Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation

by Scott, Joshua Jared

  Assembling in three lines, the men and women began to chant, the words too soft to make out. While this was going on, one of the party lifted a silver bowl from a small table and dipped his fingers inside. The oil, glistening in afternoon sunlight, was dabbed on Alan’s forehead, chest, upper arms, and thighs. This was followed by the inscription of a symbol on his left cheek with a tiny brush and blood red ink. A hand was raised, and the others fell silent.

  “The Divine has decreed an ending. We bless the Divine.”

  The words were repeated.

  “The Divine has decreed a beginning. We bless the Divine.”

  “It’s like a totally fucked up church,” commented Tyler. “Can you believe this shit?”

  Marcus continued to peer through the window, his large hands grasping the lower edge tightly.

  “We beg the Divine for a messenger. We bless the Divine.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Arlene.

  “Me neither,” replied Marcus, as the chanting resumed. “They’re way more ornate than Father Nicholas, and I thought you couldn’t beat him.”

  “Way crazier too,” declared Tyler. “Our priest doesn’t tie naked people to poles and draw fucked up things on their faces.”

  The speaker made a sign with his hand, and two of his followers vanished into another building. They returned a few minutes later with a zombie in tow. The monster was bound to a pair of long poles, each with a noose on the far end which was wrapped tight about the thing’s neck. It repeatedly lunged at the men controlling it but couldn’t come anywhere close. Stumbling and fighting, the zombie was guided toward Alan.

  “God,” began Arlene, “you don’t think they’re going to…”

  Marcus didn’t answer. Tyler increased his swearing, coupled with a plethora of threats and dark promises.

  “Grant us a messenger, we implore. We bless the Divine.”

  The final prayer given, the robed figures spread out, forming a large semi-circle so all could observe as the zombie was brought close. Their friend didn’t see the creature approaching, but the sensation of teeth sinking into his shoulder, tearing away a chunk of flesh, broke the drug imposed stupor. His eyes flew open, and Alan let out a shriek of agony.

  Entering the short lived mind blank all zombies experienced immediately after tasting human flesh, the shambler became non-violent and was easily returned to its pen. The handlers quickly hurried back and watched with interest as Alan squirmed against his bonds. With his feet dangling, he lacked any sort of purchase or leverage. Soon he grew weak, and the flow of blood from the wound slowed. An hour later, his head slumped forward.

  “Is he dead?” asked Arlene.

  “Still breathing,” said Tyler, “but that’s a lot of blood. I don’t think it’ll be much longer.” Another round of curses followed.

  No one mentioned that the bite alone was a death sentence.

  * * *

  Alan re-animated sometime later. Their watches having been taken, Marcus was incapable of keeping track, but it couldn’t have been long. Nor had their friend regained consciousness, a blessing.

  “What are they doing now?”

  “Arlene, I don’t know,” he answered. “Praying, looks like.”

  There were repeated pleas to the Divine, coming in unison from the half circle of robed figures. These suddenly ceased, and the leader stepped close to the newly risen zombie. Alan regarded him with mucus stained eyes and attempted to jerk free. The desire to feed was all powerful.

  “We ask the Divine for a message. We bless the Divine.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Brothers, sisters, now is not the time. We bless the Divine’s wisdom.”

  After yet another bout of prayers and chanting, the group broke ranks and departed. Their work was done, and the failure sadly acknowledged. Dennis waited until the last had filed out of the courtyard before leaving his place by the far wall. He headed for the pen where he shot the caged zombie in the head. The body was quickly removed, soon to be replaced by the thing that had once been Alan.

  * * *

  Tyler’s turn came three days later. The essential process was the same, save the man did not succumb to the tranquilizer immediately. He managed to rush his captors and land a few blows, going so far as to knock a couple of Dennis’s teeth loose. That gave Marcus and Arlene some small satisfaction, which was erased a few hours later when they watched this friend die as well.

  The days then began to pass by without interruption. The pair occasionally heard bells in the distance and briefly glimpsed what might have been a procession. It appeared that men and women were marching on the far side of the wall encircling their compound holding icons of some sort high in the air. Marcus didn’t know what to think, but he was glad of the respite. Using a piece of metal taken from the underside of his cot, he had begun scratching through the thick timbers that formed the walls. It was slow, tedious going. One cell over, Arlene was attempting to do the same. They had come up with the plan together, whispering as softly as they could in case anyone was listening. The building had no electricity, and they didn’t think anyone had bothered to install cameras or microphones. However, low tech surveillance, such as having a person stand just out of sight, was always a possibility. Barring that, they should be okay. The position of their cots concealed their efforts.

  * * *

  “Bet you’re glad to see me,” said Dennis. His face was still a little puffy from when Tyler had decked him.

  “Not really,” replied Arlene. “Correction, make that a fucking no, I’m not glad to see you.”

  He unlocked the door. The woman seemed resigned to her fate and didn’t try to duck or dodge when the man with the tranquilizer gun swung it in her direction, nor did she demean herself by begging. It would do no good.

  “Bastard,” hissed Marcus. “You think those prayers are going to be answered, for whatever it is they want?”

  Dennis paused. “Boy…”

  Marcus bristled at the word.

  “…they take care of the community’s spiritual needs. Myself, and others, worry about day to day matters. We may not be suited to the monastic life, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t on the same wavelength. To oppose the Divine is to embrace hellfire.”

  “You believe their shit?”

  The trucker was having difficulty with this. There were always a few crazies, anywhere you went, but an entire town? Then again, the raiders were a unified group, each and every last one a psychopath in the extreme. Was this the future of civilization? That was a distressing notion.

  “The Divine rules all.” Dennis was firm in his words. “And once we find the messenger, the dead will speak.”

  * * *

  Marcus sat in that cell for nineteen days before he finally cut deep enough to permit him to kick through one of the timbers. Arlene had perished two days earlier, mercifully never regaining consciousness. Zombified, she showed the same lack of awareness as every other shambler on the planet, and like their friends before her, she ended up in the cage until the time came when she would turn him.

  The Brotherhood again demonstrated disappointment in their failure, but there was nothing to indicate they would cease in their insane search for that special zombie who could magically relay a message from this Divine they worshipped. Whatever this being was supposed to be, it had nothing to do with God, and Marcus was planning on sending them to His rightful judgment as soon as possible.

  The gap he created was perhaps three feet long and a little over eighteen inches wide. It was a tight fit, even with the pounds Marcus had dropped due to the less than heartening meals his captors provided, but he managed to squeeze through. It was late, the sun having set hours earlier, and no one was around. Rising to his feet, he scanned the courtyard. Nothing beyond what he’d come to expect.

  Marcus carefully peered around the corner of the building. A short distance away was the gate, a single guard sitting nearby, rocking back in his chair while fiddling with a flashlight. He look
ed bored and wasn’t paying the slightest attention to his surroundings. Marcus moved to the side, keeping in the shadows and coming up almost directly behind the man. The fellow was of small stature, and Marcus found it surprisingly easy to slap one hand over his mouth and chin and grab the back of his skull with the other. A sharp, powerful twist resulted in a crack and some feeble spasms. Having gone limp, Marcus quietly set the guard on the ground, taking his pistol and the flashlight.

  Lifting the latch, which was thankfully unlocked, Marcus slipped out the door and hurried for the water’s edge. No one noticed his passage, and he clambered over the perimeter wall, dropping to the soft dirt beyond. There was a line of beached rowboats, and he took one, quickly paddling for shore. Again, luck was with him, and no alarms sounded. Reaching the far bank, Marcus headed straight to where they left their vehicles. Both SUVs were gone.

  What to do? What to do?

  Marcus looked up, located the north star, and turned in the opposite direction. With a final glance at the glittering lights of the island settlement, he began to jog, foregoing the road. There were always fewer zombies in the fields and woods, and Marcus needed to avoid the dead if he was to have any chance of returning home.

  Chapter VI

  “Briana is going to be mad,” said Mary.

  “Don’t I know it.” I shook my head, feeling ill at ease. “There’s no alternative that I can see. Any of you got an idea?”

  “Nothing here,” replied Lizzy. “I’m with you. What do you two think?”

  Dale looked at Tara. Tara looked back at her twin brother. Neither said a word.

  “See,” remarked Mary, “they think Briana will be mad, just like me.”

  “The raiders are no longer a viable military threat,” pointed out Captain Briggs. He ignored Mary and the siblings. “You don’t have to pursue.”

  “Won’t stop them from trying to murder people or blow stuff up,” I countered. “They will want revenge. Can’t risk it. Can’t leave them alone either.”

  We were sitting beneath the HQ tarp at our hilltop supply base, although referring to it as such was no longer accurate. There wasn’t any need to store ammunition, food, water, weapons, and so forth, nor was there any call to cart it to the front lines. The battle for Yellowstone was over.

  “We have to keep at it,” stated Lizzy. “Those fuckers need to be made extinct.” She drew her .45 and tossed it to Dale. “Clean that for me. I hate watching the two of you just standing there doing nothing. Fucking creeps me out.”

  The pistol was completed dismantled within seconds, the pair examining each piece to ensure nothing needed to be replaced or serviced.

  “Hey!” protested Mary. “No taking advantage like that. It’s not nice.”

  “Girl, they’re having way more fun with my gun than they were listening to us go on and on and on.”

  I said nothing. Lizzy was likely doing them a favor. The twins were never far away, regardless of what I wanted. However, that did not mean they were enjoying themselves. The pair rarely contributed, and there wasn’t a gossipy bone in their bodies. They did not discuss or divulge secrets. For the most part, the duo just stood there doing nothing. Tara and Dale had to find this incredibly tedious.

  “We are leaving tomorrow,” I announced. “We’ve delayed long enough.”

  “I can’t spare anyone to help,” cautioned Briggs, “other than pilots. We lost too many, and I need to shift the manpower I have to blocking off the park so the zombies can’t get in. Our terrain is nowhere as accommodating as the Black Hills, and it’s a whole lot more expansive. We see the random one too often as it is. I hate to think how easy it would be for a couple of them to lead a herd here like they did at your place.”

  “Your own fault for picking such a big place to live.” Mary’s tone held little humor. The teenager was still upset over the hundreds of children, possibly thousands, we had killed, not to mention the women and other non-combatants who may or may not have been innocent. “You do have lots of trees though. Trees are good. You can make them into furniture.”

  “They are still in Idaho, as far as we know,” continued Captain Briggs. “The islands are watching via satellite, and no vehicles have been seen on any of the open roads. Our flights have spotted a few campfires, likely theirs. They’re moving around a great deal but haven’t scattered.”

  “How many are there?” I asked. “Do we have an updated count?”

  “Best estimate remains at less than a hundred.” He shrugged. “I have no way to be more specific. We’re still basing that on the raiders who we know escaped and the two small bands that were seen linking up after. There may be quite a few more, but that’s conjecture.”

  “I hate being outnumbered,” grumbled Lizzy.

  “We’re always outnumbered,” commented Mary. “Who cares anyway? We got us helicopters.”

  “Mind your grammar,” I ordered.

  She snorted, and I glared.

  “What are we taking with us?” asked Lizzy.

  “Two squads of ten each. Harvey will lead one. You get the other. Mary’s going to work our communications. The twins and I will be an independent sniper team or whatever is needed. Twenty four people total.”

  “What about Michael and Lori and Rus and Sam?” asked Mary.

  “Michael and Lori can be on Lizzy’s team, if they want to go. They have some vague familiarity with the area, and having a few more wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Would be useful,” said Lizzy. “Put Tim on Harvey’s team. I don’t want him with Michael, and he’ll react better to Harvey anyway. They get along pretty well.”

  My daughter scowled. “Leave the whiner behind. I don’t want him anywhere near any of us. He’s been acting really weird.”

  “Tim can go with Harvey. I’m only leaving the wounded behind and anyone who’s a little too stressed…”

  “That’s fucking everyone,” interrupted Lizzy.

  “It is bad,” agreed the captain. “We’ve already begun counseling for many of the survivors, wounded and uninjured alike.”

  “You both know what I mean,” I clarified. “You can keep the few with key skills while we’re gone, like Carlson. Have him do any demolition work or blasting you might need, if there is any.” I paused. “The brothers, Sam and Rus, are no longer working with us, ever again. I strongly recommend you follow suit.”

  “Yeah,” said Mary, “I probably shouldn’t have brought them up. That was kinda stupid. I was just rattling off all the guys who volunteered. Didn’t mean it.”

  The younger one, Sam, was currently rotting in the Yellowstone stockade while Rus was laid up in the hospital until such time he was fit enough to join his brother. Following the victory, or slaughter depending on one’s point of view, the two had celebrated, cracking open bottle after bottle of homemade brew. Somewhat annoyed that no one else felt like partying, they had drifted through the camp until they ran into our grizzled, white haired Vietnam vet. Carlson informed them that killing kids was nothing to be proud of. The two took offense and told him to shut the fuck up. Carlson, not to be outdone when it comes to having a foul temper, made some particularly nasty comments right back.

  It was Rus who took the first swing, and this was against a man more than three times his age. Normally, such a thing would end badly for our friend, but Carlson was sober, the brothers plastered, and he had years of training and combat experience. The old man ducked the wild punch and landed a quick jab of his own on the nineteen year old’s nose. The blow knocked the lad flat on his ass.

  Sam then leapt at Carlson. This was met by a forearm to the base of his throat and a knee to his crotch. That boy was completely out of the fight. Rus went ballistic, scrambled back to his feet, and pulled a knife. Carlson drew his sidearm and put a bullet in Rus’s leg, being conscientious enough to avoid the bone and femoral artery. The doctors said it would heal.

  My first reaction was to hang both of them. Instead, I left it to the leadership in Yellowstone National Park. Aside fr
om the potential trouble my meting out summary justice might have caused, which likely would have been substantial if I killed the brothers, they had a policy of forced labor for troublemakers. With all the work that needed to be done, it was probably for the best. Rus was going to be spending the next ten years wearing shackles and doing hard labor. Sam, who never pulled a weapon, would get six months.

  “So,” I said, “we head out in the morning with twenty four people. Xavier, Kimberly, and the other pilots will stay here. They can keep up the scouting flights, and if I need them, they can come in with one or more of the helicopters. I’ll have to get a better idea of what we’re facing before I request those. No sense having them burn fuel until then.”

  “The Cessnas are better for patrolling,” agreed Briggs, with a nod. “All three Pave Hawks have been serviced and are ready to go, but the Cobra has an issue with its engine. It appears to be a small thing, and the mechanics think that will be sorted out in a day or two. I expect it to be working before you require it.”

  I love the Cobra.

  “Can you have a mechanic check on my Jeep too?” I asked. “It’s been vibrating when I accelerate, so I won’t be taking it this time.”

  “Can’t let anything happen to the Jeep,” intoned Mary. “That would be the worst thing ever.”

  “God forbid,” agreed Lizzy.

  “Weird to not have it around though,” my daughter added.

  It had been a constant on my travels and travails. I took it everywhere.

  “I’ll take care of it,” said the captain, reassuringly. “What are you going to use for transportation?”

  “I’m thinking a few of the four wheel drive pickups and plenty of dirt bikes. We recovered enough from the raiders. They are suited to the terrain, and since the bad guys are using the same things, we should be able to follow them no matter where they go. I’m taking lots of extra gasoline too. I don’t see us refueling. You know, I bet they’re running low. That might help.”