“Sorry–I wasn’t trying to scare you. It looked like you had some trouble with it, so I wanted to lend a hand.” Sam looked at her and awkwardly cleared his throat.
“Well... now... sure. But I... damn it, you really frightened me. My heart is racing.” When Lisa started to laugh loudly, Sam had to join in. “Thanks for helping me, even though I would have eventually gotten this thing inside without you.”
“No doubt,” Sam assured her, “I hardly needed to push. It was rolling all by itself.” Lisa grinned and closed her right eye.
“I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new?”
“I just recently arrived with my mom and a group of survivors. Today was my first work shift in the forest. I‘m a lumberjack,” Sam said, not without an expression of pride.
“I heard about your group. Mr. Krueger was through here recently with your leader and showed him the town.” Sam’s face turned into a scowl.
“He was a skeeve. For some reason, I didn’t like him. ” Sam’s face brightened as soon as Lisa said this. She suddenly held out her small hand and said: “I haven’t even introduced myself! Lisa Hailey, Warehouse Manager and Organizing Genius, at your service.”
Almost half of her lower arm disappeared into Sam’s large paw of a hand. He took her hand in return. “Sam Gerber. Lumberjack and Freezer Chest Specialist.” Lisa laughed, though Jack looked a bit embarrassed at her reaction and rubbed the back of his head.
“Okay, Mr. Freezer Chest Specialist. Your service to humanity shouldn‘t be in vain. You‘ll receive the ultimate reward.” She ran into the warehouse and rummaged through some shelves. A few minutes later she returned with a small, square object Sam did not recognize at first.
“What‘s this?” he asked inquisitively.
“This, dear Sir, is an instant camera. It prints photos right after you take them. We have several in the warehouse that had been found in various households. We also have film for it, which we don’t really need. You can get some more of that later.” Lisa smiled as she handed the camera to him, and Sam accepted it as if it were the Holy Grail.
“I like to take photos myself. When I have especially good ones, I put them in my diary. I also write down everything that goes through my mind. Sometimes, I have cool ideas and want to preserve them for posterity and if I take photos of everything, people can imagine them more easily. Who knows how long we‘ll be able to do that.” She uttered these extremely depressing words with an ease that impressed Sam. Lisa seemed neither fake nor sad, and she was obviously trying to make the best of a grim situation. “Maybe you could drop by again to get new film, and then you can show me your best snapshots. That would be nice.”
Sam’s face turned beet-red. “Yes... I–certainly... definitely.” He really should stop making a fool of himself, he thought. He put on his most crooked smile, waved good-bye to Lisa and strolled away with a beet-red face. Lisa smiled and also waved at him, and it did not look like she was laughing at him.
On the way to his mother, Sam examined the camera and thought about Lisa’s words. A diary. That’s not a bad idea. Then Sam could write down what bothered him, without having to direct all his frustrations at his mom. I should return and show her my pictures. What the hell did I actually fight about with mom?
27Need for Clarification
Following the announcement made earlier in the afternoon, almost all the people currently living at Fort Weeks had now gathered to hear the speech by William Pelletier. The hangar was almost full for this meeting, with the exception of the guards who were on duty and not in attendance. Both soldiers and civilians mumbled and whispered among themselves, until Master Sergeant Pelletier stepped up to the makeshift platform on the bed of a truck. There were two loudspeakers on either side of the truck, which made crackling sounds when the master sergeant tapped on the microphone in his hand. In a rare instance, he wore dark jeans and a steel-blue shirt without any military insignia, which caused many members of the audience to give him surprised looks. Ray also cast an annoyed glance at Chris and Gregory, who had joined him.
“Pure psychology,” Gregory said. “He wants to show people he is one of them. That‘s why he’s not wearing a uniform.”
William Pelletier tapped on his microphone again and everyone finally fell silent. About three hundred fifty pairs of eyes stared at him with undivided attention.
“Inhabitants of Fort Weeks, a couple of months ago, life on Earth changed drastically. The normal situation of earlier times is fading from memory with every passing day. We were all parts of an everyday life that is hard to imagine now.” The Master Sergeant waited for a moment to let his words sink in.
“But that is not all. The outbreak of the zombie plague took loved ones away from us. We all lost friends and family members. Fathers, mothers, daughters and sons, brothers and sisters—the plague spared nobody. Yet we had hardly any time to mourn! The walking dead out there have made life into a daily struggle for survival. And this was the reason why all of you came to Fort Weeks. This is the reason why you are here today.” William Pelletier glanced at his audience. He’s really playing the emotional connection card, Ray thought. Interesting.
“You came here because you knew that these walls offered protection. Provisions. Safety. All of these expectations have been fulfilled—until yesterday.” Once again, he made a momentous pause.
“Yesterday we became the target of a treacherous attack from outside that caused over one hundred thirty innocent men and women to lose their lives and injured more than fifty. It is clear to me all of you want to know how this could have happened. Believe me, if I could answer that question, I would do so.”
Ray looked at the saddened faces all around him. If they only knew, he thought. He was curious just how much the Master Sergeant would actually reveal.
“The bad news is that we don’t have any clear indications so far as to who attacked us–and we can only speculate about their motives. The only thing we can say for sure is the attack was aided by an explosion near the outer wall and the zombie horde was lured here by a helicopter.” Pelletier cleared his throat before continuing.
“The following information that I am going to reveal did shock me, but it is true. Principally, any of us—I repeat, any of us—could be infected with the virus. The reason why Private Billy Maddox transformed into a zombie is because he was infected months ago, but the virus has a certain incubation period before becoming active.”
The crowd in the hangar reacted with loud murmurs and shocked glances. The master sergeant quickly continued.
“The good news is there is a quick test we can use on everyone in Fort Weeks to see if they are infected. For several days, we have been in radio contact with the aircraft carrier USS George Washington, which was sailing from Japan to America when the plague broke out. From them we received information about the plague and instructions on how to perform the test.”
Immediately, the hangar was filled with more murmuring and people stared at each other in disbelief. Nobody quite knew what to make of this revelation.
“On board the Washington there are also about two thousand soldiers. However, the United States do not just retain military forces, they also have a political leader. The Vice-President of the United States is alive, and I spoke with him today,” Pelletier said, his voice getting louder. A wave of applause swept over the master sergeant, which he had not expected. A few months ago he probably would not have behaved in such a confident manner, but the events of the last few weeks had made him grow into his position. He had to make use of this moment.
“But that is not all,” he continued with a steady voice. “We have also initiated specific measures to investigate the attack on our base, and we are receiving their full support for it.” The people now cheered in response.
“I apologize that at the current time I cannot give you any more details. But I promise everyone here we will do anything humanly possible to bring those to justice who are responsible for the attack on Fort Weeks.
After this meeting is over, please go directly to the officers’ mess, where the quick test will be administered. You will receive the results right away. From now on, we are only looking to the future! Like before, we will turn this base into a fortress again. We will all pitch in and work harder than ever. It‘s no secret that winter is coming—but when I see all the courageous men, women and children here in front of me, I am sure of one thing: We will overcome this challenge, too! We will do it together! We are going to live! ”
The cheering was ear-splitting and made the hangar roof vibrate, when the master sergeant saluted after his last words and left the platform. The crowd was intoxicated with courage and confidence that was almost palpable. When they had initially entered the hangar, they all had been concerned, suspicious or desperate. Now there was hope. No–there was a promise.
That was enough for Ray. Even if Pelletier had not revealed the whole truth, he had at least told a larger part than Ray would have expected him to do earlier.
28Practice Makes Perfect
“They even got a weights room here, Duke,” Danny said with a grin when he met him in the town. With a towel around his shoulders, he looked like a yuppie coming from an overpriced gym. Judging from your body, you missed going to the weights room for the last twenty years. However, Duke kept this thought to himself and only touched a hand to his forehead in greeting. He knew why Danny was suddenly gung ho about lifting weights when he saw Pam coming from the same direction. Those two. Worse than teenagers in heat. He rolled his eyes. No matter, let them carry on. He had his own concerns.
Duke was excited because tomorrow he would join the first outside excursion. His fingers were practically itching for some skull-bashing. His gear had been returned to him, and now he once more felt the familiar weight of the two hammers hanging from his belt. There was something else exciting him just as much: He had packed a few things so he could later train in the arena. Richard Fuller would be there to teach his “sheep” how to fight. Duke had been looking forward to this occasion all day long. He would show these wussies how to fight in the real world because out there, fighting was brutal and dirty. He was curious what this stuck-up lunkhead wanted to teach to the local peasants. Danny and Pam were not interested in coming along with him. Recently, it was noticeable how they spent a lot of time together. Duke thought very highly of Danny, but he had would have thought that a woman like Pam was out of his league. Oh well, everyone has dreams.
When Duke reached the amphitheater, there was already a large crowd in the stands. Some of the villagers looked rather bizarre, and a drill sergeant would have had a field day with their motley mixture of looted sports clothing. All the camouflage paint of an army base would have not been enough to cover the jumble of countless neon colors gathered here. Everyone carried homemade weapons, some of which were rather strange contraptions. For instance, Duke saw a sawed-off broom handle with a sharpened dinner knife attached to it. Another fighter had bolted the blade of a circular saw to a metal rod to create an exotic melee weapon, and to Duke, the guy looked like a little kid with a pinwheel. Down in the sand there were several straw dummies, which were apparently had been set up for their exercises. About fifty men and women were just picking up bows and crossbows and were busy gathering arrows. The archery class in session seemed to be over, and next to them stood a high and mighty looking Richard Fuller. He himself carried a short sword suspended in a leather loop, the blade of which resembled a machete. Duke was pretty sure it could cleanly separate a zombie’s head from its shoulders. This time, Fuller had exchanged his conspicuous, tailored suit for simple black clothing. He supervised the training and waved all participants over to him. He made a hand gesture, and everyone formed up in pairs. Then he put his sword aside.
“Ladies and gentlemen. First, put your weapons away, like I just did. We are starting with fighting techniques without the use of weapons. At the end of today’s training we will go over to the straw dummies.” Fuller nodded at Duke and encouraged him to start with the training.
He explained the next exercise; the participants were supposed to strike once with their fist and then block an incoming punch. Most of them managed to make the movements look rather fluid after a few minutes. Duke felt bored after a short time and had to control himself so he would not knock out his female sparring partner by accident. Further training modules focused on kicks and elbow techniques meant to incapacitate attackers. Even though Duke did not want to admit it, Fuller made a very professional impression. To him, though, this grey-haired con man was nothing but a wimpy know-it-all.
At the end of the training, Fuller assembled everyone in a makeshift circle and talked to them.
“Thank you for your efforts today. I think it is important to be able to defend oneself in these uncertain times. One of these days, you will desperately need these lessons. Stay sharp and take care of yourself. This concludes the training for all work teams. The outside teams and those on guard duty should stay for the extra lesson.”
Duke pricked up his ears. Extra lesson? What could that be about? The crowd thinned out. Only the men and women of the outside teams stayed, and you could see that by their muscular physique. All of them started to wrap their fists. Duke suddenly noticed how his hands tingled with excitement, and he followed their example. Fuller looked at his current group and made them pair up. Once again, Duke was assigned a woman. She was about forty years old, and she glared at him belligerently. When Fuller had everyone ready, he yelled: “Five minutes of light sparring!”
Immediately, there was movement in the amphitheater’s open ground area. Fists and feet flew through the air, action caused reaction—all under the watchful eyes of Richard Fuller, who paced back and forth. Next to him, two sweating women rolled across the ground. Each of them tried to gain the upper hand and employ effective moves and lifts. Duke wasn’t paying full attention to his sparring partner, as he focused more on what was happening around him. He abruptly became aware of her presence when her fist hit his chin. He felt the punch and noticed the taste of blood on his tongue. He heard her grunt “someone must have been asleep,” then Duke’s rage took over.
“Good hit, Nancy,” Fuller congratulated Duke’s opponent and walked on. He had just taken a few steps, when he heard a loud cry of pain. When Richard Fuller turned around, Nancy was already sprawling in the sand, with blood coming out of nose and mouth. Fuller raised an eyebrow.
“What happened?” he asked sternly.
“My sparring partner was knocked out immediately. Well, if you play with fire you get burnt,” Duke answered drily and shrugged. Fuller criticized him directly.
“Sparring, Mr. Powell, is all about simulating a fight. We want to show each other gaps in our defenses. We want to put each other under pressure in order to generate natural physical reactions to a fight situation, so that we can improve our technique. It is not about a hulk like you beating down and injuring a dwarf. The goal is to control fear and to be able to act even when you are afraid.”
“I didn’t know how hard I was allowed to hit because I’ve never sparred before,” Duke lied. He had done wrestling in school, and some boxing. He knew very well what these exercises were all about.
“That is one way of putting it,” said Richard and scratched his well-groomed beard.
“As I could claim a certain experience, would you accept me as your sparring partner? I think for Nancy today’s training is over anyways.” The half unconscious woman groaned in pain as she was picked up by two of her comrades and was then dragged toward the hospital. It looked like her nose was broken.
Duke, on the other hand, was in a great mood. Richard Fuller had fallen for his provocation and even offered himself as his next victim. He knocked his fists together in anticipation. This is going to be a lot of fun.
Fuller pulled on leather gloves and waved Duke toward him. The area where he wanted to spar with Duke was about ten yards away from the other fighters. Even better, then they won’t hear what I whisper to y
ou while I beat the living shit out of you.
Richard Fuller stood in some distance to him and raised his hands to protect himself. Duke did not put on gloves. After all, it wasn’t his face that about to be beaten to a pulp.
“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Fuller, and the gloves are really not necessary.”
Richard Fuller’s body coiled like a spring. Suddenly, he seemed taller and wider than before. His otherwise calm expression had disappeared and been replaced with a sly, almost evil smile. Duke had the impression that he was watching an old tiger on the prowl.
“The gloves will protect my hands, while I teach you a lesson. After all, I don’t want to get them dirty by touching you,” he harshly whispered toward Duke.
Fuller obviously wanted to draw him out, and Duke wondered for a moment how he should handle this challenge.
Duke responded with the only thing that seemed logical to him and full of rage, launched himself at Richard Fuller. He wanted to immediately take him down to demonstrate to Fuller’s people just how quickly he could wax him. In his mind he already thought about the words he would spit at Fuller once he was finished with him. However, two feet from his target, his concentrated rage was abruptly stopped, and all thoughts about gloating remarks disappeared. Everything briefly went black, and he fell to his knees. Fuller had kicked him brutally in the groin, so fast and direct that Duke had no chance to defend himself. Groaning in pain he crawled on the ground for a few seconds before he managed to get up. He had not expected this attack. Duke flexed his arms, making his majestic biceps stand out. He snorted in anger and watched Fuller carefully. Duke remembered some painful lessons his former boxing coach had taught him. If you really want to fight, you wimp, you have to keep your elbows up when you hit. Even if your fist does not hit, you can still knock out your opponent with your elbow.
Evolution Z (Book 3): Stage Three Page 11
