Zombie Rules (Book 3): ZFINITY (3 page)

I agreed, but frowned as I thought of my old friend Rick. He had caught some shrapnel in his leg from a booby trap back in Vietnam. Infection had set in and caused a lot of damage. Afterward, he had limited use of his leg and walked with a limp for the rest of his life. I pointed out the loot.

“We got three AK-47 copycats, a 357 revolver, some assorted ammunition, and a few cans of food,” I said. Fred picked up one of the AKs and looked it over.

“These are Maadis, they’re made in Egypt I believe. Very reliable,” he picked up one of the thirty round magazines. “Someone could put a lot of rounds downrange with these.”

He then motioned at the revolver. I rendered it safe by opening the cylinder and handed it to him. Fred inspected it as if it was a long lost friend.

“Ah, yes, a Ruger Security Six, a very nice handgun. None of these weapons have been very well maintained. I’ll task the boys with cleaning them,” he handed it back to me. “Tell me about the people you encountered.”

“There were four of them. They drove up while we were inside the Boy Scout’s Office building. There were two younger men and a girl about my age, and an older dude. He seemed to be the leader. They were all black and decked out like they were in some sort of revolutionary militia or something. They exuded hatred, but I thought I had managed to talk them down. The older one acted like they were going to leave, and then he said a phrase in Swahili. I knew what it meant.”

Fred arched an eyebrow. I shrugged. “They brought their weapons up, but I was ready. Terry followed my lead. The old man managed to get a couple of rounds off and shot Terry before I killed him.”

I looked at Fred to try to determine what he was thinking. He nodded in silence, and stared quietly at the scenery for a minute before he spoke.

“I guess this is the way of the world these days. Too many of our encounters with other survivors have resulted in a fatality, or multiple fatalities. We need to rethink our strategy when coming into contact with strangers,” he finally said.

“Are you suggesting I’m too quick to kill people?” I asked. Fred looked at me somberly. I felt the blood rushing to my face. Not from embarrassment, but anger.

“I’m not proud of killing people, Fred. Anyone I killed, I did it to protect either myself, or others. I’ll do whatever it takes to survive and protect the people I love,” I said angrily.

“I’m not disagreeing, Zach, but still, I’m worried about you,” Fred took his cowboy hat off and scratched his head. I noticed a fresh haircut. He saw me looking.

“Mac and Rhonda decided my self-haircuts were unacceptable,” he said. I smiled, but his next question made it disappear quickly.

“How many have you killed now, twelve? Thirteen?” he asked. The truth was, the number was higher, but I only shrugged. “I’m only bringing it up because I’m worried all of this killing may be doing something to you emotionally.”

“I’m okay,” I said quietly, but I wasn’t sure I believed it.

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?” he asked. I shrugged. He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. “I hope you will, and I hope you know you can always count on me.”

“I know, Fred. I’m okay, really,” I said. Fred continued looking at me a long moment, and then smiled in a fatherly way.

“I think the two young soldiers need to learn how to properly disassemble and clean these weapons. Let’s take them inside.”

It took us a couple of days before we made it back to the Boy Scout’s office. There were three of us in this endeavor, Fred, Rowdy, and myself. Before heading out, we went by the radio tower to see how they were doing. As we drove in, I saw Kelly and Terry riding an ATV from the creek with one of the blue plastic barrels strapped on the back. I looked in the side view mirror after we drove by and saw something that made me do a double take. Kelly, who was sitting close to Terry, leaned toward him and gave him a quick but probing kiss. I also noticed one of her hands stroke Terry’s crotch. I glanced over at my two companions, but they seemed oblivious.

“Hi, guys,” I greeted when they drove up, “gathering water, I see.”

“Yeah,” Terry replied, “I promised them I’d help distill a few gallons,” he looked over at the barrel. “I could use some help with the barrel though, I can’t put very much weight on this leg.”

“Understandable. I’ll give you a hand,” I walked over to the ATV and looked over at Kelly. “May I ask a favor of you? I forgot to fill my thermos with coffee this morning, could you fill it for me?”

Kelly glanced at me briefly, but quickly looked away. “Sure, Zach.” She got my thermos out of the truck and walked toward the radio tower’s house.

Terry hobbled to the rear of the ATV with the aid of a crutch. I waved him off.

“I’ll get it.”

“Can you handle it?” he asked. I gestured at the barrel.

“Y’all put about thirty gallons in it. Water weighs about eight pounds a gallon. I better be able to handle it,” I said and grabbed the barrel in a bear hug. With a grunt, I picked it up and walked toward the still, in quick baby steps.

“Good job, brother,” Terry said with a grin. I gave him a long look. He noticed it and the grin left his face. “What?” he asked. I looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. Fred was standing in the doorway, but he was still far enough away where he couldn’t hear me. I lowered my voice.

“There’s something I’m going to say while nobody else is around, and then I won’t say another word.”

Terry looked evenly at me. “You can’t keep secrets within our group, we’re too close knit and we know each other’s behavior patterns. It’s only a matter of time before everyone figures out what you and Kelly are up to.”

He stared at me a moment before looking off into the distance. “Is it so obvious then?”

“My powers of observation may be a little more acute than some of the others, but it’s obvious enough,” I nodded over at Fred. “He probably knows. He won’t say anything, but it won’t matter. Everyone will figure it out eventually.”

“Shit,” Terry muttered as he leaned against his crutch. “Do you think Andie knows?”

What’s that Terry? You’re only now thinking of your girlfriend, Andie, the woman you sleep with every night?

I shrugged. “She’s not stupid. She’s bound to find out.”

“Shit,” Terry repeated, “we didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did.”

Yeah, his cock accidentally fell out of his pants and Kelly fell on it. Right.

“What the hell should I do?” he asked me.

“Damn, Terry, how am I supposed to answer that? I only wanted to point out to you this secret little tryst you two are having isn’t very secret. What you do from here on out is up to you.”

I patted him on the shoulder and walked back to the truck, leaving him to think about the predicament he had so foolishly gotten himself into.

We scouted the area before driving into the parking lot and found the corpses still lying there.

“They’ve not been moved,” I told my partners, Fred and Rowdy.

“The cold weather has kept the decomposition down,” Fred commented, “and the rats haven’t gotten to them yet.”

I nodded silently in agreement.

“I don’t think they had any friends,” Rowdy opined, “if they did, they would have taken the Escalade at the minimum.”

Fred nodded. “Yeah, if they did have friends, they didn’t bother to come looking for them.”

As I stood there looking at the four of them, it was hard to imagine they were vicious heathens attempting to kill us. They looked – sad, innocent. Well, the two teenagers did. The twenty-something year old was plain looking, a little man dressed up like a tough guy. I had no emotions for him. The old guy looked like a typical dead piece of shit. He had it coming to him. I had no feelings of guilt for killing them, but it still depressed me that it had to come to this.

Fred must have sensed my mood, he looked around, scanning the area and cleared his throat.

“Let’s get the gas and move along.”

I agreed, retrieved my jury rigged siphon, and made quick work of siphoning the gas out of the Escalade. Rowdy helped me feed the hose directly into the truck’s fuel tank while Fred kept watch. When we finished, I gestured at the Escalade.

“Almost fifteen gallons worth, not bad at all,” I finished up by pouring a plastic bottle of HEET into the tank of our truck.

“What’s that for, Zach?” Rowdy asked.

“It’s an isopropyl alcohol mix,” I responded. Rowdy looked at me perplexed. “Okay, think of it this way. All of the fuel out here is old now. Moisture has gotten into it, which will cause engine problems, and can even freeze up the fuel lines in extremely cold weather. Isopropyl alcohol is miscible in water, that is, it can mix with water and form a chemical bond. The result is, the water won’t freeze up as easily and the boiling point is lowered, which allows it to be burned off easier.”

Rowdy stared at me and grinned. “That was a whole lot of words to tell me it’ll make the gas better,” he chuckled and slapped me on the back. “I swear, Zach, you’re a walking encyclopedia. I’m glad I know you.”

I didn’t respond, but I couldn’t help but think if I was so smart, then I should have been able to keep Macie and Howard from getting killed. I pushed those dismal thoughts to the deep recesses of my brain. It wasn’t going to do any good to be miserable all day.

Rowdy was still grinning when he gestured excitedly at the side of the building. “Hey, this’ll be a good place to paint your rules. It faces the street, and anyone riding or walking by can see them.”

I nodded in agreement. “I want to put the FEMA symbol on the entrance too.” I got a can of spray paint while Rowdy and Fred set the bodies on fire.

“Alright,” Fred said when we’d gotten back in the truck, “are we sticking to our plan?”

“We can, if you want. Is there anywhere or anything in particular you’re looking for, Fred?” I asked. After a moment, he shook his head.

“No, not really, I only wanted to get away for a while. I’ve never said as much, but I like scavenging. It’s like you’re hunting for treasure,” he said with a small grin. “Besides, it’s getting too crowded in our neck of the woods. I needed to get away for a while.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. Rowdy chuckled in agreement.

“Well, since we told the gang our route, we’d better stick with it,” Fred said.

“What’s our plan, guys?” Rowdy asked. When we had finished breakfast earlier this morning, Fred and I had intended on getting out by ourselves and spend some pseudo father son time together, but Rowdy asked to go with us. I guess he needed some father son time as well. Remembering he wasn’t a Nashville native, I pulled out a map.

“Alright,” I said pointing, “this is Thompson Lane. As you can see, if we drive west, it’ll turn into Woodmont Boulevard, and then it turns into White Bridge Road. When you cross Charlotte Pike, it is called Robertson for a small stretch and then turns into Briley Parkway. Briley makes a broad loop around the city, and back to Thompson Lane. It’s all the same road, but as you can see, it changes names several times. We’re going to drive this loop, have a look around, and do some scavenging. How’s it sound?”

“Sounds good,” Rowdy said. “Let’s get going.”

We got as far as Woodmont and Harding Road when Rowdy held up a hand and pointed at a street sign.

“Wait a minute,” he exclaimed. “This street is named Harding. Is it the same Harding that runs off of Nolensville?”

“Nope, they’re two different streets,” I replied. Rowdy shook his head in confusion.

“The streets you people have around here are really screwed up,” he contended. I grinned. He was right, street names in Nashville could be quite confusing if you didn’t live here. We continued down White Bridge Road, and soon Rowdy insisted on stopping at a strip mall.

“Let’s check this one out,” he said, pointing at an Italian themed restaurant. Fred glanced over at me.

“It couldn’t hurt,” I said with a shrug.

We cleared the restaurant with ease. It had large plate glass windows in the front which let in plenty of sunlight. I put a bandanna around my face to lessen the effects of the various rotting smells and searched the kitchen. It was bereft of any canned food products, although I found several jars of spices and seasonings. I stuffed them into my knapsack, walked back out to the front where Fred was standing guard, and showed him what I found.

“No more bland food for a while,” I offered.

“The women will be pleased,” he said. Rowdy emerged a moment later, holding something in his hand and sporting a large grin.

“Jackpot, men!” he exclaimed, holding up a bottle of liquor. “The liquor stores are going to be looted, but restaurants like these always have bars.”

I rolled my eyes. Rowdy slapped me on the back and took a swallow.

“May I?” Fred said, holding his hand out.

“Why sure,” he said as he handed the bottle over. “Hoss, that there is a fine bottle of Don Julio tequila. It’s like a Latina woman, smooth, but with a fiery disposition.”

Fred took the bottle, looked at it a moment, and then threw it in the air. As it reached the top of its trajectory, he drew his pistol with his left hand this time, and scored a bull’s eye. Fragments of glass and tequila fell to the parking lot.

Rowdy’s mouth dropped open for a moment as he realized what Fred did. After a moment, he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Zach, make a note, it would seem Fred doesn’t care too much for tequila.”

Our laughter was cut short by the sudden appearance of four dogs surrounding us.