"You okay, Your Majestic Overlord?" Samson had of course been carried out, and as Johnny turned he saw two soldiers setting him down in a temporary wheelchair. It wasn't as nice as the one Samson had originally owned, but that one was in pieces after Samson had used it as a one-handed battering ram against the surging tide of undead. Still, Samson was Samson, and Johnny couldn't help smiling slightly at the never ending yet never repeating terms of high office constantly thrown at him by his over-muscled, legless friend.
"Of course. How about you, Samson?"
"Ecstatic! My God shoved your God's head up his own ass sideways, so that makes me a happy man!"
"Say what?"
"We were saved, Oh Radiant Monarch. Your God is a chaotic trickster. Mine is about love, compassion and order. He whipped your Loki's ass like the disobedient stepchild he is, dude." Samson was laughing and Johnny knew better than to get into an argument he couldn't win with him.
"Yeah well, no comment. I'm thinking of changing my allegiance to Thor anyways. The bastard pissed me off when Celeste died. He can't have many followers left so he needs to treat us a bit better."
"Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds, Esteemed Ruler of us all?"
"Yeah, whatever."
"Have you talked to this governor of theirs again?"
"He's our governor too, you know. I understand it's all legal and shit, whether that means anything or not is beside the point. But no, I haven't. They told me his wife was kidnapped by the bad guys that started all this and he's making plans to go after them to get her back."
"Damn. I wish I had my legs back. Would love to be on that mission. Got a deal for you, man."
"What's that?"
"If your Loki is real, have him give me my legs back for a few days so I can go on this mission. I'll believe then."
"Do you one better, Samson. If your God is real, have him give you your legs back so you can go on that mission."
"OK, we tied on that one." Then Samson was laughing again while Johnny just shook his head.
"Behold our new home," Johnny waved his arm at the high school and Samson frowned at him.
"Look Johnny. I know you're hurting. I loved Celeste also, but you're our leader and this is a good place, and better yet, only temporary. We'll have our own apartments when we get to Fremont, working medical facilities and running damn water, man, with no fighting zombies or not as many anyways. This is a major step up for us. You turned into our leader whether you wished to be or not. You did great. Not many could have done what you did. Especially all fucked up with cerebral palsy like you are. I'm positive you'll go down in the new history books as a great leader. You do know they've been talking about electing you Mayor of Fremont, right? Of course we'll have to compete our votes against all the others that will be moved in there, but we'll try, dude."
"Don't want to be mayor."
"Then what do you want to be?"
"I don't know. Damn it!"
"My advice? Talk to these people here. Listen to what they have to say. Figure it out. We're behind you, man. All of us. Even that asshole Doctor Rossi."
"Thanks."
"You’re welcome," and with that Samson rolled off in search of Nurse Mary.
*****
DAY 12: 2030 ET TUESDAY NOVEMBER 15TH
I was having fun horsing around with the kids. All five of them, including Jean’s, which honestly were mine now also. It was jump on Dad night, and oh my God they were rough on me. Either that or I was getting old. I think Eric and Beverly were using this as an emotional release because they were scared about their momma, and it was cool. It was late but that was also cool because none of them would be going to school in the morning. Momma Jean would take over her daughter’s duties until we rescued her, but tomorrow I wanted to spend some major time with all the kids. Cara was there and occasionally joining in, tickling some when they piled on top of me to their squeals of delight. We were waiting on LSS's arrival as she was running late going over whatever it is intelligence pukes went over with her new assistant, Sergeant Meredith.
The dogs started barking and were standing facing the door with fur bristling which caused me to jump up, spilling children. Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore, and my guns were in my hands before I actually realized I had reached for them. My Cara, having instantly grabbed her M4 carbine, crouched over the children; she held the muzzle pointed forward and had an ugly expression on her face. We had no illusions anymore. We were prepared!
A quick radio check revealed it was Sherriff Fridaddy with disturbing news that required my attention. I cracked the door with a Taurus .45 in hand, cocked and ready just in case, and the somber face of a new friend filled the opening. He glanced down, seeing the large bore opening of my automatic aimed at him before I quickly raised it upward and grinned.
"I approve of the caliber." he said, then patted his side and I remembered he packed a .45 also. There is nothing like a .45 for stopping power regardless of the ranting of dead neo-ballistics experts.
"Thank you. What's up?" I asked as I moved into the hallway, shutting the door behind me after smiling at the kids to their relief.
"Something came up we haven't discussed, and I need a decision. I wouldn't normally ask because of what's going on, but it's becoming more common and we need to deal with it now and not in a few days when you get back." We moved down the hallway as he spoke, leaving my guards behind.
"Okay, it's obviously domestic side and probably something ugly. Give it to me quickly. I'm trying to spend time with the kids, Fridaddy."
"Drugs. We had an ER admittance a bit ago. Four years old. Massive narcotic overdose. The Army Medics say he might make it, we don't know yet though. I checked the drug boxcar. There's now a hole cut in the back. We were only guarding the front. They uprooted and slowly moved a large bush against its side and cut their way in by hand. Must have taken hours. I'm sure they started on their little project well before you left."
"A four-year-old can't cut through the side of a boxcar," I stated. I was furious.
"Correct, Sir. The neighbors of the boy actually did. They took most of the Ritalin and Oxycodone. I found them easy. They were twigging, and my guys picked them up within minutes after we started searching homes near the boy's location. The drugs were hidden in a back corner of a gardening shed on the boy’s parents’ property. It's normal for druggies to hide their shit on someone else's property yet nearby."
"And the boy found it, thinking it was candy!" I spat.
"Of course! That's why I'm here. They're twigged out of their minds and admitted it when I pressed hard. Now a four-year-old may die. You didn't cover this in the rules. Normally it would be an instant eviction notice, but a life is in the balance and the Oxycodone they took is desperately needed to save other lives and they took it all. I need guidance in this. Tribunal?"
"No!" I growled. "One minute Fridaddy, wait here." He nodded and I went back into the bedrooms, trying to smile, and kissed all the kids, telling them I would be right back. I grabbed my camouflage jacket and colonel cap after donning my weapons harness and looked at Cara, speaking roughly.
"I'll be right back. I need to deal with an issue. Everything's cool, just keep the kids busy please."
"Sí, mi amore. Do what you need to do. Come back to us," she replied as she kissed me quickly.
"Always, babe." I left and found Fridaddy where I’d left him. "Lead the way to the fuckers," I commanded.
Minutes later, we were at the front of the compound. There, under the lights, were two women and a man. All were young and ranging from desperate looking to trying to dance while hand and leg cuffed with zip ties.
"No matter what you do, this won't be the end. Losers like this are everywhere. Even in the apocalypse," Fridaddy murmured to me. I was still furious, but nodded as I watched them, and he continued. "Sir, they don't really live in reality like you and I. They can't focus on anything but their own immediate drug needs. That girl over there, the one that is crying? She isn
't crying because she's been caught. She’s completely wasted on oxy. She's probably crying because she forgot to buy laundry detergent three weeks ago, who knows. We can't get anything coherent out of her. How do you want to handle this, Sir?"
I looked around. I saw an even dozen of Fridaddy's deputies and several dozen soldiers in our vicinity, and a few late night workers. The work never stopped, after all. Lieutenant Purcell approached at a hard run, a locked and loaded M4 carbine gripped tightly in his hands and an angry expression on his face as he surveyed everyone around me and our surroundings, then stood at my back. He was ready and willing to back me up no matter what. How he knew I was out here I didn't know, since I had told him to find a bunk somewhere, but at that point I knew without any doubt he took his aide duties very seriously. Then I saw Ashley running towards us and the view was spectacular. I'm pretty sure my mind tried to shut down but I was too pissed off at the moment.
"Ashley, you might want to turn your back," I said as I drew my .45 automatic.
"Governor, I know what it is you will do with these. The Lord and our savior has already judged them. You are the Lord's executioner, do your will." Her tone held a warmth that belied the words she’d spoken; looking at her carefully, I slowly nodded and turned back to the prisoners. I thought for a moment before I spoke.
"From the beginnings of an apocalypse we see old diseases quickly return. It's time to stamp them out with a zero tolerance policy. Perhaps that was the reason it didn't work before. We ignored the transgressions within our old world. Our new world will not permit this, as it's too fragile, and besides, things like this just piss me the fuck off!"
Raising my .45, I started pressing the trigger slowly while ignoring the pleas for mercy emanating from two of them. Then I paused with gun outstretched, for in that moment time slowed and I had a chance to think. I was quite prepared to administer old-fashioned frontier justice and had no doubts that it would be accepted but did I really want to set a precedent? A precedent for future governors or others in power, that taking the law into your own hands was acceptable? With reluctance I slowly lowered my .45 and after staring at the druggies for a moment turned to Fridaddy as I holstered my weapon.
"Tribunal and the charge is murder because now someone will die that needed those drugs." I spat. He nodded as he gripped my arm tightly in companionship.
"You did the right thing boss," he said
"Not what I wanted to do."
"I know, and that's why you're the boss."
I glanced around, meeting the eyes of each of the men and women standing nearby. None of them looked away; in fact, most of them nodded to me in respect. Then gradually they drifted back to their assigned tasks, and I turned to leave.
"Hang their bodies by noon and spread the word!" I hissed. Fridaddy smiled. I was thunder and lightning and I would fuck up anyone that tried to rain on our parade.
Ashley and Lieutenant Purcell followed me back to my rooms in silence, and then left in separate directions as I was closing the door.
*****
DAY 12: 2100 ET TUESDAY NOVEMBER 15TH
"Pull the barricades back now!" shouted Rich as he shouldered his carbine and laid down covering fire. They were evacuating and none too soon. Rounds cracked with sharp reports as they flew by his head. The men arrayed behind him were providing as much firepower as they could to drive the fuckers back long enough for the trucks to get out. He didn't care about his life so much as he did all the others.
Rich was with those few who had drawn the short straw for rearguard action. They needed to hold the dead off long enough for the others to get away. Honestly, it could be said that they’d waited too long to make their escape, but they’d never anticipated this many zombies this quickly. It was impossible to hold them back, and he had already lost over twenty brave men and women earlier that day through the fighting. It was time to get the fuck out, and now. Everyone was loaded up. They had a lot of people, which meant a multitude of trucks, and the zombies surrounding them numbered in the hundreds of thousands: a never-ending sea of moaning, shambling bodies, devoid of anything resembling humanity. That was what they faced, and he prayed he and his men would be able to hold them back long enough for the others to escape.
As he emptied his rifle, his right hand pulling the spent magazine out to toss it aside and with the same motion stripping another from his assault vest and seating it without conscious thought, he saw two of his men dragged down to his left. "Motherfuckers!" he screamed as he thumbed the charging handle release, and, without raising the muzzle, sprayed the bastards from less than forty feet away. Too late. Always too late today. He couldn't think about that now, or mourn, for the hordes were being kept in check, if barely. More men were jumping off the trucks to hold the line as it wavered. They had to create a window for the others to get out. Rich thanked God that his wife and daughters were on one of the trucks, though his would be son-in-law Craig was a steady presence beside him, firing away non-stop.
Flares were arcing overhead in a continuous stream, fired by Steve and a few of his helpers to provide the light they needed to see by to survive. Just a few more minutes, hopefully, Rich prayed as they continued their fire, mowing down rank after rank of the undead, his comrades, his lieutenants and others shoulder to shoulder with him, never faltering, all striding forward into the gates of Hell.
Then brilliant light illuminated the sea of zombies before him as a huge explosion went off fifty yards ahead and slightly to their left, like a huge fireworks display, only force multiplied; then almost immediately another equally large bloom of light accompanied by streaming explosive flames and body debris streamed into the air like molten lava from their right. Then another, and another flower of light, as more flame and debris rained down in all directions. For almost a full minute, explosions rang out as the countryside before them was saturated with a sheet of pure fire. The entire hill was burning for hundreds of yards and Rich could see the zombies trying to move within its fiery embrace, but luck wasn't with those assholes today as the heat crisped their skin and ligaments and they began to fall in ashy heaps.
"Get in now!" A shout reached Rich's ears and he looked over to see Steve pulled up in an old deuce and a half army truck. Behind him were four others, and the men holding the line quickly piled in after dispatching those last few zombies near them. Rich jumped into the cab with Steve, while Craig, Rob, and Rob's sons piled in the back with the others.
"What the fuck just happened, Steve?" Rich demanded as they followed the long caravan of vehicles heading west to what they hoped was safety.
"Demo I planted over a week ago that we borrowed from the National Guard Armory."
"When were you going to tell me?"
"I did tell you!"
"Did not! All I remember was you digging a bunch of holes out front with the backhoe and dropping shit in."
"Well, what in hell do you think went in those holes, Comandante!"
"I thought body parts or something, and when did you acquire a Spanish accent?"
"Just now on the accent, and wrong on the body parts. Two pounds of C-4 in each and every one. Then homemade Willy Pete like God’s wrath arriving from heaven. Cool right?" Steve launched into a description of how he had loaded the powdered magnesium and phosphorus into cardboard tubes with wadding under them so they wouldn't completely ignite until they were fully airborne, then stopped as Rich cut him off. Rich obviously did not appreciate the finer points of homemade pyrotechnics and their devastating effects.
"Fucking asshole. You could have told me," Rich fumed; all he could think about was the loss of all that C-4, and the fact that he was now alive never entered his conscious thinking.
"And listen to you bitch like an old woman about the loss of all that C-4 and the magnesium we stripped from that metal plating company?" Steve was incredulous.
"Okay, good point. That's exactly what I was thinking right now."
"I know." Steve grinned and saluted him with his can as they each
cracked a Coke and took deep swallows, knowing the night had just begun. They had a long drive ahead, miles to go and many more zombies to kill. Both made sure their weapons were loaded as they stared ahead towards the west.
*****
Captain Rider turned from the screen upon which was scrolling the series of password protocols and full TOE, Table of Organization and Equipment, Sergeant First Class Meredith was uploading into the CAPC's mainframe.
As most in Special Forces, he was impressive in stature even at thirty-five years of age. (She had asked.) His tan BDU's gave him a military appearance, and the modified government model .45 worn in a low slung holster on his left side gave him a deadly air. The nylon and Velcro were well worn, and the use it had been through was obvious. His short salt and pepper hair leant a wise visage to his otherwise cut figure and boyish face.
"That is an impressive list of manpower and equipment, Sergeant. An EC-130H and five MC-130Hs, three A-10s and over fifty helicopters divided between fast attack and heavy lifters. Very impressive, and it's amazing that so many were able to get out of Fort's Hunter and Campbell."
"Yes, Ma'am. They didn't all decide to come with us, although most did. The people from Fort Hunter really had nowhere to go, so their decision came quick. A few other partial squadrons from Campbell elected to stay behind and try to find dependents and help people as best they could. There are survivor groups all over America, and not enough of us military to really matter. The major and chief are hoping they'll eventually rejoin us."
"That's where you're wrong, Norman. As our commander Jay would put it, every man and woman makes a difference in this fight between good and evil. We all count." Corey said that strongly, because she believed it. She was also still getting used to enlisted and lower ranking officers saluting and addressing her as "Ma'am". The salutes and deference were a degree of attention she had never received before.
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