“I heard about the group maintaining a western wall. We still operated as police for a few months, but as more people turned...”
“The city fell apart.”
“We stayed police as long as we could. The city plummeted into chaos block by block. We stole a solar generator and used it to pull up the police files on my daughter’s killer. I couldn’t let him get away.”
“Leading you to the caravan.”
“The only place he could be. And you saw him.”
“Yeah. He was helping a lot with the teens. Some of them lost parents; he worked like a counselor. He was helping people with their emotional states. Something no one got to focus on while just surviving. I think he prevented quite a few people from ending it.”
“The more people stay alive the better.”
“Sound advice.” The ker-chunk of two shotguns being cocked force Tom and Danziger to spin around.
A half dozen people hold weapons on them.
“No one’s crazy enough blaring car horns!” Honorably discharged Sergeant Mike Hammerstein jumps from the back of the Jeep. He brings up the rear of this rolling buffet. Unslinging his M16, he taps the trunk of the car in front of him and waves his hand in a ‘knock it the fuck off’ signal. He moves to the next car tapping the roof.
“Stop with the horn,” Mike orders.
“Fuck you, GI Joe.”
Mike thought the BDU camo pants would be best when he realized the world had gone to shit. They were comfortable and actually afforded some protection. The nylon fibers woven into it are difficult to bite through. He bought them at some retail shop, not sure they were ever military issue.
Now his gun. He wishes it were military issue. He bought it when he got back from Kuwait. Knowing how to convert the semi-auto weapon into a fully functioning machine gun would be ideal for today, but he had once believed in the law, so he kept the weapon as it was purchased. Too bad his trigger finger isn’t what it used to be. The horns die down and the thumps of a car crash echo down the line. As terrifying as hearing metal twist, snap, and pop like crumpling paper, the next echo causes Mike to lose a splash of urine.
The growling choir of undead fills the air. Even with the number in the city none of them sounded as loud. A few people run screaming past Mike. He has no idea where they think they are going. He crawls into the back of a truck, climbing over the tied down supplies. He stands on the cab, rifle in hand.
Smoke pours from the lead truck. More people abandon their vehicles. Mike loses the rest of his bladder as he stops counting what must be a hundred thousand undead shambling across the interstate before him.
EMILY STRUGGLES TO carry a single steel post from the truck bed. Rad scoops it from both her hands with one of his as if it were a toothpick. The muscle bound guy twirls the bar like a baton and stabs it into the ground. He drops the cylindrical driver over the post. A few slams of the post driver and the metal sinks deep into the soft earth.
“We’ll have this goat pen up in no time.”
Emily’s arms shake as she picks up another post. “I don’t think I’m much help.”
“Nonsense. We’ll get you stronger. Twelve hours a day, every day working like this and you’ll pack on the pounds.”
“My poor hands won’t take that.”
“They’ll get tough, too.” He takes the post from her and sticks it in the ground. “I tell you what, I’ll make sure you get the first glass of goat milk since you helped build these pens.”
“Yuck.”
“There can be no more ‘yucks,’ young lady.” Behind her in military fatigues stands an older man with a grandfather face. He introduces himself. “Chief Petty Officer Simon, US Navy retired. Small Arms Marksmanship Instructor.”
“I’m Emily.” Her blistered fingers feel crushed under the grip of his hand.
“Well, Emily, you ready to find out how well you shoot?”
“I guess.”
Sensing her reluctance, Rad asks, “They told you there were certain rules here?”
She nods in affirmation. “You guys work fast.”
“We need to know how everyone shoots. Then we’ll get you a job, if building fence isn’t where you belong.”
Grateful to stop moving the heavy posts, she pulls off the gloves from her blistered hands, “Where do we shoot?”
Collecting along the fence, as thick as summer locusts, biters snarl and moan-howl. They grab and yank at the wire. Wind chimes on spinning weathervanes clink together frenzying the biters. The dog run reaches an end here with a secured gate that continues on past a cargo container with only a single fence. Installed inside the fence is a pit of steel fence posts driven to snag anything propelling itself into the compound. On the other side of the trench, a third cargo container rests across the top of the two containers forming an H. It would only take the moving of one of the bottom containers by a few inches to send the top one crashing to the ground effectively blocking entrance into the camp.
A few tables stand at the end of the cargo containers. Steel posts mark distance to the fence but she’s not sure how far apart they are. Simon lays a box of bullets, full clips, ear plugs, shooting glasses, and finally a pistol from a gun case, in front of her. “Safety’s our first rule. You ever fire a gun before?”
“Does the Playstation count?”
“No.”
“Is this your job here?” Emily asks. Despite all the bullying the man who saved her from the marauders gave her about being a teen girl, she wants to understand what she has to do to survive in her new life.
“I train, instruct, and evaluate everyone for firearms use. I also maintain the armory which involves keeping track of all weapons inside our camp. Recently we recovered a gunsmith, and I assist him in the cleaning and repair of any new weapons, but we’ll discuss how to clean your gun and keep it clean if you pass training.”
“So this is what you do to get to eat?”
“Nobody go over the rules with you?”
“It was a lot to soak in.”
“Your shooting ability determines a lot here. We put great shooters on guard duty and the best shooters on wall at the entrance or on field duty with those working outside the fence. Essential skills are assigned next, people where we need a skilled worker or someone able to learn on the job are placed next. Finally, the last group we call the farm, but that’s our code for ditch digger. Bet it makes you wish you’d have paid more attention in school.”
“I was only a sophomore,” Emily defends herself. “Rad seems smart. Better than just a fence builder.”
“He is, but we haven’t much need for a commercial artist. Smart people don’t have the skills to survive without computers.”
“You sound like our leader.”
“I don’t know what our leader used to do. He’s clearly educated, but no stranger to labor jobs. The kind of person we need to make this new society work.” Simon never drops his military demeanor.
Emily makes a mental note to ask her savior what he used to do for a living.
Simon snatches the gun from the table as he explains, “This’s a .22. Your targets will be actual biters.”
“You want me to shoot those people?”
“They’re not people anymore and you must be able to protect yourself and everyone else in this camp from them. No warning shots. You take them out.”
“So how do I use the gun?”
“Point that end at what you want to kill.”
Emily raises the pistol. She jerks the trigger. Miss.
“Squeeze the trigger. During practice you’ve all the time you need. Aim, squeeze. Don’t jerk. Ease your finger back.”
Emily closes her eyes before moving her trigger finger. The gun jerks. The bullet pings against the cargo trailer. The biters moan-howl at the noise.
“You can’t be scared of the gun.” Simon draws his own weapon.
Bang. Bang. Bang. The deafening thunder tears through the skulls of three biters. “Don’t fear your weapon. It’s a too
l.” Simon adds, “And the only thing keeping you alive.”
Emily takes a seat on the bench attached to the cafeteria table. Two boys and a girl, all older than her but closer in age than everyone else eating, join her.
“You must be the new fish.”
“Great way to introduce yourself, Luke,” the girl scolds. “We’re not in prison.”
“We got to try something to call the new people.”
“Calling me a fish is a sure fire way to make sure I’ll take no interest in you, and given the limited number of people surviving these days, it would suck to be the last guy on earth without a date.” Emily may not be strong or shoot well, but she hasn’t lost her skill at berating boys.
“You need cream for that one, bro?”
“For what?” Luke asks.
“She burnt you good,” the girl laughs. “I’m Juliann. How long you been here?”
“I was brought in two days ago. I had to stay in the infirmary.”
“Did they handcuff you to the bed?”
“No.” Emily’s not sure if she should be offended or scared by such a question. “The doctor’s name was Baker, not Gary.”
“The last person they brought in and kept in the infirmary for the first few days they kept handcuffed. He had some scratches that were suspicious.”
“That’s just a rumor,” Juliann barks.
“Beats the other one—they just shoot you at the gate if they think you’ve been bitten.”
Emily drives her fork into the casserole piece on her tray. “This stuff better than school food?”
“Somewhat. Wanikiya is a way better chef than a leader, but still cooking for all these people, it can be worse sometimes.”
“Food is food, Kyle. I didn’t eat for five days. If Wanikiya cooks I’ll enjoy it.”
“Have you had your gun training yet?”
“Leave the poor girl alone,” Juliann scolds.
“This’s the only time we get to talk. I want to know what’s going on in the world.”
“I want to know if Simon tried to teach you with that bent .22.”
“Bent?” Emily had wondered why, even after she kept her eyes open to shoot, she couldn’t hit a biter.
“It’s a test.”
Simon takes a seat. “That it is. It’s my way of weeding out people who don’t know weapons. You’ll get another chance to prove yourself.”
Shocked by this, Emily stares angrily at Simon.
“So did our fearless leader find you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t have to,” Juliann defends her.
“Without the Internet new people will be the only way we get news,” Luke says.
Emily understands the need to know. “I was pretty sheltered to what was going on. I didn’t know it was as bad as what I saw on my way here.”
“Lucky.”
Simon stops shoveling in his meal long enough to say, “Kyle, don’t punish the girl because she hasn’t faced the terrible darkness befallen this country.”
“I just want to know.” Kyle grabs his tray and leaves the table.
“Forgive him. Kyle got separated from his family. He doesn’t know what happened to them.”
“We’ve all lost people.”
“Most of us know what happened to them.” Simon returns his empty tray to the dishwasher counter.
“Any warnings about other tests?” Emily asks.
“They’ll assess what kind of skills you have. No one around here will tell you it’s possible to grow up to be president anymore.”
“Especially if you are good at digging ditches,” Luke adds.
Simon returns to the table. “Let Emily finish. I need to retest her this afternoon. Nothing has changed outside the fence. With each new person we rescue we learn the world gets worst.”
“Always the optimist, Simon.” Luke swallows his last bite. “Not everyone out there surviving is the devil incarnate.”
“Nine months of avoiding being eaten changes people.”
“You’ll get used to this place.” Juliann smiles at her. “It’s the safest place I’ve seen.” She speaks as if her life was worse before the world fell to the apocalypse.
“You’ve been in this building before?”
“I spend a few days in the classroom you converted into a hospital.”
“It works great for a community building. Food, hospital, armory, bunkhouse for those who have not yet been assigned homes. Eventually we might turn some of the rooms back into classrooms.
“School.”
“Yet to be determined.” He points at the wall.
A section of a mural full of children of every ethnicity has been partially painted over by the rules. A title, “Rules of Acheron,” hangs over a motto, “we depend on each other.”
Rule #1: Biters are not people. Infected will be executed immediately.
Rule #2: All citizens, once properly certified, will carry arms.
Rule #3: Everyone works: Everyone Eats.
Rule #4: Punishment of violations will be severest as to the crime.
Rule #5: Protection of the Compound circumvents all other rules.
Scrawled underneath is sublimation about new rules being added or amended based on the camp’s need and adopted in town meetings.
“It’s still a work-in-progress.”
“The last rule kind of blankets everything,” Emily notes.
“You saw what they did to that Kyle kid?”
“He raped a girl.”
“The evidence indicated so. At our next meeting we may have to add specific crimes and punishments. Mostly people get docked food rations. Cuts down on a lot of petty issues because people don’t want to miss a meal.”
“What kind of crimes are people committing?”
“A few people get caught slacking off. Right now there’s a lot of labor work and not enough people to do it. As we grow that should get better. Creating rules to survive in this world will be full of trial and error. It’s not just enough to survive. We have to create a new way of life.”
“I’m ready to learn to shoot. And figure out what I’m best at besides hauling around metal poles.”
“Best kind of attitude to have around here.” Simon turns his head so she doesn’t see his smile.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Biter heads blow open from the bullets. A few get shot in the chest, but with each pull of the trigger Emily strikes an undead.
She drops the clip from the smoking pistol and places both on the table.
“You’re getting better. One more clip without a miss and I’ll certify you to carry.”
“I’m still not getting that many head shots.”
“You’re not missing either. Head shots are the most difficult to make. The movies make them look easy, but it’s not. You ever notice on the news when they show a prisoner being escorted to court and how he wears a bullet resistant vest?”
She nods.
“If head shots were so easy then why don’t they armor his face as well?”
Emily comprehends. She loads the gun, releases the slide, and aims before squeezing the trigger. Each round impacts a biter. Three slump finally dead. She places the empty gun and clip on the table.
“Nicely done. Not a miss and three kills. Good enough to carry. Not good enough for even light guard duty.”
“So it’s back to building fences?”
“It’s an honorable job.” Simon packs up his shooting supplies. “You don’t need a high caliber gun. I’ve got a small .22 perfect for you back at the community center.”
“It’s too early for supper to return there.”
“We’ll find Wanikiya and see if they’ve come up with an actual job assignment for you. We’ll take the long way back. I’ll show you more of the compound. You’ll work a full day tomorrow. You’ve earned a meal tonight.”
Simon places the case in the back of the Jeep. “We’ll skip the main entrance where it intersects this road with J
highway. So far we’ve been expanding west using the road as an eastern border.”
“Why there?” Emily desires understanding of her new home, realizing she never knew the geography of the military base.
“Besides boarding on a national forest, which limited the number of biter encounters at first, Highway J goes across the Clearance Cannon Dam.”
“So there’s a big lake as your northern border, which acts as natural protection.”
“Smart, but also the dam’s a hydroelectric plant.”
“That’s why we have lights.” She beams.
“We’ve a gate entrance there, too, but we keep it closed off with a tank. Not much north of the dam population wise.”
“That has to take a lot of guards.”
“One reason why everyone who’s unable to shoot with high accuracy or hasn’t another skill works the farm jobs. It only takes a few to tend cattle, but a lot to patrol the fences.”
“I guess we’ll always need guards now.”
“As we take over more farmland we grow more of our own food and rely less on scavenged food. We’re resigned to keep our human growth in line with our food production so we maintain a livable colony.”
Emily replays Simon’s words in her head. “Wait. You mean you aren’t letting just anyone inside the fence?”
“Our leader’s not out there collecting refugees. He’s collecting people necessary to survive in this colony.”
“It doesn’t matter how you restate it. You’d leave some poor helpless woman, who spent her life on welfare, outside the fence to be eaten if she had no viable skill inside this place, over someone who could rebuild a generator,” Emily huffs in anger. “Why did he even bring me here?”
“I never reason why,” Simon concludes. “He must’ve seen something in you.”
HE LEANS BACK from the deployed airbag covered now in the bloody outline of his face. The multiple spider web splinters of shattered glass cloud his vision. Not sure what he hit. Stiff from hours of not moving he forces his arm muscles to flex. His head swims with pain and he notes the faint odor of gas.
No Room In Hell (Book 1): The Good, The Bad and The Undead Page 14
