One thread was consistent through almost all the books he'd read on zombies. If you couldn't contribute to whatever survival group you happened to end up with, you were no good to anyone. Doctors would be near the top in terms of value. Soldiers would be important. Insurance salesmen or data entry clerks with no other skills would soon find themselves hungry. The wild card was pretty women. Many books placed high value on pretty women no matter what other skills they had. He knew deep down what that meant. As he looked at Victoria, Mel, and even his mother he felt an involuntary shiver at what awaited them if he and the other men failed. It was why he was adamant they go right to the camp.
He intended to present his group as being a valuable addition to the Boy Scout leaders. He knew Mr. Lee would have no problems accepting him. It was selfish to say, but he needed a good solid base so he could dedicate his time to solving the mystery of where Grandma had been taken. He couldn't do that if he was running around hiding from zombies, trading bullets with criminals, or zigging and zagging to avoid falling Air Force bombs.
There really wasn't much argument from the core family and friends. Old man Paul was adamant he wasn't leaving his home, even if it was lying flat. He insisted he still owned the land and was going to protect it until his dying breath. To Liam it seemed foolhardy, but his older companions seemed to admire his dedication. A few other neighbors came and went, none of them eager to move on to parts unknown based on the word of a kid.
Liam was used to it. He often thought he could be Jesus himself, citing his own scripture and working miracles, and someone in the crowd would criticize his age. But his reasoning was sound in this instance. There was nowhere else to anyone's knowledge that had been picking up the pieces and providing some hope. Most people were content to salvage from the dying world, or take from those left alive. Neither of those activities had any long-term prospects. Maybe it was too early to talk about rebuilding, but certainly now was the time to organize the people who would eventually do the heavy lifting of repairing the world.
Liam's dad summed up their mission plan. “So all we have to do is get our guns and ammo, walk through the back roads of the county, and then knock on the door of the Boy Scout camp to see if they'll let us in? That sound about right?”
Liam nodded.
His dad finished with words he'd almost forgotten. It was something he said often when he was letting Liam practice driving this past spring.
“Liam, you're driving!”
Let the exodus begin.
Chapter 2: Apocalypse Pyramid
As much as they wanted to rush out and get to the Scout camp, they had to find suitable transportation for everything they had to carry. Finding a working car on Liam's street was impossible. There were no salvageable vehicles of any kind left in the wreckage. It was unlikely they could find a car by going to other neighborhoods either. Scavengers looking for gas had taken care of most cars abandoned on the roads—their open gas caps hung out like dry tea bags—and anyone still holding on to a working car would protect it with their lives. No one felt like assaulting neighbors to steal their ride.
They decided to use Liam's remaining bike and trailer as a type of pack mule to carry a good portion of the guns, ammo, and other goodies. Liam was disappointed to see his dad had only saved one big bag of rice. He knew he had many more in the basement.
“Yeah, sucks about the rice, but I only had the time and energy to bury one of them. If I had access to a tractor I might have been able to get them all. It certainly would have helped our situation to have a nearly limitless supply of food.”
Melissa seemed impressed. “What were you saving all that food for? If you don't mind me asking.”
“Not at all. Well, it all started with Mormons. You wouldn't know it by looking at them, but one of their church's guidelines is to always be prepared for the end of the world—true story! Their church instructs them to have at least one year of food per person per household, and even has recommendations on what you need in terms of the food itself. I think they call it an Apocalypse Pyramid. The foundation for the whole thing was dried rice. For the three of us I probably had 1200 pounds of rice stored in my basement and garage. Most of it was in 30 or so airtight five gallon buckets, but this last bag was a recent purchase and I didn't have time to put it in the proper bins yet. Since I knew it was fresh I grabbed this one.”
“So you figured the end of the world would come and you and your family would ride out the storm on top of your Apocalypse Pyramid and everything would turn out fine?”
Liam knew his dad was serious about preparing for any emergency, but he had never come out and said specifically what his plans were. Looking around the wreckage of his neighborhood, and comparing it with the rest of the world he'd seen in his travels, he judged it was unlikely anyone could survive sitting alone in their basement.
“Well, I admit I seriously underestimated the swath of destruction generated by a worldwide collapse due to a plague. I thought maybe we'd have an EMP or terrorist attack in America. It would be bad, but eventually things would get back to normal because the rest of the world would be there to help. But this.” He waved his arm at his street, “this plague is everywhere. Every street in the whole world probably has zombies pounding down doors. I've seen fires. Looting. Vandalism. It's everywhere. My preparations were never going to be enough for something like this. Maybe if I'd built a castle in the middle of nowhere and invited a small city's worth of people to help me defend it...”
He seemed to stare off into space for a few moments.
“...but I made a mistake. And I made it worse by breaking up my family at the worst possible time.”
Phil, being a policeman, had made preparations too. Liam watched him grab big duffel bags of supplies before they fled his house. Was he also a closet survivalist?
“Phil, you seemed pretty prepared when we were at your house. Was your basement loaded with rice too?”
He started with a laugh. “No, I wasn't as prepared as your dad. My concern was keeping the peace in my neighborhood in the face of urban unrest. Have a shotgun and an AR-15 over my shoulder and man a roadblock to check who came up my street, that sort of thing. In my wildest imagination I never envisioned a worldwide collapse, an EMP, or a devastating plague. We didn't even deal with those in our training scenarios. Mostly we trained for toxic spills on the highway, riots of shoppers on Black Fridays, and laying down spike strips to stop a high-speed car chase. My bags of goodies won't do anything to keep us fed.”
And that was going to be the problem of the world. Getting fed. One half of the population was trying to eat the other, and the other half was dodging those biters to find food of their own. And no one was being charitable when finding a can of Spaghetti-O’s was an extra few days of life.
It would only get worse. Liam's wide reading of end-of-world books said all roads lead to cannibalism. Not the dead eating the living...he wasn't sure if that was really cannibalism. Instead, the living eating the dead would proliferate as other food sources dried up. There was no way around that dark destination if society couldn't hold itself together.
Rather than continue down that line of thinking, he brought himself to the present to help the final loading of their “vehicles” for their trip.
They found a serviceable wheelbarrow and tossed the bag of rice in that. Between the bike and the wheelbarrow and everyone's backs, they were able to get all the important stuff. Not nearly enough once it was consolidated into the small caravan.
“It felt like we had more than what we have here.”
“Don't look so beat down Liam. The most important resource you will ever have is the one on your shoulders. We can scavenge food, eventually we can grow it. The weapons are important so we don't get robbed, or overrun by the undead, but even guns aren't the end-all of survival. Your work with the spears illustrates that perfectly.”
Dad always knows just what to say.
2
They departed as the sun went do
wn on the ninth day since the sirens. At the bottom of their street, close to where his friend Drew was last seen alive, Liam stopped to say a few words.
“Goodbye Drew. Thank you for getting my Grandma safely to my street. You kept your promise to do that for me. Your parents would be very proud of you. I'm sure you're with them now—they can tell you themselves.” He gave a weak chuckle, but couldn't say anything else.
His mom stepped up. She'd been unusually quiet of late. Liam noticed right away, but attributed it to all the excitement she'd seen the last few days.
“Dear Drew. I can't thank you enough for helping my Liam get home, along with his grandma. You were the answer to my prayers of the past week. I've never wanted to see anyone so much in my whole life, and you brought him to me. I'm so sorry you couldn't join us in this celebration. We will never forget your name and what you did for us. Rest in peace now.”
“Amen,” they all said in unison.
The group left the neighborhood for the sparsely populated county road. Liam and Victoria were on each side of the bicycle as it pulled the heavy bike trailer. Each held one side of the handlebar to propel it forward. The bike itself was loaded down with guns hanging off each side. There was no way to ride it anymore, but it was perfect for this task. They were able to wrap the guns in some old carpeting so it wasn't obvious what they were. No use making it easy for potential brigands to select them. They were playing the part of dirty carpet salesmen.
Liam's mother pushed the wheelbarrow. She wasn't a physically strong woman, but she was in good shape—she, like her husband and son, was a runner—and she preferred to push it rather than be part of the security detail. She said she wanted to leave that to the professionals.
Liam's dad and Melissa walked about fifty yards in front of the cargo haulers. She was in the lead, and Jerry was about ten yards behind her. Their function was to keep watch for possible problems ahead and prevent the rest of the team from getting ambushed. Melissa had a curious knack for whistling like a bird, which they agreed would be the sign to halt. Once it got dark, it would practically be their only safe method of communication.
Phil was the final piece of the parade. He had a black duffel slung over his shoulder. He was about twenty-five yards behind the cargo, and kept watch for surprises from behind.
They followed the same route Liam had traveled the previous morning. He ran into so few problems they all agreed that was the right path for the return trip.
Liam wanted to chat with Victoria to see if she was doing OK, but he didn't want to risk the operation with distracting gabbing.
I'm learning patience. Grandma would be so proud!
They were on the road for less than an hour when the first curveball appeared. Someone had spray painted white words on the dark street surface. They weren't there on his previous passage. The letters were huge and the words consumed the entire two-lane road from one side to the other.
“WARNING. LOOTERS SHOT. SNIPERS AHEAD. HIGH RISK. REPENT! CHURCH OF OWENS.”
Liam remembered the name Owens. Those were the guys he'd met on his last trip who went to his high school. He knew their house was coming up, but in the dark he had a hard time judging distances. A mile ahead? He recalled it was on a long straightaway. Perfect for a sniper. And those good ol' boys looked like avid hunters.
The group had pulled back together to discuss the development.
“I know these guys.” Liam began. “I ran into them on my way out here. They were big into camouflage clothing and looked like they'd been hunting since they were in diapers, but they were nice enough to me. We even went to the same school. They said I was welcome to return, but none of this,” he pointed to the words, “was here.”
Melissa replied, “Do we have any options to take a different route? Maybe another way would be safer? I don't like the idea of snipers picking us off in the night. Especially friendly snipers.”
The group searched for an answer acceptable to everyone. Liam had a small light over his county map, but nothing jumped out at them as a slam dunk. A detour was attractive to avoid this particular threat, but Liam had no knowledge of other routes. There could be worse problems on those roads. He argued that he at least knew these people and could talk to them.
Victoria backed him up. “I trust he knows these people.”
The fear of the unknown proved stronger than the fear of the known. No one could make a strong case for backtracking and finding an alternate route.
Melissa remained practical. “OK, so how do we get down this road without getting shot?”
“We sing.” Victoria had their attention. “I grew up in a religious household. We sang all the time. My mom loved to sing when she did her chores. At the time it drove me crazy, but now I'd give anything to hear her silly songs.”
“It seems like a risky proposition, but Liam knows these guys and also the sign mentions religion. In that light, this seems like a good gamble.” Liam was pleasantly surprised his dad was backing him up.
They lined up in a tighter formation and began walking forward, into the moonlit night. They couldn't agree on any religious song they all knew, so they chose one verse that was very simple.
“Michael rowed his boat ashore, hallelujah!”
Melissa refused to sing, but she offered to whistle in harmony. Together they made quite the rolling church choir.
Liam was able to put the words together with volume, but he was enamored by the sweet vocals of his partner. Victoria's voice was stunning to him, even with something so simple. At one point he nearly tripped on the bike's pedal because he was looking over at her. When she saw him, she knew what he was thinking and softly spoke to him over their mule. “Twelve years of choir practice!”
Wow!
They walked for about ten minutes, constantly repeating the one line of that song. Twice a zombie stumbled up the road embankment to try to ruin the fun, but both times Melissa used a stake to forcefully dispatch the intruders. Liam felt unnaturally buoyant at the energy they were throwing off. Nothing like a happy church song to push back the evil of the world. Even if it was just his imagination, it felt good.
They approached the home where Liam had previously been stopped by the group of young men. From out of the dark came, “Halt! Who goes there!” as if they were knights of old.
Liam took a chance. “Hail ahead Northwest High School! Boy Scout and choir group incoming!”
They were right up on the mailbox when he heard clapping.
“Well met, Boy Scout!”
The boys were practically right in front of them, hidden in a blind inside a nearby hedge. Exactly where you'd expect to find a group of hunters.
If these were his enemies, he'd already be dead.
3
“Don't you guys know any other lines to that song?”
Liam suspected Victoria did, but they all stood there shaking their heads.
“Well, neither do we. Guess we didn't pay attention during Bible School.”
Some chuckles from inside the bush.
Liam tried to convey their mission succinctly.
“Hey again guys. I came through here two days ago. I'm hoping you remember me?”
“Oh sure we do. You're practically the only person who has come through here that hasn't done something stupid like pull a gun on us. I can't understand if we look like idiots or what, but it has happened a few different times. That's why we designed this blind, so we could cover ourselves anytime someone comes through and gets crazy on us.”
“Is that why you guys wrote that stuff on the road back there?”
“That was my momma's idea. She said it would keep the worst people away and only honest people would try to enter with such threatening warnings.”
Liam didn't think that was exactly true. “Not to doubt your mom, but wouldn't the worst threats see your warning as a challenge, and then try to sneak in from a different direction?”
“Yeah, but we're pretty good operating in the woods. My cousins are out
in the night right now. A couple neighbors are also out there. We look out for each other. Got to do what you can. Momma's idea has turned some people away. We've watched them during the day.”
“Do any vehicles come through here anymore?”
“A couple of ATVs have been through. Those were neighbors from a few properties down the road. They have family up that way. Oh, a military convoy came through the other day, not long after you did. They didn't even slow down and we didn't make ourselves obvious to them. Don't want them to Third-Amendment us.”
“Third Amendment?”
Liam's dad knew it. “They didn't want the government to quarter troops inside their house. It's difficult to say if we are at peace or at war, and that can determine the rights of the homeowner. I'm inclined to believe this is a state of war, which means the government can pretty much do whatever it wants.”
Liam actually laughed. “You mean like firebomb homes, kidnap teenagers and 100-year-old ladies, and kill anyone who happens to get in the way?”
His dad gave a knowing smile in the glow of various flashlights.
“Anyway, we're going back to the Boy Scout camp so we can find a way to rescue my grandma from the CDC. They want to experiment on her. Kill her, I think.”
That seemed to strike a chord with the young men. A man with a full beard about eight inches below his chin came out of the blind. “My grandpa, God rest his soul, was a spry 90-something before all this happened. He lived with us in our house. We kept him on the main floor because he couldn't do steps very well, but he was on all kinds of medications and oxygen. When the power failed us we had a small genny, but that didn't last very long. When that gave out, he didn't last very long. I think he just let himself die. I'm sorry they're doing that to your grandma. It ain't right.”
Liam thought of all the old folks he'd seen at the government camp. Each of them likely had family missing them terribly. He remembered how ornery some of them were, and revised it to “some of them had family missing them.” No sense sugar coating it. Old people could be jerks too.
Stop the Sirens: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 3 Page 3
