Deadrise 2: Deadwar (7 page)

Smitty had been itching to go raiding since he had first arrived at Rainbow Lake. There were several small towns in the near vicinity, each one guaranteed to yield a bounty of treasure in prescription drugs, OTC medicine, alcohol, gasoline, cigarettes, clothes and canned food. All had been hot commodities in Park City and they were certain to be hot here in Rainbow Lake. The Council had implemented strict rationing of the communities alcohol, tobacco, canned food, candies and several other items due to limited supplies, but Smitty had a feeling that even when the supplies were full, they would still keep strict control of the distribution. And drugs? Unless you had a written prescription from Doc Reilly or Doc Norris, you couldn’t get so much as two aspirin. The situation was ripe for a black market. Smitty had made it clear to all of his crew that drugs, alcohol, over-the-counter medicine and candies were at the top of their salvage list. They would be expected to turn over 100% of such contraband items to the community coffers to be dispensed as the Council saw fit, but there would be skimming. There was always skimming.

The members of the Militia may be loyal to Jenkins, but they were human beings, with human vices; Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, candy, sex, entertainment. Already several of the Militia members were discreetly asking the bikers for drugs; marijuana, pain pills, sleeping pills, muscle relaxers, and alcohol. Smitty had spotted Matt and Susan smoking a joint last night after the Council meeting broke up. The demand was already there (people always wanted to get high and stuff their face with chocolate) it only needed a supply to feed it. So when they were out on the Evanston run today they would make a concerted effort to acquire as many of these items as possible to continue to feed that demand.

“We need to get some cutting and welding equipment on this raid.” Chico said from the passenger seat. Chico was a mid-sized Hispanic, with short black hair, and a cheesy bandito mustache. He was dressed in black leather, neck-to-toe, and wore black mirror sunglasses. As he spoke he pulled marijuana joint from a pack of cigarettes.

“Why’s that?” Smitty asked, genuinely intrigued.

“So we can armor up the truck. You know, like in the
Road Warrior
?” Chico put the joint to his lips and sparked a lighter, puffing it to life.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“It was Commander King’s idea." Chico passed the joint to Smitty, who took a long toke. "He says he’s going make some kick-ass APC's out of dump trucks."

"Dump trucks?" Smitty coughed out smoke with a chuckle.

“Do we get some of that?” A call came from the trailer that could be accessed through the cab via a sliding door built into the rear bulkhead between the driver and passenger seats. That door was currently open.

“Come and get it.” Smitty took another puff before holding it out to the open door. A few seconds later Wild Billy poked his upper body through and grabbed the joint.

“Thanks.” Wild Billy exclaimed with an adrenaline charged smile and disappeared back into the trailer. Wild Billy, like all of Smitty’s crew, had been with him since before the world had gone to shit, the last of the Kings. He was tall and gangly, always cracking a joke and laughing, and had a
thing
for teenaged girls. His eyes were large and round, his mouth was thin and wide, his teeth yellow and stained. He was a bundle of energy, never standing still and always looking for the next rush of excitement. His weapons of choice were a matching pair of nickel-plated 9mm’s and an AK-47. He took three quick hits off the joint and passed it to Augie.

Augie was tall and athletic, with a buzzed head, large brown eyes, and a wide, gap-toothed grin. In his mid-twenties, Augie was the youngest member of Smitty’s crew, spending his teen years as one of the King’s apprentice criminals, learning the ins and outs of the drug trade before earning his drivers license. A habitual thief, he had earned a three-year stint to the state prison for burglary, getting released just one week before the dead began to rise. Augie took two large hits off the joint, his eyes growing even larger each time. Holding in a hit and stifling a cough, Augie passed the joint to Angel.

Angel stood 5’5”, and had a squat, barrel torso. His hair was long and black, and his face was covered in an array of tattoos, a phrase written in an alphabet of his own design. Pre-plague, he had been one of the Kings biggest movers of cocaine, and could play the guitar like nobody else. Like all of Smitty’s crew he dressed himself in black leather. Angel took a puff and passed the joint to Bear.

Bear was a man of his name. A Hispanic, he stood 6’6” and weighed three hundred pounds. His long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and his face was scarred from a lifetime of street fights. Bears huge fingers dwarfed the joint, which was now barely a stub, and when he puffed the joint it seemed to disappear into his full, wet lips. Whenever one looked deep into Bears brown eyes, they saw a man without a shred of morality or compassion in him. His only loyalty was to his brothers in the Kings.

“Too bad we couldn’t bring our bikes along on this run.” Wild Billy said with regret.

“We in for a war, brother. The last place you want to find yourself in an army of deadfucks is on your bike.” Angel said.

“I just can’t stand being cooped up in this fucking box!” Wild Billy exclaimed, throwing his arms wide to indicate the interior of the trailer.

“Amen to that, brother.” Augie said, and the two knocked knuckles.

“You two just keep your fucking heads when we get there.” Bear said gruffly. “We're there for salvage, not so you two can have a good time killing zombies.”

“All in a days work brother.” Wild Billy said with a smile…

“There are thousands of them.” Matt said as he peered out the open side door of the helicopter as it hovered five hundred feet above the ground on the outskirts of Evanston. Down below, from the freeway ramp, stretching down the main drag of town and all of the connecting side streets were thousands of zombies. Spread out in small, intermingling clumps, they staggered about to and fro, most of them confused by the noise of the helicopter blades. A few had managed to look up and spot the chopper, and they held their stiff arms skyward, the anguished moans of the damned escaping their cold, dead lips. Hundreds more lay dead and unmoving, killed in previous raids by other looters.

“The Park City Militia and Freebooters raided here often.” Jenkins said from the pilot’s seat. “That would attract them in large numbers from all over the area. And it’s only been a couple of weeks since Park City was destroyed. It will take a lot longer than that for them to dissipate. Pvt. Jordan, radio the convoy, alert them of the situation.” The convoy was still about five miles outside of Evanston.

“Yes, General.” Pvt. Jordan replied crisply from the co-pilots electronics console. He was a thin man, with pale skin and thinning hair so white that it bordered on albino. His eyes were such a shade of turquoise that they almost appeared to be white as well. “Convoy, this is Scout, do you copy?” Pvt. Jordan spoke into his radio.

“Copy Scout. What’s the situation?” Captain Turner’s voice crackled back a moment later.

“Heavy zombie presence. Repeat, heavy zombie presence. They number several thousand strong. Do you copy? Over.”

“Copy Scout. Heavy zombie presence, they number into the thousands.."

“Copy.” Came Smitty Tucker’s voice a moment later.

“Copy, Captain.” Said Sgt. George Henry.

“Copy.” Said Major Farrell.

“Copy.” Echoed Commander King.

Jenkins eased the stick forward, taking the helicopter out over the town proper. There was a large grocery store and a truck stop and service station at this end of town near the freeway ramps. Several cars were strewn across the lots like discarded toys, amidst hundreds of zombies. In planning the mission Smitty had told him that the grocery store was picked bare and the gas stations pumps were drained dry, but there was a small gasoline refinery just outside town with several tanker trailers parked in the lot. If they could secure another tractor cab, Jenkins was hoping to get a tanker full of gasoline, two if they were real lucky. If this raid proved as successful as Jenkins was hoping, it would be the first of many to come…

CHAPTER 11

Monday, July 30, 2001

Rainbow Lake, Utah

10:28 AM

“When I gave you the preliminary physical a few weeks ago I suspected it, but now I’m certain of it. You have a serious heart condition that if left untreated, will likely result in your death.” Doc Reilly spoke in gentle, fatherly tones, but his words slammed Matt like a jackhammer. He could feel the color drain from his face, and his pulse quicken. He felt nauseous and short of breath.

“Are you certain?” Matt asked.

“I went over the test results twice, just to be certain.” They were in a small examination room at the Hospital. An hour ago Doc Reilly and one of his nurses had performed an Echo Cardiogram, a test where ultrasonic sonar waves were used to generate a 3-D image of the heart. It was used to visually evaluate performance, size, blood flow through the valves and other necessary heart functions. “You have an enlarged heart, and two leaking valves.”

”How long do I have?”

“That is up to you.” Doc Reilly regarded him with his soft eyes, appearing to size Matt up. “It will take some lifestyle adjustments. Less stress, a better diet, regular exercise. We don’t have much to work with as far as a healthier diet, but as far as I’m concerned, you have seen your last supply raid. And I want you to start working out. Ride a bicycle around the perimeter road a few times a week or something. And we have a decent supply of medication that will help with the leaking.” The Doc paused a moment, looking at him disapprovingly. "And you need to stop smoking marijuana. It's just as bad as cigarettes."

“But how long do I have to live?” Matt repeated his question.

“Much as I’d like to Matt, I’m not going to sugar coat it for you. You have Chronic Heart disease. It is a very serious condition. If we do not start treating it immediately, you will be dead inside of a year. But if we begin aggressive treatment right away, you can live a full life.”

“Well, at least I don’t need heart surgery.” Matt said with as much relief as he could muster.

“At least, not yet.” Doc Reilly said. “If you don’t make the commitment to take care of this thing, surgery may eventually be your only option. And let’s pray it doesn’t come to that.”

“Why?” Matt asked.

“Because I’m no heart surgeon.” They both knew what that meant.

“How come this condition was never discovered by my doctor before?” Matt asked, still not wanting to believe.

“It might be a recent development? When was the last time you saw the doctor?”

“It’s been a couple years.” Matt answered ashamedly.

“Was it a cardiologist or general practitioner?”

“General.”

”Well there you go. It most likely manifested itself in that time, but the stress of the past few months has aggravated it.”

“I don’t want anybody to know about this.” Matt said.

“Normally I wouldn’t have a problem with this, but you are a Council member and-“

“Please Doc? Everybody around here has enough to deal with. I don’t want them worrying about me as well. I may be a Council member, but I’m no better than anyone else.”

“We should at least inform Susan.” Doc Reilly said.

“I especially don’t want her to know. She just lost her father. She might put on a tough front, but she’s barely holding together. The last thing she needs right now is to worry about me dropping dead at any moment.”

“Matt, I’m just not comfortable with-“

“Please Doc?” Matt pleaded again. Doc Reilly tried to give him a firm, take no nonsense look, but the desperation in Matt’s eye that shattered the Doc’s stoicism.

“On a couple conditions.” Doc Reilly said grudgingly.

“Name them.” Matt retorted quickly.

“First, I want your word that you will go on no more raiding trips.”

“You’ve got it.”

“Not only is the stress bad for your heart, but you are a Council member. You may not consider yourself more important than anyone else around here, but the fact is these people look to you for leadership and guidance. We have a Militia and Freebooters to handle the raids, your place is here, handling the day to day needs of the community.”

“Ok, you made your point. What are your other conditions?”

“You will take your medication daily, and follow the exercise and diet routine I give you to the letter. I assume you and Susan have a healthy sex life?”

“Twice daily.” Matt said with a smile.

“Good. Keep that up. Lovemaking is wonderful exercise.”

“Susan will suspect something with the medicine and adjusted diet.”

“Tell her you have high cholesterol. If she asks me, I will back you on that. But if for a second I think you're not doing as instructed, I will call a Council meeting for the express purpose of informing them all of your condition. Do we have an understanding?” Matt wanted to press the point, but the look on Doc’s face told him that was all the slack he was being given.