by Key, Thomas
In what had once been the leasing office for Lucaya, all the survivors of the compound had gathered minus two guards. I stood in front of the group with George once again by my side to announce our communication from earlier that day. I calmly presented the conversation that I had with Staff Sergeant Rodriguez. After I finished speaking, a murmur arose from the gathered crowd. One man stood, Jeff, I think his name was, and asked, "Are they the real deal? The military?" "I honestly don't know. It could be, and it sounded official, but I can't truly confirm it unless we have a meeting with them." The hope he had on his face when he first asked the question seemed to melt off him at my response. He slowly began to sit back down. I spoke back up to him, hoping to inflate some of the hope he had had. "It very well could be, but it could also not be. I give you my word though that I will find out. There is still hope." That seemed to bring some wind back into his sails. George stepped forward and asked the crowd, "I'd like to see a show of hands. How many of you think we should pursue this course of action, and how many of you disagree? Please raise your hand for yay." A majority did indeed raise their hands. After a quick hand count, he spoke up again. "Alright, that's most of you. I've tasked Shepherd here with coming up with a plan of action for setting up a meeting and verifying their intentions. Are there any volunteers to assist him?" For a few seconds there was not a sound in the room. A mouse farting could probably have been heard. Just as quickly as it came though, the silence was broken. Two people stood and walked to the front of the room. With shit-eating grins on both of their faces, Rachel and Ken both took their places beside George and I. A quiet laughter broke from the crowd, to which George also smiled. He again addressed the crowd. "I don't know why I just don't attach these three surgically at the hip," he said. The group laughed again. After the ruckus began to soften, I raised my hand, motioning for silence. "We are going to set up a meeting place and the three of us will make contact. We will obviously proceed with extreme caution. Even without the possible threat of this group, the streets are still crawling with the infected. Plus, we don't know if we have any more friends from yesterday out and about." Some in the crowd nodded. "In the meantime," said George, "We are going to continue on our respective projects. We need to continue fortifying the compound, as well as extending our food stores for as long as possible. For now, let's all get some rest. Meeting adjourned," he said as the group began to stand and disperse, with many of the survivors nodding their acknowledgements to George and myself as they left.
Chapter 5: George’s Story
George McGavin had been your average grandfather, with four children and three grandchildren. Before being able to place a ‘world’s best grandpa’ mug in his cupboard, he had served in the Korean War. He had received a purple heart for a bullet that he had taken for one of his friends. After being discharged, he fell madly in love with a mail clerk in his hometown of Belen, New Mexico. The rest, as they say, is history. He retired after working another thirty years at a factory and dedicated the rest of his life to his family. When the zombies came, he lost everything in the end.
It was during the first weeks of the pandemic in the United States. His wife, Betty, was being treated for a hip fracture at a local women's hospital. The love of his life had been helpless in a hospital bed when an infected woman from across the hall had found her way into her room. George had stepped out to bring her some food from her favorite restaurant as a treat and returned just in time to see nurses pulling the infected person away from his already dead wife. The scene flashed back through his mind every living day. The commotion outside of her room, the smells of the iron-rich blood as he stepped into the room, mixed with the aromas of the hot Italian food in the to-go box in his hand. The color of red all over the floor and the walls and the sheer look of pain and terror still etched on his wife’s face, even after death. It was at that moment that the world ended for George. He became a shell of his former self, as he was pushed out of the room and down the hall into a waiting area. He had seen enough death to know that it had been dealt there. He left the hospital, went straight to their home and began to try to find solace at the bottom of a whisky bottle. Then at the bottom of another one. Two days later his power went out, and he had run out of liquor. An infected had broken into his home in the middle of the night. Even in his drunken stupor, he could see that she was the same as the other who killed his wife. His old Louisville slugger was in his hand as he beat the zombie into a pulp form of who she used to be, channeling all his pain and anguish into each swing of the bat. He dropped it and went to the phone to dial the police to turn himself in. The phone line was dead. His own cell, only really used for emergencies, was long dead as well. So, he left, went into the street and just began to walk. With the fires, gunshots and screams all around him, he continued to walk. It was not until a man named Shepherd stumbled across him. The man, more of a boy in George’s opinion, had spotted him walking along the sidewalk with several shufflers in close pursuit. Shepherd had killed all of them, and nearly done the same to George thinking he was also infected. With his disheveled clothing, taunt face and un-showered smell, it was not such a far fetch. Shep had seen something in his eyes though and he lowered his pistol. Then he stepped forward and gave George a hug. The man - a veteran, a grandfather, and father, finally broke down then and there, crying into the boy’s shoulder. "It’s alright. I’ve got you," Shepherd had said as he gently guided George into his truck and brought him to Lucaya where he was about to launch a clearing operation. It was when George saw Rachel, a young lady who had a striking resemblance to his own daughter that he snapped out of his distraught mood. He wanted that girl and that boy to be safe, because that’s what his wife would have wanted. George, using his history in factories and former military experience, was able to sort everyone into roles and figured out ways for the survivors to become more efficient. Soon after, he became the figurehead, the man in charge for the group. He would survive, and he would help save lives. And that’s what Betty would have wanted.
Chapter 6
As night once again fell over the compound and most of our group went off to an apocalyptic version of sleep, I was not so lucky. "Are you two still up for doing some scavenging?" I asked Ken and Rachel as we all sat in my apartment. I slowly rocked my chair back and forth while considering our plans for tonight. "Yeah dude, we've got you," said Ken. Rachel just nodded. "Yeah, we've got nothing better to do anyway," she said with a quick wink. Another digression here. As much as I believe that I know about women, I am usually left in the dark. Was that a tease kind of a wink or just a 'I'm being silly' kind of wink? Should I wink back? Too late, as I shrugged and began to give the details of my plan. "Alright, so we're planning on hitting the Route 66 Diner right off Central. We hope we can find food and other supplies there. I think we can probably find cookware and other fun stuff like that too." They both agreed that it was a good idea. "Is it just us three?" asked Ken. "Yeah, the smaller the group, the easier to hide and move without being noticed," I told him as I stopped my rocking. "Would you both be ready to go in about half an hour?" I asked, looking them both in their eyes. They both nodded. "Alright. Let's do it."
In about forty-five-ish minutes, we were at the front entrance of the Route 66 Diner. The restaurant was a staple of Route 66 as it passed through Albuquerque. It was one of those had to visit tourist spots. Old style milkshakes, burgers and fries hearkened back to what many people felt were the good old days. The old neon signs now stood most likely forever unlit. The building's entrance was a simple glass door with a metal frame. Rachel had once again brought a trusty crowbar and we were able to jimmy open the locked door. Always prepared that one. As quietly as we could we ducked into the building, closing the door behind us. Inside, it was nearly pitch black but luckily the moonlight was shining upon us, creating eerie shadows around the entrance. After waiting a few moments for our eyes to adjust, we began to slowly and painstakingly advance through the restaurant. The building was the novelty kind of old fashione
d, with leather booths lining the windows all along the walls, a bar area and kitchen directly opposite the front doors. Along the bar were old style bar stools, with an entire collection of Pez dispensers along the wall above the bar. Not sure what the deal was with those but hey, who am I to judge? "Hey," whispered Rachel, catching my eye, "The milkshakes are on sale," she said, pointing to a long-forgotten A-Frame sign in the seating area. The three of us snickered and continued towards the kitchen. Ken was holding the rear guard, watching our backs while Rachel slowly stepped towards the seating area on the other side of the kitchen. Once inside of the kitchen area, I was able to find our objectives. Canned food still lined the feed storage area, with more cooking utensils than the three of us could carry. After shoving as much of the goods into my pack as I could, I noticed a trail of empty cans leading towards a utility closet. I, of course use the term trail loosely as what comes to mind is a cartoon with someone following a path of M&Ms into a waiting box set to spring a trap. My curiosity got the better of me though and I knew that I had to investigate. However, before I could take one more step, I heard a slight "Psst" from Kenneth. I stopped moving and held fast. I heard Ken slowly move towards me and he stuck his head into the kitchen and looked in my direction. "Incoming Zs," he said as he ducked back towards the bar. I carefully made my way back out of the kitchen and to the bar where I spotted Rachel doing the same.
Our group stood slightly, just enough to peek over the counter and through the street level front windows. Outside in the moonlight, I caught a sight that I had not seen in quite a while. A large group, maybe fifty to one hundred or so infected were shambling up Central Avenue from the west. The noise level began to increase as the sound of shuffling feet and the slight moans wafted through the glass to our awaiting ears. The grinding of metal against metal was causing me to cringe as the crowd pushed vehicles together as they moved along. We slowly ducked back down out of sight. "It looks like they're taking the scenic route today," Ken said with a grin. "Damn tourists," Rachel threw in without missing a beat. We rose back up and watched as they started to limp by. Most of our guests had some obvious kind of trauma. Even in the dimness of the night, we could see the dark spots of what most likely were long dried blood from wounds on people's chests or necks, or even on their backs. Several of the walkers had their throats nearly torn out. The carnage was downright gut churning. The news always portrayed the ghouls as being dressed in business suits and work uniforms. Nearly none of these things fit that bill though most had hospital gowns, or boxers and T-shirts. We counted three that were just completely buck naked. I was not about to touch that with a mile-long stick, though. About half of the group of monsters had passed our location when we heard what sounded like a door hinge creaking. Our attention was immediately drawn back towards the kitchen.
Ken tilted his head at me as if to say, 'What was that?' I shrugged at him and he rolled his eyes. I realized right then that I had fucked up. I didn't clear the room properly and now it might very well bite us in the ass, both literally and figuratively. As quietly as I possibly could, I stepped back towards the kitchen. I picked up the crowbar from its resting place on the bar counter and brought it with me, holding it at my side. We could not afford the sound of a gunshot in this small of a space. It would be like ringing a dinner bell; ironically, in a place that used to serve dinner. I entered the kitchen and headed to the supply closet. The door was slightly ajar now. I glanced around the darkened room but could find nothing out of place, other than the door. Just as I reached over to open it wider, I was knocked backwards, landing firmly on my ass. I dropped the crowbar, hearing several loud 'clang' noises as the metal hit the ceramic tile floor. I saw a shadow pass beside me, heading for the front door. Just as the whatever it was made it to the doorway, it was clothes-lined by Ken. The shadow was flung backwards, landing on its back with a muffled thud. I finally got myself back onto my feet and had my sidearm withdrawn. I had my trusty Ruger 9mm handgun pointed squarely on the figure's cloth covered head. After a few moments of groaning on the floor, it looked up to see three-gun muzzles pointed directly at it. A pair of gloved hands came from under an all-black duster. It held its hands up high and the frail hands with pink painted nails seemed to be trembling. I reached over and removed the hood and saw the flowing blonde hair of a woman. Her blue eyes seemed to radiate fear. She appeared to be young, maybe late teens or early twenties. Signs of malnutrition was showing on her face and neck. Seeing the fear in her eyes reminded me that the undead are not the only bad things in this world. She probably thought that we were yet another horror about to be set onto her. With the infected, raiders, and we'd even heard rumors of cannibals, it was no wonder she was scared out of her gourd.
I slowly motioned for my team to lower their weapons. After a few moments, the woman seemed to calm down, albeit only slightly. I calmly whispered to her, "That was a really stupid thing to do. There's a mob of those things outside." I pointed towards the front door. Maybe that was not the friendliest of greetings but before I could drop my hand back down to my side, I heard a tremendous crashing noise as glass shattered in multiple places along the street front diner. "Oh shit!" Rachel said as she swung her rifle back up to her shoulders and walked to the bar. We had made just enough noise to warrant a visit from our groupie friends outside. It appeared like they all wanted to join in the fun. The entire flock of Zs seemed to be energized by seeing us appear before them. They all pushed forward at once, trampling anything in their way, including their undead brethren. We figured 'fuck it' and began to open fire. The recently neutralized woman from the closet yelled at us, coming out of her shock. "There's an emergency exit to the back lot!" she said and was pointing towards another seating area. I nodded at her, and tapped the shoulder of Ken, as he was closest to me. I followed the woman to the door, stumbling for a moment as my foot caught on some debris, sending an empty can skittering to the other side of the room. I reached the door and turned to see Kenneth running towards me. Behind him, after a few more gunshots rang out, I saw Rachel also moving towards us. Ken, using his momentum slammed into the rusted emergency exit door, pushing it out and smacking it into the outside wall hard enough to nearly take it off its hinges. I raised my rifle back towards the front of the diner, seeing the closest of our pursuers within about ten feet, coming around a corner of the kitchen. "Go! Go! Go!" I yelled to Rachel as she ran out the door. I followed quickly after her, trying to throw the door back behind me, with no luck. Decision time, I thought as I quickly surveyed the area. Behind the restaurant were a series of old houses and they were naturally on the other side of a tall wrought iron fence. The spikes at the top seemed rather pointy to me. The last thing on my to-do list today was to have a sharp iron bar shoved up my ass. I was in no mood for a “friends with benefits” type of situation with this old rusty fence. The alternative option was to try to circle around the diner to exit towards the front to make a run for it. That option was quickly deleted from my mind as the crowd from inside of the building came to greet us, as did some from around both sides of the building. "Well, fuck," I said with a sigh. I pointed to the row of houses with the 8-foot tall fences and yelled, "Move!"
Chapter 7
As we ran towards the line of houses directly behind the Route 66 diner, we came to the lovely 8ft wrought iron fence at the end of the parking lot. Generally, I truly love these fences. Especially the one that we use to defend our compound. I was certainly not loving this one so much though. Starting with our new friend, we interlocked our hands and hefted each other up one by one. Rachel and I were the last two on our side of the fence. The crowd of Zs had nearly made it to us. She pointed at me to go up next. I, of course, shook my head, "No, you go," I told her. "I'm lighter than you are and can climb this far easier than you can with all of that shit," she responded, pointing to my pack. Either way, we didn't really have time to argue. Once again, I found myself at the losing end of an argument with a woman. Then again, do men ever actually win arguments with women?
Or is it more of a situation where they let us think we won so we feel good about ourselves just long enough to do the chores. I digress, as it is most likely a question that begun at the dawn of time and will go unanswered until the end of time. From the other side of the fence, Ken grabbed a hold of my vest and pulled up as Rachel used her arms to push me over her head and to the top of the fence. I grazed my cheek on one of the iron spikes and felt something warm drip down my neck. Our guests all seemed to give a verbal response to my injury at once, a chorus of undead moans threatening to overwhelm my senses. I was able to grasp the railing and pulled myself over, falling straight down with a thump. Luckily on the other side, was dirt and lumps of grass as opposed to the asphalt parking lot that I had just vacated.
