by James Gurley
He glanced down at his erect penis and laughed. “And I’m a hard man,” he said.
6
June 9, 2016 Split Rock Canyon –
Jake allowed Jessica a full day to rest her shoulder and ankle. They used the time to get better acquainted. They talked, but neither one offered many details of their pasts. The conversation ranged from horror stories about surviving the apocalypse to favorite movies. She shared his love of old classics, but not his love of war movies or westerns. Eager to see if she could handle a weapon, he coaxed her outside for target practice after a lunch of steamed fresh vegetables and grilled cheese sandwiches.
First, he familiarized her with the operation of both the rifle and the pistol, letting her learn the feel of them in her hand. Then he showed her how to shoot. After a couple of hours of practice, he realized that she would never be another Annie Oakley, but she could hit the center target four out of ten times with the rifle, and three times out of ten times with the pistol; not bad for a beginner. Although she was a leftie, he thought her aim might improve as her right shoulder healed. Despite her initial reluctance to handle either rifle or pistol, once she saw what she was capable of, she began to enjoy it. However, he wondered if she would be able to pull the trigger on a human or an inhuman adversary. Target practice was a game, a sport. Killing was a survival tactic.
He gave her a tour of the ranch. She was fascinated by the animals, especially the goats, which came up to her and allowed her pet them and to feed them by hand, something they wouldn’t tolerate from him. He didn’t know if she was genuinely intrigued by his set up, or if she was trying to ingratiate herself into his good graces. His natural distrust of his fellow man, or woman, had hazarded several earlier relationships. Jake’s Law #7 – Trust yourself first; others seldom.
She leaned back against the fence and pointed to the three-hundred-gallon water tank on a ledge above the house. “What’s that for?”
He forced his eyes away from her breasts, which though small jutted provocatively beneath his oversize shirt. “Water storage. I pump water from the well into the holding tank. It keeps the water pressure high enough without using the pump every time. That saves electricity and wear and tear on the pump.”
“What about sewage?”
“I have an eco-friendly sewage tank that efficiently digests the waste. The runoff is clean enough to use to water the plants.”
She pointed to the stone dam and smiled. “Is that your swimming pool?”
He swiped the sweat from his forehead with the palm of his hand, and then wiped his hand across the front of his shirt. “When it’s full of water. Maybe when the monsoons get here.”
“Solar panels on the roof, a well, water tank – you thought this out pretty well, didn’t you?”
He shrugged and pointed to a small adobe brick building near a tall sycamore tree. “My grandfather owned this ranch. He lived in the old house over there. He built it in 1943. He planted the tree when he started the house. I use it for a work shed. I was a county deputy, but I ran an online survivalist and hunter website on the side. I also repaired guns.”
One of the goats stretched its neck through the fence and brushed the back of her leg for attention. She turned and began petting its head. “You saved my life.”
He didn’t know what to say without sounding smug, so he said nothing. When she finished petting the goat, she turned and moved closer to him. She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. Before he could respond, she backed away. It was a coy kiss, but one filled with promise.
“Thank you,” she said.
As she walked away ahead of him, his eyes strayed to her hips. Was she sashaying for his benefit, or was that the way she normally walked? He hadn’t paid close enough attention before, but he was now.
He had spent the last two nights sleeping on the couch, offering her his bed in a gentlemanly manner. He had hoped that she might slip into bed with him or invite him into hers, but she hadn’t, and he didn’t want to force the issue. Her casual offer of sex had weighed heavily on his mind, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to make that last bit of commitment. He was a loner, yet he knew that once committed, he could never send her away. The world had changed, and to a degree, so had he.
As he watched her, he felt his resolve weakening with each step. The idea of sex with her excited him. It had been a long time between lovers, and it had looked as if it might be even longer. He wondered how the agility of her yoga movements translated to sex. It would be interesting to find out.
To his delight, when he reached the house, he found her already naked and waiting in his bed. He felt a surge of relief that she had made the first move. He wasted no time removing his own clothes, flinging them across the room. She reached for him eagerly, and his body responded. His mouth found hers, and then moved down her body, pausing briefly at her breasts. Her soft moans and quiet whispers urging him on only intensified his lust. When she flipped him over onto his back and straddled him, he didn’t complain. He soon learned that he had been right about her yoga.
Afterwards, she snuggled against his side. He was angry at himself for giving in so easily, but satisfied enough to know not to mention it to her. Somewhere along the way, he had made his decision. He wanted her to remain with him. He needed her to stay. If she had manipulated him, it wouldn’t be the first time a woman had used sex to get her way, nor the first time a man had given in for the sake of sex. She got a safe haven. He got companionship. He considered it an even trade.
As if reading his thoughts, she said, “You can still send me away if you want. I’ll understand. I won’t complain. I needed this as much as you did. It’s been too long.”
“We’ll see how things go. If you get fed up with me, let me know.”
He felt her head nod against his side. Then she fell asleep. Thinking that she probably needed the sleep, he eased out of bed so as not to wake her. He strode naked to the balcony. The sun was hot on his skin, but years of outdoor living had tanned and toughened it to a thick hide. Not thick enough that a red-headed slip of a girl couldn’t crawl beneath it, he mused. He glanced back at her sleeping on the bed and experienced a déjà vu of other girlfriends lying there. They hadn’t meant much to him, just temporary companionship. Breaking ties with them had been easier than it should have been, and once gone, he had quickly forgotten them. Why then did this girl affect him so strongly? Because she might be one of the last women on Earth? He thought it must be more than that.
A thought, dark and morbid, came to him. He tried to dismiss it, but it lingered like the aftereffects of a bad dream. Maybe I just want someone to bury my body and grieve over me when I die.
* * * *
June 10, 2016 Split Rock Canyon –
Jessica got the chance to prove her value to him the next morning. A single zombie, its clothing torn and tattered, and with strips of dead flesh hanging from its arms, waited for them outside the wall. He could have shot it easily from the balcony, but he needed to find out if Jessica was capable of facing a zombie and dispatching it. The creature was already dying, barely shambling along. All skin and bones, the creature’s backbone was almost visible through its stomach. It posed no serious threat unless she strayed too close. It was the perfect opportunity to test her mettle.
“You kill it,” he said, as she stood beside him staring down at it.
She gazed at him in horror. “Me? I’ve never shot a zombie.”
“It’s time to learn. Use the rifle.”
She looked at the creature and shook her head. “It’s too far away.”
“We’ll get closer.”
She shook her head more emphatically. “No.”
“If you can’t shoot a zombie, you’re no good to me.” He kept the tone of his voice even, but she understood the veiled threat – shoot it or leave.
She licked her lips and glanced nervously between the zombie and Jake. “What if I miss?”
“I’ll be there.”
She nodded, bu
t didn’t look as certain as she pretended. “Okay.”
He handed her the Browning and picked up the Versa Max 12-gauge. She walked down the path slowly, glancing at him questioningly when he opened the gate and motioned her through. The zombie tottered toward them, its mouth moving as if trying to speak. The only sound that came from its throat was a muted mewling.
“Notice how thin and emaciated it is and how slowly it moves. I call them Shamblers. It will die soon unless it feeds. They’re no real threat unless they outnumber you or catch you by surprise. The ones that chased you are more dangerous. They’re Runners. You can’t take chances with them. Others fit somewhere between Shamblers and Runners. The safe bet is to shoot all of them if they stray too close.”
She nodded and raised the rifle to her left shoulder. At first, the barrel wavered in the air, but after a few moments, she took a deep breath and held it steady. He waited for the shot as the creature drew nearer. Nothing happened. Thinking she might have frozen, when the zombie was less than ten yards away, he raised his shotgun. Then she fired. Her first shot only grazed its shoulder, but she didn’t panic. She quickly ejected the shell, slid a fresh cartridge into the chamber, and fired again. This time, she hit it in the head. A large hole appeared just above its right eye, exiting through an orange-sized crater in the back of its skull. It took two more faltering steps before tripping over its own feet and falling forward onto the dirt. She flinched in surprise but didn’t turn and run.
He let out a sigh of relief. She had passed his first test. He didn’t think he could have sent her packing even if she hadn’t, but he didn’t want her to know that. “Nice shot, but don’t wait so long next time,” he said, trying not to smile. “If you can’t get a head shot, aim for the legs and cripple them. They’re still dangerous, but only if you let them get too close.”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I wanted to make sure I hit it.”
“A little more practice will take care of that.”
“So, I can stay?” she asked, tilting her head and squinting at him.
This time he smiled. “For now.”
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and handed him the rifle. As she walked back through the gate, she flung over her shoulder, “Good. You can dispose of him.”
Sassy. He liked that in a woman.
As he was getting ready to cart away the corpse, he noticed the sound of a dirt bike growing louder. He motioned for Jessica to hide. He loaded a round into the chamber of the rifle and waited beside the gate. It was another few minutes before the bike came into view. He relaxed when he saw the large frame of Alton Reed atop the little Kawasaki dirt bike, looking like a trained bear riding a toy clown scooter. He pulled up in a cloud of dust, removed his helmet, and said, “We’ve got trouble, Deputy.”
Jake shook his head. “I told you I’m no deputy. What trouble? And how did you find me?”
Reed glanced at the ground. “I followed your tire tracks.” Before Jake could comment, Reed continued, “A gang of eight or ten men came into Oracle last night in a five-ton truck and several motorcycles. They’re going door to door, looting and shooting anything that moves. They’re killing zombies, which I don’t mind, but they’re also killing people. I watched them murder an elderly couple just for the hell of it. We’ve got to stop them.”
Jake frowned. Had the Ranger’s badge he wore given Reed the idea that he made a habit of helping people? His days as a cop were long over. He didn’t owe anyone anything. “Why should I interfere?”
“It’s our duty as human beings to help.”
Jessica appeared from behind the wall, startling Reed. He stared at her, as she said, “He’s right. You can’t just let them murder people.”
“Of course I can. I have no intention of tackling ten armed men to save people I don’t know.” He looked at Reed. “My duty to society is finished. They’re your neighbors. You save therm.”
“It seems to me that anyone still alive is our neighbor,” Reed countered indignantly. He glanced at Jessica, smiled, and asked, “Who are you?”
Jake made the introductions. “Jessica Hubley, meet Alton Reed, my new friend who’s trying to get us killed. Jessica might hang around for a while.”
“Lucky you. All I run across is murderous gangs. It looks like they’re settling in to stay. It won’t be safe to move around with them there.”
“We have to do something,” Jessica pleaded.
“You’re doing nothing. You can barely shoot and your shoulder is still healing.” He scowled at Reed, damning him with his eyes for involving him in things he had rather stay out of. Now, to refuse would make him look like a coward in Jessica’s eyes. He was surprised that he cared what she thought of him, but he did. And perhaps the small bit of cop remaining in him put in its two cents worth. “We can’t just take on a dozen armed men,” he protested. “We’ll get slaughtered.”
Reed rummaged in the dirt bike’s saddlebags and produced a six-pack of beer. “I brought beer. Maybe it will help us come up with a plan. Got any chips?”
Jake dragged the zombie corpse away from the gate. He could deal with it later. First things first. It wasn’t a Jake’s Law, but he might need to incorporate it into the litany. If he did, it should rightfully become Jake’s Law #1, but he didn’t feel like re-doing the entire list. He could call it #13.
Jessica played the perfect hostess, placing Reed’s warm beer in the refrigerator and setting three of Jake’s ice-cold Budweiser long necks on the table, along with a bag of pretzels. She sipped her beer but didn’t touch the pretzels. Reed could barely keep his eyes off her as he spoke. Jake couldn’t blame him. She presented a lovely picture.
“They’re holed up in a house near the Oracle Park Inn, mostly getting drunk and doing drugs. At least one of them sits on the balcony on guard at all times, usually guzzling whiskey. They don’t look like militia or anything, mostly bikers or ex-cons, but they’re well armed with rifles, shotguns, and pistols.”
Jake nodded. He knew the type. “They released a lot of prisoners up in Florence when things got bad. They should have executed the lot of them.” He slammed his beer down on the table. “We’ll need a diversion.” He looked at Reed. “Do they all go to the same houses when they’re looting or do they split up?”
“Split up, usually two or three per house. They drag what they want outside, and the truck comes and picks it up.”
Jake looked at Reed with new found appreciation. “How long did you watch them?’
“All night. I left before dawn. I found the dirt bike and pushed it halfway to San Manuel before getting up enough courage to hotwire it.”
Reed flushed when Jessica reached out and patted his hand.
“Hotwired?” Jake asked. “How does a science teacher learn how to hotwire motorcycles and follow tire tracks?”
“Just something I picked up from books.”
“Some books.” He looked at Reed with renewed respect. “We’ll have to take them on two or three at a time. If they’re busy shooting up the place, a few more shots shouldn’t alarm them, but one mistake, and we’re both dead.”
“I’m going too,” Jessica said.
“No way,” Jake said, shaking his head vehemently side to side.
She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “You’ll need someone to drive the jeep if you have to get away in a hurry,” she insisted.
Before Jake could protest, Reed sided with her. “She’s right. If we park too far away, we might not make it back if more of them show up.” He patted his rotund belly. “I’m not exactly built for speed. We can devise a signal if we need her to come pull our chestnuts out of the fire.”
Jake shook his head. Two against one. That meant entrusting his life to two people he wasn’t completely sure of. He tried to think of another plan that didn’t involve her, but couldn’t. Reluctantly, he agreed. “Okay,” he said to Jessica. She flashed him a smile. “But if anything happens, you come straight back here. We’ll make our way back however we can
.”
She nodded.
“We wait until tonight,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll be all liquored up.”
He knew it was too much to hope for. Even drunks stayed somewhat sober around zombies, or they quickly wound up as food. At least they wouldn’t expect armed resistance. Maybe. Reed produced a short length of metal pipe. Its purpose eluded Jake until he saw the fuse dangling from one end. Now, the discarded pipe he had seen in Reed’s RV made sense.
“A pipe bomb?” he questioned.
Reed smiled and nodded. “I took the chemicals I needed for making gunpowder with me when they closed the school. I added a few chemicals to increase the explosive potential. I made two more. I thought it might level the playing field.”
Jake knew a gun enthusiast who had blown himself up while making his own shotgun shells with homemade gunpowder. Black powder and gunpowder could be unpredictable and dangerous, especially for an amateur. He looked at the pipe bomb, a six-inch length of two-inch diameter steel pipe, capped at both ends. The fuse protruded from a hole drilled into one end cap.
“Have you tested it?”
Reed frowned. “No, but I followed the recipe closely. I studied chemistry, remember?”
“I don’t doubt your ability, but I would like to see how much damage it produces.”
Reed studied the pipe bomb in his hand. “Well, I suppose we could detonate it somewhere safe just to be sure.”
“I don’t want to frighten my livestock.” Jake thought for a moment. “I know a place we can go.”
They drove the ATV two miles down the valley to a canyon. When the terrain became too rough for the ATV, they continued on foot. Deep in the mountains, a series of small box canyons sprouted from Kielberg Canyon like tree branches. By the time they reached the canyon he sought, Jake was sweating profusely in the heat, and he considered himself to be in good shape, though he hadn’t exercised much since E-Day. Reed was so exhausted he could barely lift his feet. He took puffs from his inhaler every few hundred yards, but he still wheezed like an out of tune pipe organ. Of the three, only Jessica seemed to handle the brisk hike with impunity. Maybe there’s something to this yoga business after all, he mused.
