DEAD: Confrontation (7 page)

I wanted to believe that probably as much as Melissa and Thalia wanted to
believe the promises I’d just made to them. I’m not a big believer in premonition, but I thought I was seeing them for the last time as they headed out the back. My last image was Thalia skipping after Melissa with Buster on her leash like this was all a normal part of everyday life.

I know I have said it before, but I marvel at the ability of children to push through something terrible and retain the capa
city to smile and laugh. Smiles and laughter were a rare sight on the faces of the adults. Of course, days like this were the perfect example as to why that tended to be the case.

Ten minutes later, it was just the seven of us. Jon had put us each to work on a different part of his plan. We would surrender the building, but it would come at a cost. I wondered how many sets of eyes were watching. Of course the group had left out the back and gone down the hill to the woods. Unless they actually had people in the trees around our perimeter, it was unlikely that they saw the departure of Jake and the others.

Once we finished up inside, we slipped out the back as well. I was sent up the trail that I’d taken the day I proposed to Melissa. There were a couple of spots along the way up that gave me a perfect view into Death Alley. If they tried to bring a vehicle in from that direction, they were screwed.

Jon accompanied me part way. He would be vanishing into the actual campground area. Dressed in white like he was, I i
magine that he had some nasty surprises in store for these latest intruders into our happy little home.

“You understand why we have to at least try and defend our position,” Jon finally spoke.

Honestly, I didn’t. After all, we had a fall back location for a reason, right? Still, instead of seeming stupid or cowardly, I shrugged.

“If we just run and don’t at least put up the semblance of a fight, we mark ourselves as easy pickings,” Jon said.

“And who is gonna get that memo?” I quipped before I could catch myself.

“I’ve been out there, Steve. It has gotten tribal. I imagine there are at least a half-dozen factions within a ten mile radius of us. These groups of raiders are probably establishing a pecking order. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they had cordoned off the area and claimed jurisdiction.”

“So this is to show we aren’t pushovers?” I wasn’t seeing the logic. As far as I was concerned, we could just find another place.

“Partially,” Jon confirmed. “My hope is that the word will get out that we aren’t to be screwed with. Otherwise, we will have to start over. Do you really want to do this again? We just got things settled in, and now we just give it up?”

“I guess I see what you are saying.” Actually, I was still a bit confused. It wasn’t like we were running into a lot of survivors. More like little trickles here and there.

“Consider Nickie and Christina…or Doug and Cheryl,” Jon said. “They were with other groups before us. Things went bad and they ended up with us. I believe that there are more people like them out there.”

“So?” I still wasn’t seeing his point, but I could tell he was trying to make one.

“Patton and his group were a bust, but if he hadn’t killed the ones who were
coming back around, maybe they join us. The reality is that we need numbers. That is one of the things that I have been watching out for when I make supply runs.”

“We had numbers at Serenity,” I countered. “That didn’t do us much good.”

“No disrespect, but Serenity was run poorly. The guys in charge were good men, but they were trying to simply secure a location. They were concerned with zombies, but they did not take the living into consideration. We can’t make that same mistake,” Jon insisted.

“So what…we build an army?”

“In a way,” Jon said with a nod. “We have to be prepared for ALL eventualities. The zombies are just a part of the problem.”

“So what…are you saying it is like
The Road Warrior
out there?” I tried unsuccessfully to keep the chuckle out of my voice.

“Steve, I don’t want to be a dick, but it is worse. You have had to stay in camp because of your leg.
That little trip that we took with Dr. Zahn was nothing.”

Nothing? He got bitten by a freaking zombie-wolf! We found a camp where people stew was simmering in a barrel. How the heck was that nothing?

“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but you have had it kind of easy the past several weeks. Now that you are obviously doing better, maybe you should come on a run with me,” Jon said. I could tell that he was really trying not to come off as a jerk. I also realized that he was right.

I had been pretty much shackled to the homefront since busting my
leg. That last run did not involve us doing any actual searching for anything. We knew where we were headed, and it still had a few hairy moments.

“We can talk about this after,” Jon said with a pat on my shoulder.

He certainly had given me some food for thought. I was mulling over the past few months when the first flash of movement down below caught my eye.

I have no idea where they had found one, but one of the biggest steamrollers that I had ever seen was rolling into view through the trees. It was too wide for Death Alley, but the driver already had that figured out and veered to the left and out into the giant field that used to hold a pair of baseball/softball di
amonds. Right behind it, like rats following the Pied Piper were several hundred zombies. Of course they were currently fixated on the steamroller, and would have almost no chance of making it up to the cabin due to the several feet of snow on the ground, but they would have no problem once that steamroller found one of our hand-dug trails.

These guys knew what they were doing. What’s more, they had a fairly good idea of our set up. How long had they been scouting us? What could we have done to prevent it? I was so certain that we had found a safe place out here in this frozen landscape. Who would take the trouble?

My answer was below. The steamroller had found the first trail. From here, I could see the driver start to zig and zag. He was going to use the deep snow to vanish from the zombies’ field of vision…or whatever they had.

I watched as the steamroller
eventually doubled back and vanished through the trees. From my position, I could see dark shapes spreading out to various paths. Every single one of those paths would eventually empty out into the parking lot area in front of the cabin. Our home.

It was about twenty minutes later when I spotted the first of the living invaders. Actually, it was an even dozen. The group came out in the same spot where the steamroller had vanished.
They were heading right for Death Alley.

Half of them went up on to one berm, the rest on the other. They were about three-quarters of the way to the other end when a single shot rang out. The person leading the group
along the left berm—the one closest to the picnic grounds and farthest from the playing fields—staggered and fell.

The remaining eleven froze for a second, but then quickly recovered and dove over either side of the berms. Once again, my position was an advantage. And now it was my turn to take part. I looked through the scope of my .30-06 and took a deep breath.

Ammunition had become a precious commodity as of late. We were deep into the reserves of that very finite resource, but if not now…when? I sighted on one of the figures that had slid down the berm and was now crouched just below the lip. I could tell that they were calling out to each other, but even with as quiet as the world had become, they weren’t loud enough for me to hear anything.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly and squeezed. A spray of red splashed the snow signaling my hit. Four others had slipped down into the alley, and they were my responsibility. I could tell that they were frantic and looking around in an attempt to locate where the shots were coming from. One of them was even pointing in my general direction.

I sighted in on my second target. The problem was that, for some strange reason, my hands had started to tremble. This had my target bouncing around in the scope like a jumping bean. I closed my eyes for a second and tried to gather myself. I had a job to do. Still, I guess I just have not reached the point where I have no problems killing another human being.

Take all of the stuff about them “taking what is ours” and all that talk about how we have to show we are not to be messed with and this is homicide. Sure, I am defending what is mine, and I am trying to ensure the protection of my friends and fam
ily…but this is not a movie. People just do not kill other people without at least some struggle with conscience unless they are sociopathic. I lived a much greater portion of my life where law and order were in place. To just shed that does not come easy…or without a price.

I opened my eyes again and had to reacquire the four ind
ividuals moving in the alley. I heard another series of shots and tried to get a fix on it as I zoomed in on the person whose life I was about to take. I put the crosshairs on the center mass of the torso and fired. The person fell back like they’d just taken a monster punch on the chin.

I felt my stomach clench as long blonde hair spilled out from the hooded jacket. I could not make my body listen as I ordered my hands to move so that my scope would not linger on that face, but it was too late. I watched the final dying moments of a girl that could not have been much older than Teresa as blood frothed from her mouth leaving a bright red smear on her chin.

“Just do your job or that could be Melissa…Thalia…” I snarled, trying with almost no success to pump myself up to take three more human lives.

I lined up my next shot. I could tell that the three remaining raiders were frantic. They were in a really bad spot. One of them had scrambled up the berm
only to be picked off by one of my friends. I was pretty sure that Jon had told me who was where, but for some reason that information had simply deleted itself from my brain.

That left two. I found myself wondering what exactly was going through their minds at this moment. I mean, they had o
bviously planned this attack. They had scouted our location and decided that we were a viable target.

Were they cursing the person who had given them this task? As a person who has seen his share of plans go sideways in a hurry, were they lamenting th
e plan, or just the execution? This is how I distracted my brain from the business of killing two more living souls.

The last person was the hardest. He or she obviously knew that it was over and that death was coming in a steel jacket. The person tried the last ditch attempt at survival by throwing his or her hands up in the air. By now, the location of their executioner was obvious. The person turned in my general direction and dropped to
his knees (I am using the thought that this is a “he” to provide even the slightest degree of comfort) with hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

For the first time, I noticed that there was actually a consi
derable amount of gunfire happening. I know that I had heard a shot here or there, but this was a firefight. Somehow, I had blocked all of it out as I focused on my task and my targets. Now that it was just this one, my tunnel vision—and apparently tunnel hearing—was opening up to include more of what was going on around me.

I pulled the trigger.

The person fell over onto their back at an awkward angle and lay still. I pulled my eye from the scope, refusing to linger a second longer on the pattern of red that had created an obscene halo around the body of my latest victim.

Now that I was no longer engrossed in the task of killing, I could take in a bit of what was happening below. I could see zombies
spreading out in the various pathways. I could see a few bodies sprawled in red speckled snow. There was a pillar of black smoke rising from the woods just beyond the entrance to the campground area.

I never heard a thing until the low wheeze sounded almost directly behind me. I spun just as hands clutched at my leg. It was a creeper and it was crusted in snow. It could have been up here for weeks inching along. I did not have time to look too closely as I brought the butt of my rifle down on its skull. It took four more solid strikes to end that thing.

At some point in the struggle I had scooted back to the edge of the hill’s face. My attempt to sit up was the catalyst to send me over the edge when I attempted to plant my hands behind me. They plunged into the snow and sent a sheet of it cascading down the hill in a mini avalanche.

I fell backwards and rolled ass-over-tea kettle until I grazed a small pine tree.
That was enough to slow my momentum and I slid—head still pointed down, unfortunately—until I made contact with a large rock.

When I opened my eyes, I was staring up at the canopy of pines that managed against all odds to find a purchase in the side of this hill. The
ringing died down, but was replaced by gunfire and shouting. It seemed that the battle had continued and gotten more heated during however long I was knocked out.

I tried to sit up and was rewarded with a wave of nausea that made me roll sideways as I puked. Most of it missed me…most of it. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and tried not to look at the steaming pile of sick that decorated the snow.