“Just keep it to yourself,” Kimble finished, “and good luck.”
With that Kimble walked back up the stairs of his porch, entered his house, and closed the door.
Chapter 13
Recruitment
Llewelyn sipped a cup of hot coffee and watched his neighbors work. He was happy to be back in his factory, in his office, overlooking people working hard to make the place better for everyone. He brushed back his hair with his free hand and enjoyed the early part of the day. The sun was streaming in the high windows of the tall factory floor, streaking the air. He watched floating dust whirl around, knowing it would settle eventually and get cleaned by the neighbors below. His real neighbors. People who held his values and wanted to work for themselves by working for others. No freeloaders. Nobody taking without giving. Only good Christian families, a real neighborhood despite the lack of houses. The turmoil of the rising sun and the noisy work of the people below brought a satisfied smile to his face.
Griffin Wither walked into the office, catching the smile on his dad’s face. He wore boots and jeans and the hard soles clicked on the highly polished floor as he positioned himself in front of the metal desk. His dad’s air mattress was neatly made in the opposite corner of the room. He could smell the pot of coffee.
“Well, son?” Llewelyn sipped and sat in his chair, carefully setting the mug on the surface of the desk and folding his hands. His index fingers rose in a steeple as he leaned back in the creaky chair. “How’re our neighbors doing?”
“Everything’s going great so far. We have the line running, we have teams out looking for the raw materials list you gave us from the locations you indicated. We have our housing area set up, neighborhood managers assigning tasks, guard duty, weapons, food.” He smiled and sat opposite his father. “We’ve been spreading the word about the neighbors, lots of people are coming to help. Everything you could ask for and more!”
His dad nodded. “How about the… things. The infected. Or anybody who don’t belong in our neighborhood. Have you seen any of those out there? You know who I mean.”
“Uh, well.” Griffin shrugged and shook his head. “I mean nobody really knows what they’re like. So, no, I don’t think so.” His smile faded as Llewelyn’s did the same.
“It’s important for you to understand our intentions here, son. Let me get this into your head. Again. Neighbors. People we invite here. We need to be sure they’re true Americans. Patriots. Ready to work, and ready to fight for what we work for. There is no Marine Corps here, only us. We survive because of our neighbors. We take care of our neighbors.” A flash of a long turban interrupted his train of thought. Long hair. Long beard. Blood on his fingertips. He cleared his throat and blinked his eyes to clear the memory. “You can tell who is with us and who ain’t.”
“Yessir, I know what you mean. We have not run into anybody like that. We have been giving away food and talking to people we can find. Trying to get more of us. More, uh, neighbors. We seen some Mexicans, but we ain’t talking to them. Mostly hide in their houses anyway.” Griffin absentmindedly brushed back his wispy hair as he talked.
“It ain’t just about them Mexicans. It’s about people who ain’t ready to be part of this team. You know, when I was a kid you could trust your neighbors. If your neighbor caught you doing something bad, stealing pecans or some shit, they’d beat your ass. Then they’d take you home and your parents would beat your ass too!” His voice rose as he lectured. “That was taking care of each other. There was more, too. We’d cook each other meals, drink each other’s beer, watch each other’s backs if something was going on. People who wouldn’t run if you was in trouble, wouldn’t leave your ass flapping in the wind. Those are real neighbors.” Llewelyn’s head shook slightly with the nostalgia.
“We had it too good as kids, David and me.” Griffin looked down at the floor. “I trust your vision for this. I don’t know nobody else taking care of people right now. Sure as hell gotta take care of ourselves.” He looked up, trying to gauge his father’s aloof gaze, “and our neighbors.”
There was a sudden clamor from the front entrance hallway of the factory. There was a large double-door leading in from the parking lot. An administrator’s desk sat off center in the front foyer with offices to either side, converted to an armory and pantry for all the supplies they’d gathered over the few weeks since Christmas. Through the hallway to the left, past the four management offices now used as food pantries, there was a series of partially constructed partitions designed as a living space. Several dozen people had moved in, living communally as neighbors.
Straight ahead from the glass entry doors was a set of sound-buffering doors that swung open into the production floor. Visitors to the working plant had been able to see forklifts moving finished product, line workers making breads and pastries, and smell the freshly-baked aroma that permeated the building.
Llewelyn and his son both looked toward these double-doors, hearing the sounds of yelling and muffled voices traveling through the windows of the elevated glass room. Griffin shot a worried glance to his father before hurrying out of the office and down the metal steps toward the commotion.
When his boots hit the factory floor and he began running, the double-doors burst open. Llewelyn watched one of his scavenging teams scurry in, four of the six-member team carrying a limp body of their fifth member. The last member, a former Army paratrooper from what Llewelyn could recall, was nowhere to be seen. The panicked yelling was no longer muffled by the soundproofing as other members of the commune ran to their aid. They set the unconscious man on the floor. The team bent in half, panting, or dropped to their knees with exhaustion. A young woman wearing a shoulder harness for her pistol had dark blood staining her shirt and fingerless gloves. Dried, maroon splatters of blood were visible on her neck and chin as she turned and paced with her hands on her head. Desperate tears couldn’t cut the dried bloodstains on her face.
Griffin slid to the victim’s head, catching himself on one of the other men on the team. The injured man’s shirt was shredded. It was hard to tell where the shirt ended and his flesh began. It was all dyed a deep shade of glistening crimson. The sun streaming into the factory gave the wetness of the massive wound a gristly gleam. His chest was still and his face was pale and slack.
Llewelyn watched with a scowl. They didn’t have anybody medically trained yet. No doctors, no nurses. Just that one horse vet. They would have to expand their recruiting efforts to include specific skills now. He’d disseminate a list. They’d do a recruitment rally and attract people with their power. Their ability to gather supplies and work together. The man on the floor worked as… something. He couldn’t remember. Some physical job or else they wouldn’t have put him on a scavenge team. Didn’t matter anymore. Llewelyn needed strength from his neighbors, especially in times of crisis. Accidents would continue to happen. It was a dangerous world for now, until they fixed it. His eyes drifted toward the high ceiling, and he brushed his fingers through his hair in thought.
He glanced back down at the scene after a moment. Griffin was back on his feet and several of the onlookers were crying, holding each other for comfort. Someone brought a sheet from the living area and covered the man. The sheet grew a red flower of blood where it touched his protruding midsection. His arms stuck out from the side. Everyone, even his own team, gave the corpse a wide berth.
After several minutes, the grieving crowd began to disperse. Some stayed, talking about what to do with their dead. Nobody had expected any accidents. This man had no next of kin living in the factory, so nobody knew what his final wishes might have been. Llewelyn returned to his desk chair and began to work on the recruitment plan for new neighbors. They would show their strength when together. Neighbors would stick together, help each other with food and medicine, and defend each other.
With a quick snap of his head, Griffin glanced down at the covered corpse with a scowl. Had he seen movement? He and several others checked the pulse before
they covered him. He saw the man’s torn flesh and exposed organs. There was no way he survived those wounds. Bites, his teammates described, inflicted by a group of infected people trapped in a pharmacy. He was the first to enter, and they violently dragged him down and feasted on his midsection. It only took the team a minute to react and pull them off, but the damage was done. They drove back frantically, making it inside the doors before he expired. Griffin watched the still corpse.
It was inevitable that some would be hurt or killed, he thought. No way to save everyone.
Suddenly, the dead man lurched awkwardly onto his side, spilling the blood-soaked sheet onto the floor. His eyes were wide and rolling as he craned his neck around at the shocked onlookers. Everyone, including Griffin, was frozen in horrified surprise. The dead team member rolled onto his front, rising onto his hands and knees. Blood poured out onto the floor below his body. He raised his head and moaned, moving slowly as he shifted onto his knees. His feet got caught in the slippery sheet as he continued to rise. Everybody watched as the man kicked and slid in the blood lubricating the polished factory floor. After a moment, he carefully rose and looked around. He opened his mouth and exhaled a low growl at the neighbors surrounding him. Drool and blood dropped like slime from his gaping mouth and dripped heavily down his chin.
Finally, after what seemed like forever but was only a few seconds, one of the men that carried his body in the door ran to his side. He babbled about how they thought he was dead, he should lie down, he’s in shock, through the veil of panic in his voice. The former corpse did not reply as he reached his hands up and took hold of his teammate’s shirt. He leaned forward quickly and with a snarl snapped his teeth together toward the man. The small crowd jumped with the loud snap of his jaw and seemed to come out of the trance caused by his resurrection. The teammate attempted to move back but he was held tight in the deathlike grip of his former teammate’s hands. He struggled as the man pushed his bloody jaws toward his face. The ones on the scavenger team recognized the violent symptoms and tried to pull them apart. The bloody face kept pushing and chomping as he fell on top of the other man. The infected creature held on tight and used his leverage to get closer to his target. His teeth touched the forearm of the neighbor as several more people came to assist, including Griffin. They were not sure what to do and nobody was leading the effort. They each pulled or pushed and negated each other’s progress. The biting teeth slowly sunk into the flesh of the man’s arm. As the sounds of his screaming echoed throughout the factory, Llewelyn heard the commotion and headed back to the window.
The sharp incisors cut into the muscle of the man’s arm. Blood flowed from the wound and soaked his own face. The creature had his jaw locked in place as the neighbors beat and pulled him to no effect. The fresh blood kept his rapt attention. The ones that had seen him attacked by similar creatures now knew the nature of the infection. This man was bit and then died. They all saw him die. They felt his pulse. They saw how much blood he lost. This was not an infected human. This was a corpse.
The sharp report of a single gunshot shattered the melee. The corpse’s head exploded with the impact of the hollow point round. The bullet splattered the door and back wall with blood and brain matter. The body fell limp onto its victim. The onlookers pulled it off and rescued their living friend from under its bulk. He cradled the wound on his arm. Blood ran in between his fingers. His face and shirt were covered in the mess from the bite. Two of the women on the team helped him to his feet. They looked to the source of the gunshot that had ended the violence.
Llewelyn stood about ten feet away holstering his pistol. The crowd of neighbors stood in shock as more people from around the facility began to gather closer to their leader. The bystanders silently pulled the heavy cadaver away from the bitten team member. Even he suffered his injury quietly, in awe of Llewelyn’s action to save his life. Llewelyn looked upon the blood-covered man and his helpers. Someone brought a towel and began to help him wrap his wound. Griffin watched his father. The old man ran his fingers through his hair and dropped his eyes with a heavy sigh.
“Not all of y’all get it yet, and I’m sorry,” he began. He addressed the entire crowd, speaking like a politician giving a speech. The atmosphere was calm when he spoke. The terror of the attack subsided as each of the neighbors paid rapt attention to his words. “This world is different now, and we gotta take care of our own. Not everybody out there is gonna want to be a part of this, but you know we gotta try. There are good people out there. We’ll show them what we believe in. We’ll show them the toughness of our America, based on black and white values from when we were raised. We can’t tolerate any weakness coming into this here stronghold. We’re going to head out to the Wal-Mart, somewhere nearby, and open it for business. You all will go out and tell people when to come. I’ll talk to them. We’ll sell them on our vision for America and bring them here. We’ll protect their families, keep them away from the monsters and the terrorists. Our business will be feeding our neighbors. Neighbors help each other and contribute their fair share of work to pay back favors. What we have here is fantastic, and you all will see. We will make it spectacular. We will be the strongest and the best. This is our neighborhood now, and it’s up to us to make it unbreakable.
“This man may have been a good man,” he gestured flippantly toward the chaotic scene in front of him. As he spoke, the rest of the neighbors approached and listened. “But he made a mistake. He got caught up and bit. It’s up to us to be strong and make the right decisions for the greater good.”
Most of the people around nodded in shocked agreement. They had seen the dead man rise and attack another. They knew that the infection caused the dead to rise. It was a mistake to bring the body inside the building; they understood that now. The teams would have to be more careful.
Llewelyn continued, “There is no place for weakness here, because the carnage has to end now. If you want us to be strong, you don’t make mistakes. We are now joined in a great effort to rebuild our country and restore its promise for all of our people. Together, we determine the course of America. We will face challenges and hardships, but we have no choice but to get the job done.” He turned in a circle, considering the crowd of several dozen of his followers. Returning to the center, he looked straight at the injured man. The man was nodding in agreement, sitting on the floor and holding the towel tightly onto his bite wound. He caught Llewelyn’s gaze.
“Mr. Wither, you’re right. We didn’t know. We shouldn’t have brought him inside. We’ll be more careful next time. We didn’t know he was dangerous,” he stated meekly.
Llewelyn furrowed his brow at the man’s words. “He was dangerous? Boy, I wasn’t talking about him. I was talking about you.” The scene seemed frozen in time as Llewelyn once again removed his pistol from its holster. He held it, handle out, toward his son. Griffin slowly reached forward and took the firearm. Nobody moved or made a sound as Llewelyn jutted his chin toward the injured man on the floor. All eyes were on Llewelyn as he locked eyes with his son. Griffin shivered, waiting for his father to speak.
“Kill him.”
Chapter 14
Threshold
Sergeant Sole Kimble’s words haunted Kahn for the next few weeks. He had told Aisha they just chatted and Kimble was packing up to go find family. No clue where. That part was true at least. As far as the family part - I know this group of people that are building a stronghold of sorts. Somewhere where we can band together, help each other out, share food and supplies. Kahn didn’t think that sounded like family. Kimble knew others like him. Others who were paranoid.
Home was safety. Kahn knew, or thought he knew, that he could protect his family if he stayed put. He wasn’t a hero. He remembered Kimble’s declaration - being here just isn’t safe. Your family isn’t safe.
They had worked around the house. Kahn was able to install the light fixture that Aisha had bought for Daniel’s room several months ago, to her immense pleasure. They finally
went through several boxes of old papers, organized the desk and filing cabinet in the spare room, and even cleaned Daniel’s room. That last chore was reversed almost immediately by their toddler, but it still felt good to be able to work together and accomplish some minor tasks around the house. They also read, watched DVDs, and played outside. It was a great time.
New Year’s came and went, and the cold weather broke to a week of unseasonable warmth. He was walking around his property in a t-shirt and jeans, enjoying the peace and quiet of being alone. But, behind it all, Kahn hid a growing pit of stress in his heart. He knew they couldn’t sustain themselves here, alone, for much longer. Aisha had tried to keep it together, and had even organized their food so each meal was planned out. Kahn saw her list, though, and knew she only had a few more days until she was out of flour, canned vegetables, and other essentials they had in their pantry when this all started. Their small garden was inadequate to keep them fed, and was already fairly bare because of the season. Now it was stripped of the little that was there. They had no milk, no meat, and no produce. The pressure of time was pressing on Kahn to make a move, a decision, go get help, or something.
Additionally, it was starting to become apparent that Ash was not coming out to them. Kahn had felt that having Aisha’s brother come would be necessary to plan their next steps. Now, he feared, it would be necessary for him to make that decision on his own. He had about five or seven days of food left. The water still worked, and they had a case of bottled water from work they hadn’t touched in case the utility failed. But the time was near where he would have to go find supplies, or pack up to leave. He really didn’t want to do either, and Kimble’s words rattled around in his mind any time he thought about it. Often lately, he could think of nothing else.
Nation Undead (Book 1): Neighbors Page 10
