The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2)

by Micah Gurley

  Kyle decided that Abe and Edmund needed more experience working with a team, and clearing the visitor center, a small building, would be perfect.

  "Hey, I'm going to turn this saw on for about thirty minutes," Eric informed the small group as they neared the front gate. "Just wanted you to know. I'm going to cut this bridge in half, so we can raise and lower it easily."

  "A drawbridge, brilliant," said Edmund, giving Eric a thumbs up. Eric ignored him.

  "We're staying here for that, and as long as the door is open," Kyle answered. He'd also placed Patrick and Old Ben on top of the wall, to keep watch; he wasn't taking chances.

  The next thirty minutes were spent emptying trucks and making the gate into a draw bridge. Abe grimaced at the sound of the saw, as it would draw every diseased in the area. A few showed up, their presence putting everyone on alert. The diseased were dealt with quietly, by James and Kyle, both preferring to shove them in the moat and deal with them later.

  Cutting complete and trucks unloaded, Kyle, James, Abe and Edmund jumped into a truck and drove slowly towards the visitor center, which was less than a few hundred yards away. The landscape was mostly open. Its sandy ground didn't provide much in the way of vegetation, so the group had a clear view of their surroundings.

  They pulled up to the small brick building, checking to make sure they saw no diseased in the immediate area. All clear. They jumped out of the truck, closing the doors quietly. James grabbed a pair of bolt cutters, acquired from Eric, and the four walked to the front door, which had a chain and lock going through it. A sign hung from the window, which said it would be closed for Thanksgiving. That probably meant an empty building, but they still needed to check it carefully. James snapped the lock, pulled the chain through and entered the reception area.

  They scanned the place, but it was deserted. The absence of people and electricity gave an eerie feeling as they checked out the darkened building. It had two bathrooms, a small conference room and a main viewing room, which held all the artifacts; all were empty. Weak light slipped in from the windows, leaving the museum in shadows.

  "This place is bloody creepy," Edmund whispered to no one in particular. Privately, Abe agreed with him and wondered what they could find in this place anyways. Leave it to Kyle to look through a history museum in the apocalypse.

  "Someone needs to stand at the door," said Kyle a little louder than Edmund, who flinched at the voice.

  "I got it," Abe said, "museums are your thing, not mine."

  Kyle smiled, "Thanks, we won't be long."

  Abe walked off and Kyle turned to the many glass cases that filled the small museum. Muskets, rifles, flags, cannon balls and assortments of relics from the Civil war lined the walls. Kyle scanned them until he came to what he was hoping to find. Jackpot. A horizontal glass display laid in front of him, which contained a variety of swords and bayonets. Kyle scanned the display, looking for a way to open the case. He found a small lock, called James over and had the thing popped open.

  "I'll take this one," Edmund said, moving around Kyle and grabbing a long curved sword.

  "Have at it buddy," said Kyle, "that's a Calvary sword, made for slashing, so unless you want to cut the diseased heads off, then you might want to grab a bayonet."

  "Ah, good one mate."

  "This is what we want," Kyle said, reaching down and grabbing one of the smaller swords. "I was hoping there would be one here. It's an artillery short sword, so it's shorter, actually it looks a lot like a roman gladius, just narrower.”

  "How long?" asked James quietly, his large frame blocking the light.

  "The blade's about a foot and a half, with about six inches for the handle. Perfect for stabbing, and not too big to be cumbersome around your waist. Okay-" His words were cut short by a garbled cry from Abe. Kyle grabbed the sword and ran toward the door.

  ***

  Abe walked back to the reception area, his eyes forwards, scanning the area outside the glass entrance. He reached the doors, pushed them open to take a look, the cold November air stinging his face. Nothing. Relieved, he stepped back, letting the doors close and leaned against the wall, waiting for Kyle to have a look at the history museum. He laughed, thinking about how absurd and depressing the whole thing was, letting his mind drift to older memories of being dragged to museums.

  Abe cleared his mind and decided to take a look outside, do a proper check, so big brother would sign his merit badge. He made his way outside, checked the deserted parking lot and surrounding trees. So far so good. He walked to the far corner of the building, thinking to make his way around it, when a diseased stepped from behind a large oak and turned his milky eyes on Abe.

  Abe, stunned to be this close to a diseased, didn't react quickly. Rifle in hand, he watched the diseased open its mouth and issue a loud guttural sound that froze Abe's blood. Instinctively, Abe took a step back, trying to get away from the walking horror. His rifle lay forgotten in his arms. He began to shut down his fear, when something grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to the ground.

  Abe landed on his back, another diseased standing over him, reaching down with a hand missing three of its fingers. A low, gravelly cry came from the pajama wearing man. His throat, mostly gone, leaked crimson blood, covering his night attire. Droplets of blood and skin flopped back and forth from the man as he bent over Abe.

  Abe cried out in surprise at the nightmare standing over him, and rolled over to escape the falling man. He made it two rolls before the diseased man caught him by the shirt. Just needing to get away, Abe Jumped off the ground, his heart beating like a drum in the hands of a crazed Jamaican. He jerked away from the diseased and tried to kick the pajama man. The kick, poorly aimed, took the man in the thigh and caused him to stumble back. Abe raised his rifle to shoot the man, when the first diseased joined their party.

  Having forgotten about the first diseased he’d seen, Abe was lucky to still be alive. Only the slow speed of the man and a parking block saved him. The creature stumbled, giving Abe enough time to shoot the stumbling diseased. The shots, wild and barely on target, hit the man across his torso in multiple places. He didn't stop. Mind focused now, Abe noticed red patches appear through the second man's white tank top. Not to be deterred, Abe kept unloading his thirty round magazine into the stumbling target.

  With rounds flying in every direction, one finally made impact with its brain, snapping his head back and ending him. Abe jerked his head around to locate the other one, afraid it was right behind him. Instead, he found his brother pulling a short, straight sword out of the head of the unmoving diseased.

  "Bloody hell, now we know who used all those bullets, don't we?" said Edmund, who also held a sword, although much longer and slightly curved.

  Abe, in a mood to keep shooting something, turned towards the young Brit, thinking about using him for target practice.

  "Kidding mate, kidding," said Edmund, placing his hand up in surrender.

  Kyle stepped closer to Abe, tapping him on the shoulder, than snapping his fingers in front of Abe's face when he failed to get his attention. "Abe, snap out of it, let's go."

  Abe looked at his brother, who appeared completely normal, as if he didn't just stick a sword in someone. His anger began to burn at the condescension, before he began to think rationally and nodded his head in acceptance.

  Kyle saw the difference in his brother, saw his panic start to subside and took a breath he'd been holding. People have different reactions to combat and Abe was just starting to experience that. Kyle wanted to help, but since he couldn't, he hoped Abe would learn to control his panic. In the meantime, he'd be there to watch out for him.

  "Okay, I'll keep watch with Abe," Kyle said, knowing they needed to get out of there. "There's probably more diseased around. James and Edmund, can you grab the rest of the swords and anything else useful in there?"

  The two nodded and re-entered the building. Abe dropped the magazine in his rifle and inserted a new one, then walked to the side of
the door. He kept his eyes on the parking lot and corners of the building, not willing to be surprised again.

  Five minutes later, Edmund walked out with the last of the goods scavenged from the small museum. They'd found over 15 swords and bayonets, along with a few boxes of coffee, six large water bottles and some Debby snacks. James, already in the driver's seat, pointed to the back of the truck. Edmund jumped in and they made their way back to the fort.

  Chapter 4

  Neil snarled, his knife sliding into the last of the zombies in the motel. He pulled the KA-BAR knife from its head and let it drop on the floor. He turned, finding his two companions standing behind him, staring at him as if he were the zombie. Zombie or diseased, Neil didn't know, but they looked like zombies to him.

  Neil had no time for this. "That was the last one, the whole building's secure. Let's get these things out of here and start securing a defense."

  With that, he walked out. Neil knew what these people saw, a crazy man who'd lost touch with reality. They were wrong. He was more focused now than ever before. He knew what he had to do, and he wasn't going to let anything get in his way. Not this time. Everyone else, well, they would just have to get in line. This time, he was in charge and there would be no mistakes.

  Neil continued down the hall, passing the third member of his group that had assaulted Kyle and his group. Neil didn't speak to the man, just pointed behind him and kept walking. Kyle! He'd almost had him on the other side of the island, but the guy was slippery, as all criminals were. Neil didn't believe all those people knew the real Kyle, not the way he did. He'd find the real conspirators when he captured them.

  The retreat from the ambush had been a close thing. With only himself, and three others, they escaped and left Kyle free to cause havoc. At first, Neil had tried to go through the small town of Oak Island, named after the island itself. He needed to get his parents, then he'd come back to settle the score. It was a no go. Fighting raged everywhere. The streets were swarmed with people trying to survive; blasting shotguns, handguns or else running for their lives. Crashed cars, incompetent small town cops and fire trucks just made the situation worse. It was congested and impassable. In a snap decision, Neil swung the damaged Tahoe around and headed in the opposite direction of Macon, to the other side of the island.

  Oak Island was a small narrow piece of land, less than a mile wide at its widest point, but 12 miles longs. Neil had stayed close to the beach, bypassing the fighting and chaos that raged on that first day. He drove until he reached the far end of the Island. A perfect spot, he was able to see the ocean and the intra-coastal waterway from the road. He got lucky, spotting the motel/marina as night fell. The place was empty, with only a few cars in the parking lot. It would do.

  The group spent the night in Tahoe, not wanting to risk a fight at night. The next morning, before they exited the vehicle, Neil spotted a large group of survivors fleeing down the road, closely chased by zombies. Neil exited the Tahoe, checked his magazine and used the bumper of the Tahoe as a guide for his rifle. A magazine later, ten of the diseased were dead, their bodies falling in hop scotch fashion. The survivors, terrified to go forwards, stared at the dead, not daring to move from their spot.

  Neil waved his hand, approached the group and told them to head to the truck. Neil checked the fallen, making sure they were dead. He didn't worry about the sound of his gun shots. Battle still raged all over the island, most in the town. He hoped Kyle survived; he wanted to deal with him personally.

  ***

  Neil took one of the single rooms for himself and cleaned up at the still functional shower. He was a soldier and he knew soldiers got dirty, but Neil preferred to be squared away. He was a professional and he would stay that way, end of the world or not. He finished shaving, his skin smooth and fresh on his narrow face. His hair was still short, still regulation, and didn't need much combing. He did it anyways. Ne nodded at his physique, still toned and in shape, like a soldier should be.

  Neil hand washed his clothes and hung them up to dry. He smoothed out the wrinkles by hand and donned his grey work pants, then buttoned his matching blouse. He tucked the shirt in properly, slid on his boots and folded his pants ever so carefully into the tops of his boots. He picked up his gun belt and clipped it in place. He picked up his 9MM, pulled the slide back and checked for the bright piece of copper, saw it and let it slide back. Ready to go. He had to deal with a discipline problem today, and after that, begin to start building something new here.

  Neil walked down the drab, deserted hallways, down the seldom used fire escape stairs and emerged close to reception, a large room. His three friends were there, waiting for him, along with the nine survivors he helped on the road. Two others came to the hotel yesterday, both older men, both looking worn, disarrayed and sloppy. They still were. Neil disapproved of sloppiness, especially since they'd been given an opportunity to clean up. Shameful.

  Neil, walked up to the group, not greeting anyone. He stopped, took a look around and noticed frightened eyes staring at him. Neil didn't want that, didn't want to be feared. As long as they followed the rules, there wouldn't be a problem. He would do everything he could for them, to keep them safe and keep them alive. It was his duty. But there must be order, and for that to happen he needed them to understand.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a carefully folder piece of paper and opened it. He cleared his throat and read, "In order to function and survive we must have order. To have order we must have rules. These rules will keep us alive, and they will be followed if you choose to stay. They are as follows:

  “One. Everyone works. No work, no food, no protection. Anyone not pulling their assigned duties will be banished.

  “Two. No stealing, no cheating, no rape or assault against another person. Anyone breaking these will face consequences and they will be severe.

  “Three. Everyone shares, we will collect food, supplies and munitions, which will be shared by all.

  “And the most important rule. Rule Four. Every man, woman and child will perform his duty and will not abandon those duties until instructed to do so. This also will have grave consequences if not met."

  Neil folded the piece of paper, put it back in his pocket, and assumed parade rest, his hands folded behind his back. "Any questions?"

  "Yeah, I got a question. Who put you in charge?" The man was middle aged, dressed in brown khakis and dirty polo shirt. His skin, pale and blotchy, hung loose on his face. He'd come to the hotel, with his friend, both frantic, and looking for safety. He'd stayed the night there, but hadn't said much to anyone, or at least as far as Neil knew. He hadn't bothered to ask.

  "My group took this hotel. I am requisitioning it. That means, I am in charge," Neil said simply. "Now, I know you took some food. If you leave, consider it a gift, since you did nothing to clear this place. Otherwise, you will follow the rules."

  The man stood there, measuring Neil, and decided he wouldn't stand for this guy. "Look buddy, I'll take whatever I want and you-"

  Before he could finish, Neil hit the side of the man's neck. The man immediately grabbed his neck and began to cough, his throat not working. Neil wasn't finished. He pivoted his body slightly and gave a short measured kick to the side of the man's knee cap. The man dropped like a rock. Neil stepped back, calmly, and stood at parade rest again. The man, now crying and making terrible noises, lay on the ground, his knee bent in an unnatural position.

  "This man had his chance. The rest of you have to make a decision. Make it now. If you stay, there will be a meeting in ten minutes for jobs and responsibilities in the conference room. That is all."

  A dozen sets of eyes watched Neil walk back down the hallway and out of sight. In seconds, he'd disabled the man and no one doubted he'd do it again. They shared the same thought; he might be crazy, but they'd take the devil they knew.

  Chapter 5

  The makeshift drawbridge lowered as Abe, James, Edmund and Kyle waited, their backs towards the fort, keep
ing an eye on their immediate area. Kyle heard a diseased, one of those who’d fallen into the moat earlier. He took a look. The diseased, moaning lightly, walked back and forth, scratching the walls whenever he heard a noise. Blood covered the man, though mainly his hands, which were now only pieces of bone and hanging flesh. After falling into the moat, he’d tried reaching his prey, scratching and clawing until his fingers were rubbed completely away. The diseased still scraped the wall, only now with the nubs of bone.

  Kyle pulled his attention back, the draw bridge slamming down behind him. He ordered everyone in, staying back to cover the entrance.

  "All clear, go ahead son," said Old Ben, his raspy voice cutting through the cold air. Kyle nodded his head, grateful it was Ben up there. The man was, without a doubt, off his rocker, but he was also dependable and confident. Kyle noticed one of Eric's dogs standing beside the old man, nose pointed in the air sniffing.

  He walked over the drawbridge, underneath the vaulted sally port of the inner wall and onto the parade ground. He met Jasmine and Patrick, who were walking with the young ladies they'd rescued earlier. Kyle nodded at them and told them about the supplies.

  "We'll take care of it Kyle," Jasmine said and began snapping. Patrick gave a smirk and went about Jasmine's orders. Kyle smiled, and headed up to the wall. He joined Old Ben, who leaned on his rifle like Davie crocket.

  "Nothing's been going on. Still some shooting from the direction of town, but no more survivors. Had this guy," he pointed at the diseased with no fingers, "coming in, but since he was by himself, I thought I would let him wander around in the moat awhile. Shooting him would cause all kinds of racket. I told my lazy nephew to get something to kill him with, but haven't seen anything from him. Raised wrong if you ask me. Anyways, everything else is good, though night's coming."