Heartland Zombie Apocalypse (Vol. 2): The Dead of Winter

by Brockschmidt, Marty

  Lou continued to be cautious, “I couldn't rightly say, but he's pretty banged up.”

  Stu reached down, touching Jim's neck to check for a pulse, causing Jim to moan in pain. Jim had blood streaming from his nose, both eyes were swollen shut, but his pulse was regular and his breathing was steady.

  Stu was contemplating his options when one of his privates assigned to the greenhouse came in, “My apologies sir, those greenhouses are a bit of jungle and that one snuck out on me.”

  Stu nodded, “Relax Private, he just brought this injured man to my attention. You can take him back to work now.”

  Stu turned to his other soldier, “Go fetch the doctor. Private, I don't need to tell you to hurry.”

  While Stu waited for the doctor to arrive, he got a couple of cloths wet and went to work getting the bleeding to stop from the Pastor's nose. Holding the cloth to the Pastor's nose, Stu could hear the broken cartilage crunch, once again causing Jim to moan in pain.

  Doc came in at a run, carrying his bag, “What happened?”

  “The man that brought him said he had an accident.” Stu replied.

  Doc did a quick exam of Pastor Jim, “I need him in the clinic, where I can stabilize him. He has broken ribs if he moves just right he'll puncture a lung.”

  “I'll help you move him.” Stu offered.

  “I'm going to need Hazel too. Your General limits the meds I can give our people, I need her homeopathic knowledge.” Doc stated.

  “Which one is Hazel?” Stu questioned.

  “Old woman, wears buckskins. You can't mistake her.” Doc recited quickly.

  “Private, bring this Hazel woman to the clinic then return here.”, Stu ordered.

  Doc led the way and Stu followed pushing Jim in his wheelchair. When they were in the elevator heading up to the clinic Doc cleared his throat, “This was no accident. This man was beaten near to death. He might die yet.”

  Stu stiffened, “I know that.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Doc demanded.

  “The man that brought your Pastor to me, was shall we say diplomatic. He was very careful, not to point fingers.” Stu answered.

  Doc's face reddened with anger, “So?”

  Stu exhaled slowly, “So, I'm pretty sure the one armed man, stopped whoever was beating the Pastor. If I go digging into that I put his life at risk. By me doing nothing the Pastor gets to live and so does that other man.”

  “The day is coming when you're going to have to make a choice.” Doc retorted.

  Any reply from Stu was stifled by the elevator doors opening. After helping the Doc and SueAnne get Jim situated into a bed, Stu returned to the community building. The work details were being brought in for their midday meal and Stu wanted to see who the one armed man would report to. However, he kept to himself and the little one armed girl, that often accompanied him. The little girl did leave his side for a while to mix with her friends, but he seemed content to stay put.

  Joe Gant went to bed early as he had every night since the occupation. He had no family to sit with and the soldiers did not allow people to gather after hours. The heat was set so low in the buildings that curling up under the blankets was the only way to keep warm. Besides after spending the day shuffling logs around he was to exhausted for much else.

  Joe had no idea how late at night or early in the morning it was, when a hand clamped over his mouth and a voice said, “Be quiet.”

  The blankets were ripped off Joe and rough hands lifted him up. Joe wasn't allowed to dress or put on boots, but was pushed to the door. Before the door was opened a gun was pushed to the back of his head and once again he was ordered to remain quiet. Joe was taken outside and forced to walk through the snow to the tower in the center of the courtyard.

  In the morning when the townspeople were directed to the community room for breakfast, they were greeted with the sight of a cordon of soldiers around the central tower. Standing near their men were Sergeant Redding and General Mayhue. As the townspeople drew nearer they could see a length rope attached to one of the tower crossbars, stretched taut.

  The General stepped forward to address the approaching people, revealing Joe Gant swinging from the rope, a noose tight around his throat. Joe's dead body had turned and his arms were outstretched towards the circle of soldiers. His feet inches from the ground, moved back and forth in a vain effort to move his body forward.

  The General raised his arms to quiet the murmurs rising from the crowd, “Friends, we are not sure what drove Mister Gant to this desperate act. My sincere condolences for your loss.”

  Crystal grumbled under her breath, “In a pig's eye.”

  The General continued, “Sergeant, I want an immediate investigation into how this man was able to get out and do this to himself. This type of inconsiderate act, poses a threat to everyone.”

  Sergeant Redding nodded, “Yes Sir. Shall I assemble a burial detail.”

  “Quiet Mister Gant and take his body down. Then you may ask for volunteers to lay his body to rest.” The General obliged.

  Chapter 9 – The Road

  Mac and Gael rode in silence for the first hour after leaving Jenny and Rob. Gael had not been parted from Rosa, for any length of time, since they had married. Now he could not be sure if he would ever see her again. However, Gael could tell Mac's ruminations ran a lot deeper.

  “So.” Gael said.

  Mac roared with laughter, “Yep.”

  Mac was quiet again for a bit, “Right now everything in me wants to turn this car around, grab everyone from the Mission and storm the gates of Timshel.”

  “We would stand with you.” Gael responded.

  “No, you would die, my family would die and I would die. It won't be enough just to take down Mayhue. All his men have to be taken out, or they'll just pick up where he left off.” Mac answered.

  “Your people there we couldn't arm them?” Gael asked.

  Mac sighed and shook his head, “They are good people and strong, that is for sure. It may come to that, I just want to put that off if I can. The thought of my daughters or my wife, taking a life, I don't want that for them.”

  Gael nodded. “Si, I understand.”

  Mac closed his eyes momentarily. “I'm not sure you do. I was so angry at those soldiers. Their hands all over my little girls. I lost it. I could of slipped away from the soldiers chasing after me, but I decided to hunt them instead. Killed em all. Their blood is on my hands. It can't ever be washed off. No denying they deserved it, just like Meurte and his boys did. Still, I lost something.”

  “You are still a man of conscience. I think you are being to hard on yourself. Enough said, how do we get to these others to help us?” Gael questioned.

  “Thank you for changing the subject. I've been thinking about that a lot. First we need to talk to them. To reach out to them with the radio, we need to get a lot closer. In the middle of winter, we won't be able to get there in this bucket.” Mac stated.

  Gael looked askant at Mac. “Why not? We have plenty of gas.”

  Mac chuckled. “Never, seen snow before have you my friend.”

  “That is true. Lived my whole life in New Mexico.” Gael replied.

  “You got an education coming. I have snow chains which will help a bit, but eventually the snow will be so deep it will just bury us.” Mac said.

  Gael became concerned. “You have a plan though?”

  “Don't worry, I won't let you freeze. Our first stop is outside of Wichita, I remember seeing a Cabela's there, when we toured around a bit before settling into our place in Nebraska. We'll get you some long johns.” Mac affirmed.

  Gael shivered unconsciously. “When do we get there?”

  Mac shrugged. “We can't drive at night. To easy to run into trouble. A few days.”

  Gael nodded. “Okay”.

  Mac laughed, unable to keep himself from teasing the other man. “Longer if we run into a freak snow storm.”

  It was late morning, when they
turned onto 35 just north of Oklahoma City. The air temperature was definitely chillier, but still above freezing. They had yet to have frost, but whenever they were outside of the car they could see their breath. Gael had spent enough mornings in the New Mexico desert that these temperatures were not unusual to him.

  “How much farther?” Gael asked.

  “About a hundred fifty miles. We should be there today, provided we don't hit problems.” Mac replied.

  Gael had the standard southerner, fear of snow. “We wouldn't get into snow that quick could we?”

  Mac shrugged. “We're headed due north now. We'll hit winter eventually.”

  “Maybe we should put on the snow chains.” Gael half suggested.

  Mac shook his head. “God I hate to. We'll have to drop our speed to a crawl and those things are murder on the tires.”

  “You're the boss.” Gael replied and settled himself back in his seat.

  They've had close to sixteen hours of downtime each day they've been on the road. However, Mac and Gael traded off keeping watch while the other slept. So neither of them had managed a solid eight hours of sleep. Gael tried to stay awake, but soon found himself drifting off.

  Gael was jolted awake when his face slammed against the window and his ears filled with Mac's curses. Gael shook his head to clear the sleep, then looked over to see Mac in a flurry of activity. Seemingly all at the same time Mac was spinning the wheel back and forth, pumping the brakes and downshifting. They were on an overpass and the car was careening first to one side and then the other. The trailer they were pulling had developed a mind of its own and was constantly trying to go in a different direction than the car.

  The trailer skidded to one side and was trying to overtake the car. Just as the trailer threatened to come along side of the car, the rear of the trailer clipped the front of an abandoned car. With that the wild contortions of the car and trailer ceased. They slid another thirty yards or so forward, but eventually coasted to a stop.

  Gael cleared his throat. “Maybe now is a good time for the snow chains.”

  Mac slowly released his grip on the wheel. “I think your right. I'll get started on the chains, if you could check on the trailer and hitch.”

  “Si.” Gael agreed.

  As the two men departed the car, Mac cautioned. “Be careful it's slick out there.”

  The warning came to slow for Gael as his feet shot out from underneath him.

  “You okay?” Mac asked concernedly.

  Gael grunted as he grasped the door handle to pull himself up. “Si.”

  Both men shuffled their feet on the ice, using the car for support. Mac popped the trunk and retrieved the snow chains and set about getting the chains on the tires. Gael inspected the trailer, hitch and the load in the trailer.

  “I think we're good.” Gael stated.

  “Cool. That's our exit right ahead, keep your fingers crossed that it hasn't been completely looted. If you can spot me as I pull forward onto the chains, we'll know soon enough.” Mac replied.

  They pulled up to the Cabela's to find the entrance to the parking lot blocked with vehicles. The tires had been removed, making the cars difficult to move. Crows were circling the parking lot overhead and more could be seen perched on the vehicles around the parking lot. There was enough of a gap for them to get through the cars on foot, so Mac parked the Challenger and the two men armed themselves.

  “You think is safe to leave our stuff out here?” Gael questioned.

  “We need to find things in there pretty bad. I set the override on the ignition and the alarm, nobody is going to mess with it. At least, not without us knowing about it.” Mac answered.

  Mac took the lead on the maze like entrance to the parking lot. Gael tightened his coat against the chill and followed, his shotgun at the ready. The two men stopped in their tracks when they cleared the final vehicle, blocking the way to the parking lot. Inside were dozens of the dead, that had found their way in through the maze, but were unable to navigate back out.

  It was cold enough that the joints of the dead were frozen. Most were lying on the ground, a writhing mass of crows tearing open the exposed torsos and devouring the frozen entrails. Others were seated or standing, propped against the vehicles and light posts in the parking lot. Mac, cleared the front of the step van and looked down its length. At the far end was a Dee, leaning against the van, on each shoulder was a crow, pecking off pieces of the Dee's ears.

  The Dee's eyes rolled towards Mac and tremulously it tried to raise an arm to grab at Mac. The creature could only get its frozen muscles to cause it's hand to shake and the small finger broke off and fell to the ground. The two crows hopped off the Dee's shoulders and began fighting over the morsel.

  Mac turned to Gael and spoke in an undertone. “Someone set this up to trap the dead in here. I'm guessing as a deterrent. Question is, are they still here?”

  Gael nodded his understanding. “Si.”

  Mac laid out a simple plan. “We'll move towards the door. Use what cover we can. Don't get to close to the dead.”

  Again Gael nodded. “Si.”

  The pair made their way across the parking lot. The steps leading up to the entrance were ice covered, forcing them to get a firm grip of the handrail. At the entrance, they found the sidelights and door panels covered in plywood. However, the leaf litter from the trees in the parking lot piled up against the entryway, gave no evidence of the doors being opened recently. In addition the handles of the doors were joined by a length of chain and fastened with a padlock.

  “Is good, no? The doors sealed from the outside.” Gael suggested.

  Mac took off his backpack and pulled out a pair of bolt cutters. “We'll know soon enough.”

  Mac cut the lock off and unwrapped the chain. He had his hand on the door pull, but paused and waved Gael back. Mac hooked the chain around the pull and stepped to the side of the door. Indicating to Gael to raise his gun, Mac pulled the door open with the chain. Mac wasn't sure what he expected might happen, but he was expecting more than the creak of the door hinges. Mac again cautioned Gael to hang back.

  Mac slung his shotgun over a shoulder, drew his pistol and pulled out a flashlight. Gael started to follow suit, but Mac halted him. “In a pinch, we might need you filling the room with buckshot.”

  “Si.” Gael acknowledged taking a firm hold of the shotgun.

  Mac stepped through the doorway, with Gael tight on his heels, panning the interior with the flashlight. The building had obviously been heavily looted. The interior was dimly illuminated by banks of second story windows. The pale light showed the floor covered with litter from torn apart packaging and near empty shelves and clothing racks.

  Mac turned to Gael and shrugged. “Let's head upstairs and hope for better pickings.”

  “Lead on.” Gael replied.

  As the two men moved to the stairway they passed a mannequin, dressed in camo, holding a paintball gun and wearing a helmet and face mask. As soon as the pair were at the top of the stairs the mannequin stepped down, placed the paintball gun on the pedestal and on tiptoe went to the stairway. The camo clad figure peered up to make sure the men had moved out of sight, then set about stretching a thin wire near the bottom of the stairway. The wire was set at a height to catch the men's ankles tripping them up on their way back down.

  The gun department was the closest to the top of the stairs and it had been ransacked. The display cases were shattered and empty. The shelves of ammunition had been cleaned out to the last box of 22 rounds. Mac felt a little cheated, finding all the guns gone, but they were not here for guns. Moving on they came to where hunting and sporting clothes were on display. Most of the warmer weather clothes had been cleaned out, but there was still some cold weather gear the men needed.

  “I must say, I was getting worried my friend.” Gael remarked.

  “I was banking on people being more focused on immediate concerns. Besides the cold weather stuff is bulky.” Mac answered as he gave a s
ideways glance at another camo clad mannequin, with head covered by a ski mask and goggles.

  Mac bent down and picked up a square of cardboard and examined it for a minute. Then suddenly flung it at the head of the mannequin. Gael was surprised when the mannequin instinctively ducked away from the projectile.

  Mac raised his pistol and began talking with no menace, but yet firmly. “Step on down slow. Hands where I can see them. We are going to do this nice and easy. We are not here to cause you any trouble. My friend and I just need to gear up before heading north.”

  A noise from behind them caused Gael to turn. Coming at a run was a teenaged girl, with a pistol in her hand. Gael raised his shotgun. “Put it down. No need to make trouble.”