Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory (23 page)

The ribs were just as Abby had promised,
fall-off-the-bone tender. Afterwards, Vida excitedly showed her new
roommate to their place.

Integration into the compact society has been
slow, and Mike and Jen have stuck mainly to one another. Jake, on
the other hand, acclimated quickly and made many friends. Gabe
started working with Brass in the planning of their new outpost,
his old farmhouse. Jen decided to offer her assistance in the
childcare field, lending a hand at the bustling daycare and the
small school they have set up. Against expectations, Big Mike did
not join the soldiers when told of the upcoming boot camp. He’s an
experienced hunter, NRA enthusiast, and has a military background,
but ultimately decided to stick with what he knows, farming. One
among them did express an interest in becoming a soldier for
Rubicon however.

“You can’t let her do this.” Gabe corners
Brass at the supply market.

“I can and I will!” Brass says. “What’re we
talking about?”

“Vida. She just told me she’s volunteering to
become one of your foot soldiers.”

“Oh yeah. She seems really gung-ho about
it.”

“I think she’s doing it for the wrong
reasons. She--”

“What are the right reasons?” Brass continues
walking around the supplies, making notes in a little pad.

An exasperated Gabe continues, “I don’t know!
Can you please talk her out of it?”

“Doubtful. She’s seventeen. Kids at that age
are pretty head strong. Can’t even call them kids anymore. It’s her
decision, not ours.”

“But you’re in charge!”

“Of the overall runnings of things! I try not
to interfere with people’s choices, except here in the market. We
have an overabundance of things people won’t touch, even when
they’re starving. They sure as hell won’t touch them when there’s
better options. I have to entice them to select the less desirable
goods before they go bad. It’s like trick or treat candy. I always
ate the nasty stuff first and saved the best for last. Pity not
everyone has my restraint.” Brass ponders the pyramids of canned
goods. With a finger along the side of his face, he asks, “Have you
talked to her about it?”

“I started to,” Gabe’s tone suggests his
attempt failed. “She lost a lot to the dead.”

“Who hasn’t?” Brass says. From where he
stands, he spots a young shopper. “See that boy?”

Gabe looks to the lad Brass singles out.

“He’s fifteen. We found him early on in his
house, locked in a pantry. He celebrated his fifteenth birthday in
that pantry while his entire family waited in the kitchen for a
chance to eat him: mom, dad, sisters. Some aunts and uncles even
came out for the party. They all died, turned, and tried to get
him. He must have been in there for a good two weeks, living off
whatever he could open while keeping as quiet as possible. He’s one
of our best soldiers. At first he had a nasty hatred for the
zombies, but after a few times out he worked through it, became one
of the team.”

“He isn’t my concern,” Gabe says. “Vida
is.”

“I’ve been watching you folks. You stick to
each other like glue. Seldom stray out on your own, except for a
few hours of work. That’s to be expected, but at some point you
have to go out and mingle and trust that you’ll be fine. Try to
relax. She hasn’t even made it through boot yet.”

“What exactly goes on in your boot camp?”

“We train them. Think of it as a trust fall.
We teach them to trust the group, but first teach them to trust
themselves.”

Gabe leaves unsatisfied. Brass watches him
depart. He’s seen this before, over-protective fellow survivors
unable to let go.

Abby enters, passing Gabe near the door. They
exchange a brief glance and Gabe shrugs.

I
haven’t
seen
that
before
, Brass thinks.

“Hey, Brass what’s up?” Abby asks.

“You know me. Living life, being awesome.”
Brass suspects it’s his trusted advisor’s turn to ‘talk some sense’
into him.
I’ll
be
damned
if
I’m
gonna
let
that
happen
. “Hey, Abby, what
do you think of Vida?”

“Nice girl. I hear she wants…”

“She’s cute, huh?”

“Yes, she’s very cute,” Abby says with a nod.
“I just don’t think she’s--”

“Let’s get her sized for some armor. Have
Lady Luck outfit her today at some point.”

“Brass, she’s not going to last five minutes
at the big dance. She’s going to get groped like prom night and bug
out.”

“She might surprise us all. You don’t
know.”

“I’ll bet anything!”

“I thought I smelled the stinky stink of a
wager.” Brass sniffs the air. “What’ll it be? Jewels, a king’s
ransom?”

“I drew from the Dirty Deeds jar. Next week I
have to clean the port-a-potties along the south side.”

“Ok, but let’s take this to the next level.
If she gets through boot, you have to clean them for a solid month.
If she washes out, you never have to do it again.”

“You’re on,” Abby says. “But you can’t go
easy on her!”

“Perish the thought. Going easy on her in
training will just get her killed in the field.”

###

Among the people busy in the armory making
bullets, Vida hasn’t spotted Lady Luck yet, though she was told to
meet her here. She hasn’t met the people that look up at her
occasionally from their work as she stands fidgeting. She smiles to
everyone and tries to look as if she belongs there.

After a while, she ventures deeper through
the racks of weapons and containers of ammunition. There’s a method
to the arrangement of guns that she doesn’t quite understand. All
black finishes are intermingled with walnut stocks and those with
shiny barrels. She dares not touch what she admires for fear of
damaging or accidentally firing one, she just slowly drifts up and
down the rows, wondering how long it will take her to learn how to
use them.

The workers stir, bringing Vida from the
aisles. She timidly looks out as the folks greet Lady Luck. The
woman just offers them a flutter of her fingers without even a hint
of eye contact.
She
always
looks
so
serious
, Vida thinks, feeling intimidated by the bus driver.
Serious
and
sexy
. Every action Lady Luck
preforms is a seduction, from lighting a cigarette to how she
prowls through the armory in her navy blue dress. The woman is a
living pinup from head to toe. The garment she wears has a nautical
theme with embroidered white anchors and fits her curves perfectly.
Above her always perfect makeup job is her always perfect hair, set
in tight curls that keep her black tresses off her face.

“Out,” Lady Luck orders. That single word
thrown over her shoulder sends all the bullet makers from their
stations.

Vida remains hidden in the racks, watching as
the woman gathers black pieces of apparel from crates and sets them
on a table. Though she doubts any harm will come to her, she can’t
help but feel intimidated. Lady Luck exudes a confidence and
strength she dreams of possessing.

Lady Luck takes a quick inventory before she
coaxes Vida from hiding. The bullet makers are still putting their
things away, making sure the cans of powder are sealed tightly.

“Hey, L.L.,” one man calls from the door.
“Are you sure you don’t want some help?”

The pinup girl just turns and answers him
with a humorless glare that sends him packing. “Don’t worry about
him. He was only kidding,” she says to Vida, who notices a slight
southern belle accent. “You should have seen all the guys that
wanted to volunteer for my fitting. Men are so helpful.”

Vida emerges and approaches. Materials for
her first set of armor are arranged on the table. “We don’t get a
lot of girls asking to sign up. All us ladies are rooting for
you.”

The idea that the females of Rubicon are
cheering her on takes the edge off Vida’s nerves. “Why don’t more
of them volunteer?”

“Usually some guy talks them out of it,” Lady
Luck says as she picks through the articles. “There isn’t much to
it once you get through boot, really. It can actually be a lot of
fun. Strip.”

The sudden command to remove her clothes
causes Vida a moment of hesitation. She looks towards the door,
fearing peering eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Lady Luck says. “No man would
dare to enter during this, no matter how badly they may want to.
It’s just us.”

Vida shifts the attention away from herself
as she takes her clothes off. “I like your code name.”

“Stage name, actually. I grew up near here on
my daddy’s junk yard, then moved west to Vegas.”

“What was in Vegas?” Vida asks.

“A dream,” the woman says simply. “I heard
how much folks get paid out there for the most menial jobs. No one
told me it was to counter the cost of living. So I arrived and
found work, thinking I could make a killing doing something easy,
but I had to bust my ass to make headway for what I wanted.”

“What was that?”

“To fly. My mom was a helicopter pilot in the
navy. She had a small one she taught me the basics on. I wanted to
run a tour around the strip and the Grand Canyon.”

“Did you?”

“Eventually.” Lady Luck holds out a shiny
pair of chainmaille pants for Vida. The tinkling garment looks
tight and heavy. “Put these on.”

Taking the metallic pants, Vida is surprised
at how light they are.

“The rings are titanium,” Lady Luck says with
a raised eyebrow. “Some of our people used to make this stuff as a
hobby. Now it has a practical use, covering our asses out
there.”

“It’s cold,” Vida says. The pattern of the
delicate rings allows the maille to move and stretch with her.

“Feel all right?” Lady Luck asks, inspecting
Vida’s knees to see if she must take out or add any rings. “It
looks good. It’ll keep all your fleshy areas safe.”

“Fleshy?”

“It’s a good thing!” Lady Luck says. “Be
proud of your curves.”

“So what did you do before you flew?”

“Waitressing. I saved every tip until I could
afford the proper lessons needed to get licensed and get my hours
logged in. In time, I was flying tourists across the desert, and to
and from the canyon and the brothels. The last was how I was
discovered, I was picking up a casino tycoon from one of the
ranches. He liked my look and asked if I’d be interested in putting
on a show at one of his hotels.”

Vida slides her arms into a shirt of titanium
rings and keeps them up so Lady Luck can fasten it. Lady Lucky
shows her how to secure it around the hips to make it and the pants
one piece. Then Vida moves to allow an inspection of the fit. “What
kind of show was it?”

“Burlesque. The art of the tease,” Lady Luck
says. “It’s like stripping but sexy, and you don’t show it all. I
was a hit. Sold out shows and made more money than I’ve ever seen
in my life. I took my name from the nose of an old bomber that I
used to play in inside my father’s salvage yard. I remember looking
at the girl painted on the side and thinking how beautiful she was,
and that someday I wanted to look like her. Most awkward tomboys
dream of being something that they aren’t, I guess.”

Vida can’t imagine this woman ever being
awkward. A tomboy certainly, given her expertise with cars and
trucks.

A rubber cowl is presented to Vida, and she
must bow to ease into it. Her hair is pulled painfully by the
garment as it slides over her head. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” Lady Luck apologizes and bites her
lip in sympathy. “This part of it is the worst for us girls.”

The cowl hugs Vida’s face tightly and makes
her feel like a scuba diver or Batman. She can move her head, but
there is resistance against her efforts. Then Vida is handed a set
of black fatigues to put over it all.

“I had everything,” Lady Luck continues. “I
loved the attention from the men, at first. I loved all the money,
the glitz and glamor of it. But I couldn’t fly anymore. I had all
the freedom I could ever want, yet I was a caged bird. I had taken
on too many shows a night and was too tired to fly. When I had time
off there was always something else… until just a few days before
the dead arose. I got a call from my brothers saying our daddy
died. I didn’t even know he was sick. I dropped everything, walked
out on my contract, and came back to Ruby. Instead of being where I
should have been, I was putting on a show, dodging weekly indecent
proposals from wealthy men, living a life I had always wanted and
finally realized wasn’t for me.”

Gloves and boots come next, both made of
thick leather that Vida finds hard to move in. The gloves are
stiff, and she can’t see how she’s supposed to shoot with them on.
“The boots are a little big.”

“They’re the smallest we have. Double up your
socks tomorrow. It’ll help prevent blisters. But you will get many
blisters, I’m sure. Before you class up, make sure you go to the
market and stock up on moleskin and Motrin. You’re gonna need
it.”

“If you didn’t like being Lady Luck, why keep
the name now?” Vida asks.

“It’s who I am. Always have been. Even when I
could only dream of looking like that pinup girl, I was strong and
confident in myself. I was the kid who would do the idiotic,
dangerous things while all the boys chickened out. When I got home,
I realized I didn’t have to pretend to be Lady Luck. She was inside
of me.”

“So why do you still wear the clothes, and
the hair?”

“Because I look damn good in it!”

The ladies laugh together.

The final piece of the ensemble is handed to
Vida--a black motorcycle helmet. She takes it, but Lady Luck
doesn’t release it right away. In her hand is a white paint marker.
“Some people re-name themselves. They re-invent who they are to
survive. Some stay true to themselves. We have one guy that changes
his name every week. Before you put this on, I want to know why
you’re doing it. Why you’re gearing up against the dead. Are you
doing it from the bottom of your heart, or is this a personal
vendetta? The big pay back?”