by Jack J. Lee
There was something comforting about having some outside government agency looking out for us. It was a shock after the 11th to lose contact with all levels of the government and also the LDS General Authorities. Director Jones made it a point never to talk about how many people were outside with him. He kept apologizing for having limited resources. He let us and the other wards know he was working on rescuing one ward at a time and we were the first one. None us ever asked him how limited his resources were because none of us wanted to know.
Most Americans think ‘government competence’ is an oxymoron but all of us in the ward knew we needed help and a plan and we all hoped Director Jones would provide both. So far, that’s what he’d done. There’s a saying, “There are no atheists in foxholes.” It would be cheesy, perhaps even blasphemous, to call anyone Savior other than God or Jesus Christ, but we all wanted a hero. It sounds kind of silly, but referring to Mark Jones as Director made everyone feel better, including me.
It helped that Director Jones sounded amazingly relaxed and confident whenever we talked to him. It was clear he was wandering outside amongst the zombies almost daily. He would give us details that made it clear he was personally keeping an eye on us. He tried to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal to be outside without any protection but all of us, especially Hiram, respected him for it.
Among the teenage girls and even some of the older married young women, Mark Jones, sight unseen, had become the new heartthrob. Forget about Leonardo DiCaprio or Johnny Depp, Director Jones had become our biggest celebrity. I did not join the Director Jones fan club and I didn’t get into giggly discussions with teenage girls about what he probably looked like or whether he was married. I’ve met Federal administrators before; he was probably bald and 50-pounds overweight and married.
The only weird quirk that Director Jones had was his insistence we keep as many flashlights, walkie-talkies, regular batteries, and laptops as possible in our refrigerators to extend the life of their batteries. I tried to explain to him it was an urban myth that keeping batteries in a refrigerator made them last longer. Theoretically, cold temperatures should help maintain a battery charge but it was so miniscule a difference it wasn’t noticeable. He responded to my comments by saying I was probably right but that it wouldn’t do any harm to do as he requested. He said it did not take much effort. He asked for the contact numbers of all the other wards we had been able to reach.
Once he found out I was in contact with my family in Nebraska, he asked for their contact information, also. On one of my daily conversations with my father, I brought up the Director’s surprising insistence on keeping batteries in refrigerators. My father commented that he and Mark Jones had recently been on Skype together. He thought Mark was unusually competent for a Federal administrator and if that was his only quirk, we were lucky to have him.
October 9th had been a good day. There were now parts of the fence that were not packed with zombies. Because we were tired and because there wasn’t a huge press of zombies forcing the closest ones to us up right against the fence, it was harder to kill them. We had killed so many zombies. The ones still alive had eaten so many of the ones we’d killed, that almost all of them had enlarged bellies. They all, male and female, looked like they were in their third trimester of pregnancy. Their bellies made it difficult for them to press up against the fence, which made it harder to stab them. Our morale was still great. We could see that in a few days—a week at the most—we would wipe out most of the zombies outside our fence.
Everyone in the ward had been busy. People who weren’t actively killing zombies were helping support those who were. Many of the women had stopped taking their turns at the fence. I was one of the few that kept at it. I had been sleeping really well the last couple weeks due to physical exhaustion.
We could all see the progress we had made in clearing out the zombies. We made sure everyone was in the gymnasium before dusk. All the lights were kept on at all times. I answered the usual phone call at dusk from Director Jones; I’d become the de-facto receptionist for the ward. He talked to Art by speaker phone as usual. While he and Art talked, there was complete silence in the gymnasium. Even the small children wanted to listen to what was being said. Art kept Director Jones updated on our progress.
I was on the verge of falling asleep when all our light fixtures exploded. Kids started screaming. We were in the gymnasium and there were no windows. It was pitch-dark. I couldn’t even see my own hand. I heard men cursing. Hiram yelled out in his distinctive voice that he couldn’t get his flashlight to work. Other men and women yelled out that they had the same problem. I kept my backpack beside my sleeping bag. I had candles and a flashlight in my pack. After a few minutes of fumbling I was able to get a candle lit. Shortly afterwards, other people had candles lit.
I tried to turn my cell phone on, but it was dead. I tried the satellite phone. It was dead, too. I tried to turn on my laptop. It wouldn’t turn on. I called out to Art and Hiram.
“Please, everyone. I think I know what’s going on. Can you please quiet down so I can talk to Art and Hiram?”
Hiram bellowed, “Everybody, please shut up!”
Art cried, “Please, everyone. Dr. Hansen thinks she knows what is going on. Please quiet down so we can all hear what she has to say.”
It quieted down. “Everyone, I think there’s been an EMP.”
Someone called out, “What’s an EMP?”
“EMP stands for Electromagnetic Pulse. Has anyone seen the Matrix movies?” Only a few voices yelled out yes. Oh yeah, I’d forgotten that many Mormons won’t see R-rated movies and all of the Matrix movies had been rated R.
“An EMP is an electrical impulse so strong it can travel by air and when it hits any conductive surface like an electrical wire or circuit, it will send an electrical impulse through that wire or circuit strong enough to burn out the wire or destroy the circuit.”
Hiram asked, “Can any of the electronics shut down by the EMP be repaired?”
“If it has an electronic circuit board, probably not. This means anything with a computer chip in it—including our generator, cell phones, computers, cars, and trucks—are all dead; it won’t be easy to repair them. The fact that even simple devices like our flashlights aren’t working is a really bad sign. This looks to have been a really strong signal, so everything that has a thin electrical wire and needs electricity to work is probably destroyed and will need to be completely re-wired.”
Art asked, “Is there anything we could have done to protect ourselves from an EMP?”
“Well, the only thing we could have done is to try to put our electrical equipment into Faraday cages.”
Hiram butted in again, “What’s a Faraday cage?”
“A Faraday cage is a metal cage connected to a ground that surrounds the electrical device you are trying to protect. It would have been impossible to protect our lights or generator; we don’t have access to enough metal. Wait, can someone please go to the kitchen and pull out some flashlights and a walkie-talkie and bring them here?”
Hiram gestured to a couple of his militia men and they took off to the kitchen. They returned with lit flashlights and a walkie-talkie. Hiram handed the walkie-talkie to me.
I spoke to the ward: “A plugged-in refrigerator is a Faraday cage. With the EMP the refrigerator itself would likely be destroyed but every electronic device in it would be protected.”
I turned on the walkie-talkie and put it on channel 2, sub channel 2. “Calling: this is Helen Hansen looking for Director Jones. Please respond. Over.”
“Calling: this is Director Jones; I’m glad you followed my advice and stored some electronic devices in your refrigerator. Over.”
“Did you know we were going to be attacked by an EMP? Over.”
“I didn’t know for sure but I thought it might be a possibility. Since there wasn’t anything you could do in the ward besides putting some electronic devices in your refrigerator, I didn’t think it was appropr
iate for me to warn you about something that was only a possibility.”
I couldn’t believe he hadn’t told me the truth before. “So you didn’t really think refrigerators kept batteries alive longer?”
He chuckled. “Well, like I said to you before, I didn’t think it would hurt. Can I please talk to Art Bingham?”
I’m sure I grew bright red. I could feel the warmth growing over my face. He wasn’t even bothering to apologize. What a patronizing jerk!
“This is Art Bingham.”
“Art, I apologize for not warning you about the possibility of an EMP attack. I thought it wasn’t very likely and at best the only thing you could have done in the ward, even if you had been warned, was to do what I already had asked you to do, which was to keep flashlights, walkie-talkies, batteries, and computers in a refrigerator.”
Of course he apologizes to a man. Art sounded testy. “Director Jones, I think I understand. Is there anything else in the past that you had thought was unlikely that we may want to know now?”
The Director chuckled again. “I still think I might be overreacting but I think there is a small possibility you might be subject tonight or in the near future to a vampire attack. I think it’s best that three other men and I join you in the ward. I will be bringing in a replacement diesel generator. If I remember correctly, you said before that you have diesel fuel.”
Everybody started talking. A vampire attack! The Director coming into the ward! Art cried out, “Brothers, sisters, please! We need to hear what Director Jones is saying.”
It got quiet again. “Director, you think a vampire attack is possible? How are you planning on getting into our enclosure? We are still surrounded by thousands of zombies.”
“Art, I think it’s possible vampires will attack. I don’t think it’s probable. But you don’t know how to fight vampires and you don’t have bullets, so I think it’s best that I and three other men join you. We have a plan to draw the zombies away from you. We will keep in touch by walkie-talkie. Please do not try to contact me. I will be keeping my walkie-talkie off until it is safe for me to talk. I will get in touch with you. I will need you to keep your walkie-talkie on. ”
“We understand.”
“Oh, you will also hear from my deputy Jim Wright. We will be in contact soon.”
Chapter 20: Jim Wright, October 9th, Year 1
After we got off the phone with Mark, all three of us got our air guns out and we started taking turns shooting zombies. On average we were taking four shots per minute or one every fifteen seconds. It took us a little over five minutes to empty out a pre-charged canister of air. We typically missed two to three times out of twenty-five. So doing the numbers, we were knocking off about 264 zombies an hour. Mark was right. The numbers of zombies outside our house weren’t endless. In the three hours of daylight we’d had on the 6th, we killed almost 800 zombies. By late afternoon on the 9th we had completely cleared our whole street.
We were supposed to keep quiet so we didn’t yell and cheer as loudly as we could have, but we spent a lot of time high-fiving each other, and Ryan wouldn’t stop until he had chest-butted me and Frank each five times. I pulled out my phone and called Mark.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, Mark. Guess what, man. It took just two days for us to nail all the zombies in front of our house. You thought it would take several days to clean them all out. We’re way ahead of schedule.”
“Awesome, man. Get all your gear together. Everything you need, all your air guns, air tanks, bullets, clothes, whatever. It all needs to be able to be thrown in the back of my truck, so don’t bring the kitchen sink, but make sure you bring your generator. Generators are more valuable than gold right now. Also, even though it’s really dangerous to shoot a bullet because of the noise, I want each of you to bring at least one high-caliber rifle with some ammo. I’ll be there in about ten minutes with two trucks. The noise put out by the trucks is probably going to bring out some zombies. Get all your air guns fully loaded and charged. I want Ryan loading up the truck at all times, even if zombies are around. I want you and Frank, as soon as you see me charge the zombies, to start shooting them in the head. I’ll get into the middle of the zombies when they come to keep them tight around me while you and Frank are shooting. I’m going to wear my Motorcycle helmet so if you hit me by accident, I’ll have some protection for my head—but try not to hit me! You all got it?”
Frank and I said “Yeah.”
“I didn’t hear your sweet voice, Ryan. You got it?”
Ryan said “Yeah”. I could tell he wasn’t happy about being on the loading detail.
“Keep your sphincters tight, boys; you’re going outside. Keep an eye out on the street. Come on out as soon as you see me drive up.”
I thought Mark was going to be surprised we had cleared out the zombies so quickly. He didn’t sound surprised. He sounded amused. If you had ever seen Mark pick up a woman in a bar, you would know he is one of the most manipulative bastards you’ve ever met. He never actually lied to women, but he would tell them things in ways they could misinterpret or, even better, tell the truth so they didn’t believe him. He would say shit like “Honey, all I want from you is a one-night stand,” with a goofy grin like he was kidding when he wasn’t. When he said something like this to a woman, almost none of them believed him.
It would be just like him to low-ball estimate how long it would take for us to clear out the zombies so we would get all giddy and happy and more prone to follow his suggestions. I mean, who the hell was he to give us orders? Happy people tend to go with the flow. He was the kind of calculating sociopathic son-of-a-bitch that would set us up to be all happy so we would be more inclined to do what he wanted.
Almost ten minutes exactly from the time we had hung up, we saw Mark and three other guys pull up in two full-size pickup trucks. Todd Bloom, a guy I knew from the Wasatch Mountain Club, was driving one of the trucks and Mark was driving the other. I didn’t see any zombies following him. We all piled out and started loading up the truck. A few minutes later a group of zombies came into view.
Mark went into the cab of the truck and pulled out his motorcycle helmet and put it on. He said, “Ryan, keep loading. We’re only going to need two shooters for ten zombies. Once we get rid of these we’re going to be good for awhile. I’m going to keep my head turned away from you guys at all times; as a favor to me, please don’t shoot me. I’m going to go about fifty feet from you and keep the zombies focused on me. Frank, use your air rifle to take out all the zombies on my right. Jim, take them out on my left. It shouldn’t take more than a minute for us to clear out this small of a group.” He smiled at us and then jogged calmly toward the zombies.
Frank and I started shooting. As Mark got closer to the zombies, he started running faster. He brought out a samurai sword. I had expected him to try to brain the zombies but instead he started cutting through their legs like they were made of cardboard. It couldn’t have been a minute before all the zombies were down. I was too busy nailing the zombies over on my side to pay attention to what Frank was doing, but Ryan said Frank got all his zombies as they were starting to fall. They were dead before they hit the ground. I got three of the zombies before Mark got to them.
I shook my head. Before the 11th, Mark had been like a super-hero. Now he wasn’t like one; he was one. What the hell! He was taking on zombies with a samurai sword and letting us shoot at zombies that were almost on top of him.
Ryan had been too curious to keep loading but the other three guys didn’t even look at us and Mark. They just kept on loading the trucks like there was no way that Mark could fail. Ryan said it was obvious Mark had been working with them for awhile and had them trained to do exactly what he wanted.
Once the zombies were down, Mark took off his helmet. “Thanks guys for not shooting me.” He threw his helmet into his cab again and then motioned us to keep loading. Once we were all loaded, he told us all to get into the bed of his truck. He said he wouldn’t
be driving faster than ten miles an hour. He wanted us all to be able to nail any zombie we saw from any direction. Ryan was about to ask a question. Mark stopped him and said the max speed of a zombie was about two miles an hour. You didn’t have to go very fast to be able to outrun a zombie. That made sense. Guess that answered Ryan’s question because he climbed into the bed of the truck filled with our supplies. Frank and I climbed in after him.
We saw four zombies on the way to Mark’s house. At ten miles an hour, it was no big deal to nail all of them. It was a good thing that we were going slowly and the trucks had four-wheel drive. There were so many cars left abandoned on the roads we were constantly veering into yards and driving off the street. Mark had an automatic gate on the fence to his detached garage, so we got into his garage without having to get out of the truck. The other truck pulled into the garage right behind us. His garage is unbelievable. Mark drove our truck on top of a freight elevator that dropped us into his lair. He drove the truck off the elevator and then raised the elevator back up into the garage. As we got out of the bed of the truck, I saw his lair was packed with people.
Everyone started talking at once. Mark raised his voice and said, “Hey everyone, Jim, Frank, and Ryan stink. Give them a chance to shower and change clothes first and then we can all party.”
Part of the reason Mark had kept us on the truck bed was because we stank. Mark had three showers in his house: one by the pool in his lair, another in his bedroom, and the third on the main floor. We all had our own showers. It was amazing how good it felt to be clean. When I was done showering, there was a thick residue of dirt and body grease on the floor. Frank, Ryan, and I all got done within minutes of each other. We dressed and gathered in the lair.
Mark introduced us to the others there. In addition to us, there were nine adults and three kids Mark had rescued. In the three-mile radius around Mark’s house there were four boarded-up houses, besides ours, where people had survived in addition to the ward. In the last few weeks, Mark had rounded them up and brought them to his home. I already knew about Sara and Lisa Beiger, even though I had never been introduced to them, because they are local celebrities. Sara is a fairly famous metal sculptor. Lisa is her wife and agent. Sara’s works sell for a lot. I read an article in the Tribune about them and it said if you wanted to commission a work from her, the starting price was twenty thousand.
