Legacy of the Living

by Sean Liebling

  "Jaime ... Jaime."

  *****

  Don was furious. Two more jets lost yesterday, and another two flown by pilots he considered cowards. Sure, he had been wrong about the readiness of the Badgers, and he would not make that mistake again. Don considered himself smarter than the norm so he rarely repeated mistakes; instead, he tried a different tactic until something worked. In this case, after almost destroying the radio, he had ordered two more assassination teams into the area. They would be inserted during the night by a low-flying helicopter that could stay under the Badgers’ radar. He still wished he knew what had happened to the first two teams he'd sent out. Both had quit reporting in yesterday. No matter, he would send as many as it took to wipe out the leadership in Newaygo.

  He paused near the island’s edge, looking around at the coastline. He was so tired of waiting here, waiting on word from the parties he had sent out already, and now more time would be wasted on the new parties that would soon be moved in. Movement caught his eyes and he instantly crouched while raising his binoculars. Jean? Yes, there was no mistaking the figure of Jean, even at this distance; she was with several other women and a large number of smaller children. Two men sat in lawn chairs on the end of the dock the kids were fishing off, and Don saw quite a few camouflage-clad figures on shore and near the tree line holding rifles. Instantly, he raised his radio to let his men know to stay under cover, and then he watched the people on shore carefully. Don was getting an idea. He had no doubt this dark-haired man was the leader of the Newaygo forces. His short ponytail gave him away. Don had a full description of the command staff around Newaygo from earlier reports his teams had sent back before their abrupt 'lack' of communication. He lifted the radio again.

  "Pilot, come in." Don had no wish to know their names. They were all expendable to him.

  "Here, Sir."

  "How long would it take you to get airborne?"

  "Five minutes, Sir."

  "Can you shorten that?"

  "Maybe four minutes, Sir, but that's minimum. Do you want me to start her up?"

  "No, hold on, I'm getting an idea."

  Back at the Black Hawk helicopter, the pilot turned to the co-pilot and muttered, "We're fucked!"

  "Yep." was the reply.

  *****

  DAY 10: 1200 ET Sunday NOVEMBER 13TH

  Fridaddy was happy. His girls were on each arm and he was walking down Main Street greeting people. Kim and Nat were happy also, and were enjoying the attention their man was getting, even that from the other women. They were not worried, as they knew how to keep him satisfied. As agreed, he had found six men to help with keeping order and a semblance of law. This was the first day everyone had had a chance to relax. Sure, there were heavy patrols out, but they were being rotated off every four hours. Since the issue with the shed zombies yesterday, the entire town had been checked twice with no space left untouched. Even those spaces only a child could fit in. Another half a hundred zombies had been found, standing silently and waiting for the right opportunity to eat unsuspecting prey.

  Damn it, they were everywhere. He shook his head at the thought and subconsciously checked his .357 Sig P226 in its high-cut holster. It slid easily in and out. Not that he was worried, as most here were just happy to be alive. Still, the liquor allotment had been loosened today and he knew he would eventually be busy breaking up fights or just plain old foolishness. A commotion up ahead caught his eye. Ahead, four men were loudly arguing, with several women shouting back and forth. He sighed and gently pushed Kim and Nat to the wall near the old pawnshop. Looking around he saw Keith Sinclair, one of those he had selected as a deputy, and caught his eye. Keith started moving in his direction.

  "Wait here girls." They nodded, and held hands as he walked in the direction of the ruckus up ahead. Noon was too early for a drunken fight around here, because a fight is what it was looking like as he approached. Three men against one, and from what he was getting from the shouts it was over a woman. Why, he had no idea, because they had women coming out their ears. The single guy had a buzz cut and oozed military; the girl behind him was very pretty with short blonde hair, and was glaring at everyone around her. The day had really warmed up and she was wearing a pair of very tight, very short white shorts with a matching white bikini top. Idly he noticed she had major assets as he pushed between the two parties and held his hands up.

  "Alright, what's going on here, and cut out the swearing, there are kids around." He addressed both parties equally. He wanted to begin by calming things down.

  "The girlie wants me and her boyfriend won't let her," drawled a heavyset man from the party of three.

  "Screw you asshole! I wouldn't let you touch me if you were the last man on Earth, you fat fuck!" The short blonde-haired woman's response was instantaneous, and even Fridaddy had to smile. However, there were rules.

  "Girl, tone down the language. No swearing, understand?" She nodded and slowly the story came out. God, this drama shit took too long to sort out.

  The soldier, for that's what he was, had arrived today with the One Hundred Ninety-Third. As was usual with these things, he had found a little hottie amongst the survivors. She looked all of sixteen but Fridaddy wasn't asking questions. Evidently, the 'fat fuck' had taken a liking to the short blonde, and tried to take her. It was equally evident the girl wanted nothing to do with him. Fridaddy was fully cognizant of the ramifications of this situation. He knew without doubt that the governor would take a very dim and short view of their new arrivals being abused. He also knew the governor was intolerant of abuse. The drunken women were just mad their men were denied that which they wanted, and as a result were talking shit. Fridaddy shook his head at the idiocy of some women ... and men. He made up his mind and spoke while placing himself firmly in front of the soldier and his girlfriend while facing the belligerent three others.

  "OK you three and your women need to head on down the street and have fun. The girl does not want you, Mister. Just move along and it's all good. Enjoy the day. The fried chicken was fantastic. I hear there's more. Go easy on the booze too, OK?"

  "Fuck you! No one tells me what to do. Who in the fuck do you think you are, anyways?" The fat man was not cooperating and Fridaddy sighed seeing a bad ending coming his way.

  "I'm Sheriff Fridaddy and I have authority here. Do not make me run you in. You only get two chances, and then you'll be thrown out. If you really want to test that, go ahead." Fridaddy was getting irritated. Normally it took a lot to push his buttons, except in certain circumstances. Stupidity was one of them. By now, Keith Sinclair was at his side, looking tough and no nonsense. Keith's grey and silver hair and mature demeanor was slightly at odds with the scowl he directed at the three drunks. He did not speak but instead simply backed Fridaddy up. Fridaddy was actually glad Keith wasn't speaking, as he had a tendency to use 'fucker' in every other sentence.

  The fat man poked Fridaddy in the chest, in the center of his sheriff's badge to be exact, hard enough that it was obvious he was attempting intimidation. Fridaddy growled as the man sneered at him and said, "You have no authority. I have all the authority I need right here," and the fat bastard patted the automatic stuck in his waistband.

  "Friend, you don't want to go down that road. Leave now and sober up, and maybe I'll forget this conversation." Fridaddy's hand was resting on his Sig, his grip tight. His thumb had already released the safety. The man sneered at him one last time, then turned and walked away, calling on his friends to follow.

  Fridaddy watched him for a second then turned back to the young couple.

  "Go on, have a good time and sorry about that. There are bad sorts in every town. This is a safe place. Trust me!" He smiled at them and they nodded, the girl gripping her man’s arm tightly. Then Fridaddy saw something he had seen before: the wide-eyed, scared expression on the face of someone looking past Fridaddy's own shoulder. The solder's smile had turned into that peculiar expression as he desperately tried to pull his girl behind him, off
ering his body as a shield while reaching for the M4 carbine slung muzzle down across his back.

  "Keith!" Fridaddy shouted as he drew and turned. He wore a high-rise holster on purpose. Except in the Old West where looks were everything, if you wanted to draw fast you kept your movements as short as possible. His modified holster allowed him to draw and rotate the weapon into firing position in a fraction of a second, using his forearm for point shooting. As he came around he saw Fatso with his automatic leveled, an angry expression on his face. Fridaddy didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger twice, watching as two puffs of dust rose off the man's chest. Then his opponent was falling backward, his own gun discharging into the air as Fridaddy heard Keith's .45 go off next to him, and the next man in line was crumpling in place with a hole between his eyes.

  Fridaddy swiveled in place, lining up the third man. People in the streets were screaming and running in all directions. Thank the gods none of them ran into the line of fire. The third perp had his gun drawn but had not pointed it yet. It was held by his side, and he looked indecisive while wobbling in place.

  "Drop it!" Fridaddy ordered.

  "You shot my friends," the man complained and looked like he was about to cry. Then his gun rose. Fridaddy and Keith fired simultaneously as both dropped into a crouch. The upper half of the man's head disappeared as both rounds impacted, angled upward. Slowly they rose; neither had wanted a stray round to hit an innocent bystander.

  Keith walked up to the dead men and kicked each in the boot, then put a round through the head of the first, just to be sure.

  "Sweet dreams, fuckers,” Keith finally spoke before walking off. Fridaddy grunted and went back to his own women after nodding to the young couple. A quick radio call sent a truck to pick up the bodies and another short conversation would see the belligerent women taken aside and given their first warning on stupidity. It was past time to improve the gene pool evidently.

  *****

  Jean beamed proudly as Eric was the first to catch a fish, followed closely by Clarissa. She could see that Paul was starting to get angry, but that subsided as his own pole bent and he was soon reeling one in almost as large as Eric's. Jean smiled and waved as he shouted and waved the fish at her. Jay was there to take it off and held his arm up like the conclusion to a boxer's triumphant fight. Beside them, James and Andy were fishing with Darin hovering over them like a proud dad, which he obviously was at this point. Jessica was watching them from where she was lying on a blanket near the water's edge, catching the last bit of autumn sun. It really was a beautiful setting, with a long dock stretching out over the water with a boatshed next to it. The trees sheltering this little cove gently sloped to either side, coming down to the water's edge.

  A soft hand settled on her shoulder and she looked over to see Jay's mom, Barbara. Jean's parents had also been invited to their little outing but they had decided she needed more one-on-one time with Jay's parents.

  "He's a good man and he loves you and your children, dear," Barbara said softly.

  "I know, Barbara."

  "He is a man, though."

  "I know that also." She chuckled in a way that was almost a giggle.

  Jean watched as Jay high-fived her son Eric, then Clarrisa, then Paul in the order of their fish catching. He was pulling no favorites and she loved him even more for it.

  "This is tough for him. He's been down to the river a few times over the last few days, just to talk, and I think he's in over his head with you girls."

  "Well, it will be interesting to see what he ultimately decides," Jean murmured.

  "Oh, I wouldn't pack your bags yet if I were you." Barbara smiled at her then surprisingly hugged her tightly while whispering, "Welcome to the family, Jean. Dennis and I mean that because we love you too. You’re good people."

  "Thank you, Momma Barbara," Jean whispered back as tears rolled down her eyes. She hugged Barbara back just as tightly.

  Suddenly, and faintly in the distance, she heard what sounded like jet engines starting up.

  *****

  Travis was fiddling with the CB as the Reaper watched. They were currently in Grand Rapids’ city proper and had started caches of ammunition and supplies. It was too dangerous not to have multiple backup plans and supply locations. You could hardly move with all the zombies around. Damn things were everywhere. Earlier they had experimented with the sewer system. That had proved uneventful. The sewer was free of zombies, but the six-foot wide concrete tubes were cramped, and ran in every possible direction. There appeared to be no pattern to them; some streets had no access to the underground system, as their waste was piped to another street, or even further down the line. The tubes also narrowed without warning. It was a maze! You also needed a special tool to unlatch many of the manhole covers. Some even had brass padlocks on them. It was proving a major pain in the ass to find an outlet they could actually exit in the general vicinity of where they wished to go.

  Currently, they were in an underground substation, a largish concrete room just below the road surface which housed a rather large electrical transformer with heavy black conduits running to and from its top insulators. They could not go up because the cover was locked from the outside. They had traversed to the electrical side of the underground station through a small access tunnel from the sewer line. Now they were not sure where to go.

  "I can't get shit in, down here." Travis muttered as he played with the settings on his hand held CB radio.

  "I bet they had maps to the sewers. We should have copied one," the Reaper finally spoke, interrupting Travis while ignoring what he’d said.

  "The bikers?"

  "No, the zombies."

  "You're so funny."

  "Then don't ask stupid questions. Aren't you supposed to be showing me more respect? After all, I'm famous, according to you guys, and besides, you want to be my ‘apprentice’ as you call it."

  "Hell! Not after you cock-blocked me yesterday."

  "That little redhead? I was saving you from trouble. She wasn't your type anyways."

  "Trouble? How could she be trouble? Dude, I only needed thirty minutes."

  "You're young. You'll learn to last longer, or your woman will teach you how."

  Travis went still, then looked at the Reaper intently before asking, "Was that a joke? Did you just tell a joke?" Travis was silent for a moment longer than smiled huge. The Reaper was joking with him. He was so in. He reached over his shoulder and patted his back.

  The Reaper groused, "Don't break your arm congratulating yourself. You're a decent shot and trustworthy. Your taste in women is poor though," he sighed, shaking his head.

  "Poor taste in women? How? She was sweet, Reaper. Had it all going on. Nice tits, great ass, red hair and actually pretty!"

  "She took her kids out to play in Zombieville," deadpanned the Reaper.

  "Well, there is that." Travis coughed, looking embarrassed. "I didn't need thirty minutes to gauge her intelligence, Reaper."

  "That's your age showing. A good woman does all that for you and doesn't lack common sense."

  "You're right. But what is it you always tell me?" Now Travis was grinning and waiting.

  The Reaper blinked and looked surprised, then slowly answered, "Every day is a good day to die."

  "Got that right. It's what in your heart that's important."

  "Alright youngster, get us out of here," but Jason was smiling again.

  "We have two choices unless you want to go back. That access cover over there or this one under us with the main power lines in it. It goes somewhere and it's pretty big." Travis pointed to the side, then the floor at their feet where a square steel grate covered an access tunnel where a dozen thick electrical cables snaked through. The Reaper looked at both for a second, then pointed.

  Soon they were more than a hundred yards from the substation, crawling on their bellies while pushing their rucksacks ahead of them. The rectangular tunnel twisted and turned, and from the grooves worn in the floor it was obvio
us that maintenance workers had used some type of wheeled platform to move down its length. Probably something similar to those used by mechanics when working under cars, Jason thought. Early on he had tied an extra pair of t-shirts around his knees to protect them from the hard surface. Even with two feet of clearance, it was still hard going on the rough surface. Black gloom greeted him in every direction, his only light a pale green chemical stick he had ignited when they entered the passage. Travis also had another, but it did little to suppress the feeling he was entering the pits of Hell.

  The Reaper paused as he heard something, and immediately covered the glow stick with his hand and forearm to hide its light. Faintly ahead he heard voices, and slowly the glow of a faint light far down the tunnel came into view. The Reaper turned and whispered over his shoulder.

  "I hear voices, and there's light ahead. Leave the packs and follow me." Travis did not reply, just laid his pack on his own glow stick and crept over it, which was another thing the Reaper liked about him. Travis didn't usually state the obvious, only occasionally.

  Slowly, together, they crept up the tunnel, guns ready; the going was slower because of the need for stealth, and as they moved further along the voice became clearer. One voice. It sounded like a child, and he or she was sobbing and crying the name Jaime.