Rotter Apocalypse (5 page)

Bruce Denning stood on the front porch of his house, a cup of warm coffee in one hand and an apple in the other, alternating between the two as he looked out over his farm.

A bright morning sun balanced perfectly with the cool air. Birds chirped in the surrounding woods and a pair a squirrels chased each other around the trunk of an oak tree. On the far end of his pasture, a family of deer ventured out into the open to graze. Denning took a sip of coffee, savoring the flavor for a few seconds and relishing another perfect, quiet morning.

He was probably the only person who enjoyed the zombie apocalypse.

“Enjoy” sounded too harsh. A better phrasing would be “least affected.” When the zombie outbreak spread, civilization collapsed because the infrastructure that supported it fell apart. One by one, utilities and services ground to a halt. Most of those who had survived the dead hordes couldn’t cope with living in a world that had regressed by more than a century. Those who had been weaker or unready were either absorbed into larger, more prepared groups, or culled out by those who were tougher. The strong survived, or the incredibly lucky, and more often than not they were not the people you’d want as neighbors. None of this had any impact on him, however, because Denning didn’t rely on anything that most people associated with their day-to-day lives. Since the death of his wife ten years ago, he had gone off the grid and become self-sufficient.

The thought of Anna always brought a brief flicker of happiness to his heart. Sadly, that flame soon fanned itself into a raging conflagration of anger. Not at Anna. He loved her more than anything in the world. She had been his wife of twenty-seven years. More than that, she had been his best friend, his lover, and his soul mate. No, he directed the anger at the cancer that had ravaged its way through her body; at the insurance company that refused to pay for a procedure that could save her life because, despite its success rate in clinical trials, they deemed it “experimental;” at the hospital that wouldn’t perform the treatments to save Anna’s life without getting their payment up front; at the real estate agency that agreed to help him sell half his farm so he could raise the money for Anna’s surgery, and then tricked him into selling it at fifty percent of its value after making a corrupt deal with a land developer. Not a day went by when he didn’t imagine every one of those assholes as one of the living dead. If he ever came across one, he knew he wouldn’t put them out of their misery, and would let them suffer for eternity like they had made him suffer.

A smile crossed his lips as he imagined Anna chastising him for having such a negative attitude and for not being very Christian. She had always been his better half, and lovingly called him “her misanthrope.”

Her pet name for him happened to be closer to reality than even she realized. Denning had associated within society because of Anna. Their friends were her friends; after Anna’s passing, contact with them became less frequent until it stopped altogether. He never owned a cell phone, and only maintained the landline in case of emergency. Anna had used the Internet and cable television, and with her no longer around he had gotten rid of both, limiting what little TV he viewed to the local channels that he could tune in with the antenna in his backyard. He learned how to do things for himself so he didn’t have to rely on contractors or repairmen and spend money he didn’t have. A well and a septic system provided his plumbing, and a few years back he had installed solar panels in order to remove himself from dependency on the utility companies. Over time, his DIY attitude became full-blown self-reliance. Whatever Denning couldn’t produce for himself, he stockpiled. Many of his neighbors thought he had gone nuts, while some of the more gracious referred to him as a survivalist. He would agree with the latter, although not with the negative connotation that it implied. If the death of Anna had taught him anything, it was that was life could be unpredictable and unfair. As far as Denning had been concerned, if disaster struck, he did not want to rely on anyone.

Denning took a bite of apple and chewed. He wondered what the locals thought of him now, if any of them were still alive.

Finishing his apple, Denning flung the core toward the pine tree near his house so nature would recycle it. Drinking the last of the coffee as he stepped inside, he placed the empty mug in the sink and prepared to make his morning rounds of the perimeter. He strapped on his utility belt with the hunting knife and machete, grabbed his 450 Bushmaster rifle with scope, and headed out the back door.

His farm covered twenty acres. Denning had surrounded the property with a five-foot-tall, reinforced wooden fence interlaced with barbed wire and topped with rusty nails. At the time, he had considered the measure somewhat overkill since his property sat a mile from the closest public road. Over the past year, he had thanked God for his paranoia. That fence had kept out trespassers and the living dead, although he really hadn’t seen much of either. In the beginning, four or five groups of people came across his farm and wanted to stay, and every time he refused, not wanting to bring strangers into his house. His caution had been justified when the first four groups became belligerent. The third had been the worst, threatening to take his farm away since they outnumbered him seven-to-one. Denning used the Bushmaster to narrow the odds to three-to-one before the survivors broke and ran. The only group he had felt guilty about turning away was the last, a family with three kids, all under ten. That had been ten months ago, and he had not seen another human since. He occasionally came across a zombie sauntering outside the fence or entangled in the barbed wire, and would dispatch it with the machete. The last of those had been four or five months ago. The only reason he continued to walk the perimeter every morning was out of force of habit and the need to exercise.

The main property consisted of five acres of yard surrounding the sides and back of his home, a two-thousand-square-foot ranch style house. In front of that sat ten acres that he farmed to raise the grains and vegetables he lived on, as well as the chicken coop and pig enclosure. Denning crossed behind the house to the eastern border of his property and proceeded south. As usual, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Making his way along the south and west perimeters, he eventually backtracked to the front of the property where he had enclosed five acres of land into a pasture for Walther, his prized bull from when he had unsuccessfully tried his hand at raising cattle. The business failed because Walther was an ornery son of a bitch who didn’t get along with other cows and hated everyone except for Denning, which explained why he and Walther got along so well. Most mornings his friend waited by the corner of the fence to greet him as he made his rounds. Not today, though. At first, Denning thought Walther might not be feeling well until he saw the animal at the far end of the pasture, its attention focused on the road leading to the farm.

Two figures approached from half a mile away. Crouching by the wooden fence that surrounded the pasture, he raised his Bushmaster and centered the scope on them. They appeared to be a young woman with short blonde hair and a little girl about ten years old. Each carried a backpack. The woman sported two AK-47s, one strapped over her right shoulder and the second clutched in her hands. Denning watched carefully for several minutes to make certain these two were not being used as bait to lure him out. Using the scope, he scanned the surrounding area for any signs of an armed group. He saw no indication they were with anyone else. Well, he might as well confront the intruders and get this over with.

Standing, Denning held the rifle in front of him so it didn’t appear threatening, but so he could raise it to fire in an instant, and moved forward to greet the newcomers.

Upon seeing him, the woman stopped and grabbed the girl’s shoulder, signaling for her to do the same. She stepped in front of the girl, her body shielding the youngster, and waited for Denning. She held her weapon the same way as he, sending the signal that she posed no danger yet should not be trifled with. Denning sized them up. Both wore filthy clothes that had seen better days. They hadn’t washed in God knew how long and smelled from twenty feet away. The woman’s demeanor stood out most. The slumped shoulders and drawn face indicated that she had gone through Hell, an impression reinforced by the partially-healed gouge taken out of her left cheek. Despite her physical appearance, a spark of defiance in her gestures and eyes warned that she still had some fight left in her. Her spirit had been beaten, not broken. The situation out there must have been far worse than he imagined.

As Denning approached, the blonde spoke. “I’m Windows. This is Cindy. We’re not looking for trouble. We just need a place to stay for a while.”

Smart girl
, he thought.
Take the initiative and try to get the upper hand
. “This is the only place around for miles,” he replied. “You must’ve been walking for some time.”

“All night. Our car ran out of gas yesterday.”

“Where’d you come from?”

“We left the car south of here, maybe fifteen or twenty miles away.”

“No,” said Denning. “Where’d you drive from?”

“Southern New Hampshire.”

Denning laughed, which caught the woman off guard. “You’re a long way from home, miss.”

“How so?”

“You’re in Canada now. We’re about twenty kilometers south of Quebec.”

The woman glanced down at the little girl, who wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged. The woman loosened her grip on the weapon and her finger moved off the trigger.

After a few seconds, she asked, “Is it okay if we stay here a little while, at least until we can rest and clean up?”

Denning thought about it. He had refused to take in anyone since the outbreak, mostly because he didn’t want the hassle of having to deal with people or be concerned over whether they would attempt to take over. Yet he still felt bad about turning away that family, so this might assuage his guilt. Besides, at sixty-three he wasn’t as young as he used to be, and it would be nice to have someone to help around the farm.

“I’ll let you stay as long as you’re willing to do some things around here.”

The woman sighed. Her shoulders slumped again, and her body lost that fighting edge she had displayed a moment ago. Moving away from the little girl, she stepped up to Denning and spoke in a soft voice.

“I’ll do anything you ask me to, but don’t touch Cindy.”

The comment took Denning aback for a moment, and then everything fell into place. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what this poor woman had gone through. He stepped back a few feet to put some distance between them. “I’m talking about helping out with chores around the farm. That’s all.”

“Thank God.” She lowered her head and a tear ran down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Yes, you did. That’s okay. You’ll be safe here.”

Her facial expression softened.

“I’m Bruce Denning.” He held out his hand. “You said your name is Windows?”

Windows raised her head and sniffed. “Yes, it is.”

“That’s an unusual name.”

“It’s my nickname. I got it because I’m really good with computers.”

He bent down on one knee in front of the little girl. “You must be Cindy.”

Cindy glanced over at Windows for guidance, who nodded. The girl extended her hand. “Yes, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Denning gave her hand a friendly pump. “Have you ever fed chickens or slopped pigs?”

Cindy shook her head.

“Would you like to?”

The girl’s face beamed.

“I’ll introduce you to them later.” Getting to his feet, Denning motioned to the farmhouse. “First, let’s get you ladies inside. You both could use a warm meal and a hot shower.”

Windows sniffed back a tear. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t tasted my cooking.” Denning headed back to the farmhouse and waved for Windows and Cindy to follow. The two fell in behind him, hugging each other tight.

Denning could almost hear the teasing Anna would give him if she were alive at the moment.

Once the raiding party got back to Gilmanton, Linda took over and organized the team to care for the survivors, leaving Robson with nothing to do and no orders to give. That suited him fine. Though he never admitted it to the others, he had grown weary of being in charge. Leading his people had proven difficult enough. Now he had thirty others, most of whom he didn’t even know by name, to be responsible for. If someone else wanted to step up and take over for a while, Robson would not complain.

Linda oversaw the unloading of the Ryder and organized the effort like an assembly line. Simmons prepared each of the survivors a breakfast of peanut butter on stale crackers, cheese, and beef jerky. Wayans, who was still experiencing pain from his wounds but had grown restless lying around doing nothing, mixed powdered protein drinks. As each survivor finished eating, he or she would be seen by Linda, who provided a cursory physical, treated any illnesses they had with the prescription medicines commandeered from Super Walmart, and started them on a regimen of vitamins. They then headed outside to where Roberta and DeWitt had set up a makeshift shower stall fed from a thousand-gallon water container located behind the garage. They stripped out of their old clothes, threw them into an empty fifty-five gallon drum, and received a buzz cut and a shave of the pubic region, with DeWitt assisting the men and Roberta the women. Everyone got a long shower with medicated shampoo to kill lice. After cleaning up, DeWitt or Roberta led each person to a windowless back room inside the warehouse where Dravko and Tibor distributed clothes. After that, the survivors were free to do what they wanted. Several went back inside the garage, found a place to lie down, and slept. A few went off into a private corner to cry. Most, however, ventured outside and collected into groups, chatting amongst themselves.

After wandering through the garage for an hour and realizing the others had everything under control, Robson went outside. He saw Caslow expanding the size of the mass grave. Robson crossed the street and stepped up beside him.

“How many more did we lose last night?”

Caslow did not even look up. “Four.”

Damn
. “It looks big for four people.”

“I assume we’re going to lose more, so I figured I’d dig them all while I’m at it.”

“Good idea,” Robson said. “When you’re done here, Roberta and DeWitt have collected everyone’s old clothes in a drum out back. They’re infested with lice and bugs. Burn them before they spread into the camp.”

“Sure.”

As Robson walked away, Caslow said, “Other than to bark orders, no one has spoken to me since the raid the other night.”

“So?”

“What’s up with that?”

Robson faced Caslow. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a coward and you’re unreliable.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s the truth,” Robson said, trying to hold his anger in check. “You allowed your wife and daughter to be taken by that rape gang and did nothing to help them.”

“I told you, I was outnumbered.”

“Quit making excuses. You should have tried. Instead, you chickened out and let the gang have them. Because of you, your wife committed suicide and God only knows what happened to your daughter.”

“Don’t I get credit for going with you to save them?”

Robson moved forward to confront Caslow, who stepped back and almost toppled into the open grave. With his left hand, Robson grabbed Caslow by the shirt to prevent him from falling in. “I teamed you with Jennifer so you could provide backup for each other. Jennifer was shot and killed while you cowered in one of the storage units. She might be alive if you had been there for her.”

Robson realized his right hand had balled into a fist. He yanked Caslow forward and away from the grave. When he released his shirt, Caslow fell forward onto his hands and knees. The little shit remained in that position, refusing to face Robson.

“I deserve better than this,” he whimpered.

“No, you don’t.
Jennifer
deserved better.
Your wife and daughter
deserved better. As for you…” Robson inhaled deeply to calm his anger, “be thankful you’re here. I almost left you at the storage facility.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because when I let you join our group, I took responsibility for you. I wasn’t going to leave you in the middle of nowhere, no matter how useless you are.”

Robson started to leave, stopping when he heard Caslow mumble a question under his breath. “What was that?”

“I asked what’ll happen to me when you move on.” Caslow lifted his head. He tried to show defiance, although Robson detected the underlying fear in his eyes. “Are you going to leave me on the side of the road like an abandoned dog?”

Robson stared at Caslow a moment, not attempting to conceal the disgust on his face. After a few seconds, he headed back to the garage, though not because he didn’t want to answer. Robson had not yet considered what he wanted to do about Caslow.

*  *  *

Dravko watched in fascination as Tibor handed out clothes to the survivors. In their hundreds of years together, he had never seen his fellow vampire so outgoing. Dravko had wanted to help to reinforce to Robson that he and Tibor were still part of the group. However, because the sun had risen, the only job they could handle was distributing clothes in the windowless back room of the garage. Dravko had been concerned that after all these people had gone through, none of them would want to be enclosed in a room with two vampires. Thanks to Tibor, those fears were unfounded. Tibor chatted with the humans, asking them their names and how they were getting along. Everyone entered the room feeling apprehensive, and all of them left with higher spirits. Some even grinned and laughed. One young blonde came around the table and hugged Tibor, thanking him for being concerned. When the last human had left, Tibor packed up the remaining clothes.

Dravko stepped up beside him and patted his shoulder. “You did a good job.”

“Thanks,” replied Tibor while putting a stack of sweatpants back into the plastic crate.

“When did you become so friendly with humans?”

“When I got the idea to recruit them.”

“Recruit?” Dravko took a step back. “You’re talking about turning them?”

“I’m talking about making them want to join the coven.”

“You can’t be serious,” protested Dravko.

“I am.” Tibor glanced around the room to make certain no one could hear him. “Robson and the others are vaccinated against the zombie virus, and are taking chances they normally wouldn’t, like last night’s raid. We’re the last two vampires in the world, and at this rate our species will be extinct in a few weeks.”

“You can’t turn these people against their will.”

Tibor’s lips sneered in disgust. “There was a time when vampires were superior to humans. We were stronger, faster, and immortal. We never used to worry about who we sired and whether or not we did it against their will. Our only limitation was in keeping our numbers low so as not to alarm the humans. What happened to you? Do you feel a sense of guilt because we released the Zombie Virus and nearly destroyed the humans? Do you feel like you have to treat them with deference to atone for our sins? Maybe we deserve to be extinct.”

Dravko could not respond, his mind still trying to come to grips with Tibor’s tirade.

Tibor went back to packing the extra clothes. “I’ve obeyed your request to leave Robson and the others alone. The survivors from the camp are different. They’re not part of our original group. Robson hasn’t even talked to most of them or learned any of their names.”

“And you have?”

“Yes.” Tibor’s gaze bore into Dravko, emphasizing his point. “Thanks to me, they don’t see us as monsters like most other humans do. I’m not going to turn anyone against their will. However, I’m winning over their trust, and if they ask to become a vampire, I won’t hesitate to rebuild the coven.”

“What makes you think they’ll want to become one of us?”

“They’re sick and they’re weak, and they know their chances of survival are slim.” Tibor’s tone became energized as he tried to convince Dravko. “They’ve been raped, beaten down, and dehumanized. They’re tired of being taken advantage of. I can see it in their eyes. I can sense it on their souls as easily as I can sense the blood flowing through their veins. They don’t want to be part of a collective with someone else in the lead. They want to take charge of their own lives, and some of them see becoming a vampire as the way to do that.”

Although Tibor made a rational argument, Dravko knew Robson would never allow it. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” pleaded Tibor. “We’ve worked with the humans for a year to survive. Sultanic and Tatyana gave their lives to save them. The humans are rebuilding their numbers. Don’t we also have a right to exist?”

Dravko could not answer. This was a decision he had hoped to avoid. Of course vampires had a right to exist. As the only remaining vampires, he and Tibor had a solemn obligation to rebuild the coven. Doing so would place him at odds with Robson. While the two were friends and covered each other’s backs, Dravko doubted Robson would sit by and let him turn the survivors. If Robson tried to stop them, he and Tibor did not stand much of a chance.

“I don’t see how we can do this,” said Dravko.

“Leave it to me.”

“What about Robson?”

Tibor sighed in exasperation. “In deference to you, and to all Robson’s done for us, I’ll be as considerate of him as possible. But when the time comes, we’ll rebuild the coven, with or without his approval.”