OUTNUMBERED volume 2: A Zombie Apocalypse Series (4 page)

"That's it. And in the head at that," Ed said grimly.

"But," Kira challenged him, "that's a target the size of a big man's fist."

"Yes it is." Ed grinned at her. "I can do it and I'm confident Tom and Shane can, or will learn fast. And you will too. It might take three or four bullets, but it can be done. The rest of you need to learn to shoot like the pros if you want to live. It's that simple. We'll start training with shotguns and clay birds to get the feel of leading a target. Then we'll start on the handguns.

"When we make ammo runs, we need to bring back more shotgun shells as well as rifle and handgun ammo. Also, we should pick up more shotguns, throwing devices for clay birds and cases of clay birds. John, we'll need an engineering design to construct a concrete pigeon house where the birds will be thrown from. There were several private gun clubs within a hundred miles we can visit for ideas. And we'll need to locate and retrieve several pallets of pre-mixed concrete for that."

I chuckled as I turned to Shane. "We thought we had everything covered. Then Ed throws a wrench into the training and we've got a whole new set of problems. But seriously, Ed, thanks for the insight. We'll need your expertise in setting up the additional training program."

Vivian raised her hand for attention and made a grunting noise. Sheepishly she entered the male domain. "Kira and I spoke yesterday, and we wondered why there isn't a fence around this building? It would be a good first line of defense. Sort of like that warehouse you picked me up at. As it is now, when zombies attack they pound of the steel siding trying to get in and the only people who can shoot them are in the guard towers. If they were stopped maybe fifty feet away from the building, they could be shot from the shooting windows on the second floor."

Kira sat grinning smugly as I looked at the other men. Shane spoke, "That's a great idea. When we built this base building we put a staggered double layer of steel siding on the first floor so the zombies couldn't pry the panels off easily. We only anticipated a few undead in small wandering groups. The local undead. But since they roam in increasingly larger groups, we suspect they're migrating from the population centers to the rural areas. A fence to stop them at rifle range is a great idea." Shane, turned to me, then to, Ed, and John. "Why didn't we think of that?"

I shrugged and rolled my eyes. "I don't know why, but I'm glad the ladies did."

I watched as John leaned back in deep thought with his eyes closed during the conversation. He glanced around the group before he spoke. "I'll assume we all agree this is a suggestion worth moving on." He ran his fingers through his short kinky black hair as he waited for affirmative nods from the group and got them. "I suggest holding the fence one hundred-fifty feet from the building. That keeps the targets at rifle range and leaves enough room inside to accommodate large equipment, like that tractor and trailer load of food that came in recently. Our bulldozer can remove eight inches of sod from inside the fence line, and we'll fill it with three layers of different sized rock back up to grade. The concrete slabs over the fuel tanks will prevent them from being a problem as we excavate. There are piles of gravel available at several quarries in the area. Albert and Vince will have to check out loading and hauling equipment at those quarries while another group locates ten foot high chain-link fence material, barbed wire, and post at distributors’ yards. Electric sliding gates can be controlled by the watch tower guards. Shane can direct a crew to take the gates and operators from existing fences at nearby businesses. He can run the wire and connect them here. I'll have dimensioned drawings ready next week. In about three weeks, we should be ready to start installing the fence. Thanks, ladies, you did great. If we weren't a dry town, I'd buy you both a drink."

As I stood to leave, John, Vivian and Kira left the group, too. During days I had free time, I tried to circulate and talk to all of our residents. Some needed occasional pep talks to ward off the feeling of despair over the constant threat of the zombies and the cooped up feelings of cabin fever from being inside the compound for weeks on end. The fence would help alleviate that closed in feeling by allowing us to sit outdoors and refresh safely.

After lunch, Kira and Marilyn found me. Both seemed excited and Marilyn spoke first. "We have a plan put together for picking a name for our group.  Everyone, including the teens and children, will be encouraged to submit an entry. A committee of three volunteers will pick five names to be voted on by all of our residents. Sam said he can paint the name on a large board and hang it on the building."

She looked to Kira. "Andrea volunteered to make a batch of special treats so we can make the occasion a big celebration. What do you think?"

I grinned as I listened. The women were as excited as teenagers planning their first date. "I like it. How about announcing it at the next weekly meeting? We'll spread the word then about what I envision our future will likely entail. That has to be a facet in the basis of a title."

~*~*~*~

The next morning, I conducted an exercise class for the group scheduled on that day. Everyone was there except Nate Robard. After the class I spoke to Vera. She was evasive about Nate's reason for missing class. While we spoke, I noticed a bruise over her cheekbone she'd tried to cover with makeup.

After a shower, I sought out Vivian Alverez. Her room was next to the Robard's. I found her in the office working with Janice Holescheck on scheduling. We stepped outside where we could talk in private.

"I talked to Vera Robard this morning. She has a dark bruise on her left cheek she's trying to hide. Have you heard any indication from their room that they may not get along? Like maybe he's abusive?"

Vivian frowned and nodded. "They fight a lot. Not they, but he. Mr. Robard yells a lot at Vera, and both kids. I never hear a word from Vera, but Mitch, he stands up to his fat father. I wouldn't be surprised if Nate abuses Vera, but I don't know that for fact."

Nate was in the kitchen arguing with Andrea Michaels when I got there. James Anderson was at the sink washing pots and pans as he avoided taking sides.

Andrea calmly stated, "What you've said is fine for a fast food joint where the emphasis is on quantity. In this kitchen I turn out quality, and we'll continue to do it my way."

Nate saw me and raised his arms in despair. "I can't work with this woman. She refuses to listen to anything I tell her. I could make this operation much more efficient."

I stopped in front of Nate. "Andrea is the cook. This is her kitchen, and you are a helper. You don't tell her anything. Your job is to do what she tells you. No arguments."

"That's bullshit. I've managed restaurants for the last fifteen years and she should be working for me. I'm not a helper and I'll not clean up after her or do her bidding."

I'd had enough. In a huff, I spoke loudly. "Andrea owned and managed her own highly rated, successful restaurant, and she's more than competent. You'll do the job you've been assigned, or you won't eat. I've had enough of your attitude, and it's got to stop. Our people have worked together for over a year with only minor issues. It's you who causes all the trouble. We can't even put you on guard duty by yourself because you don't take it seriously and nap on shift.

"These aren't even the reasons I came to you this morning, but I don't want to hear anymore about those issues. Do your job without causing trouble.

"Now, why did you miss your exercise class?"

"The exercises are too hard for me. I can't and won't do them."

I invaded Nate's space and pushed up against his protruding stomach. "You will do them because you being overweight, slow, and clumsy can get someone else killed trying to save your life when you can't get away from a group of zombies. You've got to start thinking of your family and the other people here instead of whining and complaining every minute. I've scheduled you for an exercise routine at eight tomorrow morning. Be there," harshly, I spat the words at him,

Andrea spoke as I turned to leave. "Ira put Nate on a diet, but that isn't working either. Throughout the day he constantly snatches bits of food. I can't watch him every minute, and he won't lose any weight if he's left in here every day. Can you find another job for him?" I raised my arms, shook my head in aggravation and stalked off.

~*~*~*~

  Along with James Anderson and Vince Gonzales I was scheduled to explore new ground in our never ending search for food and weaponry. But on the morning before our departure, Vince's dad requested his son remain at our base to help remove and rebuild a tractor engine.

Later that morning at our weekly meeting, I asked for a replacement for Vince, and Kira Schafer was the first member to volunteer.

We talked about the contest to choose a name for our compound and I explained in detail my view of what the future held for us. No one disagreed with me, but it caused many of the group to come face-to-face with a reality they hadn't wanted to accept. For several, it was a rude awakening as tears dribbled down their cheeks. Later, I was glad I hadn't mentioned that in the far future we might have to move our compound when we lost electric power to the deep well pumps that supplied our water. Hauling water from the lake daily for thirty to forty people would be a challenge using a tank on a wagon pulled by a team of horses.

Marilyn passed a contest slip to each person and asked that the entries be brought to her by Saturday.

Shane, Ed, John, Andrea, and I had met days before to discuss how to prepare for the future I envisioned. After the discussion, our consensus was to erect another building by the barn to house the horse drawn farming and transportation equipment we would eventually need. It would be reconditioned and stored there until needed.

There were four riding horses and a herd of twenty Black Angus cattle penned by the animal barn. We'd need to locate and catch at least eight heavy bodied draft horses to pull the equipment we'd listed. I'd often wondered why the zombies only attacked humans and not other animals. Even the cats and dogs that roamed around the compound were immune to the undead. No one knew the answer, but we were glad because deer, cattle and pigs that now roamed freely were three of our primary sources of fresh meat.

Everyone at the weekly meeting, except for Nate, appeared pleased that we were looking ahead and making plans for our lives decades out. It seemed to give them hope and confidence that our lives could continue in spite of the increased work load added to the zombie threat.

After the meeting, my friends smiled sarcastically when I mention needing a new home for Nate Robard. After I explained the situation of Nate gorging himself in the kitchen, Shane reluctantly agreed to use Nate outside preparing the big garden area for planting.

CHAPTER THREE

T
he following morning, James, Kira, and I drove west across Iowa on I-80 to Nebraska. Several side trips diverted us to stores not identified on our master list of places that we'd looked into previously.

The next day we continued making random stops as we crossed Nebraska. In North Platte we were pleased to find four top-of-the-line notebook computers in the storeroom of an electronics store. As far as we knew, most survivors didn't have the luxury of power generation, so computers and electronics equipment were usually abundant to us. It was ironic that we cherished finding the latest technology to make our work faster and more accurate when in a decade or two they would be useless when our electric power shut down.

Across Nebraska, we mostly found small groups of zombies congregated in or near the small-sized towns. Similar to our home ground we encountered additional small groups and singles wandering aimlessly between towns near the highway or stumbling in the distance across fields.

We stayed on I-80 to the northeast corner of Colorado enjoying the mild sixty-five degree afternoon temperature and bright sunshine of late April. At the I-76 exit we turned southwest and took that to State Highway 34 and on into Greeley, Colorado. By then we'd spent two and a half days and had the twenty-foot cargo trailer nearly half full of supplies. That evening before dark, we refilled the dual diesel tanks from jerrycans stored in the trailer.

Over the past year I'd learned to watch James closely in the field. He was a nice guy, but he lacked what people call common sense. He'd do anything he was asked, but he didn't easily make decisions on his own. He was what I considered a straight-line thinker; he focused on one thing and ignored everything else to accomplish the set task. I liked him because he was cooperative and pleasant to be around. We'd made a place for him in the kitchen helping Andrea Michaels because of his past experience as a busboy in restaurants. James was mid-twenties, tall and thin, and average-looking, clean shaven and wore his brown hair cut short. Since we tried to include everyone in our foraging trips, he was always scheduled with me or Shane so we could look after him.

Before the apocalypse, there were more than a hundred thousand people living in Greeley, Colorado. We assumed the city would be like all the others; all humans would be dead and wandering the town or the countryside after transforming into the undead.

Early the following morning, Kira drove into Greeley and began stopping at stores in shopping malls. We had to pass several individual stores because of the large numbers of zombies milling about close by.

Late that afternoon, she parked the truck and trailer in front of a large sporting goods superstore. No zombies were in sight. A fresh breeze blew what was left of the tattered USA flag that had been flying unattended for three years. The name 'Sportsman's Paradise' was one I didn't recognize. Double glass doors at the storefront stood open, inviting us to take a look inside. We entered the dim building with our senses on high alert. The stench of zombies permeated the musty air. "James, put your rifle on your shoulder with the carrying sling and use your pistol."

Sunrays coming through several plate glass windows in the front wall provided enough light to move about until we were halfway down the aisles. We wandered waywardly into the clothing sections, so we backtracked searching for guns and ammunition.

Kira stood behind me shining a flashlight on rifle ammunition searching for the sizes we wanted most. I found the .40 and .45 caliber handgun loads. Several boxes of bullets lay strewn on the floor, most stepped on and broken open. Brass cased bullets were scattered about the floor covering. Walking in the dim light was like slipping on marbles. Fist-sized lumps of something lay on the floor, and I squatted to look closer. I stood quickly and turned away. The lumps were rotting pieces of flesh that I assumed had been torn from human bodies in the last several weeks.

From the back of the store I heard the low moans of zombies. Lots of moans meant lots of zombies. We peered into the dark cavernous space but couldn't see them. Nothing moved, and I barely breathed. The sounds grew louder. Suddenly, two fast runners raced down the aisle directly toward us. Kira and I fired practically together, and the lead attacker's head exploded and sprayed on the second one. We switched to the other zombie and Kira fired a round right behind my shots. The zombie collapsed and slid toward us on inertia as the incessant moans of the rest of the herd grew louder and the dull shuffling of feet filled our senses.

Another noise begged me to turn my attention. More zombies entered the store through the front entrance. We were trapped between two enormous approaching groups.

Behind the service counter, I spotted a door to the store manager's office. I hesitated several seconds to grab boxes of .40 and .45 caliber ammo and dumped them in the rucksack hanging at my left side.

"This way!" I yelled as I ran around the end of the counter. The door was closed but unlocked. I opened it and Kira rushed in. "Where is James?" I saw him twenty feet away on the other side of the service counter on his hands and knees.

"James, get over here now. The zombies are almost on top of you," I screamed. I fired at the closest monsters on his right.

"I tripped and dropped my pistol," he yelled back while still searching.

I fired again, and then I heard more shots from beside me. Kira had come out to help. "James, forget the damn gun and come now." I kept firing until I had to switch magazines.

James turned toward us and rose to his feet. He had a big grin on his face; I suppose he was proud of himself for getting his gun back. He fired his handgun at a zombie reaching for him with outstretched arms and then at another.

I guesstimated there were fifteen to twenty undead on our left, and at least that many on the right with more straggling in through the entrance. James screamed as a rotting female zombie bit his shoulder and wrenched out a bloody chunk of flesh as big as my palm. James was still firing when two more zombies dragged him to the floor. They were in front of the counter out of sight, but we could hear James' pitiful screams mingled with the monster's moans as the zombies callously tore flesh and bones from his body.

Kira was reloading when I pushed her ahead of me into the office, slammed the door and set the lock. The room was dark, and I prayed we alone. Kira turned her flashlight on as I grabbed mine. The office shuddered as the undead chasing us pounded on the door and the walls to reach us. I motioned to Kira and we pushed the single desk over in front of the vibrating door. The door held, but it wouldn't last long under the concerted beating it was taking. Constant noises of the undead and their attempts to reach us kept me on edge and fearful as I looked around the flimsy wood stud walls that made up our sanctuary. The walls shook and shuddered as the zombie's high and low-pitched songs grew louder.

I flipped my flashlight to a door on the other side of the small room. A sign read, Regional Headquarters Personnel Only. It was locked. I moved my light beam around the walls; no keys hung prominently in sight. Kira watched my actions and without waiting to exchange words, we pulled drawers from the desk and searched for a life saving key.

Without warning, a bony fist with hunks of putrefied flesh hanging from its finger bones punched through the drywall only inches from Kira's face. Her head jerked back as its fingers flexed spasmodically while it searched blindly for the human flesh it sensed. She jumped backward and fired two shots through the thin wallboard where the head should have been. I kept searching as another arm poked through the hard drywall sheet. The blasting of Kira's Glock stopped as she reached for a fresh magazine.

Two keys lay in a small tray at the front of the middle drawer. I fired four shots as Kira reloaded, and then I leapt to the exit door.

Valuable seconds were lost as I tried to fit the first key into the lock. I tossed it away and heard the brass thud onto the tile floor. Several more holes exploded through the drywall and the zombies ripped and tore the wallboard to shreds. I tried the second key.

Kira fired and yelled, "Hurry for God's sake, or we're dead." It fit. I glanced behind me; the wood door gave way and the desk slid toward us in jerks inches at a time.

I wrenched the door open and then grabbed Kira's belt and pulled her backward through the doorway as she continued to blast zombies. She slammed the door shut as two zombies reached toward her within spitting distance. I threw my shoulder against the door with all my strength before she turned the deadbolt. The door was steel and the wall it was set in was cinderblock. Those solid materials would buy us some time. We ran down a hallway with offices on each side as the undead monsters screeched their anger and pounded furiously on the door.

Halfway down the hall, two stainless steel elevator doors sat tight against each other on the right. Ten feet further, a sign beside a door read, “Stairs to Second Floor.”

At the end of the hall, I saw a dull red plastic EXIT light above an exit door. Offices on either side of the door had a window in the end wall. Steel security bars on the outside protected both windows. I crawled across the carpeted floor of the office on the left and stayed low to reconnoiter through the window. In the office on the right Kira scampered across the carpet like a young rug-rat. After a short time, we met back in the hallway. I whispered, "Three rotten smellies are out there." Kira nodded to my count. We gently checked the exit door; it was locked. Quietly but quickly, we made our way back to the second floor stairway.

We entered the stairwell, and I pulled the door closed. Kira set the lock on the panic bar while I listened, smelled the air for stench, and shined my light up the dark space above us. We crept up the metal stairs making minimal noise and exited into a wide hallway. It too was devoid of zombie stink. A musty odor hung heavily in the air from the building being locked tightly for several previous years. Down the dark, stagnant, hall we found a small lunch room with tables and chairs, a microwave, sink, and refrigerator. I opened the refrigerator door and my face scrunched as I gagged. A zombie-like odor trapped in the sealed appliance for years assailed our noses. Spoiled foods wore coats of mold in various sickening shades. In the door, three bottles of warm water and four cans of diet soda sat. I grabbed them before we explored the offices. We entered an office on the right. A desk faced us, and another door was on the left of it. I suddenly flung the solid wood door open while Kira stood three feet behind me in a shooting posture. The door bounced off the wall behind it with a mild bang. We flashed our light beams inside and then entered. The room was large, but not huge, and had been furnished tastefully in masculine tones. Kira closed the door behind us and set the brass deadbolt.

A large dark wood executive desk sat in front of a wide window. Drapes were closed but enough light filtered through for us to see the bulky shapes of other furniture. I opened the drapes two feet and light flooded the room. Dust from disturbing the musty cloth danced in the sunrays. I glanced around the room without the aid of my flashlight. A dark brown leather couch sat against the wall we'd entered.

I motioned to Kira. "Let's move the couch over in front of the credenza on the side wall. We can sit on it and face the door where uninvited guests could arrive from."

We sat, and I passed a bottle of water to Kira. I unscrewed the cap on mine, wiped the threaded mouthpiece with my shirttail, swallowed a third of the bottle, recapped it and sat it on the floor. I straightened and tensed.

"My God!" I uttered softly. "James Anderson was killed downstairs. I failed to protect him." During our gyrations to escape our pursuers and avoid other zombies, James' death had been thoughtlessly pushed from my mind. The death of such an innocent young man caused my stomach to roil.

Kira sat staring ahead, the water bottle in her hand, her Glock on the arm of the couch. "I liked James; we all did. I've notice how you suffer after each death of your people as if you were solely responsible. I suppose it's a sign of a good, companionate leader. But if you continue to get that deeply involved for each of us, the stress will eventually destroy you." She turned on the couch and brought her bent left leg up onto the cushion. "Back off and let it go. We're each responsible for our own actions, not you. James did something dumb back there and paid a terrible price for it. But it wasn't your fault or my fault, it was his decision. I have no idea why or how James dropped his pistol, but his decision to linger while retrieving it led to his death. There was nothing either of us could do to save him. If there was, we would have done anything it took."

I leaned back into the thick cushion. "I honestly wish it were that simple. I know I wasn't responsible in any way for James' action, nor could I have prevented what happened to him. However, I am responsible for the overall day-to-day safety of everyone in our group. It's up to me and the people closest to me, Shane, Ed, John and Ira, to make the right decisions for the whole group. In doing that, I've gotten to know and like each of them, including you. In that respect I don't want to back off and distance myself from anyone. I'll be alright. So far I've been able to cope with it and keep moving ahead each morning.

"Now let’s get off the morbidity and move on. Think of how we're going to escape from here without becoming causalities ourselves."

"I'll drop it for now," Kira said, "but at some point I want to discuss your sense of total responsibility further with you."