Legacy of the Living

by Sean Liebling

  I remembered my earlier conversation with Sheriff Fridaddy, who was ready with a preliminary report by the time I arrived.

  "Clear case of homicide, sir. The perp was holding the bloody knife in his hand when the other residents entered, and two of the children, twelve and fourteen years old, provided clear statements. The blade matched the wounds in size and depth, I checked, and the man is not denying he killed them. In fact, he is admitting it. He's outside in one of the police cars if you care to question him."

  "Why would I want to do that, Fridaddy? I either trust you or I don't," I had responded, then continued. "Any idea what set all this off?"

  "Evidently he was a heavy drinker, a chronic alcoholic, and not a nice person when drunk. All the women and children show multiple bruising on their faces and under their clothing, and the story from residents is that the others were getting ready to leave him after reporting him to my office. He flew into a drunken rage and went berserk. Seen it too many times, and regardless of Miguel's efforts to get liquor off the street it's still easy to obtain."

  "Yes I know, and I don't believe in prohibition, just in moderation."

  "Agreed, Sir. I guess I'll file my report with the Tribunal later this morning and keep him locked up at the state police post until they decide when they want to hang him tomorrow."

  I had kept most existing laws in effect, just streamlined the judicial process. We did not have the manpower nor the facilities to guard countless prisoners. Capital offenses, including rape and murder, were punishable by hanging. Just about everything else was banishment. Minor misdemeanors received warnings, and repeat offenders were banished. “Keep it simple” was my motto. The Tribunal was one of those things I had established in my copious free time a couple of days ago. It consisted of community and military leaders, three of them to be exact: Miguel, Major Weston, and Angela Rice. Angela was a former Newaygo City councilwoman and also retired prosecuting attorney for Newaygo County. We were damn lucky to have her as she was exceedingly fair, yet no nonsense and could smell a lie a mile away, or more.

  When someone was judged to have committed a capital crime, there was no appeals process and they were hanged that day or the very next. Anyone wanting to attend the very short tribunals was welcome to, and were excused from their work detail until a half hour afterward. No discussion by residents was allowed, nor dissent. The offense was read out loud, and then the verdict. The punishment was a foregone conclusion depending on the offense. Some might call this frontier justice, and disagree with our methods to the point of leaving. We wished them luck and made sure they left with plenty of essentials, but we did not try to dissuade them.

  Once hanged, the bodies were left suspended for an hour, then taken down and deposited in one of our many mass graves we had dug in preparation for winter coming. When enough accumulated we would cover the grave with six to eight feet of soil and call it good.

  "Sir, we have to talk about deputies again." Fridaddy wasn't done with me yet of course. "Look, Governor. We have three, maybe four thousand refugees we're watching over now. Sure, half are soldiers, but they break the law too. I only have six deputies, which isn't enough by any stretch of the imagination, and we're working eighteen-hour days and can't keep up. I've also been checking. There are at least thirty former and current military police from the headquarters’ companies of three of your military units here. I want all of them. I desperately need all of them. That will barely be enough for our current population." He was giving me that evil cop eye as he said this and I sighed as I clapped him on the shoulder.

  "You're right and as I indicated you have my total trust. I agree, and will instruct the various commanders and Miguel to release them to you to augment your forces. Are you sure you want them? Would you rather instead train your own?"

  "No Sir, training a good deputy in the requirements of law, and instinct takes years. These men and women already have all that. We do not have time to train new officers. Maybe next year, depending, we can start a small academy."

  "Gotcha, Fridaddy. OK, consider them yours. I will make it happen shortly and have them report to your office at the state police post. Did you ever get that wall patched up?"

  "Yes Sir. We had new block laid yesterday. It only took that mason a couple of hours. Good as new once the mortar cures."

  "Alright well, let's keep our fingers crossed that shit like this doesn't happen again."

  "Oh it will, Sir. Count on it, and probably soon."

  "Yeah, that's my thought also."

  I left then, heading back to the compound. I had people to see and new assignments to implement. Fridaddy's comment about the mason and laying concrete block had reminded me of a must do that had been on the front of my brain for days. We had grown so large I had been forced to separate the logistics and civil end of running the compound from the guard, protection, and military aspects. We now had cubicles set up in one corner of the cavernous grain sorting area for the different command chains of our Army and Guard units. I was looking for Staff Sergeant Steve Tremaine and found him right where he was supposed to be.

  "Hey, Steve. You busy?" I asked as I reached out to shake his hand.

  "Never too busy for you, Sir. What's up?"

  "What do you have on your plate today?"

  "Same thing as yesterday, Sir. Working around Fremont with the Bradleys, clearing it out. It's going to take some time as there are a lot of zombies with more drifting in daily from Muskegon, mostly. Realistically we'll never get a handle on it until we get more people in there to build an effective fire zone like we have here in Newaygo."

  "I realize this, that's why I'm pulling you from that duty and re-tasking you."

  "What do you have in mind?"

  "Hold on a sec. Miguel!" I shouted as I spotted my other right hand man. He came at a jog when he heard me shout and we hugged. Like Master Sergeant Darin Trask, Miguel and I were best friends now.

  "I'm glad I have you two here together. New plan, guys. Yeah, yeah, I know, I have too many plans, but this is a must do like all the others."

  "Why are we not surprised?" said Miguel but he and Steve were both smiling.

  "Whatever, Miguel. Anyways, quit interrupting. Jeez. OK, Steve, I want you to leave off Fremont for now. It can wait a couple days. Sure, we might have enough survivors we can split off but it's iffy. Instead I want you to head up to Big Rapids. Take plenty of chains and locks. There are some major box stores there and I want them secured. Take the U.S. 131 route clearing it as you go, and on your way detour at Exit 120. That's the Highway 46 exit. Just to the east there are two huge truck stops. Check them quickly. I'm betting there might be hundreds of semi-tractor trailers there, fully loaded with supplies we might be able to use. We'll eventually need the trucks anyways. Who knows, you might even find some truckers still alive; they're an independent bunch, so take precautions. If you find the gold mine of supplies, set up an outpost somewhere safe. Miguel. I want you to send along some of our truckers. They can drive the rigs back as Steve clears any obstacles in the roads, but don't worry about that for now. I just want the rigs checked and secured along with the big box stores up in Big Rapids. Any questions?"

  "Absolutely, Sir. How much time do we spend in these truck stops and what has a higher priority? The trucks or the big box stores?" Steve asked.

  "The box stores. Don't spend more than a couple hours at the truck stops. Just get a quick handle on the situation there, then head up to Big Rapids. We need Menards, Lowes, the Super Walmart, and all those others secured and fast. Disconnect any water lines and drain them. I don't want the merchandise damaged. If windows are broken, pile something in front of them to keep rain and zombies out. You know the routine."

  "I can send maybe a dozen truckers, Jay. It should go pretty quick." Miguel had spoken.

  "Good. Just a super quick inventory. Grab their manifests and keep them straight. Make sure the trucks still start. That kind of thing. Take all the Bradleys, Steve. They move slow and we're pret
ty protected here. Lieutenant Colonel Botello is digging in the Paladins around Newaygo, so we're actually well protected. Any other questions?”

  Neither man had any and drifted off, talking together. I had other things to do and scooted.

  *****

  DAY 12: 0930 ET Tuesday NOVEMBER 15TH

  The Reaper paused as he ejected his last magazine and stuffed it back into the pocket of his vest. Beside him, Travis was doing the same. They were laying on a platform fashioned at the top of the steel mill smoke stack. The Reaper needed to stay in shape, and fulfill his mission. The best way to do both was to add a few hundred to Hell's line. They were over a hundred feet in the air in the center of the siren's 'pad' as they called it which was an industrial factory and around it for blocks heavy barricades had been set up using abandoned cars. The shooting that might normally draw zombie attention was nothing more than a lure to drag a few hundred in at a time for easy slaughter as the Siren's periodically ran out with machete's and spears to slaughter them.

  "Now did you see that? The zombie was approximately ten feet in from the window at a thirty-five degree angle from us, so we offset by fifteen degrees, or one and a half lines of degree at three hundred yards." Jason's last round had pierced the plate glass window of the high rise office complex over four hundred feet away, taking the zombie dead center in the head as the morning's sun shone through the window at an angle.

  "Yes, I think I got it. My turn." Beside the Reaper, Travis breathed out and instantly fired. The next zombie in line dropped instantly as a red cloud formed where his head had once been. The Reaper clapped Travis on the shoulder.

  Jason had been teaching Travis how to calculate refraction angles on the fly by shooting zombies through third and fourth story windows from their perch a hundred and twenty feet up. They had been at it an hour now, and both men were getting hungry. Travis was finally getting it. The Reaper considered him a natural at this. Not many could do trigonometry in their heads, and with shooting it was a bit more instinct than actual figuring numbers on paper. Everything came into play. The angle of the sun, the thickness of the glass they were shooting through, the angle to the glass, everything. The Reaper never missed. Travis missed a lot at first. Now he had developed a feel for it and his last dozen had been true. The Reaper couldn't resist and gave Travis a brief half hug from their identical side-by-side prone positions.

  "I'm proud of you, Travis. Not many can get this. Fewer still as quickly as you have. With most, it takes months or even years to develop the instincts."

  "Thanks, Reaper. You have no idea how good that makes me feel."

  "Almost as good as being with Darlene I bet."

  "Who?" Travis instantly put on an expression of innocent surprise at the mention of Darlene's name, and the Reaper chuckled briefly.

  "Get your fun while you can, boy. We won't be here but another day at the most, then we’re headed out again. In two days, we might be dead, so take care of your needs. You're scoring some points with the Lord following me on his mission, but remember what the Good Book says about carnal sin."

  "Damn it, Reaper. I didn't realize I gave it away."

  "You didn't. She did. She's an open book, son," Jason grunted.

  "Son?" Travis turned and looked at the Reaper, smiling.

  "It's an expression, that's all. Don't let it go to your head," growled the Reaper. "Let's get something to eat. The other half million zombies in this city can wait until the afternoon."

  *****

  Jean was worried. This morning she had woken to find her breasts sore and her belly cramping slightly. When she’d used the bathroom she saw some spots of blood. Not a lot of blood, just a bit. She was also more tired than usual, and while she waited to see Doctor Mansk, she massaged her breasts again. They were getting quite sore. She knew these symptoms, and refused to think about them.

  Doctor Mansk entered the examination room and handed her a small cardboard box. He was smiling, but behind that smile she detected worry.

  "Here, Jean. Use this. It's the best on the market and can detect a pregnancy within a week of conception."

  Jean nodded, excusing herself, and used the restroom again. She guided the tip of the EPT against the stream of urine, then waited while watching the indicator. She saw the blue plus sign gradually appear. Oh no! Nooooo! This is not the time for something like this to happen. We might not survive another day ... and now ...! She started crying softly.

  *****

  Ashley watched as Master Sergeant Trask signaled a man to approach them. He was small and wiry with a nice smile on his face. In addition to the automatic he carried in an issue holster, he also had two long knives in sheaths belted at his waist, slanted inwards towards his stomach. She was hardly winded after a morning of shooting and unarmed combat. The angels in her head were whispering to her as they always did, and she loved answering back. She felt it made them happy. They were helping and protecting her, and by extension, those she loved and needed.

  "Ashley, this is Sergeant Alba. He's an expert in the art of knife fighting. He's here to see if you can learn that art as quickly as you've learned others."

  "Miss Ashley. A pleasure to meet you. Hold still please." Alba had shaken her hand briefly and was now examining her from head to toe with a look of concentration on his face. Slowly he circled her, and as he did so he reached out to feel her arms and legs, her shoulders and then her back, both upper and lower. She looked over her shoulder at him. He winked at her in a friendly way and she instantly relaxed. She felt good about this new man, and while he touched her, she did not feel threatened by it. It was similar to the way Doctor Mansk had examined her. He then lifted her camouflage fatigue top and felt her belly. Pushing in hard and instinctively she tightened those muscles to keep it from hurting. Finally he spoke.

  "You are a very deceptive lady, Ashley."

  "How so Sergeant Alba?"

  "Your size, musculature, and body proportions. From a distance you look tiny. Even from only twenty feet you appear small except for some of your more pronounced attributes!" Alba grinned at his own words and smiled at her kindly.

  Ashley blushed and subconsciously started to raise her arms to cover her more obvious 'attributes', but he slapped them down almost faster than she could see.

  "Do not ever be ashamed of what God gave you, Miss Ashley. " Now he was grinning at her. She smiled back and straightened before his gaze. While she wasn't exactly proud of some of her proportions, she was proud of her chance to help the Savior. Very proud, and the voices of the angels in her head constantly reinforced that.

  "Thank you Sergeant Alba."

  "Call me Jose, please."

  "Jose then. Thank you. You will teach me how to throw knives like Master Sergeant Trask said?"

  "You are welcome. Now we will go through a few steps after I tell you what not to do." Alba ignored her throwing knife comment and she was disappointed. She had watched many movies when her father was at work, and the Japanese Ninja had always been a favorite.

  "Okay."

  "Lesson one. Knife fighting is not like the movies you may have watched. You mentioned throwing them. Really bad idea. You will probably either die or lose all surprise. First you have to gauge who and what your opponent is. For zombies it will be almost impossible for you to throw a knife hard enough to penetrate the skull to a degree that it incapacitates them. With a live person, that can be successful if you hit them in the Adam’s apple or throat so they are unable to shout when hit. Lesson two. Never throw a knife unless your opponent is too far away to close with and is aiming a gun at you. That is assuming you’re unable to fire your your own gun, and your knife is your only means of immediate defense. I am very good at throwing knives and you might surpass me, but my point is that if he or she shifts in a direction you don't anticipate you will miss. You cannot throw faster than a bullet, Miss Ashley. Lesson three. Knife fighting is close quarters combat only. It is most effective for silent surgical strikes in enemy territory and when f
acing multiple opponents."

  "So you will teach me how to sneak up on an enemy?"

  "No. That is a fairy tale the movies have fun with. It is effectively impossible to sneak up on a sentry, for instance, unless there is a great amount of background noise. To be effective you need to position yourself in a location where you are hidden and your opponent will pass by within reach. This will allow you to strike within a fraction of a second when they come within range. That is how the ninjas from the olden days actually did it."

  "I see." Ashley was perplexed. But there were so many movies about ninjas and they always crept up on their opponents.

  "I see your dilemma, Miss Ashley. Trust me when I tell you that you will sense the change in air pressure of an opponent when they approach you. You will have a hard time sneaking up on someone. I've been practicing for twenty years and I have to say to you that you must ignore all the movies you've watched." Alba was frowning now as he watched her. Slowly Ashley nodded again and he continued.

  "Lesson four. Always pick a solid knife with a thick heavy hind part and razor sharp and pointed forepart like these." Alba pulled out one of his knives and handed it to her. The blade was about seven inches long, but the first two and a half inches were without a cutting surface. Instead it was thick metal that showed various nicks along its surface. "The part of the blade near the tang, this," he pointed to the part near the handle, "is for blocking another knife. See that it's narrower in width than the forepart where both sides are razor sharp?" She nodded at his words. Indeed. The front four to five inches were razor sharp on both sides.