Zombie Dawn II: A Zombie Apocalypse Sequel (7 page)

Anyway, she started it, and I’m glad
she did.  First the kissing, then the touching.  She was rough, and so was I,
at first, but we slowed down a bit.  Now I know what they mean when they say
heavy breathing.  We were like two race horses at the end of a race, but we
were just starting.

I won’t tell you all of the details.
Couldn’t even begin.   But her breasts, her neck, her ears.  Her
smell—cinnamon, swamp, sweat.  Her heat.  Her thighs.  Her wetness.  That
smell.  You either know what I’m talking about, or you hope to find out.

Neither of us had ever done this
before, and sometimes it was frustrating as we figured out what went where. 
But we’d both just laugh, take a second, figure it out, and take the next
step.  It all felt really good, even the laughter.

We did stuff I’d only dreamed about,
for hours, over and over again, and fell asleep in each other’s arms.  I am in
love.

Chapter 22:    Jack’s
Journey—Bat Cave

After our trip to the woods, I was
really glad to approach Burlington.  We came in slowly, staying well away from
the Armory, as we made our way to what Mike used to call the Bat Cave.  I told
Micah about all of the stuff we had cached there, and about Barry and Elliott,
Brick and Edith, and how Mike used to name everything.  I ended up crying a few
times, because those days, before Mike and Kate were taken, were the last happy
times I’d known.  Or might ever know again.

We arrived at the Bat Cave without
incident.  It had not been disturbed and was still abandoned.  We didn’t see
anyone, human or zombie, as we came in.  I guess that was due to our
eradication efforts, Santos’ zombie army, and the passage of time.  But it was
good to see, since my Plan A was to eventually clean up and re-settle
Burlington—if all went well.

One thing I had remembered to bring,
or maybe I still had it in my pocket and just brought it along, was the key to
the front door at the Bat Cave.  It was nice to have something work out OK for
once.  We waited until dark, then a bit longer.  I explained to Micah how we’d
“clear” the place.

“First, I go in and find cover. 
Then, I’ll point to you and you get to a place where you can cover me.  Then,
I’ll move, and cover you when you move.  We’ll do that until we have done the
entire house, basement to attic.  Got it?”

“Sure, Jack, just like those TV
shows, right?”

“Yeah, Micah.  Just like TV.  Make
sure you shut the front door after you are in.  Lock it, too.  And don’t touch
anything.  I left a few booby traps in there.  Just cover me, do what I say,
and don’t touch anything.”

“Roger that, Jack.”

“Jesus Christ, Micah.  Just don’t
touch anything.”

When I knew the place was unoccupied,
we went in.  It had the feel of emptiness.  You know it when you feel it.  For
example, a house like that will always be a little colder than the outside. 
Dusty.  Silent, but with some house noises, creaking and stuff.  Of course, it
was pitch dark and our batteries were low, so it was still pretty creepy.

I started with the front hall, and we
cleared the first floor.  Micah handled it like a champ.  He looked so good
doing it that I could tell he’d watched more than his share of TV.  If he’d
have had his safety off, it would have been perfect.  But I could tell the
house was empty, so I didn’t tell him about the safety.

We headed down into the basement. 
All of the supplies down there seemed fine.  We quickly cleared the rest of the
house, too.

I had one of those “fuck it” moments
and started up the generator.  To my surprise, it started right up.  We’d put
stabilizer in the fuel, but I expected it to go bad.  Micah fired up the wood
stove in the kitchen, and we broke out some chow, cooked it, stuffed ourselves,
and fell asleep.  Not really a military type operation, but it was worth it.

After a couple hours of sleep, I
decided to fire up the short wave and raise the Farm.  Again, to my surprise,
it worked perfectly and Sean answered immediately.  I started to snivel a bit
when I heard his voice, and he did too.  We spent a few minutes catching up. He
told me all about all of his projects and the clean up after the battle.  I
told him how much I loved him and how proud I was and to be brave.  He got
Bobbie and she brought me up to speed, too.  I thanked her for saving me at the
end of the battle.  She got a kick out of that but got right back to business.

“Did you get Mommy yet?”

“No, baby, but I’ll do my best.”

“I miss you.  I even miss Mike.”

“Yeah, me too.  I hope we’ll all be
together soon.  I love you Bobbie.  Hang tough.  Can you get Uncle Jim?”

“I’m right here little brother.  Why
the fuck did you run off like that?  I have a team ready to go, just say the
word.”

“Jim, I don’t even know if they are
alive.  All I caught was that one glimpse.  We can’t risk the Farm if this is
just a wild goose chase.  Just hunker down, stay safe, guard my kids, and fix
things up.  I don’t want to have to do any cleaning when I get back there.”

“It’s all done you lazy fucker.  I’ll
take care of it.  We’ll be here when you get back.”

“Over and out.  Watch those kids and
your own ass, dumbshit.”

Some things never change.

Anyway, I got a bit more sleep.  Woke
up around eight, to the smell of Micah cooking breakfast.  Followed by the
sound of the security alarms.  I’d forgotten about those, but the Bat Cave was
wired up with motion detectors and even security cameras.  I pulled up the
video and saw an ugly looking human motherfucker and a bunch of brains and
wolves approach the house.  The human started down the walk with a few
shamblers, while the brains and wolves circled around to the back.

“You take the front,” I whispered to
Micah.  “Take the damn safety off and make sure you are loaded up.  If the door
opens, blast away and don’t stop.  I left a second 12 gauge there for you next
to the stairs.”

“You got it, Jack.”  He seemed almost
excited.

I’d taken care to clean and reload my
M-4 and put a suppressor on it.  I went to one of the disguised firing ports
we’d built into the second floor and waited as I watched the brain and the
wolves on video.  We’d set up the back yard to funnel any attackers towards the
firing ports.  Sean actually came up with it.  It worked perfectly.  You could
tell the brain wanted to spread out, but he couldn’t.  The brain and six wolves
ended up right in my sights.  I lined them up and lit them up with the
suppressor.  First, body and leg shots to put them down, followed with kill
shots to keep them down.  Like shooting fish in a barrel.

When they were down, I moved silently
around the side of the house to the front.  I couldn’t see the rest of them, so
I figured they were at the front door.  I was right.  All of sudden, Micah
opens up with his 12 gauge.  I come around the corner, and about five shamblers
are down with that human gorilla barrel- assing down the front walk.  Micah
shot him in the ass with birdshot and he stumbled.  Just as I lined the fucker
up, I saw a zombie coming from the left.  I guess I hadn’t put them all down
for good.  As I turned to meet the threat, Micah nailed it with a triple tap. 
I snapped off a quick shot at the human, think I hit him, but he kept moving.

“You did great, Micah, just perfect.”

He actually blushed.  “You were
really good, too, Jack.”

I blushed too.

“We’re pretty lucky to be alive.  Now
I know they are at the Armory.  We need to go scope that out.  We may be able
to get some reinforcements if things go well.”

I checked Micah’s face.  “Are you
sure you want to stay with me, Micah?  You can go to the Farm if you want. 
This is really dangerous.”

“I’m with ya all the way, Jack.”

“Thanks, Buddy.  You are a good man. 
Now finish that breakfast, would you?”

Chapter
23:  Kate’s Diary—A New Addition

Just when you think this place
couldn’t get any weirder, it does.  Bonnie told me that Mariana had a baby yesterday. 
I have seen her each and every day, including yesterday and today, and I had no
idea she was even pregnant.

I always had some suspicions about
her and Santos.  He was such a creep, always touching and fondling her.  I
figured he was the father.  She often stayed in his room, many times with
others.  Including Joumana.  Santos seemed so gay, I always thought it must be
for military planning or some other administrative task.  Now I knew what he
was up to.

Come to think of it, maybe Santos had
fathered Joumana’s baby as well.  The only male members of the Inner Core were
gay, and I doubt any human would dare touch her.  It had to be him.

Seeing Joumana and Mariana around each
other and the two babies seems to confirm my suspicion.  You can pick up
telepathic chatter from them.  They each hate the other, and they’d each love
to kill the other’s baby.  Joumana fears Santos, and Mariana loves him.  I
guess that keeps them from doing it.

At least they don’t let me down there
anymore.  They know I’d do my very best to kill both of them.

Chapter
24  Mike’s Journal—Shooting With Ian

I was a pretty good shot, but Ian was
a different story.  Like a home-taught guitarist meeting Carlos Santana or
Jimmy Page.  He spent hours and hours pacing off distances along highways and
open spaces, muttering about that “wanker,” Furlong, and that “mutton head”
Harrison.  Turns out Furlong was a Canadian sniper who nailed a Taliban at 2400
yards.  Harrison beat him by nailing two Taliban, in a row, at 2700 yards. 
That’s over a mile and a half.

Furlong and Harrison were in a war
situation.  They had to hide. Their enemies tried to hide.  They had limited
opportunity.  Ian and I, on the other hand, had almost unlimited opportunity. 
And we kicked the shit out of Harrison’s record.

Ian would set up overlooking an
interstate highway.  He’d use paint to mark each 100 meter mark.  He would not
start closer than 2,000 meters, and he’d mark out to 3,300 meters.  That’s over
two miles.  The sweet spot was 3219 meters.  That’s two miles.  Ian would paint
a red cross right there.  We’d set up some debris so that the zombies would get
stuck right at the cross.  It takes two or three seconds for the bullet to get
there at that distance, so you need a static target in order to have a chance.

Then, we’d set up something that made
a lot of noise, usually an old battery powered radio playing loud Led
Zeppelin,  near the cross, and we’d each man our shooting stations, then wait. 
During the wait, we’d exchange stories.

Ian’s stories blew mine away, but
he’d still listen.  He seemed to enjoy hearing boring details of a teenage
boy’s life almost as much as I enjoyed his stories of his training,
deployments, and his horrible childhood.  I guess boring can be good sometimes. 
Ian got more enjoyment over my unsuccessful attempts to feel a boob at the
movies than I did at his explicit descriptions of gory combat, extreme
training, and weekend benders with special forces groupies.

Anyway, the zombies would ultimately
end up lined up in the kill zone.  To score, you had to call your shot, usually
by shirt color, and it had to be the first one in line.  Head shots were
double.

Ian could actually control his pulse
and blood pressure.  Bio feedback and meditation.  He’d tried to teach me how,
but I didn’t get it.

At two miles out, the slightest bit
of wind will throw the shot way off target.  We could practice the drop, but
the drift was the hard part.  Basically, you had to aim about seven feet above
the target, then estimate the wind and aim, say, three feet to the right as
well.  It was more art than science.

Ian was amazing.  I’d watch through
my scope as he fired and spot for him.  First shot, two zombies to the left. 
Second shot, one zombie to the left.  Third shot—headshot.  Fourth
shot—headshot.  Fifth shot—missed, but nailed a zombie in the third row.

Then it was my turn.   First shot
low, fifty yards up the road.  Second shot, never saw it.  Third shot, nailed a
zombie in the pack.  Fourth shot, nailed a zombie in the third row.  Finally,
with my fifth shot, I nailed the right zombie but in the chin and neck.

Since the head came right off, Ian
gave me that one, so the score was 2 to 1 after the first round.

“It was your gun, asshole.  Your max
range is 1400 meters, mine is 800.”

“You whining Yank.  Your bloody gun
should shoot as straight as mine.  It’s just my native British superiority that
lets me shoot better.”

“It’s on, bitch.  Switch guns and
start over.”

So we did.  He made me go first.  I
had a great round.  Part because of the hardware, part because of the
practice.  I caught the wind perfectly.  My first round was a squidge high but
then I nailed three in a row, all headshots.  My last shot actually drilled
three zombies, but not the one I was aiming at.

Ian had a bit of trouble.  His gun
was a bit better, so the adjustment to mine was a bit harder.  When the wind
started to swirl, I thought I had him.  He missed low, missed right, then
nailed two in a row.  His last shot hit the target in the right shoulder.  After
two rounds, the game was tied at four.