Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 2): Conflict (27 page)

“Maybe,”
considered Lizzy, after she thought about it. “It’s the best we have, and it’s
almost July. We need to start construction right away if we want to have it up
or mostly up before it starts snowing. I don’t want to be rushing and doing
things all fucked up like with the castle.”

“We can
develop some plans tonight and on the way back,” I said. “We’ll take
measurements first. And bear in mind we have steep, tall hills, which means
gravity.”

“What,
you going to toss someone off them?”

“No.” Lizzy
was so violent at times. “We can build cisterns, and with gravity to help we
can have real plumbing.”

That
brought a smile to everyone’s face, even the twins.

“I so
want a flushing toilet,” said Mary.

“Me too…
Ah, fuck.”

“What
are you griping about now?” demanded the recently minted fourteen year old.

Lizzy
stomped a foot. “I’ll have to fish Cherie out of the latrine.”

“Not a
chance,” I said. “I know you want her to be catching shit in her mouth until
the cessation of time, but that zombie head is staying where it is. Some of the
newbies already think we have issues. You dig that out of several feet of gook
so you can take it with you, and they’ll start thinking you need to be locked
up.”

A
particularly nasty glare was sent my way.

“Jacob’s
right Lizzy, and I don’t think you should be digging through all that looking
for it anyway. You’ll probably get sick.”

“We can
leave the sign up,” I suggested, “so anyone coming by in the future knows which
toilet to use.”

“I
suppose you’re right.”

Lizzy
sounded disappointed. She certainly knew how to hold a grudge.

“Of
course,” said Mary. “Jacob’s almost always right. Not as often as me, since I’m
perfect, which you really need to remember, but he’s getting close. We just
have to work on his pessimism and bathing habits. Yours too.”

“If you
weren’t already on the ground,” growled Lizzy. “I’d knock you over again.”

Mary
stuck out her tongue. “Nyah, nyah.”

*
* *

“What
should our new castle look like?”

Mary was
riding with me as we drove back to the Nebraska National Forest, a notepad and
pencil in her hands.

“Is it
going to be a castle, a real one, or cinderblock like before?”

“Don’t
know exactly,” I replied. “We’ll use concrete wherever we can, for convenience,
but I think there’ll be some actual stone. No, there will be lots and lots of
rock used. We are going to get tons of it just from clearing the areas we want
to plant things in, and there’s no shortage lying about everywhere else. I’ll
talk to those with real building experience when we get back.”

“It will
be more comfortable too. Since we have the narrow entrance which will be walled
off, we have an early defensive point. So the fort – let’s call it a citadel
instead – will be more of a spot for leadership to live, official business to
be handled, and as a place to go in case the entrance wall is breached. We’ll
build a little town at the base of the hill so people can have real houses.”

“Houses?”
asked Mary. “Or are we talking more cabins?”

“Probably
cabins at first, but if we find the lumber or build our own mill somehow, we
can construct real houses to replace them. We can wall off the town too, I
suppose, but that might be overkill. No zombie is going to get into that
valley, ever, so we won’t have to be nearly as careful as we have been. You
could even go outside at night more often.”

“Let’s
build a club.”

“You are
way too young to be drinking.”

She
laughed. “I get to carry a gun and shoot. I can drive your Jeep too, when you
aren’t being all whiny and possessive.”

“Killing
zombies, which is redundant since they are already dead…”

“Wow,”
she interrupted. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Shush.
Killing them, or even raiders, is something for all ages. Drinking is for
adults, except during holidays.”

“Fine,
but we should still build one. We can have dances.” Mary smirked at my
expression of distaste. “Don’t you like dancing Jacob?”

“Hate
it, and no making fun of me. Okay, write this down. We want the wall at the
entrance to be out of sight until you are right up to it. We might have to
curve it. The watch point should have easy access, maybe a ladder that can be
pulled up, so the scouts don’t have to go to the gate. It would be bad if they
were shot trying to get back inside. We want twelve feet high with battlements
going up another three or four so no one can jump and grab the edge. It needs
to be wide, wider than the castle one, with dirt and rubble filling the area
between the stone. The inner stone needs to be thicker too.”

“Why’s
that?”

Mary was
writing everything down and drawing little pictures to help illustrate. The
unicorn on top was likely unnecessary.

“Dirt
will cushion it and allow the thing to take more strikes from heavy weapons.
Constantinople did something similar right before it fell. The Turks were
hitting the walls with cannons. At night, the people jammed reeds and sticks
into the breaches and filled them with dirt or whatever was available. This did
better than stone itself. The back wall should be thicker so that if the front
gets all ripped up, the back will still be solid. That’ll make rebuilding
easier, or, I think it will, maybe. We’ll ask someone who actually knows for
certain, if we can find anybody.”

I
continued on. “The citadel will have a stone curtain wall, same construction
and height, surrounding it. There will be a gatehouse instead of a single gate
like we have now. This will be a tower that goes up twenty feet, two stories.
It will have an outer wood door, big and heavy, and an inner wood door too.
We’ll put holes in the floor and ceiling. Then up top, we’ll have big steel
bars that we can slide down to fit in these so even if someone gets through the
door, or burns it, they’ll find the way blocked.”

“Why not
a simple, um, metal thingee that goes up and down like in the movies?”

“A
portcullis would be better,” I admitted. “Okay, we’ll have one of those. We’ll
stick it in front of the outer door. We can cover it in sheet metal to deal
with the fire issue.”

“Your
pole idea is stupid anyway.” Mary paused. “It might have been good if you
welded swords to them and had them spinning.”

“Now
you’re being sillier than me.” I tried to push the thought of zombies getting
decapitated by a giant blender from my mind, with little success. “I think
there should be a tower, again twenty feet high, at each of the front corners,
extending forward of the walls.”

“Why’s
that?” she asked.

“If
someone runs up and tries to climb the wall or plant a bomb, the people on it
can shoot down. Those in the towers can shoot sideways. So anyone outside can
get hit from three directions at once.”

“You’re
twisted. You know that?”

“Briana
says so all the time.”

“Want
towers in the back too?”

I
considered this, then shook my head. “Too much trouble. Well, if the front ones
go up fast, we’ll do them. If not, we can add them later. And the wall will be
first. Make a note of that. The entrance wall first thing, the citadel wall second.
Then we do the cabins and citadel itself at the same time. No.”

“For
God’s sake Jacob.” She reached over and slapped my shoulder. “Don’t be changing
your mind right after I write something down.”

“Sorry.
We do the entrance wall first. We do the citadel wall second. We do the cabins
third, unless weather starts getting iffy. If that happens they go right after
the entrance wall. Citadel and storehouses go last. The storehouses will be
along the inside of the wall. The citadel will stand in the center. That will
be a large square keep, like the Tower of London. And lots of barrack type
buildings too. If we do have to run in there, I want places to put people.”

“This is
going to be hard.”

I
nodded. “No way it can be done this year, even with all the heavy machinery
we’re going to drag up there. But we can get the entrance wall up and check the
hills to make sure every other way into the valley is blocked. That covers most
of what we need and gives us a good defensive position. The citadel walls are a
secondary fallback. The citadel itself is really third and not that important.
Actually, let’s call the walls the citadel and drop the keep entirely.”

She
began to scribble furiously. “You have to stop doing that!”

“I know.
Again, I’m sorry. Let’s up the citadel walls to sixteen feet instead of twelve,
make them about eight feet thick, same for the entrance wall, with the normal
battlements on top. The gatehouse and towers can be twenty four feet with
battlements on top too. We can build a big meeting hall inside, storerooms,
barracks, houses for the leadership, armory, an infirmary or hospital, all that
stuff, and several large cisterns to hold water. We can’t be digging a well
through all that rock, so we need to store lots of it.”

“We’re
partway downhill,” said Mary. “We use pipes or make grooves or something so
when it rains, the water that hits the hill comes into the citadel. We can
store it then.”

“That’s
a good point too. Write that down.”

“Already
did,” she replied, smugly.

“Okay,
feel free to call Lizzy and tell her what we have so far.”

Interlude – Briana’s Story

Once
more we shall address what happened while I was gone and Briana wielded sole,
ultimate authority over the castle and its environs. Did she abuse her
position? Were the peons forced to labor endlessly for her glories? Did Briana
order the assassination of her enemies? The answer is no. She’s really quite
easy going and not at all inclined to pushing others around, well, not unless
she’s in a bad mood or you are stupid enough to disagree with her.

Several
important things occurred while I was off in the Black Hills. This is in
addition to the ceaseless efforts at getting everyone situated, comfortable,
and killing enough cattle and deer to make certain there was plenty of food
available, in a manner that meant we weren’t cutting too deep into our reserves
of canned goods.

First of
all, contact was restored with Salt Lake City. Unfortunately, this wasn’t with
the city itself but instead with those fleeing it. Utah no longer has an
organized group of survivors, excluding the raiders who, being outside of humanity,
don’t count as people. You know, it was always something. We could never have a
stretch of good news or even regular news. Bad things just have to happen.

The
information concerning Salt Lake City came about as a result of the prophet
conquering the place. That’s right. He took it, completely. Worse, this
happened far, far faster than we ever thought possible. The details are fuzzy,
and those who escaped provided conflicting information, guaranteeing a high
degree of confusion and plenty of headaches. There were some consistencies
though, and it appears a combination of the plague, which afflicted more than
we’d been led to believe, and the raiders’ actions led to the defeat.

Striking
multiple locations at night, simultaneously, the gang set fires at the borders
of all the primary settlements and outposts. These included the medical
facilities where the sick were being treated. They also rode in on their bikes
and tossed firebombs and grenades through doors and windows. Then they quickly
pulled back and began using rifles to take pot shots at anyone attempting to
extinguish the flames.

It
didn’t take long before people began to run off. A few died in the fires, more
from bullets. The bulk who perished that night were the victims of traps and
ambushes. Less than half of the prophet’s followers were involved with the
initial attacks. The remainder waited along the routes most likely to be taken
by anyone trying to flee. Mines were planted, often ad hoc explosives, and
machine guns set up. The resulting carnage was horrible.

As to
their weapons, let me say that the more I hear, the greater my concern grows.
The ones who attacked us were well equipped, but it was mostly small arms, such
as assault rifles, with a smattering of heavier weapons, including rocket
launchers. The other bands seem to be better supplied. Maybe they looted a
military base recently, or perhaps they had more to begin with. I have no way
of knowing. They did possess ground to air missiles however, and a total of
three aircraft were shot down by the bastards. Where was it coming from? And
where could I go to get some?

Now,
they didn’t kill everyone, not even close, but the survivors believed at least
ten thousand were dead, with roughly half from disease and the rest killed
during that dreadful night or the earlier battles. Worse, the raiders continued
to press their advantage. They quickly targeted more farms, burning the crops
and taking or slaughtering the livestock. With the available food supply
dwindling, the remaining population began to lose hope. A few ran off,
generally without saying a word. Then more and more began to follow suit.

There
were many who chose to fight, and I applaud them. Yet, they didn’t know where
the gang was based. It was believed to be somewhere south of the city in the
mountains, but no one had found their camp. All the defenders could do was
attempt to react to raider attacks or hit them on those rare occasions when
their paths crossed. Not knowing where to go, they were incapable of striking back
directly. The lack of information was stifling.

The
fighting was brutal, and in the end several hundred of the bad guys were
killed. I’ll give two thumbs up for that, even if I do wish, along with the
sane portions of the human race, that it had been all of them. But the deaths
remained lopsided, and the prophet seemed determined to keep going no matter
what. The people from Salt Lake City lacked this resolve.

As it
stands now, the city itself and the land surrounding it are largely, if not
completely, devoid of the breathing. There might be a few of the original
inhabitants here and there in hiding, but not many. The only upside is that the
zombies are mostly gone too. Between those eliminated by the survivors prior to
the arrival of our patch wearing nemesis, and all the ones the raiders killed
themselves, the region is pretty clear. It is my opinion, and of many others,
that the raiders are currently looting the city and seized settlements for
food, weapons, and whatever else they might need or want. Perhaps the lack of
zombies is, instead, a negative.

We also
know that they have not yet approached Wyoming, other than sending a few
scouting parties out, and those fleeing in that direction said they were not
pursued. Part of this is likely to give them time to collect what they want
from the city. Also, it might be possible that the prophet’s people caught the
bug that had so hindered the defenders. Some of the monsters had taken the time
to rape people already infected or sick, more than a few of whom were on their
deathbed. Disturbing, all around. That will slow them, and it is likely that
several weeks will pass before they start moving again.

As to
those who made it to Wyoming, they were the minority of the survivors from Salt
Lake City. As it fell apart, most headed in other directions, vanishing into
the wilderness or driving down highways and back roads trying to put as much
distance between the raiders, or where the raiders were likely to go next, and
themselves. Most have a pretty good idea how to stay alive in our zombie
plagued world, and we can only hope for the best.

*
* *

“What
you got for me Harlan?” Briana took a seat in the kitchen, Asher bundled in a
blanket and held securely in her arms.

“More
from Wyoming, some general information being sent to everyone, nothing location
specific.”

She
nodded. Important, detailed news was being transmitted almost exclusively by
messenger.

“We have
some more on the disease. That’s the big thing.”

Briana
perked up. “A cure?”

“Not
exactly.” Harlan took a sip of his drink, rattling the cup as he set it on the
table. “They confirmed it is not influenza or any variation of it like bird
flu.”

I’m
going to interject here, even if it is Briana’s interlude, and point out that
very few people, myself included, thought it was the flu, even if the symptoms
did mimic that disease. Aside from the fact the people there had real doctors
and scientists who should have been able to tell if this was the case outright,
I find the death toll impossible. They had no shortage of medication, and,
again, they had the professionals who knew how to best administer it. The
entire thing made little sense. I’m somewhat getting used to things not making
sense.

“What
was it then?”

“I wrote
down the medical terms they gave, probably misspelled them. I don’t understand
much of it, but it’s bad.”

“How bad
are we talking? Come on Harlan. I need to know.”

“It’s a
virus – they know that for certain – which is spread by direct contact as well
as being airborne, sneezes and coughing on someone for instance. It is easy to
get, but a bunch of people who were around the sick the entire time never
caught it, so some might be naturally immune.”

“That’s
something,” she acknowledged.

“You
have about a twenty percent death rate.” He closed his eyes and took a deep
breath. “Those who made it to Wyoming didn’t have actual numbers, but they said
close to five thousand were dead of it with maybe half their total group,
around twenty five thousand, getting sick at some point. Even smallpox didn’t
use to have so many falling ill, not that fast.”

“You
sure about that?”

“Personally,
no. They said that’s what they were told. Now, there was a lot of bad hygiene,
not washing regularly, living in close contact, questionable sanitation. The
doctors said that contributed. It probably wouldn’t have been so bad before
everything fell apart.”

“Can
they cure it though?” pressed Briana. “Any news on that? And if it reaches us,
what do we do?”

“They
don’t think it will. Everyone from Salt Lake City has been quarantined in the
southwestern corner of Wyoming. They’re keeping them there until they make sure
it’s contained. Might work too, what with so few people nowadays.”

“Raiders
could spread it,” she pointed out.

“Yeah,
but they seem to be holding still. That’s what I heard on the radio.”

Briana
leaned down to waggle a finger in front of Asher. He was finally awake, meaning
she only had a few minutes before he decided he was hungry.

“It has
a short run too,” continued Harlan. “People who are exposed and catch it get
sick in a few days, three or four. They stay sick for roughly two weeks, with
another week where they lose the symptoms but are exhausted. They aren’t
contagious at that point.”

“And the
symptoms are coughing, sneezing, stuff like that?”

He
nodded. “That’s what they said, just like the flu, only really, really bad.”

“What
about treatment?”

Harlan’s
nervousness grew. “Nothing. They have nothing at all.”

“So they
can’t give Advil or Tylenol or any other drug? Everything is useless?”

“Not
exactly.”

“You’re
starting to piss me off Harlan, and my hormones are still out of whack, making
me irrational and mean.”

“Sorry.
You can treat symptoms, cough syrup for coughing, aspirin for fever, that sort
of thing. That will help, and they said to definitely do it. But… But, they
don’t have anything for the virus itself. They tried all sorts of the big
anti-viral drugs, but none worked. They don’t even know what the virus is.” His
voice grew more strained. “It might be something totally new!”

“Calm
down Harlan,” she ordered, sternly.

He
listened, or tried to. Even though he was well over twice her age, it was very
clear who was in charge, and there was no arguing.

“But
Briana, this is something new. They don’t know where it came from or how it
started or nothing. The military people were told about it, before they all
ran, but they hadn’t seen it anywhere else. They said it could be related to
the zombies.”

“No way.
If it came from the zombies it would be everywhere, just like they’re
everywhere.” Briana tugged on her hair with her free hand. Asher found this
amusing and began to make cute little laughing sounds. “New diseases show up
all the time. We all know that, but it could be a variation on an existing one,
a mutation. That happens too. I wouldn’t worry too much about the origin. They
only had a few weeks to research. That’s not a long time, especially without
big labs and lots of scientists and assistants and all that stuff.”

“I
didn’t really think about it that way,” he admitted.

“See,
just a normal bug that is really nasty, probably because of the living
conditions, like they said. We just hope it doesn’t spread past that area. At
least the Ranching Collective has them under wraps to prevent this.”

“They
really don’t like it when you call them that.”

Briana
snorted. “Like I care. Besides, Mary has most everyone here using it. Half the
people who came back with Lizzy call the refugee ranches that now. You wait and
see. It’ll be made official before Christmas rolls around.”

*
* *

My
sweetie wasn’t quite as confident as she tried to sound. A disease that
virulent, showing up so unexpectedly, was a major news event. It rarely ever
happened. The ease and speed with which it spread was more than a little
troublesome as well. It could be related to the zombies, probably not directly
caused by them or we would have seen it elsewhere, but perhaps being connected
to whatever was re-animating the dead. They were so far removed from the laws
of science that a new plague was easy to imagine, especially one that likewise
made little sense. I’m back to things not making sense. It’s a bad trend.

I’m also
going to give one more tidbit of information during this interlude. Sofie
passed away while I was off in the Black Hills. She’d finished reading some
fairy tales to the children who then went outside to play. Steph thought she
fell asleep in her rocking chair shortly afterwards, something that happened
frequently, and it wasn’t until just before dinner when Yvonne came by to make
certain Sofie had taken her medicine that it was discovered she was gone. At
least it had been peaceful.