Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation (21 page)

Dale was
reaching for the man’s sneakers when he lurched backward. I was slow to react.
Dale was also caught off guard by the unexpected movement. Neither of us was
able to prevent the prisoner from tumbling off the edge of the ravine.

“Future
rule,” I said softly, breaking the silence. “If I try to freak someone out by
putting them next to a seventy foot drop, stop me.”

Interlude – Renee’s Story

I wasn’t
the only one fond of night vision goggles and all they allowed a person to do.
Renee led an assault of her own while I was off chasing the prophet, and she
put the wondrous devices to good use hunting down the small group of raiders
who’d been harassing the Black Hills.

“We sure
they’re in there?” asked Rudy.

He was
one of the volunteers bolstering Renee’s force. In all, she had thirty people
with her, most arranged in a loose circle around the farm house and barn. At
first glance, the structure appeared empty and abandoned. Windows were broken.
Part of the roof had collapsed. Weeds were growing everywhere, only, those by
the rear door had been trampled. There were also fresh tire marks near the
barn.

“Someone
has been here,” she replied.

No one
else in the small group clustered around Renee commented. It was these hand
selected individuals who would rush the house and barn while the remainder
ensured none escaped. This did not include Rudy. He was a mediocre shot at
best, but the man knew his first aid, having been on the receiving end more
than once, primarily due to accidents while rock climbing. Serving as their
medic, he had to be close enough to respond quickly.

“Tony,
take Christia and get the barn, one of you going in each side. I expect they’re
keeping their transportation there.”

He gave
her a thumbs up and with his partner in tow began to belly crawl through the
high grass. The moon was down, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.
Additionally, Renee might rip his head off if he acted in anything less than a
perfect manner. When it came to operations, she was perhaps the most
professional person in the Black Hills. Renee definitely spent the most time
squeezing information out of the military trainers. She had even gone so far as
to travel to Yellowstone to speak with the soldiers there.

“Back
door,” she said, pointing.

That
pair likewise set off, carefully approaching the house in a roundabout manner
that made full use of the limited cover. Renee’s group, consisting of her and
two others, were the last to leave. They’d take the front. Rudy sat down to
wait.

*
* *

It only
took a few minutes to get into position. During that time none of the
pre-positioned snipers spotted any movement. The place appeared abandoned. Even
so, Renee was fairly certain this was where the raiders had been camping. It
was isolated, so zombies were a lesser concern, and it was sixty miles from the
Black Hills. That was close enough to launch all sorts of nastiness but still
be outside any reasonable search area. The placement made sense, and it would
have gone unnoticed had a long range flight lacked an ultra-observant spotter
who noticed some people in the distance. A second flight two days later
discovered tire tracks in the mud. The pilot never slowed, just flying past as
if he was heading somewhere else. Pictures were taken, however, and these were
blown up and carefully examined.

“Status?”
she whispered, into the microphone attached to her sleeve.

A chorus
of ready came back, in proper order, each member of the assault team having been
assigned a number. It was time to go.

“Green light,”
she said.

Renee rushed
forward, crossing the twenty feet to the front door, and carefully tested the
knob. It was locked. Gesturing for one of her companions, the woman stepped
back. The sledgehammer slammed into the door, breaking through the lock and
shattering the frame. It swung open with a bang, and Renee darted inside. The
living room was empty. A quick glance confirmed the same for the dining room.
One of her comrades exited the kitchen, having come in through the rear.
Another moved to examine the den and the steps leading to the basement. She
headed directly for the staircase.

A man
staggered into view above her, and Renee put a round in his chest. He crumpled
to the floor, the round failing to exit through his back. She tapped him a
second time in the head as she moved past. The hallway, appearing green through
her goggles, was empty. More of the team followed, and she pointed at the four
doors, one of which was ajar. Renee chose that one for herself.

A figure
appeared in the portal, this time clad in the telltale, reviled jacket. Before
he could even make sense of what appeared to him as little more than a dark
blob, Renee fired, the soft pops of the silenced weapon making far less noise
than his scream of pain. Again, a head shot ensured he would never get up, and
she entered the bedroom, the barrel of her gun leading the way.

More
gunfire erupted, all of it from her team. She lined up a figure on the floor.
He appeared to be unconscious, a half empty bottle resting nearby. Otherwise,
the room was clear.

“Status?”
she requested, as soon as the firing ceased.

Tony and
Christia were the first to respond. “Got nine bikes and one SUV inside the barn.
No hostiles.”

The
others rattled off their own reports, and the snipers outside confirmed there
was no other movement. Renee used a pair of handcuffs to secure the drunk. The
same was done with the other two survivors, one of whom had taken a round in
the arm. That had quickly been tied off with a tourniquet.

“Get
them downstairs and do a more complete search. Bring me any computers or
writings. Rudy, get in here,” she added, speaking into the microphone.

*
* *

After
their medic stitched up the prisoner’s arm, Renee ordered the three separated.
One was taken back upstairs. Another went to the barn. The third was placed in
the basement. They could neither see nor hear the others. The six
interrogators, on the other hand, were in constant contact via their radios,
the audio of which was limited to earpieces. Renee decided to stay with the
pair handling the fellow upstairs. It was the more comfortable room.

“I don’t
give a damn what your name is,” snarled Tony. “Therefore, I won’t be asking.
However, you are going to tell me where the prophet is.”

“Fuck…”

The
sock, which was filled with exactly twenty seven steel ball bearings, slammed
down on the man’s left hand. Bones crunched, and blood began to ooze from the
wound.

“You
fucking bastard!”

Tony
removed his black helmet, setting it aside. “You don’t seem to understand what
is happening. You are going to be tortured. Don’t bother with the answer just
yet. I need to make your situation clear first.”

His
companion pulled a small dentist’s drill from his bag. The raider had already
been secured to floor, his head conveniently placed in a vice. He could, and
did, close his mouth, but he couldn’t squirm or turn away.

“Go
through both his front teeth,” ordered Tony.

Renee
stepped back as the other militia member forced the man’s mouth open, jamming a
plastic restraint between his jaws. Judging from his howls, the agony had to be
intense. She didn’t care in the least.

“Now,
you will tell me where the prophet is. If you and your two buddies don’t have
matching answers, you are going to lose another two teeth. This will continue
until we get the truth or I’m forced to move on to other body parts.”

A quick
personal note here. While I tried to use fear in regards to questioning – the
cutting off of toes was intended to scare the man into speaking – Renee chose
to move directly to actual violence. I probably would have ended up there, if
my prisoner hadn’t killed himself, but you never know. He might have freaked
out and told me everything. It would’ve been nice.

“At
least two of you are lying,” said Tony, after confirming with the others.

The
drill spun again, and Renee moved to the opposite side of the bedroom so she
could lean against the wall while her subordinates worked. They had hoped from
the start to take a few prisoners. All were going to die in the end of course.
It was a death sentence to put on one of those jackets. No raider could ever be
allowed to go free, and we weren’t the sort to use prison as a punishment. That
said, there was no reason not to squeeze them for information, aside from silly
notions of morality. Such things only apply to people, and these bastards are
anything but.

“Still
not matching,” sighed Tony. He bent down. “Let’s go for a molar this time.”

The
raiders held their leader in high esteem. It took an hour and twelve teeth
before they all said that he was with the main group that was going to destroy
the settlements in Yellowstone National Park. After that betrayal, it became
easier. Most of what Renee wanted to know were simple things that the prisoners
didn’t care so much about. The biggest was how many had been sent to strike the
Black Hills. This was then whittled down to account for the people at the house
and those killed previously. The numbers matched, and Renee was confident there
were no others in a position to strike at them.

She also
learned that the majority were, as previously believed, directly involved with
the Yellowstone fight, although there were a few scouts roaming the nearby
states. Considering how well Jacob and Captain Briggs had done, Renee could
surmise that the raiders were all but gone.

A second
personal note. The interrogations took place after the big battles outside
Yellowstone that saw the raiders retreat and the cave with their families
collapsing. Renee had been fully briefed on those developments but did not
share this with those being questioned.

The
raiders went on to reveal the location of their equipment. Most was in the
house and barn, but they’d stashed food in two other spots and had some weapons
in a third. All would be collected for our personal use.

An
interesting discovery was that the raiders were terrified of the way things had
changed around the country. Originally, they had fled the cities and encountered
the prophet who quickly organized a large following. This subdivided and
rejoined numerous times in order to fulfill their primary goal, which was the
protection of all who’d been oppressed and the slaughter of those causing the harm.
The definition of oppressed was not spelled out, but Renee had the distinct
impression it focused on those most likely to submit to the prophet’s
worldview.

As time
passed and the zombies shambled their way beyond the population centers, swarming
back roads as well as the highways, their ability to travel freely began to
collapse. More and more of their number had to be pulled away from the front
lines in order to protect their families. Coupled with the losses they suffered
in Wyoming, this left the raiders feeling greatly weakened. It was also the
reason they scattered completely the year before. The prophet wanted as many
new recruits as possible, but, in the end, few were added to the ranks. By that
point, most survivors were in functioning groups, the sort that immediately
drew raider ire. The criminals and mentally troubled he favored had either been
absorbed into these or were long dead. The raiders had been on a steady downswing,
and they knew it.

The trio
of prisoners could not shed any light on the prophet’s background. They’d
joined up later, after he was firmly established as the undisputed leader. By
the way, they didn’t call themselves raiders. They were The Family. Sounds like
something from a bad mob movie or maybe something Charles Manson once said, not
quite sure about that. Anyway, we continued calling them raiders. That name was
permanently stuck in our minds.

There
was some information concerning the attacks on Yellowstone and the Black Hills.
We were the last of their declared enemies. The fact they’d failed to kill or
drive us away had eaten at the raiders as a whole and the prophet in
particular. He could not deal with losing, not to the people he hated so very,
very much. It was what forced him to return, despite knowing how difficult the
venture would be.

*
* *

“You
look lovely,” commented Rudy, when Renee came outside for a break. “Not a speck
of blood or dirt on you. How do you keep yourself so sparkling? It must be a
talent.”

“Stuff
it. If I was filthy you’d say ‘you look so pretty even with all that grime on
you’.”

He
laughed. “You do know me. How about joining me for dinner so I can get to know
you better?”

“It’s
way past dinner time, and the answer is a no.”

The
torture had begun before the sun rose and continued throughout the day. The
militia members would be spending the night in the house and barn, returning
home the following morning. Night travel was always dangerous and complicated
and to be avoided whenever possible. Also, Renee hadn’t wanted to interrupt the
interrogations or take time moving the prisoners, especially once truthful
answers began to flow with little prompting.

I’m
going to include my third and final personal observation here. It is the final
one for this interlude. I promise. There are many who say that torture does not
work. They’ll tell you that people are going to say whatever they think will
make the pain stop. There is a great deal of veracity to this. Individuals who
are being tortured most certainly will try to make it stop. However, Renee’s
method, which is how torture should be handled, eliminates this problem. You
separate people in possession of the same information. You then abuse these
unfortunates until they both talk and the answers come out the same. With no
time to develop a false story, the prisoners will quickly spill the beans. More
importantly, it is the only way to pry the most guarded secrets free. Threats
won’t accomplish that, nor will low level abuse like sleep deprivation or water
boarding. Renee did an excellent job.