Authors: John Hornor Jacobs
Gus cleared his throat. “Um . . . Mom?”
She smiled at him and patted the seat next to her. He walked over and sat down.
“Do you remember our trip to Costa Rica?”
“Yes . . . but what on earth does that have to do with why we’re here?”
Joblownski, leaning past the silent Engineer Broadsword, waved his hand at her. “Doc, let him talk.”
Wallis sat back down and poured himself some water from a ceramic pitcher. Joblo’s new still has reputedly been producing water as clean as bottled. I poured myself a glass. It was quite nice, but there was a hint of charcoal.
“You remember the zip-lines we went on? Had to stand in lines for hours?”
She nodded.
“I’m thinking deer stands.”
Wallis laughed. The council members have become used to Gus’s oblique way of getting to the point.
Joblo stood, excited. “I hear you. We put them on the ridge. With the walkie-talkies I’ve managed to get to work. Sniper rifles.”
“Hold on, everyone.” Wallis stood and walked around the table to put a hand on Gus’s shoulder.
“Slow down and tell us what you’re talking about.”
Gus tapped his finger on the map. “Here. This ridge. We place deer stands in the tree lines, men with scoped hunting rifles, flares, radios. Spread them out over miles.” He ran his finger along the map. I was beginning to see it.
I began scribbling in shorthand, stopped, and asked, “But why did you mention the zip-lines?”
He smiled at me as if he had been waiting for someone to ask that question.
“Revs will cluster around trees or buildings where they can smell or hear the living. The zip-lines will give anyone in deer stands the ability to get away, quickly, unless they’re totally mobbed, which is unlikely.” He turned back to the map. “We dig ditches that will be hard for Bradleys to cross.”
“They must’ve recruited some mechanic or engineer who understood the effects of the EMP enough to combat it. To repair the damaged electronics or replace them,” said Joblo.
“These will be moats, actually. Here. Chop down miles of trees across every approaching road and train track. This will help in keeping out the zeds as well, so we can consider it a quality of life issue.”
“Moats? It’s like we’re going medieval,” I said.
Gus raised an eyebrow and looked at me. “We have no electricity. We live in a fortified enclosure, under siege, with guards on the walls. I’d say medieval is exactly what we are. In fact, it’s what I had in mind when I designed the bridge defenses.”
“Oh.” I looked around the command tent and saw expressions of dawning understanding. Knock-Out just smiled. When he saw me looking at him, he winked.
God, he looked horrible. I did my best to smile back.
Wallis grunted, drained his water, and then said, “Okay, all that is fine and dandy, but it has nothing to do with what we’re talking about. The slavers are mobilizing. They’ll be coming for us. What are we gonna do?”
Everyone remained silent for a while. Then Knock-Out stood, brushed his loose-fitting jeans, and spoke.
“This bridge, this community we’re building here, right now it’s the most important thing in the world. Did you know that?” He looked around at me, at Broadsword and Joblo and Wallis. Then, coming to Doc Ingersol, he put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
“After the bombs went off, and the dead rose, the televisions and radios stopped working, we were lost—Lucy, Gus, and me. But we made our way north, through the masses of living dead, and found Wallis. And together, all of us, we’ve made this community. This city. And as far as we know, it’s the only place like it in the world now, where people live free with some semblance of safety. Who knows what it’s like in California or New York or China, for that matter? We were lucky to be so remote. This is our
life
now.”
He stopped and bowed his head, giving us all a good look at his newly bald skull.
“We can’t give this up, what we’ve made.” He spoke very quietly into the stillness of the tent. “So that means we have to defend it. Or take the war to them. But we can’t run. We’ll never run.”
There was no dissent. Wallis smacked a hand down on the table.
“Agreed. We’ve worked too hard here and in reclaiming Tulaville to let some filthy . . . goddamned . . . slaver come take it all away from us.” The profanity, coming from Wallis, made me nervous. He’s a religious man, conducted services on Sunday. And when he said “goddamned,” the look on his face was terrifying.
“So, I think we should do both. Take the war to them, right down their throats, like Gus and Keb did, but this time with greater purpose. More aggressively. And that means we have to muster a militia. Maybe even institute a draft.”
“A draft will never work, so let’s take that off the table right now.” Doc Ingersol’s eyes shone bright, alarmed.
“Why not?”
“Okay. You’ve got a draft and my number comes up. I refuse. What are you gonna do about it?”
“Kick you out of our community. Put you beyond the wall.”
“Are you going to lure the revs away?”
“No. Waste of manpower.”
“So you’re saying you’re going to kill the people who refuse.”
“No. I’m not. We’re just going to put them beyond the wall. Maybe downriver.”
“You’ll waste the gas?”
Wallis fell silent.
“I thought so. You can’t kill people who refuse, otherwise we’d be the slavers.” She pulled Ellie’s mouth from her breast, covered herself, and then said, “Quentin, I think you’ll be surprised at how easy it will be to form a willing army. Everyone here is thankful for Bridge City. We’re not going to let it be taken away from us.”
Gus coughed. “We have to take the fight to them. It’s too dangerous otherwise.”
Wallis peered at him, and Joblo said, “What do you mean?”
Gus held up his missing hand, and I could imagine him holding up his index finger to make a point.
“We’re all infected,” he said. “Every one of us. And when you die, you rise.” He let that sink in. “So, if I was attacking us, I’d have snipers picking off people inside the gates, so that the general populace could be turned against itself, giving the advancing army room to maneuver. Shoot enough people, you’ve created a small force of saboteurs right in their midst.”
“The attacking army has the same weakness,” said Wallis.
“True. But their army isn’t confined inside walls, fences.”
“Hell, son, it’s a risky business all around. If everyone rises, it’s a three-way running battle. There’s always another army nipping at your heels or eating away at your insides.”
Gus nodded in agreement. “Yes. But I sure would rather be on the other side of the fence from the revs.”
There was a pause then, and people helped themselves to more water, and Wallis shared the last of the Johnnie Walker. It went quick, but not before I managed to get a glassful.
“So here’s the way I see it,” Wallis said. “We need to know how we’re gonna take the fight to them. Motorcycles worked once, but we lost Jasper and nearly lost Gus. I don’t want thirty-three percent of my force lost. When you’re a commander, that’s a not unreasonable expectation. We don’t have enough people to lose. So whatever ideas you have, make sure they take into account the welfare of the attacking force.” He looked around. “Understood?”
There were general murmurs of acceptance.
“How long until the slavers will be mobile? Any idea?” Gus asked.
“Stevens says most of their manpower is currently occupied flushing out and capturing pockets of survivors in Oklahoma, Louisiana, and the panhandle. It looks slow, but they’re gaining momentum. And the fact that they have gas reserves makes them especially dangerous.”
“How long?”
“Five to ten months maybe. No way to know, really.”
Grumbling and coughs. Engineer Broadsword rubbed his face as if stemming tears. Joblownski cleared his throat and said, “We’ll figure something out.”
Doc Ingersol, holding the baby, stood and waved everyone away like she was shooing a flock of chickens—her manner of dismissing a meeting. “Yes, we will. We’ll have to.”
Everyone filed out of the command tent, hushed and somber, except for Wallis and Knock-Out. Doc Ingersol gave Knock-Out a kiss and whispered something in his ear. He smiled wearily in return. I can’t imagine how hard it is for them. It doesn’t look like Knock-Out is going to make it. He and Wallis put their heads together and begin to talk. I wish I could have stayed and listened.
I have no doubt what they discuss will affect us all.
Gus walked me back to my tent, and when we got there, I didn’t wait. I kissed him.
He was surprised. He should have been. I wouldn’t want to be with him if he wasn’t surprised.
“Wha-what?” he stammered. “What was that for?”
“For including me.”
“I don’t know what—”
“Yes, you do. I saw your mother’s expression when I came in. I wasn’t expected. And you didn’t include me because of the idiotic minutes I’ve been taking. No one has even asked to look at the minutes.”
His face went from surprised to embarrassed to serious all in a moment, and I don’t know if it’s because I saw through his ploy or because of the minutes or because of the kiss.
“They are important. We just don’t know how important they are. Yet.” He looked down. Beyond me at the garden. Out at the river.
I kissed him again and this time there was more than a little heat in return.
When we separated, he said, “You’re important too. You ask the right questions. You listen with all of your head, don’t get all emotional, and don’t jump to conclusions. We need you to help us, as a group, as a community. To help lead.”
When he said that, it sent shivers down my spine. My arms rippled with goose bumps. They claim power is the ultimate aphrodisiac. It’s not like he was giving me a crown or anything. But to be more of a part of the councils, to have a voice in the future of our community and, consequently, the future of humankind . . . well, that’s something. That’s something.
More than I ever expected in college, that’s for certain. More than any doctor could have given me. More than any rich man.
I tried to get him to stay with me for the night. He blushed
uncontrollably, tried to rub his face with his missing hand. He stammered. I love him for it.
I laughed and remembered he’s still so young.
So now I’m finishing these “minutes” in my tent, by light of an LED flashlight, clacking away. God help the person who ever reads them. They’ll brand me a power-mad hussy.
They’ll be wrong.
Dap rides point, I follow, and Klein and Fulcher bring up the rear. The constant sway in the saddle chafes my ass, thighs, and calves horribly, even through motorcycle armor, but it beats working on the Wall.
Two days in the saddle, moving fast to keep ahead of the dead. A long time, longer than I’d like to admit, since I’ve been this close to them, outside the Wall, without people and multiple barricades between them and me. You can’t relax outside. Every noise is threatening, every broken twig a possible shambler. I hear them moaning through the trees, in the brush.
“We’re not gonna make it tonight, Broadsword,” Dap says, looking back at me and the others. Klein has his shotgun and hammer, and Fulcher has one of the old army M-16s and a crowbar tucked into his belt. I’ve got my pistol and a lever action .30-06, which makes me feel somewhat like a cowboy. And a trench shovel for a headknocker. But then the horse shifts, I almost topple off—again—and the illusion of cowboy is gone.
“So what do you suggest?”
“Revs don’t fuck with cattle or horses, so I suggest we put on a little speed, get up over this ridge, pasture the horses
somewhere before sundown, and find some nice trees to bunk down in.”
“Trees?”
“Hell, Eric, how do you think I kept my cattle alive for the last few years alone? Get used to bunking in trees.” He pats his saddlebags. “Don’t worry, pard, I got some stuff for you. And with luck, down by this crick, we can find magnolias.”
“Why magnolias?”
“Easy to climb.”
“Fulcher. Hop down
there and brain that shambler, will you, before his friends get here for the party?”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the lowest man on the goddamned totem pole.” Dap grunts and shifts in his nylon hammock. “I can’t climb down over you, now, can I?”
Fulcher remains quiet. He’s scared. I would be too.
“Gimme a sec and I’ll get down there with you.” Might as well help him out. If he’s ever gonna become an engineer, he’ll need to see us doing more than just distilling water and running gennies and collecting bricks. Hiding behind the Wall.
No thanks, just an exhalation of air. “Tell me when you’re ready,” I say at last.
Getting in and out of the small nylon hammocks Dap gave us is easier said than done. I swing my legs over to one side so I’m sitting, ass waffled by the weave. Hand on a branch, I tilt forward and try to find another branch with my foot.
No dice.
I lean more and almost fall out of the hammock. In the end, I’m hanging from my hands and scraping at the trunk with my feet.
“Goddamn, boys. Ain’t you ever camped before?” The tree rustles and the shambler below moans louder. From farther off, another moan answers. Then another.
“Shitload of ’em out there.” Klein clutches his shotgun to his chest.
“Better get down real quick and get those headknockers ready. If you don’t take these out quick-like, we’re gonna have to run for it. A mob forms around the tree, we’ll be stuck. For good.” He spits, not caring that we are below him. “Broadsword, there’s a branch to the left of you. Put your foot there.”
I snag the branch with my boot, steady myself, and find my way lower in the tree until I’m even with Fulcher. We look at each other, nod, and then drop to the ground. The shambler stands closest to me. It immediately issues a garbled, phlegmy sound and, wheeling, lurches at me. My collapsible trench shovel is strapped to my thigh with Velcro, so I walk backward, rip it out, flip open the blade, and screw it tight. Gotta keep distance between me and these things.