Michael blanched after taking a look.
“And Tara’s.”
This target had a single shot through the red sticker, two above it, and seven more below. They formed a little happy face. Again, it wasn’t flawless, but close enough. If you ever saw the first Lethal Weapon movie, it was along those lines.
Michael expression became even more entertaining.
“Sorry, but I don’t think you beat either one.”
“Dad!”
Mary was a little too pleading. I sighed. I couldn’t keep teasing like this.
“Here’s the deal. We’ve been working together for a long time. You’re a good enough shot, but you haven’t trained with any of us. How am I supposed to use you, to fit you in so quickly?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Any others want to come?” I asked. “You might get killed or just spend a lot of time sitting around doing nothing. I don’t really know how it will turn out.”
Two men raised their hands, and a lone woman stepped forward.
“They any good?” I asked the mayor, softly.
“All go hunting regularly. They can shoot, and they’re basically good people.”
“You four can join up as an auxiliary unit if you want. Anyone here under sixteen?”
As it was, Michael was sixteen, Lori eighteen, Rus nineteen and his brother, Sam, seventeen. We had a solid run of sixteen to nineteen. It could be meaningful or possibly random chance. Okay, it was clearly random.
“If you aren’t going to listen to orders, don’t come along. We will not tolerate any nonsense. I am serious about that.”
Michael glanced at Mary who nodded.
“We just want to help,” he said.
Later that night I had Lizzy question them – she is good at prying information out of others. It turned out that Rus and Sam had wanted to join the Yellowstone militia but neither was very bright, and they had a tendency to get into fights. They’d been tossed from the training program following a brawl. Lizzy told them, quite clearly, that they better not try that with her around. Lori had been going through life as normally as possible. She did not give a specific reason for joining, just saying she thought it was the right thing to do.
Interlude – Marcus’s Story
Marcus journeyed north with three others, Tyler, Arlene, and Alan (not to be confused with the Alan who handles our livestock and farming). Due to the shambling dead’s widespread disbursement, travel had grown perilous, leading them to avoid the highways altogether and take tiny county lanes and agricultural roads instead. They had a pair of four wheel drive SUVs, were well armed, and carried ample supplies including extra gasoline to cover their needs if the trip took longer than expected. The way things were going, that was a very real possibility.
The chosen route roughly paralleled US-85. The initial stretch had been confirmed clear of obstructions – Ronnie overflew the first hundred miles – and they passed through quickly. Things became more interesting once they reached I-94.
“What do you think?” asked Arlene.
The four were standing a few hundred yards from the crossing. There was an unusually small number of abandoned and wrecked cars in sight, despite being only a few miles east of Dickinson. However, there was no shortage of zombies, with several dozen close enough to be considered an immediate threat.
“We should be able to get up on the overpass easy enough,” replied Marcus. “Nothing on it that I can see except for what looks to be a single motorcycle, and that’s off by one side. Road beyond looks to be good too.”
“A bunch are going to follow us when we cross,” pointed out Tyler. The young man had a hammer in one hand. The composite handle was longer than normal, allowing him to impact with tremendous force. “Want to try leading them away first?”
“No.” Marcus tossed the binoculars through the open door. They landed on the back seat. “We do it like usual, skirting around and driving on by.”
There were no objections, so they piled back into their SUVs with Arlene sitting beside Marcus. He led the way, moving as slowly as he dared, trying to keep an eye out for anything that might prove dangerous, in addition to the shambling dead. They reached the bridge without any difficulty, started across, passed the motorcycle complete with scattered bones which might have belonged to its rider, and came to an abrupt halt.
“That’s not good,” said Arlene.
Barring the way was a twisting pile of steel bars. They weren’t part of the overpass or debris from a fallen sign. No, this was a mishmash of industrial metal, possibly dropped by a truck years before.
“Area behind us is filling up,” commented Tyler. “Want to pull back while we still can?”
“I say we just drive over it and keep going,” argued Alan.
“Can’t.” Marcus shook his head. “Too many sharp edges, and some parts are pretty high. We might get hung up, and at least one tire is bound to blow.”
“Guys, we need a decision.” Arlene’s voice rose. “We need it now.”
“This can be cleared, definitely. Okay, you and Tyler kill anything coming up after us. Me and Alan will toss these.” Marcus went back to his SUV and retrieved a pair of leather work gloves. “Alan, get your rifle and keep it handy.”
* * *
Arlene and Tyler hurriedly took up positions near the edge of the overpass. She drew her pistol, but held back. Tyler had moved to the forefront, brandishing his hammer. The man was large and possessed the necessary strength to put it to good use. While there were plenty of zombies approaching, they were spread out. Tyler should be able to engage them one at a time, and if she started shooting, more would certainly hear and come to join in the fun.
Her companion waited patiently for the first to reach him. Only then did he respond, lunging forward and bringing the hammer down on the monster’s skull. It split open, and Tyler jerked the weapon free before spinning to the left and striking another on the temple. That zombie fell as well.
* * *
“Damn,” swore Alan. “These are heavy.”
He helped Marcus drag one of the longer poles to the side.
“We have to toss them over. Just dropping it here won’t work.”
“You sure? That’s going to make lots of noise.”
“There are too many,” confirmed Marcus, “and too many different shapes. They would tip over or spill. The road’s too narrow.”
The pair manhandled the bar up against the railing and let it fall. Alan paused long enough to see the thing slam into a zombie, knocking the beast from its feet. Nice.
* * *
“Marcus and Alan are making lots of noise,” remarked Arlene.
Tyler gave her what might have been a nod of acknowledgement. He took down another shambler and quickly hopped backward out of reach before the two behind it could grab him.
“Can you keep this up?”
“I’m good.” He was breathing hard. “Don’t start shooting yet.”
“Got more coming, your left. I’m guessing they’re a couple minutes out.” She glanced over the side. “Lots on the highway are heading our way too, but they seem to be going to where the debris are piling up. Not sure if they’ll notice us, at least not right away.”
* * *
Marcus noted the changing situation as well. He and Alan were making progress, but a few zombies were approaching their side of the bridge.
“You may be using that rifle real soon,” he cautioned.
Alan grunted in reply, and they tossed another of the steel bars over the edge. It looked to be the last of the big ones. The remainder should go fast.
“Almost there,” said Marcus. “I can get the rest. Go ahead and shoot any coming up our side.”
The protective covering over his scope was carefully removed, and Alan opened fire.
* * *
“Fuck!” Arlene hadn’t expected that. Zombies might have shitty eyesight, but they could hear just fine, and every last one within a mile or so was now he
ading their way. “I’m going to start shooting too. I’ll be on your right.”
Tyler shifted his focus accordingly, trusting her to cover that flank.
* * *
“Good enough.” Marcus pushed the final few bars to the side. “Let’s get out of here.”
Alan nodded and hurried back to the SUV he shared with Tyler. He paused for a moment to shoot the nearest shamblers, then yelled for Tyler to get his ass in the car. He came running, with Arlene only a few feet behind.
“This was riskier than I like,” complained the woman, as she closed the door behind her. “We really should have gone around. That was too much time in the open.”
“It worked though. Didn’t it?”
Arlene failed to respond, and Marcus accelerated. Swerving to the right, he clipped a zombie with the edge of the bumper. It went airborne and splatted a second later.
“You know better,” she chided.
“Couldn’t help myself.” Marcus let out a low chuckle. “Radio the others and tell them we’re going to pick up the pace, until we get past the mob. Hopefully it’ll clear up soon.”
* * *
Things calmed down soon after, and the group eventually reached the banks of Lake Sakakawea. There had been several stops to refuel, and Marcus managed to recover a few gallons from a wrecked sports car lying upside down in a ditch. That was the extent of it. Most of their needs, as anticipated and planned for, were met by the jerry cans they carried in the back. It was getting ever more difficult to scavenge gasoline on the road.
It was quiet near the water, and they took the opportunity to partake in a late lunch before trying for the settlement. According to intel supplied by the military, there were people living on a small island a hundred yards from the shore, roughly three or four miles to their east.
“Ready?”
Marcus received two nods and one thumbs up, so they pressed on. A few minutes later they came across a small dock surrounded by a recently mowed field of grass. That meant people were about, and he carefully pulled off the road, parking near the water’s edge. The dock itself consisted of roughhewn planks nailed to posts that had likely begun their lives as telephone poles. Someone built this recently. It wasn’t pretty, but it appeared solid.
“Keep an eye out,” he cautioned, stepping onto the dock. There was a faint mist covering the water, but Marcus could make out lights some distance ahead.
“Zombie,” announced Arlene.
Tyler waited for the thing to reach them before he brought the hammer down. “Done,” he said, simply.
“Good, and we have some real people coming our way as well. Looks like a fishing boat.” Marcus patted his side where the .45 automatic was resting in its holster. “Be ready for anything, but try to look friendly.”
The boat drew close. Inside were three men, all somewhere around middle age and well armed. Still, none seemed surprised at the visit, nor did they appear overly hostile.
“You saw the lights and decided to take a look?” one asked.
“I saw the lights, yes,” replied Marcus, tipping his cowboy hat, “but it was the government who told us you were here.”
“Government?” asked another, visibly surprised. “What government?”
“The United States. They’re still around. You know you can’t keep a good bureaucrat down. No, really, there is a functioning government. Not on the mainland, but they are situated over in Hawaii and have control of a whole lot of islands off both coasts. We’re in touch with them and anytime one of their satellites or planes spots survivors, a few of us head out to make contact.”
“So, where are you from?” This came from the man who initially greeted them.
The question was tinged with what seemed like honest curiosity. Marcus began to relax.
“South Dakota, pretty much due south.”
There were a few more, straightforward inquiries before the strangers invited them to discuss things in a more comfortable setting.
* * *
“These people are weird,” said Arlene, “even for a group that’s been out of touch the past few years.”
“Definitely,” agreed Alan.
Marcus nodded. “What do you think?”
“Not sure,” replied Tyler. “Strange, yes, but a whole lot better than some we met. Remember the trip in Montana up by the border, the time Lizzy came along?”
“I do.” It was not one of Arlene’s favorite memories. “I almost quit volunteering after that one.”
“Having people shoot at you does suck.” said Marcus. “Thank God those adults knocked the gun out of that kid’s hands. We might have had to kill him otherwise. Good that he missed too.”
“Real fucking good, and for a while I thought Lizzy would drop him anyway, after opening fire on us for no reason whatsoever.” Arlene frowned. “Might have been better if she did, way things are.”
He had nothing to say against that. The boy had been diagnosed with extreme schizophrenia at the age of six, along with a tendency toward violent paranoia. Worse, he had been without meds for the past year. After things calmed down, the entire lot was taken to an airstrip where a plane from Hawaii collected them. They never so much as visited Yellowstone or the Black Hills, which was just as well. Jacob would have locked the lad up. There was no way to treat him, and he was far too dangerous to be allowed to move around freely.
“You can’t trust cults,” continued Alan.
“We don’t know for certain that they’re a cult,” protested Marcus, “or that all of them belong.”
The man spat on the ground. “They are wearing robes. What, you think they’re wannabe wizards instead, like in Lord of the Rings?”
“They do spend a lot of time praying and chanting in those stone circles they set up,” added Arlene. “They’re not any sort of prayer I ever heard, and my parents were nutty about religion, followed just about every last one at some point in their lives.”
“I’m not denying any of that,” said Marcus, “but less than half the adults are doing that. All the little ones and the rest are wearing normal clothes and acting, well, normal.”
They’d met with the settlement’s leadership upon arrival. Marcus provided them with a quick summary of the situation worldwide, along with a more detailed description of what’s been happening inside the United States, focusing primarily on the Black Hills and Yellowstone. Additional time was spent on the raiders and how that conflict would hopefully be dealt with in the short term. There’d been a lot of interest regarding this final part of the narrative, particularly relating to the raiders’ tendency to attack and kill anyone they met. These people were well placed, and even if the prophet’s cronies did discover their existence at some point, it would take a concerted effort to cross the water and launch an assault.
Following this, they’d been told some private discussions were in order. That was typical and to be expected, so no one was offended or concerned. Marcus took his people off to one side where they waited, as the hours slowly passed.
“The top folk were all normal too,” pointed out Marcus.
“Yeah,” acknowledged Arlene, “but they did go and speak with the robed ones the minute they finished with us.”
“They talked to everyone,” he corrected, “normals too.”
“The cultists first,” she countered.
“Just wish they would make up their minds already,” complained Tyler. “It’s getting dark, and I’d like to be settled before the sun goes down.”
“We are on an island.” Arlene laughed. “Place is every bit as secure as the valley. No real worries.”
“You know that’s not true. Water isn’t enough,” he retorted.
While the reasons were unclear, it was well documented that zombies are denser than water and if immersed will promptly sink. They can walk along the bottom and have been known to shamble out of lakes or rivers, usually at the worst possible moment. Water also has zero effect on their bodies. They do not become waterlogged, nor does it hin
der them, aside from slowing their movement.
“They have walls,” she said, pointing at the one nearest. “Not as good as ours, but still tall enough.”
“If we have to stay the night, we stay,” declared Marcus. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Can’t expect people to decide something so important right off the bat. And we’ve always been given a safe place to sleep. No reason to think this will be any different.”
* * *
“Sorry to have kept you waiting so long,” said Dennis Alongi, spokesman for the Lake Sakakawea group.
“Not a problem,” replied Marcus, as politely as he could manage. He was rather pissed at having to wait so long, until a few seconds shy of nine o’clock to be exact, without anyone even checking to see if they might be hungry, which was an issue seeing how their supplies were all on the shore in the SUVs. “Has anything been decided?”
“We’re happy to know others are still alive, but we don’t see any reason to join you. We have fortified our island, and no one is going hungry. Moving to a warzone would be worse. It’s not going to happen.”
“The fight won’t last long, but whatever you want. Just head south to the Black Hills or over by Yellowstone if you change your minds. Our lookouts will spot you quick enough. You’re a little hard to get to for regular trade, but we can try to set something up.”
There was a time when our existence in the Black Hills was a closely guarded secret. Due to ever increasing contact with Yellowstone and the raiders having found us, even if they did not know it was us they found, probably, hopefully, the time had come to be a little more open. Additionally, if they did decide to head our way, it was best they know where to go. Wouldn’t want a bunch of folk getting lost, not with the countryside so dangerous.
“It’s late, and I’m sure you’re all tired,” continued Dennis. “Why don’t you stay the night? We have some dinner for you too, if you don’t mind joining me.”
Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation Page 10
