Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 2): Conflict (34 page)

“That I
do.”

“Not a
problem,” I replied. “Now, we’re building a second base further off.”

He
nodded. That piece of information had been quickly disseminated. All the
ranches had to know by this point.

“If
either chooses to go there, she will be staying permanently. We aren’t letting
anyone leave because we don’t want the prophet to know about it, and while I
don’t think anybody, anybody sane that is, would tell him, he could capture and
torture somebody. Best to make them giving up the information an
impossibility.”

“They
don’t have to go,” added Mary. “We aren’t making anyone do that.”

“True.
If they want to stay at the castle – that’s what we call our original
settlement – they can. I’m moving out myself, along with my family, but I’ll be
the last to go. Anyone still there at that time gets the place, or they can go
back home or whatever.”

“And is
it as safe, for the girls, as Brent thinks it is?”

Brent
Myers was the sort of man who was good to have on your side. I was glad to hear
he thought highly of us.

“We have
an awesome no rape rule,” said Mary. “If you try anything, we tie you to a
tree. Your arms are bare, but the rest of you is covered up. We tie tourniquets
around the arms too. That way when the zombies start biting you don’t die for a
long time.”

Probably
wasn’t a good thing, the way she grinned while saying this.

“We
haven’t ever had to do that,” I explained, “but we don’t tolerate any sexual
assaults or violence, aside from self-defense of course. You can get executed
for that sort of thing, and death by zombie might just be the penalty.”

“Then
I’ll be sending them with you, after we finish up with Glendo and Douglas. If I
come back with the girls, my wife would…”

“Nail
your hide to the wall,” offered Mary.

He
cracked a smile. “Something like that.”

“Well,
we don’t want that, not since you’re going to get us a helicopter.”

The man
regarded Mary, tiny and young as she was, seriously.

“We need
one, really.”

“We
don’t need one,” I said, “but we do want one. It would be good for keeping an
eye on the roads around us, like you’re doing. We don’t have an air strip
anywhere close, not that’s convenient, so I think it would have to be a
helicopter.”

I
originally thought to ask for aircraft, for our personal use, after the looting
was completed. Since Mary brought it up, now was as good a time as any.

“I want
to ride in one too,” she added. “I’ve never been.”

That
reasoning would most likely not help our case.

“There
are several airports within a few hours of us, more if we head toward Martin,
South Dakota or deeper into Nebraska. Those we’ve passed or looked at are clear
of zombies or close enough that it doesn’t much matter. We can get fuel, parts,
probably get the helicopters themselves.”

“If you
can get us fuel…”

I knew
that was something to mention. Three cheers for diplomacy and the law of supply
and demand.

“…then
I’ll see if I can get you a pilot. Not too many of them around, not even with
those from Salt Lake City who joined us.”

“It does
tend to be the people that we are short of,” I agreed.

*
* *

I’m
going to take this opportunity to provide some information on my fallback plans
concerning military weaponry. First of all, I still want it, lots of it, as
much as I can possibly get my greedy little hands on. Unfortunately, there are very
few bases within reach. There was Offutt Air Force Base in Omaha, Nebraska.
Aside from being on the opposite side of the state, Omaha was a major
population center. It would probably be far worse than Cheyenne. That was out.
The ones in Colorado were likewise a no go. This left only Ellsworth Air Force
Base, which was outside Rapid City to the northeast of the Black Hills.

Got
that? We are talking about only three bases in this part of the country,
ignoring Colorado. That’s it. Damn Pentagon budget cuts. What were they
thinking? With the ones in Omaha and Cheyenne out, we would hit Ellsworth,
hard. That plan would remain secret as well. It was very close to our new home,
making it ours, and I wasn’t going to share. Also, I didn’t want anybody
snooping around the Black Hills. Still, it would have to wait. For such a major
undertaking, a large number of shooters would be required, and too many of our
people were occupied with construction or other important tasks.

As to
the pilot, would we get one? Would Mary ever have the chance to ride in a
helicopter? Would she fall out and plummet to her doom bringing tears to our
eyes? Only by reading on will you find out. I know the answer, but I’m not
going to tell you, not yet.

Interlude – Brent Myers’s Story

The
detailed, continuous scouting of Wyoming by the raiders has been well
documented – thank God they don’t have aircraft of their own – as was the news
that the ranchers were attacking and killing any gang member they encountered.
This interlude is going to relate the story of one such incident, focusing on
Brent Myers.

I’m
unable to include any dialogue due to my receiving this report secondhand. A
messenger reached the fire station prior to our departure back to the Nebraska
National Forest. He wasn’t personally involved but had received the details
directly from Alan, Brent Myers’s son and co-owner of the family ranch.

The
reason news of this particular fight was so urgently disseminated is that the
Myers homestead is on the eastern side of the state. It was the first ranch we
came across, and it is among the closest to where Briana and I lived. Since the
raiders had penetrated that far, there was a real chance they’d try to send a
few of their scouts all the way to Nebraska. Alan wanted to be certain we knew
of this potential danger, especially since his son was now living with us.

Brent,
Alan, and Jorge Ruiz were the central figures at the ranch. They understood how
things worked, inside and out, and had lived there their entire lives, save for
Jorge who’d only been employed by the Myers for a measly thirty one years. At
first, they focused on keeping everything running, making sure the cattle were
watched after and the gardens maintained. The newcomers were likewise put to
work, taught basic skills, and made useful. Overall, things went well during
the first year.

This
began to change when the prophet laid siege to Salt Lake City. They were far
removed from the area of conflict and were therefore less concerned than those
living on the opposite side of the state. Nonetheless, they began to establish
regular patrols and maintained contact with the nearby homesteads to ensure quick
communication and the possibility of support.

The
collapse of Utah and the scattering of survivors from that area ratcheted
things up. They now knew, without a doubt, how dangerous the prophet and his
followers were. Likewise, there was no disputing that Wyoming would be next. It
held the only other large and organized group of breathers in the continental
United States. With them gone all that would remain would be tiny outposts,
isolated small towns, and the like. Those would be easy pickings.

Brent
Myers increased his efforts. Leaving the day to day control of the ranch to his
son, he and Jorge began to go out in a pickup, making certain no one was around
and to check on any lookouts who were keeping watch along the outskirts. It was
during one of these trips that they saw the raiders.

There
were three of them, on dirt bikes, and they likewise spotted Myers and Ruiz.
You need to understand that driving across the open plains in a pickup, while
allowing one to move about freely, also meant you were readily visible. The
bikers, all wearing the trademark denim jackets with patches on the back,
veered toward the pair.

Jorge was
driving, and he swung about, heading for a nearby rise. There were a few trees
atop it, planted long ago for shade, and it was the only cover in sight. It was
a close thing, but Jorge got there first. Brent grabbed his rifle and was
lining up a shot when the ground exploded a short distance to one side.

Both
ranchers took cover behind the pickup, allowing the raiders to rapidly draw
near. Fortunately, Jorge kept his wits – he had also been further from the
blast – and targeted the fellow holding the rocket launcher. The bullet hit the
man in the chest, blasting him from the motorcycle. There had been no danger of
a second explosion, it being impossible to reload that particular weapon while
riding, but best to eliminate the filth. On a side note, I’m not sure how the
rocket launcher was fired in the first place. The man might have slowed his
motorcycle or stopped entirely. The details are a bit fuzzy.

In case
you aren’t aware, a .30-30 is a rather large bullet, designed for hunting deer
and other big game, and it is more than capable of doing terrible things to a
person’s insides, all of which is good. These were wicked, wicked people, which
means killing them is not a bad thing. Isn’t it so much easier when matters are
clear cut black and white?

The
remaining two separated, and Brent fired a few rounds at the man on his side of
the hill, to no avail. His ears were ringing, and he was finding it difficult
to concentrate. Opposite, Jorge was busy trying to kill the other raider. That
bastard – have you noticed how I often refer to them in a derogatory manner –
had abandoned his bike and taken refuge in a small ditch. He was armed with the
civilian version of a standard military rifle, and he was putting it to good
use.

A
ricochet hit Jorge Ruiz in the leg. It was little more than a flesh wound,
digging a furrow across the outer edge of his thigh, but it still knocked him
from his feet. He crumpled to the ground, cursing loudly, and Brent Myers spun
around to see what was happening. The raider who’d hit Jorge abandoned his
meager shelter, running forward. Brent had no trouble nailing him center mass.
Then his head exploded.

It was
down to Jorge, who was wounded, and the remaining scout. The latter was
advancing cautiously. The Myers’ ranch hand hadn’t regained his feet, and he
was hidden from view. He could hear the raider climbing the hill, however, and
quickly and quietly shifted position. Lying prone, he slid up against the side
of the pickup, pointing his rifle toward the sound. The moment the enemy was in
view, he opened fire.

Jorge
Ruiz brought the body of Brent Myers back later that afternoon, and Alan took a
few others to the site to retrieve the dirt bikes and get fingerprints off the
attackers. This had become standard policy since it gave them the opportunity
to obtain information on who these people were. The bodies were then tossed
into a pile and burned.

Poor
Tim. A downside to this story, in addition to hearing about the death of Mr.
Myers, is that the responsibility of informing his grandson fell to me. Tim was
up at new settlement, so he wouldn’t be able to return to be with his father or
mother or anyone else in the family. It was a tragedy, but I wasn’t about to
make any exceptions. Plus, he was young and fit and capable of doing work. I
needed things done. Lives depended on it. No, Tim was definitely staying. Crap.
I’m going back to rational, logical asshole mode.

Chapter XI

It was
at the fire station, an hour before we were to leave and shortly after learning
of Brent Myers’s death, that another messenger arrived. At times, I feel bad
for these kids. They’re almost all teenagers who get to do nothing but zip
around the state of Wyoming taking news from ranch to ranch while
simultaneously doing their level best to avoid the raiders. It was anything but
safe, even with aircraft tracking the location of the prophet’s men.

“What
you got for us?” asked Jenny.

I
lingered in case it was something of interest. Mary was beside me with everyone
else outside doing final checks on the trucks and trailers, mostly to ensure
our loot was secure. Despite our failure to reach Cheyenne, we still had a good
haul. There was plenty of canned goods, books and movies, electronics, liquor,
and several cases of potato chips plundered from the back room of a convenience
store. As to alcohol, most of what we recovered had gone bad, particularly the beer
and wine. The harder stuff was hanging on, although it often tasted funny. I
think the dramatic temperature change between summer and winter was to blame.

In addition
to the two teenage girls, we had another eight joining us, all but one a minor.
The single adult, an aunt to three of the kids, would be serving as a nanny.
You can never have too many of those. Still, it would be so much better to have
more hands to work instead of simply getting additional mouths to feed. As it
stood now, the way we were accepting newcomers was a losing proposition, and it
couldn’t continue much longer. I was going to have to start insisting on fully
functional adults more fervently. At least we were building up a whole lot of
good will in the meantime.

“The
prophet’s invaded!”

There
was complete silence.

“That’s
not good,” said Mary, the first to comment.

“What do
you mean invaded?” I asked. “And sit down. You look exhausted. Jenny, you got
something for him to eat or drink, water maybe?”

“I do.”

The
woman seemed relieved to have me take charge. She was nice and quite good when
it came to record keeping and general organization, but my initial opinion
about her not being suited to high stress, critical work was increasing.

“Be
right back.”

She
bustled off to the kitchen.

“Really,
sit down. Mary, take notes.”

The
teenager pulled out a notepad and pen. She’d taken to keeping one in the small
backpack she dragged around with her. To be fair, we all carried backpacks,
usually daypacks or the type school children carried books in. They were
convenient.

I waited
for Jenny to return with a pitcher of water and some sandwiches before
continuing. A few others drifted in.

“Go
ahead and tell us what’s happening.”

The boy,
probably sixteen or seventeen, took a drink before beginning. “They came into
the state along I-80 and split in two. One group was going north, straight
toward Yellowstone, with the other moving to the middle where the ranches are.”

“How
sure are you of these directions?”

“There
are planes following both of them, staying up really high so they can’t be shot
at. By the time I was told to come tell you, the north group was already halfway
to the park.” He paused to take another sip of water but ignored the food. “The
other one attacked three ranches.”

“Which
ones?” gasped Jenny.

He
rattled off some names which meant nothing to me. Mary wrote them down.

“How
many?” I asked.

“Three
of them.” The messenger dropped his eyes. “We lost a bunch too, at least ninety
dead. I don’t know for certain. Some managed to get away, but I don’t have
numbers.”

“That’s
not what I meant. Good information though, and I can see how…” I shook my head.
“Tell me how many raiders there are, in each group, and where is the prophet?”

He
seemed to understand what I was getting at. “They told me that six hundred were
in the first group heading for Yellowstone and maybe two thousand in the
other.”

Now it
was Mary’s turn to gasp. That was far more than we thought he had available.
Could our intelligence get any worse? And why didn’t we ever get any good news?
Actually…

“What
was the breakdown? By that, I mean how many were men? How many women did they
have? Were any of them kids, not little ones, but say thirteen, fourteen,
fifteen?”

“I don’t
know. No one told me, and I didn’t think to ask.”

The lad
was worried that he’d done something wrong. It was good he cared. However, the
turmoil of emotions was distracting.

“That’s
okay,” I said. “Hang around for a while. Eat or rest or whatever. You’ll be
taking information back with you.”

“What
are you thinking Jacob?” asked Jenny.

I leaned
back in my seat. It was not very comfortable. “We know that most of his group
was men, with a handful of psychotic ladies tossed in.”

“Psycho
bitches,” corrected Mary.

Fair
enough.

“We also
know he didn’t have that many people when he moved into Salt Lake City, not
twenty six hundred, and the early reports from across the country didn’t say
anything about that many either. Now, they could have gotten new recruits
somewhere. That’s possible. However, I don’t think this is a gang of thugs, not
simply that. I believe they have their families with them.”

Mary was
the only one who did not look confused, but that was because I’d already gone
over this with her.

“Think
about it. The prophet gathers all these people together. Do you really think
that every single one was unmarried, unattached, and lacking any children? Or
that they abandoned these, maybe murdered them at the prophet’s urging? The
first is an impossibility, and I can’t see that guy obtaining his current level
of support if he tried to kill the people his followers loved most in this
world.”

“That
does make sense,” admitted Jenny, slowly, “but we’ve never seen them. I’ve
never heard of anyone else seeing them either.”

“Probably
hiding in the mountains somewhere, well back from the fighting. Remember, the
people in Utah never did find their base.”

“And you
think he reinforced his army with family members,” concluded Mary.

“Maybe,
or he could’ve had people in reserve. I can’t begin to say, but if the raiders
now have plenty of women in their ranks when they mostly had men before, then
we can assume he is drawing from the families. It might also mean he’s lost
lots of people to the plague.”

Jenny
made some notes of her own. “What else you got for us? How about their
prophet?”

“I don’t
know anything about him,” admitted the boy, “but the police are getting groups
together to fight back.”

I don’t
think I ever went over this in detail, but the local leaders and law
enforcement officers who originally set up the refugee system were still in
charge. For the most part, the ranches were self-sufficient and independent,
but they allowed the police to coordinate, primarily to ensure no one went
without critical supplies. Recently, they’ve been helping to fortify the
settlements and manage the overhead flights.

“Jenny,
you’re going to want to send more people my way, aren’t you?”

“I think
they’re going ask,” she replied, cautiously. “If you don’t mind.”

“Oh,
don’t worry about that. I’m not about to leave a bunch of defenseless people,
not to mention children and babies, where those monsters can get hold of them.
We all know what they’ll do.”

The boy
who’d delivered the message went very pale.

“I’ll
take more people and hide them away in Nebraska with us, but I want some things
in return. Actually, I am going to insist, and, just so you know, these are not
negotiable.”

Jenny
nodded, holding her pen tightly in one hand.

How to
phrase things in a manner that would cause me the least amount of grief?

“First
up, I want a helicopter pilot. If you have a helicopter you can spare as well
that will be great, but we’ve seen some near us that look intact. Also, I want
a helicopter mechanic or someone who knows how to fix and maintain them. He doesn’t
have to be formally trained or licensed or anything like that, just competent.
If the pilot can do this himself, great, only the one person will be needed.”

“Second,
I need a big rig and driver.” I continued on quickly, not giving Jenny any time
to comment. “This person will be carting back aviation fuel for your airstrips.
You have to be burning a lot staying in the air watching the raiders, and there
are quite a few airports near us, mostly private but also some municipal ones,
that haven’t been touched. I’m sure we can send a good bit your way. The pilot
you give us can tell us what to look for, and the driver will know where to
take it.”

A slight
smile touched her lips, and I was hopeful that by expressing my demand – it
absolutely was a demand – in a manner that would also benefit the Ranching
Collective things would go smoothly.

“We
talked to some guy about this earlier,” I added.

“That
was Jack O’Brien,” said Mary. “His daughters are outside. They’re going back
with us.”

I
nodded. “He said he’d look into it for us, but the attack is probably going to
mess that all up. So just find me one, and I’ll use him to help get you more
fuel and to patrol the eastern side of the state and Nebraska. It’s unlikely,
but the raiders might try sending someone around to come in on the other side.
I can’t see them having too much more in the way of manpower, but you never
know.”

“We want
to keep an eye out everywhere,” remarked Jenny. “We can’t, but it would
probably be good to have someone flying around over there too.”

Just
what I wanted to hear.

“Third…”
I wasn’t done with my list of non-negotiable items yet. “…all people joining us
need to come here, to the fire station, first. I don’t want anyone showing up
unannounced. It’s best that they gather here so we know who they are and have
some warning.”

“Makes
sense,” agreed Jenny. “They pretty much have to come here anyway since we’re
right off the road to Chadron.”

“Good.
And they need to be properly equipped. It hasn’t been a problem, but make sure,
at the very least, that each one has a suitcase with several changes of
clothing, any medicine or whatever they need, and a gun. The guns are for adult
only. Don’t be giving them to five year olds.”

Mary
snorted, probably thinking of my birthday present to Johnny.

“The
guns don’t have to be fancy, but I want them to be able to take care of any
random zombies we come across. Can’t forget about them. Next… I’m on point four,
right?”

“Yep,”
replied Mary, grinning. “One was a pilot. Two was a driver and truck for the
gas. Three was that people have clothes and guns and stop at the fire station.”

“Okay.”
I twisted my neck to the side trying to work a crick out. I’d woken in a funny
position that morning. “Four will be that we get one able bodied person for
every two others who come, meaning at least twelve years old, in somewhat good
shape, and not pregnant or otherwise unable to work. And, they will be put to
work, all of them, maybe building cabins to live in or digging ditches or
whatever. The work is going to be hard or boring, like gathering firewood which
the twelve year olds will be doing, and they won’t have any choice in the
matter. The sick, old, and so forth get to help too, but they’ll be doing easy
stuff like washing dishes or babysitting.”

“I don’t
know how many we can spare,” protested Jenny.

“Aside
from the fact I just defined able bodied as twelve and over, bear in mind that
I’m sitting on several hundred of your people, and you know this is going to go
up. I can’t care for all of them without a few who can actually help out, not
the way I should, and there’s no way I can possibly protect them either.”

“I’ll
see what I can do.”

Damn it!
Jenny wanted to dump the little kids and super old on me. I just knew it. They
wanted all the teenagers and adults to stay on the ranches to fight or
otherwise help. I can’t really blame them for this – I would do the same if our
positions were reversed – but there were things I needed as well, and I had no
intention of playing saint and ending up a martyr. Such individuals might be
respected and honored, but they were also dead. Being dead was a bad thing, and
I wanted to avoid that state of affairs if at all possible.

“When
can we send people?” she continued.

Good
question. Lizzy and Marcus might be back. If not, they would be at the castle
soon enough. Either way, they would be returning to the Black Hills in short
order with another load of people. That would ease the cramping in the national
forest.

“I’ll
send someone back here in a couple of days. Once you get, oh, say a hundred
people together, with at least thirty of them old enough and fit enough to
work, they’ll be taken to the castle.”