Mortal: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

by Shawn Chesser

  So after saying only a handful of words during the entire trip from Victor to the road outside the compound, and then having spoken only half as much since being welcomed here, Tran stunned everyone around the campfire by going on to say, “I think I know where Ian Bishop is.”

  There was another short span of silence followed by Heidi springing to her feet. “Spit it out, goddammit,” she cried as she stalked around the ring of stones toward Tran, who was still sitting down.

  Feeling his stomach go cold, Daymon stretched his lanky frame, found solid footing and rose to his feet. He approached Heidi, who was standing over Tran and obviously waiting for an answer to her question. Daymon grasped her hand and, after a little resistance, gently guided her back to her seat.

  After watching with rapt attention, Duncan tipped his beer, draining the suds onto the dirt.

  “The lady said spit it out,” he drawled, staring directly at Tran.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Tran told them everything he’d overheard during his time at the ‘house’ in Jackson Hole. And though he couldn’t speak to who was with Bishop nor pinpoint his location accurately by name or a GPS coordinate, he did say unequivocally that Northern Idaho was a place they should avoid at all costs.

  “Whole lotta help that was, Tran,” said Lev. “I’m no map maker but I’d guess the Idaho panhandle has got to be several thousand square miles of mostly rugged terrain. Locating this Bishop would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

  “Proving my point, Lev. Like I said ... who the eff cares about Bishop until he’s our problem. I say we clean house close to home first.”

  “Jamie is right,” interjected Logan. “All in favor of dealing with Huntsville first raise a hand.” He put his hand up, looked around, and counted silently in his head. “In favor of hunting down Bishop?”

  Only Heidi’s hand went up.

  “The majority has spoken,” stated Logan. “I’m sorry Heidi, but that’s how we’ve agreed to make any decision affecting the entire group.”

  “So it’s settled,” added Duncan. “We hope the bastard stays away for now and continue to forage and get the compound ready for winter.”

  Heidi leapt up, said, “Fuck it,” and stormed toward the moonlit clearing in the distance.

  The reaction was exactly what Duncan had expected. Knowing there would be a time and a place to worry about the Bishop fella, and accepting that the time was not now or here, he bit his tongue and watched the blonde disappear into the shadows. Once she was gone, he met Daymon’s gaze, nodded at the younger man, and made himself a mental note to follow up with him later.

  “Wait a sec,” Daymon called out, trying to free himself from the poorly-balanced camp chair. Once he’d untangled his legs he sprinted off into the gloom.

  Logan made a face and then looked up through the canopy at the field of stars winking light years away. “I’ve got an idea. It’s a long shot but worth a try,” he said, shifting his weight to the edge of his chair. “If we’re going back to Huntsville we’re going to need better gear. More firepower, and something to help us to see in the dark.”

  “Is there a Cabela’s nearby that I don’t know about?” asked Gus.

  “No, sadly, there is not a Cabela’s nearby, let alone a K-Mart that wasn’t ransacked early on. But a couple of months after I bought this land, I was in town trying to find an excavator to dig the holes for the Conex containers and to prep the clearing for the airstrip and the like, but I kept having to compete with this crotchety old guy named Lenny who was also making preps for the Y2K bug. Bastard was always renting the earth-moving equipment I needed right out from under me—”

  Cutting Logan off, Duncan said, “Hate to interrupt your yarn, baby bro, but cut to the chase. Is Lenny alive or isn’t he? Been over a decade since you broke ground here. And just how do you think your former competition is going to be of any help to us now?”

  “It was the whole sneaking in and slitting their throats thing Jamie said that gave me the idea. Figure the fella might have some night vision equipment he will loan me. If he’s still alive, that is. He’s gotta be seventy or so by now. I’ll see if I can find what ham frequency he transmits on—”

  “You haven’t contacted him since this thing started?” asked Gus. “Not even for a welfare check?”

  “Not that kind of a relationship,” added Logan, shaking his head. “We were kinda prepping adversaries. He was expecting more of a fight from the authorities than I was, if you know what I mean.”

  Lev poked his nose into the exchange. “What makes you think he will just hand over the goggles?”

  “He’s not a bad guy. He’s just reclusive ... used to live in Huntsville, so if he’s no longer there then he’s got nothing in common with the brigands who are. Stands to reason he’d be more than willing to help out if I word my proposal the right way. We might even be able to barter with the man. Give him something he needs ... maybe a shiny new Toyota.”

  Duncan leaned in and said, “So where is his place, Logan?”

  “I don’t know exactly but I have a good idea. I remember seeing him towing an excavator eastbound down 39 behind a big Dodge pickup. For some reason it stayed with me that the excavator’s tracks were clean at the time. Then the next day when I was in town at the Rents All place waiting for him to return the thing so I could get my hands on it, he brought it in and caught hell because the tracks were still caked with red dirt. And I think I know where to find that type of dirt.”

  “Finish yer never-ending story,” drawled Duncan. “I’m getting sleepy.”

  Logan added a few more details and then excused himself. Whether or not he had saved the scribbled numbers that would make finding the retreat that much easier was the biggest unknown. What with a bunch of new people pulling duty in the security and communications container, he feared anything could have happened to the scrap of paper on which he’d written the man’s ham radio handle and frequency on.

  Chapter 47

  Eden Compound

  Searching for Heidi, Daymon left the flickering campfire behind and made his way towards the far edge of the clearing where the aircraft were parked.

  As he neared the dark blue DHS Black Hawk where he figured he’d find her, the moon peeked from behind high, scudding clouds, washing a single engine Cessna and a lone Bell Jet Ranger helicopter in its brassy yellow glow.

  After a short search, he found her sitting in the grass, legs drawn underneath her, back braced against the helicopter Cade had procured for Duncan a week prior.

  He ducked under the camouflage netting draped over the rotor blades and sat on the grass, his shoulder touching hers. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  She said nothing. Only burrowed in close against his warmth.

  Daymon savored the moment. He kissed the crown of her head. Breathed in the scent he knew so well, which was slightly masked by the distinct odor of wood smoke clinging to both of them. And when she didn’t respond, he stared off into the dark, fearful she was about to divulge more details about her ordeal at the mansion.

  They sat listening to a cricket’s scratchy serenade and the distant murmur of people talking around the fire. After a handful of minutes Heidi finally broke the silence. “Sorry I stormed away.”

  “No worries,” he replied.

  “What Tran said back there surprised me ... I was in a good frame of mind for once, and didn’t have my defenses up. Then he had to go and mention Bishop—” She threw a violent shudder that wasn’t a by-product of the chill in the air. “—I lost it.”

  Daymon asked, “Anything I can do for you right now?”

  “I’m OK,” she said, looking away. “I need to learn how to stop stuffing my feelings. That’s all.”

  “Heidi,” he said, looking her in the eyes. They were moist and tears were running down her cheeks. “Anything at all ... I’m not good at this intuitive stuff so you have to let me know.”

  “I didn’t mean to take it out on Tran.” She went
silent for a moment. “But Bishop—” she went on, putting a sharp edge to her words. “—I want anyone connected to him and that house on the bluff either six-feet-under or walking the earth without a pulse.”

  Feeling the steady beat of Heidi’s head thumping the helicopter resonating through his body, Daymon said, “At least you know Lucas and Liam are dead. That’s a good start.”

  “And I have Tran to thank for it. But now that I know Bishop is still out there ... changes everything. With or without you, I don’t feel safe here.”

  “I won’t let him hurt you,” Daymon said. “And if he shows up here we’ll run him off.”

  “I thought your friend Cade was going to be here.”

  “That’s what he said. Something must have come up. If he’s not here by tomorrow I’ll call him.”

  “I thought the phone he gave you died.”

  “Logan found a compatible charger in his box of electronic odds and ends. Thing’s so full of wires and stuff looks like he looted a Radio Shack.”

  The low voices began to fade and Daymon could see dark forms passing in front of the dying fire. Embers flared and angry orange sparks shot towards the heavens as someone stirred the coals. From the way the form was stooped over, he presumed it was Duncan.

  “When I talk to Cade I’ll fill him in about Bishop.”

  “How is he going to help?”

  “Can’t be sure he will. He was on a mission to apprehend Robert Christian last time I saw him. I dropped his team off at the mansion so I figure he kind of owes me one.”

  “I don’t want anyone to know what happened to me at the mansion, let alone a stranger.”

  “I can understand that,” Daymon said. “I’ve got something I need to get off of my chest. Something I’ve been keeping inside since the day I met Cade.” He talked about being trapped in the attic of the farmhouse in Hanna, Utah. Sparing none of the details, he told her how the lawyer, Hosford Preston, had gotten the three of them trapped. Then he admitted how he’d had a breakdown in his core values he’d never be able to forget.

  “You didn’t put the man out of his misery?” Heidi said incredulously. “I’ve seen you kill twenty rotters at once without even batting an eye.”

  “That’s different, There’s nothing in their eyes. They’re not human anymore.” He paused and took a deep breath. Looked away towards the dying fire. “Hosford was still alive. He was already bitten but he was still alive. Cade said, ‘Shoot him,’ but I couldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I was pissed at him for getting me trapped with my thoughts and my claustrophobia in that fucking hot and stuffy attic. It was black as night up there.” His breathing quickened. “So I let the monsters have him.”

  Shaking her head, Heidi asked, “That’s not you, Daymon.” She sat up straight. “Does Cade know?”

  “He seemed pissed at the lawyer too.”

  “Pissed enough to let him suffer?”

  “He was fucked anyway. One bite’s a death sentence. It just seemed right at the time.”

  “Doesn’t make it right, Daymon.”

  “I know,” he whispered.

  She held him for a few minutes, then, with her left hand, tugged his shirt from the front of his pants where the leather belt was cinched tighter than she’d ever seen it. “You lost a lot of weight,” she stated.

  He sat up straight as her right hand pushed under his fleece shell and then between the tee shirt and his skin. “Does this hurt?” she asked, tracing a finger across the raised scars while imagining, in her mind’s eye, the thick pink cords of mending flesh.

  “Not anymore, thanks to Jenkins,” he said. “Who would have thought a salve meant for horses would work so well?”

  “Former 4H member Charlie Jenkins, that’s who,” she said, throwing a true shiver against the nighttime chill.

  A sly smile curled Daymon’s lip. Ammunition, he thought. Let the hazing begin. Although he respected Jenkins and Gus and Cade and men like them, he still received a great deal of satisfaction from finding chinks in their armor. He supposed it was because firefighters had always deferred to the authority of lawmen, and this was his way of playfully letting them know that the playing field had been leveled. Just then he felt a vibration on his leg. He pulled his shirt and fleece back into place, fished the Motorola from his thigh pocket, and thumbed the talk button. “Daymon,” he said.

  “Coming inside?” came Duncan’s soft drawl followed by a little electronic squelch.

  “Gimme five,” was Daymon’s reply.

  “That’s all the time you’re gonna need?” the grizzled aviator quipped.

  Daymon made no reply. Only listened to Duncan’s trademark cackle for a second, then silenced the radio.

  “What a dick,” said Heidi as she rose. “I thought you said he was one of the good guys.”

  “He’s not so bad. Just likes to bust my balls,” said Daymon. “Probably didn’t think you were listening.”

  “Let’s get back. I’ll put some more salve on your wounds.”

  “Is that all?” Daymon asked, a mischievous tone to his voice.

  Heidi made a face in the dark.

  “That is all ... for now,” she answered quietly. “It’s still too soon.”

  He held the netting and let Heidi pass. He followed suit and they walked hand-in-hand towards the foreboding black wall of trees demarking the clearing’s edge. Alert to any out-of-place sounds or odors, Daymon kept his head moving on a swivel as the moonlight-washed clearing disappeared behind them. Then, with the gnarled branches seemingly reaching and clutching for him, he slowed his pace, looking longingly over his shoulder at the flat earth and grass. Finally, he gazed up at the infinite openness of the nighttime sky and was suddenly compelled to turn around, find a spot in the tall grass and sleep out in the open. He wouldn’t let on, but truth be told he feared the metal-walled embrace of the low-ceilinged Conex container. He feared having tons of topsoil symbolically pressing the air from his lungs. Fighting the initial stirrings of his ever-present claustrophobia, he took point in front of Heidi and fumbled his way in the dark towards the compound’s hidden entrance. Once there, a predetermined series of knocks gained them entry.

  Chapter 48

  Outbreak - Day 17

  West of the Rockies

  Wondering what his second-in-command and old friend Carson was doing at the moment, Bishop rolled over and peered out the window and across the lake where the partial moon was reflected off its shimmering surface.

  The king-sized bed he had commandeered was empty and would remain so until the right woman came along. He’d already made a pact with himself that she’d have to be the one to approach him. He was not Robert Christian. And, though he was no stranger to brutality and killing, taking a woman against her will was something he didn’t partake in.

  However it was something he’d learned to turn a blind eye to where his troops were concerned. Carson and Joshua knew where he stood on this, and were instructed to keep the men under them in control and the practice out of his sight. But as the old saying went, boys will be boys. And they had been boys with a handful of the locals, undoing all of the inroads they’d already made by purging the area of zombies for miles around. Truth be told, he hadn’t ordered his men to waste bullets on the monsters to gain favor with the locals. He just couldn’t stand to look at one for even a second. Out of sight, of mind was his new motto.

  So in addition to sterilizing the area, his men, with help from the locals, had fortified the lake road, blocking entrance to the creatures but also to the rightful owners of the lakefront properties on either side of his new home.

  And the reason he couldn’t sleep was the vulnerability he felt with his most trusted men away and the underlying current of hostility growing stronger with each passing day.

  He looked at the nightstand and for a beat thought about picking up the sat phone and recalling Carson and the boys from their foraging mission. Then as quickly as the impulse had come, it was gone
. Hell, he thought to himself. You’ve spent your entire career behind enemy lines. How is this any different?

  He rolled out of bed. Padded to the humongous walk-in closet, and selected from the former owner’s wardrobe a pair of plain gray sweatpants and a similar long-sleeved sweatshirt—both a size too small. Squeezed into them, and as penance for allowing fear to even crack the door, left his pistol by the bed and went for a midnight jog around the lake.

  Chapter 49

  Colorado Springs

  Though it was full dark, for Sergeant Eckels to see the action in front of him, night vision goggles weren’t necessary. The half-mile-long funeral pyre lit up everything for blocks around and cast a soft, dome-like glow over the entire battlefield.

  He stood outside his command vehicle and watched the squirter teams in their M-ATVs engaging small groups of Zs that had inadvertently escaped over the rubble and concertina barriers, their top-mounted CROW turrets dishing out quick bursts of second death.

  He popped another AMP. Took a long pull and felt the instant caffeine rush hit his system. It was almost the same feeling he’d enjoyed earlier when he found out all of his teams had made it back here—to the final rally point—without a single casualty. His chest swelled with pride at the way they’d executed his plan as designed. Then he made himself a mental note to thank Major Greg Beeson for the heavy-metal-music-idea the next time they crossed paths.

  Finally, he drained the last of his AMP energy drink in one gulp and then said loud enough so that all of the soldiers standing nearby could hear, “Good job, men. Now mount up. The night’s still young and our job is far from over.”