Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Sanctuary (43 page)

“On our
way,” she replied.

We
abandoned the carts and rushed back through the school building. We’d been on
the far side but were able to hear the motorcycles pull up. The engines cut off
well before we reached the outer door. Then we heard a gunshot.

“What
the fuck!” snarled Lizzy. She pushed the doors open, pistol in one hand.

“Not
good,” added Briana, taking in the sight.

There
were three of them, each wearing a heavy denim jacket covered in patches. A
large man, well over six and a half feet, was holding his arm, blood dripping
from the wound. It appeared that Steph shot him. The other two had her on the
ground and were trying very hard to rip her jeans off. She was struggling,
screaming, cursing, and kicking.

I took
aim with the hunting rifle and hit the one kneeling on Steph’s arms. The angle
was perfect. The shot was easy. I never hesitated. It didn’t occur to me until
much later that this was the first breather I ever killed. But he was no better
than a zombie, and I never felt the slightest remorse for shooting him in the
face. I realize this may reflect poorly on my psychological state, but I really
don’t care.

That got
their attention of course. The big one pulled a revolver from beneath his
jacket, using his good arm. The other let go of Steph and turned to face us.
She promptly kicked him in the head.

“Crap!”
exclaimed Lizzy. She grabbed Briana and pulled her down as the biker opened
fire.

My
second shot took him in the center of his chest. He fell to the ground but
still managed to get off another three rounds. They didn’t come anywhere close.

“Oww!”

Briana
was lying in the dirt, Lizzy on top of her.

“Sorry.”

I
ignored them both and hurried toward Steph. She was back on her feet, kicking
the living shit out of the would be rapist. I was in no way inclined to stop
her, so I kept my rifle pointed at the big one. He was lying there, covered in
blood with one hand over the hole in his chest. I’d missed the heart but
probably hit a lung. His breathing was off, and he was fading fast. The man
said nothing. He just stared at us with unbridled hatred, a look Lizzy returned
in full. Then she shot him, to speed up the dying as she later explained.

“Steph,”
I said, a minute later.

She
continued to scream and stomp.

“He’s
dead Steph.”

The
slender redhead had smashed in his skull and chest, and all sorts of important
things were leaking out.

“Enough!”
I shouted.

She
slowed, then stopped. Briana embraced her as she began to cry.

“I…”
Lizzy didn’t know what to say.

“I got
it,” said Briana. “You two kill the zombies that are coming.”

The
noise and gunshots had brought a large number of them, fifty or sixty at least
with more trailing in behind, coming from multiple directions.

“Want to
just run?” asked Lizzy.

In the
background I heard Briana telling Steph it would be okay, that it was over.
Nothing like this had come up before, and I had no idea what to do. We were
with a good group of people, and there simply hadn’t been any personal
violence, other than minor scuffles and the incident with Julie.

“We’ll
pack up and go. We can retrieve the carts later, in a few days or whenever we
come back.”

“Good
call Jacob.”

Steph
was beginning to explain to Briana how she shot the big one the moment they
opened their mouths and made it clear what they wanted from her. The man had
reach though and managed to grab her leg and yank her off the trailer, even
with a bullet in him. It had happened so fast that Steph’s gun was dropped
before she could shoot him a second time. Lizzy cut the conversation short by
ushering them into the pickup’s cab. She got behind the wheel, leaving me to
drive back in the Jeep, alone.

*
* *

Two days
after the unpleasantness in
Chadron
, I was sitting in our crappy
cinderblock townhouse wannabe with Briana, Lizzy, Lois, and Mary. We’d started
the evening discussing Steph. News of what almost happened spread immediately,
largely because Steph was quick to announce that she had beaten one of the men
to death and had no problem doing it a second time. A few of the more religious
members of our community told her that while she had every right to defend
herself, killing others is not something to be proud of. That sort of talk
didn’t last long.

“How’s
she doing?” asked Mary.

“Surprisingly
good,” replied Briana.

“Steph’s
strong,” said Lizzy. “Better than most in this miserable place.”

“And we
got there before they actually, you know,” added Briana.

There
were a lot of people using phrases like “you know” the past two days. I thought
it kind of pointless. Still, whatever made them happy. And Steph had bounced
back pretty well, at first glance, but she now carried two pistols and several
knives hidden about her body at all times. Also, while she insisted that she
was indeed fine, her eyes never stopped moving, never ceased searching out any
potential threat.

“I
shouldn’t have killed that fucking asshole,” remarked Lizzy, harshly.

“He did
deserve it,” offered Lois.

“Well,
yeah, but I should have left him there for the zombies to eat. I made it too
fast. The zombies were right there, coming for him. I was just so pissed. Damn
it!”

“Done is
done,” I said. “Let it go.”

We were
upstairs in the bedroom Briana and I shared. Like all the front rooms, it had a
big window facing the interior of the castle. The rear bedroom had a smaller
one that looked out into the countryside. Those were up high, near the ceiling,
so no one walking on the wall could peek inside. As a result, they did little
other than provide a bare minimum of natural light.

“You
know Jacob,” began Mary, “you really need to talk to Cherie.”

“Is she
still going on about the workloads?”

That had
been one of the primary gripes, and I was the one who established them making
me the culprit.

“Nope.
Cherie is past that. She’s now saying that you make them do things that aren’t
even needed.”

“The
stuff is necessary,” protested Briana. “Everything we do is important. It’s not
like the animals don’t need their water troughs filled or to be cared for.”

“Not
that,” said Lois. “People don’t mind doing that sort of thing. It’s the patrols
around the perimeter and the heavy work like bringing in more and more firewood
and chopping it. They say it’s too much and doesn’t need to be done.”

“And,”
continued Mary, “people are terrified you’ll make them go out scavenging and
face the zombies or the raiders.”

“Raiders?”
I asked.

“That’s
now the term for the men who tried to hurt Steph,” she explained. “Surprised
you hadn’t heard.”

“The
looting is voluntary!” declared Lizzy. She was far more irate at this
revelation than me. “We haven’t required anyone to come along since the initial
run to kill stuff in Chadron and get the supplies to build this place.”

Mary
shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Cherie says it should be completely voluntary.
I know it already is, but I think everyone wants that formal or something. You
and Jacob make people do all sorts of other things. They worry.”

“We do
not!”

“She’s
right Lizzy.” I motioned for her to sit back down. “We do force the others to
work. It’s all things that need doing, regardless of what they think, but we do
require all to contribute. Being lazy and doing nothing is not tolerated.”

“That’s
different,” she protested.

“Cherie
is good at spinning things,” I added.

“The
bitch is smart,” admitted Lizzy, thinking about it. “Still, this seems stupid.
We won’t force anybody to come along, don’t have to, so it doesn’t matter.”

That was
very true. The complaint seemed to be more than a little pointless. Then again…

“Lizzy,
we’re talking about Cherie. She’s positioning things to her benefit, as always.
It’s something else she’s concerned about, not going out to get supplies.”

“What do
you think she’s up to?” asked Briana.

Mary
shook her head. “No clue. It doesn’t even make sense. We go out cause most no
one else refuses.”

“Sweetheart,”
interrupted Lois, “I can’t even begin to explain how grammatically poor and
incorrect that statement was.”

The
slender teen laughed. “Sorry, the words sorta ran together.”

“So,” I
said, “should we be worried about this?”

“Nothing
bad that I can see,” said Mary. “I don’t think anything will happen. People are
just bitching more than normal.”

Lois
shook her head as well. “I don’t think so, but expect more complaints. And mind
your language Mary.”

“Fine.
Just so I can put Cherie’s garbage off for a few more days. We can do a big
group meeting when we get back and discuss any issues the others are having.
Probably should be doing that more regularly anyway.”

“I don’t
know about this trip Jacob,” said Briana. “We’ve never been that direction
before. We’ve never met anyone who’s been that way either. We don’t know what
we’re going to find.”

“We have
to look for other survivors,” protested Lois.

“Damn
fucking straight!” declared Lizzy.

“Lizzy,”
I said, “calm down before you fall over dead of a heart attack. Also, your
screaming is starting to hurt my ears.”

Mary
began to giggle, and Lizzy shot me a dirty look.

“We have
to look. We do,” she insisted.

Earlier
that day, Larry caught part of a radio transmission. While in the shop or
storehouse, he tended to keep a digital receiver turned on. The device was
generally set to scan the channels, but from the start he’d picked up nothing,
aside from our own handhelds. Then there was a sudden and unexpected plea for
help. Larry didn’t get the entire message, but it provided the town’s name,
Martin, South
Dakota
.

“It’s
not that distant,” I continued, “east of Chadron and just far enough north to
cross the
state
line
. We’ll travel
like we always did, in the Jeeps with full supplies and well armed. We take a
look, say hello if we find anyone, and then come back with the news.”

“Or run
if they look questionable,” said Briana.

“Or
shoot them,” countered Lizzy.

“We’ll
approach slowly and carefully and check it out from a distance,” I clarified.
“After we get a good feel, then we take the next step, whatever it is.”

There
was a strong consensus in the community that this development had to be looked
into. Even Cherie was clear on that point. More people would be welcome, so
long as they were the right sort. Even if the groups didn’t join together, we
could provide mutual support and a place to run if necessary. Unlike Edwin’s
band in
Oklahoma
, these were close enough for such
things.

Of
course, it was assumed we would be the ones going, and I didn’t argue the
point. A few others volunteered as well, including Dean and Eric. With the work
on the castle essentially complete, both had been itching for some sort of
meaningful challenge, but I said no. Five was enough. I wanted to move fast,
and we all remembered how difficult travel became as we added cars on our way
north to the
Nebraska
National Forest.

Unfortunately,
we were unable to communicate with them from a distance. Alec said he would try
to get a transmitter with real range set up. He planned on heading to
Hemingford
later – it tended to be significantly
safer than Chadron – to see if he could snag one from the local police station.

Interlude – Dean’s Story

Dean,
our intrepid carpenter, much like Briana, gets a second interlude. Now, Briana
held back a portion of her story until she grew comfortable enough to share it.
For Dean, the follow up is instead a sequel. You see, he had been having
nightmares about Pamela. If you don’t recall, she was his long time friend who
turned during the initial event, coming out of her tent sporting absolutely no
clothing but covered with plenty of her boyfriend’s blood.

Logically,
Dean knew becoming a zombie was not her fault, nor was Pamela responsible for
the killing that followed. Yet… Yet Dean felt he should do something. He had to
do something. He couldn’t bring the dead back to life, but if he was able to
find Pamela, he could at least grant her some sort of peace.

She had
not been among the attackers that first night at the lake camp, nor had she
been with the zombies the second time it was struck. Additionally, Dean had
never seen her on any scavenging or exploration runs. He’d asked us to keep an
eye out as well, providing a detailed description, but we never encountered the
woman either.

So, Dean
started going into the woods on his own. The trips were supposedly for hunting,
and he did bring back plenty of game. Even so, it wasn’t difficult to ascertain
the truth. He took the risk of going out alone, after work on the castle was
completed and I permitted it, in order to search for Pamela.

This
story was related to me shortly before the incident with the raiders in
Chadron
. Dean had been on one of these little
jaunts, seven miles from our settlement. He had a pistol in case he ran into
any zombies but carried a compound bow for the actual hunting. He’d just pegged
a rabbit, his second of the day, and was putting it in his sack when a sound
caught his attention.

It was
coming from the other side of a thicket. Dean carefully skirted the underbrush
and discovered a gully. It wasn’t wide, maybe ten feet across, nor was it
overly long at forty. However, it was deep enough that a person standing within
couldn’t reach the top. It appeared to have been created by erosion, probably
the flow of water during storms. One end was obstructed by some fallen trees.
The other looked to have collapsed in on itself. What should have been a
miniature canyon easily accessible from either side was effectively a box.

Pamela
was trapped within. She was pacing back and forth, and every so often she would
try to climb out. Dean could have done it, most children for that matter, but
one of the shambling dead, with their poor coordination and nonexistent agility,
would never get free. Her hands just slid across the dirt, unable to find
purchase.

The
moment she noticed him, Pamela turned and advanced, arms outstretched, mouth
opening and closing, teeth clicking together. Dean took a step back and
watched. She couldn’t reach him, but that did nothing to deter her. The zombie,
like all of its kind, was unable to stop. She was driven.

“I’m
sorry Pamela.”

Putting
the bow down, he drew his pistol and took aim. Her hair was matted and tangled.
Her bare feet were filthy and covered in dirt and grime. The rest of her looked
almost human. Pamela’s skin was dead, pale with blotches where the blood had
pooled, but it was unbroken and otherwise unblemished. And her face was just as
pretty as Dean remembered, though twisted by the desire to feed.

He
lowered the gun and took a seat on a nearby rock, remaining there for several
hours. Dean did not share his thoughts during this period of reflection. That
he was going to bring an end to Pamela was never in doubt. Dean was determined
to see her at rest. Still, there were issues he had to sort out within his own
mind. Only upon completion of these internal debates did he pull the trigger,
turn around, and return to the castle.