Survive

by Todd Sprague

  “Good. Let’s get going.” Sara said quickly. John moved as if to kiss her but she had already gotten back in the vehicle. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

  * * *

  The two vehicles followed the back roads, which in some places turned to dirt, through the little town of Guilford, and reached the south entrance to the compound in under half an hour. Night had fallen by the time they arrived at the barricade. They were met by Richie Kensington, the man who had gone with Jack and the rest of them on the trip to the National Guard bases. He waved as he recognized John and disappeared behind the barricade.

  Moments later, it rolled aside, and John and Sara drove through. They parked just outside the gate to the Mason compound and were met by Patrick and several others. Deirdre was there as well, wringing her hands anxiously exactly like John had seen Sara do. He smiled at their resemblance. Deirdre broke into a huge smile of relief when Jose jumped down out of the turret. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his shirt and now stood there, P90 in hand, still wearing the white headband. He hugged his mother as she ran up, tears streaming down her smiling face. Sara picked up her backpack and gun and took off at a fast walk toward the cabin without saying a word. John moved to follow her but Patrick stopped him.

  “More refugees?” he asked.

  John turned to Patrick. “Yeah, we rescued them from some weird Zed worshiping cult in town.”

  “Seriously? As if everything else weren’t bad enough already. Lord almighty, who needs Zeds when you have people like that?”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” John started to walk off after his wife.

  “Oh, I sent the trucks back up to the base. Jack’s in charge. He already radioed back that they were okay and bedded down for the night. They should be back tomorrow afternoon.”

  “That’s great, Uncle Patrick. Listen, can we do this later? I need to go make sure Sara’s alright. It was pretty rough out there. And from now on, downtown is off limits.”

  Patrick nodded. He walked off toward the new refugees, welcoming them.

  John ran up the driveway toward the cabin. As he reached it, he found Sara doubled over on the porch, vomiting over the side. He came up behind her and gently held her hair up and out of her way. After several minutes, she stopped and turned around. “God damn, a girl can’t even puke in peace,” she noted. She wiped her face and jumped into his arms. John felt her sobbing quietly but said nothing, just holding her. Eventually, she stopped and pushed back, looking up at him.

  Before she could speak, John beat her to it. “The first time is always the hardest. But it never really gets easier.”

  “What?” she asked, looking confused. She wiped tears from her eyes with her sleeve.

  “Killing someone. I don’t mean Zeds, either.”

  “But, they were going to kill us. They were bad people! They were eating people for Christ’s sake! I don’t feel bad, John. Not one bit. You don’t mess with my little brother and think you can get away with it. I was happy to have nonviolent arguments with hate filled religious bigots when they were protesting gay marriage down in Massachusetts, but if you fuck with my family, expect to get fucked with.”

  “I know, baby, and they deserved it. You did good today. I’m really proud of you.”

  She smiled at him, happy to have his approval. “I don’t want to do that again if I can help it.”

  “Good. I don’t want you to have to do that ever again either.”

  As John opened the cabin door, Princess hurtled out of the dark interior and jumped into his arms. All three fell to the floor laughing as Princess gifted them with puppy slobber.

  Chapter 15

  October 31, Zed Year One

  Brattleboro Vermont

  The days immediately following the rescue of Jose and the others from the strange Zed cult were filled with activity. Several trips were made to the National Guard base for supplies, until it was, for all intents and purposes, cleaned out. Those same supplies had to be stored, and for that, temporary shelters were erected around the Mason compound. Some were made from logs and planks taken from a nearby lumber yard, others were tents taken from the National Guard bases or tarps thrown over the non-perishable goods such as clothing, boots, tools, and other miscellaneous items. John was amazed at what the residents had been able to do in only a few days when they didn’t have to follow building codes or OSHA standards.

  John began organizing a training program for the survivors, now numbering over a hundred in the Mason compound alone. A large group that had wandered in on their own while he and Sara had been out looking for Jose, along with the folks they had rescued, had significantly added to the group’s population. The Kensingtons on the other side of the valley now consisted of thirty-nine survivors.

  The training program consisted of firearms safety and use, as well as what limited battlefield first aid John thought might be necessary. Each adult was trained and given a weapon, either an M16, P90, or one of the other various weapons they’d collected, including several models of pistols as well. John further organized some of the adults into squads for special duties. One of the squads he called the Fast Response Safety Team, or F.R.S.T. They, of course, called themselves First Squad. They were issued P90s and were charged with always carrying their weapons and ammo, even while off duty, as they would respond first to any Zed appearance at the barricades or anywhere else in the valley. They had the use of a few four-wheelers salvaged from a local motorcycle dealership in order to better respond to any incident within the valley.

  John also set up and began training special squads who would be responsible for protecting the scavengers and other groups who had to leave the valley for various reasons. Two more Humvees had been added to the fleet of vehicles. A post and beam garage had been built just outside the gate, on the other side of the road, where the vehicles could be maintained as well as the few mechanics in the valley could manage.

  Sara kept her young charges learning at a faster pace than children in the old days. John loved to stand outside the window of the little school house and listen as Sara instructed her students on everything from history to math to science to firearm safety. She had a knack for teaching to the most advanced students while bringing the younger ones right along with them. He was most impressed that the children seemed to love her accelerated teaching style.

  The teaching of firearm safety had been a tough decision for many. There had been an impromptu town meeting about it when a few of the parents and foster parents had objected. The objections had been quickly overturned when Sara had reminded them that most of the children didn’t have parents anymore and that guns were a tool that each of them would have to master to stay alive in the new Zed order. Even Douglas, who had been one of the initial objectors, couldn’t deny the logic and let the matter drop.

  But one thing dominated everyone’s mind in those few days, and managed to keep a smile on peoples faces even through all the hard work and the cold, fall days. Halloween.

  “Where did you get all the pumpkins?” John asked, staring wide eyed at the pyramid of orange, basketball sized gourds piled behind their cabin.

  “Morgan and Jose found them this morning in a field a mile down the road from the southern barricade,” Sara said, smiling in satisfaction. “They gathered all the good ones they could find and brought them back.”

  “They went out alone?” John said, a touch of anger rising in his voice.

  “Relax, John. They took some of your escort squad with them.”

  His face relaxed, and he even felt a smile form on his lips. Maybe he was being too hard on Sara lately. “Sorry. I just don’t want to risk anyone we don’t have to. But wow, look at this! I hadn’t even thought about pumpkins. You’re really going all out for this party, aren’t you?”

  “When have you ever known me not to go all out for a party?”

  John chuckled and shook his head. He froze in mid shake, eyes going wide. “Wait, does this mean...”

  “O
h yeah, baby. Pies. Pumpkin Pies.”

  “I love you.”

  * * *

  The festivities started in the afternoon on the thirty-first. It was a Sunday, but Sara had begun teaching the children six days a week instead of five, Sunday through Friday, so school had to be let out early. The decision to teach on Sundays instead of Saturdays had been far less controversial than expected, and it helped fill the gap that a sudden absence of church activities had opened up in many people’s lives.

  Children ran and jumped and laughed as they burst from the little school house, hats and coats half on as they jostled each other to be the first out the door. John jumped aside as he walked up the little pathway toward the school. The children waved to him as they ran past. He laughed and waved back.

  Sara was walking around the classroom, picking books and pencils up from desks, humming a Beatles tune to herself. She glanced up as John walked into the room, the afternoon sun streaming in through the open doorway behind him. She smiled as he kissed her.

  “Well hello there, handsome.”

  “Howdy, Ms. Sara,” he said, smiling. “I just narrowly avoided being the victim of a stampede outside. What did you do to them to make them want to escape so badly?”

  “Oh don’t blame that on me. They are working on a surprise for the party tonight. They won’t tell me what it is, but they’re very excited about it.”

  “A surprise? That sounds rather ominous.”

  “You have no idea. I love teaching these kids, John. They are all so bright and anxious to learn. Even though most of them have been through the meat grinder, they still act like children. They’re amazing.”

  “They’re certainly adjusting better than many of the grown ups out there.”

  “So, are you here on business, or pleasure?” Sara asked, raising her eyebrows as she pulled her husband closer to her body. John smiled down at her.

  “I thought I’d come and ask the teacher if she wants to have a little lunch with me before the party starts. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  Sara’s eyes lit up. “Oh? What is it?”

  John sat the little basket he’d been carrying behind his back down on a desk and opened it up. “How about a quiet little picnic, just the two of us?” He pulled a bright red thermos out of the basket. “I’ve got some apple cider, too.”

  Sara beamed at him. “Sounds perfect!”

  * * *

  After their private lunch, John left Sara to her party preparations. He walked throughout the camp until he came to a big green army surplus tent. In front of the tent, an iron stove had been erected. Smoke curled up from a roaring fire, dispelling the October chill from the air. In front of the tent, Jose sat on a stump, a piece of blackened, shriveled plastic in his hand. He cursed loudly and threw the offending piece onto the ground. He turned to the opening of the little tent and mumbled, “I told you the fire was too hot.”

  “Hey, Jose. Things not going well?”

  Jose looked up, startled. Dark circles surrounded his eyes. “Oh, it’s fine, for the most part. I just wasn’t paying enough attention to this one and it caught on fire. It’s the last piece, too.”

  John started to look inside the tent but Jose jumped up and intercepted him, standing between John and the half open tent flap.

  “It’s not done yet. I don’t want anyone to see it until it’s ready.”

  John nodded. “Okay, no problem, man. I was just curious. I guess you found everything you needed?”

  Jose nodded quickly. “Yeah, I had a little trouble finding enough leather, but your uncle Patrick helped me find enough. I’m going to have it done before the party if I can just get this last piece to bend how I want it.”

  John clapped Jose on the back. “Alright, I’ll let you get to it, but make sure you come down to the party and have some fun tonight. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

  “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Jose said. Then he looked up at John and shrugged. “Maybe.”

  That seems to be our motto lately, John thought to himself.

  * * *

  Evening came on quickly in the late fall in Vermont. One minute the sun was shining, warming with its rays, and the next, nightfall was upon them. The party had been going for a while, and several big bonfires dotted the compound. Everyone but the barricade guards wandered about, drinking apple cider, beer, wine, and various other things they’d found or brewed themselves. Sara had set up cooking fires and tables around the camp, each loaded with different kinds of foods and beverages. “Just like a round robin!” she had explained. “Everyone will have to move around and mingle to get a full meal.” John had laughed when she explained her plan to socialize the original compound members with the new ones. It was so Sara. Everything from roast turkey and venison, beef, bear stew, and chicken to pumpkin and apple pies loaded the tables, and her plan was working. Everyone was mixing and mingling, chatting together about the weather, the children, and other normalities. The Kensingtons came over and joined in, bringing food and drink to add to the party.

  One of the generators had been co-opted for music, with someone’s I-pod connected to some old stereo equipment they’d found in a nearby house. Big old speakers stood on tripods around the place, with festive, upbeat music thumping out in the night. Christmas lights were connected to the generator and snaked through the tree limbs that were losing more leaves as Autumn took its toll.

  John Mason strolled through the compound, a thick slab of bear steak on a plate in his hand, with canned potatoes and carrots piled next to the dark brown meat. A smile lit his face as he caught a whiff of pumpkin pie. He found Sara sitting on a bench gobbling down turkey and dressing, drowned in canned gravy. She was wearing the fancy pink taffeta dress he had brought her. He sat down next to her and took a big bite of his steak.

  “That dress looks really great on you, sweetheart.”

  Sara grinned at him around a mouthful of turkey.

  “Why thank you!” she exclaimed after chewing her food. “And thanks for getting it for me. I feel like I’m at a prom, class of 1985.”

  He laughed. “You know how I feel about girls from the eighties! Halloween is the one night a year you’ll let me remember what big hair does to me. Plus I understand how important this party is to you, you should look extra special tonight.”

  Sara smoothed her pretty pink dress out with one hand, beaming at John. “I tried to tease my hair, but without hairspray, it fell flat.”

  Just then, Douglas ran up to to the couple, puffing from the exertion. He waved a wrinkled piece of white paper in front of John.

  “What’s wrong, Doug?” John stood up, a worried look on his face.

  “I found more!” Douglas panted.

  “More what? Calm down. Just spit it out, man.”

  “More survivors. I found more survivors on the radio. I found two more compounds, and they think there are at least two more that don’t have radios yet.”

  “What? Really? Where?”

  “The biggest one is over on the coast, near Portsmouth, New Hampshire. They have almost a thousand survivors! And another one near Manchester with three hundred survivors. They think there are at least two more to the north, in the White Mountains, but they don’t have radios.” Douglas grinned.

  “Well hell, that’s good news!” John smiled, ignoring Douglas’ redundancy in his excitement. He saw Sara wipe her eyes. “We’re not alone.”

  The festivities continued, food and drink flowing freely. A few of the survivors had pulled out battered old guitars and other instruments and played for awhile, making everyone smile. Finally, Sara stood up on the mismatched stage she’d had built out of old pallets and plywood. The music died down as she raised her voice.

  “We have a special treat tonight. The children have made something they’d like to share with us. I have no idea what it is, but they’re very excited about it, so let’s see what they’ve made.”

  Scattered clapping and laughter bubbled up from the crowd o
f happy party-goers as Sara stepped down and found John in front of the stage. Several of the children, dressed in makeshift costumes resembling everything from animals to clowns to things no one could identify, pushed a tall, tarp-covered contraption on wheels up onto the stage. John looked at the three children they’d taken in with pride as they pushed and pulled the lumbering object into place. Finally, they seemed happy with its location.

  One boy, about twelve years old, blond with bright blue eyes, walked up to the tarp, reached under it, and came back with an old wooden Louisville slugger in his hand. He yanked the tarp down with the other hand as the children cheered wildly.

  The adults in the crowd became silent.

  On stage, the tarp fell completely to the ground and revealed a life size, papier-mache Zed, complete with tattered old clothing. Its face leered eerily, pale and marred by blood-red scars and bone-white teeth. Pieces of black coal glittered in deep eye sockets. Stringy hair hung limply from its head. The Zed hung by a noose, tied to a wooden frame the enterprising young children had somehow built in secret.

  As the adults looked on in silent horror, the children formed a circle around the wooden frame. Each of them held a stick or bat of some kind. The circle began rotating around the frame as the children laughed. As they passed behind the Zed, each child swung at it before moving on so the next child could take a turn. They hooted and howled wildly as they hit it.

  Then, as one, the children began chanting as they took their turns hitting the Zed.

  “Dead man, dead man,

  shamble along,

  dead man, dead man,

  what went wrong?

  dead man, dead man,

  we are few

  dead man, dead man,

  but we’ll kill you.”

  Sara muttered, “Oh god.”

  Many of the adults began to whisper to each other. A few were openly weeping.