The Reanimates (Book 3): The Escape

The Escape

Book Three in The Reanimates

a novel by

J. Rudolph

The Escape

Book Three in The Reanimates Series

First Edition, E-Book – Published
2014

Rudforce Intragalactic, Publishing Division

Copyright © 2014 by Julie Rudolph

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To Connor--

There is nothing that I wouldn't do for you. Nothing at all, ‘cause you're my guy. ;-)

A Whole New World

When you were standing in line at the grocery store, playing the Zombie Apocalypse game, you never factored in how long forever really is. You didn't consider the tedium involved in trying to make life livable when the novelty wears off. You didn't realize the psychological toll involved with the end of the world.

There was a point in your imagination where that last zombie finally crumbled to the ground, the last brain super-bug finally couldn't reproduce, and on that day, you saw the clouds part, the rain stop. The mentally exhausted survivors opened the front door and took those tentative first steps out to the street, relieved that everything was finally over. People cried, hugs were given, and cities were rebuilt.

In the game, it was all adventure and looting. Building your safe zone was just competing over who could build the best mousetrap, and people that survived the longest won. The how-to-survive game was like playing summer camp; and for the first several months, you could convince yourself that the whole thing was camp. You didn't have to follow mom and dad's rules anymore; you followed Camp Zombie rules. You weren't stealing food; you were scavenging. You weren't willfully destroying property when you modified the fences; you were building a front line defense. Icing on the cake was being able to shoot zombies, like a video game put out by the most advanced technological company.

At first, it was the best thing ever. There was more adventure than you could ever dream, and it was real. You just didn't think about the fact that the camp wasn’t going to end.

Or, rather, I didn't. I didn't think about how the days and weeks would drag on when things like food, water, and medicine were so much harder to find than you thought they would be. The total realization that there were no more factories putting out new medications and no company still putting corned beef in the tins was fixed in my brain every time we went out looking for more to eat. It was like we were dying, slowly, in this new world. The only real constant was that many times, the zombies were the least of our problems.

I really didn't consider any of this.

Life was much harder than I had planned on it being. When we arrived in Idaho, I figured that we'd plant a few things and all would be good. It wasn't. I understood quickly why Derek wanted to start moving on his compound idea when we first turned up at Kristen's house. Sustainability was going to be a challenge for them even before we moved everyone from our little complex to their house. With so many more mouths to feed, it became a losing battle. There was just so much we didn't know about. We didn't know, for instance, that corn was a pain in the butt to grow. All that planting and growing only yields a couple ears a stalk, and then it was over. Things that did yield a lot, like the tomato plants, were around, and when you're hungry a tomato is better than a poke in the eye, but that's not a complete nutritional package in one little fruit. Sometimes, after eating the same damned thing for the millionth time, I couldn't help but to weigh how hungry I was when I knew that there was only one option that day. Not a single one of us could be categorized as healthy, but we were alive. I worried some nights how much longer we could keep going if we didn't do something drastic to change our situation. The zombies certainly weren't going to go away, and even if they did, there was no one left to restock the grocery shelves, there were still no pharmacology factories making new antibiotics. There was no light at the end of the tunnel saying that we're almost there. The reality remained, the old earth was gone, and we inherited all the disease and devastation left in the wake of her demise.

The finality of an extinction level event was so, well, final.

A New Hope

We had to move on; it was as simple and as horrifying as that.

We had been living with Kristen for several months, and while we were grateful for the refuge and the security that having so many people provided, the crowded house weighed heavily on everyone's patience. Arguments over stray socks being left on the floor went near nuclear more often than they should. The division of housework led to endless wars between the older kids and teenagers about how unfair the assignment was. No one wanted to be on kitchen or bathroom duty, cleaning up after others. I laughed at them as they fought over the housework, knowing that they were the most guilty about leaving the rooms a mess. After they had gone through the room, it was as though a small tornado ripped in, clad in muddy boots that showed its trajectory, opened and dumped sugar packets, knocked over coffee cups, then disappeared. Since they chose to not pick up their own disasters, they lost any hope of sympathy about how difficult the job at hand was.

When opportunities to go out for supplies came up, there were always ample volunteers. If nothing else, it was an excellent way to get space and distance from the others. It was a chance to bring home a bunch of supplies, including the many new guns and the several crossbows that would become a part of our regular rotation in defense. It was also a chance to be able to bring home new cans of food and hunt for fresh meat. The returning party was always welcomed home like a band of heroes, and as they unpacked their finds, they were as popular as Santa Claus.

The longer the run was going to take, the better, and there were always people that wanted to go. To keep it fair, we created a system that every adult in the house that wanted to leave was counted by someone who wanted to stay. The counting person put a single folded square of paper in an old black bowler hat for everyone that volunteered. One piece was marked with an x and whoever drew it won the chance to do the run. It was no different here, now that we were all standing, once again, ready to draw our names. My hand reached into the hat and I closed my eyes as my fingers danced around the identical folded squares. I caught one between my index and middle fingers and I pulled it out. We waited to open them until after the draw was completed and everyone had their square in their hands. A collective breath was taken and held as we unfolded our squares. I stared at my opened square for a moment before it fully sunk in that my paper was not blank. I touched the X and gasped before I squealed with joy. I pulled the X. I really did!

We tried to go do things as a family here and there, partly to reconnect, but also to feel normal for a little bit. This trip was exactly what we needed. Driving around in the extended cab truck felt like we were regular people going on vacation. When we camped out under the stars, we weren't running for our lives, we were just camping. We felt like we were alive for a bit, not just surviving. I savored every trip we could take together. In this big run, there was a lot riding on it. Sure, we were going to be looking for food, we always did, but this time there was more. We were going to scout out our new home. The night before the run, we sat around the kitchen table with a large map that had been unfolded and discussed promising locations for our new place. There were a couple super tiny towns that had a lot of potential, and we looked closely at ones that sat next to an indicated creek. We paid attention to how the river moved near the roads and had several prospects. If we came up blank, then we could do another run some other time to look in different directions. For now, though, we had a route that looked promising, and I looked forward to the road ahead.

The plan itself was simple. We were going to take over a small town, and when we discovered the small town of Wilsall, Montana, home of a popular rodeo, an ancient looking grain elevator, a rustic auto shop, and a mini-farm with a long half cylinder shaped greenhouse, we knew we had to be on the right path. There were a few houses that we could see from the main road and they were absolutely beautiful, rustic yet modern at the same time. I would have liked this place before the end of the world, had I ever been up here to begin with. It was too bad that it took the world ending for me to find such a gem.

We stumbled on Wilsall quite by accident. There was no indication that this place ever existed on the map we had, just a little number that we had no idea of its meaning as the explanation of those markers had gone missing long ago. We were driving along highway 89 through Montana, and noticed that there was a creek that ran near the road. We drove on, spotted a few houses, and figured that there was a bigger town just ahead. We were shocked to find that there wasn't an anchoring town. Trent turned around to drive through the area again. Excitement flashed in his crystal blue eyes. It was a spark of joy that I hadn't seen in a while.

The town was a tiny blip of a place, boasting a population of less than 200 people before the zombies came, and was a definite no Starbucks town. The main street had a rustic bar that looked like a bank, and a mercantile, and it looked like the town was straight out of one of Drew' s history books. This little place was located in the middle of the state in a valley, which made the temperatures more stable. The stable temperatures seemed to make for a more hospitable place for both people and animals.

Calling this place a town was a bit of a stretch, places like Wilsall were called a ‘census designated place’ more than an actual town, but it was going to be our town, no matter what it used to be in the before days.

Our new home was bordered by a decently sized creek that would provide fresh drinking water, a commodity more precious than gold to us. With the construction of a few irrigation canals, there was space for ample farming land, and even a place to keep livestock. It was just about perfect, with one exception; there was not a secure border anywhere in the area that made up the city's limits. Fortunately, we knew something about security, and with a place that small it would be easy enough to pull off.

We decided to stay one more night before heading back, not wanting to have to fight with driving in the inky darkness with our headlights blazing away, advertising that we were going down that road. Now that fall was here, the nights grew longer and were getting chillier. We made our campsite in the bed of the truck so we didn't have to sleep on the ground. We laid out a foam pad so the metal from the bed wouldn't wick any heat from our bodies. I wished we could have a campfire burning to keep us warm for the night, but that was a risk that Trent and I didn't want to take in such a small group. The fire could attract many things, like wild animals and zombies, not to mention if they came and knocked an ember out of the pit, there was a huge risk that the forest would burn to the ground right then and there. With no fire crews or forestry services, there would be no stopping a raging inferno.

The zombies thinned out in higher elevations, and I was so grateful for that. Their natural path favored going down hills in their aimless wandering. I wondered if this was just easier on them or if there was some instinct. This was not to say that they only traveled in that direction, or that we could totally let down our guard, but we could relax a little if we were careful to keep our presence concealed. If the zombies knew there was food, they happily walked up the hills, so we worked hard at making sure they didn't know that we were ever there. We still saw them on our scouting missions, just not in the concentrations there were in the low lying areas.

Trent had aged over the last year and a half. His glasses, held together by electrical tape in some spots, hid the lines around his eyes. However, at night, I could see that the world had been on his shoulders, tattooing lines of exhaustion and worry on his face when he slid his glasses off and placed them next to the bed. I think the only reason why his hair wasn't showing silver lines in it like mine, was that he shaved his head. It was easier, maintenance-wise, he had told me once. I think it was cut that way because if it had been any longer, he'd have ripped it out. His muscular body had become more defined, partly due to the weight loss and partly due to the physical exercise we all did, and his arms and face were golden brown from the constant sun exposure.

Drew may have only been 11, but he had aged more than his years. That little boy who was in tears when we stared at the television at his grandma's house had gone away, and I mourned that. He was too young to have suddenly become so old. I remember worrying that this world was going to harden his heart, and well, it happened. It was better for him to grow that exterior that bounced off the world and numbed him to the insanity that was life in a zombie world, and I understood that in my brain, but my heart just hurt. Our world hurt. We all lived with the constant threat of death or disease, and the only option was to adopt a thicker skin or let it kill us. We chose life. Not everyone did, and I didn't fault them for that, really. If it hadn't been for my family, I wondered if I would continue to choose life. I knew I was spoiled as compared to so many others; I still had my family, while so many more people had nothing at all.

Drew noticed that I was studying him. He looked so much like his father and I could picture my husband at that age, although similar surroundings for a young Trent would have included a Boy Scout leader. I wondered if he could read the worry in my eyes so I did my best to smile reassuringly. I tried to maintain the appearance of self-assurance. I hoped that the facade would make life easier, not only for him, but me too. They say sometimes you have to 'fake it until you make it' to get through the hard stuff. This was hard stuff. I didn't honestly believe for a second that he bought my 'fake it' face every time I put it on, but I do believe that sometimes it helped. I hoped that he was learning to try to look on the brighter side of life, even if it's just marginally brighter.

"What, mom?" Drew's blue eyes narrowed as he eyed me with a bit of suspicion when I looked at his shaggy blonde hair. At least the length gave it some weight so it wasn't overrun by a series of chaotic cowlicks.

He was like me in that regard. My hair did some really weird things now that it was short. I still wasn't used to its modified length after the run-in we had with the zombie months ago when Lucas cut me free, and was fighting a losing battle with the fly-a-ways. It was definitely more practical though, and it had just enough length to be pulled back in a stubby ponytail.

"You need a haircut." I replied.

Drew raised his eyebrow at me in disbelief, and his eyes took on a mischievous spark. Without dropping a beat, he quipped, "'Cause we're slated to do a zombie fashion show?"

He definitely inherited that mischievous flare and total lack of interest in what the outside of a person looked like from his dad. Drew seemed to have the idea that if he could still see through his hair it should be left alone. With so little left to control in our world, this was an easy thing to concede to. I leaned into him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He sat still for a moment before he wiggled loose.

With nothing left to do, and the cold wrapping around us in its icy tentacles, we slept one last night under the stars before we drove home. We snuggled deep in our sleeping bags, with little more than our noses poking out, to try to ward off the rapidly cooling air. In the pre-dawn light, while we were all lying in the truck bed in our respective sleeping bags, we heard a frightening noise. Well, I was frightened, anyway. Trent had a look of glee as he grabbed his bow and arrow, peeked over the bed of the truck, pulled back the string, and fired. As the arrow landed with a thunk, there was a strange squeal of an injured animal. Trent jumped over the side of the truck bed, pulled out a knife, and quickly silenced whatever was making that awful noise.

Trent landed a boar, and by the size of it, a mostly matured one at that. We were going to have an awesome meal tonight. With a fresh kill in our camp, we decided to pack up and go home. With the amount of blood that was seeping out of the carcass, we were not going to be alone that much longer. It took the three of us to heft the wild animal into the bed of the truck.

When we got back, we called a meeting to discuss our accidental discovery of Wilsall. We decided to make it a dinner meeting and we ate like kings in front of that fireplace.

We were all losing weight. It was part of why we needed to start a compound together. If we had more space to grow things then maybe we could slow how fast the weight fell off. I was worried that we weren't too far from having significant muscle loss along with the fat. Who would have guessed that the best diet plan ever was one in which you avoided being eaten.

The adults of the group suffered more signs of malnutrition than the kids. All of us saved a portion of our meals to give the young ones, and we gave it to them happily. I wondered sometimes how many of our arguments stemmed from low blood sugar from our restricted calories.

The children amazed me with how adaptive they had been, even Daniel's little ones. They understood when we said there wasn't any more food. They totally comprehended what was going on when we were all tense and we said to be quiet. Days of fresh meat like this were becoming a rare treat, which was part of the problem with staying put. Hunting wasn't always successful, and we had to preserve the meat to make it last as long as we could. We were so tired of being so hungry, we chose to make it a party this time and only preserve what we didn't use in that meal for later. With our bellies full and our thinking cleared by the sudden intake of fats and proteins, we talked about how this was going to be a fresh start for everyone, and maybe we could feel normal in a place like Wilsall.