Z-Risen (Book 5): Barriers

by Long, Timothy W.

The house had been boarded up, but we managed to pry some wooden slats off a side window and crawl inside. Whoever had deserted the place had been gone for months. A thin layer of dust covered everything, and the smell of must was strong especially from the basement.

  We found boxes of belongings down there like old records, photo albums, and a collection of porcelain dolls that gave me the creeps for some reason.

  I took the fuel filter out, cleaned it of some gummy gas, and put it back into place. Then I spent some time draining the gas out of the tank, which was a goddamn pain in the ass.

  I would have taken my chances with the car, but didn't want to make a worse mess. After finding a container of enzyme fuel conditioner, I poured it in the bucket of gas and waited a day.

  Once I poured in a half gallon of fuel, the car started, then died. It took a little more work to get the fuel system cleaned up but, after that, the little engine refused to turn over. In the end, I gave up on the stupid little Pacer. The gas I saved for the ATVs and topped off the tanks.

  As for the car, we pushed it into the field and left it to collect dust.

  We had minimal transportation, but there was no way we could all fit on the ATVs with our newly collected gear and supplies. I set about working on the tractor but suspected it would also be a lost cause. It also might be of little use. What in the hell were we going to do with the big noisy bastard? It took the four of us, but we managed to push it out of the garage and into the field and left it there.

  In the house, Anna and Christy brought supplies out of the basement.

  The cool location had been designed like a man-cave, but in one large walk in pantry, we found a cache of canned goods. The owners had put everything they could into jars, and all of them were neatly labeled. We took the oldest and had a veritable feast the first night.

  There were several twenty pound bags of rice and beans. Those went over a gas-powered camping stove with water retrieved from a nearby stream. In another corner, we found a couple of fifty pound bags of dry dog food but no sign of a dog. Frosty was thrilled to get something to crunch on, and we started leaving out a full bowl for her every day. The only downside was that the food gave her some horrendous gas the first few days.

  Once we got settled, we found some rain reclamation barrels, emptied them, scrubbed the shit out of them with bleach, and then spent hours running back and forth between the stream a hundred and fifty feet away. After an exhausting day, we had enough water for a few days.

  And that's how we founded Fortress.

  The next day, Joel and I ranged out a little farther from Fortress on foot, and we came across a small bus at a retirement community called Shady Vale Assisted Living. One of the window drapes flapped and an old man covered in blood and open wounds banged on the window. Another guy joined him, and the two of them snarled for our blood.

  The bus had been old before the world went to hell and even had wood paneling. The tires were in good shape except for one of the rear ones. It was low, but we would be able to inflate if with some effort and the right tools.

  "That thing probably went out of style in the 80’s,” Joel observed.

  "Wonder if we can use it to hide in?" I said. "In case we have to go on the run again.

  "If it still runs," Joel said, nodding at my observation. "Better than that piece of shit Pacer. I doubt it would get us five miles before it fell apart."

  There was one rotting Z onboard, a woman who had probably turned while she was in her seventies. She tried to get to her feet as soon as I pried the door open. It gave with a squeal on hinges that were old and had practically rusted under all the rain Oregon offered.

  I smacked her upside the head, and she quit moving. We dragged her corpse outside and left her on the gravel road.

  I found the keys still in the ignition. It took a half-dozen cranks and, just as the battery sounded as though it would give up the ghost, the engine turned over with a mean growl.

  I listened near the hood and was pretty sure a piston was misfiring. There was a weird thump, but there was also little time to do a thorough investigation. I climbed on board and opened a few windows because the bus smelled like death.

  "Let's get this back to Fortress so we can work on her," I said.

  "Read my mind," Joel replied.

  There was seating for a dozen senior citizens, and the back door was a double with a small lift, presumably for a wheelchair.

  Joel put the van in reverse and backed out of the old gravel driveway.

  Another Z joined the two men banging on the window. She had white hair that was coated in dried blood. One of her eye sockets had been eaten into and had left a huge wound. She pawed at the window with a half-hand. One of the men, a black guy missing part of an arm and his shirt, opened his mouth and his top denture fell out. He tried to gnaw at the window.

  "Think I'm gonna throw up," I said.

  "Damn. That brother couldn't catch a break if I threw one at him," Joel said.

  The little bus beeped as Joel backed out. He slid it into drive, and then we headed back to Fortress.

  We put the bus in the barn and, over the next few days, I spent time getting it into proper working order. This required a few runs to find parts as well as an air compressor so I could inflate the tires.

  I had big plans for the transport, but it would require a lot of work.

  "The only thing missing is a portal on top so we can get out," Anna said.

  "Because that worked out so well before," I said.

  We had dismantled the wheelchair lift, which left us with a nifty double door so we could quickly load up. I wanted to build a ramp with a hydraulic lift but that would necessitate the need for a lot of parts. I would need to go and investigate a couple of auto garages. We had run across one but it had been scavenged from roof to floor.

  I had dug out an old welder and figured out how to get it working. Back in my days on the ship, a Hull Tech named Smitty had given me a crash course in how to glue metal together. The little inverted arc welder needed electricity so Joel and I went out and dug up a generator. We also siphoned gas from a few old cars and took it back to be treated.

  Firing up the generator was a risky business because it was so loud. We dragged it into the back of the barn, and then tried to muffle it by putting old blankets and boxes around. It still rumbled like the devil, and any time you have a persistent noise, Zs were sure to come a calling.

  Miraculously, we didn't invite a horde.

  When I was done putting the corrugated siding on the bus, we then prepped it for a quick escape. If Fortress was blown, we would have a way to escape. The next task took a few days. I created a wedge out of the metal that was about six feet long and had a slopping curve at the center. I had to drill hole in the front of the bus to attach the device. That required some ridiculously long screws, and there weren’t enough to guarantee it would stay on. I had to come up with a better plan. That, or hope to hell it managed to stay in place if we ran into a big enough mass.

  "What the hell is that?" Joel asked.

  "It's something I need your help with. We'll use that winch to get it into position, then you help me guide it in place, and I'll bolt it."

  "But what is it?"

  "It's a Z-scoop, dude," I grinned.

  "What?"

  "If we have to run. It's like an old train that has to nudge cattle off a track. We'll use it to get out of a horde if we have too," I said.

  "You know something, Squid?" Joel said, and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead, "that's actually smart."

  "I have my moments." I nodded.

  "Few, and far between, but you have them."

  Over the next week, I tuned the engine but the damaged rear tire was an issue. After getting the bus back to fortress, the tire lost air and completely deflated. We had found an old air compressor in the tool shed. I could run it off the generator but the noise was going to be terrible. I thought it would be best to get the tire off first so I could hit it as quickly
as possible. The problem was air leaks. I needed to see the entire stretch of rubber and plug any holes.

  I rigged a jack and got her ass in the air, then worked the lug nuts off. The tire fell off and hit the ground and rolled before coming to a stop against the wall. It clattered to the ground, and then popped.

  Joel had been in the process of cleaning his assault rifle.

  "So much for the bus. Unless you know where we can get a new tire on the hub," Joel said.

  "I can inflate it," I said.

  Joel set his rifle down and walked over to inspect the wheel. He kicked it a couple of times.

  "It's off the damn rim," Joel observed. "Unless you have one of those machines like they have at one of those tire stores. Maybe we can fix it in a shop?"

  "Nah, just need some fire air."

  "The fuck you talking about, Squid?"

  "Watch and learn," I said.

  Anna came out of the house to see what we were up to.

  "He's gonna fix the tire by burning it," Joel said.

  "That sounds like a great idea. The smell alone will draw every human in the area to our location," Anna said. She munched on an apple we'd found on a tree a half mile from Fortress.

  "Ye of little faith." I grinned.

  I grabbed a can of starter fluid, and then dug around in a work bench until I found a box of matches. With Joel's help, I got the tire up on a couple of cinder blocks so it was flat but off the ground.

  "When I light it, be ready on that air compressor," I told Joel.

  "Is this a good idea? I'm worried we're going to call every Z in the area," Joel said.

  "I've dampened the sound," I said and crossed my fingers. "I hope."

  A bunch of old blankets might not do the trick, but it was worth a try considering we would gain a working transport. Anna moved out and took up a watch while Christy hung back and covered our flank.

  I pushed the tire off the rim and shook up the starter fluid. Used to get carburetors going, the stuff was highly flammable. The smell of gas assaulted my nose so I turned aside.

  "Air compressor," I said.

  Joel hit the button and it rattled to life.

  "As soon as I light it, get that air pumping in the tire," I said.

  I sprayed a little more starter fluid on the side of the tire and made a line that was about two feet long so I wasn't in the path when it flared.

  Joel still looked unsure, but I struck a match and cupped the flame with my free hand.

  The second I touched the match to the starter fluid, a blue flame raced across the ground, up the side of the tire, and then ignited. The space inside the tire held a great deal of oxygen and, as soon as it flared to life, the tire popped off the cinder blocks and fell to the side. Flames licked the hub, but I dashed in and beat at them with a rag.

  "Fill it now." I urged Joel.

  He moved in and attached the compressor tube and triggered the air. The tire completely inflated in a few seconds. The flames also died out as the rubber met the rim and sealed.

  "Hah!" I said triumphantly.

  "Where in the hell did you learn that?" Joel asked.

  I turned off the air compressor and the generator.

  "YouTube videos back in the day. Where else?" I said with a grin.

  "Wait. You mean never tried that before today?" Joel asked.

  "Do I look fucking crazy?"

  While we were prepping Fortress, I tried to engage Joel and ask about our escape from the San Diego area. As we took off in the plane, Joel had taken mercy on Roz by opening the plane's door as it rumbled along the blacktop and finished her off.

  After Roz had been attacked then rescued by Brightstar, they'd managed to lose her during an ambush. Joel had found what he thought was her body only to learn she'd been infected. The goddamn shuffler who attacked her had forced something into her mouth after he bit her. She'd been turning into one of them until a doc with Brightstar gave her something to slow the infection. I had speculated, ever since, that there might be a cure in the works.

  She hadn't become one of the vicious things we'd fought for months. Instead, she'd become an ally. Then she'd helped us escape before a big shuffler had attacked and nearly killed her.

  I missed Roz even if she had been one of those things.

  What was crazy was that she'd looked just like a shuffler complete with green eyes that seemed to glow with malevolence. She was able to talk, after a fashion, but her words had been stilted and drawn out. Almost like a hiss. At least we knew the shufflers might be able to be dealt with on a human level. Assuming we ever got to talk with one again.

  As far as I was concerned, the only thing I cared about was shooting every last one of the damn things. Nothing less than eradication would make me happy.

  We've been here for weeks and things have become stagnant. Not enough food nearby. Plenty of water. It's not like we can go out and plant a damn thing and hope to babysit it. Maybe tomatoes and cucumbers. I guess we could start a patch and try to live on those for a while. There's enough seed packets in this place to restart a small town.

  Christy named the cow Betsy, out of irony, I suppose, and the cow, in turn, provided a little nourishment. We have almost run out of the canned goods so it's back to searching for supplies on a daily basis.

  Something Joel and I know all too well how to do.

  Cult of the Damned

  "Watch the left. Easy on the ammo. Stuff won't last forever," Joel whispered.

  "It's like you don't even know me."

  "Just saying. We need to be careful," Joel said. "I know we've been through a lot, but it never hurts to go over our operational parameters. That's a fancy way of saying watch your ass."

  He lay in the grass, dressed in the remains of his IMTV (Improved Modular Tactical Vest) armor. I wore a pair of overalls that had been fresh a few weeks ago. Now they clung to my body in the brush. I had washed my clothes and skivvies a few nights ago, but they didn't stay clean for long thanks to living in the zombie fucking apocalypse. Anna would probably get on my case as soon as we got back, make me take this stuff to the stream and hand wash them. That or burn them.

  I shivered in the cold and tried not to think about the fact that my nuts had withdrawn all the way up to my stomach. We'd spent months in Southern California, and while it occasionally got cold, it wasn't like here where a frost could hang around for days at a time.

  Joel and I had taken the ATVs out early to do a scouting run and to scrounge up some supplies. There was nothing like roaring across the suburbs in our little four-wheelers like we were the kings of the undead world. There was no one around to shoot us disapproving looks, and no one to call the cops.

  "I still think we need to range out a little farther. This little piece of the world is nice and all but we're going to be out of supplies in a few weeks," I said.

  "We should stay put for now. I'm worried about that camp a few miles to the east. If they're hostile we can't hope to defend against them," Joel said.

  "What? We got three members of the armed forces, a killer dog, and a teenage girl who chews and spits out bullets for breakfast. We're bad to the core," I said.

  Joel chuckled.

  "Yeah. We'd last about five minutes."

  "I'd be surprised if you were able to last a minute," I said.

  "Fuck you, Creed."

  "Fuck you right back, Joel Kelly," I said.

  Joel winked, clenched his assault rifle, and moved forward a few feet. He got to his knees and scanned the area. With the exception of the solitary Z that staggered toward us, there wasn't another soul in sight.

  "I'm going to take him out," Joel said.

  "Okay, John Wayne. How about we take this one out nice and quiet. He's alone. No reason to bring out a whole pack if they're in the woods."

  Joel nodded. Ever since we'd landed, Joel had been on a freaking crusade to pop any undead the minute they showed themselves. Thing was, he used to be quieter about killing Zs. Now he shot first and we worried about
interlopers later.

  "Fine. I know you're itching to swing that wrench."

  "Me and my wrench are a unique team, Joel." I said. "Put the fear of God in the undead with this mother."

  "Whatever. Just get it over with."

  As soon as I stood up, the Z took one look and got his hands to chest level. He staggered toward me, oblivious to the fact that an armed Marine was twenty feet away and had a bead on his head.

  I didn't give him a chance to engage. As soon as he was close enough, I swung the eight pound hunk of iron around and caved in the side of his head. Blood sprayed, pink and gray matter splattered. He went down, but just before he hit the ground, I swear he blinked. The look in his eye was something like relief.

  Probably some involuntary reaction to having your brain crushed. Makes it easier to think of them as mindless monsters who just want to eat your flesh. Better than thinking that this guy had probably once had a family. Maybe some of them were still alive, wondering what had become of him.

  "Now wasn't that easier than wasting a round?"

  "You're just jealous because you can't hit a moving target."

  "I can, sometimes. I get antsy," I protested.

  "It's just skill. I've tried to teach you," he said.

  Yeah, he'd tried. I was a decent shot, but I'd never be great against moving targets. You had to have a feel for it. You had to know how to lead and guess where that head would be in the next second. I could do it, but it usually took a couple of shots.

  "I'm a slow learner. My dad used to say that before he kicked my ass," I said.

  "That's a real sad story right there, Sailor. I bet he'd be proud of you now," Joel said. "You're close to a prime example of a zombie killing master."

  We rose to our feet and continued our patrol of the perimeter of our new Fortress. Joel took the lead while I scanned the area behind us. There are trees everywhere, and it made the perfect hiding place for Zs. I guess it's not really a hiding place since they're dumber than dumb. A Z only wants one thing, and that's to rip into some fresh flesh. Mindless. Hungry. Lame.