by Joseph Coley
Rick stepped up the ladder first, clanging metal the whole way up. He shoved the turkey over the top of the wall towards Boyd, who admired the day’s catch.
“Woo! We are gonna have a good dinner tonight, fellas! How’d ya’ll bag such a big sumbitch? This fucker must be thirty pounds!” Boyd noted.
“Because I had to track the damn thing for almost four hours before I finally got a shot on it,” Joe said as he reached the top of the ladder. Rick extended a helping hand out to his father and helped pull him up. “I’ll take that now, Boyd.”
Boyd handed the turkey back to Joe quickly. “Oh yeah, yeah. Sorry Joe.”
“Don’t mention it. Just want to get this cleaned and cooking in time for dinner. Have a good one, Boyd. I’ll see you at supper.” Joe tossed the turkey over his shoulder and started away from the wall.
Boyd fidgeted with his rifle for a moment before hollering out. “Hey Joe! I got a quick question for you!”
Joe stopped and turned to face the young man. “What is it, Boyd?”
“Well, I’ve been talking to Larry about helping out a little more here and I just wondered if you could put a good word in for me with him. I’d love to get outside the wall some, and I’m a hell of a shot.” Boyd quickly spoke and eagerly waited for Joe’s response.
“I’ll see what I can do, Boyd. No promises, though.”
“Thanks man! If you ever need one of your knives sharpened, just holler at me! I’ll do yours for free!” Boyd’s voice carried louder as Joe walked away. Joe threw a thumb up back at the kid as he continued towards the other side of town.
Once they were outside earshot, Rick leaned in towards his father. “You aren’t gonna let him outside the wall, are you?”
Joe chuckled. “Why not? He’s older than you are and you get to go out all the time.”
“I don’t know, he just seems a little…off,” Rick replied.
“In a world where the dead come back to life, the term ‘a little off’ needs a little more clarification. Boyd pulls more guard duty than most of us do. I think we should reward hard work like that. Don’t you?”
Rick shrugged his shoulders as they turned left towards their “chow hall.” The chow hall was the only building within the walled town where food was brought and prepared. It was also the only building in town that had a working gas grill to cook. There was an ample stash of propane tanks and natural gas to cook with stored behind it. In the pre-apocalypse days, it had been a grocery store with a full deli and plenty of food-filled shelves. Now it sat full of tables, chairs, picnic tables, and other places to sit and eat. It was located about a mile from the motel, so working up an appetite going to breakfast was not a difficult task.
“I guess if you trust him, then I should too, right?”
“I never said that I trusted him – he hasn’t had a chance yet – so I say we at least give him a chance to prove himself. We don’t have too many people begging to go out and the ones that do get to are starting to resent when they have to. I think it may be time for a changing of the guard, so to speak. It’s stressful enough around here without having to hate your job on top of it,” Joe pointed out.
“So does that mean I can change jobs if I want to?”
Joe playfully smacked Rick on the back of the head. You’re stuck with me, boy.”
Rick playfully nudged Joe back and grinned. “Whatever, gramps. I was just gonna ask when I can take over your job, you old fart.”
Joe let out an amused whine. “Son, nobody wants my job.”
“What are you talking about? I’d love to have your job. You get to make the decisions; you get to figure out how things are run around here. You and Larry pretty much run this place by yourselves.”
“No, the people run this place. Larry and I just make sure that they have what they need to do what we ask of them. It’s the way government is supposed to work, not the way that it used to work.”
Rick waved dismissively. “Yeah, but you don’t have to worry about being elected. The people pretty much just choose whether or not they want you to keep running this place.”
“Yeah, and God forbid they should change their minds. I don’t think they’d bother with impeachment; they’d probably just shoot me and be done with it. That’s why we keep as many people happy as we can. We compromise when it’s necessary and we hammer our point hard when it’s not. People might think that I have the final say in everything, but they don’t realize that it’s them that have the last word.”
“Well you’d better hope that Reggie doesn’t have the last word when it comes to that.”
Joe frowned. Reggie had been a particular thorn in his side since coming back with Captain White. As soon as the team had come back with one more than they left with, he had started complaining. A hardcore liberal, Reggie had declared that we had no right to hold Captain White against his will, despite the atrocities that Joe told about. Joe told of the conscripting, the raids, and the murderous plot against his ZBRA team, among others. Joe had no basis for the argument as both of the perpetrators had been killed before they could carry out the mission. Mike reconsidered and managed to keep Curtis alive, his last full measure of devotion was what kept Curtis among the living. Wagner had taken it upon himself to work for “The Captain” not knowing that he was walking into a trap of his own. From what little information Joe had gathered from Captain White, he’d intended to kill Wagner once the job had been completed.
Reggie represented everything that was wrong with the world before the end. He was in favor of trying to strike a deal with Captain White and the Peacemakers, obviously not caring that they would do to him what they had planned to do to Wagner. Reggie had a few sympathizers, but was by far not the majority. Joe thought that it irked Reggie badly. In the days before, Reggie seemed like he would be the person to take up a cause for the simple reason of pissing someone else off. He would have been for gun control when everyone around him was against it. He would be the lone dissenter when there was an easy decision to be made. He would be the one to complain that killing the wildlife around Tazewell was not only cruel, but against God’s will. If the Good Lord wanted the human race to be taken out by the Romero Virus, then who were they to argue.
Reggie did not eat with the rest of the town; instead, he grew his own. He rarely traded with anyone in town apart from taking a few seeds to keep his stash of food and marijuana plentiful. Reggie had grown pot for several years, according to Larry. In another life, Reggie had been an attorney, prosecuting the people for the very plant that he now possessed. When it happened that he needed meat, he would fish from the small section of the Clinch River that was within the confines of town. He never left the safety of the walls. He did not have a gun, a conscientious objector to the bitter end.
“Reggie is just happy being Reggie. I don’t give a shit if he wants to take up a donation for PETA; he’s still just gonna be the lone dissenter when it comes to anything I do. I’ve tried talking to him, I really have, but he won’t listen. Besides, he doesn’t have anything that we want and we sure as shit don’t have anything that he wants. As long as he keeps his bullshit to himself, it’ll be live and let live.”
“See, that’s why you are one of the people in charge around here. If it was me, I would’ve kicked his ass out by now,” Rick said half-joking.
“Well we can’t just kick people out because we don’t agree with what they say. That was one of the big problems before the world went to shit. You can’t just stuff your beliefs down someone else’s throat and then bitch and moan when it doesn’t work. This country was founded on the principles that ‘all men are created equal’ and I think it’s high time that we start getting back to that.”
“Amen to that, dad. I’m all for equality and shit, but just don’t expect me to respect that kind of behavior from him. He doesn’t do shit around here and probably never will. That laziness just doesn’t sit right with me. I work my ass off to bring people food and whatever else they need; I just expect a littl
e respect in return. As long as he don’t ask for stuff from the rest of us, God bless him. Let him get good and stoned one night and drown in the river for all I care.”
Joe laughed. “What’s got you riled up today?”
“I got guard duty after dinner. And trust me, nothing would suit me better than to just put a bullet in Captain White and be done with him, too.”
“Well, I can’t be picking favorites around here or people might get the wrong idea,” Joe replied. They were less than a quarter-mile from the chow hall now, the giant tan-colored building in sight. Before the zombies, it had been a Food Lion. “I tell you what, Curtis and I will come by and play cards with you some tonight and pass the time. Sound good?”
Rick smiled. “I suppose it’s better than sitting there with Jamie and cleaning guns all night long.”
“Hey, he keeps all our guns in tip-top shape. Be grateful that he does. Everybody had a specialty around here; his is guns, ammo, and explosives.” Joe winked at his son. “Just remember that the next time we have to go out on a mission.”
Rick chuckled. “So what is my specialty then?”
“Long-range targets.”
“Yeah, but that’s only useful for zombies.”
“Not necessarily. You’ve bagged a couple nice deer from long range. Those deer feed the people here. You keep the people happy which makes my job a hell of a lot easier. I appreciate that more than anything, son,” Joe said, clapping Rick on the back.
“Thanks, dad.” Rick and Joe were now in the parking lot of the old Food Lion. One of the larger buildings inside the wall, the Food Lion served as their chow hall, meeting place, and general social gathering spot. It, like most buildings in town, was a little worse for wear, but served its purpose well. The shelves were taken out and all the interior contents removed except for the kitchen utensils and cooking area. There was ample room in the old store for their “town hall” style meetings, held usually once a week.
Rick and Joe strode into the big building. The early afternoon smell of potatoes and other vegetables was a daily affair. The kitchen prepared two meals a day most days. It was difficult enough to take care of just those two meals. Most days it was eggs and ham for breakfast, with the occasional addition of potatoes followed by deer or turkey for dinner. There was a garden maintained just outside the limits of the wall, guarded at all times. Corn, potatoes, green beans, and onions were grown nearly year-round. Any extras were canned and stored on-site. There were a few cases of MRE’s left. They were saved for the crews that would have to go out for extended periods. A single MRE had over 2,000 calories and could maintain a person’s energy for several days if necessary.
Joe and Rick walked towards the smell of cooking vegetables. Even though it was only three in the afternoon, the cooking started early to make sure dinner was ready by six o’clock.
“Hello? Anybody home? Angel, you back there?” Joe hollered as he approached the counter. The glass front of the deli had been taken out, as well as the coolers, leaving just a counter about chin-high. The food was served and handed over the counter – the soup kitchen of the apocalypse.
Joe peered over the counter. “Guys?”
An excited little girl ran out from behind the counter, her brown, waist length hair bouncing behind her. She spotted Joe and Rick. Joe recognized her as Victoria, one of the children that Angel took care of during the day. Angel wasn’t in charge of the kitchen, but instead took care of the children in town. It wasn’t exactly daycare, but the kids were taken care of nonetheless. The parents could drop their children off with Angel and Heather – Heather was the one in charge of the kitchen – and go about their day doing whatever needed to be done. The town was a microcosm of its former self, with everyone helping one another.
“Hey Joe! Hey Rick!” Victoria greeted. Her southern accent was so deeply ingrained in her that “Rick” sounded more like “Wick” most of the time. She was only a little over four years old. Her vocabulary and grammar weren’t the best, but formal education took a back seat to survival education.
“Hey, Victoria. Where’s Angel and Heather? We got us a big ‘ol bird for them to cook for dinner. You like turkey?”
“Yes I do! It’s yummy!”
Joe knelt down and ruffled the little girl’s hair. She playfully batted his hand away and laughed. “So where is the babysitter?”
“She’s right here. Sorry fellas, just trying to corral some of the little ones,” Angel said, appearing from back in the kitchen. She smiled and motioned towards Joe and Rick. “I see you brought dinner.”
Joe returned the smile, making eye contact with the blonde-haired woman. She was a full eight years younger than he was, but she had an intelligence that was well beyond her years. Joe had met her a few days after arriving in town. After taking out Captain White, Larry had taken the next few days to introduce Joe and his team to the rest of the town. While some were indifferent to their presence, most welcomed them in with open arms. Angel was one of the ones who had taken to Joe immediately. She was an unmarried, attractive, woman whose fiancé had died in the early days of the apocalypse.
She had narrowly avoided becoming a victim herself when the outbreak started, as she was trapped in her house alone for nearly three days before venturing out. The minute she had walked out, she was nearly shot by a tall, skinny kid who was raiding the neighbor’s houses near her. The kid was a horrible shot – mainly due to excessive hours of Call of Duty – and his shots sailed wide left. She darted back inside and waited until someone came knocking. Several days later, someone finally did. It was Larry and several others that took her from her residence and escorted her to the motel for safekeeping. In that time, Angel had become fast friends with Larry’s wife, Paige, and some of the other families. She had spent the last near-decade becoming a hardened zombie killer with a soft side and a fondness for babysitting. It was her idea to start the makeshift daycare and give the parents in town a break if need be. The parents always had a secondary person lined up to take care of their children if they did not return. The children were always taken care of.
“I would say to take a picture ‘cause it’ll last longer, but I haven’t seen a camera in years,” Angel said, winking at Joe.
Joe hadn’t realized that he was staring at her until she spoke. He wasn’t sure if he was in love, but there were stirrings in his heart that he hadn’t felt for a long time. It was a wonderful feeling, and one that he hoped would continue. He blushed and looked away coyly. “Sorry, just daydreaming.”
“Daydreaming while staring at me, huh.” Angel again winked at Joe. “Must’ve been one hell of a dream.”
More blushing. “Yes ma’am. I was wondering if you…”
“Curtis to Joe.” The tinny speaker attached to the radio crackled. Joe growled inaudibly and keyed up the radio, not taking his eyes off Angel as she waited.
“Yeah, Curtis. What is it?”
“Need you over at the jail, buddy. Larry is on his way. We got something we need to talk to you about.”
Joe frowned at the radio. “What does Captain White want now?”
“He says he’s ready to talk, but he’ll only speak to you.”
“Roger that. It’s about fuckin’ time. Send Larry over with the Dodge to pick Rick and I up. We’re over at the chow hall droppin’ off dinner.”
“Copy. He’s on the way.”
Joe clipped the radio back on his LBV and looked back up to Angel. “Duty calls. You and Heather take care of dinner. I’m gonna expect good things out of you if you keep up that sunny disposition much longer.”
Angel smiled. “You can expect a lot more than that if you’d like.”
Joe couldn’t help but blush just one more time.
CHAPTER 3
April 17, 2022 – 1513 Hours
“I don’t know why he’s all the sudden changed his mind, but I don’t like it. It doesn’t make any sense. I’d take whatever he has to say with a big grain of salt,” Larry said as he drove on through
the center of town to the other end of the wall.
Larry wheeled the truck alongside the building and threw it in park.
“Let’s go see what he wants,” Larry said as he exited the truck.
The Tazewell County Jail was a four-story steel and concrete structure. It sat on Main Street in town and represented the far edge of the wall. The building was only accessible from one side, the other being the exit for the wall. To the left and right of the exit were phone poles driven into the ground and pavement. Railroad ties and old four-by-four wood planks made up the wall itself. The wall was considerably higher, measuring at least twelve feet tall as far as Joe could tell. The jail itself made up a large chunk of it. To get in from the outside required someone to be at the sally port of the jail. Once inside, the myriad of locked doors ensured that if you were inside, then you were meant to be there. Six locked doors stood between the sally port and the inside of town. Plus, having somewhere to keep prisoners was never a bad thing
Two guards were posted outside Captain White’s room. The first man was about fifty years old, but had a face that told the story of a rough life. He was one of the few men in town Joe had seen that did not sport a full beard, opting for a five-o’clock shadow look instead. He carried one of the M4’s that Joe had brought from Camp Dawson slung over his shoulder, the barrel pointed down.
Joe extended a hand to the man. Being one of the few that he hadn’t met yet, he wanted to make a good impression. “Good afternoon, I’m Joe. I see you’ve got one of my M4’s there, partner. And judging by the way you’ve got it in chow sling, I’d say that you are prior military.”
The old man cracked a dry smile and reached his hand out to meet Joe’s. A hearty handshake followed. “Jim Crowley. Retired Staff Sergeant, U.S. Army. Did a tour in the first Gulf War and Panama.”
“Nice to have you on board, Jim. Mr. Crowley, you said?”
