Slow Burn: A Zombie Novel (60 page)

“
I think that is the most wonderful thing I have heard in weeks,” Lewis said laughing.

“
Just one tiny thing,” Kettle continued. “If you come across the woman— I think her name is Mattie? – if you see her, I have given the strictest orders that she is to be captured unharmed at all costs.”

“
Captured?” Lewis was confused at this. “Why do you want any of them captured? They ruined my life!”

Kettle stood, cold anger leaking from his eyes. “Don’t push me on this. You would not like the results.”

“
Okay, okay…I won’t harm a hair on that whore’s head!” Lewis said with dismay.

“
Wonderful,” Kettle said, smiling again. “Now why don’t we go find some food?”

The heavily loaded convoy pulled into the prison, and once all were inside, the huge steel doors slammed shut just as darkness was setting on another day. Exiting Chris’ truck, I wearily grabbed my gear and shuffled towards the command center. I had a list of supplies gathered from the most recent raid and needed to have the girls enter it onto the spreadsheet. Stephen and Dan had finished erecting their HAM radio tower on the roof with several antennas hanging on it, and were busy running cable down into the command center’s new communication room, to be staffed 24/7. Behind me I heard Chris give orders for unloading the day’s haul into the prison gymnasium for sorting and distribution. We had been pulling empty shelves from stores and houses and were using the vast open space of the gymnasium to better organize our supplies. Only spare weapons and ammunition were not stored there, those being kept in our armory, a storage room located in the command center.

Seeing Stephen and Dan huddled around their HAM radio console, I plopped my tired ass down next to them.

“
Hey guys, any luck with the radio?” I asked, feigning interest.

Stephen looked up at me. “Man you look like shit, and yes. We almost have the new stuff up and running. How did the raids go?”

“
Gee thanks, asshole,” I responded. “The raids were good as far as supplies went, but we seem to have burned through most of the ammo we took. Had some guys who got excited and ran through magazines as fast as they could pull a trigger. Also had some heavy contact at the end.”

“
That could be a problem,” Stephen remarked. “We don’t have an unlimited supply, unfortunately. Our guys will need reminding of that again.”

“
They were reminded the hard way when they ran out and had to fight hand to hand,” I replied. “Hey…I would also like to send raids to any surrounding farms and see if any livestock are still alive and bring them back here. That would help our food stores go a long ways.”

“
Excellent idea, I’ll get some people together to plan something out,” Stephen said with a nod.

“
I’m going to get some chow. Is there any lunch left over from earlier?”

“
Not sure, and trying to get a snack from the ladies who work in the kitchen is like stealing gold from Fort Knox,” Stephen said with a chuckle. "It's a good thing I stash away some of my own shit. My cupboards are stocked. Always pays to stay prepared!"

Dan, who had been quietly working away, entered the conversation on my side. “I tell you what buddy,” he offered. “We can finish this later. Why don’t we go take a look at the loot you got today and see if I can work some magic on my lady friends in the roach coach and get you some dinner?”

“
Okay big guy,” I laughed. “Let’s see your game!”

I dropped off the list to one of the secretaries after explaining what some of my chicken scratches meant. By the time I got back over to the gymnasium, Dan was holding a plate of fresh tamales.

“
I take back everything I said about you,” I joked while digging in.

As one group of workers started unloading supplies from a moving truck we were using, Dan suddenly stopped and stared, looking like the kid from
A Christmas Story
after he got his Red Rider BB gun. Only he was not looking at a BB gun, rather a Remington Model 700 in .375 H&H. It was a beautiful rifle with a walnut stock and chambered in a cartridge suitable for an African Safari. It was topped with a high end Leupold scope, and they had found five boxes of rifle cartridges along with it. Dan grabbed the rifle and ammunition.

"None of you pantywaists can handle shooting a hard hitter like this, let alone know how to utilize its power and precision.” With a greedy look in his eye, Dan clutched the rifle like a small child. “I will take proper care of Betty.”

He named the rifle Betty. Sometimes he makes me wonder if he’s still with us.

Dan and Stephen were up late into the night, finishing their scan of the HAM radio frequencies. The communication room was starting to look like a room from a modern aircraft carrier. There were radios, amplifiers, tuners, SWR analyzers and speech equalizer/conditioners along with a mile of wires and adapters that made it all come together. Stephen was very persistent in letting everyone know that without communication they were all sitting in the dark, and had spread the word that the HAMs were up and running. People would spend some of their hard-earned free time sitting at the far side of the shack, not wanting to get in Dan’s way, but enjoying listening to him communicate with people from all over the state and around the nation. It was a relief for many to know that they were not the only survivors still in the fight. Dan was spending more and more time gathering and relaying information from contacts, as well as training interested members of the group on the operation of the radios.

"One of those fucking neck biters might get a hold of me some day. Better teach someone else the art," he would joke.

There were several large dry erase boards up on the wall along with county maps of northern Illinois. Dan would put a red marker up on the map each time he made a contact, and then they would list on an eraser board the time and date they made contact. It was encouraging to see all the different groups still up and running in the Chicagoland area. Stephen went so far as to have Dan put on a separate board any special items or supplies that these local groups had or needed. It was decided that if possible we would make runs to trade supplies and equipment in the future.

Just as Dan and Stephen were finishing up for the night, they got a much welcomed call over the radio from Dan’s brother Dave and Sgt. Ogle from work. They had their normal conversation, telling each other the progress they were making at the prison and the hunting cabin. The Peoria clan was in amazement at the advances being made at the prison.

“
Have to admit, the RV is nice,” Stephen said with a chuckle. “But it’s the extra manpower that’s getting it all done. We’re blessed with a bunch of hard working guys.”

Ogle told Dan about the water collection system he had built using the gutters from the roof off an abandoned shed down the road.

"No use wasting what God gives us for free," Ogle said.

Dave told Dan about a shot he made on a deer from about 350 yards with a .243 bolt gun. Dan called it bullshit and pissed his brother off enough that Dave wouldn’t talk with him anymore. What Dave didn’t hear was Dan turning to Stephen.

"That’s nothing!” Dan whispered. “I saw my brother hit a coyote with that same rifle at about 400 yards, dropped him dead in his tracks."

Ogle told Dan that things had been going well otherwise. They were having very little contact with the zombies on the property and had fallen into a routine. They were busy hunting, fishing, gathering food supplies from the woods around them, dehydrating the meat for winter and canning items left in the garden.

“
I do wish we had more canning supplies,” Ogle lamented. “We just don’t have the bodies to go on many supply runs into town.”

“
Can’t you band together with some neighbors?” Stephen asked.

“
Some people have stopped over, and we’ve exchanged a few things, but we really just don’t have the ability to venture out.”

“
Once we get fully situated here we are going to have to get down there and change that for ya,” Stephen replied. “We could spare a few AR-15 carbines and ammunition in exchange for some fresh venison.

As they finished their conversation it sounded like they were going to make it through this as well as anyone. Out away from the larger cities was definitely the place to be when something like this happened. Dan told Ogle that he would get a hold of him tomorrow and the pair turned in for the night.

* * * * * * * *

The next day brought a new set of priorities. After my morning exercise, I met Stephen in the newly opened cafeteria for breakfast, and we laid out the plans for today. Our new home, with its large diesel generator and growing vehicle fleet, had an unquenchable thirst for fuel. Thankfully, our smaller RV generators ran mostly on propane, which stayed stable almost indefinitely, and it was in abundant supply for the time being. Our supply runs over the past week were barely keeping up with demand for fuel and something needed to be done. Dan and Stephen grabbed all five of the 285 gallon fuel storage tanks from a tractor supply store on a raid a couple days ago, placing them along the outside wall of the motor maintenance building. Next to these was a large void where we hoped to park two 8000 gallon tanker trailers. This would provide us with a vast head start in the fuel department going into winter. We were also trying to round up as much fuel stabilizer as possible to treat the gas, and hopefully keep vital equipment running through the next year or two.

Among the eight refugees taken in yesterday was a trucker who used to haul tankers for a living, and he readily agreed to get the ball rolling. I even got Mattie to reluctantly let him out of his cell early. Stephen and Chris were going to lead another large supply run while Dan and I took care of the tanker trucks. After briefing the crew in the command center, Stephen and Chris’ large convoy left out the main gate, drawing any zombies in the area down Collins Street in pursuit. Dan fired up our vehicle for the day, a newer green F-150 that had an upgraded brush guard and larger tires installed. We slipped quietly out the west gate a couple of minutes later. This was to be a stealth run with hopefully very little attention drawn from the zombies.

Casper gave us a wave on the way out. “Good luck fellas!”

From there we drove north up the railroad tracks into Lockport where two tanker trucks were spotted by scouts earlier. The four of us drove silently up the bumpy tracks. In the truck was Dan, myself, the trucker and his son.

"So..." the trucker finally said in an attempt to break the silence, "the name’s Eddie Wade, and my boy here is Tyler."

"Don't need to know your name," Dan responded back without removing his eyes from the road or the cigar from his mouth. "That way when you’re dead, I won't have to forget ya."

The man just stared at Dan speechless and looked as though he wanted to cry.

"Don't pay attention to my friend Dan here," I interrupted. "He’s a man of few kind words, but you’re in good hands. Don't let him fool ya, he’ll watch out for you and your son."

This initially did little to improve Eddie's sullen mood but after I asked him how he got to Joliet, I couldn't get him to shut up. He had been on a return trip from South Dakota traveling with his son in his 18-wheeler, hauling beef into Chicago. He heard all the trouble on the radio when the virus went rampant and decided to leave his trailer and break for home in Joliet instead.

“
I just let the cattle go out on the open range,” Eddie said. “They kinda lucked out actually.”

Even Dan had to chuckle at that. He told us how he ran into a wall of refugees at the Mississippi River, forcing him to abandon his rig and find a new set of wheels east of the river.

“
It took several extra days to make it home with all of the stalled out vehicles and refugees,” he added excitedly. “Even ran into several bandits who tried to bushwhack us for our ride. Had ta kill a couple of them, used this pistol here.”

The trucker patted a well-used 1911 .45 that he had tucked in a leather holster. “A couple of them had eyes for my son, I think.”

I couldn't tell how much Eddie was stretching the truth; he appeared to have had at least a dozen close calls.

"Where did you say you crossed the Mississippi?" I finally interrupted.

"I crossed at Prairie Du Chien, Wisconsin,” Eddie replied. “Pretty area, but the refugees had torn it all to hell. There were natural choke points created at all the bridges as thousands of refugees fled west with nowhere to go and few supplies. It got ugly, but that was several weeks ago now.”

“
Hmmm... Stephen’s family is back in that area,” I said, thinking out loud. “You’re going to have to talk to him tonight when he gets back.”

Soon we were at the truck stop north of Lockport where at least half a dozen trucks and trailers were abandoned along with two tankers, a gasoline and a diesel, both belonging to CITGO. The backs of the cargo trucks had been torn open, with the remnants of their contents strewn about. The area looked mostly deserted, and Dan took out the few zombies shambling about with his suppressed AR-15. I handled the straggler, a short, fat zombie who looked to be a cook from the truck stop restaurant. He moved at a slow gait and his head was presented at almost the same height as a high fastball. My aluminum bat easily reduced the shell of a former living man’s head into mush with a single swing. One of the trucks still had the keys in the ignition, and Eddie used it to haul the first tanker back to the prison. When the big diesel fired up, a much larger horde of zombies could be seen approaching in the distance, and we made a hasty retreat south. We had to stop a couple of times on the way back to move vehicles to allow enough room for the big truck to pass, but in just over two hours had returned to the front gate with nearly 7,000 gallons of 87 octane gasoline.