Rotter Apocalypse

by Scott M. Baker

  “The only thing they’re good for is burning.” Denning entered the kitchen and sat beside Cindy. “Anna’s sewing kit is the guest bedroom closet. You can use it to take in your clothes. Especially hers. The girl looks like she’s wearing a potato sack.”

  “I do not,” Cindy retorted in a playful tone.

  “Maybe that should be my nickname for you. Potato.”

  Cindy’s mouth contorted into that half smile/half frown only children can pull off.

  “You’re not mad?” asked Windows.

  “I will be if you didn’t make me breakfast.”

  “I got you covered.” Windows jumped up and went over to the stove. Pulling down the oven door, she reached in and removed a plate containing scrambled eggs and three strips of bacon, which she placed in front of Denning. “I’ve been keeping it warm for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Windows stepped up to the counter, removed the pot from the coffee maker, and poured some into a mug that she brought to Denning. “It took me a few minutes to figure out how to make breakfast. I didn’t realize you still had electricity. How did you manage that?”

  “Solar panels on the roof. They can’t run anything heavy duty like air conditioners, but they provide enough power to keep the appliances and lights going.” Denning scooped a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “These are excellent. What did you do to them?”

  “I mixed in some onions, ground up bacon, and pepper. You like them?”

  “I may let you do all the cooking,” he joked.

  “That won’t last long. The only meal I ever learned how to make in college was scrambled eggs.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Denning nodded, unable to speak with a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

  “Thanks. Do you still want me and Cindy to make the rounds with you this morning?”

  Denning swallowed. “If you’re going to stay here for a while, you’ll need to know the layout of the farm. Plus I’ll show you the chores I want you to help me with.”

  “That’s fine.” Windows gathered the dirty dishes. “I’ll start cleaning. Let us know when you’re ready.”

  * * *

  They walked to the five-foot-tall, reinforced wooden fence that surrounded the property. Denning wore his utility belt with the hunting knife and machete, and carried his rifle over his shoulder. The girls followed. Windows paid careful attention as he showed her the various plots of land where he raised food and what was required to cultivate each crop. Cindy traipsed along behind them, running a blade of grass along the barbed wire, clearly bored with the tour. When they approached the coop and she heard the chickens clucking, she became excited, rushing past the adults to see them. When Denning and Windows reached the coop, they found Cindy kneeling in front of the chicken wire, her fingers through the openings and thirty hens and one rooster flocking around her on the other side.

  Cindy’s head shot up, a huge grin on her face. “I’ve never seen chickens before. They’re so friendly.”

  “They’re hungry. They think you have food.” Denning stepped over to a metal trash can that was half filled with chicken feed and removed the lid. Taking a plastic bowl from the top of the pile, he scooped up feed until it was full and handed the bowl to Cindy. “Would you like to feed them?”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.” Denning replaced the lid on the trash can. “Take some in your hand and sprinkle it around. If any fly up at you, brush them away. Ready?”

  Cindy nodded. Denning opened the coop door and Cindy rushed inside. The clucking became frantic as the chickens swarmed her, pecking at her legs and each other. The frenzy died down when Cindy grabbed a handful of feed and sprinkled it across the ground.

  Windows moved up alongside of Denning and spoke softly. “Thank you. It’s been awhile since she’s been able to act like a little girl.”

  “She seems like she could use some good times.”

  “She does.”

  “The same could be said of you.”

  Windows closed her eyes as if that could blind her from the memories.

  “Was it that bad?” he asked.

  “Not at first. I was lucky and hooked up with a good group of people who took me in and gave me shelter. We had a nice camp set up along the coast of Maine. I led a pretty sheltered life until a few weeks ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “A rape gang found us. They destroyed the camp and killed everybody. They took me back to their compound. I was forced to do things….” Windows choked up.

  “I can imagine.”

  “No, you can’t.” The young woman said it without anger or accusation. “Cindy and her mother had been there for months. After I arrived, Cindy’s mom committed suicide and left me a note begging me to look after her daughter. The things I had to do to protect that little girl were disgusting.”

  “None of that was your fault.”

  “Not when it came to being assaulted. Three nights ago our compound was attacked. I used that opportunity to get Cindy out. In order to escape, I… I wounded a man and left him to die.”

  “You had no other choice.”

  “I know.” Windows faced him. “What bothers me is that I enjoyed hurting him and leaving him to bleed out.”

  Denning stared at her, saddened by what he saw. Windows could be no more than twenty-five, yet she had that toughened appearance about her as if she had already experienced a long life of suffering and hardship. In reality, she had, except all those horrible experiences had been crammed into a few weeks. Outwardly her appearance and demeanor warned others not to fuck with her or Cindy. The eyes betrayed the truth. He detected a sadness in them that her rough exterior could not hide. Windows had not fully coped with the pain and what she had become, and seemed to be begging for absolution.

  “You had a right to enjoy it,” said Denning.

  “That’s not me.”

  “That’s what they made you into.” Denning faced Windows and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t do those things to save yourself. You did them to save Cindy, and she’s not even your responsibility.”

  “Yes she is.”

  “Now she is, only because her mother took the easy way out and pawned off that responsibility onto you. You didn’t have to accept it. You didn’t have to take her with you when you escaped. You didn’t have to take the risk of bringing her to this farm not knowing how I would treat you. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s made you tough.”

  Windows lowered her head. “It made me a monster.”

  “You’re not a monster. You’re an incredibly strong woman.”

  When Windows raised her head, she fought back the tears. Denning didn’t know what to say. Cindy provided a welcome distraction when she exited the chicken coop, giddy with excitement. “That was so cool.”

  “I’m glad you liked it. Come on.” Denning placed a hand on Cindy’s shoulder and led her away. “Let’s complete our rounds.”

  The three of them walked along the southern and western perimeter fence, no one saying a word. After a few minutes, they approached the pasture where Walther grazed. As usual, the bull waited by the corner to greet Denning. When they got to within a few feet, Cindy broke away and ran up to Walther. The bull snorted.

  “Cindy!” yelled Denning. “Don’t go near him!”

  The warning came too late. Cindy jumped up onto the fence, reached over the top, and stuck her hand into the pen. Walther lifted his head. Denning thought he would bite or ram Cindy. Instead, he allowed her to pet him. As her hand glided across his scalp, Walther closed his eyes and pushed against her palm, making sure she continued.

  Denning shook his head. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Windows.

  “Walther is an ornery son a bitch. He hates everyone except me.”

  Cindy glanced over her shoulder. “He’s just like you. All he needs is someone to be nice to him.”

 
“Cindy!” Windows’ jaw dropped. She turned to Denning. “I’m so sorry. She never—”

  Denning was laughing too hard to hear her. “Don’t worry. They say animals and kids are good at judging character.”

  “Still.”

  “She’s right. My wife would have agreed with her.” Some of his good mood drained away at the memory of Anna.

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking. The set up you have here.…” Windows hesitated. “Are you a survivalist?”

  Denning chuckled. “I prefer the term prepper. Survivalist sounds like someone who is heavily armed and anticipating the end of the world. This is the only weapon I own. That and a .38 revolver I keep in my nightstand.”

  “You were prepared for this,” Windows pointed out.

  “Not for this.” Denning looked beyond the perimeter fence to the dead world beyond. “I always knew society would collapse someday. I assumed it would be a financial collapse or a pandemic. Maybe even a natural disaster. If anyone had ever told me that the dead would come back to life and start eating the living, I would have laughed at them. Who’s insane now?”

  “The world.” Windows grew sullen.

  Denning nodded. “It’s a good thing I planned ahead, otherwise I would never have survived this long. I didn’t intend for this to be permanent, though.”

  “Are you saying you’re running out of food?”

  “No. I’ve stockpiled canned goods and coffee, but they have a limited shelf life. Other than that, I’m fine. I have plenty of farmland to plant on, and I never eat all the eggs so I’ll have a continuous supply of chickens. Plus I have rain barrels located across the farm, so I’ll always have a supply of fresh water. What I don’t have is time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Denning tried to hide the vulnerability in his voice. “I’m seventy-two years old, have high blood pressure and a bad heart, and ran out of my medication two months ago. Living like this is not doing my health any good. Sooner or later I’m going to die. It could be tomorrow, it could be in ten years. I have no idea.”

  “And you don’t want to die alone.”

  “I’ve been alone for the past ten years, so dying alone doesn’t bother me. What I am scared of is having a stroke or coming down with something that incapacitates me. That’s one of the reasons I allowed you and Cindy to stay, to be certain that if anything happens to me, someone will be here to make sure I cross over. Will you promise to do that?”

  Before Windows could answer, Cindy stopped petting Walther and raced up to the two adults. “I love Walther. Can I visit him again tomorrow?”

  “Of course you can, honey.” Windows wrapped her arms around Cindy and hugged her close. “You can visit him every day. We’re going to stay here for a while.”

  “How long?”

  “As long as it takes to make sure we take care of things for Mr. Denning.”

  “Really?” Cindy grinned at Denning. “Thank you.”

  “And thank you,” said Denning, more to Windows than to Cindy.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Natalie sat in the waiting room outside the warden’s office still wearing the ACU she had gone into battle with. The battle hadn’t lasted long after they had rescued Doreen, Sandy, and Batchelder. Most of the Deaders had been killed during the breaching of the main gate and the securing of the northern compound; the southern sector contained living quarters and housed mostly camp followers. Resistance had crumbled quickly. Two school buses were called in to pick up the survivors, as well as a pair of U-Hauls to cart away the bodies and any supplies that could be salvaged. The final casualty figures were sixty-three gang members killed and fourteen captured, as well as fifty-five camp followers rescued. Their losses totaled forty-four dead and twenty-nine wounded, all but one of whom would not become a rotter thanks to the vaccine the Angels had brought to Alcatraz. Having been kidnapped before he could be inoculated, Batchelder was the only one who would die from his wounds.

  Thomas stuck his head out of the warden’s office and motioned for Natalie to join them. When she entered, Secretary Fogel stood in front of his desk. He greeted her with a warm handshake.

  “Natalie, it’s good to see you again.”

  “Same here, Mr. Secretary.”

  He motioned to one of the two easy chairs in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

  Natalie took one of the chairs, and Fogel sat in the one opposite her. As usual, Thomas perched himself on the end of the desk.

  “Corporal Brown briefed me on the raid on the Deader compound. It’s a shame about Captain Endo and the others. We’ve all lost good people since setting up the government here at Alcatraz, most of them due to the Deaders. We don’t have to worry about them anymore, thanks to you.” Fogel leaned back in his chair. “Now we can concentrate on the important matter. Taking the battle to the revenants and making America right again.”

  Natalie shifted her gaze between Fogel and Thomas.

  “The revenant outbreak caught the government by total surprise,” Fogel explained. “Too many politicians on both sides of the aisle saw the outbreak as a way to gain political advantage. Some members of my own party criticized the president for not taking decisive action, even though initially no one knew how to deal with the situation. A few wanted to go through the charade of an impeachment hearing. Those around the president blamed the previous administration. The Christian Right called it God’s judgment for accepting homosexuality. One Muslim cleric declared it Allah’s will against Islam for not ridding the world on infidels. While political and religious leaders dicked around, the American people had to fend for themselves. Everyone thought the world had come to an end.”

  “Hasn’t it?” Natalie asked.

  Fogel shook his head. He squinted through his glasses to see her better. “Our planet is like a living organism and, sadly, we’re the parasites feeding off of it. If we abandon a town or leave behind an environmental disaster, in time nature reclaims the land. When the population grows too large and becomes a drain on resources, the planet purges itself through pandemics, such as the Black Death or the Spanish Influenza. In that sense, Earth is like us. If we become overstressed, we get sick. Once the virus has run its course, we get better.”

  “The Zombie Virus wasn’t natural, though,” said Natalie. “It was bioengineered in a lab and released into the population on purpose.”

  “We know that,” said Thomas. “The concept is still the same.”

  “Exactly,” continued Fogel. “However it came about, we see this outbreak not as the end of the world, but a resetting of it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Fogel sat forward. He spoke in a quiet, reassuring voice. “The world was going to Hell in an overcrowded hand basket. Overpopulation strained our resources. Our government had a twenty trillion dollar debt and no way of paying it off. The disparity between the richest and the poorest people was worse than ever, and the middle class had all but disappeared. People no longer trusted the government, the police, or the courts. The social fabric of society was falling apart. And the institutions we’d normally turn to for guidance didn’t care. The church was either covering up its own scandals or trying to influence politics. Our elected officials were too busy taking care of their careers to do the right things. You know, when I entered government thirty-odd years ago, both parties didn’t get along, but they agreed to disagree, and every American called this country the land of the free. Prior to the outbreak, politics had become a blood sport where you got what you wanted by lying and defaming your opponents, and no one thought we were free any more.

  “The Revenant Outbreak was a reset button. There are no banks, police, courts, or governments. No one cares about reality TV, Internet connections, Facebook, gay marriage, gun control, illegal immigration, or the thousands of other petty things that dominated our lives. There are no more liberals or conservatives, rich or poor, Christians or atheists. There are only people who have survived and are trying to get their lives bac
k in order. I want to rebuild society, but not the one we had prior to the outbreak. I want to abolish all the laws on the books, except the Constitution, and start from scratch. When Congress is re-established, there’ll be a whole new set of politicians who are not beholden to the system, and they can decide which laws are good enough to keep. This is our chance for a new beginning.”

  Natalie found herself intrigued by the proposition. “Do you really believe you can change things for the better?”

  “Maybe not permanently, human nature being what it is,” said Thomas. “We can at least try. Hopefully we can get two or three good years out of it.”

  “Five, if we’re lucky.” Fogel chuckled. “I’m a realist. I know it won’t last. Whenever there’s an election for president, someone will try and get votes by blaming this on the other party. The rich and powerful will do whatever they can to get back what they’ve lost. I doubt it’ll be long before the world is in turmoil again.”

  Fogel reached out and took Natalie’s hand. His voice possessed a sincerity and optimism she had not heard in ages. “We have to try. We owe it not only to ourselves, but to the hundreds of millions who died in this war. History is going to view this moment with a critical eye. If we fight our way back from the brink of extinction only to embrace everything bad about society that put us in this predicament in the first place, this will be our darkest moment. If we try to salvage from the wreckage of our past something better, even if we fail, future generations will have a beacon to guide them. They’re going to have a difficult enough time as it is. We owe it to future generations to give them a good foundation to build on.”

  Natalie felt inspired, something she had not felt in a long time. It had nothing to do with presentation, because Fogel gave his speech without any of the finesse or oratory flair she would have expected from a politician. Instead, he spoke with a heartfelt honesty. For the first time since the outbreak occurred, and especially since the destruction of their camp, Natalie felt like she had a chance to rebuild her life. She placed her hand on top of the Secretary’s and clasped it. “Count me in.”