In fact, they had too many chickens and were trying to mix them with almost every meal. Most of the farms in their area had their share of poultry and as was obvious by their continued existence, zombies found it harder to catch the birds than did humans. Rosita's crews let the little kids catch them. It gave them something to do and was actually quite funny watching them run all over the place.
"You slept a very long time, nina. How do you feel?" Rosita was picking at her own food. She would eat it all for that's how she was raised, and indeed she was famished, but she was even more curious and couldn't help asking questions.
"Oh Rosita, I feel great! The Lord and his host of angels have blessed me with their presence!" Ashley gushed.
"How so, girl?"
"They spoke to me in my dreams. They told me to protect the governor and his household. He is the Chosen One, Rosita. This I was told plainly."
"Chosen for what Ashley?"
"Why, to lead us to recovery. He is our hope. He will prevail if we follow and protect him and his. I was told this as clearly as you are speaking to me, Rosita."
"So you do know the governor is not the Christ, right?"
"Why of course!" Ashley laughed and continued. "No Rosita, he is a man like any other, with one important exception. The Lord and his Angelic host are behind him, guiding his path.”
Rosita nodded and picked at her chicken before taking a sip of tea. She would talk to her Miguel about Doctor Mansk checking Ashley as soon as he had time. That the girl was delusional, Rosita had no doubt. Rosita was a devout Catholic, and very religious, but God and his heavenly host only took a direct hand in shaping the saints. They did not pay that close attention to regular people, which was probably a good thing. Rosita shrugged internally and continued eating. Time would tell.
*****
DAY 8: 1300 ET FRIDAY NOVEMBER 11TH
Brad turned and waved to his brother Eric as they emptied the last of the ammunition off the shelves of the gun shop they were currently raiding just north of Coopersville. They had learned to be stealthy. Fucking zombies were everywhere. Sneak in, sneak out, and wear plenty of kerosene. They had quickly learned the best time to avoid the undead was in the mid-morning. Getting the kerosene off though was a bitch, and the stream they used for it was ice cold this time of year. They were currently holding out in the concrete structure of the Coopersville water treatment plant, and they slowly headed back there now, slipping from house to house on the bikes they rode, loaded down with packs of the supplies they had scavenged. They were desperately trying to lay in enough supplies to last the winter. Food was plentiful but getting to all that plenty was another matter entirely.
Safe once again, at least for now, Brad nodded at the two men guarding the entrance as they opened the gate. Inside they dropped their heavy packs off for the women to sort through and store. Currently they numbered almost forty and growing daily. Mostly women and children; only eight men had managed to make it out of Coopersville before it was overrun.
Each morning they would do three things: Go out in teams and kill every zombie in sight with machetes while doused in kerosene, raid Coopersville for supplies, and another pair would bike three miles north to Wilson with a CB and twelve volt battery, where they could just catch a broadcast from another survivor group out of Sparta. That team would touch bases with the Sparta group and record the transmission on a small hand-held digital recorder so everyone could listen to it when they got back. It was currently their only entertainment besides the day-to-day terror of zombies and they found themselves part of a growing chain of survivor groups stretching from Kent City to Coopersville near Muskegon. They knew there were others from brief transmissions heard on the CB but few of the others were talking to them yet.
They knew all about the big group in Newaygo, and that might be an option for them sooner vs. later. The zombies were getting thick, fast. They also knew about the Reaper. The airwaves were saying he was a bad motherfucker. They knew quite a few things. This whole Shadow Government thing really disturbed them. Like things weren't bad enough!
Brad threw his gun harness down and enveloped his wife Roxanne in a hug. "Safe and sound, baby. No problems."
"Good, baby. Now give me sugar before you go see Rick," she said, lifting her smiling face for his kiss. The second thing Brad always did when getting back from a run was to fill Rick in on the morning’s adventures; the first thing he did was kiss his wife and grab her ass.
Brad always kissed his wife Roxanne at certain moments: when he woke up after brushing his teeth, before he went to bed after brushing his teeth, and every moment in between he could get away with it whether his teeth were brushed or not. They had been married now for five years, and had a beautiful one-year-old son they’d named Patrick who was currently playing in his playpen. Daddy would get to him right after he ... Brad squeezed his wife's ass hard as he kissed her again, then released her to bend over the playpen and lift little Patrick out. He kissed him quickly and after stealing a quick hug, set him back down and left to find Rick.
Rick was in the control room where he usually was, and the first place Brad always checked. The control room was on the fourth floor of the four-story concrete structure and all the way in the back overlooking the sewage pits. Rick was obviously working on the new base station CB they were installing so they wouldn't have to ride several miles to receive transmissions. On his way, Brad noticed quite a few new faces and wondered just how many people had come in while he had been gone.
"Hey, Rick, we had a pretty good day today but we may need to put a couple more crews on food duty. It's getting harder and harder to bypass those zombie motherfuckers. We're getting more from Allendale, across the river."
"Yeah, I know Brad, we've had almost thirty refugees come in since this morning, so we're gonna need more food."
"Thirty? Wow." Brad did the math after remembering how much he’d brought in. Not enough, damn! "Well then we’re going to need more food crews but we need something better than bikes. Maybe something like those four-wheelers the Kent City boys are using. What do you think?"
"I have something better. Look," and then Rick was pointing out the control room window. Off to the side of the sludge pits, yet still within the concrete enclosure that surrounded the entire facility and kept them safe, was a massive timber mulcher with what looked like a dump trailer with eight-foot steel walls hitched to the back.
"Wow. When did we get that?" Brad was amazed. It was huge and the tires on it must have been six-feet high at least, with the body being a good four feet off the ground, maybe more.
"This morning. Some survivors drove in on it and they had it loaded down with supplies."
"Wow! Does it back up?"
"Sure. It drives just like a truck. Looks like the a truck cab on the inside too. They said you could back the trailer up flush to a storefront and raise the dum
pster back gate and go in to empty it out. Quick and easy to load up after you kill off any zombies in the store."
"I want to take it for a spin. We need more supplies anyways." Brad had a silly grin on his face and was rubbing his hands in glee as he bounced up and down like a child with a new toy.
"Go ahead, the keys are in it," laughed Rick, and Brad took off running while hollering for his crew.
*****
DAY 8: 1400 ET FRIDAY NOVEMBER 11TH
"Learn anything yet, Doc?" I had arrived at our new clinic. We were currently set up in the optician's offices at the edge of the downtown area. It was the perfect setup. The Newaygo Clinic was too far away; the new clinic, being right next door to the compound and less than 200 yards from the gates, was easily accessible to all. What made it essential for our use was the heavy-duty wiring and extra outlets that the medical diagnostic equipment needed. They had two floors to work with: surgery was on the ground floor with three separate suites, while normal medical ailments were handed on the second floor. The church next door was currently being used as post op and recovery. Currently, we sat in the doctor’s tiny office. A small room I assumed used to be a closet due to its small size. I had just received word that the doctor was out of surgery, and wanted to catch him before he passed out.
"Ah, Jay. I don't think I've ever been this tired, not even during my residency." Dr. Mansk looked beat. He was rubbing his eyes while an open Coke sat in front of him on the small desk. “I will tell you the Lieutenant friend of yours will pull through just fine for the most part. We were able to save his arm, but he may suffer some loss in motor function. I don't know yet, only time will tell." I nodded at his words as I shook his hand.
"Did you get a chance to look at this new breed of zombie that came out of the river? That's really bugging us." I asked.
"Yes I did, and you're not going to like the news. I cut a second open after doing a brief autopsy on the first." The doctor paused to take a sip of Coke while I remained silent, almost patiently. "The mucus coating on the river zombies has the texture of rubber cement, but it's not a perfect barrier to the water. It also appears to be some kind of biological foreign substance. I suspect they may stay submerged for upwards of ten to fifteen minutes at the most, but certainly no longer than that. It does dissolve in water, just slowly. Also, as we suspected, I think they have evolved a pheromone communication system. It's the only thing that explains the over-developed nasal passages and emitters. Again, these passages also seem to be rebuilt with foreign material, which I'm guessing is a construct of the virus. They do not breath but rather absorb scents that flow towards them. Thank God, it appears to be only a small percentage of the total, and only those that haven't been wounded. Just like the river zombies in general. Every specimen had only fresh wounds and no others. I looked at several hundred briefly and they were obviously vaccine conversions that had seen no action before last night. The virus also appears to be inhibiting degradation of tissue within the corpses to what extent I cannot say. The mutations, if that is what they are, worry me because it denotes either intelligence or superior cunning. It's possible the virus is a hive mind. We just don't know enough yet and I'm not the one to make these hypotheses."
"You're all we have, Doc. Why are they after the children? Any ideas?"
"Not really." He paused, and took another sip of his drink before continuing. "I suspect it has something to do with their immunity to the initial virus, but I haven't a clue as to why. I am sorry. I'm just too tired to think right now."
I stood and opened the door to the office. My security stood right outside. I pointed to two of the six men and beckoned them forward.
"Take the doctor home. Don't listen to any bullshit on his part. He needs sleep now and we need him rested. If he gives you any shit, restrain and carry him. Make sure he falls asleep and has security before you leave." They nodded as Dr. Mansk laughed tiredly, shook his head and got up to follow them. Then he stopped, turning to me.
"Wait. Jay, we are running low on drugs and serums, plasma, intubators, pain meds, you name it. We also have at least six cancer patients that have run out of cytotoxic antineoplastic drugs also. In addition, we need insulin. We have a lot of diabetics but are running out fast and their needed along with regular antibiotics to combat the massive infections that are often the result of bite wounds. If you don't immediately treat them the patient will go septic and die."
"Eh? Cyto what?" I asked in confusion.
"Chemotherapeutic agents, Jay."
I got it now. That stuff they injected to kill off the cancer cells. "OK Doc. How do we fix that?"
"I've been thinking about that. Not a lot we can do with those diabetics needing insulin shots. Possibly some of the new pills they have been testing, but within a year or two we should be able to produce our own insulin using dogs, calves or even sheep by ligature to the pancreas and distilling the islets, and that would..." he paused at my upraised hand.
"Doc, I understood none of that. Speak English please.”
"Our biggest problem going forward, Jay, is going to be diabetes, after that will be various cancers. Not a whole lot we can do about cancer once chemo agents are exhausted. There should be plenty of Chemo agents stored in powder form at some of the larger pharmaceutical warehouses that we can mix with glucose and that should see the remaining population through until things get back to normal, assuming they do, but we need too many things. They gave me a run-down at this morning's meeting while I was doing the second autopsy. Diabetes we can successfully treat with homemade insulin. It will not be perfect but it should work. It certainly did for almost 50 years before the modern methods of distillation, and our new diet should help offset diabetic onset with the greatly reduced sugar intake. Some illnesses we will not be able to treat short-term. I'm sorry."
"Ok, I can see that and it hurts, but how do we do the most good with the least?"
"In Muskegon there are two very large pharmaceutical warehouses. If they are still intact, there should be enough to supply our needs for several years, even with an expanded population. You see Jay, that's the thing. Those companies are required by law to carry a certain amount of supply per population. With our greatly reduced population levels, that supply should see us through several years at least as most is in powder form. By then things might be somewhat back to normal and you might be President Jay." The doctor chuckled at this but I didn't. While it was convenient having enough authority to get things done quickly, I had no desire for this governorship. Too much work.
"I'll see what I can do, Doc. Maybe in a couple weeks we can get out there. There's simply too much going on right now." I paused as I saw the doctor frown and hold up his hand.
"Jay. You have about ten to twelve people that will die within the next week, two at the most, if we do not get some needed medications. We are past critical levels."
"Well my day just got brighter, Doc. Shit!" I fumed. "What about the hospital in Fremont?"
"At most they may have a small supply of what we need. It's definitely worth looking into. You have men going out there this afternoon, right?"
"Yes, and I'll get on them immediately. I assume we strip the pharmacies, right?"
"Yes."
"OK. On it." I waved the men to Dr. Mansk and they grouped to either side and led him out. I stood there for a minute thinking. We only had two doctors. They were indispensible. I keyed my tactical microphone, and when the duty operator answered I told him to have someone assign four-man rotating teams of security to the doctors. Losing one might mean we didn't survive and I could not take the chance. I knew Steve should have had plenty of time to check out Fremont, so I headed to the CAPC to find out what was going on.
LSS was there with the boy Zeke and some girl I did not recognize. My babe gave me a delicious smile, which I returned while pointing at the communications section.
"I need Hawkins!"
"Coming right up sir." LSS did her thing and handed me a headset. I heard Steve ta
lking in the background, something about moving vehicles. I decided to interrupt him.
"Steve! I need an update on Fremont."
"Sir! Just a minute please. I have an issue here."
"Alright. Go and talk to me when you're ready."
"Listen PFC don't give me any shit. I need all those vehicles moved and now. Get them away from the AV gas tanks. Nothing within a hundred yards. You know the specs ... I get it, so kill the fucking zombies, God damn it. Quit your bitching and get your machete out. There's only a few dozen of them. Jesus ... Good man."
"I'm here sir. Sorry about that, but I don't see a need to waste ammunition when we have perfectly good machetes."
"Good man!" I repeated with a grin.
"Very funny. Well ... I have great news and not so great news. Which would you prefer first?"
"Just tell me the hospital is still functional and hopefully has refugees held up in it and I'll be happy. Oh yeah, the airfield. As long as it wasn't hit by a dirt buster I'm happy there too."
"Alright ..." long pause before he continued. I started getting really damn worried. "Well, the airport’s fine. Nice runways too. Two of them. One is sixty-five hundred feet and the other is around five thousand feet. Large reserves of AV gas including JP-8, standard jet fuels also, and a bunch of eighty octane for the smaller stuff. It's sweet, sir. Really nice control tower that's fully loaded with radar and everything. If we had planes or helos we could be using it now. Generator on site that's currently shut down. Five hundred gallon tank good for weeks and it's full."
Legacy of the Living Page 10
