Reavers (Z-Risen Series Book 4)

by Timothy W. Long

  He kicked the door open even as we accelerated.

  I reached for him, but he yelled at me to stop.

  Joel lifted his assault rifle and aimed. The gun went through a half-arc as the plane moved away from the battlefield.

  He fired once and then again. The tall shuffler looked up at the gunshots.

  The next round found the asshole’s head and splattered it.

  “You got him, now close the damn door!” I yelled as wind rushed in.

  Joel kept his leg extended, foot propping the door open.

  “Joel, we won’t be able to get up to speed, and that fence is coming up real fucking fast,” Anna yelled over the air rushing inside the airplane.

  He aimed one more time, and the last shot hit Roz. She’d still been on her feet, but had taken massive damage to her head and upper body. Blood poured freely from several deep lacerations. She dropped to the ground and then turned her head to watch us fly away. I felt like an asshole for abandoning her.

  The next bullet found her head and she fell over dead.

  Joel swore, and let the airplane's acceleration kick the door closed.

  He sat back in the copilot's seat and put his hands over his eyes.

  I followed his lead by also sitting back. I pulled Christy close and draped my arm around her shoulder.

  Frosty lay her head on Christy’s lap for a rub. Then she decided to lie down in the tiny space between us and the front seats.

  The plane lifted off. As we rose into the air, Anna cut toward the north in a wide arc.

  I tried to pick out the corpses of Roz and Mateo below, but we were already too far away.

  ###

  20:00 hours approximate

  Location: A field somewhere in CA

  “I didn’t know you could fly, Anna,” I said.

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Jackson,” she said.

  She sat next to me while the four of us stared at the setting sun.

  We’d been in the air for an hour before she picked out a location that had a wide field. There weren’t any homes within a five-mile radius, so she set down. As we descended, she informed us that we needed to brace, because landing was something she’d been working on with her flight instructor.

  I thought that was perfect. We’d escaped from hell only to face a possible crash.

  But she set down with only a few bumps, then breathed a very loud sigh of relief. If we’d hit a rock, the plane probably would have tipped over and crushed us.

  As we’d flown over Southern California, I’d stared at the landscape and found almost nothing alive. Cars didn’t move, and there was barely any sign of humanity. Sure, a few faces poked up at us, but from a few thousand feet up, it was hard to tell if they were Zs or surviving humans.

  Behind us another fireball rose into the air but it wasn’t the same as a nuke’s mushroom cloud. I had no idea what was happening back there but I assumed most of the civilians at the Costco were not gone. I hoped to hell Douglas was one of them. I’d never know his fate or the fate of any of the others and I guess that was fine with me.

  “So how did you find the plane?” I asked.

  Joel had taken a seat fifteen feet away. He stared toward the sunset and didn’t speak.

  “Damned good luck is how. The hangar had a double door, and the plane was covered with a tarp. Getting to it was a bitch. Someone had put some scaffolding against the door, so it wasn’t all that obvious what was there. Joel was smart and recognized the building was too large for the interior, meaning we’d missed something during our initial scouting.”

  “He has his moments,” I observed.

  Anna pushed my shirt up and looked at the scratches on my chest. She broke out a bottle of alcohol and commenced with cleaning them to my great distress. My head hurt, my neck was sore, and just about every single muscle in my body ached. I needed to sleep for about a week. But somehow, Anna’s touch made it all bearable for the time being.

  “Thing is practically brand-new. I suspect someone was hiding it, and wanted to use it as an escape, but they never made it to the airfield. The plane was almost topped up with fuel. We found some extra fuel canisters and stowed them in the back.”

  “That’s good news. How far can we go?”

  “I don’t know, probably over a thousand miles. Judging by how far we’ve flown, we might make it out of California.”

  I nodded and thought about our next move, but did it even matter where we went? Seemed like the whole world was just one big graveyard.

  “So, Oregon is the destination?” I said loud enough for Joel to hear.

  He just grunted.

  “Good as anywhere, I guess. Honestly I don’t know where else to go. The state is probably less populated than California. Honestly, anywhere that looks like a small town surrounded by fields would be better than the overly populated places we’ve been calling home,” Anna said.

  I nodded and put my arm around her. She didn’t punch me, so that was good.

  Christy went to the airplane and dug around until she found some MREs.

  We doled them out, and exchanged packets of food with each other. Anna and I used the portable heating elements in each box to warm the main dishes.

  Joel finally decided to join us. He poked around at his food and ate it cold.

  “Joel, I’m sorry about Roz,” I said.

  “I know, man. Whole bunch of fucking sorry in the world. I really liked her, you know? I might have loved her, but I never got to tell her. When she started to change, I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Grief does strange things to you,” Anna said and squeezed my hand. “Makes you forget about what’s in front of you. You did your best to protect her, we all did. But she was one of them. I know that’s a shitty thing to say, but it’s the truth.”

  “I know,” Joel said. “I know.”

  We huddled together for another fifteen minutes, before the moan of a Z caught on the wind and carried in our direction.

  We piled back into the plane, and Anna taxied down the field.

  As we roared into the air, I put my hand on Joel’s shoulder and squeezed.

  He patted my hand, and I knew Joel was going to be alright in time.

  “Fuck it. Let’s see how far this piece of shit can get us,” I said.

  “This piece of shit probably cost three hundred grand, Jackson,” Anna said over the headset.

  “Well, shit. I should have enough back pay in another four or five years to cover the cost.”

  “I thought they paid squids in beer?” Joel chimed in.

  “I wish I had some beer. Damn, man. Maybe we can make a beer run when we get to wherever we’re going,” I said.

  “Isn’t that how we got into this whole mess?”

  “I need to hear this story,” Anna said with a laugh.

  “Well what had happened was…” I said in my best imitation of Joel.

  He shot me the finger, and I went on to recount how we’d set out one day in San Diego to find beer at his friend’s apartment.

  So I began to recount the story of: "how we’d ended up knee-deep in 'the fuckening'."

  This is Machinist Mate First Class Jackson Creed and I am still alive.

  The End

  The adventure will continue in

  Z-RISEN 5: BARRIERS

  Coming in early 2016

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  Afterword

  It took a few years to reach this point and I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey. The forth book wraps up the story arc but Z-RISEN is far from over.

  The next book will be called Z-RISEN 5: BARRIERS.

  The first book was initially written as a free web serial and it was set in the same world as my Permuted Press novel Beyond the Barriers--the books can be read independently.

  I’m an indie author and I work very hard on my books. I ho
ld down a full time job, have a family, and still manage to get in a few hours a day to write. I love hearing input from readers and the best way to provide that is via a review.

  When you leave a review on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, or where ever you purchased a book, it helps other readers. This also helps the author out more than you can imagine.

  So please, friends, if you can spare a few minutes of your time, go and review Z-RISEN: REAVERS on amazon.

  CLICK TO REVIEW

  Be honest and know that I read every review and use feedback to better my writing as well as have a positive impact on future novels.

  Watch for the next book in early 2016. Before that be sure to check out the upcoming series written by Craig DiLouie, David Moody, and me. THE FRONT is a series set during World War II and it will follow the adventures of platoons of paratroopers dealing with a new threat beyond anything the Axis ever threw at them: Zombies.

  Now please enjoy a free short story that was actually written as an homage to my own characters Jackson Creed and Joel Kelly. Night of the Living Old Farts is a comedic piece set in a retirement home during a zombie outbreak.

  16:15 hours approximate

  Seattle, WA – currently free of dead

  This is author Timothy W. Long and I am still alive … and writing.

  Bonus Story:

  Night of the Living Old Farts

  “See those knee highs?” Fast Freddie McAlister tugged his glasses down his nose and nodded at the curt form of Mrs. Kale as she sashayed past the converted card table. One eye was partially clouded over with a cataract but his other eye saw well enough considering he’d once taken a piece of tiny shrapnel across the bridge of his nose.

  A pile of cards, coins, and mugs of decaf coffee littered the tabletop, covering stains, dents, something that might have been old gum or denture gel, and enough scratches to keep a future linguist busy for years. The table was probably older than McAllister because it’d looked the same as the day he’d arrived at the Shady Vale Assisted Living facility.

  A transistor radio that had seen better days scratched through advertisement before switching back to news and weather updates. Every hour on the ten’s, was the channel’s byline. There were days when McAllister heard the same shit so many times he could practically recite the rain forecast word for word.

  He leaned over and gave the radio’s knob a slight twist but it didn’t help the scratchy reception.

  “You and knee highs. Might be a fetish,” Jerry Winfield replied. He used his handkerchief to wipe a line of sweat off his forehead and then sniffed the cloth.

  Jerry was born old. At eighty one years of age he didn’t wear his wrinkles well. They’d settled in some time ago and then worked relentlessly to devour his face. He was bald by choice because a white halo on a black man was reserved for celebrities, or so he’d confessed to Fast Freddie one drunken night.

  “The hell you smell it for?”

  “I heard that the thing makes folks smell like vinegar before they turn.”

  “Kinda crap is that? Smell like vinegar and I’d say you been pickled,” Freddie said. “I heard that your skin falls off first then you get the taste for brains.”

  “Now what in the hell would brains do for one of them things?” Jerry replied.

  “Hell if I know, maybe they think it’ll make them smart. Now let me get a good look at Ms. Kale again,” Fast Freddie, who was anything but, said. “It’s still my turn and I got a hand and a half, son. So get ready to cry. In fact, why don’t you try on some knee highs while you’re at it.”

  “No point. I tried yours on last night and they were too loose.”

  The two men stared daggers at each other.

  “…back to today’s top story. The president stated, that a state of emergency was still in full effect. Local law enforcement, working in conjunction with National Guard say they have stopped the infected from pushing any farther into the city. It is advised that citizens remain in their homes. In other news, Kinnsey Kohan, star of such films as I Was a Teenage Prostitute and Why Me Say Ugly Stuff has issued a statement showing her support for the infected.

  The radio tone changed.

  “Like, we can’t just keep killing people. It’s like inhumane, like we need peace and calm. We need to put them in camps or homes or something until they can be fixed up. I’m begging you. Stop shooting all of these innocent people in the head.”

  “Now for weather…”

  Fast Freddie tossed a few coins into the pot and then considered his cards.

  “You gonna play a card or memorize them?” Jerry asked.

  “Oh pipe down. I’m about to win back my money from last week.”

  “You’re not about to win back a dime, you’re so far in the hole you’d need a spotlight to see the top of the pit.”

  Freddie ground his dentures together.

  “… It looks like the rains are keeping away for another day and the temperature will hold at a steady seventy-five degrees until night. Not that it matters since we’re all going to be fucking dead in …”

  “Oh Joel. Such a joker. How’s that traffic, Buzz?”

  “Such a joker my ass. I figure we got another day at the most before this shit hits us.” McAllister observed.

  “Christ. What’re we going to do then?”

  “I’m planning to do the ten second prayer. That’s about how long it will take to put my head between my legs and kiss my ass goodbye.” McAllister said.

  The recreation room wasn’t exactly abuzz with activity. There was the television with its fuzzy picture and even when it was in focus the programming wasn’t that great.

  Another table held the bingo club but Mr. Smith had fallen asleep and was snore-drooling through the numbers. Eight chairs held the women of the second floor and they were judging all who entered the room. The leader was Mrs. Anderson who held court from a lazy boy that was the newest thing in the room. Heaven help anyone who took that seat. She’d throw a conniption then mean girl the offender for the next three months.

  Mr. Marquitz and Ms. Martin huddled close together whispering into each other’s ears. Fast Freddie had heard that the two started to see each other a few months after their respective spouses passed away. He knew better than to ask any questions. Let the bitties under the rule of Mrs. Anderson handle that and no one got their desert stolen.

  “I can’t take any more of that damn TV since it’s been sanitized of actual news thanks to the goddamn FCC lockdown. Time was we got actual reports and reporters. Now it’s just happy happy crap. Just plain crap.” Jerry said.

  “Ain’t that the happy damn truth? The way this thing is progressing, I figure we got about another day at the most before we’re locking doors and boarding up windows.”

  “You just said that you daft bastard,” Jerry said.

  “Words hurt, Jerry,” McAllister winked. “Like that time I told you about taking your mom back to my place.”

  “My mom said you were so small she had to break out a magnifying glass just to find and free your willy.”

  The two men stared daggers at each other again.

  Fast Freddie McAllister had been hanging out in God’s waiting room for almost a decade. When Jerry Winfield, former Marine and former all around smartass had arrived, the two men’d hit it off like long lost brothers. A year later they hated each other but that didn’t stop them from playing cards and trading insults every Saturday morning. They’d had a group of other card players but they’d died off as the years rolled on so that only the grumpy pair remained.

  Freddie had been trying to crack Jerry’s poker face for years but the other man had the dead stare down to a tee. Jerry claimed he’d been a sniper back in the day and Freddie mostly believed him. Jerry also claimed to have met President Johnson but his story changed in detail every time it came up. First it was in Dang Ho, then the meeting had occurred in his home city of Milwaukie. Fast Freddie told his own share of tall tales about epic drinking and whoring n
ights over seas so the two men just went along with each other.

  “Why don’t you just marry the cards?” Fast Freddie said.

  “Fine you old bastard. I ain’t got no three’s now go fish.”

  Fast Freddie snarled and dug into the pile of cards.

  “You guys talking about which vegetables give you a soft BM again?” A female voice said.

  Fast Freddie looked up to find a familiar face hovering over the table. She was a fine looking woman if a bit high strung who claimed she’d dated more female stewardesses in the sixties than the men had dated women put together. She wore a white lace shawl over a blue dress covered in yellow flowers. Her hands were wax paper over a spider web of blue veins.

  “Well, Miss Cromeenes, what brings you to the shady side of town?”

  “The shady side? I thought that was over by the Alzheimer ward. Mr. Brown sells his wife’s pain meds if you have the dough.”

  “Had enough pain meds to last me a life time. Why when I was in the shit, back in sixty five …”

  “There aren’t enough pain meds in the world to save me from this boring story. I came to tell you boys something.”

  “Tell me about that time you had a threesome?”

  “Like your ticker would hold up. Now listen. I heard a commotion by the door and I don’t mean the kind of commotion when Mr. Elrod wanders away from ranch. Sounded like a bunch of maniacs trying to break down the door.”

  Jerry placed his deck face down on the old card table and stared at Miss Crommenes. “Go on.”

  “What do you want, a map? We got zombies at the door and no way anyone’s gonna save us. The staff here is about as brave as their paychecks. I expect a mutiny in the next few minutes.”

  “My lock should hold up for a few hours. What say you we go to my place and get more comfortable before we all get eaten?” Jerry said. “I got a bottle of hooch.”