Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 2): Conflict (3 page)

“Let’s
drop it further from the animals. I don’t want them seeing and smelling the
body all night. We can drag it into the forest tomorrow morning.” She fell into
step beside me. “And by we, I mean you and me. You get to help cart it off. If
you can fight, you can deal with the cleanup as well.”

For a
second it appeared Mary was going to protest, but if so she changed her mind.

“No
problem.”

“This is
far enough. Go for it.”

The
thirteen year old took careful aim, and I heard the faint click of the safety
being switched off. This would be the first zombie she ever killed. Four months
into the apocalypse and the girl had never been forced to fight. She’d been in
more than her share of battles, but Mary was always given the responsibility of
keeping watch or playing some other support role. Somehow, that seemed so very
wrong. Mary pulled the trigger when zombie was ten feet away, an easy head
shot.

“It’s
dead?”

I nudged
the corpse with my boot. The thing had once been a man, slightly overweight and
balding.

“Very
much so. Let’s get over to the creek and grab the ice before the others come
looking for us.”

*
* *

Lizzy
was not at all pleased being handed an early morning watch. Our numbers were
too small to maintain a constant lookout, so we generally kept the gate locked,
frequently went outside for a quick peek of the area, and hoped for the best.
It was only during times when there was a distinct possibility of zombies
showing up, such as after guns were fired, that someone was posted on the
walls.

My friend
was even less happy that I allowed Mary to kill a shambler, especially while
she was absent. From the beginning, Lizzy had been focused on keeping the girl
safe, especially after Mary’s older sister, Lois, was murdered. I understand,
and I agree with the sentiment. Still, my supervision is every bit as good as
Lizzy’s, better even. I’m fairly certain that I’ve dropped more of the beasties
than she. Well, maybe not. Actually, I have no idea. I never kept count. At
first that seemed morbid. Later, the numbers reached a level where it was
pointless.

*
* *

“Stop
rolling around,” mumbled Briana.

I curled
up close and adjusted the heavy wool blankets. Lacking a fireplace, the tiny
bedrooms tended to be bitterly cold.

“Sorry,
can’t sleep.”

“Why
ever not?” She yawned. “Rub my back, will you?”

“So
demanding.”

“Always,
and don’t you forget it.”

Briana
sighed as I began.

“I hope
Mary will be okay.”

Her eyes
shot open. “Why wouldn’t she? Did something happen that you didn’t tell us?”

“Nothing
like that. It was… Remember how you felt the first time you shot one? The gut
wrenching that comes about because they look like people?”

“Jacob,
they are, I mean were, people.”

This was
one of my least favorite topics.

“I know
Mary’s seen countless zombies get shot or bludgeoned, but it’s different when
you do it yourself. Last thing I want is to give her nightmares.”

Briana
hesitated. “You were right to let her kill the thing. It’s past time she
started shooting, but don’t tell Lizzy I said so.”

“Not as
much call for it now, not with the snow keeping us from going to Chadron or any
of the other towns.”

“That’ll
change, and we have machine guns for when we do go looting in the spring.”

There
were several belt fed weapons stashed about the castle. We’d only fired the guns
a few times, primarily to learn how they work and to get a feel for them. They
were very different from the hunting rifles we favored for everyday use.

“They’re
way too heavy to be dragging around. Still, I can only imagine what they would
do to a zombie, bullet after bullet tearing through the torso, ripping apart
the flesh and sending innards flying all over the place. Be messy, but I bet
you could cut a body in half in under a second.”

Briana
jerked upright and shoved the blankets aside, desperately trying to get out of
bed. She didn’t quite make it.

“I’m…”

A hand
flew to her mouth, and she managed to scramble past me, making it to a small
wash basin before puking a second time.

“You
okay?”

I
switched on the lamp and stripped off my long johns. We kept the generator
running, so we had electricity, with the windows covered at night. It wasn’t
ideal. While this helped keep zombies away, the living were harder to fool. Any
human being who saw the livestock pens would immediately realize other survivors
were present.

“No, I
am not okay!”

I helped
her out of the soiled nightgown and handed Briana a damp cloth so she could
clean her face.

“Pregnancy
stuff?”

“It was
your graphic description of zombies being chopped up!”

“You’ve
seen worse,” I countered, softly. “You’ve shot plenty too, scattering
brains...”

Her face
went pale, and Briana lurched over the basin yet again.

“All
right,” I amended, “let’s not talk about anything icky or disgusting for the
foreseeable future.”

“Good
idea.”

There
was a whole lot of sarcasm in those two words.

“I’m
going grab you a change of clothes.” It was far too cold to be standing around
naked, pleasant though the sight was. “Want anything in particular?”

Briana
waved one hand absently. “Just so it’s warm, and no staring at my ass.”

Of
course, my focus immediately shifted to her lovely backside.

“I
said…”

Briana
hadn’t bothered to turn around.

“I’m
entitled to look.”

She
frowned. “Do we have to change the sheets? Please tell me I didn’t make that
much of a mess.”

“Just
the top blanket. Everything else looks fine.”

There
was one final round of vomiting, followed by a few dry heaves, before she felt
comfortable enough to crawl back into bed. Once Briana was settled, I took the
steel wash basin outside and emptied it.

*
* *

The
morning sickness, which could in the alternative be termed all through the day
and night sickness, came and went, leaving Briana tired and haggard. Still,
there were occasions when she felt well enough to go on patrol. We’d always
kept an eye on the forest and surrounding area, but with snow heavy on the
ground, the trips were limited to horseback. Even the Jeeps, with their four
wheel drive, had a hard time maneuvering.

“Don’t
puke on Snowball,” cautioned Lizzy.

“Her
name isn’t Snowball. It’s Rumple. Snowball?” Briana rubbed her eyes with one
hand. “She’s not even white.”

“I
thought it was Snowball. And what kind of name is Rumple?”

“Blame
Steph. She’s the one who lets Johnny name and re-name the horses whenever he
wants. For all I know this might have been Snowball once upon a time.”

Lizzy
scowled. “I’ll yell at her later. We can’t be calling the things different
names all the time. It’ll make the fucking horses schizophrenic.”

Briana
pulled on her hair briefly, then wrapped it into a loose braid which she tucked
beneath her hat. “Where we going today?”

“Just
the short circuit around our portion of the forest with a quick check of the
highway,” I answered. “Sure you’re up to it? Me and Lizzy are good.”

“I want
out of the castle, especially now that the sun’s shining. You know that won’t
last.”

Lizzy
rolled her ample shoulders, working out some kinks. “I’m with you there. I can
hardly wait till this crap melts and we get to do some real runs again. I want
to see what Chadron and the other towns are like too. I bet tons of roofs collapsed,
probably had all sorts of animals move in.”

“We
definitely need to do more comprehensive looting come springtime,” I said, “to
get what we can before the buildings rot away.”

“We have
plenty,” countered Briana.

“Not
really.”

“Yes, we
do,” she insisted. “Half the rooms in the castle are filled to the top. We have
trucks full of stuff. That semi the raiders brought with them was mostly full
too. We can’t use what we have now, not the food anyway. Even if it never
expired, we couldn’t get through it all in our lifetimes.”

“We
could, and it is best to have as much as possible.” That was something I firmly
believed. Given the circumstances, you could not be oversupplied. “And having
choices is always good.”

“Jacob’s
right,” said Lizzy.

Briana
snorted. “You just want to get out of the woods.”

“Fuck
yes! I can’t stand sitting on my ass watching movies from morning to night. It
rots the brain.”

“Works
for Mary.”

“Mary,”
began the woman, addressing Briana sternly, “does not watch movies all day
long. I won’t let her.” Lizzy grumbled something under her breath. “Most of the
time she’s listening to crappy boy band CDs or drooling over their pictures. TV
would be better.”

“Swap
her CDs out with polka,” I suggested.

“She’d
love that. Whatever. At least she’s not a basket case anymore, not like right
after her sister…” Lizzy paused. “The hurt’s still there. She tries not to show
it, but, well.”

My
friend was correct. That sort of pain never goes away.

*
* *

An hour
later we spotted the footprints, a single set of crisp tracks following the
highway. Whoever made them had passed by recently.

“Think
they’re a person or a zombie?” asked Briana.

“Not
sure. I don’t think a breather would be out here on foot, not with the weather
and all, but it’s possible.”

“The
steps are pretty uneven,” added Lizzy, “but that could be from exhaustion.”

I
nodded. “We’ll follow them. Remember, don’t leave the trees.”

Neither
commented on my endless repetition of rules they knew inside and out.
Understand, we never set foot on the highway itself. By keeping to the woods we
could tell if anyone else had been by and not worry about our own tracks
causing any confusion or revealing our existence.

We found
the man a few minutes later, collapsed beside a thicket of brambles.

“He’s
breathing,” said Briana.

“You
sure?” asked Lizzy.

“His
chest is rising, barely. Be careful Jacob.”

I had my
pistol out, as did Lizzy, while Briana held the horses’ reins. The man seemed
to be semi-conscious, his eyes closed but mouth moving as he mumbled something.
I couldn’t make out the words.

“Hey.”

There
was no response.

“Who are
you?” I leaned in closer. “Can you hear me?”

“I don’t
think you’re going to get anything,” observed Lizzy. “Guy’s barely alive. What
do you want to do?”

“We take
him back,” stated Briana, firmly, “after you search him and take away any
weapons.”

Lizzy
had no objections, so I performed a quick check of his pockets and clothing.
All I found was a single knife, a kitchen knife at that, with a dented blade.
The fellow’s garb was even more bizarre. He was without a proper jacket,
instead wearing two sets of pants, one over the other, and several layers of shirts,
most of them T-shirts. It made no sense. What was he doing out here, dressed
like this and lacking any real weapons? The guy was wearing sneakers for God’s
sake, which were soaked through and covered with ice.

“Miracle
he’s still alive. Okay Lizzy, we’ll put him on your horse, it being the
shortest, over the saddle and take turns leading. Don’t want to make you walk
the entire way back.”

“How
about I just ride with Briana so I’m not walking at all? Sounds a whole lot
better to me.”

“Not a
chance,” I countered. “He’d fall off if there wasn’t someone standing next to
him.”

“Jacob’s
right. Somebody should walk beside him,” agreed Briana.

“Why
can’t we tie him to the fucking horse instead?”

Lizzy
was beginning to glare.

“With
what? I don’t have any rope. Neither does Briana, and unless you repacked the
saddle bags, I’m betting you’re without too.”

“Damn
it! All right, if you think you can get him up there.”

That was
easy enough. The man was skeleton thin and dreadfully gaunt. He’d clearly been
starving.

“He
stinks,” commented Lizzy, shortly after we set off. “I’m talking a whole lot of
stink, like stewing in his own shit stink.”