Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 2): Conflict (21 page)

Along
with Israel and Japan, the only other places in Asia with an organized
government are Russia and Mongolia. Russia is essentially like the United
States in that the military which survived had moved to islands or isolated
locations in Siberia or the Urals where they maintain security. Mongolia had
simply been empty of people to begin with. I wasn’t certain if they could
survive much longer though. Tens of millions of zombies are drifting north from
China. The Russians have already invited them to relocate to their territory.

As far
as Africa goes, there is no indication that any government continued to
function more than a couple of days into the crisis. There are bound to be
people still alive, but no one knows how many.

Last
November, the military estimates were that perhaps twenty million people were
still alive with half in organized settlements. They now believed the total
number breathing is probably closer to five million with only about six hundred
fifty thousand living under a functioning, continuous government. The breakdown
is:

Switzerland                             240,000

United States (islands only)   160,000

Russia                                      132,000

United Kingdom                     41,000

Mongolia                                 29,000

Israel                                       27,000

Japan                                      14,000

Malta                                       75

You’ll
notice that I put islands only next to the United States. The reason for this
is that these numbers are only for those living under the original functioning
government or its direct successor. The people in Salt Lake City, us, and all
the others scattered about America’s heartland are not being governed.
Therefore, we don’t count. I’m not too sure as to how accurate these figures
are, but they were supplied to the Ranching Collective by the United States Armed
Forces, so I’ll go ahead and treat them as valid.

*
* *

“How are
you feeling?”

Briana was
reclining on the sofa, the most comfortable piece of furniture in our common
hall. “I ache all over. I weigh a ton. My hair needs a serious hot oil
treatment, and something I ate is giving me gas. Go yell at Steph. She made
dinner.”

I shook
my head and sat down beside her. “I rather not antagonize someone who’s in a
position to poison me.”

“Weenie.”

“Very
much so.”

“Is
Conrad trying to talk up Lizzy again?”

I
glanced over at the far corner where Lizzy and Mary were playing a game of
checkers. Looked like the squirt was winning, as usual.

“He’s
been doing that a lot,” she continued. “It has been explained to him that Lizzy
is a lesbian, correct?”

“Definitely.
Marcus told him when he asked if the two of them were together. Mary apparently
did the same, and I think Steph. I know some of the gals from Oklahoma did, the
gossipy types.”

“Who’s
saying my name?” asked Steph. The redhead came up behind us and motioned for me
to move over. “What’s going on?”

“Briana
was telling me to do bad things to you.”

“I did
not.”

“Liar.”

My
sweetie let out a short laugh. “Only sometimes. Want to place a bet on whether
or not Lizzy beats the shit out of Conrad?”

“What
odds are you giving?”

“I don’t
know.” She turned to me “What do you think?”

I
shrugged. “No idea. Steph, what do you think is fair?”

“Five to
one that she blows up and starts screaming. Even that he gets slapped. And, oh,
three to one against that she starts beating on him.”

“I have
no idea how that works out,” said Briana, after a long pause.

“Don’t
look at me. My gambling was limited to playing slot machines whenever I was in
Vegas. I never had to actually think about it. How would that work? Are those
even real terms?”

“They’re
real.” Steph leaned back and put her feet on the coffee table. “It is nice
having more people around, not nearly as quiet as it used to be. Anyway, let’s just
say that I think Lizzy will scream, being an extreme screamer who can’t shut
her trap for more than fifteen seconds, but for all her yelling, she doesn’t
get physical very often.”

“True,”
agreed Briana, “although the threats never stop.”

“It
could just be laziness on her part,” I said. “It takes way more effort to hit
someone than it does to threaten the violence.”

“Oh,
here it comes,” interrupted Steph.

Lizzy
lurched to her feet and planted both hands on Conrad’s chest. He was slender,
in his late twenties, and pretty good looking. I couldn’t imagine what he saw
in Lizzy, unless it was her weight. She was the only person with us who wasn’t
athletic, thin, or downright skinny. Conrad might be a chubby chaser. If so,
the one thing he likely did not know, or consider, was that Lizzy’s build was
deceptive. There was a whole lot of muscle hidden beneath the soft outer
layers.

“The
only way I’ll join you for a nightcap…” The shove sent him sprawling, and
Conrad cracked his head against a rocking chair. “…is if you cut off that
useless piece of confetti dangling between your legs and drill a proper hole!”

“Did she
call his penis a piece of confetti?” asked Steph. “I did hear that right?”

“You
heard correctly,” confirmed Briana. “Not a comment I expected.”

“Now,
don’t be getting out of control,” ordered Marcus, striding across the room.

Lizzy
picked up the checker board and hurled it at the much larger man. He wasn’t
nearly fast enough to dodge, and the heavy wood board, inlaid and probably
quite expensive, struck him full in the chest. The air whooshed out of his
lungs, and he doubled over.

“No
killing Marcus,” I called. “It’s not polite.”

Her
glare shifted to me.

“And
pick up the checkers,” added Mary. “You’re making a mess.”

“Listen
here brat…”

Briana
let out a high pitched yelp and slammed up against me.

“You
okay?”

“I think
my water just broke.”

Both
Steph and I were off the sofa in a flash.

“It’s
early yet,” I stammered. “Way, way too early.”

I think
I started to hyperventilate.

“Not too
early,” said Steph, reassuringly.

I’m not
sure which of us this was meant for, possibly both, maybe everyone in the room.

“Lizzy,
get everyone out of the hall. We’ll be using it for a while. Mary, clear off
that table and get the pad placed on top. Someone find Harlan and get him on
the radio with the nurses in Wyoming.”

“Maybe
we should send somebody there to bring a doctor back.”

Briana
was looking at me.

“It’s a
bit too far for that Jacob.” Steph snapped her fingers a few times, but I didn’t
notice. “Okay then, help me move her.”

“Can you
do this Steph? Are you sure? Briana’s not like one of your grandmother’s cows.”

“I
fucking hope not!”

I
blinked. It was not like my sweetie to be panicking this way.

“Jacob...”
This was Lizzy. “...if you don’t calm down, I’m going to kick you in the balls.
Then I’ll do the same to dipshit over there, four or five times, for good
measure.”

Conrad
headed for the door, along with pretty much everyone else. Lisa arrived shortly
thereafter to lend her moral support.

“But a
baby’s coming Lizzy. Don’t you get it? A baby is going to come out of her!”

“I’m not
staying to watch. I get enough grossness killing things.” Lizzy turned to go.
“I’ll be on the walls. Mary can help.”

“Me!”

“Mary...”
Steph voice indicated that she was taking full control. “…finish getting the
table ready. You need to get the water boiling in the kitchen too. We shouldn’t
require much, but the instruments have to be sterilized.”

“Can’t
we just spray them with something? We have lots of anti-bacterial sprays. What
about rubbing alcohol?”

“Several
methods are better than one. Now scoot and get it done.”

I have
to say that most of what happened is a blur. Actually, a lot of what I just
reported came from things Briana and Mary said later, after we were all
ensconced in our little townhouse trying to relax and recuperate. I have no
difficulty believing my level of… whatever was that high. This was something
important, not at all like dealing with zombies or psychotic biker gangs.

The
entire process took a good nine hours. Nine hours of me running around like a
chicken missing its head. Nine hours of Briana hurting, screaming, cursing, and
occasionally throwing the blame at me. Nine hours with Mary alternatively
looking curious, enchanted, and disgusted. It came to an end though, and a
precious baby boy was born shortly after sunrise.

Interlude – Harlan’s Story

Harlan
is one of the very few who has encountered the raiders and lived to tell the
tale. There was no battle, no fighting on his part, but this was in no way a
matter of cowardice. Rather, the circumstances simply did not allow for it.
More importantly, Harlan saw their shadowy prophet, albeit from a distance, the
only eyewitness I’d spoken with at the time this tale was related.

Harlan
Jones was residing in southern Idaho, outside the town of Pocatello, when the
change occurred. His home was in the country, and he lived alone, that greatest
of blessings. Waking like so many others to find the world had fallen apart, he
quickly made contact with some neighbors, an arduous process since telephone
service vanished almost immediately and the nearest was three miles away.
Still, he managed to gather a small band by the end of the first day.

The next
few weeks passed quickly and quietly. They were hidden in the backcountry, and
only a scattering of zombies had been seen, usually from a safe distance.
Thinking it might not be as bad as the initial news reports indicated, they
cautiously drove toward town. What they discovered was distressing. Pocatello
was crawling with the dead, overrun save for a handful of men atop a building.
Harlan and the others couldn’t get close enough to make contact, and when they
made a second attempt several days later there was no trace of the survivors.

Deciding
the best course of action was to remain in the wilderness, the group abandoned
Harlan’s house – being the most isolated, it was where they had been staying –
and traveled further into the mountains where they came across an old summer
camp, long defunct. Someone had been maintaining the property however, and the
buildings were intact. It seemed a good place to wait out the chaos and
violence.

*
* *

“You
going hunting?” inquired Patricia.

Harlan
gave her a brief nod. “That’s the plan, but I won’t be too long. I want to get
on the radio again later.”

“Have
you gotten hold of anyone, other than the crazy guy in his cave?”

“We
don’t know if Leroy is actually in a cave. He said he was, but I’ve got my
doubts, lots of them. But to answer, no. I’m sure there are people out there,
but the valley we’re in is messing up my signal.”

“You
could drag the set higher,” she suggested, stepping close, “instead of sitting
in that comfortable little office all the time.”

“Patricia,
do you have any idea how heavy the transmitter is? I can barely lift it.”

She
slapped his shoulder lightly. “Put it on a hand cart or get someone to help.
Not me. I don’t like you quite that much.”

The
group had two transmitters, a small, portable device Harlan had taken from his
home and a large, thirty year old machine they found sitting in a storage room
at the camp. This proved operational and was readily powered by a generator.

“I’ll be
fishing myself, or maybe swimming,” continued Patricia, with a smile. “I
haven’t decided, although I’m leaning toward the swim. Come by later and maybe,
just maybe, I’ll let you go skinny dipping with me.”

The
attractive woman was in her early thirties with a toned physique, flat stomach,
and impressive curves.

“So you
like me enough for that but not to help with any actual work.”

“That’s
right,” she laughed.

“I’m not
going to make any promises,” he began.

Her grin
grew wider.

“But
I’ll definitely track you down when I get back.”

Harlan
hiked off with the shotgun resting on one shoulder, pausing once to throw her a
friendly wave. He knew Patricia was interested – it was pretty damn obvious –
yet Harlan was undecided as to what he should do. What if they did get close,
real close, and then something bad happened? He’d seen the heartbreak of others
who’d lost family members, loved ones. He didn’t want that sort of hurt. Then
again, she was gorgeous, intelligent, fun, and they seemed to click. If he
didn’t take the chance, how much potential happiness and joy might he be
throwing away?

*
* *

The
hours passed quickly, and Harlan soon bagged three ducks, all large and plump,
along with what might have been a crane. He wasn’t familiar with the bird, but
looking at it, he began to suspect it was endangered. If so, he supposed he
should feel some shame, but Harlan couldn’t make himself care. They were living
day to day as it was, and keeping everyone fed was more important.

He was
still a mile away when he heard the gun shots. Breaking into a run, Harlan
didn’t slow until he was close enough to hear the screams. Those shook him.
They were filled with pain and fear. Of this, there could be no doubt. He
slowed and cautiously pushed his way through the thickets on the far side of
the fishing hole.

“No!”

That was
Maria’s voice. Dropping to his stomach, Harlan crept forward until he could
peer through the dense underbrush. Opposite him, across the water, he saw…

A quick
note about what is to follow. When Harlan was relating this, he did not go into
great detail. Therefore, I will be keeping it simple and factual. However, the
words will still be horrific. It’s impossible to sugar coat what happened.

Maria
had been stripped and was lying on a picnic table. Knives, long straight
blades, had been driven through both open palms, deep into the wood planks, pinning
her in place. Surrounding the woman were several men, laughing and swilling
bourbon from the bottles they held.

“That
may not be your intention.” Harlan could barely make out the words. “If you
crucify the child upside down, he will quickly lose consciousness.”

The
speaker, a slender man, clean shaven with long gray hair, stood in the middle
of the chaos, seemingly unperturbed by the violence around him. Nor was he
reveling in it. The bland, almost bored expression was incomprehensible. His
behavior wasn’t the only thing setting him apart. Unlike the others, he wore a
glossy black leather jacket instead of denim. It might not sound significant,
but the difference was readily noticeable.

“Let go
of me!” cried Patricia.

She was
dragged from a building.

“Found
this whore hiding under a bed,” declared a burly man.

He had a
heavy accent, but Harlan couldn’t place it.

“Deception.
Cowardice. Using stealth to avoid those you harmed. That is a grave crime, most
grave indeed. It is worthy of a slow and most particularly painful demise,
after submitting to your victims. Proper justice must be meted out. Justice can
never be denied.”

“I
didn’t do anything!”

The
biker picked her up and tossed Patricia a good eight feet in the direction of
the picnic table. “Hold her for a sec.”

Several
of his comrades eagerly complied, ripping off her T-shirt and pawing at her
breasts. Tears poured down Patricia’s cheeks.

The man
turned his attention to Maria and reached for her ankles. A single, mighty pull
was all it took to discard the petite woman. One of the knives piercing her
hands came free, but the other remained in place, ripping through flesh. While
she shrieked in agony, the monster retrieved Patricia and forced both arms over
her head, placing the hands one atop the other. It took him only a few seconds
to pry the remaining blade loose, line it up, and slam it down again.

“Boss
said special for this one cause she was bad. No punching, biting, or cutting
until everyone’s had a turn. I’m first.”

One hand
was tight around the stock of his shotgun, but there were at least thirty of
them. Harlan couldn’t do anything. He wanted to. He really did, but he was all
alone. Any attempt to intervene would only get him killed, and no good would
come of it.

One of
the bastards stripped off his shirt and pants revealing nasty, open sores. Not
wanting to wait, he turned to Maria, kicking her in the ribs. She let out a
grunt, and her eyes glazed over. Going limp, Harlan couldn’t tell if she’d
passed out or worse. The raider didn’t seem to care one way or the other. He
positioned her so she was face down.

The boy
who’d been nailed to a tree, Andrew, all of nine years old, was still alive.
Several of the attackers were standing a dozen yards away, taking turns lobbing
heavy stones at him, placing wagers and congratulating one another upon each
successful strike. That was it. Of all his friends at the camp, only Andrew,
Patricia, and possibly Maria remained. Everyone else was dead, their bodies
lying scattered in the dirt.

*
* *

Patricia
screamed and cried and cursed. Over the next two hours these faded to whimpers,
then silence. The raiders kept at it, and only with the coming of nightfall did
the men finally stop their fun. Following an offhand suggestion from their
bizarre leader, one retrieved a sledgehammer and started bashing skulls. Andrew
was left dangling after his head was smashed in. He had still been alive when
they reached him.

“For
those who spend a lifetime harming the defenseless and then try so very
fervently to avoid justice, the final end should be one of the greatest pain.
True justice is always painful.”

“What
sort of hurt should we do?”

The
prophet addressed his followers solemnly. “Fire and ice.”

“We
ain’t got any ice, but we got fire.”

This was
from the same man who’d discovered Patricia’s hiding spot. He took a small
plastic container and splashed gasoline on the woman. She flinched as the
liquid struck her. Even across the water, Harlan could see the terror in her
eyes.

*
* *

The bodies
were buried late the following day, once Harlan was reasonably certain the
raiders were not coming back. He did not understand why the men had done this,
why they’d attacked or what the fellow in black leather had been talking about.
Later, after joining the refugees in Wyoming, Harlan learned the attack was
anything but an isolated incident. Worse, the prophet was rapidly gathering men
to his banner, repeating such atrocities as they traveled the barren highways.
There were other gangs as well, people using the zombie uprising as an excuse
to have some fun. These had a tendency to get themselves killed, fortunately,
and most vanished within a few months. Not so with the raiders.

With no
reason to linger, Harlan gathered what few supplies remained and began to march
east. There was some thought of traveling north, but he already knew how messed
up that portion of Idaho was. There was nothing for him there. Likewise, the
south and west held no appeal, although he couldn’t say why. East it would be.
That led deeper into the wilderness. Harlan knew how to survive. He would be
okay.

It was
near the middle of October, a little under two months after it began that
Harlan finally came across another person. He’d been on his own for almost
three weeks, depressed, angry, and fearful. Even so, the Ranching Collective
readily accepted him. There he remained until joining us, a decision that was
based solely on the fact that I, and my friends, had killed some of the
monsters Harlan so greatly despised.