“Silver?” I asked. Charlie nodded smugly. I arched an eyebrow.
“What in the hell are we going to do with silver?”
“Silver bullion is an excellent trading commodity, young man,” he replied with a slight tone of righteous indignation. “Once the economy gets reestablished, you’ll be able to buy anything you want.” I shook my head at his logic.
“Mister Charlie, we have absolutely no use for silver, gold, paper money, or anything similar.” I pointed at the bullion in his hand and shook my head. “Enjoy the jam, but you can keep your silver.”
He shook his head in dismay as he put the pieces of silver back in the bag and went back to his van. Returning a moment later with yet two more of those purple cloth bags, he opened one and thrust it out at me. I looked inside and then back at him questioningly.
“Some good crystal meth,” he said in explanation. “There’s a dude up in Joelton who has a good cooking operation. This is some primo stuff.” He looked at me expectantly and I shook my head disgustedly. Charlie looked crestfallen as he pulled the string taut on the bag and opened the next bag. Inside were various assortments of pill bottles.
“I got all kinds of pain pills here. Percocet, hydrocodone, you name it.”
“Do you have any antibiotics?” I asked. Charlie bit his lower lip and shook his head. I shrugged.
“We could probably use some pain pills, but you don’t have enough that would make a trade with you worthwhile.”
“We could really use some food,” Charlie said softly. His wife nodded as she continued eating the jam. It didn’t look like she was going to save any for her husband. Charlie held the bag up again, a hopeful expression on his dirty face. I shrugged and shook my head.
“Do you have any real trade commodities?” I asked. “You know, ammunition, hygiene products, practical stuff,” I pointed at the jar of jam. “We could really use more mason jars and lids. Do you have anything like that?”
Charlie looked around and picked at his fingernails before responding. “We don’t have much,” he lamented. “I got about twenty rounds of ammunition, two bars of soap, some spare clothing, but no food. The missus and I have been eating Purina dog food for the last week,” he rubbed his face. “There’s places out there I don’t think has ever been scavenged, but there’re too many of those zombies in them buildings.”
I thought for a minute. “You know, dog food actually meets all of the nutritional needs, except for vitamin C. Dog’s don’t need vitamin C.”
I know, it sounded lame. At least Julie refrained from rolling her eyes. The other three looked at me questioningly, even the dogs. I cleared my throat and suddenly snapped my fingers. Retrieving one of my notepads from the truck, I sat on the tailgate and motioned Charlie over.
“Alright,” I said, opening the pad and clicking my pen, “you said you two travelled around and interacted with other people?” I asked. Charlie nodded but it was plain to see he was puzzled. “Good, information is always good. Tell me everywhere you’ve been and everyone you’ve seen. Tell me all about it.”
We gave them a dozen jars of various canned products in exchange for their information about the area and a dozen valiums. Charlie and Mary, although it was obvious they lacked a formal education, had excellent memories. They remembered specific places, names of people, how they were surviving, et cetera. I got tired of writing after about an hour and told them they had met their obligation. We departed with the promise to meet again in a month.
“I brought you guys a present,” Konya said after he had devoured a plateful. Rhonda hurriedly refilled it with a friendly smile as I looked at him questioningly.
“I found a few slightly used salt blocks for the cattle and two cases of motor oil, some of that synthetic stuff,” he said as he helped himself to another piece of cornbread to go with his lima beans. I whistled in appreciation.
“That’s awesome, Konya,” I said earnestly.
“Have you been travelling around much, Mister Konya?” Rhonda asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I have,” he replied.
“Hey, I meant to ask you,” I said, “what was the thing you said about the River Road people?”
“Out on River Road, there’re some people who have built a sizeable compound, and they aren’t very friendly toward strangers.”
“A compound?” I asked. Konya nodded.
“Yep. They’ve taken over what was once a rehab clinic on the banks of the Cumberland. It’s completely walled in with old cars that’ve been stacked up, barb wire, and other assorted junk,” he finally pushed his plate away and then wiped around his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “They also have the whole road blocked off. When I drove up, they were standing on top of their wall. There were five or six of them and they all had guns pointed at me.”
“Did they have anything to say?” I asked.
Konya chortled. “They told me in no uncertain terms I wasn’t welcome. I tried to talk to them and one of them shot at my feet.”
“Interesting,” I muttered and reached for the notepad.
“Are you going to stick around now, or are you going to keep being a lone wolf?” Julie asked.
“Julie,” I chastised. Rhonda gasped, but Konya chuckled.
“No, it’s okay,” he said and wiped his mouth. “I must be honest, it’s been hard being around people, but I’d like to stick around if the offer is still on the table.”
“That’s wonderful!” Julie responded. I reached out and shook his hand.
“We can put you up in the basement if you’d like,” I said. Konya nodded.
“I’d appreciate that, but I don’t want to impose. As soon as I can, I’d like to find my own place somewhere around here. Besides,” he added, “Number Four is pregnant and I’m pretty sure I know who the guilty party is,” he said as he eyed Number Two. Amazingly, Number Two reacted with a guilty expression, which made us laugh.
I stood up. “Let’s get you settled in and you can get a shower before the gang comes back. I’m sure they’ll be happy as hell to see you.”
Hello journal. The latest news is not good and it has taken me four days to work up the strength to write about this, so I’ll come right out with it - Big Mac, Joe, and Tommy are dead.
The mission was to go to a fuel reservoir located on Centennial Boulevard in an area known as Cockril Bend. A couple of months ago, Zach, Rowdy, and Fred had scouted it out and found a fully loaded tanker truck parked there. It seemed like a great plan. The route was a straight shot down Briley Parkway. There were no blockages, only an occasional abandoned car.
Everything was going perfectly and we made good time. When we arrived, there was nobody else around, only a few rotting bastards who died quickly. The tanker was still sitting there, undisturbed and gathering dust. Mac tinkered with the truck’s big diesel engine and got it running in less than ten minutes. Everyone was cheering.
Joe and Tommy were riding with Mac in the truck. She was going to teach them how to drive it. Fred gave the okay and we headed out. Fred, Terry and I, were lead security and were riding about a hundred yards ahead. Chet and his friends were rear security. The potholes were awful, but not unexpected. We carefully inspected the bridges and determined they were safe, but unfortunately, we didn’t look closely at the curving on-ramp. Mac was driving the truck up the ramp when the front right wheel hit one of those potholes. The weight of the truck caused the road to give way. Mac never had a chance to recover. The truck rolled over and exploded almost instantly. Chet’s van was too close. They were caught in the fireball and killed as well. There was nothing we could do for them. We couldn’t retrieve the bodies because the fire was threatening to consume the entire reservoir at any minute. Fred assured us there would be nothing to recover. Only three of us, Fred, Terry, and I survived. We were holding up okay until the secondary explosion, and then we wept openly on the way back, even Fred.
So, here is my report dearest Journal: on March 14
th
, a beautiful sunny day filled with bright blue skies and puffy clouds, six people died a horrible fiery death. Big Mac (Mackenzie), Tommy (Thomas), Joe (Joseph), Cami (I’ve no idea what her real name was), Chet, and Richard are the fatalities. I’m not normally a religious person, but I hope they’re all in heaven now. - Andie
We still needed fuel, and even though deep down we knew there would be nothing left, we had to see for ourselves. It took us two weeks before we worked up the motivation to go back to Cockril Bend. On the day we geared up to head out, Andie begged off and instead volunteered to babysit.
The morning was cool, with overcast skies of a dull gray. A soft drizzle of rain reflected our mood. We travelled slowly, cautiously, and stopped on Briley before the bridge crossing over Centennial. We had a bird’s eye view of the area, but there wasn’t very much left to look at. The entire area was burnt to a blackened crisp.
“After the tanker blew we took off. It was a massive explosion when the reservoir blew,” Terry said to Julie and me. “We were about a half mile away when it happened and the shock wave damned near flipped the truck over.”
Nobody else had anything to add. I looked around with the binoculars. The epicenter of the blast was obvious, and the destruction extended outward in a rough, angry circle. Everything within was obliterated and black. I shook my head sadly and handed the binoculars to Fred.
“Aren’t we going down there?” Julie asked.
“We can, but it would be futile,” I said. “There’s nothing left,” I looked at her for emphasis, “nothing.”
Julie grabbed the binoculars out of Fred’s hands and looked the area over for several minutes. Fred walked away from the group and stood by his truck silently.
“So, what do we do now?” she finally asked.
“We go to the downtown reservoir,” I responded. “Hopefully, it’s still intact and not overrun.”
After a brief debate, it was agreed Fred and I would perform the fueling operation while everyone else stayed a safe distance away. I convinced Julie this was the best course of action and promised her we’d abort if we encountered any problems, no matter how small. Everyone piled into the van except for Fred, who insisted on driving alone. He led the way in his truck.
We slowly drove the entire length of the Victory Memorial Bridge looking for anything which might indicate the bridge had structural damage. Seeing nothing that might spell our demise, we parked on the top of the bridge. I got in the truck with Fred and the two of us drove down to the reservoir premises without comment. Luckily, there was only one lone zombie aimlessly roaming around the lot. It appeared to have been a construction worker at one time. He was wearing one of those insulated coveralls, a heavy canvas jacket and even a hardhat. I was going to shoot him, but as soon as I stopped the truck, Fred jumped out, grabbed a four foot long piece of lumber lying on the ground and took off running toward it before I could say anything. I watched as he angrily pummeled the thing until its head was a pulpy mush.
“All clear here,” I hurriedly said on my portable before anyone who was watching got excited. I waited for Fred to walk back to the truck.
“Do you feel better?” I asked him.
He didn’t bother answering. Instead, he grabbed some tools and walked toward the pumps. Seeing no other threats, I grabbed a grounding rod and went to work. It took us almost forty-five minutes to fill the 500 gallon tanker, mostly in silence. After finishing, we drove up on the bridge to the waiting crew. Fred told me to hop in the van, effectively kicking me out of the truck, and we began the tedious journey home. The roads would be perfect for a stretch and then all of a sudden we’d run up on potholes from hell. I drove carefully, but it didn’t stop Julie from chiding me.
Since the tragic accident we had all been going through the motions of our daily routines without much communication. Fred, who of course was stoic by nature, became even more withdrawn. We’d go for days without seeing him.
“We’re going to have to learn how to plow with horses,” I commented in an attempt to break the silence. “Maybe we can find some mules that are still alive. Mules are supposed to be able to pull a plow better than horses.”
I looked over at Terry. He stared absently out of the passenger window. “You’ve got to stop beating yourself up over it.”
He jerked his head around and gave me a harsh stare. “It was my fault, Zach. I should have spotted the problem with the road,” he looked back out of the window before adding quietly, “you would have.”
“I don’t know about that,” I responded. I caught a glance from Julie in the rearview mirror. When she saw me looking, she turned her head and stared out of her window. I never said it, but when told what happened on that fateful day, it was one of the first things I thought about. I mean, you’re about to drive a fully laden tanker truck over a roadway that had not been maintained in over two years. They saw the potholes, yet they didn’t give the on-ramp a closer inspection. There were several times in the ensuing days I wanted to jump up and scream, why? But, I kept my opinions to myself. What had been done was done.
“Fred won’t talk to me,” Terry said after a moment.
“He’s not talking to anybody,” Rowdy said.
“He’s blaming himself as much as you are,” I added.
“So, what do you suggest?”
“I don’t know, bro. We were all close, and Chet was beginning to grow on me. I really didn’t know those other two very well.”
“Rich said he was prior Army,” Terry said, “he was an MP.”
I nodded quietly and slowly swerved around another large pothole. “How much have you talked with the rest of Chet’s group?” I asked. Terry shrugged.
“I’ve probably talked to them the most,” Rowdy said. “Y’all know I can get along with anyone, but the ones who’re still living are a little bit on the asshole side. They make little snide remarks all of the time. I think they’re envious of us, but they don’t want to do what it takes to improve their disposition,” he said with a snort. “Penny’s moved in with Bo, did y’all know that?”
“I’d heard.”
“Damn,” Terry said, “he’s old enough to be her dad.”
“How old is she?” I asked curiously.
“Twenty-three.”
“Wow, she looks a lot older,” I said with a shrug. “It’s a different world now. They seem to get along, so whatever works.”
Terry sighed. “I wish I knew what worked for me.”
“Yeah,” Julie added, “you lust after anything with a vagina.”
Rowdy chuckled. Terry wiped his face and then threw his hands up in the air in agreement.
“So, what
is
happening with your love life?” I asked.
“Not much,” Terry replied.“After Kelly and I started messing around, she wanted us to find a place of our own. Of course, after I’d made the conquest, I wasn’t attracted to her anymore. I’m not sure in what category to place Andie. Don’t get me wrong, I really like her, but I still find myself lusting after other women.”
“Did you ever hook up with Carla?” Julie asked. Terry looked at her like she’d brought up an unpleasant memory.
“Let me tell you what that bitch did. She led me on and led me on, and then when I made a pass at her, she acted all offended and couldn’t wait to tell her husband.”
Julie chortled. “She wanted to see if she had the power to seduce you.”
“Yeah, I guess. The thing of it is, now I want her worse than ever.”
I laughed then. Terry merely sighed. “I’m fucked up when it comes to women. You’ve got a good thing with Julie. I don’t know how you focus all of your emotions on her and nobody else.”
I kept quiet. The truth of the matter, I did find myself thinking of other women. It didn’t happen often, but it happened. When I talked it over with Fred, he surprised me when he admitted the same thing. He told me as long as I didn’t act on it I was fine, but it still worried me and I damn sure didn’t say anything about it to Julie. Terry pointed as we approached the Thompson and Nolensville intersection.
“This is where the soldiers got overrun by the zombies and you got shot, right?” Terry asked. I nodded. “Whatever happened with the soldier’s weapons?”
“We weren’t able to come back here for a couple of weeks,” Julie said. “When we did, all the weapons were gone. The soldiers were stripped clean.”
“We figured the Captain’s gang took them, but Andie said no,” I said. “We’ve never determined who got them.”
Terry nodded in understanding. We passed through the stack of cars at the intersection slowly. None of them had been moved, which was a good sign. I spotted a skull and a few more bones, but most had probably been drug off by scavengers. It was a solemn spot, but today it wasn’t totally bereft of activity.
“I count six,” Terry said. I didn’t slow down, but instead pointed at the radio.
“Tell Fred. He’ll take care of them.”
I heard gunfire before Terry even had a chance to grab the microphone. Terry looked back over his shoulder and watched as Fred shot them all through the open window of his truck. “I guess Fred needed to let off a little tension too,” he observed.
The friends of the late Chet Henry were waiting at the school when we arrived. They were sullen looking, unfriendly. There were no handshakes offered when we exited our vehicles.
“We’re going to need at least a hundred gallons,” one of them said as I began filling a five gallon container. I looked up at them.
“Well, folks, that’s a mighty big order. What do you have to trade for it?”
Johnny scoffed. “There you go with that barter bullshit again. Y’all owe us at least that much after you got our people killed.”
There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of them, but before I could answer, Fred walked over and decked Johnny with a right cross.
“What the fuck old man?” Johnny blurted while holding his nose. The other ones started toward Fred. He turned and squared off, both hands near his pistols. Everyone stopped in their tracks. I think even the birds stopped chirping. It was deathly quiet. Fred stared at Chet’s group coldly.
“What are you waiting on?” he demanded. “Grab your guns and start shooting. I’ll probably only kill a few of you before you get me.”
To say I was startled was an understatement. Hell, all of us were dumbfounded. Fred had always been the cool, calm, collected one, and I was the hothead. I held a hand up.
“Alright, everyone, take it easy,” I said and looked at Johnny, who was glaring at Fred as blood poured from his nose. “For your information, we lost three people we care about very much, including two kids who Fred thought of as his own sons.”
Johnny got to his feet. “Yeah, well we lost three good friends too, and it was y’all’s fault.”
“How do you figure, Johnny?” I asked. “Tell us all how it was our fault.”
He squeezed his nose before answering, making his tone nasally. “They’d still be alive if you hadn’t have invited them to go along.”
“True, and your nose wouldn’t be broken if you hadn’t made such a stupid statement. They didn’t have to go, Johnny. They went because they wanted to. They wanted to help out and they wanted fuel.”
Rowdy stepped forward. “We’ve all lost people we care about and love. I pray it doesn’t happen again, but it probably will. Life is difficult these days.”
Everyone seemed to calm down a little then, but Johnny pointed at Fred. “He had no call to hit me.”
I looked over at Fred. He was whipcord tight and his face was hard. After a tense moment of silence he glanced at me. I knew him well enough to see the pain in his eyes. Without saying anything, he walked to his truck and drove away.
I found him later at his farm, chopping wood. He was stripped down to his waist, revealing a lean physique of sinewy muscle. Unlike Chet, Fred was splitting the logs with one blow, the chunks of wood flying away in angry protest. As I waited for him to take a break, I looked around and saw a two foot long rat snake sunning itself on the steps to his house. Fred saw me looking.
“That’s rat boy. The boys found him one day when he was small and kind of adopted him. They’d catch field mice and feed him. He’s probably wondering where they are.”
“Yeah, probably,” I paused and gave him a long, quizzical stare. “How’re you doing?” I asked tentatively. Fred gripped the axe tightly before answering.
“Well, that’s the question of the day, isn’t it? Let’s see, how am I doing? All I’ve been doing lately is thinking of people dying. Everyone dies, right, Zach?” he asked rhetorically and readied another log. I watched as he split it with seeming ease.
“My family, Rick, Mac, Macie, Tommy, Joe, everyone dies, right?” he asked again, and with that, he hurled the axe, which embedded itself deep into an old gnarly oak tree. He stared at it a moment before pulling a bandanna out of his back pocket and wiping the sweat off of his face.
“What did you do with that crew?” he asked.
“Chet’s crew?” I asked, and then shrugged. “I gave them gas. We used the tanks on their RVs as storage tanks.”
Fred gave me one of those stares he did when he was displeased. “I wanted to make a friendly gesture,” I explained, “especially after you broke Johnny’s nose.”
“How much?” he asked.
“About a hundred gallons,” I responded evenly. He continued staring at me a long moment. I thought he was about to chastise me, or tell me I was a fool. Instead, he changed the subject.
“How is Julie doing?”
I looked at the axe and then out into the distance. “She’s not doing very well. She puts on a good front, but she cries herself to sleep almost every night, and there’s something else,” I added. Fred was putting his shirt back on but paused and looked at me expectantly. “She asked to let her mother move in. I agreed.”