Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation

by Scott, Joshua Jared

  The new order would be more structured and clear cut. At the top, with complete dictatorial powers, were the two consuls who had the right to veto each other, at least theoretically. This remained me and Briana. My primary responsibilities were external affairs, scavenging, and defense. Briana’s area of focus remained internal affairs, along with law and order. While others had authority over their work areas and could establish standards of behavior or applicable regulations, only we could make actual laws.

  The departments, which would cover the majority of our needs, and to which all able bodied adults were assigned, consist of:

  Militia

  Food Stores & Community Dining

  Material Stores

  Farming & Ranching

  Construction

  Education

  History & Culture

  Originally, the armory was connected with the material stores. This has now changed with responsibility being assigned to the militia. The mechanics and pilots are also loosely attached to the militia, primarily for organizational purposes. The militia itself remains generally the same. There is a core group of full timers and large subset of part time reserves who would leave their other departments in time of need.

  As to my earlier comment regarding everyone being in a department, what this means is that we still require all who are capable to work. No one is permitted to sit back and do nothing. Those who try learn the hard way that we will make them contribute with outright refusal resulting in exile. Between the zombies and raiders and all the other little dangers in our world, we simply cannot allow any to leech off the community.

  Everyone is assigned a general duty, almost always in the area requested. Neither Briana nor I see any point in pissing people off by making them do work they hate. Individuals move about frequently, and we encourage such things as a means to quickly spread expertise. However, if some particular task is required, it will be taken care of. During a crisis there are no “it’s not my job” comments.

  Heading up our departments of labor are the following:

  Lizzy Militia Captain (head of valley security)

  Renee Militia Captain (head of special operations)

  Steph Director of Food Stores & Community Dining

  Bruce Director of Material Stores

  Alan Director of Farming & Ranching

  Randall Director of Construction

  Laura Director of Education

  Steven Director of History & Culture

  The militia is technically under my overall command, but with all my other duties, it is necessary to leave most of the day to day work in the hands of subordinates. These are Renee and Lizzy. It was Lizzy who suggested I place Renee on a par with her due to Renee being the best we have at special operations. The woman excels at this, and it would be a mistake to not take advantage of her skills.

  Originally, Steven, our resident PhD in history, handled our little museum, which admittedly consists mostly of rows of storehouses stuffed with paintings, statues, and historical artifacts we’d recovered. Meanwhile, Jenny dealt with our record keeping and the census. These duties have been unified in the Department of History & Culture. Jenny remains a top official and is still keeping track of who is living in the Black Hills, marriages, deaths, births, and so on.

  These directors and the two militia captains also serve a role similar to the old executive branch cabinet. They provide reports to Briana and me and give their advice and point out any issues that might arise. These individuals are also the first step when someone has a problem, preventing many from rushing straight to Briana.

  We next decided to elect a council. To hold office the person must be:

  1) A permanent resident of the Black Hills.

  2) Nineteen years of age or greater.

  3) Not currently in the stockade.

  4) Not currently a consul, director, or militia captain.

  The nineteen years of age was an arbitrary selection based on the fact that we have a lot more young people than old. Since we tended to kill or exile those guilty of significant crimes, there was no need to put in a restriction against convicted felons. Still, we couldn’t have somebody who was locked up trying to run for office. It would simply look bad.

  The Black Hills Council would represent the people and could propose changes to existing laws or suggest new ones. They did not have any direct power beyond this, although that was expected to change. At some point we would reunite fully with the American government over on the islands. There was no telling when this would be – they really like keeping us autonomous for whatever reason – but it would happen. When it did, there would be a return to proper representative democracy. In the meantime, I saw no reason to avoid a slow shift back to that particular mindset.

  We went ahead and redid our laws as well, the few we’ve bothered to formalize. I’m going to list the key ones along with the various punishments for the purpose of enlightenment. We did receive some complaints from Hawaii concerning our draconian tendencies, but the autonomy thing works both ways. Until reunification happens, we get to do what we want. Also, these enjoy majority approval, and when I say majority I don’t mean fifty one percent. We are talking eighty percent or more of our population.

  As to crimes against a person, we have the following:

  Murder & Attempted Murder Death

  Rape & Attempted Rape Death

  Serious Assault Stockade or Flogging or Exile

  Repeated Minor Assault Stockade or Flogging or Exile

  Minor Assault Stockade or Flogging

  Self-defense is an absolute right and serves as an absolute defense against the crimes of murder, rape, and assault. I will point out that in traditional law assault was verbal and battery was physical. We eliminated the distinction. Threatening to bash someone is no different from actually doing so. Also, for the major crimes of murder and rape, we do not care if the criminal succeeds or fails. Being incompetent is no defense. There are more detailed definitions in our actual book of laws of course, although I won’t be including these in my narration.

  For crimes against property, we have:

  Theft against the State Stockade or Flogging or Exile

  Theft against a Person Stockade or Flogging or Exile

  Destruction of Property Stockade or Flogging or Exile

  Theft against the state would include such crimes as stealing guns from the armory or food from the communal stores. Against a person refers to private property. We don’t have different levels based on the value of the item taken. Rather, we look at how wanton the act was and how often the perpetrator has previously misbehaved when deciding on the appropriate penalty.

  For children who steal, there is a special children’s stockade that was built the prior summer. It has a tiny, dark room lined with bars and a dirt floor. Ten or fifteen minutes in there followed by the warning that they will return if they do it again seemed to work at first. Unfortunately, a tiny subset of kids consider a visit fun and exciting, as opposed to frightening. Worse, this attitude is spreading. Since our scaring them straight tactic is falling apart, there will soon be a renovation that turns the children’s stockade into a playground. We’ll then have to return to the earlier policy of yelling at delinquents and ordering their parents to deal with it.

  The last major category is treasonous activity:

  Treason Death

  Intentional Endangerment Death or Exile

  Treason is defined as helping those breathers who are our enemies. There are no formal declarations of war, so enemies are any who seek to do us harm. The raiders and The Brotherhood fall in this category. By the way, some may have noted that I never capitalize raiders. The reason for this apparent discrepancy is that we coined the term raiders ourselves. On the other hand, The Brotherhood was an official name they gave themselves. Also, the raiders, being miserable assholes, don’t deserve anything more.

  Endangering the community covers such crimes as not keeping watch when you are supposed to and allowi
ng zombies to gain entrance into the Black Hills. With things the way they are, there has to be some sort of penalty, and it needs to be severe.

  * * *

  Nothing else of note happened until the day before we were to leave for Hawaii. Briana was in the house with Asher packing, unpacking, selecting new items, repacking. It was making me crazy, so I grabbed Mary and went hunting. Briana was paying just enough attention to insist I take the twins along. What is up with the twins having to follow me everywhere? Yes, I was leaving the Black Hills, and for them to accompany me when I was outside was standard operating procedure, but I was only going a few miles. The constant worry was pissing me off. No arguing with a pregnant woman though. I was too much of a wuss to even try.

  “I say shoot the big one,” suggested Mary.

  “They’re all big,” I pointed out.

  “Make sure it’s a boy too. You shouldn’t shoot girls.”

  “What about the one on that slight rise?”

  The bison in question was huge, large enough to provide Steph’s kitchens with plenty of steaks, stew meat, and whatnot. The hide, while not a proper winter robe that could be made into a rug or bedspread, would still be useful. Leather was always in demand, and we’d get plenty of thick strips from this beast.

  “He looks sort of sad. I think the one on the left would be better.”

  Peering through the scope of my sniper rifle, I could not discern any difference between the two animals.

  “Left it is.”

  I slowly exhaled and pulled the trigger. The bison jerked and tumbled as the fifty caliber bullet blasted through its skull, turning the brain into goop.

  “Yay! And you didn’t miss either.”

  I pinched Mary’s arm. “Let’s go take a look.”

  Bison were an interesting study. There were only a small number of purebreds in the area, mostly around Yellowstone. However, hundreds of regional farms and ranches once held tens of thousands of bison / cattle hybrids, which look virtually identical to real bison. These animals had spread and multiplied, often mingling with herds of cattle. There wasn’t much interbreeding in the wild, far as we could tell, but it had been observed. More importantly, the limited number of pure bison was interacting with the hybrids, and those were definitely getting together. It wouldn’t be long before the original species was gone forever.

  Off to the side, Dale lifted his shotgun and dropped a goose that had taken flight. Tara retrieved the bird and placed it in a canvas sack which she put in the back of the pickup we had taken. As much as I like driving my Jeep, you really can’t use it to haul game.

  “It’s pretty big, Dad. You notice how it takes like a hundred times longer to cut them up than it does to catch one in the first place?”

  “Be even longer if I’d forgotten the bone saw.”

  She crinkled her nose.

  “I know it’s hard work, but we’re away from Briana’s insanity. That has to count for something.”

  “I’m telling her you said that.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I might. You never know.”

  “You won’t,” I reiterated.

  Neither of the twins came to help with the carcass – I can’t blame them there – instead focusing on bringing down any birds that came within range.

  “Dad, I have a serious question.”

  “What’s that?”

  I dragged my knife across the bison’s belly, slicing through the skin.

  She hesitated briefly. “Is it okay if I date Michael, formally I mean, instead of us just hanging out a lot?”

  “Mary, darling, you hang out more than a lot. Given the chance, you would spend every waking hour with him, with only a teeny, tiny, super miniscule amount of time left for me and Asher and Briana.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Close enough.” I pulled the intestines free. She backed away. “But, I suppose I have no objections.”

  In all truth, I was ecstatic that she thought to ask my permission in the first place.

  “I have to impose the condition that you not make this official or announce he’s your boyfriend or anything of the sort until we get back from Hawaii.”

  “Why not?” she demanded.

  “Mary, we are leaving tomorrow at the crack of dawn. Tonight will be spent getting stuff together. He’s coming over for dinner, I know, but that’s all you’ll be seeing of him until we return from the trip. Let it wait. Be good, and maybe I’ll allow the two of you in the cave again.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think he’ll go. Michael’s a tiny bit claustrophobic. It didn’t bother him at first, not until we went deep, down by the pools of water. He started shaking, and that’s when he fell in.”

  “The pictures you took were pretty amusing.”

  “I would not have taken those if I knew how scared he really was.” She shivered slightly. “That water is super cold too. I didn’t even know until I helped him climb out.”

  Additional organs, those we wouldn’t eat, followed the intestines.

  “The boy did look pretty miserable when you came stumbling outside. No cave then, but it still waits.”

  She sighed. “Fine. After Hawaii.”

  My reasoning was primarily due to Tim Meyers. The boy was behaving admirably and was through with all the shit work I had assigned as punishment. Everything pointed at him giving up on Mary, and I doubted if there would be any reoccurrence. Still, I am a father, and I am more than a little protective when it comes to my daughter. The last thing I needed was Michael and Mary telling everyone of their romance and getting all gushy in public. That might just set Tim off, especially if Mary and I weren’t around to mitigate his behavior. If he and Michael were alone, a conflict might arise, possibly a fight.

  I could not share my reasoning with Mary. If she knew, the odds of her going ahead and making an announcement, one absolutely certain to reach Tim’s ears, was all but guaranteed. She was stubborn and would never, ever back down because of what some boy, whom she didn’t even like, thought. I blame that personality trait on Lizzy’s influence. It’s a shame Mary wasn’t more level headed and grounded like me or Briana.

  Interlude – Bruce’s Story

  Bruce, a former mailman – I just seem to feel the need to restate this fact whenever the opportunity arises – and once upon a time member of the free roaming security in Martin, South Dakota, had long been in charge of our material supplies. He dealt with clothing, furniture, blankets, tents, pots and pans, toys for the little ones, and pretty much every other non-edible thing we had. The man was detail oriented and quite good at managing inventory. Bruce was no slouch when it came to paperwork and record keeping either.

  The purpose of this particular interlude is to provide details concerning a disaster that occurred shortly after Briana and I left for Hawaii. It was late at night. Most had turned in and gone to bed, but a few were still out and about. This godsend allowed for a speedy reaction, and Bruce was among the first to arrive on the scene.

  “What’s that?” asked Valerie.

  Bruce had offered to help the woman carry her trash out. The valley deals with garbage in a very simple, straightforward manner. All organic waste is sent to the compost heaps. Everything else is placed in large trashcans. These are collected twice daily and emptied into a modified pickup truck capable of getting in and out of the valley under its own power. Only four wheel drive vehicles can navigate the steep slope leading from the outer wall to the roads several miles distant. This bottleneck is the primary reason for the frequency of collections.

  The truck has a sister which does a circuit of the farming and livestock valleys, and both transfer their waste to more traditional garbage trucks. Those then haul it out of the Black Hills to a landfill forty miles away. The route is winding and takes one down some tiny back roads that are generally clear of the dead, although there have been times when the drivers and their guards had to stop and do some killing.

  Originally, we placed all
our trash in the small landfill over by Custer, the only town of note within the Black Hills, and if a crisis makes leaving too risky, we will resume the practice. However, most everyone prefers taking it elsewhere – it’s always better to send your waste elsewhere, you know – even if the Custer landfill is walled off and fairly clean.

  “Looks like lights of some sort,” he replied. “Wait… Those are flames! Valerie, sound the alarm. Get people up!”

  Bruce left her and darted down the shadowy street, screaming at the top of his lungs that there was a fire. Stumbling on one of the paving stones, he nearly lost his balance and went sprawling but managed to stay upright. Bruce then turned the corner and got a good look at the actual disaster.

  “Fire!”

  People were beginning to appear in doorways, most taking up the same cry, and Bruce shifted his focus, hurrying to help a man who staggered from his burning home. Fortunately, he did not appear to be injured.

  “Is there anyone else inside?”

  The fellow shook his head. He appeared somewhat confused, so Bruce took a quick look anyway. The interior was empty, and he rushed back out before the roof, which was fully aflame, collapsed.

  “Form a line,” shouted someone else.

  As practiced during the monthly town fire drill, the residents of Baltis arranged themselves in a double row between the nearest water tower and the conflagration. Buckets began to be passed back and forth with the individuals at the end tossing the contents on the flames. It was slow and far from efficient, but while we had enough hoses, maybe, the water pressure was questionable.

  Bruce did not move to join the line. Instead, he and a few others checked all the structures that were alight or in immediate danger, striving to clear them of people. This went smoothly enough, in spite of the chaos and terror, but they were unable to gain entrance to a barn.