Shadow Of Doubt: Z Is For Zombie Book 3

by catt dahman

  “We aren’t doctors, and I doubt even a doctor would understand it really,” Trip said.

  “We’ll still take all the papers, folders, and the supplies and give them to Doc to see what he thinks when we tell him about this girl,” Beth said.

  “I guess it could help delay turning if nothing else,” Juan said, “but what is it? If they got this far, why not a cure?”

  “I bet the delay is from…oh, something that helps with the infection…like an antibiotic that holds it back some, but it seems the infection resides in the brain, so nothing would cure that; even rabies can go dormant a while,” Pak said.

  “If nothing else, it can’t hurt.”

  As they loaded more, Beth asked them to send Hannah and Jet back to help. They rolled the trolleys out with the loads.

  She thought about all these bodies that would lie there, rot, and never be buried. It was like all over the world, millions would rot and lie nameless until they turned to dust and blew away. Everywhere was a graveyard.

  “Beth,” Pak called, “we have a situation.”

  Beth felt a terrible fear and went running out the double doors to the office. Hannah and Jet were not there. Pak motioned her to follow him outside.

  A truck was there, one that was driven in while they were in their battle; the occupants opened the gate, drove in, and closed it back. A few zeds stood outside and moaned at them.

  Hannah and Jet were there, unharmed.

  “What the hell?” Beth blurted. She let out the breath she had been holding and took a bottle of water Trip handed her, drinking heavily, in relief.

  “They came up when all of you were in there shooting, so we had to deal with the situation,” Hannah explained, as Jet stared at the ground, refusing to look at Beth. “They were acting silly, drunk, I guess, and they heard the gunfire and came over here.”

  “Okay,” said Beth as she gagged at the sight of one man, chopped up by the bloodied sword Hannah carried.

  “I wrapped it in an old pallet blanket and dragged it along, no one could tell it was a sword, and I asked what they wanted. They might have been perfectly nice people.”

  “You came out here?” Beth stuttered.

  “Our job was as look outs,” Hannah explained. She said that the men hadn’t spoken nice at all, one started in on how she was a pretty little girl, and he really liked little girls. The other argued that if they gave Hannah to the ones in charge, they might be allowed back into the Army. “I guess they meant the RA, the Reconstruction Army.”

  Trip and the rest of the men looked disgusted, catching Beth’s look of shock and outrage. “Perverts,” Trip said.

  The men argued again about being sent away from the rest and for not following orders about drinking and drugs. One went on again about little girls, saying things he liked to do to them, and the other one just stared at him with no interest, but, also, no protest either. Hannah batted her eyes and tried to look small and sweet, not little and scared.

  After the first man was done, he said that his buddy could have a turn at her. “I’m first, and after I fuck the little thing and after she makes Daddy feel good and sucks my lollipop, you can have her once.”

  “Do you follow the boy with one eye?” Hannah asked innocently.

  “You bet, and once we share you with them, we’ll be taken back and not have to make do with just us and a broken slave.”

  “Or we can just keep her and not go back,” the first man said, “Daddy likes her a lot.”

  Jet, through a window where he listened, shot the second man several times. He was about to go for the first one, but Hannah dropped the blanket and showed her sword. She swung hard and low but didn’t cut his leg off, just made a deep gash to the bone.

  He fell. He cursed and pleaded, “I didn’t mean it, little girl.”

  Before Jet could get out of the building and to her, she had hacked away his hand. His knife missed her as he threw it. She whacked him across the chest and thighs to take more steam out of him, then stabbed him, and hacked him until blood ran in red pools over the parking lot and he was dead.

  Jet spoke, “She was like a warrior, never hesitated, just cut him until he was dead.” He looked at Hannah as if she were a foreign being that he respected but didn’t quite feel warm and fuzzy toward.

  Beth hugged Hannah. “Jeez, we didn’t hear the shots with our own shots being fired. Thanks, Jet, good job. You were foolish, Hannah, and took a terrible risk, but you were smart, and I’m glad the two of you are okay.”

  “Me, too,” Juan said, patting Jet on his back.

  “Good work,” John muttered, looking sick at the sword gashes all over the man, “you did fine.”

  “I tried to be like you, Mom,” Hannah beamed at Beth.

  Beth kissed the top of Hannah’s head. “You are far braver than I am, Honey. Let’s get all the supplies: ammo, guns, papers, and first aid loaded and get out of here. I’ll stand guard with Jet and Hannah if you will get the rest loaded.”

  “Sorry, Beth,” Jet said.

  Beth thought about Len and how he handled things already done and over with. “You kept yourself and Hannah safe and those idiots from coming in and blindsiding us. You used your heads and your brains. It’s over, and next time, you may think of ways to be safer with how you react.

  For instance, if one had a gun and everything went badly, you learned, and I would be thankful that you were a good shot and that she was good with chopping.” It was the best Beth could think of to say since she had no experience before with being a parent or with being a zombie killer, either.

  How times had changed.

  The loading took a long time since they had so many supplies, which filled the back of Carl’s monster truck and both SUVs. They decided to take the raiders’ truck, too, since the teams needed to fill it with the last of what they found.

  They would have a caravan of five vehicles. Beth grinned, thinking of how Len and Julia would be excited and knowing that she and the team were bringing back something very important.

  “That’s all; let’s get this truck filled,” Teeg said. He and Pak climbed up into the raiders’ truck to pull a tarp back so they could load the crates.

  “Holy shit,” Pak said as he almost fell out of the back of the truck from scrambling backwards.

  “What?”

  “A body.”

  “Zed?”

  “Dunno, it’s purple and black, doesn’t reek of pus like they do, ” Teeg said as he crouched next to the body, “Hey….”

  “Be careful, Teeg,” Juan warned.

  Beth climbed in wearily. She wanted a shower, food, and a rest. She looked, glanced away, rubbed her eyes, and then looked again. “I’m hallucinating.”

  “Then, I am, too,” Teeg said. He looked at Beth in disbelief.

  Beth took a deep breath and leaned in to feel for a pulse. “My God, he’s alive.”

  “Bitten?” John asked from down below them as he peeked over the side.

  “No, no bites, he has just been beaten nearly to death and look, he’s chained in,” Teeg showed them a rusty chain.

  In seconds, they had the chain removed and found a litter to gently move the man. They pushed it carefully toward the truck’s cab.

  Beth covered him with a blanket, brushing hair back from his bruised, cut face. The rest of the team piled crates until all vehicles were loaded and used Beth’s place in the SUV to pile two more crates. She would ride in the back of the truck with the man.

  John drove an SUV behind Carl’s big truck, Jet with him. Third in line was the truck Beth and the man were in, driven by Teeg. Juan drove the military supply truck with Hannah beside him. They added more to the supply truck, loaded down heavily. The last SUV was driven by Trip, and Pak sat next to him.

  They stopped several times to check on Beth, making sure it was a safe spot first, before stopping. When they passed the parking lot of the hospital, some zombies still walked around in good shape, and others were burned; bodies were everywhe
re. Beth watched the parking lot, scanning it, despite knowing it had been checked and that there was no reason to stare as they passed.

  Just beyond that, Juan blinked his truck’s lights and pulled over. He was grinning as he waded into some tall grass and came back with his shirt pulled up exposing his belly and a fat cat in his arms. Beth resisted, telling him he was crazy to have run into the grass that way with no guard.

  Hannah was thrilled with the cat. Juan grabbed a small, shallow box and put on Hannah’s lap. She looked at him quizzically. Like a magician pulling rabbits from a hat, Juan gently emptied his shirt of baby kittens…five in all, two grey, a grey and white, a grey tabby, and a white one all of which he put with the mother cat. They all purred.

  “You rock, Juan. Thanks,” Hannah said, “they’re so tiny.”

  “Keep them safe and with the momma and feed and water her, and they’ll be good pets for you.”

  Carl, seeing this, followed by example and picked up two dogs: a small mutt and a large German shepherd he saw from the roadside; he put them into his truck.Both dogs licked his face, glad to be with people again and not to be left out. John and Jet scored a fluffy white dog.

  In the truck, Beth couldn’t have been any more proud of her team and the fearlessness they embodied. She would never let Len change a thing, except for running them through more drills and adding extra training on protocol. Hannah would get some extra training.

  The team members were different in personalities and worked as separate entities, but despite their seeming to be all over the place, they got a job done and done well with bravery and devotion to the other people with them.

  Without an injury, they scored staggering amounts of weapons and ammunition. They, also, by being alert, found a cat, kittens, and three dogs that would add to the happiness of the group, plus the dogs would be great for security.

  They gathered information about possibly fighting the infection, samples, and many, many crates of medical supplies, far better than what they presently had.

  But more than all of that, more than the items they were taking to the commune that would leave everyone stunned and thrilled, they were taking one more item that would change their lives: if he lived

  Beth studied the beaten man again, praying and hoping Doc could help him and that the man would be able to answer so many questions. She reached for his hand.

  He had vanished from the parking lot and fallen into slavery for the RA, but now he was safe. She squeezed Earl’s hand hopefully.

  13

  Reconstruction Army

  Frank and Lucas watched the other men as they unloaded the trucks and took in supplies: ammo, guns, women, food, and alcohol. They sometimes chose a few items for themselves, a unique gun or a particularly pretty woman.

  In whispers only, people said that Frank didn’t even wipe his own ass these days but had a slave for that.

  The camp grew. Men worked all over, giving orders to slaves, those they called ‘niggers, spics, chinks, queers, whores, and junior whores’. They enjoyed calling them every racist and degrading name they could think of; they saw that calling them those names, or fat or ugly or retarded, hurt and made the victims turn their eyes downward. Name-calling gave the rest a power, a unity over the slaves that they abused.

  No female, no matter how bad assed, was allowed to be a part of the military except under special orders, so very few military women were around. Women, like the other slaves, were for sex, chores, and entertainment. When they got pregnant, plans were hopeful to deliver boy babies, to keep the mother and baby separate, and perpetuate the group until the women could be sent back to whoring and continuing the process.

  They had a few medical types, some science people, and many with varied skills, but what they took most were the hardened, tough men who could follow orders and give orders and who could handle a weapon without hesitation or sentimentality and do the work required. Education was forgotten, as brute training was king.

  They had many fine, decked-out motor homes, military-style trucks painted black, and tents.They also had the buildings they took over in Hot Springs, all the water they could drink, both hot and cold, and more supplies and people coming in almost daily. Lucas took joy in seeing them drill and train like Nazi soldiers.

  Most shaved their heads and gave each other tattoos of the one eye to exalt Pascal or of swastikas to glorify their mentality. Some emulated the tattoos like Frank had:barbed wire wound around his arms and neck. Barbed wire was a kind of totem for them.

  Abuse of anyone non-white and non-male was encouraged.

  Days were spent working to gather supplies from far away: up north, west and east; and nights were, unless one had guard duty, for whoring, camp entertainment, or for the little drinking that was allowed, beer only or one shot of the hard stuff.

  Drunkenness was a capital offense. Drugs were a capital offense. So was hording. Less than full homage to Pascal was deadly. No religion was practiced or alluded to since only Pascal was considered worthy of praise.

  False religion, anything other than worshipping Pascal or at least admitting he was the bomb ‘diggity’ of the army, was punishable by death. Disrespect of an officer or shirking duties was a capital offense.

  No personal items were allowed: everything belonged to the RA. Uniforms were black pants or black jeans with a tan shirt and black tie or white shirt and black tie if on duty; long sleeve shirts could be torn off if the man had well-inked arms, showing off the messages of the Reconstruction Army.

  In work details, a white or tan tee was allowed. Boots were spit shined, and the men wore armbands of scarlet with a white circle sewn in the middle, reminiscent of Nazi Germany. In the circle were the letters RA embroidered in black with a tiny swastika between the letters and the number 4.

  The four alluded to the Fourth Reich. More and more, instead of being the Reconstruction Army, they were becoming the 4 Reich Army, but it was interchangeable for now since most of the ones who began the army as a way of survival against the zombies had died, and few former US military members were left in the group.

  Pascal, barely glancing at the chocolate bars he was given by the new man who came in with offerings, tossed them into a fat, blue tub with other gifts he was given: toys, candy, and gum.

  Frank accepted a man’s big diamond ring from the new man and slid it on his finger, admiring the shine. “I like the blonde. Get her out of your truck so I can see her better. I wanna see if she has a fat ass.”

  With a grimace and apologetic look at the woman, the man reluctantly motioned to her, and the men looked over her short dress, long legs, and thick, dark red curls that fell below her waist. “My girlfriend.” The girl looked terrified.

  “She was,” Frank grinned. “Roy, ain’t she a looker?”

  Roy nodded.

  “I appreciate the gift, boy,” Frank told the man.

  “Ummm. She’s….”

  “I’m with him,” the woman said angrily, “I’m not a gift for you. If this is how things are, we’ll just leave.”

  “Leave?” Lucas smirked.

  “Say you wanna leave when you just got here? That so, bitch?”

  “We could,” the man said.

  “I have a treat for you, bitch….” Frank grinned at her with eyes like ice. Pascal giggled. The woman looked at Pascal and shivered when she saw the withered half-face and eye.

  “We’re going.”

  “I don’t think so. I like me a pretty, fire-crotched bitch,” Frank said, “she needs to be friendlier, don’t she, Roy?”

  “Yes, she does,” Roy said. He did as Lucas and Frank asked to a fault and was brutal enough to cause most members to quake when he walked by and stared at them.

  He didn’t say much anymore except to give orders, respond when spoken to, and keep the machine running.

  In the RA, he was important, maybe as high as fourth or fifth in power, but he was always wary of Frank and Lucas and half-scared of the boy, Pascal.

  There wa
s time when he was far less powerful and certainly not feared, but he was free and always ready to piss his own pants. That was when he hid in the hospital with the US Militia.

  But times changed; back then, he wanted to run the show but became mouthy, and then followed Frank right into cannibalism and violent murder, two actions he regretted a lot. But those were done and over with, marking him as a forever member of the RA.

  When the man protested once more about losing his girlfriend, Frank shot him without a word and motioned for some men to drag the body away.

  ‘That was dinner,’ Roy thought.

  Frank took the girl, fighting and screaming, back to his motor home, cuffing her about the face as he half-dragged her.

  “What do you think, Roy?” Lucas asked.

  “I don’t, Sir.”

  Lucas laughed, and it was like glass scraping and sliding on Roy’s nerves. He would rather be ignored than to be spoken to by Lucas. “You have your eye on any new females?”

  “No, Sir, I am doing fine with the Red House.” It was a tongue-in-cheek nod to the virus that had killed so many, but someone thought to paint a motor home red and stash the camp whores there.

  “Got enough slaves?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Keep them beat down and humble,” Lucas said. He picked at his teeth, then smiled, and cocked his head. “What do you think they’re doing?”

  Roy knew whom Lucas meant. Pascal looked up, interested a little. Lucas meant the US Militia.

  Roy stared up at the sky, thinking, while he watched the clouds drifting by. How could he possibly know? The boy was magic, and he wasn’t, so why not ask the boy? “Making some new place secure…collecting things…maybe farming a little land, I think. Maybe they’re worrying about our coming after them.”

  “I hope they are sleepless with their worries. Bunch of pussies, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Roy said, but no, they weren’t. They were brave and strong fighters, too, but Lucas didn’t want to hear that.

  “And how did the loss of the hospital affect them?”

  Roy had been asked that before, but Lucas must want a new nugget of information. “I think they’re lucky, and they are going on and not letting it get to them at all.” This was as much truth as he was willing to share. He did believe that much to be true.