PROLOGUE

June 19, Zed Year One

A small log cabin in the woods on

the outskirts of Brattleboro, Vermont.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, we don’t even have electricity way out here,” the auburn haired young woman said, looking at her husband.

“Relax, sweetheart. It’s just a cozy little weekend getaway,” the tall, heavyset man said, smiling at his beautiful wife. “I just thought it would be nice to have a little cabin up here, and my parents didn’t mind selling me the cabin and the pond. We can fish or hunt right outside our back door.”

“Yay.” she said, rolling her eyes in polite exasperation. “Just what I always wanted to do. Play with fish guts on my weekend off.”

The couple walked through the small three-room cabin, noting where minor repairs would need to be made, holding hands and throwing quick, loving glances at each other.

“Besides, the way things are lately, I wouldn’t mind moving some of our emergency supplies up here. You know, a place to get away from the city, if things get bad,” the man said, frowning in thought.

“Whatever makes you happy, honey. I know you worry about that, even if it is a little ridiculous.”

“Hey, you love me and my tinfoil hat!” he said playfully to her. She smiled and nodded.

“At least it’s shiny so I can see you when you get lost wandering the “wasteland.” She made air quotes around the word, giggling at him.

“And here’s the best part of this little cabin - a full basement! I’m thinking of maybe putting a generator out back too. We can run electric lines from my parent’s house but I want to have the generator as back up too. I’ll put a big fuel tank out back,” the man said to his wife, wrapping his arm around her as they descended to the dark but dry basement. “This place can actually hold quite a bit of supplies. I can store some of my hunting gear too.”

“Hunting, huh? Right.” She laughed. “Ugh, look at the spiders…oh my God!” She squealed. “Is that a raccoon?”

“Babe, it’s just a chipmunk. Come back!”

The chimes from his cell phone indicated a new email had just arrived. Probably more spam, he thought. His lovely wife was already on her way back to the car for the two hour ride home, but he stopped, pulled out his cell phone, and checked the new email. He frowned when he saw who had sent it.

We’ve been outvoted. We’re going to join with the Free State Coalition. They have money and resources we can only dream about, and they are backed by someone high up, I don’t know who. The selling point was some kind of secret plan they have, something they say can’t be ignored. I tried to talk the council out of it, but I don’t think that even if you’d been here, we could have changed their minds. I don’t like where this is going. Get your ducks in a row, buddy. -Jcon14

He frowned as he finished reading it. “Dammit all to hell!” he muttered to himself as he hit the REPLY button.

That’s insane. Those guys are white supremacists and don’t give a damn about the Constitution! How can the New England Constitutionalists back them? It doesn’t make any sense. I heard those guys just bought up all that land on the Mexico border and built some kind of compound, and they’re probably involved in drug smuggling too! You know how I feel about that.

I have a feeling some of our “brothers” have been bought. I did NOT sign up to smuggle drugs or blow up federal buildings to defend our rights. Stay low and watch your back. You know where to find me when the Shit Hits The Fan. -M

He hit the SEND button, stuffed his cell phone back in to his shirt pocket, and walked out of the cabin, forcing a smile onto his face.

Chapter 1

September 20, Zed Year One

Millbury, Massachusetts

More unrest on the Mexican border this morning, as five more Border Patrol agents were killed in what investigators are calling a brutal massacre. Investigators are not sure who the attackers were, but Congressman Hillerman of California is calling for the immediate arrest of all undocumented aliens in the State until a full investigation has been completed.

The newscaster monotonously droned on about continuing violence in southern California. John Mason switched off the radio as he pulled into his driveway. He slowed the Crown Victoria down as he pulled in behind his wife’s newer Volvo Cross Country. Shutting the rattling old engine down, he gathered up his briefcase and lunch box and strolled across the driveway. As he walked up the front steps, the door opened and his face lit up.

“Hi sweetheart! I’m glad you’re home,” his wife, Sara, said, smiling. She brushed the flour off her hands on to the frilly pink apron she wore. “Just in time, too.”

“Hi babe, something smells good.” John said, taking Sara into his arms. They kissed on the front steps for longer than a married couple of five years would normally find appropriate. John towered over Sara by almost a foot, wrapping her in his big arms. His frame, big from years as a police officer had recently been padded by her delicious cooking and too many hours sitting in his car at his new job as a private investigator. Sara’s auburn hair spilled down over her shoulders, framing her face.

Their embrace was interrupted by a black and brown blur as it raced from the house and jumped up in to the air, somehow managing to land all 65 pounds of herself right between John and Sara’s arms, barking excitedly.

“Princess! Down girl! Yes, I missed you too.” John said, laughing and yanking on one of the Australian shepherd’s ears. The three of them somehow managed to spill back in to the house, right in to the warm and cozy little kitchen.

“How was work? Catch any bad guys today?” Sara asked as she walked back to the stove.

“Yeah tons. And then I woke up from my nap and remembered I sit in a car and wait for people to mow their lawns so I can catch them on video.” John said ruefully.

“I know, babe. I know you miss police work, but hey, it’s a good job,” Sara said as she pulled a roasting pan from the oven.

“Yeah. I guess. God, that smells good. Hey, did you listen to the news today?” John asked, changing the subject.

“About the killings on the border? The agents? The other teachers were talking about it at lunch.”

“No, I mean the town in Mexico. I can’t remember the name of it, but they said an entire town of people had been killed. They think it’s from the drug wars, but the news crew that went to check it out hasn’t been heard from. They’re supposed to be sending in some troops to figure out what happened,” John said as he took off his jacket. The brown leather shoulder holster with it’s .45 came next, thumping down on to the table.

“Hun, can you put that somewhere else? I need to set the table for dinner. Jose and Tina are coming over.” Sara said.

“Oh yeah? That should be fun.” John said, grinning as he took four plates out of the cabinet. “I can show your brother the newest addition to my gun cabinet. And we can both pick on him about that paint job on his truck. Flames? Really?”

“Oh come on, John! How many times can we pick on him about that before he gets mad?” Sara laughed. “No, I mean really. Tell me how many times, cause I’m not ready to stop just yet.”

*

An hour later, a low rumbling could be heard coming from the driveway. The sounds of slamming doors could be heard moments after the loud engine shut off.

“Hey Sara, your brother’s here.” John yelled from his big overstuffed leather chair in the living room. He got up and walked to the front door, opening it just as a seventeen year old mop-headed young man reached for the door knob. The two men quickly shook hands as John stepped aside, letting Jose in to the room. He was followed closely by a young lady with long brown hair and too much makeup.

“Jesus, Jose, buy her a cheeseburger or something!” John said, slapping his brother-in-law heavily on his back. Jose staggered a little under the onslaught but tried to pretend it didn’t hurt.

“Nah, she’s way too fat. Her new nickname is cowzilla…OUCH!” Jose yelled, wincing, as Tina punched him as hard as she could in the same spot John had just assaulted.

“Alright, cut it out you guys. Get in here and help me finish setting the table.” Sara came out of the kitchen carrying a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes.

The extended family enjoyed a long and hearty dinner sitting around the Masons’ battered old dining room table, talking about Jose’s school and John’s job, Sara making sure everyone had enough to eat. The rest of the evening passed uneventfully until some time later as they sat in the living room, watching television.

“We interrupt this regularly scheduled broadcast to bring you this important breaking news. Fighting on the Mexico and Texas border is being reported, with units of the Texas National Guard and the U.S. Border Patrol clashing with what is being reported as crowds of Mexican citizens on drugs. Officials speculate this to be some sort of attempt by Mexican drug cartels to overwhelm the United States border as a distraction for a large shipment of illegal narcotics. We now go to Stephanie Ramirez, live, in El Paso, Texas. Stephanie?”

“Thanks, Brock. I’m here in El Paso, Texas, overlooking the Rio Grande, the river separating the United States from Mexico in this part of the state. I have here with me Captain Mark Thompson of the Texas National Guard. Captain Thompson, can you tell us what is happening out there?”

The pretty but vapid reporter turned to face a stern looking man in the later half of his life, with close cropped salt and pepper hair and clean shaven face wearing a National Guard uniform.

“Well, all we know right now is about one hour ago, a small crowd of hopped up Mexicans started attacking people waiting to get through the U.S.-Mexican checkpoint. Mexican police opened fire on them, and that seemed to deter them for awhile, but more of them came. We arrived after our own Border Patrol had been over run. We don’t yet know how many men we’ve lost. We have managed to close the border now, but we’ve got a lot of casualties, Ms. Ramirez. A lot dead, and a lot of wounded back in the hospital tents.”

The captain’s radio began to squawk.

“Ms. Ramirez, that’s all I can say at this time. We have to go now, we should get you out of here. Shut that camera off. Now!”

The picture went dead for a moment, before returning to the original news anchor.

“Ah, we seem to be having some technical difficulties, but we’ll keep on it, folks. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.”

“Why don’t you kids head home, Jose?” Sara said, watching her husband closely.

The two teenagers said their goodbyes as they left. Before they’d even made it to the end of the driveway, John was on the phone, dialing his Uncle Walt in El Paso. The circuit kept going dead. Finally, on the third attempt, he heard his uncle’s voice on the other end.

“Hello?” Uncle Walt said, sounding tired.

“Uncle Walt, hey, it’s John. We just heard the border is getting overrun or something? I know you’re on the other side of the city, but are you guys safe?”

“Yeah John, we’re alright. I’ve got everything locked up. An old army buddy over at Fort Bliss just told me they’re sending M.P.s to the border to help out. So much for Posse Comitatus, eh? Sounds bad though.” Uncle Walt replied.

“Do you have a couple days’ worth of supplies? Can you and Aunt Sally button up there and just ride it out?” John asked his uncle.

“Don’t worry, boy. I’ve got that twelve gauge pump you gave me last Christmas, and a couple hundred rounds of double ought. Got my old .45 too, and enough water and food to last us a couple of weeks. But don’t you worry, this ain’t nothing our boys in green can’t handle.”

The two chatted for a little while longer, with John promising to call his uncle back in the morning to check on him.

Sara finally convinced John to shut off the news and go to bed. They kissed each other before shutting off the light, Princess snoring contentedly at the foot of the bed.

Chapter 2

September 21, Zed Year One

Millbury Massachusetts

After a fitful night’s sleep, John woke up and made a pot of coffee. As the coffee pot announced that it had completed its task, he heard the shower start up in the bathroom. As Sara began singing the chorus to Renegade by Styx, John sat down in his chair and turned on the TV.

Almost every channel had some sort of emergency news running about the fate of El Paso. A lot of it looked like it had been filmed during the night. Brow furrowing in worry, he picked up his phone and called his uncle. This time, it took nine tries before he got through.

“Hello?” Uncle Walt said. He was out of breath. John heard something he’d never heard in the old retired drill sergeant’s voice before. Fear.

“Uncle Walt? How are you guys doing?” John asked anxiously. “This crap is all over the news, but I still don’t know what’s going on. They’re showing some pretty awful pictures of mutilated people all over the ground.”

“Boy, this ain’t the place to be right now, I can tell you that. We decided last night to get the hell out of here this morning, but when we tried, all the streets were blocked by accidents or roadblocks. We came back and are going to wait it out. Jesse called this morning; he’s going to try to get a flight out here today to help us out.” Uncle Walt said, speaking of his son.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Can he get there from the airport?”

“We’ll find a way. I told him not to come but he said he had to.” Uncle Walt said, sounding tired.

John heard a commotion on the other end of the line. “Hold on, boy. Your aunt says someone’s prowlin’ around the back yard.” John could hear his uncle lay the phone down.

Several minutes later, he heard a gunshot. Then another. Then two more close together. A few tense moments after that, the panicked voice of his Aunt Sally began speaking in to the phone.

“John? John? Your uncle got attacked. Some guy was in the back yard, all covered in blood and Walt went out there!”

“Aunt Sally? Okay, calm down, is Uncle Walt alright? Are you?” John said, clenching his fist impotently.

“John, your uncle’s alright, but that man, he tried to bite him! Walt shot him, but he didn’t stop coming at him. Walt just kept shooting.” Aunt Sally grew increasingly panicked as she spoke.

“Aunt Sally, is Walt alright? Is he inside? Are the doors locked?” John said, growing more agitated as he spoke.

There was a long silence on the other end. Then, Uncle Walt picked up the phone.

“Boy, I’m fine. Don’t you worry none about me. This ain’t any worse than Nam, and I got through that just fine. I don’t know what’s going on but we’ll be fine. They’re saying on the TV that they’re evacuating the wounded to Dallas and some to Atlanta. Everyone else will be evacuated as soon as possible. We may try the roads again if it comes to that, but I’ll let you know.” Uncle Walt paused, breathing hard. “Boy, if we don’t make it up there, you make sure Jesse and my grandkids are alright, okay?”

“Don’t even say that Uncle Walt, you know I’d do that anyway.” John said. He glanced at the TV just in time to watch the ticker across the bottom say that the entire state of Texas as well as southern California were now under martial law.

“They just declared martial law.” John said into the phone.

“I know, John. We’re fine. I’ll call you later tonight. Hopefully Jesse will turn around and go home.”

“We both know he’s still itching to play Texas Ranger, and this is his chance. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” John said. “Be careful, Unc.”

“You too, boy.” Uncle Walt said, right before the phone went dead.

*

Sara came out of the shower, wrapped in a big fluffy towel, her hair dripping wet. “Hey you, what’s going on?”

“Nothing good. Just got off the phone with Uncle Walt. Someone tried to attack him in his own back yard.” John paused. “Pretty sure he shot him,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“What? Oh my God! Are they alright? Did he call the police?” Sara asked, concern on her face.

“Won’t do any good, babe. All the police are at the border or the hospitals trying to stop the…whatever they are. TV just said they are under martial law. Southern California too.”

“I thought it was just some drugged up Mexican cartel crashing the border. Isn’t that what they said it was last night?” Sara asked anxiously.

“I know, that’s what they said. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on.” John said. “I’m not working today, taking a personal day.”

“Oh, well, I’ll be home by four. If my students let me.” Sara said, walking back in to the bathroom.

“Can’t you take a day off?” John asked.

“Not today, John.” She was using his name so he knew she was serious about going to school. “Big quiz, and you know how much that would please my kids if they didn’t get their quiz.” Sara said, laughing, as she turned on the blow dryer.

John picked up his cup of coffee and headed to the basement door. “Alright sweetheart, come give me a kiss before you leave. I’ll be down in the basement.”

*

Sara pulled out of the driveway at 7:10. Three hours later, John was still in the basement loading supplies into duffel bags and backpacks. His phone chimed, signifying that he had a new email. Flipping open his phone, he read the new message.

M, this just came in to the NEC office, meant for officers only. Shit, I don’t know what to do. I’m taking the family to Maine, tonight. You know the place. You can get me on the shortwave if you need to. Same frequency we practiced on. Good luck. -Jcon14

Forwarded message: We have lost all contact with the compound. Something terrible has happened. We believe the virus was released too early, or incorrectly, or it may have caused a reaction none of us anticipated. All FSC members are ordered to secondary positions. Any and all that can give shelter and aid to core members are ordered to do so. Secondary compounds are to be locked up and defended with deadly force.

John rubbed his head thoughtfully. He quickly deleted the email and closed his phone. Muttering to himself, he zipped up the large green duffel bag he had been working on, boxes of ammunition and packets of food visible as the zipper began to close.

John sat in front of the TV. The clock on the cable box said 1:19 pm. He glared at it, willing it to go faster, to hit 4:00. It stayed where it was, probably out of spite, he thought to himself.

The news from Texas was bad. Outbreaks of enraged, murderous people had been confirmed in Dallas, Houston, and Galveston. All three cities held major populations of evacuees and wounded from El Paso.

There was no news from El Paso at all. News helicopters flying over the city were showing mobs of bloody people flowing through the streets like a river of corpses. Every once in a while, the camera would zoom in on the crowd as it pulled a person from a stalled car, or broke into a store, dragging people out into the chaos, and eating them. John did a double take, making sure he had actually heard the newscaster say “eating them”. He stared at the television, horrified. Every zombie movie he’d ever watched came crashing back in to his thoughts as he stared.

Of course, no one on TV had called them zombies yet. They’d called them everything from infected’ to drug addicts’ to angry Mexican mobs.’

John flipped the TV to a channel showing news from California. A pretty Latina woman was speaking into the camera.

“

no communication at all with San Diego. The last evacuation buses left the city three hours ago, headed for Anaheim. Many buses were filled to overflowing with wounded. Military cargo planes also assisted in the evacuation, heading to bases in California and Nevada. Wait…it seems that we have just received word that Anaheim is under attack from mobs of violent illegal aliens. We are receiving reports of mass casualties…”

John turned the channel back to the station monitoring Texas. His cell phone began to chime.

“Hello.” John said on the first ring.

“John? Hey man, it’s Jesse.” The deep baritone on the other end sounded tired.

“Jesse? Where are you? Uncle Walt said you were headed to Texas.”

“I was. They stopped the flight in Dallas, loaded up all the empty seats with evacuees and sent us back to Logan. When was the last time you talked to Dad?” Jesse asked.

“Sometime early this morning. Around 6:30, I think. I haven’t heard anything from him since. I’ve tried, but it keeps saying that all the circuits are busy.” John said.

“Dammit, I couldn’t get to him. I’m headed back to New Hampshire now. I’m going to send Jen and the kids over to your parents house, and I’m going to try to make it to him in my truck.” Jesse said.

“That’s not a good idea, Jesse. But I’d do the same thing in your position.” John said. “Do you still have that rifle?”

“Yeah, I’ll bring it. Never thought that old Mini 14 would come in handy but now I’m glad I have it.” Jesse said. Sirens could be heard in the background.

“Hey John, something’s going on back at the airport, I think. Tons of cops headed in that direction. Looks like I missed whatever it was. I’ll call you if I hear anything from Dad.”

“Good luck, Jesse. I’ll let my parents know you’re sending them over.”

John flipped his phone closed. He looked at the clock again counting the minutes until Sara would get home.

At 4:14 pm. John heard Sara’s car pull in to the driveway. He went to the door and walked outside. Sara watched him scanning the woods surrounding the house. She glanced at his shoulder holster, the snap covering the Sig Sauer P220 unfastened. She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Hi honey, strappin’ the big guns, huh? Something wrong? Did you hear from Uncle Walt?” Sara asked, reaching for her tote bag as she got out of the Volvo.

“They’re in Boston, baby. I just heard it on the scanner.” John said, hurrying his wife inside.

“Whoa, where’s the fire? More importantly, where’s my kiss? And who’s in Boston?” she asked.

“Sara, I think they’re zombies.”

Chapter 3

September 21, Zed Year One

Millbury Massachusetts

“John, I don’t think that’s very funny.” Sara said, slightly pissed off.

“Sara, I’m not kidding. I’ve been watching the news all damned day. They’re spreading like wildfire. From Texas and California to Boston in less than a day!” John said, raising his voice.

“Stop it, John! It’s not funny!” Sara yelled, pushing past John.

“Fine, you turn on the TV and tell me what you see!” John said. He hadn’t meant to yell at her. He could tell she was scared. “Sara…” But he didn’t know what else to say.

Sara stalked angrily towards the television set in the living room and brutally stabbed the power button with her finger. The TV turned on to the channel John had been watching before she got home, it was showing scenes from a news helicopter over the Zakim Bridge. It looked like a beautiful afternoon, the sun setting over the Boston skyline, if it weren’t for what Sara saw as she glued her eyes to the television screen.

Two distinct crowds of people were running between stopped or crashed cars on the bridge. Smoke from burning vehicles momentarily obscured the scene. Then, the wind blew, and Sara watched in horror as the pursuing crowd overtook the fleeing crowd. The camera operator zoomed in just as the crowds began to mingle, on to a fleeing family. The father was wearing a very nice gray business suit and carrying a briefcase in his left hand. In his right he clutched a terrified young girl, complete with a doll and pigtails. A hysterical dark-haired young woman followed, the jewelry on her left hand gaudily sparkling in the afternoon sun. Sara watched as three blood covered savages, one of them wearing a FedEx jumpsuit, grabbed the woman, pulled her down to the ground, and began to eat her.

Sara stumbled backward, as speechless as the news crew in the helicopter. She felt sick to her stomach, but couldn’t focus long enough to decide what to do next. John shut the TV off and wrapped his arms around her. She fought for a second, but then relented. She held onto him without speaking for several minutes. Finally, she pulled back, wiping her eyes.

“Fuck,” was the only word she could get out.

*

Once he knew Sara couldn’t hear or see it, about half an hour later, John turned the television back on. She was in the bedroom packing some clothes. A local announcer interrupted the constant scenes of carnage coming from Boston.

“The Governor has just declared a state of emergency for the entire state of Massachusetts. Both the National Guard and the State Guard have been mobilized and ordered into Boston to help contain the…er…rioters. All citizens have been ordered to remain where they are. I repeat, all citizens have been ordered to remain where they are.”

John muted the television. He carried several large duffel bags to the Volvo, tossing them one after the other in the back. He hadn’t realized how many supplies he had packed in the canvas bags; even with the back seats folded down, it was a tight squeeze.

“So much for the company’s season tickets for the Pats,” John muttered ruefully to himself. He doubted he would get to take Sara to Foxboro for the next game.

Sara and John spent the next hour making sure everything important to them, everything irreplaceable, every photo and document, was packed and in the car. He was thankful Sara had made copies of their birth and marriage certificates, stockpiled their favorite wedding and family pictures, and he was glad she knew just where their passports were. Finally, after everything was tucked into the bags, John locked down every window, made sure all the other exits were locked up tight, and walked to the car. He had a long item in a brown wool sock over one shoulder, and his keys in his hand. He looked at Sara.

“Do you have your pistol, sweetheart?”

Sara patted a slight bulge behind her right hip. “Of course.” She attempted a smile, and John could tell she was trying to be brave for him, but it didn’t seem like the right moment to tell her everything would be alright.

“Looks like that’s it, then. Let’s hit the road.” John stopped at the door and turned around, looking back in to the house. “Princess!” he called, “Come on girl! Time to go.”

Princess stuck her head out of the den and looked down the hall at John. She ducked back in to the room. A few seconds later, she came back into the hall, dragging her scruffy bed behind her. John just looked at her, shaking his head slowly. “That’s your dog, Sara. I don’t even know her.” He thought he saw a bit of a real smile trace her lips.

*

John drove the Volvo as fast as he dared on the old back roads. They’d decided not to try chancing Route 146. John didn’t know how serious the local police would be about enforcing the stay at home rule, and he didn’t really want to test it. The roads appeared mostly deserted, with only the occasional vehicle passing by. Some appeared completely oblivious to what was going on, but a few vehicles looked to be filled with families and their belongings, heading to who knew where. After thirty minutes, they arrived at their location, a cozy little house on the main street in Uxbridge with a sign on the mailbox with the word Maxwell’ in bright gold letters. They pulled into the driveway behind Jose’s pickup.

John got out first, scanning the area. He motioned to Sara that it was safe. The couple, followed by a bounding Princess, walked quickly to the side door of Sara’s parents’ home. John carried the sock-covered object and a small canvas bag. The door opened as they approached.

“Dude, did you see? Zombies!” Jose stood in the doorway, barefoot, with only a pair of blue jeans on.

John and Sara quickly entered, pushing past Jose. Princess darted inside the house. Happy growls could be heard from inside the house as Princess found Fish, the Maxwells’ big yellow Labrador Retriever.

“Hey, little brother. Close the door.” Sara said as she hugged Jose. “Where’s Mom?”

“In the basement folding laundry. Dad’s in his office playing World of Warcraft.” Sara headed through the kitchen to find her mother in the basement. “Did you see the news, John?” Jose was practically vibrating with energy as he stood there, bouncing from foot to foot.

“Yeah, we saw. We’re heading up to Vermont. We want you guys to come with us,” John said.

“Why, what’s in Vermont? Trees?”

“And food, and weapons, and more importantly, less people.” John answered. He had never understood how his in-laws thought trees were the only thing that existed in his home state.

“Dad’ll never go for it. You know him.” Jose remarked, shaking his head.

Sara walked down the stairs into her parent’s basement. She saw her mom bent over a stack of laundry, Ipod earbuds in each ear. She smiled at her mom shaking her butt to whatever song was playing.

She walked up and tapped Dierdre Maxwell on the shoulder. Dierdre turned around, smiling as she saw Sara. She pulled the headphones out and hugged her daughter. “Sara, I didn’t know you were coming over. You never tell me. The house is a mess.” The house was immaculate, but Dierdre always insisted it wasn’t.

“Mom, have you seen what’s going on in the city?”

“Oh, the riots? I heard something about it. People were stocking up on groceries today at the market.” Her mother made a dismissive gesture with her hands and turned back to her pile of clothes.

“Mom, it’s way more serious than that. They’re not riots. They’re something much worse, and it’s happening all over the country.” Sara said, exasperation clear in her voice. “We came to get you. I don’t think just having some extra water in the house is going to cut it this time. We want you to come to Vermont with us for a little while. You can stay in our cabin. We have plenty of room.”

“Oh dear, no sweetie, I have work in the morning, and your father has a big job over in Webster.” Deirdre said as she continued to fold someone’s underpants.

“Mom, come on, this is serious!” She could feel herself losing patience with her mother. “How can you not be paying attention?”

“Oh calm down, Sara. Go say hi to your father. Did he see Princess yet? Then I’ll put some chicken in the oven. You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?”

Sara turned away from her mother, tears of frustration threatening to spill down her cheeks. She blinked furiously as she stomped up the stairs. A few moments later she stood in her father’s office. A blue skinned Night Elf was attacking the short hairy Dwarf on the big computer monitor.

“Hi Daddy.” Sara said, coming up behind her father.

“Hey baby girl. Can’t talk now, I’m in a fight.” Dutch Maxwell said, rapidly clicking away at his mouse button.

“Dad, we need to talk about something serious. We want you and mom to come stay with us for a few days in Vermont.”

“Sure kiddo, whatever you say. Maybe next weekend?” The Night Elf appeared to be winning the fight.

“Dad, right now. Have you seen what’s going on in Boston? In California?” Sara said, raising her voice.

“Yeah I heard some kind of riots. Half of my guild didn’t show up for the war. I am really pissed off!” Dutch pressed the attack, making the hairy little Dwarf swing his ax at the Night Elf’s knees. “Hah! Weren’t ready for that, were you? Friggin’ Elves!”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me! DADDY! Pause the god damned game!” Sara screamed, right in her father’s ear. She had never sworn at her father. She felt her cheeks redden.

“Jesus H. Christ, Sara, what the hell is wrong with you? You know I can’t pause this, and it’s not a game,” Dutch said, not entirely looking away from his monitor.

“Dad..” Sara had avoided crying in front of her mother, but her dad was a whole other story. Tears began to stream down her face. “Dad, you have to come with us right now.”

“Sara, calm down. Go help your mom fix dinner.”

*

“John, they don’t even know what’s going on. I don’t know what to do. They’re not getting it.” Sara stood in Jose’s room next to John. Jose sat on his bed, a long silver samurai sword resting across his knees.

“Damn. Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do.” John took the sock off the long object he’d been carrying, revealing a black pump action shotgun with a pistol grip. He handed it to Jose. “Here, take this. Just keep it out of sight so your parents don’t flip out.” He handed the canvas bag to Jose. “There’s some ammo in here and about a week’s worth of protein bars. Stay in the house, do whatever you have to do to make your parents stay home tomorrow. By then, they should know that something serious is going on.”

“I can do that!” Jose said, eyes gleaming as he held the shotgun in his hands.

“If things get worse, come to Vermont. You know where my parents’ house is, and it’s in your dad’s GPS. Our cabin is behind that, can’t miss it.”

Sara spent a few minutes hugging Jose, then her dad, and finally her mom. “I don’t know why you won’t stay for dinner, Sara,” her mom said. Sara didn’t even have the heart to argue.

They walked out to the car. John opened the back door for Princess. She bounded up in to the station wagon, tail wagging for whatever adventure they were about to embark upon. John reached in past her, to one of the duffel bags. He unzipped it and pulled out a black AR 15 carbine. He checked the magazine, making sure it was loaded. Slipping the carbine up between the front seats, John got in to the driver’s seat.

He backed the maroon Cross Country out of the driveway and headed north.

Chapter 4

September 21, Zed Year One

En Route to Brattleboro, Vermont

John and Sara, along with a snoring Princess in the back, headed north. They’d spoken about the route before, on the way to the Maxwells’ house, and decided to head north on Route 146, through Worcester, towards Route 2. They’d take Route 2 to Greenfield, then either get on Interstate 91 north, to Vermont, or go through back roads either through Bernardston or Leyden, and cross the state line, depending on traffic or other hazards.

John looked down at the gas gauge as they approached a filling station. “A little over half. We better stop and fill up now, while we still can.” John said, pulling in to the station.

The radio had been reporting over and over that people were to remain in place. National Guard units were clashing with the “infected”, as they were being called on some of the radio stations. Violence had spread out from Boston into the outlying towns already, with incidents being reported less than twenty miles from their current location. The radio station also said numerous wounded were being evacuated by bus to Worcester and further west to Springfield. Sara had listened to too much of the broadcast, and turned down the radio and put her iPod headphones in her ears.

John looked around, carefully scanning the area before getting out of the Volvo. A pickup truck was filling up one pump over, and two tractor trailers were at the diesel pumps. Otherwise, the station appeared deserted.

Looking back in to the car, John stuck his hand out to Sara. “Babe, throw me the credit card. The one with the really high interest rate.”

“Seriously? I thought we agreed not to use that one except in an emergen…oh. Right.” Sara pulled the card out of the glove box and handed it to John. He chuckled at her as he swiped it in the pump.

“You are too easily amused, dear.” Sara said, shaking her head and reinserting her headphones as she watched her husband pump the gas.

Back on the road, the couple soon found themselves battling heavier traffic. Worcester appeared to be in a full on panic, with people in all sorts of vehicles clogging all lanes of traffic in all directions. John pulled out his cell phone and dialed his parents’ telephone number.

John’s mother, June, answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Mom, hey, it’s John. We’re on our way up to the cabin.”

“Oh dear, John. Be careful, the TV says Al-Qaeda (she pronunced it El Kayda) invaded us . Your Aunt Sally called but got cut off.” June said, sounding very worried.

“I know, Mom. We’ll be up there sometime tonight. It’s going to take us a while to get through all the traffic.” John said, pulling in and out of the lines of cars, making some headway despite the angry honking directed at him.

“Do me a favor, Mom. You and Dad just stay home, okay? This thing is bad and just getting worse.”

“We’re not going anywhere, son. Jesse called us an hour ago. He said Jen and the kids are coming over to stay with us.”

“Yeah, he already told me. He’s going to try to get to Uncle Walt’s house.”

“Oh goodness. Well, you come on up but be careful. I’ll be praying,” June said.

“Love you mom. Be there soon,” John said, closing his phone.

They eventually reached Route 2 well after dark. Traffic had thinned out considerably, though reports on the radio said the Mass Pike was completely stalled in both directions. Apparently a bus filled with evacuees and wounded had crashed, and violence had broken out.

With forty miles still to go before the Greenfield exit, John was driving at a pretty good pace, trying to make up some of the time they had lost in the heavier traffic. Sara had been on the phone with her parents for a while but finally got cut off due to bad reception. They were finally starting to pay attention to the news, but the Maxwells insisted they not turn around for them. John powered through a corner, slamming on the brakes as he rounded the bend. Ahead, a State Police cruiser sat off to the right of the road, behind a red Nissan Altima. The Altima appeared to have crashed into the guardrail. The blue lights from the cruiser illuminated the scene in eerie blue strobe light.

John pulled to a stop as he neared the police car. A booted leg stuck out from the driver’s side door. John didn’t see anyone else nearby.

“Sara, stay in the car, but keep me covered.” John said, opening the car door.

“John, maybe you should stay in…” Sara said, even as John shut the door behind him. “We are going to have a talk later, about this bravado thing,” she said, trying to cover up the fear in her voice. She lifted up the right side of her shirt and drew her Beretta 9000S, thumbing the safety off. She held it down below the level of the window, keeping it out of sight but ready. The night sights on the little 9mm glowed a bright green in the darkness.

John walked slowly over to the police car. As he got closer, he could tell the man inside was dead. Blood covered the uniformed trooper’s chest, and most of the inside of the front compartment of the car. His left hand and forearm were missing as well.

Reaching inside, John felt the trooper’s ankle. The flesh was already cold, with no hint of a pulse. John reached down on to the floor and picked up the trooper’s pistol. He could smell gunpowder. “Good for you, Trooper. At least you tried.” John said, nodding to the prostrate figure. Looking back at Sara, John gave a little wave, then a thumbs down signal. Sara nodded, keeping a good watch of the woods behind the two cars.

John reached in and pulled the spare magazines from the trooper’s belt, as well as the portable radio. He grabbed the keys from the ignition, and walked back to the trunk, tucking the trooper’s Glock into his belt as he walked. Popping the trunk, John reached inside and grabbed a duffel bag. Unzipping it, he rifled quickly through the contents, noting extra ammunition, gloves and a few other goodies. Zipping it back up, he reached back in and grabbed the tactical rifle case laying flat on the floor of the trunk. He nodded to himself as he opened the case, exposing a brand new Smith & Wesson M&P AR 15, complete with tactical light on the forearm grip. He closed the case and took it and the duffel bag to the Volvo. Opening the back door, he pushed a curious Princess over and stuffed the two items in to the already overcrowded car. Princess sighed in annoyance as her little kingdom was rudely invaded. Her annoyance was quickly forgotten as she found a zipper on one of the packed bags to chew on.

John walked towards the driver’s side door. As he reached for the handle, Sara yelled. “John!”

Turning, John saw what made his wife scream in horror. The dead trooper sat up and looked straight at him. John stared back at the officer, noting the eyes were cloudy, almost milky. The trooper’s mouth worked silently for a few seconds, before a low, angry moan escaped the lifeless lips. Princess was barking like mad in the back of the car, pawing at the window.

Struggling, the officer began to slide out of the car. He stumbled out and began running toward the Volvo. Sara brought her gun up even as John was pulling his from his shoulder holster. Sara fired twice as the trooper closed on them, hitting him in the chest with both shots.

Either the man was wearing a vest, or the shots didn’t affect him, John noted to himself as he took careful aim at the trooper’s head. His first shot hit low, right under its chin. The officer staggered for a second, but then resumed its violent run at the Volvo. Sara watched in horror as the creature made it almost to her door before the top of its head exploded with the force of John’s .45 hollow point bullet. The dead trooper dropped in its tracks.

John jumped in the Volvo, slammed the car into drive and stomped on the gas.

*

The next forty-five minutes passed in near silence as the two tried, each in their own way, to make sense of what had just happened. Neither wanted to think that they may have just killed a man. But both knew that what they had killed had not, in fact, been a man any longer.

Finally Sara broke the silence. “John, that guy was already dead.”

“I know,” John replied, taking his wife’s hand and gently squeezing. “But that was some shootin’ there, Tex.”

Princess chose that moment to break the tension by sneezing. Fine brown powder exploded from the back seat. Sara looked in the back, eyes going wide. “John! She’s in the coffee!”

Princess began chasing her tail in the crowded back seat, her snout covered in coffee grounds. She quickly became little more than a black and brown streak in John’s rear view mirror.

John pulled the Volvo onto Interstate 91. A few minutes later, he knew he’d made a mistake. A big yellow school bus lay across both northbound lanes. John pulled the Volvo in to the median and worked his way around the yellow behemoth. Sara looked inside as they drove past. Red smears streaked the windshield. Something moved inside.

“John, something’s moving in there.”

John slowed as they passed the windshield. Suddenly, a small face appeared, pressed against the glass. The entire bottom portion of the child’s face was missing. John stepped on the gas, leaving the bus behind.

After Greenfield, traffic north on the interstate grew heavier. Sara and John both noticed there was no traffic heading south. As they drew closer to the Vermont border, they saw cars pulled off to the side of the road. Steam rolled from the hoods of some, while others just appeared to be abandoned. People were walking along the side of the highway heading north. Single people as well as families carried what belongings they could, some struggling under ridiculous burdens, including one old man carrying what appeared to be a box spring and a mattress.

John turned on the hand held radio he’d taken from the dead trooper. A female dispatcher was speaking. “…apprehend anyone trying to cross the border. All subjects attempting to flee the Commonwealth are to be detained and checked for symptoms or abnormal behavior. Anyone displaying such behavior must be isolated and transferred to the nearest detention facility. Use of deadly force is authorized. Vermont State Police are not cooperating, expect no back up from VSP.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would they do that?” Sara asked John.

John shook his head. “I don’t know babe. Let’s see what the deal is at the border. There must be a mistake. Either way, we’re going through.”

Finally they approached the border. Traffic stalled completely. Just ahead, John saw a police roadblock, with four blue Massachusetts State Police cruisers blocking both lanes, illuminating the scene with two portable, generator powered spotlights. There appeared to be no way across the border.

Rolling down his window, John could hear a male voice over a loud speaker up ahead at the roadblock.

“Get out of your vehicles and step to the right of the road. You are being detained by order of the Governor. No one is allowed across the border until the state of emergency has been cleared. I repeat, get out of your vehicle and step to the right of the road!”

Up ahead, John could see people stepping off to the right of the road. Uniformed troopers as well as National Guard personnel were walking down the line, some with rifles pointed at the civilians.

“John, this isn’t right. Why won’t they just let the people pass?” Sara asked, fear and anger fighting for control of her voice.

“I don’t know, babe, but we are not sticking around to find out.” John backed the car up as much as he could, turned off to the right of the road, and drove until he saw an old path through the woods. A rusty chain link fence blocked the way. John turned the car around and rammed the fence in reverse. The commotion drew the attention of the troops manning the roadblock. A blue cruiser raced down the side of the road right for them. John turned the Volvo around quickly and followed the old logging trail as fast as he could, the Cross Country handling the rough dirt trail as well as any off road vehicle.

Having grown up not far from where they were, John new the logging trail was headed in the right general direction. They ran a parallel course beside the interstate. As they passed the roadblock, John looked over through the trees and saw a National Guard soldier pull a woman out of the crowd standing beside the road. He dragged her out in to the middle of the road, threw her to the ground, and fired his rifle at her.

John turned back to the path, not saying anything to Sara about what he had just seen. The path curved back toward the highway. No fence blocked the way this time, and John knew they had crossed over in to Vermont. He pointed the Cross Country at the highway, breaking out of the forest. The blue cruiser was right behind them.

As they pulled onto the interstate, John looked back. Beside the driver of the cruiser, John saw a second trooper aiming a rifle out of the passenger side window right at them.

“Get down!” John yelled.

As Sara ducked down in her seat, reaching backwards to hold a shaking Princess down too, a green and yellow Crown Victoria pulled between the Volvo and the blue cruiser, cutting them off. John looked in his rear view mirror just as a second Vermont State Police car joined the first one in blocking the blue cruiser.

John and Sara looked at each other as they sped on, a mere twenty miles from their destination. Somewhere behind them, gunshots rang out.

Chapter 5

September 21, Zed Year One

Brattleboro, Vermont

Interstate 91 northbound was completely deserted due to the border closing fiasco on the Massachusetts line. John and Sara both breathed little sighs of relief as they put the harrowing border crossing behind them. John felt a strong sense of pride in his home state, even as he knew Sara felt anger at hers.

John tuned the radio to Sara’s favorite independent local station. “Don’t worry….about a thing….cause every little thing….is going to be alright” John looked at Sara as the laid back reggae tune poured out of the speakers.

“Seriously? What are the odds?” John asked Sara.

“What do you mean?” Sara said, looking puzzled.

“This song…you know, from that I Am Legend scene?

Sara chuckled. “What’s worse, them playing this song right now, or you bringing that movie up at this particular moment in time?” John jokingly mouthed a sorry and returned his focus on the road.

The song ended, and a local disc jockey began speaking. “Alright, we’re getting some news from Boston now, the National Guard is in full retreat. They’re apparently falling back to regroup. Helicopters from the Air National Guard have moved in and are destroying bridges and tunnels, trying to limit escape routes of the so called infected’. Our own Governor has issued the following statement.”

The voice of Vermont Governor Gary Bradford began speaking.

“The State of Vermont, at the recommendation of the Center for Disease Control, is encouraging everyone to stay away from public areas. Stay at home, lock your doors, and let no one in. If you or a family member become infected by this disease, whatever it may be, immediately isolate yourself or them from any other family members. It is imperative that you do not attempt to go to a hospital, as all hospitals are either full at this time, or are not equipped to handle this outbreak. As a precaution, your state government, including myself, will be sequestering ourselves in a safe facility so as to continue to keep vital services within the state operating at peak efficiency.

At this time, we have very little knowledge of the disease that is wreaking so much havoc across the country. Outbreaks have now been reported in Canada, Mexico, Central and South America. The EU is sending a special team of scientists and doctors to study the disease as we speak.

We also do not recommend trying to enter Massachusetts or New York at this time as both states are under martial law. Boston is a battle zone, and Manhattan is burning to the ground at this very moment. We will continue to do our best to safeguard the good citizens of this state. Both the National Guard and the State Guard have been mobilized and are now setting up relief and aid stations that will be stocked with food and water, as well as medical units. We will announce the locations of these stations as soon as possible. Good luck, and God bless.”

The radio announcer came back on as soon as the recording ended.

“That was a message from Governor Gary Bradford. Wel,l at least we know Montpelier hasn’t forgotten about us. Good news, since we have just learned that Burlington International Airport has reported two cases of the infected’ and has been quarantined.”

John continued to drive as the announcer kept speaking. Sara looked out her window, watching the beautiful greens and yellows of late summer pass by. The moon shone down, bright enough to see the fields of tall grass and darker green shrubbery as they drove past them at over 80 miles an hour. She rolled her window down a little, despite the air conditioning, just so she could breath in the fresh Vermont air.

Sara had always heard John say how he always seemed to let out a big sigh whenever they crossed over into Vermont. She’d just thought he was imagining it, but this time she felt it herself. She looked at John, his face silhouetted by the lights from the cluster. He was staring ahead, watching the road intently, but for the first time since they began their journey, he seemed relaxed. The little lines in the corners of his eyes were less pronounced. Sara smiled.

They passed the first exit to Brattleboro without slowing. At exit two, John pulled the Volvo off the highway, and turned right towards West Brattleboro. The streets were deserted.

After several minutes, they turned up Green Pond road, and drove until the pavement ended. At last, they passed through the tight pass through the ledges that had been blasted in the rock decades ago to allow passage in to the small valley the Masons lived in. As they passed through the ledges, the valley opened up and John could see the little pond down on the valley floor glittering in the moonlight, along with the few little houses surrounding the pond and the fields beside it. John looked across to the other end of the valley, where the road wound up and out of sight through the only other entrance, through another set of ledges, before joining with another paved road and heading south. The two houses on the other side of the valley, where the Masons’ neighbors, the Culicos and the Kensingtons lived, were both lit up. Down at the pond, both John’s parents and his aunt and uncle, May and Patrick Mason’s house were lit up as well. The little cabin behind them was dark except for the small porch light.

“Dad must have turned the light on for us.” John mused aloud.

“Nice of him. I’m kind of sick of the dark right now.”

“I know, babe. We’ll be inside and cozy in a few minutes.”

They pulled in to the driveway a few minutes later. John’s father, Harold Mason was standing on the little porch of the cabin as they got out of the car.

“You’re mother put some coffee on and made a pie. Don’t look at me like that, just come eat some and pretend to like it. She’s worried.” He nodded to them as John opened up the back door of the Volvo and let Princess out. She ran excitedly over to the elder Mason, flopping down on her back as she reached him. The old man bent down and gave the pup the obligatory scratch on the belly before walking off toward his own house. John noted in passing the old man was wearing his old Ruger Blackhawk on his hip.

“Go on inside, sweetheart. Get some lights on and open some windows. I’m just going to bring a few things in. We’ll get the rest in the morning. I don’t want to keep my folks waiting,” John said as he pulled a duffel bag out of the car.

Sara nodded and followed Princess inside. Turning around back onto the porch, she addressed her husband, “Hey, John? Speaking of open windows, are we sure this thing isn’t airborne?”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like any body’s sure of anything. But I don’t think so,” he said.

Sara looked pensive for a moment, and then turned around and headed back in the cabin.

John came a few minutes later, dumping two large, green canvas duffel bags on the floor inside the door. He took his AR 15 off his shoulder and set it down, leaning it against the wall. He made another trip, bringing in two more bags as well as the tactical rifle case he’d taken from the dead State Trooper’s car. Sara was taking stock of the items they had left in the cabinets from their last weekend away, pasta, soup, a bottle of white zinfandel. She smiled as she remembered the two of them wading in the pond and visiting the farmer’s market. It was a shame this time wouldn’t be as restful.

“That’s enough for now,” John said, breaking Sara from her reverie. “I’ll get the rest in the morning. Let’s go see my parents.”

“Alright. Let’s get this over with.” She gave John a smile that almost looked genuine.

“Oh come on, it might be fun. I mean, it might not suck too badly.”

The couple walked, hand in hand, with a bounding Princess somehow managing to not trip them while running between them to the elder Mason home. They entered in to the cozy living room and followed the sounds of conversation to the brightly lit kitchen. As they walked in, they saw John’s father and mother sitting at the table across from Patrick and May Mason. Everyone had a steaming mug of coffee in front of them and there was a sizable plate of homemade donuts sitting in the middle of the table. Next to the donuts, an untouched dark brown pie sat, somehow managing to look both dangerous and forlorn at the same time.

Patrick yelled in his best indoor voice “John boy! Bout time you got here.”

May got up and gave both John and Sara a hug. John then bent down and gave June a hug as well.

“Sit down, son. Sara, can I get you some coffee?” June asked, already pouring a cup for John. “Let’s keep it down a little. Jen, Kelly and Jacob got here earlier. They’re sleeping upstairs.”

“I’d love some.” Sara said, smiling as she sat beside her mother-in-law.

There was a comfortable silence as everyone settled themselves again. John gobbled down a donut quickly, then grabbed another one, eating this one a bit more slowly. He smiled contentedly.

Harold finally broke the silence. “Son, just what the hell is going on?” He sounded exasperated.

“Dad, I don’t know if you’d believe me. Anyway, it’s just speculation. You’ve been watching the news too, I’m sure.” John said around a mouthful of donut.

“Yeah, but that don’t mean shit. You’re the one with connections, don’t any of your cop buddies know what’s happening?”

“I don’t have connections like that anymore, and the ones I do have aren’t saying much.” John’s memory flashed back to the message from his friend in the New England Constitutionalists. He frowned slightly, but said nothing about it. “All I know, Dad, is that these infected people attack and kill people, and then those people seem to get up and join them.”

“You mean like them zombies in your science fiction movies?” Harold asked, frowning.

“Well, sometimes science fiction, other times horror, and then still sometimes they are considered their own category…”

“We get it, John.” Sara said, sipping her coffee and rolling her eyes. “Don’t you know by now not to ask him questions like that? One time, I accidentally mistook Captain Picard for Captain Kirk. He didn’t shut up for two hours.”

The four elders collectively sighed as John and Sara bickered for two or three minutes about why nearly every Star Trek ship is called the Enterprise. She just doesn’t understand outer space, John thought.

Finally, Harold broke in with a sigh, “So, is that yes?”

“Is what yes? Oh, yeah, that’s yes. Zombies. Undead. Ghouls. Whatever you want to call them, I don’t care. I think I’m just going to call them Zeds. I like that better.”

“What are you, Canadian?” Sara asked, grinning.

“Can we focus for a minute?” Harold asked. “I don’t watch your stupid movies, so maybe you can tell us what we’re lookin’ at?

“Dad, from all the movies and books I’ve read, and from what I can pick up from the news, we’re looking at outbreaks in California, Texas, New York, Massachusetts, Florida, Georgia, and who knows where else in the U.S., as well as Mexico. I don’t know where else, but you can bet anywhere they evacuated wounded to. I think it’s the bite that transmits the infection, or bodily fluids, at least that’s how it works in the movies.”

John paused for a minute. “On the way up, we saw a car accident. A police car was parked behind the wreck. The trooper was dead in the front seat. It looked like he’d been mauled by a bear. Most of his arm was missing. I checked for a pulse, but he had none. Zero. And he was already cold. A few minutes later, he got up and ran at us. He was fast too.”

“Wait, I thought zombies were slow?” Patrick said, chiming in.

“Yeah, well, nobody ever wanted it to be fast zombies. We’re kind of screwed with the fast ones.” John said ruefully. “Anyway, they attack and kill, and the dead join them. Their numbers go up exponentially as the living die.”

“How are they going to stop them?” May asked.

John looked at his aunt, so different from his mother, but still they shared a family resemblance. His mother, June, and his aunt, her sister, had married brothers Harold and Patrick Mason. It apparently wasn’t all that out of the ordinary back then, John thought to himself. June and May’s other sister, Sally, married Harold’s best friend, Walter Sanderson, or Uncle Walt. That’s probably part of why the Mason clan was such a close knit family. John smiled a little at the musing going on inside his head. He snapped back to reality.

“They? What they? Watch the news. By the time the government accepts the reality of the situation, there won’t be anyone left to do anything about it. Half of Massachusetts is already a lost cause.” John lowered his voice as he saw Sara stiffen. “New York City is on fire and no one is putting it out. These things spread as fast as a man can run. Sometimes faster.”

“Oh John, it can’t be that bad.” June said, pushing the pie towards John.

John looked skeptically at the pie. He continued to stare at it as he said “Well, not as bad as that, but it’s definitely bad. You’re going to have to trust me on this.”

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Everyone seemed lost in contemplation. It was again Harold who broke the silence.

“Your Aunt Sally called just before you got here. They had no electricity. She said people were killing each other in the street outside their house. Walt was nailing the doors and windows shut, barricading themselves in.” He looked directly at John. “Then the line went dead. We called back, but there was no answer.”

June and May both had tears in their eyes at this, but neither allowed themselves to cry. Not yet.

“John, I admit I have no idea what to do here.” Harold said. Patrick stared down into his mug in silent agreement.

“Dad, I don’t know either. My plan so far is just to hole up here and ride out the worst of it. We’re pretty isolated up here. We have food and water, weapons, and whatever supplies we need. The electricity is still on but who knows how long that will last. We have wells, and plenty of game to hunt and fish for. Effectively, we can hide out here for however long it takes.”

“That ain’t much of a plan, son, but I don’t have anything better.”

They picked up their cups and headed in to the living room. June turned the television on and found a news station. CNN was reporting outbreaks in Europe and Africa. Australia had closed its ports and airports to all visitors. Video of New York City on fire was shown over and over again, along with highlights of the National Guard battling crowds of infected on the outskirts of Boston, taken earlier in the evening.

June changed the channel to a more local station. News from Burlington, Vermont, was similar to everywhere else. Bleak.

The announcer was just starting a new story as they changed the channel.

“Breaking News from Montpelier. The Governor is missing. As the state government reported to an undisclosed secure facility, one interesting thing happened. The Governor did not show up. Calls to his house went unanswered. Has he abandoned us in our time of need? We will keep you informed as find out more about this disturbing event.”

“Great. Just great.” John muttered.

“Well, that’s one less politician telling us what to do.” Patrick said, sounding almost happy.

“It’s getting late. Let’s talk about this more in the morning. The twins are coming over tomorrow,” Patrick said, speaking of his daughters, Franny and Nancy, and their husbands Kurt and Roger, as well as their children. “We can get this sorted out then.”

They all agreed to reconvene in the morning. John and Sara hugged May and June goodnight, then walked back to their cabin, Princess dutifully following along, only occasionally stopping to sniff at this or that.

Sara and John got ready for bed. Despite the long, terrifying day, or perhaps because of it, they made love that night, a frantic, hurried kind of love that left them both exhausted. They drifted off into uneasy sleep to the sound of Princess snoring like a freight train.

*

Sometime later, still pitch black outside, they were awakened by a loud crash, followed by the sound of a car horn blaring. John jumped out of bed, throwing on his shorts to cover up his nudity. He stepped in to his shoes, and headed out the door, grabbing his carbine on the way out. Sara followed as quickly as she could, tucking her little Beretta into the pocket of the bathrobe she hastily threw on. They ran toward the road, just beyond John’s parent’s driveway. As they drew closer, both Harold and Patrick caught up with them. Patrick had a double barreled shotgun over one shoulder. Across the road, a beat up old Ford F 250 had driven into the ditch, and now the rear wheels where up in the air, spinning impotently. The horn was still blaring, engine running.

Patrick shined a flashlight in to the cab of the truck. They stared in stunned silence as the saw a form slumped over the steering wheel. Another form was hunched over that one, moving rhythmically, slowly. As the light filled the cab, a woman jerked up and revealed herself. Her face, especially her mouth, was covered in blood. A chunk of gore hung from her mouth as she chewed.

“Holy shit!” Patrick said, leveling the double barrels at the truck. John was faster, bringing his AR 15 up to ready position and firing one shot through the rear window of the truck. The woman’s head snapped back, blood spattering all over the front windshield. She slid slowly to the right and dropped out of sight.

Harold opened the driver’s side door, allowing the figure inside to slide to the left and fall out onto the dirt road. They could then see that it was a male, covered in blood.

“Amos Hopkins. That must be his wife Sissy.” Harold said, pointing back into the truck. “They live a couple miles up the road.”

“Dad, get away from him.” John said, calmly. His carbine was trained on the dead man.

Everyone jumped as the dead man suddenly sat up, even John, who thought he was ready for it. He fired at the same instant Sara fired from right behind him. The man’s head exploded from the simultaneous assault.

“What the frig?” Patrick yelled. “He was dead! Holy hell, how did he just get up?” Patrick held the shotgun out in front of himself as if to ward off the twice-dead creature.

“Weren’t you listening earlier?” John asked. He moved to the door of the truck, making sure the female inside was truly dead as well. She had a bandage on her left arm, as well as a hospital bracelet.

“Damn. They’re already here. I thought we’d have more time.” said John, shaking his head slowly.

They turned the truck off and put Amos Hopkins back in the truck with his wife, closing the doors behind them.

“We’ll take care of them in the morning.” Harold said as they walked back to the driveway. “I think I’ll stay up awhile. No sense in trying to sleep now.”

“Alright Dad. Just be careful. Holler if you need me.” John and Sara walked back to the little cabin. John took Sara’s hand.

“You’re pretty damn good with that gun, little lady.” John said in his best John Wayne voice.

“Ayup. Good thing you took me to the range all those times. And here I just thought you were trying to show my ass off to all your shooting buddies.” Sara gave said body part a little extra wiggle as she walked.

“Oh most definitely that too!”

*

As he stood in the small bathroom getting ready for his second chance at bed, his phone chimed that he had a new email. Poking his head out of the bathroom, he made sure Sara was already sleeping peacefully before flipping open his phone.

M, they’re looking for us. Two men showed up at my place in Maine today. They ransacked the place, looking for something. They left a list pinned to my door with a knife. It was a list of NEC officers. Some had been crossed out. Your name was on the list too. Be careful. They had a lot of firepower with them. Get me on the shortwave tomorrow. 1830 hours. I’ll be listening. -Jcon14

John sent a quick reply, acknowledging his receipt, then deleted the message. He flipped his phone closed and climbed into bed with Sara. John kissed her bare shoulder, then closed his eyes. The nightmares started that night.

Chapter 6

September 22, Zed Year One

Brattleboro, Vermont

“Fire into the room! Pour it on!” John yelled, firing an AK 47 into the dark portal of the open doorway. Light from the muzzle flashes lit up hideously decayed forms inside, all struggling to get through the doorway and out into the open.

“I’m out!” John’s father, Harold Mason, yelled, dropping the empty magazine from his rifle.

Cries of “Me too!” and “Empty!” and “That’s it!” came down the line as the sounds of gunfire diminished until it was only John firing, trying to stem the tide of the undead all by himself.

CLICK! John pulled the trigger again. CLICK! He looked down, frowning at his empty weapon. He threw the impotent gun down to the ground and ran for the door. Reaching it seconds before the undead, he slammed the door shut and tried to lock it. As he tried to slide the bolt home, the rusty metal squealed, but wouldn’t budge. Heavy bodies began smashing in to the door from the other side. John leaned against the door, pushing with all his might, but the door slowly began to open. Rotting fingers reached around the door, groping for the living.

“Help me!” John yelled. He shoved harder at the door, bracing his feet against the dirt beneath him. The undead redoubled their efforts, and the door slid open more. An arm, flesh shredded and putrid, edged around and reached for him. John looked over his shoulder, seeking support.

John’s family reached for him with decaying hands, bloody mouths working in unison as they moaned “Jooohhhnnnn.” The door smashed its way inward and John was pulled down by the incoming horde moments before his family reached him.

John sat straight up, a wordless scream almost escaping his mouth. He breathed heavily, drenched in sweat. He sat there like that for a few moments, just staring into the brightly lit room. As his breathing slowed to a more normal level, he heard birds chirping outside the bedroom window. He looked around slowly. His carbine leaned against the wall next to the bed, his shoulder holster hung from the bedpost, still with his Sig Sauer nestled inside. The big bed took up most of the room, with his gun cabinet against the far wall. Two nightstands framed the old four poster bed, and a big dresser occupied the last wall. Storm lamps sat unused atop the dresser.

He kissed Sara on her forehead, careful not to wake her. He stood up, pulled on the pants he’d dropped on the floor the night before, and padded quietly into the living room. Princess raised her head in greeting before flopping back down in a patch of sunlight on the wooden floor.

Walking through the living room, John glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:15. Good, he thought to himself. There’s so much to do today. He shook his head and frowned as he reached the kitchen.

John filled the coffee pot with water and coffee grounds, then turned the old machine on. “At least the electricity still works,” he mumbled softly to himself. Princess thought he said “There’s a slab of bacon out here for just for you,” and ran over to him, tail wagging happily.

He looked down at her and shook his finger at her. “No coffee for you!” He smiled affectionately and ruffled the dog’s head.

Walking out to the car, John scanned the area. Nothing seemed to be amiss. “Yet,” he said to no one in particular. John opened the hatch of the station wagon and carried the rest of the supplies inside. It took three trips but he nodded in satisfaction as he took inventory.

With the food and water in the basement, and the little bit left over in the kitchen from their last getaway, as well as the guns and ammunition he already had here at the cabin, he estimated they had at least six months of food for the three of them, several rifles, carbines, pistols, and several thousand rounds of ammunition of each caliber for which he had a weapon. Including the dead trooper’s rifle, he had three AR 15s in various configurations, four AK 47s, two M14s, each with a long range scope and beautifully polished wood, and two 12 gauge pump shotguns with pistol grips.

He also had a deadly little Heckler and Koch MP5 he’d acquired two years earlier when he’d finally managed to get a machine gun license. Hard to get, even for a police officer, but he’d jumped through all the hoops and paid all of the fees to get the license, and then paid an exorbitant amount for the little 9mm submachine gun. He’d spared no expense outfitting it with a laser and a red dot scope.

Aside from the rifles and carbines, he had several pistols, including his Sig Sauer P220, two other .45s, three Glocks in 9mm, two in .40, and two .357 magnum revolvers.

Sara’s own little arsenal was still packed in one of the duffel bags. A Glock 19 and a Beretta CX4 Storm 9mm carbine. The little pistol caliber carbine was Sara’s solution to big bulky rifles that, as she put it, “sucked to shoot”. John chuckled as he took the Storm out of the duffel bag and placed it on the rack by the door. He put the empty duffel bags down in the basement. When he came back up, he found Sara in her robe, pouring coffee in to two big white mugs.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” John said. “I hope you slept ok.”

“You mean after you stopped thrashing and growling in your sleep?” Sara asked, handing John a steaming cup of black coffee. The aroma almost made John’s eyes water in pleasure.

“Yeah, after that.” Smiling ruefully, John sipped at the hot coffee. “Oh man, that’s good.”

They sipped coffee in silence for a few moments. Sara pulled a cast iron skillet from a cupboard and began pouring flour into a bowl. “Pancakes?”

“Only if we have real syrup,” John said. “End of the world comes along, I’ll be damned if I’m going to eat that fake shit.”

Sara laughed, pulling out a tin jug of John’s uncle Patrick’s homemade maple syrup and shaking it at him. “You’re safe this time.”

A few minutes later, the couple sat at a battered, hand made wooden table eating pancakes and sipping coffee. They continued to smile at each other as they ate. Finally, John pushed his plate away from him and stood up.

“Well, time to get to it. Let’s head over to my dad’s house and see what we have to work with.”

“John, I don’t want to sound like a jerk but what are you going to do? I mean, what are any of us going to do?” Sara put her hand on John’s arm.

“I don’t know. But we can’t do nothing. It’s only been a couple days since these things showed up out west. They spread too fast. We have to be ready, today, to stop them when they come here.”

“Whatever you think, whatever you want to do, you know I’m behind you one hundred percent.” Sara’s voice broke as she said, “You’re all I have left.”

“Sara, we’ll go back and get your family as soon as we can. A few days, at most. We’ll find a way to do it safely.” John hugged Sara close, kissing her forehead. Finally, he broke the hug.

“Come on, get dressed. We should head over there.”

Ten minutes later, the couple, both wearing their pistols in hip holsters, and John carrying his carbine, walked in to the elder Masons’ home. Harold and June were both in the kitchen again. June offered them both pie as they entered.

“No thanks, Mom. We just had pancakes. Maybe later.” John said as he pushed the pie away carefully, as if it might explode if it jiggled too much.

Sara and John took seats next to each other at the table. June poured coffee for them all. The clock on the microwave read 8:20.

Harold lifted his mug, took a long slow sip, then set his coffee back down before speaking. “Phones were working for a bit this morning. Patrick called Nancy and Franny. They’re on their way over. They’re bringing everything they can, and the kids are coming as well.”

“Kids?” Sara asked.

“Nancy and Franny’s kids. Though I’m pretty sure being in their mid 20’s disqualifies them as kids.” John said.

“Pam and Roy are coming too, even though she doesn’t get along with the twins.” June said, referring to Nancy and Franny, identical twins, and younger sisters of Pam.

“Damn. I’d hoped Roy had been eaten by now.” John muttered. He saw Sara choke on some of her coffee.

June reached over and slapped John in the back of the head. “You be nice. He’s your cousin.”

“Cousin in law!” John yelled.

June gave her son a disapproving frown. John looked down sheepishly, not quite catching Sara’s smirk.

Just then, a tall, skinny blond woman in her late 30’s entered the room, followed by a sulky and equally skinny blond teenage girl and an even more blond preteen boy.

“Good morning, Jen. Would you like some coffee?” June asked the woman.

The teenage girl came rushing over to John, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing. “Uncle John!”

Cousin, actually, John thought to himself. But close enough. “Hey Kelly! How are you doing?”

“I’m ok. I’m worried about daddy.”

“Don’t you worry, if there’s anyone who can take care of themselves it’s Jesse Sanderson. And anyway, you know your Grandpa Walt will watch out for him too.” John said, extracting himself from Kelly’s bear hug. He looked down at the little boy. “Hey Jacob. How’s it hangin’?” John tousled the boy’s hair.

“John!” June and Sara both yelled at the same time. Jen glared at John evilly.

“Hi Uncle John,” Jacob said shyly.

The family spent some time sitting at the table. June made eggs and toast for the three newcomers while the rest sat comfortably drinking coffee. John produced a pen and began jotting down notes to himself on a paper napkin.

A few minutes later a car pulled into the shared Mason driveway. John and Harold both went out to see who it was. Patrick was just walking out of his house as they reached the driveway. A blue Dodge Durango had just come to a stop.

A tall, muscular man in his early 40’s exited the driver’s side, followed by a dark haired woman slightly past her prime with long black hair and an annoyed expression on her face.

“Good to see you, John.” The man offered his hand to John. They shook vigorously, the kind of handshake that would rip the arm off an unsuspecting person.

“Kurt, Franny,” John nodded to each of the Crawfords respectively as he shook Kurt’s hand. He could see the back of the Durango was packed to the brim with various supplies.

“This better not be one of your stupid pranks” Franny said to John.

“Yeah, Franny, I made every TV station in the country help me prank you.” John rolled his eyes.

The men of the family all pitched in to unload the Durango, carrying everything in to Patrick and May’s house, placing it all in one of the many spare bedrooms. John noted with approval that Kurt had brought his rifles and ammunition as well.

*

An hour later, a beat up old Chevy Suburban drove in to the driveway. John and his father again greeted the newcomers, Roger and Nancy James. Nancy looked just like Franny except that her hair was shorter and had gone to gray in places. Roger, a short but wiry man, was carrying a shotgun in one hand as he exited the vehicle. As John approached Roger, he could smell gunpowder.

John raised an eyebrow as he shook Roger’s hand. “Trouble?”

Roger had a distant look in his eyes as he spoke. “Neighbor. Didn’t have no choice.”

Nancy looked like she had been crying, but she wiped her eyes and punched Roger lightly on the shoulder. “Wasn’t your fault, honey.” Roger just nodded.

The menfolk again unloaded the vehicle, carrying everything into the big house, leaving everything in yet another empty bedroom.

The rest of the afternoon was spent welcoming family members to the valley. After the James family arrived, Jill and Truck Robin showed up in Truck’s big Ford F350. Jill, Kurt and Franny Crawford’s daughter, had married Truck less than a year ago. Truck’s family had been farmers across town but had recently moved to Florida.

After the Robins, Pamela and Roy Kaminski showed up driving Roy’s Jeep Grand Cherokee, packed with supplies. John and his father helped Pam and Roy move their things into John’s parents’ house, as Pam didn’t get along well with Patrick Mason, her father.

While they were still unloading Roy’s Jeep, Morgan and Stephanie James drove up in their Toyota pickup truck. Morgan was very proud of his big wheeled truck. At one time, he’d had a Confederate flag painted on the hood but Roger James, his father, had made him remove it until he could adequately explain to him why he wanted it. “Cause it’s cool” just wasn’t good enough, his father had said.

Morgan was moving his truck out of the way when a little Subaru squealed into the driveway. The car came to a stop right in front of John. A tall, thin twenty year old with long brown hair, dressed in a conservative long skirt and white button down blouse jumped out of the vehicle. She ran past John without so much as a word, straight in to the arms of her father, Roger.

“Oh Daddy, it was awful!” Alison James cried as she clung to her father fiercely. Roger shushed his daughter with soothing tones as he guided her inside the house.

John turned as the passenger side door opened and a shorter, curvy young latina woman with short black hair got out of the passenger side. She was wearing a blue tank top and brown cargo shorts. John walked over to greet her, but came up short when he saw the blood on her shirt. The woman saw the look on John’s face and raised her hands.

“It’s not mine, I swear,” she said to John. “Alison and I were just getting ready to leave after her grandfather called this morning. Someone knocked on the door and I answered it. Our friend Jeff was standing there bleeding from his arm. He kept saying he’d been bit. I wrapped a pillowcase around his arm but got his blood all over me. His mom came and picked him up and took him to the hospital.”

“It’s alright. You’re safe here. I’m John Mason, by the way.” John said, extending his hand.

“Oh, right, sorry. I’m Marta Martinez.” Marta shook John’s hand. Her hand was warm and soft and steady in his. John nodded almost imperceptibly. Yep, she’s alive, he thought to himself.

“Marta, I’ve heard a lot about you from Nancy and Roger.”

“Yeah, I bet. I’m not sure what bothers them more, that their daughter is a lesbian, or that she’s living with a Mexican.” Marta laughed wryly. John chuckled with her.

“Well, don’t worry about it. We’re all family here, and families sometimes don’t get along, but they stick together.”

John helped Marta carry in the few bags they’d brought with them. Patrick and May’s house was really beginning to fill up at this point. John saw Patrick carrying a cot down to the basement. He went to help.

*

Later that afternoon, Douglas and Vanessa Gentry arrived, along with their toddler Eric. They brought their BMW X3 SUV, packed tightly with high end camping gear from L.L. Bean and other sundries. Douglas spent several minutes talking to his mother, Pamela Kaminski. Roy, Pamela’s second husband, nodded a greeting to Douglas but did not speak to him. Tension floated in the air between the two.

John greeted Douglas warmly. “Hey Doug, it’s been a while. I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Didn’t have much choice. Those things are everywhere. My house is all glass, we couldn’t stay there.”

“We’re going to go through our supplies and see what we have in a little bit. I think everyone’s here now. How are you fixed for food?”

“We brought what we had but it’s not much. We eat out a lot.” Douglas said.

“What about weapons? Ammo?” John asked, patting the pistol on his hip.

“I don’t have any. Didn’t need them. Our homeowners association hired a security company for our neighborhood.” Douglas said defensively.

John frowned but kept his comments to himself. Little Eric ran past the two, followed by Princess. Eric had a cookie in his hand, and Princess seemed intent on relieving him of his chocolaty burden.

John looked at Douglas. “How about helping me take an inventory? Might as well get some use out of your overpriced accounting education.” John grinned.

Douglas flashed a fake smile at John and nodded agreement.

Later that evening, the whole clan sat around in Harold and June’s living room. There weren’t enough seats for everyone so most of the younger folk were sitting on the floor. John smiled when he saw Sara sitting on the floor playing with Eric. He stood in the center of the room reading from a clipboard.

“Well, we’ve got some good news, and some bad news. First the good news,” John looked down at his clipboard. “We won’t have a problem with water. With the wells and the brook out back, as well as the pond, we have plenty of water for everyone in the valley.

Now for the bad news. Looks like we’ve got about three weeks worth of food for everyone, including the freeze dried stuff I have in my basement, and everything you’ve all brought with you. We can stretch that if we ration it, but let’s just call it three weeks. We’ll eat all the frozen and refrigerated stuff first, along with whatever fresh vegetables we can get from Uncle Patrick’s gardens. All in all, we need to get more food pretty soon.

We also have enough rifles and handguns to go around, but only barely. And most of those are hunting or target guns, except for my AR 15s and AK 47s, two M14s, and the shotguns. Tomorrow I’ll have everyone come over to the cabin and we’ll get some of them distributed. For now, almost everyone has at least a rifle of their own. And Morgan brought his collection of Glock pistols, which will come in handy.

Ammunition is going to be a problem for the long term, but for now we’ve got a good supply. We’ll need more .223 and 7.62 x39, and as much 9mm as we can get, when we get a chance.”

Kurt Crawford raised his hand. “We should make a run over to Dan Bender’s house tomorrow. It’s only a couple of miles, and he has a little gun shop in his basement. He might have some ammo he can sell us.”

God I love Vermont, John thought to himself and smiled.

“Good idea,” said John. “We’ll need to get our cash together also, I don’t know if the credit card system is still working or not, but someone as smart as Dan will know credit is useless now.”

“Do you expect me to just hand over all of my cash so you can go buy guns and bullets?” Douglas asked, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. “I don’t think so. I’ll just hang on to it until this little fiasco is over with.” Douglas sat back with a stubborn look on his face.

John looked at Douglas for a moment, then turned and flicked on the TV behind him. He stepped out of the way as he flicked through the channels. One channel after another flicked by with snow or a Technical Difficulties message flashing on the screen. Finally, after several minutes of searching, John found a station with something playing on it. It was an emergency broadcast from what looked like a government facility. A podium with the presidential seal on the front of it stood in front of a purple-draped background. A black woman was speaking into the microphone.

“All government services are hereby suspended in most regions except the areas immediately surrounding selected military reserves. All citizens are urged to take every precaution. At this time, the CDC is working on a cure for the, ah, disease, and will have some progress to report very soon.

All of our research indicates that when bitten by an infected person, an individual goes into a comatose state resembling death. There are no life signs at all in these individuals. Several minutes later, the individual revives, but still with no discernible life signs. The individual begins to decay, but still exhibits great mobility, and seems to be motivated only by hunger. Total immolation by fire, decapitation, or destruction or disruption of the brain seem to truly kill these individuals. All citizens are urged to remain in their homes until the government can reestablish control. Thank you.”

The black woman walked off screen, leaving an empty podium. Moments later, the scene started over again.

“It’s a recording. They’re looping it,” John said, turning to Douglas. “Sound like your money’s going back into your mutual funds anytime soon?”

Douglas stared at the TV for a moment, then looked angrily at John. “You’re such an asshole! Just a fucking gun nut.”

Tension began to mount between the two, but June stepped in. “Coffee anyone? I’ve got apple pie, too.”

*

Later that night, John sat at his father’s kitchen table. Harold, Patrick, Kurt, Roger, Truck, and Morgan all sat around the table too. Everyone else was watching a movie in the living room. Some Adam Sandler movie, from the sound of it, thought John.

“Look, the fact of the matter is this stuff is going to get worse every day. It’s only been a couple of days since it started, and the government is all but gone, road travel is dangerous, and we’ve even got Zeds in Brattleboro. And it only takes one bite to kill you.” John said, looking around the table.

“Zeds? What are you, Canadian?” asked Morgan.

John rolled his eyes. “No, it just doesn’t sound as unreal as zombies, so maybe it’ll help people accept it faster.”

“Oh okay, Mr. Canadian,” Morgan retorted.

John threw a donut at Morgan, bouncing it off Morgan’s forehead. Everyone at the table chuckled a bit.

Harold broke in. “Sounds kind of bleak.”

“I know, Dad. But I have a few ideas that might help us out. First, we need supplies. Tomorrow, I want to take a few people into town and get whatever food we can from a grocery store. We’ll swing by Dan Bender’s house on the way back, maybe trade some of it for ammo, maybe a few more rifles. Whatever we can get.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Patrick said, nodding.

“Also, we should think about blocking off the entrances to the valley.”

“What do you mean?” Harold asked his son.

“Well, we could take a few of those cargo containers you and Patrick are using for storage sheds, drag them by tractor up in to each of the passes, and block them off. I spoke to the neighbors about it this morning, and they’re in. As long as we leave a tractor and a couple of ladders up there, anyone living can be brought in easily, but the Zeds can’t get through. They’d have to wander over the mountains and through the woods to get here.”

“Yeah, we can do that. That sounds good.” Patrick said, smiling.

“And that brings us to another question. The neighbors,” John paused. “The Culicos left this morning. They said they were going to head north. The Kensingtons said they were going to stick it out. Their son and his family got here a few hours ago. They’re going to be holding that end of the valley. I suggest we include them in any planning we do. Jack Kensington, the son, used to be a Marine. And old man Kensington knows his way around construction. We may need them before this is over.”

“I’ve got no problem with that,” Patrick said. “We’ve always gotten along well with them. They stick to their own business and leave us to ours cept when they’re just being neighborly.”

John again stood in front of the whole clan in his parents’ living room.

“Alright, we’re going to head into town tomorrow and get supplies. I’ll take whoever wants to go, but we’ll be needing a pickup truck, so someone needs to lend one to me or drive your own.”

Morgan spoke up first. “We can take mine. I’ll go.”

John nodded. “Thanks. We’re also going to drag a couple of the cargo containers they’re using as sheds up to the passes and block them both off in the morning. Until then, we’ll have to watch them ourselves. I’d like a couple of volunteers to go up to the north pass and keep an eye on it tonight. The Kensingtons are going to watch the south pass tonight.”

“I’ll watch it tonight,” Truck Robin said. “Jill, you want to come with me?”

“I guess. But if I get bit, I’m going to eat your face off!”

Everyone laughed a bit too hard at that.

After the laughter died down, John said “Alright then. We’re leaving at 7:30 in the morning. Plenty of light and we’ll have had a chance to eat a good breakfast. Meet in the driveway.”

The family said their good nights and slowly began wandering away to their respective sleeping areas, some across the driveway at Patrick and May’s house, some right there in Harold and June’s house.

As John and Sara walked back toward their cabin, Princess, following close behind, began growling. John looked in the direction she was facing just as Douglas came out of the shadows. He now had one of Morgan’s Glocks strapped to his hip. The flap on the holster was unbuttoned.

“Doug, what’s up?” John asked, edging his way between Sara and Douglas. He motioned for Princess to be quiet. She ignored him and continued to growl.

Douglas looked down at the dog with distaste. “Shut up, mutt.”

“Doug, what’s going on?” John asked more forcefully.

“Nothing. I’m just standing out here thinking. Wondering why everyone is letting you boss them around.”

“I’m not bossing anybody around. What are you talking about?” John asked.

“Bullshit. You’ve got the whole family wasting its time, jumping through your hoops. And why? You’re nobody. I make six figures. I have a 3600 square foot home in an exclusive neighborhood. I have a vacation condo in Boca. I drive a fucking BMW.”

“Where the fuck do you get off? Just because you have a fancy car doesn’t mean-” Sara began to push John out of the way. He cut her off, putting his arm around her shoulder and holding her back.

“Doug, I know. You did well for yourself. Congratulations. Guess what?” John said calmly. “It don’t mean shit right now, man. All you have here is family, and all I’m trying to do is keep us together.”

“Fuck you, John. You’re not my boss.” Douglas turned around and headed down the driveway, toward Patrick and May’s house.

John and Sara watched Douglas walk away. After he walked out of sight, they turned and headed towards their cabin. “Why’d you stop me, John?” Sara asked. “That jerk needs somebody to knock him down a few pegs, and I’d be glad to.”

“Maybe because I didn’t want him to shoot you, Sara. Didn’t you see he had a gun?”

“Not like he’d know how to use it even if he did pull it on me. Calling you a gun nut, who the hell does he think he is?”

John tried not to smile at Sara. He didn’t want her to think he was patronizing her, but he was impressed with how she would stand up for him, and glad that someone else saw what kind of guy Douglas really was. Fuck it, he’s still family, John thought. Princess kept staring in the direction Douglas had gone. After a few moments, she squatted and left a big steaming present on the driveway, just in case Douglas decided to follow them. She turned, scuffed her back paws in the dirt a few times, threw her head high in the air and followed her mommy and daddy home.

*

John and Sara lay nestled in their blankets some time later, their naked flesh entwined under the thin covers. Sara murmured something as she drifted off to sleep. John lay staring up at the ceiling, dimly lit by the moonlight. Maybe Doug’s right, he thought. Maybe they shouldn’t be listening to me. Maybe I’m just going to get them all killed. John kept mulling his thoughts over and over in his head, until finally sleep caught him and dragged him under.

The nightmares came back that night, worse than before.

Chapter 7

September 23, Zed Year One

Brattleboro, Vermont

Morning light streamed through the gauzy curtains in the bedroom. John walked in, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He set the mug down on the nightstand and sat on the bed. Leaning in, he kissed Sara gently on the cheek. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Mmmm, coffee smells great. Good morning.” She sat up and kissed him back.

“I see the electricity still works,” Sara noticed.

“Yeah, but the internet is down. I don’t know if it’s local or widespread, though.”

“Well, that sucks. There goes my ebay addiction.” Sara said, giggling.

“I’ve got the guys coming over in a few minutes. I just wanted to say good morning before they got here,” John said, pressing a smiling Sara back down into the bed.

*

“We’re not going to the grocery store,” John told the men sitting across from him at the little kitchen table. “We’re going directly to the source. The warehouse.”

“What warehouse?” Morgan James asked between bites of stale donut.

“The wholesale grocery warehouse up by exit 3. It has pallets of food already loaded, trucks, anything we want.. The hard part is finding it in on the racks.”

“Wait, why don’t we just run downtown, raid the supermarket and the Walmart across the river, and get back here?” Roy Kaminski puffed on a cigarette.

John narrowed his eyes a fraction, trying not to roll them. “Two reasons. One, every other survivor is going to have the same idea, and either they’ve already done it or are on their way. Second, downtown is going to be crawling with Zeds. The warehouse might have a few, but my guess is there won’t be that many. There’s a chain link fence surrounding the place so it might even be secure while we’re there.”

“And they have trucks. We could load up a trailer with enough stuff to last us a good long while, steal a truck, even one of those little ones that just moves the trailers around the yard, and then hightail it back here.” Morgan said, speaking directly to Roy.

“I can drive whatever we find there,” Roger James said, looking with approval at his son. “Morgan can get us there, we’ll load the trailer, and I’ll drive it back.”

“Good, I like it. We’ll swing by Dan Bender’s house on the way and see if he will trade or sell us anything, then head to the warehouse.” John stood up and walked to the cabinet against the far wall. He opened the cabinet, revealing several rifles and pistols hanging on pegs. “Alright, who needs a gun?”

Morgan patted his holsters, one on each hip. “I’m good.”

Roy walked over to the cabinet and reached for one of the rifles inside. “I’ll take this M 16, I know all about them from the History Channel.”

John pushed Roy’s hands out of the way, selected a shotgun from the rack, and handed it to Roy. “Actually, it’s an AR 15. Why don’t you take this one for now? We’ll be needing you for more close up work.”

Morgan struggled to hold his laughter in. Roger didn’t even bother trying. Roy took the shotgun, racked the slide, and ignored Roger’s snickering. John patted him on the back and handed him a brown bandoleer with dozens of shotgun shells held in by loops of cloth.

Roger came over, and John reached into the cabinet. He came back out with an AK 47 with polished wood grip and stock. He showed Roger how to load it, handing him a pouch with several loaded magazines. He grabbed the little H&K MP5 for himself, along with another pouch of magazines. “Alright, boys, let’s get going.”

*

They met Truck Robin and Harold Mason in the driveway. Truck had a shotgun over one shoulder and a little revolver tucked in to the top of his boot. Harold had his lever action 30-30 leaning up against Morgan’s pickup.

John nodded to Morgan. “How’d it go last night?”

“No problems. We heard gunshots off towards town, but nobody came near. I could smell smoke this morning, though.” Truck spoke with a slow country drawl. “I want to come with you.”

“You sure you’re up for this? You were up all night.”

“Yeah, no problem, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Morgan said, almost cheerfully.

Roger looked at Morgan and raised one eyebrow. “Always the optimist.”

“Just the same, I think you should stay here. Get some sleep, you can help us unload when we get back.” John said. Truck nodded reluctantly.

As the five men piled into the truck, Morgan driving, Harold in the front seat, Roy and Roger in the open back of the pickup, John began to climb up into the bed but stopped when he saw Sara come running towards them.

John caught her in a big hug. Sara whispered into his ear. “One quick goodbye when you get out of bed isn’t going to cut it, mister.”

“I’ll be back soon, sweetheart,” John whispered back. “I promise.”

Sara stepped back a little bit. “You better come back. I will never forgive you if you leave me alone with your family!” They both laughed a little. “No, seriously,” Sara deadpanned.

“I need you to do something for me. Kurt and Patrick are going to put the barricade up at the pass today. Just make sure someone watches it all the time. We’ll be back in a few hours.”

Sara nodded and kissed John. Then she turned and walked back toward the cabin. John watched her for a few moments before jumping up into the truck. Morgan backed down the driveway, and they headed out.

*

The road was completely deserted this far from town. They drove along at forty miles an hour, weapons trained on the surrounding forest and fields as they passed. Every house seemed deserted, though some had hastily erected barricades around doors and windows. In the distance, a long black column of smoke snaked into the sky. John pointed it out to Roger and Roy, but said nothing. They both nodded back.

They saw their first Zed a few miles down the road. A car had flipped over in the left lane. Skid marks all over the road showed that it had been going pretty fast when it had crashed.

Morgan slowed down as they approached. A shoe lay right on the double yellow line in the middle of the road. As they neared, they could see the shoe was not empty.

Roy was the first one to spot it. He screamed an alarmingly unmanly scream as a hunched figure shambled out of the tree line.

The creature used to be a man, but now was little more than strips of flesh and decay hanging from muscle and bone. It was missing its left foot from the ankle down. John noted in the back of his mind the claw marks and bites all over the Zed. Bear or wolf, he wondered to himself. Must have been real hungry to go after an animal.

The Zed moved quickly for something with only one foot. It reached the edge of the road, only a few yards away from the truck, before they knew it. Roy, the closest to the Zed, pointed his shotgun at it and pulled the trigger. CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! He pulled again and again, screaming in terror.

“Take the safety off!” John yelled, pointing his MP5 directly at the Zed’s forehead. He held his fire, though, watching both the Zed and Roy.

Roy looked down, found the safety button and pressed it. He pointed the thick barrel at the Zed, almost close enough to touch, and fired.

The concussive force of the blast knocked Roy completely off his feet. He hit the bottom of the truck bed at exactly the same time the newly-headless Zed hit the pavement.

Roger offered his hand to Roy. Roy accepted the hand and let himself be pulled back to his feet. He grinned as Roger slapped him on the back, laughing. “Nice shot!”

John continued scanning the area as they pulled past the overturned car. He smiled in satisfaction as he thought their chances were looking up.

They passed more wrecked cars on the road. Most were off the pavement, in the ditch, or in the tree line, but they had to use Morgan’s truck to push two cars off the road. On those occasions, the group would spread out, each facing a direction with their weapons while Morgan pushed the car out of the way. Then they would all mount up again and continue on their way. They saw no one else, alive or dead, on the road.

They finally pulled into Dan Bender’s driveway. The Benders lived in a two story home with a large workshop off to one side, and a garage off to the other side. A big sign with the words GUN SHOP hung over the store’s door. Crisscrossed two by fours were nailed over every door and window in sight. Morgan stopped the truck right in front of the workshop and killed the engine. Silence, broken only by the pinging of the engine as it cooled, reigned.

John motioned to Roger. “Cover me.” He jumped out of the truck, his MP5 held at shoulder level, pointed in front of him. He walked to the door and listened. As he reached for the first two by four nailed to the door, he stopped. He walked quickly back to the truck, to the passenger side, where his father stood behind the truck door.

“What’s wrong with this picture?” John asked Harold.

Harold looked at the house for a few moments before it dawned on him. “The boards are nailed on from the outside!”

“Yeah, someone wanted to keep something inside.” Just then they heard movement inside the house. From a gap in the boards, they could see motion behind one of the windows. A small hand appeared on the glass. The hand moved, but a bloody hand print remained on the glass.

Roger and Roy jumped out of the truck and fanned out to either side. John walked back towards the shop entrance and began prying the boards off the entrance one at a time.

“John, you better come see this,” Roy called out from around the corner of the house.

John and Harold both jogged over to Roy. On the ground in front of him lay Dan Bender. A bottle of whiskey lay on the ground, open and empty. A photo album lay open in front of him, pictures of his wife, Moira and daughter Emily, on pages covered in blood. Dan’s right hand was gripped tightly around a .357 magnum revolver, and the splatter of blood and brain matter all over the side of the house told the rest of the story.

Harold bent down and pulled one of Dan’s sleeves up showing John a blood soaked bandage.

“Must have been bit by one of his kin,” Harold said. He pried the gun from Dan’s cold, dead hand. “He did the right thing.” He put the pistol in his waist band and stood up. “Let’s get this over with.”

They walked back to the shop and finished removing the boards. John opened the door with Roger right behind him. The inside was dark, but John quickly found the light switch and flipped it on. Bright overhead lights revealed racks of rifles and display cases with pistols and accessories. John and Roger spread out in the little shop, heading for the back. The door in the back was not barricaded at all, and the men had the same thought.

Roger walked up to the door and trained his rifle on it. He nodded to John, indicating he would watch it.

John began selecting rifles, AR 15s, AK 47s, an Israeli Galil, a couple of scoped bolt action .308s, two FN FALs, and several shotguns. He carried them out by the armful and laid them carefully in the back of the truck. Then he grabbed a couple of Uzi’s, both semi automatic, and several pistols. He threw them all into a tote bag he found behind the counter. Next, he grabbed as many empty magazines as he could find and threw them into another tote bag. After he carried the bags out to the truck, he motioned for Roy to come in and help him with the ammunition. They grabbed every box of ammo they could find, which turned out to be several thousand rounds of ammunition of every caliber.

As they finished loading everything into the crowded truck, John ran back in and picked up a couple of bows and an armful of arrows.

“No sense wasting ammo on deer,” John said to Roger as they both walked out together. They closed the shop door and jumped up into the back of the truck. As the truck was pulling out of the driveway, the shop door opened and a little girl, her bloody hands reaching for them, ran out of the house moaning.

Morgan stepped on the gas as John raised his MP5 and put two bullets into the little Zed who used to be called Emily.

*

Morgan drove the group with its weapon-laden pickup truck through West Brattleboro to Interstate 91. Stalled or abandoned cars littered the road. They began to see Zeds walking singly or in small groups, going from house to house, car to car, looking for anything to satisfy their hunger. Their moans grew louder and louder. As the truck passed them they would notice the truck and follow it. Soon they had a rather large group shambling, stumbling, and in some cases, running after them. Morgan went as fast as he could through the littered streets, but at times he had to go up on lawns or swerve between cars to get past them, and therefore could not go fast enough for the Zeds to give up.

“This ain’t gonna be easy to get a tractor trailer through, man,” Roger said to John, yelling over the wind and moans of the undead.

“I know. I have an idea about that too.”

The pickup wound its way over the highway, which was considerably less crowded with empty cars than the town roads were. One exit later, Morgan pulled the truck off the highway towards a big warehouse complex at the northern edge of town. A tall chain link fence surrounded the complex, and the big rolling gates were closed. A small guard shack stood empty next to the gate. They approached the gate and stopped, scanning the area.

In the distance, back the way they’d come, a few running Zeds could be seen heading for them. Beyond that, a larger crowd of undead shambled more slowly in their direction.

“I think the fresher ones are the ones running,” Roger said to John.

“I think you’re right. Maybe rigor mortis slows them down or something,” John said. “Let’s get this gate open and get inside before they get here.”

Roy climbed up onto the hood of the truck and began scaling the fence. He climbed over the top and let himself down the other side. He entered the guard shack. A few moments later, the gate rolled to the side, and Morgan drove the pickup through. As soon as it reached the other side, Roy closed the gate.

As Roy climbed back up into the truck, the first of the running Zeds reached the gate. It clawed ineffectually at the gate, moaning in frustration. Bloody jaws bit the metal of the gate, but did not get through. More Zeds began to arrive, and soon a small crowd of them bit and clawed at the gate and surrounding fence.

“Let’s get this over with. I don’t want any of them figuring out how to climb while we’re in here.” John said, pounding on the roof of the pickup.

Morgan drove the pickup right up to the loading dock. A trailer stood in the bay next to them, doors open, with a Volvo tractor attached to it.

“Looks like this one had just arrived, or was just getting ready to leave. Keys are still in it!” Roger yelled, opening the driver’s side door of the big Volvo.

The group, with the exception of Morgan, who stood guard outside, entered the warehouse. As they walked over to the open truck, a Zed in a blue coverall ran from the back of the empty trailer right at them, moaning so loudly it sounded like a roar. John raised his MP5 and shot three times. The creature stumbled to the ground, but lurched back to its feet. Harold raised his rifle and put a bullet right between its eyes. Roy screamed.

“Goddamn it!” Roy yelled as the Zed flopped to the floor. “I pissed myself!”

Roger laughed as Roy walked past him, one shoe squishing wetly with each step.

The trailer lay empty, a forklift parked right in front of the bay. The group walked through the warehouse, looking for other undead. Two more Zeds wearing coveralls were found in the back, along with the remains of several other workers. Both Zeds were put down with several shots each. The men stood looking at the remains.

“How come those guys aren’t zombies too?” Roy asked, pointing to the other bodies.

“Zeds…we’re calling them Zeds, little Pee Pee.” Roger said to Roy.

“Look at the bodies. They all have head wounds. Bites through the skulls. Looks like they can’t turn if the brain gets messed up first.” John pointed out. “Alright, place looks clear. Let’s get what we came for and get out of here.”

They went back to the truck and got the forklift running. The next hour was spent selecting what food items they wanted and pointing them out to Harold who was following them around in the fork lift. They selected pallets of oatmeal, rice, canned vegetables, canned meat, pasta, cooking oil, and other things. Harold picked up each pallet and loaded them into the trailer. As he was loading a pallet of pickles and olives into the truck, Morgan came running in.

“The fence is buckling!” He shouted. “We need to move.”

Though the truck was only three quarters full, they decided to go. As Roger pulled the truck out, John ran in to the loading dock office. He grabbed several walkie talkies and a charging stand from the office and ran out to the truck. The fence was just toppling to the ground as John joined the others at the trucks. Zeds began pouring through the breach, running straight for the group.

John threw a walkie talkie to Roger.

“Roy, go with Roger. Follow us to exit four!” John yelled, squeezing into the cab of the pickup truck with Harold and Morgan. “Gun it! Go right through them!” he yelled.

Morgan pointed the pickup right at the oncoming Zeds. He slammed into the first of the creatures, causing it to burst like a meat filled balloon. Roger followed them, more slowly but just as powerfully. They smashed through the crowd of Zeds, running them down like wheat before a scythe. Blood covered the pickup truck from front to back. The big tractor trailer behind mopped up any stragglers. John watched the back of the pickup truck, his MP5 trained out the sliding rear window, but nothing made it that far. Stacks of rifles bounced around in back, crates and boxes of ammunition spilling all over the bed floor.

Finally they were through the throng of undead, making their way toward the highway. The few Zeds still mobile tried to follow them but were quickly left behind as the trucks turned onto the Interstate.

The walkie talkie in John’s shirt pocket crackled to life. “Where we headed?” Roger’s voice, though crackly, rang out in the little truck cab.

“State garage off exit 4.”

The radio was silent for several minutes. Finally, Roger came back on the radio. “Hot damn, John! Now you’re thinking!”

*

Forty minutes later, John sat in the cab of a big orange dump truck with the words “Highway Department” stenciled on the door, a huge V-shaped snow plow attached to the front. It had taken them almost a half hour to attach the snow plow, but they’d finally managed it. John drove the big dump truck with Morgan and Harold following him in the pickup truck. Roger brought up the rear of the little caravan driving the Volvo tractor trailer.

They cruised along Interstate 91 at nearly 50 miles an hour. They left the Interstate at exit 2 and drove through West Brattleboro, John using the snow plow as a battering ram, pushing stalled or crashed cars out of the way, slowing only as much as necessary. Roger kept him updated about any Zeds following them, but they maintained a high enough speed that any Zeds were left behind.

When they were less than half a mile from the pass through the ledges, John thought he heard gunfire. The big dump truck was so loud, however, that he couldn’t be sure. As he rounded the bend and the pass came in to sight, he slammed on the brakes. The tires squealed as the lumbering dump truck slowed, then stopped. Morgan and Roger both brought their vehicles to screeching halts as well.

Up ahead, John saw about a dozen Zeds all clamoring at a metal shipping container sitting across the road, plus half a dozen more headless on the ground. Standing on top of the container, two women fired guns down into the crowd. A Zed dropped, its head split wide open. John recognized Sara as one of the women but couldn’t yet tell who the other was. Sara began waving frantically to John.

John couldn’t see any way for them to get the trucks through without first killing the Zeds, so he pulled the dump truck closer to the barrier. He grabbed his MP5 and climbed out onto the side of the truck, through the driver’s side window, and up onto the roof. From his safe vantage point, he moved the selector on the MP5 to single fire and began shooting at the Zeds. Between his careful shooting, Sara’s point blank fire, and the other woman’s more random shooting, the crowd of undead began to thin.

“Is that Alison’s friend?” Harold asked, coming up to the side of the dump truck. He fired his 30-30, and another Zed fell.

“Her girlfriend, Dad. Marta. And yeah, that’s her,” John yelled down to his father. “Get up here.”

Harold slung his rifle over his shoulder and began to climb up the side of the truck. John reached his left hand down without looking, his right hand keeping his submachine gun trained on the four Zeds remaining at the barricade.

“Aaah!” Harold yelled out. John looked down, just as a female Zed in a dirty, ragged sundress ripped a bloody chunk of flesh from Harold’s left leg with her teeth. John brought his MP5 around and shot the woman in the face. He pulled the trigger again and again, the woman’s head becoming a bloody pulp before she finally fell. Harold hung there, screaming in agony. Roy ran up and stared in shock at Harold.

“Help Sara. Kill those fucking monsters!” John yelled, pulling his father up onto the roof. He pressed his hand over his father’s wound as he laid him down on the roof of the truck.

Between Roy, Sara, and Marta, the four remaining Zeds quickly fell. Sara and Marta disappeared down a ladder on the other side of the barricade.

John kept pressure on the wound, but blood spurted out between his hands faster than he could hold it in.

“Dammit, son. I didn’t see her. She must have been a straggler in the woods.” Harold said, clenching his teeth against the pain.

“It’s okay, Dad. It’s just a flesh wound. I’ve got first aid supplies back at the cabin.”

Harold pulled John’s hand away from his leg, letting the blood flow freely across the roof of the dump truck.

“Forget it, John. The news said bites are one hundred percent fatal. I’m not coming back as one of those…things.” Harold spat the last word out as if it tasted bad.

“We don’t know that for sure, dad. Just hold on,” John said. The barricade began to move aside, the sound of a tractor growling behind it.

Harold looked at John grimly. “Tell your mother I won’t be home for dinner. She knows the rest.” He pulled the .357 from his waistband. “It was good enough for Dan, it’s good enough for me.”

John reached for the pistol but Harold was quicker. He clamped his lips down on the barrel and pulled the trigger.

*

John drove the dump truck through the barricade, followed by the pickup and the tractor trailer. Sara pushed the shipping container back into place with the orange Kubota tractor. Harold’s body lay in the passenger seat, covered by John’s shirt.

They parked the vehicles in the driveway, with the tractor trailer half on the lawn of Harold and June’s house.

John’s mother was waiting for them, along with most of the other members of the Mason clan. Wordlessly, John got out and walked to the passenger side. He opened the door and lifted his father’s body out of the seat. Gently, he laid his father down on his lawn.

June came and stood beside John. They hugged, June crying silently. Sara drove the orange tractor into the driveway, parked it, and ran over to John.

“Oh god,” she said, hugging John and June at the same time. “John,” she whispered, tears starting to spring from her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Long minutes passed. Family members came and hugged June, while Sara held her husband. Some relatives spoke words of comfort, though no one really listened. Finally, John looked up from his father’s body.

“Sara, why were you and Marta out there on the barricade alone?”

Sara looked over at Douglas. “Because Doug told everybody that the barricade was enough, that nothing could get through.” She was still crying a little bit. Her sadness and anger towards Douglas made her words come out slower than normal as she remembered the scene. “Patrick and Kurt were up at the other barricade, putting that one into place. When I asked for people to go watch the barricade, Doug told them they didn’t have to listen to me, that I was just a stupid girl. Marta called him an asshole and came with me.

We thought they were going to climb up and get us. I tried to get Marta to go for help but she wouldn’t leave me. John, I was so scared.” Her voice broke off as her crying resumed.

John looked across the crowd of family members. Douglas stood on the other side, on the very edge of the crowd. He noticed John’s gaze and paled. John stormed over to him, shoving people out of the way. He grabbed his cousin by the front of his shirt and pulled him close.

Douglas resisted, slapping at John’s hands. “Get your fucking hands off me!” He yelled.

John punched him square in the face. Still holding him up, he punched him again. Everyone grew quiet, staring.

“Never. Again. Doug.” John said, punctuating each word with a punch. He dragged the barely conscious man over to Harold’s body. He shoved Douglas down to the ground, and pulled the shirt off his father’s face. Douglas stared into the dead man’s eyes, at the tragic mess that had been John’s father. “This is your fault.”

“Wha…what? No, I didn’t…” Douglas stammered, trying to back away from the body.

“You left them to fight alone! This could have been them too. My fucking wife, Doug. It could have been all of us.”

Douglas slumped to the ground, defeated. “I’m sorry,” he began repeating over and over.

*

They buried Harold later that night, after they’d had a simple service. A bonfire was lit, and people gathered around the grave. All except for Douglas, who manned the barricade by himself, a radio next to him with instructions to call for help at the first sign of Zed activity. John placed a simple wooden marker at the head of the grave, behind Harold’s house. He looked around. I wonder how many more we’ll have to put here before this is over, he thought grimly.

John and Sara sat up with June until she fell asleep. She looked as if she’d aged a decade in one day, Sara told John later. He agreed with her.

Finally they walked back to their little cabin. Princess woke up from her nap on the porch as they arrived. She woofed happily at them as they ruffled her fur.

John took Sara into his arms as they stood on the porch, listening to the crickets chirping in grass. “You did good today, Sara. Real good. I am so proud of you. You know that, right? That what Doug said isn’t true, about you being a stupid girl?”

Sara kissed her husband’s bearded chin. “Of course I know, John, You’re not so bad yourself, big guy,” she said, smiling up at him.

That night before bed, John went down to the cabin’s basement. He pulled a dusty cover off from a little table. A short wave radio sat on the table. The radio was plugged into the wall, though a small car battery sat ready next to the table, on the floor.

John switched the radio on, tured the dial to a certain frequency, and spoke. It took several tries, but finally, someone answered. John picked up a pencil and began writing on a little notepad.

He listened to every voice, strangers all, as they spoke, seeking help, advice, or just another living soul to talk to. Important bits of news made it to John’s notepad.

Soldiers seen at Cheyenne. Groups of survivors in Omaha, Chattanooga, Reno, Houston, a few other places. Isolated individuals in some places as well. Alaska safe. Europe and Africa gone. Men in camouflage seen executing the living as well as the dead.

John frowned at this last bit of information, but did not respond. Not yet, he thought to himself.

He shared the news of other groups of survivors with Sara as they lay in bed, but said nothing about the camouflaged men. He frowned, wondering why Jcon14 hadn’t answered his calls.

That night, the nightmares were of his father.

Chapter 8

September 24, 2010

Brattleboro, Vermont.

John woke to the sounds of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen. The smell of coffee and frying bacon permeated the air and brought a smile to his face. He swung his feet out of bed and stood up, pulling on his shorts and stepping into his slippers. He headed out to the kitchen and found Sara putting plates of bacon and eggs on the table. Sneaking up behind her he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.

Sara giggled. “I heard you coming. You don’t exactly exude stealth, you know.”

“What are you talking about, I’m a friggin’ ninja!” John exclaimed indignantly.

“Okay dear. Whatever you say.” She rolled her eyes and poured steaming hot coffee into two cups. They sat down at the table, ate their breakfast and talked about the past day’s events. John avoided the subject of his father as much as he could, and Sara didn’t press the issue. When they were finished, Sara picked up the dirty plates and carried them to the little sink. As she began washing them, she turned back to John.

“What are you going to do today, hon?”

“Well, we got a lot of supplies yesterday, we’ll need to take an inventory and see about the best way to store them. Nothing in that truck needs to be refrigerated, but it shouldn’t be left out to bake in the sun either,” John sipped at his coffee. “Also, we managed to get quite a few guns that I’d like to see divvied up, and then everyone should practice a little. We have enough ammo to spare a little for training.”

“That sounds good. I’d like to plan something for tonight, if you think everyone would go for it.”

“Oh? What did you have in mind?” John raised his eyebrows as he smiled at Sara.

“I thought we could have a big party and use up some of the fresh food and the stuff that needs to be refrigerated before we lose the electricity. I think people need it. Yesterday was bad, and not just because of your dad. I could use some distraction to take my mind off of things, John.”

He nodded to her. “I know. I didn’t help anything by going off on Doug like that. He’s an asshole, but he’s family, and right now, that’s all we have. And I am trying not to hold a grudge against everyone who listened to him yesterday. We’re going to have to learn from yesterday, and then put it behind us.”

“Speaking of family, when can we go get Mom, Dad, and Jose?” Sara faced away from John, trying not to let him see the tears forming in her eyes.

John frowned. “I will take Morgan or Truck out the day after tomorrow and see if we can get to them. I don’t know what the border will be like, but we’ll try. We’ll take the dump truck.”

Sara tried not to show her disappointment, but John came over and hugged her anyway. “I know, Sara. I’m sorry we left them. If I’d known how fast things would go to hell, I wouldn’t have left without them.”

“John, you know my dad wouldn’t have come, he’s too stubborn. But now… maybe.”

They finished their coffee in silence, thinking about the day ahead.

John and Sara dressed and were just walking out the door together when Princess started barking. She raced out of the house and past them, barking and growling worse than she ever had before. The couple took off at a run, trying to catch up with her. She ran out into the driveway, and behind Patrick Mason’s house. Sara managed to get around the house first, with John right behind her. As they rounded the corner, they saw Princess facing off against a Zed. The creature was missing its left arm and part of its face, but didn’t seem to be bothered by the damage as it advanced on Princess. Pine needles were matted into the bloody face and shoulder.

Patrick came stumbling out of his back door, shotgun held before him. “What’s all that ruckus?” He came up short as he saw Princess staring down the Zed in his back yard.

John drew his Sig at the same time Sara pulled her Beretta. They fired as Sara screamed, “Princess!”

Princess backed toward Sara, baring her teeth, the hair on her back standing straight up. The Zed staggered under the onslaught, bullets tearing into its withering flesh. It went down on one knee, before Patrick’s shotgun blasted its head into a fine red mist. The body fell backward without a sound.

Princess ran over to the fallen Zed and bit it hard, right on its shoe.

John walked up and ruffled the dog’s ears. “Good girl.”

*

“Okay, we have a problem.” John shouted over the noise. The entire clan had turned out into Patrick’s backyard. Even June came out, looking slightly better than she had the night before. They stood around the decaying body of the Zed.

“You don’t say!” Kelly, wearing a bright red Hollister shirt, quipped. Uneasy chuckles broke some of the tension.

“Okay, we have even more problems, then.” John nodded to Kelly. He turned back to the rest of the group. “This one must have wandered over the mountain, through the woods. I didn’t think that would be a problem, but we don’t want even the stragglers hanging out in our back yard.”

“What do you want to do about it?” Patrick said as he cleaned his shotgun on the little picnic table next to his back door.

“Well, first off, I don’t think anyone should be outside without a gun or at least an armed escort. We took in quite a few yesterday, so I want everyone who doesn’t have a firearm to come up to the cabin after this and I’ll get you outfitted with something,” John paused before continuing. “Since we can’t fence off the whole valley, I think we should at least fence off the houses, the cabin, and that little hunting shack.”

Everyone seemed to speak at once, drowning out John’s words, until a single shot rang out in the air. Douglas stood, rifle in hand, a wisp of smoke snaking up from the barrel. “Let him talk!”

John stared for a moment at Douglas, before nodding. “There is a fencing company less than 15 miles from here, on route 5. We can take the dump truck down, load it up with fencing, and bring it back. We can make more than one trip if we need to. I think we could start with a solid chain link, then reinforce it with lumber or cut logs. Hell, we could dig a ditch and line it with sharpened stakes for all I care. But we need something.”

More questions followed, most wondering how they would be able to undertake such a large task while still managing to survive.

“We’ll tell the neighbors what we’re doing and why, and suggest they do the same. I’ll take volunteers, we’ll go get the fencing this morning. I think we should also unload the trailer and get what we can into basements and out of the sunlight. Also, Sara is organizing a little shindig for tonight, so she could use some help.”

“Oh, one more thing,” John looked at the assembled people. “I’m going to be passing out guns and weapons to everyone who can handle one. We’ll be practicing on the scarecrow in the back field, so don’t be alarmed if you hear shots coming from that direction.”

John noticed everyone staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. Patrick, the eldest Mason there, spoke up. “Well, what do you want us to do, John?”

Oh crap, John thought to himself. They really do think I’m in charge!

*

Douglas walked over to John as the rest of the crowd thinned out. John had issued some suggestions, organized the run to the fence company, supervised the unloading of the truck, and a few other things.

“Hey, man, about yesterday,” Douglas began, shifting nervously on his feet. His eyes were both bruised, giving him a slightly raccoon-like look.

“Yeah, about yesterday,” John said, scratching his head.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just didn’t think…I mean, I just couldn’t…” He stopped himself, then started over. “I don’t understand how you’ve managed to just accept everything so easily.”

“What choice do we have? Would you rather be one of them?” He nodded to the corpse on the ground.

“Of course not, but it’s just crazy. It’s all so fucking crazy.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, we can both put yesterday behind us, or we can wait until Wall Street comes back and you can buy me ten times over.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

They stood there in silence for a moment. John looked at Douglas. “Doug, I’ve got a project for you, if you want it. You’re probably the only one here who can do it right.”

Douglas looked skeptical. “Oh yeah?”

A couple of hours later, they stood in the little garden shed behind John’s cabin. They’d spent the better part of those two hours moving the radio from the cabin basement out to the shed. They’d also moved the batteries and a chair, and emptied the shed of everything else. John finished tacking up a map of the United States on the wall over the small table upon which sat the short wave radio.

“What we need is information. We’re still getting some stuff on FM, but it’s mostly looping feeds of old news. We need up to date stuff.” He showed Douglas the notepad where he’d written the news from his last attempt.

“I don’t know anything about this. Why did you want me to do this?” Douglas began fiddling with dials on the short wave set.

“Because you can take the data you get and analyze it. You can organize it, prioritize it, and give us a better picture of what’s going on than I can. And we need information more than anything else right now.” John handed Douglas a headset.

Douglas looked at it for a minute, then up to the map on the wall. He nodded, more to himself than to John. “Alright. Yeah. I can do that.”

John grinned, clapping Douglas on the back. “Good! Thanks.”

*

As John walked back down the driveway, Sara came up to him. He smiled at her. “How’s it going, hot stuff?”

She giggled at him, the pistol on her hip not detracting at all from the very feminine sound. “Pretty good. We’re moving some tables out under the carport, and most of the food has been unloaded from the trailer. We’re going to try communal dining, at least for a little while, since all the food is being shared anyway.”

“Oh…I don’t know, sounds like communism to me!” He joked.

She stopped in the middle of the driveway and deadpanned, “You know too much, Comrade.”

He shook his head at her. “You’re too good for me, you know that?”

“Oh I know, but my options have suddenly become very limited, and I’m not into zombiephilia. Zedophilia? Though I saw a movie once, by accident,” She scratched her head, a puzzled expression on her face as she started to recount the film.

“Ick. Okay, moving right along,” He continued walking until Morgan and Truck came around the side of Patrick’s house. Truck brushed his hands off on his jeans. “Zed’s buried. We’re going to take the dump truck and go get that fencing.”

“Okay, let me grab my gear and we’ll head out.”

“Nah, John. You don’t have to go on this run. Besides, what do you know about fences?” Truck grinned. “You said you wanted to teach some people how to shoot the new guns and whatnot, so do that. We’ll handle the heavy lifting.”

John frowned. “I don’t like sending you out there without me. One mistake is all it takes.”

“We know that. Don’t worry, we’ll get what we need and get back here. We might go see if we can find a bucket loader somewhere too, to dig that ditch with the spikes in it you talked about.”

“I was just kidding about the ditch!” John said, shaking his head. “You guys take me way too seriously.”

Truck laughed as he and Morgan headed off to get their gear.

“Those two are way too excited to be heading out there like this. I’m worried.” John said, watching them walk away.

“You can’t follow them around everywhere. We all have to adjust to the way things are now.”

John nodded silently, still frowning. He stood there watching until Truck, Morgan, and Kurt Crawford had driven away in the big dump truck several minutes later.

Sara kissed John and left him to tend to the party preparations. John spent some time laying out all of the weapons they’d brought back the day before. He ran through everyone in his mind, and assigned a rifle or pistol to everyone in the compound who didn’t already have something adequate. He put those together with ammunition and spare magazines. He then brought the bundles to each person as he found them, and taught each person there how to operate their gun. He made sure everyone shot at a makeshift target in the field behind Patrick Mason’s house until he thought they were competent, if not proficient.

By the time he was satisfied that he had given everyone at least a fighting chance, he decided to head up to the southern barricade, the one manned by the neighboring family, the Kensingtons. He slung his MP5 over his shoulder and started walking.

When he arrived, he saw a young man with close cropped hair, wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt bearing the U.S.M.C. logo standing on top of the barrier with a rifle slung across his back. The man turned to him as he approached. John noticed the dark circles under the man’s eyes.

“You must be Jack?” John asked as he climbed up onto the barricade. He offered his hand.

“That’s me.” Jack took John’s hand in his and gave it a quick pump.

“I’m John Mason. I just wanted to see how you were doing over here. Uncle Patrick told you about our fence idea?”

“Yeah, it sounds like a good one. We might do something similar, maybe with logs or bricks or something.”

“Good. If you don’t mind my asking, how are you folks set for supplies? Food and weapons?”

“We’re good, we have food for a few months, and a few rifles and pistols. Ammo might be a problem if we get into it, though. I was thinking we might make a run into town soon.”

John filled Jack in on his reasoning for avoiding the downtown area. Jack agreed with him, and they spent some time discussing various places to get supplies. Jack scratched his head, looking at John.

“TV’s dead, nothing on it but recorded crap. We can’t get any news on the radio either. Do you know anything about what’s going on out there?”

“We’re working on it. I’ve got a short wave radio and a man trying to gather information. I also spent some time on it myself. There are other people out there just like us making it. So will we.”

Jack let out a sigh, “That’s really good to hear, man. I don’t know why the military isn’t kicking ass yet.”

“Probably because they didn’t believe what was happening. We kept hearing back at the beginning how they were evacuating wounded to populated areas. Probably how it spread so fast.”

“Fucking idiots!” Jack stared out over the little road leading off into the forest.

“You got that right. Too worried about telling people what to do, how to live, what to think. When it finally came down to it, they just couldn’t accept that sometimes bad shit happens and you do what you have to do. Probably worried about offending the undead, or getting sued by some Zed lawyer.”

They shared a quick laugh over that. “We’re having a little party tonight. My wife is putting it together, and she sure can cook. We want you folks to come over. It’ll be good for everyone.”

Jack smiled. “Sounds good to me. We’ll be there.”

They shook hands again, and Jack headed back home.

*

Around 6:30 p.m., John heard the roar of the tractor down at the barricade along with the honking of the big dump truck’s horn. He trotted down to the end of the driveway and arrived just as the large truck pulled in. The back of the truck was piled high with rolls of chain link and other things. Big bundles of fence were hanging from the sides and the back, and a flatbed trailer piled high with still more fencing attached to the back of the truck.

Morgan jumped out of the driver’s side and ran around to the passenger side, opening the door. “Give me a hand,” he yelled to John.

John’s heart sank.

Truck jumped out, pulling Kurt gently down behind him. A bloody cloth was wrapped around Kurt’s upper left thigh. He reached the ground, Truck and Morgan carrying him over to the lawn and setting him down on the soft green grass. John eyed the wounded leg with a sinking feeling. He slid the MP5 off from his shoulder, leaving it pointed at the ground. Kurt looked up as he saw the weapon, his eyes widening.

Morgan saw the look. “Whoa, John, hold up. It’s not a bite. He fell off the truck when we were loading it. It’s broken.”

John sighed in relief and laid his weapon on the ground, leaning down to look at the wounded area. He peeled the wrapping away and grimaced. The bone had broken and a jagged piece of it had punctured the skin.

“Alright, just sit tight, Kurt. My mom used to be a nurse. I’ll be right back.” He took off running towards his mother’s house. A few minutes later he led June back to the trio. She bent down and looked at him with a shrewd eye. Kurt eyed her skeptically.

June nodded to John. “Get him inside. You come too. You’ll have to hold him down.”

Kurt paled at the statement but said nothing. The slight graying at his temples seemed out of place on the middle aged man. Bet he’s going to get a few more gray hairs out of this, John thought to himself as they carried Kurt into Patrick’s house and laid him down on the guest bed he and Franny had been using. She arrived a few moments later, saw what had happened, and promptly smacked Kurt on the back of the head. Kurt grinned and shrugged.

June ordered sheets, towels, sticks, and rope, along with whiskey. John smiled at his mother’s use of the unorthodox medicine despite her strict religion. She told Kurt to take a long swig of the drink, before pouring a generous splash onto the wound itself. June patted the wound dry and nodded to John and Truck, each standing on either side of the bed. She motioned for Truck to hold Kurt’s other leg down. When John and Morgan each had a good grip on Kurt, the elderly nurse pulled his leg straight down, drawing the jagged bone back into the leg.

Kurt screamed for all he was worth and struggled violently. The men managed to hold him reasonably still as June pressed her fingers into his thigh, feeling the bone underneath. She pulled his leg again, her seemingly frail form holding more strength than anyone thought.

Kurt kept screaming until finally he passed out. Franny said, “Keep going,” and June did.

Finally she seemed satisfied with the leg and began wrapping it in sheets. Then she had John make a splint out of the rest of the supplies, and helped him put the splint on. They tightened it in place. With Kurt still out cold, they left him and Franny alone.

“Do you have any antibiotics, John?” June asked him, slumping down into a chair in the living room.

“I have some up in my first aid bag, but I don’t know if it’s enough for something like this.”

“Well, go get them, we’ll have to give it a try. We’re going to need more, though. He won’t be the only one to get hurt, you know,” June said tiredly.

“I know. I hadn’t really thought about it.” John got up and left to get the antibiotics. Morgan followed him.

“John, there’s something you should know.”

John kept walking but turned to Morgan. “What’s that?”

“It’s getting worse out there. We saw huge packs of those things all hunting together. They weren’t just looking for people, either. We saw them take down a couple of dogs and a cow.”

“A cow?”

“Yeah. We passed a field and saw a pack of them chase a cow down. They just piled onto it, biting and ripping at it until it fell. And they’re all over the place. We got lucky, the fence company had a pretty good fence around it so we were safe while we loaded up, but there were thousands of them out there. No kidding.”

“Jesus… thanks Morgan. You guys did good out there today.”

“Thanks, boss.” Morgan said, running back to the driveway.

“Hey, I’m not your boss!” John yelled to Morgan as he ran off. Morgan just waved a hand over his shoulder and kept going.

Later, after he’d delivered his medicinal burden to his mother, John stood outside looking up at the partially unloaded dump truck. Patrick took his work gloves off and came over to John.

“Looks like a good haul. I think we have enough here to go around the perimeter twice. It’s good stuff, too. Ten feet high. We can sink a foot into the ground and it’ll still be tall enough. They got a good amount of barbed wire too, for the top. It’s not razor wire but still, if anything makes it that far they should get tangled up in it. At least it’ll slow them down.” Patrick said grinning.

“At the warehouse, there were so many of them they knocked a fence like that over through sheer numbers.” John said, frowning at the memory.

“Yeah, I heard. We’ll shore it up with braces every ten feet or so. We’ll cut some logs for reinforcement. We can dig a ditch on the outside to make it even harder to get at the fence later.” Patrick seemed about to burst with some secret he had.

“Alright, what is it, Uncle Patrick?” John finally asked, giving in.

“Well, we have enough tree stands from hunting, we can put them up around the compound and have guard towers. Sort of.”

John rolled his eyes but laughed. “Good thinking!”

The unloading continued. John helped for awhile until Sara came running up to him. “Hey, babe, what’s up?” John asked, brushing his hands off on his pants.

“I umm, I think we have a situation. You better come quick.”

John followed Sara to the carport where the tables were set up and covered in vinyl tablecloths. Christmas lights were strung inside the carport, along with tinfoil covered balls of some sort, hanging from the center struts. John smiled at the decorations but caught himself as he heard the yelling.

Pamela and Roy Kaminski were arguing very loudly in the far corner. Pamela had a big metal pot in her hand. Roy was bleeding from his forehead.

“Why the hell did you do that?” he yelled.

“She’s not dead, you asshole!” Pamela yelled back at him. She raised the pot for another swing at him but John reached her just then. He grabbed the pot from her and gently set it down on a table.

“Pam, what’s going on?” John asked, stepping in between the two.

“He said Theresa was dead.” Tears began streaming down Pamela’s face.

“I did not!” Roy yelled. “I said she’s gone. Probably went to New York with one of her boyfriends or something.”

“SHUT UP!” Pamela yelled, lunging for Roy again.

John barely caught her and held her back. Sara quietly walked up to Roy and escorted him out of the carport, berating him so quietly John almost didn’t hear her.

He held Pamela until she calmed down. “What’s going on? I thought your daughter and the kids were with her boyfriend?”

“I thought so too, but Roy just now told me she called before we left, saying she was coming up here.”

John frowned. If she hadn’t arrived by now, it was unlikely she was going to make it at all. He kept his opinion to himself, though.

“We don’t know anything for sure, Pam. I’m sure she’s okay, wherever she is. The boys, too,” He said, speaking of Theresa’s two children, Joshua and Petey. “Look, I’m taking some of the guys and going out the day after tomorrow to get Sara’s family. We’ll look for them then.”

Pam looked hopeful. “Will you?”

“Yeah, we will.” John smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I’ll try, he thought to himself. I swear.

Pamela calmed down a bit after that and picked the pot up again. John watched her for a few moments, then, satisfied she was calmer, he left her to her cooking and went to find Sara.

*

The whole family, with the exception of Roger who was manning the northern barricade, and Kurt, who was resting inside, sat at the long tables covered with food and drinks of all kinds. People were laughing and talking, and most importantly, eating. The Kensingtons sat at one of the tables eating the roast chicken, homemade lasagna, venison stew, and fresh home made corn bread Sara had prepared alongside the other women. A table sat off in the corner covered with steaming hot pies and fruit tarts.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Sara,” John said between bites of maple crusted brook trout, a variation on her salmon specialty.

She beamed happily at him as she walked past, refilling a platter of meat at the table. “Couldn’t have done it without the other ladies here. How about it, girls? We decided we don’t mind feeding our big, strong men,” she said, winking at her husband.

“And strong women!” Allison quipped, smiling.

“To love, and family,” Sara said, proposing a toast. “To friends, and to the family we didn’t choose, but fate chose for us.” She motioned to her relatives through marriage. Even June Mason was smiling, eating home made macaroni and cheese. She waved at Sara as she walked past.

John ate contentedly, enjoying the feast and the sounds of laughter, when the Christmas lights flickered. Everyone grew silent as they dimmed. They grew brighter again, and the sounds of the family eating grew louder again. A few minutes later the lights flickered once more. Then they went out completely. Silence reigned as everyone waited for the lights to come back on. After several minutes, Patrick said “Well, that’s it, then.”

Everyone went back to eating as candles were lit and set out among the tables. The party continued well into the night, until most of the food had been eaten and most of the belts had been loosened. As the family was sitting around polishing off the pies and fruit tarts, they heard a single gunshot from the barricade.

John grabbed his MP5 and ran down the road towards the barrier. Others followed, including Sara and Patrick. As they neared the barricade they could see Roger standing on top, pointing his rifle down at something. Bright light streamed around the barricade. Loud shouting was coming from the other side. John climbed up the ladder and looked down.

A truck sat idling in front of the barricade. A huge steel security door had been mounted to the front of the truck as some kind of plow. Dents and red streaks covered it, marring the stark gray paint. A shiny brass doorknob stood out amid the blood and gore. The truck itself was also covered in blood and dirt, making it impossible to see what color it was. The cab of the truck appeared crowded with people, as was the open bed. People sat and stood in the back, shouting at those on the barricade to let them in.

Sara reached the top of the barricade and took in the scene. Then she started yelling and jumping up and down.

“Sara, what’s wrong?” John asked her.

“It’s Jose! Oh God, John! That’s his truck!” She pointed at the beast, and John could finally make out the flames painted on the side. An arm waved out of the driver’s side window up at them.

“It’s okay, let them in,” John said to Roger, smiling. “They’re family.”

Roger shook his head and pointed. “No way, look at that.”

John looked to where Roger was pointing. A small round object sat on the hood, wrapped in barbed wire. As John looked, the object moved.

“Holy shit, is that what I think it is?” John asked.

“It’s a head. A Zed head.” Roger confirmed.

John shook his head slowly, but said, “Alright, let them in anyway.”

They climbed down off the barricade and Roger moved it to the side with the orange Kubota tractor.

The truck pulled through the pass and stopped. Roger pushed the barricade back into place and climbed back up to his post. John and Sara ran over to the truck as both doors opened. Jose burst out of the drivers side and ran towards Sara. He had a sword strapped to his back, handle sticking up over his left shoulder. Over his right, the pistol grip of the shotgun John had given him stuck up over a leather scabbard. A red and white striped bandanna held the mop of hair out of the teen’s eyes. Someone in the group behind the barrier whispered, “Guys, I think that’s Rambo.”

Jose wrapped Sara in a hug as Dierdre Maxwell jumped down out of the passenger’s door and ran to her daughter. They were crying as they hugged each other, everyone speaking at once. John noticed another person climbing out of the passenger seat. Tina walked toward the hugging trio. John winced to himself as he saw that half of her hair was gone, angry red skin showing through where hair used to be. He walked up to Tina, a look of concern on his face. “Tina, what happened to you?”

Tina looked toward Jose and frowned. “He was so sure he could make a flamethrower…”

John tried hard not to laugh. Tina fumed and kicked a rock in his direction.

As Morgan began helping strangers down from the back of the truck, he heard Sara ask, “Where’s dad?”

Just then, a golden blur jumped down from the back of the truck and ran headlong at Sara. She bent down, laughing, as Fish ran right into her. He knocked her flat on her back, licking her face. Finally, she managed to climb out from under the big yellow lab. She looked at him and frowned, a puzzled look on her face as she took in the bandage on the dog’s behind.

“Oh my god! Mom, what happened to his tail?”

Jose gave her a sad look. Dierdre had tears in her eyes. Jose finally spoke. “They tried to get in the back door. Fish was barking like crazy, and they were banging on the door, moaning and scratching and biting. Eddie was there with us, he’d made it to our house, but he led a bunch of them right to the door. Dad thought he could make them go away so he opened up the door and sprayed them with a fire extinguisher,” he wiped at one of his eyes. “It didn’t stop them. He started hitting them with it, but one of them bit him.”

“I told Mom… I told her what would happen. But he said he was okay. He went in and laid down on the couch. Fish was laying in front of him. He started to get sick. Mom tried to take care of him but he just kept getting sicker and sicker.”

Sara started to cry, already knowing what she needed to know from her little brother’s story, but she let him continue. “Eddie and I nailed the doors shut, and everything looked okay. Then mom screamed. I ran into the room, and Dad sat up and bit Fish on the tail.”

Sara’s tears streamed as she listened. Forever a daddy’s girl, her sobs started to grow in intensity as she rubbed Fish’s big face and listened. Dierdre stood behind her daughter, crying openly.

“I knew that Dad was gone. But Fish, he was just trying to get away, but Dad was biting his tail. So I cut it off with my sword.” Jose pulled the sword a few inches out of the scabbard. He let it fall back into it and continued. “Eddie jumped on Dad, and Dad bit him too. We all ran out of the parlor and locked him in. We didn’t know what else to do so we left him there. We got in the truck and came here. We picked up all these people on the way. Mom wouldn’t let me leave them.”

Dierdre wiped her eyes and shook her head. “That wouldn’t have been nice, Jose.”

Sara slumped to the ground, held onto Fish, and cried. He licked away her tears. Dierdre knelt down to the ground and folded her daughter into her arms.

John looked at Jose. “Wait, what happened to Eddie?”

Jose looked at the round lump on the hood of the truck. “He didn’t make it.”

John looked closer and saw that the lump was the head of Jose’s friend, Eddie. It had been stuck onto the hood ornament and held in place with loops of barbed wire. The thing’s lower jaw worked back and forth slowly as the milky white eyes looked right at John. “Dude, that’s so gross. I guess this means decapitation doesn’t kill them. Great.”

The crowd of people including the newcomers started walking back towards the driveway. John held Sara as she walked, grief stricken, with Dierdre on the other side of her, and Jose just behind. She had never felt so torn before, grieving over the loss of her father yet so thankful for her mother and brother’s arrival. Fish ran ahead and barked happily as he found Princess. John couldn’t help but smirk when he saw Princess’ eyes widen when she went to sniff the tailless behind of her best friend.

As the group walked into the driveway, Pamela came out to meet them. She ran right at one of the newcomers yelling, “Theresa!” It was only then that John realized Theresa and her two boys, all covered in dirt and grime, had been in the back of Jose’s truck.

Chapter 9

September 24, Zed Year One

Brattleboro, Vermont

The Maxwell reunion ran late into the evening. John let Sara and her family catch up in the cabin while he helped find sleeping quarters for the rest of the newcomers. He tried to meet everyone, but the scene was too chaotic for him to remember everyone’s names. There was a family from New Hampshire whose car had stalled out on the highway, and they had hidden inside until Jose had arrived. Two Jamaican farm hands, in Vermont for the fall harvest, had managed to survive in a school bus, along with several others who had all found a way to hang on until help had arrived.

John vowed to get to know them all better as soon as he could, but in the meantime, he found sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows for them all. Most of them slept on the floor of June Mason’s home, but a few were able to find couches and reclining chairs to sleep in.

“It’s just for tonight, folks. We’ll work something better out tomorrow.” Then he left them to get some sleep and walked back to the cabin. As he approached the small building, he could tell from the noise and lantern light from within that Sara, Dierdre, Jose and Tina were still awake. He decided to give them a few more moments and headed towards the little shack he’d where he had set Douglas up with the radio. Douglas was just heading out of the door when he got there.

“Doug, how’s it going?”

“Oh hey, John. What’s all that ruckus down there?”

John looked puzzled for a moment before exclaiming, “Oh God, nobody told you? Theresa and the kids made it.”

“What? How?” Douglas looked relieved at the news of his sister and nephews.

“Sara’s brother, Jose, picked them up on the way here. He picked up a bunch of survivors. They got lucky.”

“Oh thank God.” Douglas sat down on the ground and leaned against the door of the shack. He held his head in his hands. “I thought they were dead. I really did.”

John sat down next to Douglas, not saying a word. They sat that way for several minutes. Douglas broke the silence. “Jose, huh? How’d he get a name like that?”

“Eh, it’s a long story. But the short version is his parents were on vacation in Mexico when he was conceived, so they named him after a guy down there that gave them a great deal on some pot.”

Douglas just looked at John for a moment. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, but don’t tell him that. They don’t want him to know. And Sara doesn’t like hearing the story either. Supposedly, if he’d been born a girl, his name would have been Mary Jane.”

They both chuckled at that.

“So, have you heard anything?” John asked.

“Yeah, a few things. I was going to go get some sleep and then put all this together into some kind of order tomorrow. I’ve heard from a few groups of survivors. Some are in government shelters, or bunkers. A few are in isolated farms. I talked to one family hiding in a sewer.”

“Anything from the government?”

“Yeah, the Lieutenant Governor and some National Guard troops are holed up in a bunker in Montpelier, but they aren’t saying much. And nothing from the Feds, but I did hear some rumors that they are hiding out under Cheyenne mountain.”

John thought for a minute. He seemed to come to some sort of decision and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Douglas.

“I want you to do me a favor. Check this frequency. If you hear anything on it, anything at all, let me know. Get a hold of me on the walkie talkie right away.”

Douglas took the paper and nodded. He stood up, offering his hand to John.

“I’m going to go find my sister then turn in.”

“Thanks, Doug. Reminds me of when we were kids.”

“Yeah, but without the undead monsters.”

Douglas walked off into the night. John looked into the shed on his way past and noted several push pins placed all over the map on the wall. He nodded to himself and walked toward the cabin.

*

“Oh man, you should have seen it! I whipped my sword out and sliced right through its neck! And then the second one came at me, and I yelled for Tina to throw me the flamethrower. Man it was sick!” Jose danced back and forth in the living room waving his sword. John ducked as he came through the door, barely avoiding a free haircut. Jose looked abashed, but continued.

“So she threw it to me. I thought the tape would hold the hose together, but when I turned it on, it kinda sprayed everywhere.” He lowered his eyes to the floor as Tina started fuming silently, glaring at him.

“But after we put her hair out, it was fine! So then, we finished getting the gas and got back into the truck…”

John raised his hand. “Wait, did you just say you were using a flamethrower, while pumping gas?”

Jose nodded his head and grinned. “Yeah, it was sick!”

John motioned for Jose to continue with his story.

“But then we noticed a huge pack of them coming at us. I whipped out of the parking lot and got on the highway. I had to run down a couple in the way, but that door works pretty well. Anyway, that’s when Eddie got sick. So I stopped the truck and told him to get out.”

John traded a glance with Sara. Her eyes were red, but she grinned a little at Jose’s colorful tale and enthusiasm. Fish and Princess lay next to each other on the floor in front of her.

“I told him he could ride in the back until he changed, but then I’d have to kill him. He said he’d be okay, but if he changed, he wanted me to take him somewhere nice. Anyway, he got all sick and stuff in the back of the truck. Finally I pulled over again. Mom said I couldn’t bring him with us cause it was too dangerous.”

Dierdre nodded, sipping a cup of hot tea. Good thing we have a wood cook stove, John thought to himself, mentally planning for the days ahead.

“So I brought his head. He can’t hurt anyone.”

“Well, still, we can’t keep him…it.” John said, coming out of his reverie.

“Oh yeah, I know. I’ll tell him he’s got to go in the morning. He’s cool with it, I’m sure.”

Sara and Tina both rolled their eyes at the same time. John just shook his head.

They unrolled sleeping bags and extra blankets on the floor. Sara insisted her mother take the bed, at least for the night. John agreed, and together they convinced Dierdre. Finally, John, Sara, Tina, and Jose, fell asleep on the living room floor, adding their snores to those of Princess and Fish.

*

John awoke to the sound of distant gunfire. He was already running out the door, rifle in one hand, radio in the other, when the others began to wake up. As he ran down the path to the driveway, his radio crackled to life.

“Zeds at the barricade. Big group, at least twenty, maybe thirty,” Truck said, calmly. “I could use a hand up here.”

“On my way. Just hang on.”

Roger and Morgan came running up the driveway, heading in the same direction. Both had their rifles held at the ready. A few of the newcomers poked their heads out of June’s house, but John waved them all back as he ran past.

“Stay inside, folks. You’re safe here.” I hope, he thought to himself.

They reached the barricade a few minutes later. Truck was firing slowly but accurately at targets down below. He had a big Maglite flashlight aimed at the crowd. The light clearly showed at least two dozen Zeds in various states of decomposition. Some were the faster, fresher, newer kind, jumping and climbing over the slower ones. Truck seemed to be aiming at those first. Already four Zeds lay unmoving on the road.

We need to get some lights out here, John thought, as he aimed for one of the fast Zeds. Its head exploded like a ripe melon. John smiled a little before moving on to the next one.

With the help of Morgan and Roger, they finally finished off the last Zed. Truck reloaded, slamming a magazine into his AR 15. He pulled the charging handle back, then released it to slam home.

“We need some lights out here,” he said.

John nodded. “I know. We’ll work on it tomorrow. Go get some sleep, I’ll take over until morning.”

“Nah, I’m good. You have bigger fish to fry.”

John shrugged and walked back to the driveway with the others. Candles were on inside the houses. The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the air as they walked up the driveway. Sara and Dierdre were standing under the carport in front of a gas camping stove. Pots of coffee were boiling on the stove. John and the others walked over to them, smiling. Dierdre made each of them take a steaming cup of coffee and sit at the table. Jose came running over, wearing nothing but a pair of faded blue jeans. He had his sword and shotgun crisscrossed over his back, and his headband firmly in place. He ran up to John, barefoot and full of energy.

“Where are they? I can take em!” he shouted.

Dierdre shook her head and covered her eyes at the sight of her son. Sara smirked and handed the teen a cup of coffee.

“You’re late. What would Chuck Norris say?”

Jose looked at Sara and deadpanned, “Probably something like brains…brains!” He moaned.

They all laughed then. There could be worse ways to start the day, John thought.

*

The morning passed quickly. Sara and Dierdre organized a big welcoming breakfast for everyone. The mother and daughter duo worked well together, and everyone enjoyed the last of the fresh eggs, mixed with powdered, along with pancakes, bacon, toast, and surprisingly good danishes they’d found mixed in with the other food from the warehouse. John and Sara also took some time to meet the newcomers, assessing their strengths and any supplies they’d brought with them. Both supplies and usable skills were in short supply among the newcomers, though.

John also relayed the news of their arrival to the Kensingtons and filled them in on the morning’s attack. He learned there had been a smaller attack at the other barricade, but the Kensingtons had repelled the Zeds by stabbing them in the head with spikes affixed to long poles, thus conserving ammunition. John vowed to look into this method in the future.

Jack Kensington also offered to take a couple of the newcomers if they agreed to earn their keep. The two Jamaican farmhands readily agreed and set off on foot.

Patrick Mason was organizing the building of the fence. John found him writing down measurements on an old notepad.

“We’ve got plenty of fence to go around all of the houses including the old hunting shack. They even brought back a good solid gate.” Patrick said, continuing to jot down notes.

“That’s great, but what about bracing them? We saw the Zeds knock down a fence like this through sheer numbers.”

“Well, we could cut some good sized logs, about fourteen feet long, sink them into the ground as braces every twelve feet or so. Nothing is going to knock that down.”

“Sounds good to me. What do we need to make that happen?” John asked.

“Manpower. We’ve got saws, digging equipment, and plenty of material. We just need more people or this is going take a long time.”

“I know. And I think that, even with the new people Sara’s brother brought in, we have enough supplies to sustain everyone for a few months. We could take a few more people, if we found them.”

“John, we really need more hands out here. Someone has to watch the barricade all the time. That limits how many people can work on the fence. Kurt is down for the count for a while. You have Doug working the radio.”

John looked over towards the radio shack. “Yeah, but that may be the key to getting more people. If he can find any survivors within driving distance, we can go get them with the dump truck.”

Patrick nodded. “That’s a right good idea. Well, you get to it. I’m going to get this started.”

*

John was sitting at a picnic table under the carport looking at the report Douglas had written for him when Jose walked up carrying a big piece of plastic. He sat down across from John and laid the plastic on the table between them. Jose was still wearing his crossed sword and shotgun ensemble, though he now wore combat boots and a white tank top as well as the strategically torn blue jeans. John laid the report down and looked at the plastic.

“Looks like plastic,” John said, looking back up at Jose.

“It is plastic.”

“Why am I looking at plastic?”

“Because, it’s going to save your life, dude.”

“What are you talking about?” John looked skeptically at Jose.

Jose turned the plastic around and pointed at a scuffed spot on it. John looked closer and saw a crescent row of gouges in the ź inch thick piece of rough material.

“Is that a bite mark?”

Jose grinned like a madman. “Yes! It’s a zombie…I mean a Zed bite.”

John looked at Jose for a moment, expectantly. “Well, go on.”

“On our way here we saw a flashlight on top of a building. It was signaling S.O.S. In Morse code. I recognized it from the History Channel, right? So we stopped. It was a factory that made plastic panels for something, I don’t know what. It was a woman on the roof, a survivor. And while we were getting her down, a Zed came at us. I picked one of these panels up and shoved it at the Zed. It bit it but couldn’t get through. So after I stabbed it through the eye with my katana, I heard…I mean I got an idea. I grabbed a bunch of the plastic sheets and threw them in the back of my truck.”

John picked up the plastic and flipped it over. The other side showed a similar set of bite marks. They hadn’t come anywhere close to penetrating, though.

“So, what are you suggesting?”

“Armor, dude!” Jose sat back with a satisfied grin.

Jose flipped the plastic back onto the table and raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Armor! We make armor out of the plastic.”

“What are you talking about? Did you sleep on your brain last night?”

“No, seriously, they can’t bite through it. You’d be totally safe,” Jose said defensively.

“How would you make armor out of plastic?” John asked, trying not to offend Jose.

“Heat it up, bend it into whatever shape you need, then strap it on with duct tape!”

John sat for a minute, trying to decide what to say to his young brother-in-law.

“Alright, let’s say for a minute that we make this armor. What do we do with it?”

“Duh. Kill Zeds.” Jose scratched his head.

“Maybe…maybe we can make some kind of shield or something. I don’t see how we could make armor out of plastic and duct tape.”

Jose frowned. “That might work too, but it’s supposed to be armor. You’d be totally safe from their bites.”

John sighed. “You’re right, Jose. Look, we have a lot to do today. Let me think about it, okay? It’s a good idea.”

Jose smiled at the praise. He stood up. “Sick! Alright, I gotta find my woman. Catch you later, man.”

As he walked away, John picked up the report again, pushing the plastic armor idea to the back of his mind. Douglas had put together a handwritten report showing at least thirty groups of survivors within a hundred square miles. Two groups were within twenty miles of them. One of those groups consisted of several young children and a school nurse who had managed to lock themselves into an old fallout shelter under the school. They’d found a radio down there and reached out. John sighed as he read the rest of the assessment. The students had no food and very little water. He read the rest of the report. The last part was of special interest.

Alaska reports they have isolated all cases of what we would call Zed Infection and are a safe haven. They have declared themselves independent and are offering safe haven for anyone who can reach them and pay an immigration fee. Also, a survivor in Concord, New Hampshire claims to have been in a shelter with several other survivors when a group of armed men in camouflage attacked them. They demanded information and supplies. They executed most of the survivors before leaving.

John pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get a handle on everything he’d learned. He was nursing a headache when Sara came up to him, Fish and Princess happily following along. Fish attempted to wag his nonexistent tail when he saw John, but only succeeded in shaking all over. Thwarted, he flopped down on the grass and sighed. Princess mimicked him exactly.

“Why the long face, sweetheart? I mean, other than the end of the world and the living dead eating everyone around us,” Sara said, slipping her arm around John as she sat down next to him.

“Oh you mean besides no internet, no more Whoppers, no more new Mustangs, no more Coca Cola?” John asked, smiling.

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. Who needs Mustangs, anyway?” Her family, or parts of it, arriving had put a new glow on her face that John hadn’t seen for a long time.

“Well, Patrick says we need more people to work on the fence. Jose wants to make plastic armor. We need medicine at some point, and we don’t know how long we’re going to have to be here like this, and oh yeah, there’s a bunch of school kids locked in a fallout shelter nearby dying of hunger.”

Sara absorbed it all silently. She held John tighter. “That’s a lot to take on, John. That isn’t all your responsibility.”

“If I don’t take it on, who will? People seem to be listening to me here. Maybe we can make it until they find a cure or something. But until then, we have to accept the horror of the absurd and survive. But you know damn well I can’t leave kids to die out there.”

“Of course you can’t. So what are you going to do? What are we going to do?”

“I’m going to go get them. I’ll take the dump truck and a couple of volunteers. You’re going to stay here and keep morale up. Teach the younger people those campfire songs you tried to teach me.”

“Just like that? You can leave just like that?” Sara asked.

“I don’t know, Sara. I could make a plan, but it would probably just be a waste of time.” John laughed.

“Cut it out. This is serious,” Sara said, her voice cold. “You don’t have to go, John. You could tell someone to go.”

“You know I can’t do that, Sara.” He wrapped his worried wife in his arms.

“You could, but I know you won’t. I’m going with you.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t. Not this time. There’s just so much to do here, and you’re the person I trust the most in this whole dying world.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Other than the songs? Well, we need to get the new people settled somewhere, and hopefully there will be a bunch of kids that need a place to sleep too. We’ve got the old hunting shack that needs to be opened up and cleaned out. The roof is solid, it just needs some cleaning.”

Sara thought for a moment.

“Maybe we could turn it into a dormitory of sorts. Maybe Mom could do something with it. She needs something to do with her time, or she’ll go crazy. She hasn’t said anything and I’m not going to bring it up, but I know she’s been thinking about my dad.”

John nodded. “That’s a great idea! About the dorm, I mean. Can you take care of it? If you need anything…”

“I can handle it, John. Don’t worry. But I’m not happy about you going.”

“I know, Sara. I’m sorry, but I have to.” He pulled Sara against him and kissed her hard on the lips. No way can I die if this is what I’d be missing, he thought.

*

“I need three volunteers to go rescue some school kids and their nurse from starvation and the Zeds.” John stood on top of the dump truck addressing the Mason clan and their new guests after saying his see-you-laters with Sara.

Several hands went up. John looked down at the crowd.

“Not this time, Jose. You already did your part.”

Jose put his hand down reluctantly. John pointed to Roger, Truck, and Stanley, a newcomer with a last name John couldn’t remember. He was a tall fellow with gangly arms and legs, but he claimed to know his way around a rifle. They grabbed backpacks filled with ammunition and sandwiches Sara had given them and climbed up into the dump truck.

Roger drove the big truck out to the barricade. Marta and Alison were standing on top of the container taking their turn at watch. They climbed down as the truck approached, started the tractor, and pushed the container aside. The big truck drove past the barricade. The large container slid into place as soon as they cleared the area.

The four men drove twenty-three miles through town, up route 5, to Townshend, Vermont. Along the way they ran over several Zeds and pushed a number of cars out of the road. At one point they saw a huge pack of Zeds off in the distance surrounding a barn. Frantic mooing and at least one barking dog could be heard coming from inside the big red building. Roger looked questioningly at John, but he shook his head and indicated they should continue.

They pulled into the parking lot of the elementary school at 3:15 in the afternoon. Cars sat in the parking lot. A big yellow bus had been driven into the wall of the school, causing some of the masonry to crumble around the nose of the bus. At least a dozen Zeds wandered the parking lot. John could see slow, shambling movement through the big windows of the school.

Roger pulled the dump truck as close to the main entrance of the school as he could get. He climbed up onto the roof of the truck and began firing at the Zeds in the parking lot. He took a deep breath between each shot, lined up his target, and squeezed the trigger. Each shot dropped a Zed to the pavement.

John, Truck, and Stanley entered the school with Truck in the lead, John in the middle, and Stanley bringing up the rear. The interior of the school lay in shadows as the trio walked through the halls, weapons held in front of them. Truck flicked on his Maglite as he walked.

Suddenly a Zed dressed in a white food service uniform jumped out of an open doorway and reached for Truck. The creature grabbed Truck in its dead fingers and opened its jaws, lunging for Truck’s neck. Truck raised his left arm to block the creature as he yelled. Just as the Zed’s jaws were about to snap closed on Truck’s arm, John brought his MP5 up and pulled the trigger. A quick three round burst blew the Zed’s head clean off moments before its fangs would have ripped into Truck’s arm. Instead, blood and brain matter splattered all over the wall behind the Zed, a few splatters hitting Truck in the face. The Zed’s body dropped like a stone.

Truck stood motionless for a moment, then lifted his hand up to his face. As he felt the wetness there, he dropped his gun and Maglite and ripped his shirt off. He began wiping his face frantically with the shirt.

“Oh god, get it off me!” he yelled.

John grabbed Truck and took the shirt from him. “Hold still, I’ll get it.”

Truck calmed himself while John finished wiping the blood splatters off his cousin’s face. When he was done, he dropped the shirt onto the floor.

“All done. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure? Did you get it all? Oh Jesus, I don’t want to turn into one of those things!” Truck said, verging on hysteria.

“Relax, Truck. I got it. You’re going to be fine. Besides, we don’t know if it comes from the blood or not.”

“I don’t want to be the first one to find out, either!” Truck’s hands trembled as he picked up his rifle and flashlight. John pushed past him and took the lead, allowing Truck to take the more protected middle position.

They walked until they found a door marked BASEMENT. They pushed the door open as they heard more shots from outside. The door opened onto a stairwell leading down into darkness.

As they reached the bottom they faced another door. This one had the old fallout shelter symbol on it. John pushed the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s locked from the other side.” John said. He pointed to Stanley to watch the stairs. Then he knocked on the door several times.

A female voice answered, saying “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“We’re here, we’ve come to get you out of here.” John said as loudly as he dared, hoping not to attract any more Zeds to their position.

The door rattled for a moment before slowly opening outward. John stood facing an older woman wearing a light blue nurses uniform. She had a name tag that proclaimed her as Margaret, R.N.

“Are you the police?” she asked.

“No ma’am, but we’re as close as you’re going to get. We’re here to rescue you. We have a safe place to take you.”

“Safe? What is going on out there?” Margaret asked as she peered at the men holding guns in her school.

“I promise we’ll fill you in later, but we have to get out of here. Our radioman heard you had children in here.”

Margaret motioned for John to come into the room. As he entered, the red of the emergency lights lit up a room filled with children. John blinked in astonishment. “How many children are in here with you?”

“Thirty one. I tried to help the rest but…” Margaret broke down, holding her head in her hands.

John took her arm and started guiding her toward the door. “It’s ok. You did great. Let’s get you all out of here, though. Trust me, you’ll be much safer where we’re going.”

Margaret looked at John, trying to judge whether or not she could trust her children with him. John saw this in the look of her eye, and knew he needed to tip the balance in his favor.

“We could really use your medical knowledge in our camp. My mother used to be a nurse too. And we even have a teacher, my wife, Sara, to look after the children.”

The school nurse seemed to be reassured by that and called to the kids. She made them line up behind her. John motioned for Stanley to take the lead, followed by Truck, then the nurse and the students, with John bringing up the rear.

Stanley quickly led the group back through the halls to the entrance. Roger stood on top of the truck watching for Zeds. The parking lot was littered with the dead bodies of his targets. None moved. Truck began helping the students up into the back of the truck, far above the reach of any Zeds. Most of the children were safely in the truck when a Zed wearing a cardigan sweater and flannel tie came running out of the school.

It ran right past Stanley and attacked one of the children before anyone knew it was there. Stanley screamed as it bit the child savagely, killing the little boy instantly. John swung around, trying to get a bead on the Zed. The Zed pushed the dead boy out of its way and reached for a little girl in a yellow dress. Stanley screamed in outrage and rushed at the Zed, not willing to risk a shot into the crowd of children. He tackled the Zed from behind. They went down in a heap. Truck started picking up the remaining children and throwing them bodily into the back of the truck, one after the other.

John ran to where Stanley and the Zed were rolling on the ground. The Zed had his teeth firmly set into Stanley’s neck, but the brave survivor wouldn’t let go. John pressed the barrel of his rifle against the head of the Zed and fired. It finally stopped moving as Stanley’s lifeblood flowed from his severed jugular.

Stanley stopped moving. The last child made it into the back of the dump truck. John’s eyes were blurry when he put a bullet into Stanley’s head.

*

The ride back to the Mason compound was relatively uneventful. John filled Margaret in on what had happened to the world, as much as he knew, on the way. She took the news in stride, more concerned with her children than with her own fate. The children for the most part were more fascinated by the ride in the big dump truck and not having to wear seatbelts than anything else.

Good thing kids bounce, John thought to himself.

They reached the barricade just before dark. As they drove through the pass and into the family driveway, a small crowd of people came out to meet them. Douglas ran in the lead and met John as he hopped down off the truck.

“John, we’ve got a big problem.”

Chapter 10

June 4, 2005

Brattleboro, Vermont

“What if they don’t like me?” Sara asked.

“Relax, sweetheart, my family is going to love you. Just like I do,” John said, trying to reassure his fiancée. He pulled the old Crown Victoria off the exit and waited at the stop sign for the traffic to thin.

“Yeah, but what if they don’t?”

“Well then they can’t come to the wedding,” John said smugly. “I’ll just keep you all to myself.”

“But why do I have to meet your whole family at the same time?” Sara asked, trying not to whine.

“Hey, you already met my parents, and they loved you. Besides, they don’t all get together as often as they used to. It’s a pretty big family so I figured now would be as good a time as any, and we won’t have to drive all over the place having you meet them individually. Trust me, they’re going to fall in love with you the moment they lay eyes on you.”

Sara was quiet for a few minutes. Then she looked in the back, and back to John. “Okay, maybe. But why did you have to bring that?”

John just smiled.

*

“She’s a keeper, John.”

“You better hang on to this one.”

“Can she cook?”

Questions and comments swirled around John as he moved from relative to relative, enjoying the picnic and reveling in the sense of family he’d missed while working and living in Massachusetts. Not even his friends on the force made him feel this good.

“You bet he’s going to keep me. I’m not going to let him go. He doesn’t mind shoe shopping with me!” Sara laughed, following John through the welcoming throng.

John shook his head as soon as Sara looked away and stage whispered, “I’d rather have my heart cut out with a spoon!” Folks around them laughed.

The couple finally settled at a table with John’s parents, June and Harold Mason. They ate cheeseburgers and hot dogs and drank ice cold lemonade. June asked Sara how school was going.

“It’s getting harder, but I can’t wait to be done. I already have an offer at the elementary school just up the road from us, as long as I graduate with a 3.5 GPA.”

“That’s wonderful, dear. I’m sure you’re going to make a great teacher.”

“I sure hope so, Mrs. Mason.”

“I already told you to call me June.”

Sara nodded and sipped her lemonade. John chuckled and took another bite of his cheeseburger. It doesn’t get much better than this, he thought.

John walked out to the little field in back of his uncle Patrick and aunt May’s house. He’d left Sara to help clean up the picnic after she’d volunteered. She’d thought it would be a good way to get in good with the clan’s womenfolk.

Another man stood waiting in the field. He carried a large black bag identical to the one John had thrown over his shoulder.

“Jesse! I see you brought your new toy.” John dropped his bag on the ground and unzipped it. Jesse unzipped his as well and pulled out a rifle.

“Yep! Thought I might as well show you how to shoot, punk!” Jesse thumped John on the back with the smile he was quick to show his friends and close family. Jesse was perhaps the only person at the picnic who stood taller and broader than John, if only by a few inches. John swayed forward under the hit.

“Ooof! Jesus, man, be careful. Don’t you know I’m a friggin’ ninja? My automatic reflexes could have kicked in and I might have killed you!” John tried to look serious. Jesse just laughed.

“Man, I should know better than to come around you without my hip waders. The shit just keeps getting deeper as soon as you open your mouth.”

The two men joked around as they loaded their rifles. The scarecrow in the middle of the field glared menacingly at them. Jesse shot first, hitting the scarecrow several times in the chest. John nodded approvingly. “Not bad, man. Not bad at all.”

John took aim and fired ten rapid shots with his AR 15, a new rifle that he’d spent several months building himself. Each shot hit the scarecrow in its burlap head.

“Kind of overkill, don’t you think?” Jesse asked, reloading his rifle.

“Nah, sometimes you just have to go for the headshot.”

“My dad always said you were a hotshot with a rifle,” Jesse said. “He always loved taking us shooting. I wish they would just move back up here.”

“Me too. I miss Uncle Walt and Aunt Sally. I thought they were going to come back up after he retired,” John said, taking aim again. He squeezed off two more shots, one for each eye of the scarecrow. Both hit dead center.

“Yeah, that’s supposedly the plan. They’re going to come over to New Hampshire and buy a house near us so they can be around for my kids.” Jesse smiled at that.

“Well, that can’t get here soon enough if you ask me.”

A few moments later, two more men came to join them. They each had a rifle slung over their shoulders.

“Roger, Morgan. How’s it hangin’, guys?” John asked, shaking their hands. Morgan, who had just turned twenty one, carried a beer in one hand. His shirt had mustard stains down the front of it. “Did you get permission to drink that?” He ruffled Morgan’s head like he would a dog. Morgan ducked out of the way and guzzled the rest of his beer.

“Nope. Did you get permission to be that ugly?” Morgan grinned while John flipped him off.

John looked at Roger. “You going to teach your boy how to shoot finally?”

Roger looked at Morgan and shook his head. “Ain’t enough time in the world for that, I’m afraid.”

Morgan raised his rifle and fired at the scarecrow five times. Four out of the five missed completely. The fifth and final shot hit the scarecrow dead center.

“See, he’s fine as long as whatever he’s shooting at is already dead!” Everyone laughed at Roger’s quip except Morgan, though he eventually joined in. The four continued to shoot for almost an hour until the sun began to drop down behind the mountains. They packed up their gear and headed back to the picnic.

They found Sara and the other ladies of the family sitting around a picnic table. Roger’s wife, Nancy, John’s cousin, was beginning to launch into a story about how John had thrown sand down her pants when they were little. Growing up across the driveway from each other had given him plenty of opportunities to annoy Nancy and her twin sister, Franny.

Morgan sat down next to Nancy. “Mom, if you’re going to tell stories, tell the one where you and Aunt Franny dressed him up like a little doll when he was a baby.”

“Oh God, please can I hear that one?” Sara asked, winking at her fiancée.

John groaned and continued past the table. He found Franny’s husband, Kurt, sitting at another table with his father-in -law, Patrick Mason. He and Jesse sat down at the table across from Kurt and Patrick.

“What’s up, Uncle Patrick?” John asked as he poured himself the last of a pitcher of lemonade.

“We were just talking about how messed up this country is. Aren’t you friends with some of them survivalists?” Patrick said the word like it meant two headed alien monster.

“I do belong to a group on the internet that does include some pretty hard core survivalists, but all that means is they do what they can to prepare for the worst. It’s not such a bad idea, you know. Especially since you think the country is in such bad shape.”

“Bah, the government just wants to tell us what to do all the time. It wasn’t like that when I was growing up.”

“I know, Uncle Patrick. Maybe it was better in some ways back then, but in some it’s better now. We’ve made great strides in civil rights, as well as technology and medicine. But yeah, the government is getting too heavy handed. It’s going to reach a breaking point someday soon, I think.”

“So what, you got one of them bomb shelters in your basement or something like that?” Patrick joked and elbowed Kurt in the ribs, urging him to get in on the fun. Kurt just shook his head and smiled.

“No, it’s nothing like that. But I do have several months worth of food stored up, along with water and other supplies. It’s just good sense, Uncle Patrick. Hell, you have a cellar full of venison and canned vegetables from your garden. And how many times do you get snowed in every winter here? Tell me how it’s not the same thing.”

“What about this group you belong to, the one from the internet?” Kurt asked.

“They’re called the New England Constitutionalists. NEC for short. They’re just a bunch of like-minded people that have an interest in turning this country back into what the founding fathers had intended. Though we do often disagree on some of the advances in civil rights and social justice, for the most part we all feel the same. And we share interests like shooting, hunting, reloading, and preparing for the worst while hoping for the best.”

Kurt looked at Patrick.

“Yep. He’s nuts.”

They all chuckled at that, even John.

“That may be true. Lord knows Sara thinks so. But when the aliens attack, I’ll be ready.” John laughed.

“Good, then you can come bail my tired old ass out of the fire,” Patrick said, slapping the table and draining the last of his lemonade.

“Hey, can anyone join this group, the Constitutionalists?” Jesse asked as he and John walked back over to the ladies’ table.

“Well, you kind of need to be like-minded, and someone has to sponsor you.”

“Sponsor? Why?”

“Just to vouch for you. The group is involved in a loose alliance with some other people you might call fringe groups. Not all of them are completely on the up and up, so we have to know that whoever joins feels the same way. In fact, I had a hard time getting in because I’m in law enforcement. Usually, they won’t let cops in at all, but I knew some guys from the range who put in a good word for me.”

“Jesus, John. Sounds a little more hard core than you were telling Uncle Patrick.”

“I wouldn’t call it hard core, but yeah, it’s more than just a message board. Why, are you interested?”

Jesse shook his head. “Nah, I think I’ll just leave it to you.”

They reached the table just as June was finishing up telling a story.

“His teacher called me in after one day of leadership class and told me he was too much of a loner, that he’d never be a leader. I told him well at least he doesn’t wear socks with sandals!”

Everyone but Sara laughed at that. She looked puzzled, and whispered to John as he sat down. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

John leaned over to her and said, “Just laugh. My mother’s sense of humor sometimes leaves a lot to be desired.”

Later, Roger led the rest of the family back out to the field. He had a big wooden box with him. He set the box down and flipped open the lid, revealing a jumbled mess of fireworks. He started arranging them around in the field.

John and Sara stood next to Jesse and his wife, Jen. Both of their children ran around the field at a barely safe distance off to the side. John turned to Jesse. “I thought Doug would be here. I haven’t seen him for almost a year.”

“He was supposed to be but decided to go play golf instead.”

“That figures. I swear it’s like he didn’t grow up with us. Remember that time we shaved his hair off and covered his head in peanut butter?”

Jesse burst out laughing as Roger lit the first roman candle. Bright balls of light shot up into the night sky.

“Yeah, but remember when he put the dead fish in your glove compartment?”

“Oh God, I couldn’t get that smell to go away. I had to sell that car like that!” John chuckled.

“Hey, wasn’t it last year that Kurt got you with the shaving cream in the toilet?”

“I don’t know where he found that much shaving cream. Man, what a mess,” John said.

“Yeah, but Roger’s still the king. No one can beat blow up sex pigs at Christmas!”

“Holy crap, I didn’t even know they made anything like that. I thought my mother was going to die when we opened our gifts. There’s this blow up pig with a vibrating vinyl vagina staring right at all of us.” Jesse and John doubled over laughing as another roman candle lit the night. Sara chuckled and rolled her eyes at the cousins who acted like brothers.

“I hope you kids don’t mind sleeping on the pull out sofa. Your father doesn’t think the guest room needs a real bed,” June said, fussing with the sheets and blankets on the sofa bed.

“No, Mom, it’s fine. Thanks for letting us stay over. I want to show Sara around town tomorrow anyway.

“I heard there’s a pretty great farmers’ market here. I can’t wait to see it,” Sara said enthusiastically.

“Oh yeah, we can go get some fresh veggies and I can stock up on maple syrup.”

June’s mother frowned. “Well you be careful, there are too many hippies at those things.” She walked out of the room saying goodnight. John noticed how easily his mother allowed the two to sleep in the same bed, even if she knew they shared an apartment. She must really like Sara, he thought. Maybe she sees some of the stuff I do.

Sara turned to John, knocking him out of his reverie. “Hippies?”

“Yeah, you know, long haired, unwashed, unshaven hippies?” He smirked. “They’re pretty dangerous, with their free love and hemp shirts. You have to watch them or they’ll hit you with a flower.”

Sara groaned. “That’s what she meant by sandals and socks! Seriously?! How do you people… I mean… UGH!”

John laughed as Sara fumed. He pulled her down onto the bed. She forgot what she was fuming about a few moments later.

*

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Blue skies without a single cloud covered the couple as they made their way through the stalls of the Brattleboro farmers’ market. John carried a canvas sack over one shoulder, half full of cucumbers and tomatoes. He carried a big gallon jug of maple syrup in one hand, and held Sara’s with the other. They reached a table covered in gourmet cheese, and Sara let go of John’s hand to better peruse the offerings.

John’s phone vibrated silently in his pocket, indicating a new message had arrived. He turned away from Sara and pulled his phone out, flipping it open.

John, my name is Albert Johnson. We met at the last meeting, I was the guy with the Mack Truck hat. You seem like a decent guy with your head on straight. I’m an officer in the group, a member of the council, and after talking with you, I think you might just be the voice of reason I need to back me up on the council. We have too many hot headed people that actually want the end of the world to happen so they can justify all the money they’ve spent on ammo over the years. We have one seat open, and I want to nominate you. Some people owe me some favors, so if you’ll take the job, it’s yours. I will warn you, things are getting a little weird. Some of the groups out West that we are allied with are starting to get restless. There’s talk of an anonymous backer with some big bucks looking to arm and equip some of the more radical groups. If you take the seat on the council, I need you to vote against getting involved with any of that crap. You and I both know that those people are nothing but racist animals. They are no more what the founding fathers intended than those apes in Washington. John, some of these people can be dangerous when they don’t get their way, but I get the feeling you can handle it. Let me know as soon as possible. My screen name is Jcon14.

John flipped his phone closed. What the hell did I get involved in? he thought to himself. Sara turned to him, a big wedge of smoked Vermont cheddar in her hand. “Everything all right, babe?”

He smiled and nodded. “Of course. It was just spam.”

*

John and Sara spent the rest of the morning walking through downtown Brattleboro. Sara enjoyed the little shops up and down Main Street. They ate lunch in a little deli overlooking the Connecticut River. They met up with Jesse and Jen for iced coffee after lunch. Jesse was wearing a dirty softball uniform with an unreadable company logo on it.

“How was the game?” Sara asked as they sat down at the table.

Jesse grinned. “We lost, but I hit a home run. Right out of the park. It broke a window on a car driving past.”

John laughed. “Sweet!”

Jen scowled. “Not really. We have to pay for the broken windshield.” She kicked Jesse under the table.

Sara and John both laughed as Jesse rubbed his ankle.

They chatted for a while, until Jesse and Jen had to leave to pick up their children from Jen’s parents. They said their goodbyes and John and Sara headed for home.

That night, sitting in the hot tub on the deck of the little apartment they shared, Sara turned to John. “I hope your family likes me.”

John laughed and waved steam out of his face. “Sweetheart, the whole weekend went really well. They all love you. The twins want you to come up so they can show you how to can.”

“Can?”

“Yeah, can vegetables, fruits, whatever. Though I don’t know why they don’t call it jarring instead of canning. They don’t even use cans.”

Sara didn’t know what to say to that, so she deftly changed the subject.

“I spoke to the realtor today. She has a couple of houses for us to look at tomorrow. Hopefully, we can be moved in somewhere nice before the wedding.”

John nodded as he felt Sara’s hand rest on his leg. “I love the hot tub, but this apartment is so small. I never planned on staying here very long, but then I met you, and school is so expensive…well, it’s served it’s purpose, I think.”

Sara stood up and got out.

“Hey, where are you going?” John asked as she slid the glass doors open and walked inside, her bathing suit dripping water all over the carpet.

“I’m going to put some brownies in the oven. I’ll be right back.”

John smiled, sinking back into the warm bubbles. I love my life, he thought. I am a very lucky man.

A few minutes of mixer-noise later, Sara stepped back out onto the porch and back into the hot tub. They sat together enjoying each other’s company and staring out over the lights of the little Massachusetts town. Time passed as they enjoyed the bubbling water together.

Suddenly, Sara sat upright, water splashing over the side of the tub. She looked at the glass doors at exactly the same moment the smoke detector started blaring.

“John, we’ve got a big problem!”

Chapter 11

September 25, Zed Year One

Brattleboro, Vermont

Douglas pulled John aside as folks started helping the children out of the back of the dump truck. From the corner of his eye he saw Sara and Dierdre herding children away from the truck, chatting amiably with the little ones. He pulled his attention back to Douglas, noticing the sheen of sweat on the man’s face. “Whoa, slow down, Doug, what’s wrong?

“I’ve been on the radio all day with survivors just south of us. I was trying to convince them to come join us, you know? I found a bunch in the elementary school in Guilford, a group of townspeople who got there and locked it up tight.”

“Oh yeah? Hey that’s great, Doug. Good work. We’ll go get them in the morning.”

Douglas shook his head. “That’s not it. Between those and some folks in Massachusetts, I figured out that these things, the Zeds, seem to be gathering into bigger and bigger packs. I talked to someone who saw two packs of them join together.”

John frowned. “Okay, that’s bad, but we’ll…”

Douglas grabbed John’s arm. “Shut up and let me finish! John, one of these packs went through Guilford today, just a couple of hours ago. I was on the radio with them when the pack hit. They counted thousands. Thousands!”

John looked down at Douglas’ hand on his arm. He looked back up at his cousin and raised his eyebrows.

Douglas pulled his hand away from John. “They wiped everyone out. They poured into that school and ate everyone!” He raised his voice hysterically.

“Calm down, Doug. That’s pretty awful, but that’s miles away from here.”

“No, John, I told you, I’ve been on the radio with other survivors. They’ve seen the pack, and it’s heading right for us.”

John looked over in the direction of the southern barricade, manned by the Kensingtons. Just then, the first sounds of gunfire rang out into the afternoon.

“Oh crap.”

*

The last of the children were chaperoned into the old hunting shack. John took Sara aside as she and Dierdre walked behind the children, followed by Margaret.

“That hunting shack is the farthest house in the valley, they’ll have to come through everyone else to get there. Stay with your mother and protect the children.”

Sara looked like she was about to argue, but caught herself as she saw her mother awkwardly carrying the rifle she’d been given. “Alright. Be careful, please. I don’t know what I’d do without you, John. I love you.”

“I promise. I love you, Sara.” He kissed her hard on the lips, before releasing her. As she ran after her mother, she yelled, “Princess! Fish!” Both dogs streaked after her, the fur on their backs bristling.

“Everyone who’s able, grab all the ammo you can carry and get into Truck’s pickup or Morgan’s. Everyone else, get inside and lock the doors.”

John watched as his mother, June, and May Mason both locked themselves inside, each holding a rifle in shaking hands. Almost everyone else in the clan, including the newest residents, jumped into the two trucks.

“Jose, grab your gear and go protect your mom and the kids.” John pointed off toward the shack in the distance. Jose looked at him, then toward the sound of gunfire. He frowned and kicked the side of a nearby car.

“COME ON!” He yelled angrily.

“God damn it, Jose, I don’t have time to argue. Take Tina and get over there.”

Jose roughly grabbed Tina by the arm and dragged her after him. She smacked him soundly in the back of the head as they walked. They could be heard arguing even over the sound of gunfire and the roar of the two pickup’s engines.

John climbed into the back of Morgan’s pickup and they headed toward the southern barricade. John flicked his radio on. “John Mason to any Kensington listening. We’re on our way.”

The radio crackled back immediately. “Jack here, we need help! More of those things than I can count over here, and no end in sight.”

The gunfire grew more frequent as the two pickup trucks arrived at the barricade. Jack Kensington, both of the Jamaican farm hands, and two older men stood atop the shipping container container that served as their only protection, firing down. Even before the engines were shut off, the moans of the undead were deafening.

John ran for the ladder and started climbing. As he reached the top, he watched in horror as a Zed leaped over the bodies of other Zeds, hit the top of the barricade, and lunged at one of the older Kensingtons with such speed that John could barely follow it. The man was down before John cleared the top, his throat ripped out, a fountain of bright red blood shooting straight up in the air. A barrage of gunfire tore the Zed apart moments later, but not before the damage had been done.

Jack yelled, “Dad!” and ran to the old man. He pushed the Zed off the side and pressed his hands into the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. As the blood stopped flowing, John grabbed hold of Jack’s arm and pulled on him. Jack turned angrily towards John, blood covering him from fingers to elbows.

John yanked Jack out of the way as the man who used to be Jack’s father sat up. Jack turned as he fell, just in time to watch John shoot the Zed.

“NO!” Jack yelled, reaching for John, but he saw that it was too late. He picked up his gun and aimed it at John. “Down!” he yelled.

John dropped to the ground as Jack fired, hitting the Zed again, finishing the job John had started. He screamed wordlessly as the Zed fell off the side.

Roger stood next to John, offering his hand. “Jesus that thing was fast. I didn’t know they could jump like that.”

“Neither did I. This is bad.”

As John stood up and looked out over the road on the other side of the barricade, a horrific sight greeted him. For as far as he could see back up the little road that led south, Zeds flowed like water towards the barricade. Most were the shambling, mutilated and decaying monsters, but many, far too many, were running and leaping over their brethren to get at the living flesh waiting on top of the thin steel shipping container. John stepped aside as more of the Mason clan climbed to the top. They spread out as best they could on the little metal roof.

Jack Kensington nodded to John. “Thanks for showing up to our little shindig. Wish you’d been a little quicker getting here.”

Suddenly the weight of the Zeds pushing against the container started moving it. It jerked a few inches, surprising everyone on top. One of the Jamaicans happened to be standing too close to the edge. As the container jerked from underneath him, he toppled over the side. The Zeds below swarmed him within seconds, drowning out his screams.

“Morgan, get that truck up here, push the barricade back!” John yelled over to Morgan. The young man jumped down off the container and ran to his truck. He started the engine, slammed the truck into gear and drove right up to the container. He set the bumper against the steel wall and gently nudged the container back into place. He set the parking break on the truck and climbed back up onto the barricade.

John fired round after round into the sea of Zeds on the road in front of him. Each shot hit a Zed, sometimes going through one and into the next. But as each Zed fell to the ground, two more shambled forward to take its place. And more disturbingly, John watched as another one of the faster Zeds jumped up onto a slower Zed and leaped for the top of the container. He fired twice, catching the Zed in the shoulder with the first shot. The second shot blew the back of its head off, showering the Zeds beneath it with bloody tissue.

John looked around him at his family and friends.

Jack Kensington stood at one end of the container, a solid, angry, heartbroken anchor against the encroaching undead. He fired rapidly, his military training guaranteeing every shot to hit his target.

Next to him, Roger fired more methodically, taking more time to hit the moving targets. Morgan stood right next to his father, a Glock pistol in each hand and a canvas backpack full of extra magazines at his feet. He fired round after round from the little black pistols at the closest Zeds. One of the faster ones tried climbing up the side of the container, using the bodies of the downed Zeds as steps. Morgan fired both pistols into its head, driving it back to the ground.

Another Kensington, John thought his name was Bruce, stood next to Morgan. He fired a bolt action rifle slowly but surely at the Zeds below. Each shot seemed to hit something. Next to him, a younger Kensington that John didn’t know fired a double barreled shotgun down into the mass. The buckshot had a great effect on those Zeds closest to the container, though it did nothing against the packed wave of the undead a little farther out.

John came next, anchoring the right side of the container. He fired from the shoulder, his MP5 on single fire, each 9mm slug more than sufficient to destroy the already decaying skulls of the Zeds. He watched more for the faster Zeds than anything else, using the green laser attached to the foregrip to help him eliminate the fastest of the threats. He changed magazines, dropping an empty one to the ground, as he looked around.

Behind John, Truck Robin reloaded his rifle, slamming a new magazine into the AR 15. He knelt down behind John and fired as quickly as he could. He looked up at John and yelled, “Yeehaw, motherfucker!”

On the other side of Truck, Jill Robin stood next to her husband, firing her rifle, a .44 magnum lever action she’d put to good use hunting in the woods with her mother, Franny. Franny stood down at the bottom of the ladder with her sister, Nancy, passing bags and packs of ammunition up to Roy Kaminski, at the top of the ladder.

Next to Roy, Douglas Gentry fired his borrowed AK 47 down into the crowd. The time he’d spent shooting as a teen came back to him quickly, and his shots grew more and more accurate as the minutes wore on. John knew there were others around down by the trucks, or on the road between the trucks and the houses, but he couldn’t take the time to look for them.

Wave after wave of Zeds broke against the barricade, scratching at the steel walls with jagged, bony fingers. Piles of bloody bodies littered the ground in front of the shipping container, forming a wall of their own. As more and more Zeds fell to gunfire, their corpses stacked up almost to the lip of the barricade. The Zeds had to climb over more and more of their fellows to even get close to the barricade, giving the defenders a little breathing room.

John stopped firing as he looked out over the crowd. He looked down the line and found Patrick reloading his 12 gauge. He ran over to him, pulling Jack with him. “We don’t have enough ammo to kill them all. Eventually, we’re going to run out, and they’re going to climb right over this tin can,” John yelled over the sound of constant gunfire.

Patrick nodded. Jack looked overwhelmed, staring out over the sea of undead.

“How long til we run out?” Patrick asked.

“We can hold out for a few hours at most. I’ve got ammo back at my cabin we can send someone for, but after that, we’re screwed,” John said.

The radio crackled. A woman screamed on the other end. John pressed the button on his radio. “Who is this?”

A few tense moments later, a woman’s voice came back on the radio. “It’s Alison at the barricade, we need help! We’ve got Zeds breaking…” The radio crackled loudly and went silent.

“Fuck! Who’s at the other barricade?” John asked Patrick.

“Alison and Marta, I think.” Patrick said, worried for his granddaughter.

Two fast jumping Zeds leaped up over the wall of fallen Zeds and made it to the top of the barricade. Morgan fell backwards, knocking Roy off the wall, onto the ground near the trucks. Morgan rolled out of the way as one of the Zeds reached for him, but a wall of gunfire took the head clean off the Zed before it could bite him. The second Zed met the same fate seconds later, but not until after it had bitten the remaining Jamaican man.

The heavily muscled black man pushed the dead Zed off of him and threw it off the container. Looking down at the bloody bite mark on his arm, he screamed. Moments later, he jumped off the container, onto the pile of swarming Zeds and began firing at point blank range. He managed to clear a spot around him for a few moments, the Zeds falling to his enraged gunfire. Then, his gun clicked empty, and the Zeds charged him. He fell screaming, his arms reaching to the sky as Zed after Zed bit him, teeth and fingers savagely tearing through his muscled flesh.

Roger lifted Morgan up. “Are you bit, son? Are you bit!” he yelled, running his hands over Morgan.

“No…no, I don’t think so.” Morgan stood back up shakily and moved back into position. Father and son stood next to each other and resumed firing into the seething mass of undead. John watched for a moment, before reminding himself it was not the time to miss his own father.

John tried to reach Alison on the radio but got no response. He climbed down the ladder and ran for Truck’s big pickup. He pressed the button on his radio again. “Jose, you there?”

“Here, John. We’re already on the way.” Jose said breathlessly.

John waved to Roy to come with him. Roy brushed the dirt off from his fall and ran after John. The women handing the ammunition up to the top of the barricade barely slowed from their task, not having heard the radio transmission.

Slamming the truck into gear, John drove the big pickup down the road towards the barricade. In the distance, he saw Jose’s truck pull out from the driveway and head toward the barricade. Just as Jose’s truck hit the road, John watched in dismay as twenty or thirty Zeds came running from the direction of the northern barricade and swarmed around it. Jose slammed into the pack of onrushing undead, crushing several beneath his flame-painted truck. The truck skidded sideways and came to a stop.

“Oh Jesus, Jose, don’t get out of the truck!” John yelled helplessly as he watched.

Moments later, John saw Jose leap out of the truck and start slashing with his sword. As John and Roy pulled up and stopped, Tina screamed. A Zed had managed to break the window on the passenger side and was pulling her through the jagged glass.

Jose heard the screaming and jumped over a Zed, slashing down with his sword as he sailed overhead, lopping off its head. He reached the passenger side of the truck at the same time John did. John raised his MP5 and fired, but not before they both heard the sickening crunch as the Zed bit through Tina’s arm. Tina screamed and thrashed violently as her body dropped to the ground. John’s shot hit the Zed on the shoulder, spinning it around. Another took its place, pushing past the wounded Zed and lunging for Tina’s writhing form. Her right arm lay twitching, clenched in the jaws of the first Zed. Her shoulder ended in a jagged stump, blood spraying everywhere.

The second Zed landed on her. Its jaws latched onto her face and chomped down. Tina’s screams were muffled by the Zed’s mouth. It bit down, the delicate bones of her young face breaking and crumbling in. Mercifully, her screams stopped as John fired again. His bullet tore the top of the Zed’s head off as Jose’s sword severed its spine. He screamed as he kicked the undead monster off the already dead Tina.

John fired into the onrushing Zeds as they swarmed around the truck. He kept them off Jose as the teenager bent down and lifted Tina’s mangled body, holding onto her and rocking. He screamed angrily up into the sky, tears rising to his eyes. John was barely able to keep the Zeds from reaching him. Roy fired his shotgun, trying to get the ones that made it past John, but he couldn’t stop the tide of Zeds that ran past them.

“Jose, we have to go! They’re getting through!”

Jose seemed to snap out of it and laid the body down. As he did, he looked at John. “I can’t do it, man.”

John nodded. Jose turned away, and John shot Tina in the head. He tried not to think about the way her body jerked as her head seemed to collapse in on itself.

John ran to the driver’s side of the truck.

“Get that container back into place, and stay there. Roy, go with him. I’ll try to get the ones that got through.”

“We got it. Go help my mom!” Jose started moving before Roy was all the way into the blood and glass covered passenger seat. They headed towards the barricade as the flow of Zeds began to slow.

The radio clicked on. “We can’t hold them much longer. There are too many of them, they’re starting to just walk on top of each other!” Patrick yelled.

“The barricade is down over here. We’re trying to put it back, but some got through. You have to hold out up there,” John yelled into the radio. “Sara, can you hear me?”

Sara’s voice came over the radio. “I heard, John. We’ve blocked the doors up here. All the kids are here too. But your mom and May are with Kurt.”

“Dammit!” John turned the pickup truck around and sped toward the driveway. He managed to catch a few of the stragglers and mowed them down without slowing. He reached the driveway just in time to see several Zeds break through the doors of both Mason houses. Knowing that his mother’s house was empty, he headed towards Patrick and May’s house.

He pulled to a stop and raced up the steps, firing into the backs of the Zeds as they entered the house. He heard gunshots from inside, and ran through the dining room. The table had been overturned, chairs lay splintered and broken everywhere. The gunshots came again, from deeper in the house. The gathering darkness outside made the house seem like a black tomb. Flickering light from a lantern slipped from behind a shut door just as a Zed slammed its rotting fist into it. John ran up and shot it point blank in the head. The Zed dropped to the ground. A hole the size of his fist suddenly appeared in the door followed by the sound of a shotgun blast, narrowly missing John’s head.

“HEY! It’s me! Don’t shoot,” he yelled as he jumped to the side.

Silence followed. John could hear something moving out in the kitchen. The door behind him opened, revealing June and May standing next to each other, shakily holding up the smallest shotguns he’d been able to find. Kurt lay propped against the wall behind them, his face covered in sweat, a pistol held weakly in one hand. His face, in the dim lantern light, was as white as a ghost.

“Close the door, they’re still in here,” John flicked his laser site on and pulled a little flashlight from his pocket. He walked toward the kitchen, light and laser both guiding him. He rounded a corner as a Zed knocked over a pot. The sound of the falling pot seemed to distract the Zed, causing it to look down just as John shot it in the face. It fell to the floor, knocking over another pot, its face a splattered ruin.

As John watched it fall, a second Zed came hurtling out of the darkness and wrapped its arms around him. John fell forward, yelling, frantically trying to avoid the monster’s teeth as they gnashed inches away from his neck. He rolled over, trying to get out of the crushing grip. He outweighed the Zed but the creature felt no pain, and kept him pinned against its chest. Just as John thought he was dead, he heard a gunshot so close it hurt his ear. Hot, wet blood sprayed over the side of his face. The Zed released him, and John jumped to his feet.

Kurt stood, leaning against the wall, his pistol dangling from one hand, the barrel still smoking. The injured man then slid slowly down the wall, unconscious before he’d hit the floor.

After John dragged his unconscious cousin back to the bedroom and made sure the women were safely locked inside, he ran back outside.

The silent, empty house across the driveway was wrapped in black, oily smoke. John watched in horror as flames began to lick from the upstairs windows. Zeds moved back and forth past the windows.

Fuckers must have knocked a lantern over, thought John. He ran up to the open front door and pulled it closed.

“Burn, you dead sons-a-bitches!”

“John, they’re breaking through the windows!” Sara’s panicked voice came over the radio moments before “We’re losing the barricade!” came from Patrick.

“Hold on, baby, I’m coming!” John yelled into his radio, hoping Patrick would know he was addressing his wife. He ran as fast as his big body could move. He ignored Patrick’s plight as his thoughts were only of his wife.

Gunshots came from the hunting shack as he drew closer. Zed bodies littered the ground. The door was still closed, but the windows on either side had been smashed, gaping empty holes left shrouded in glittery broken glass. Someone inside screamed.

John barreled through the door, not even slowing to kick it open. The door flew off its hinges as he burst through, knocking a Zed to the ground. John fired a three round burst into its head as he ran past. More Zed bodies lay on the ground as John finally saw Sara ahead of him. She stood between several hungry, slobbering Zeds and the children. Margaret lay on the ground in the corner, John couldn’t tell if she was alive or not. Deirdre stood by Sara, wielding her rifle as a club. Bloody tissue coated the wooden stock, dripping down and covering Dierdre’s arms.

Princess danced in front of Sara, nipping at the Zeds as they came close. Her fast little body zipped in and out of their feet as she ripped at their legs. Fish launched himself at a Zed as it lumbered towards Margaret’s slumped form. He knocked the Zed down and stood on it, pressing it into the floor with his barrel-chested body. He ripped into the back of its neck with his massive jaws, crushing its spine.

A Zed reached for Deirdre, but Sara raised her Beretta Cx4 carbine and fired, hitting it twice in the head. A second one lunged, trying to get past her to the children, but Deirdre swung her rifle like a baseball bat, breaking the Zed’s head wide open. John dropped to one knee, brought his MP5 up, and opened fire. The little black MP5 spat out bullet after bullet, mowing the remaining Zeds down. John kept it aimed high, afraid of hitting the children or his wife. One by one, the Zeds twitched and fell, until finally, they all lay on the floor.

John stood up and walked toward Sara and Dierdre, a worried look on his face. “Is everyone alright? Sara, was anyone bit?”

Sara shook her head. She slammed a new magazine into her carbine.

“I don’t think so. Margaret fainted.” She turned around and looked at her mother.

Deirdre looked at John and tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out. Frustrated, she raised her rifle and pointed it at him. John had one terrible second where he saw the flash from the barrel. He never heard the sound as the rifle fired.

Pain lanced through his left arm, causing him to spin around. As he spun, he came face to face with another Zed, mouth stretched wide, hungry for him. He pulled the MP5 up and fired, killing the Zed just as it reached him. It slumped to the floor at his feet.

“Mom! You shot John!”

*

John ran from the room, leading the way. He carried Margaret over one shoulder, his MP5 slung over his other one. He carried his Sig P220 in his right hand, pointed in front of him. Sara followed, her gun held at eye level as she swiveled left and right, looking for danger, remembering how John had taught her to clear a house. The school children as well as the children of the Mason clan followed, with Dierdre bringing up the rear.

As they ran she whispered loudly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shoot him, Sara.”

“I know mom, shush!”

“But do you think he’s mad at me?” Dierdre whispered, shooing the children in front of her.

“Mom.”

“Alright, dear, but he’s not mad at me, is he?”

“MOM!”

They reached the little cabin John and Sara shared, and ushered the kids inside after John had cleared it. Princess and Fish came last, their fur matted with Zed blood. They stood protectively over the frightened little ones as they fell to the floor, exhausted.

John tied a kitchen towel around his bicep and then headed back toward the door. “Jose’s with Roy at the northern barricade and the southern one is about to fall, if it hasn’t already. Get in the basement and lock yourselves in. If the barricades fall, I’ll try to get back here with the dump truck and get us out of here.”

Sara nodded. She threw a handful of full magazines to John. He slammed a new one into his MP5 and ran out the door, leaving Sara behind him with a world of words left unsaid.

*

“Barricade’s in place, but you better come down here,” Jose’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Negative, Jose. Be ready to get the hell out of there if I give the signal,” John said as he ran for Truck’s pickup. He pressed the talk button again. “Uncle Patrick? You still there?”

At exactly that same moment, a huge fireball lit up the darkening sky in the direction of the southern barricade.

“Oh crap.”

The fireball lifted up into the sky, dissipating as it rose. An angry red glow remained behind, telling John something was still burning.

“What the hell was that!” Jose’s voice rang out over the radio.

“Language!” Deirdre’s voice shot back. She must have still been holding the button because John could hear Sara in the background yelling, “Mom, give me that!”

“Sit tight, Jose. I’ll check it out.” John yelled as he drove Truck’s pickup toward the southern barricade. He reached it in minutes. As he pulled up, he saw figures lit from behind as flames licked up behind the barricade, on the road side. Then he saw Patrick waving down at him, laughing.

John climbed up onto the barricade. Amazingly, most of the Mason clan seemed to be on top, crowded in next to some of the newcomers and the Kensingtons. The road on the other side was on fire, stumbling figures moving about in the flames. As he watched, more and more of the Zeds from the road walked forward into the flames, trying to get to the barricade.

“What the hell?” asked John.

“Jack threw a hose over the side and started pumping gas through it. The Zeds want to eat us so bad they keep walking into the flames. Looks like fire kills em pretty good!”

“What was that big fireball?” John saw the wave of Zeds up the road finally start to thin out as more Zeds pushed forward into the hellish fire.

“Morgan threw a propane tank into the pack down there and shot it.”

“Blew up real good!” Morgan shouted.

“How are you set for ammo? You got this under control?” John asked, glancing in the direction of the other barricade.

“Yeah, we got it. Go find my granddaughter.” Patrick patted John on the back as he started down the ladder.

John drove up to the barricade. Jose and Roy were standing on top, watching the road. John climbed up the ladder onto the barricade. “How’s it look?”

“Got one a few minutes ago, but nothing since.” Jose stared out over the road, a new, steely expression in his eyes.

“What did you want me for?”

“I found your cousin. Better go look inside the barricade.”

John climbed back down and walked to the little door on the side. He peered in side. A flashlight rested on the floor, pointing at a hunched figure. Another figure lay on the floor. John aimed his MP5 at the figure. He slowly walked up behind it.

He raised the gun, ready to fire, when Marta turned around and looked up at him. Tears streamed down her face. A rifle lay on the floor next to her. In front of her, John saw Alison’s body, laid out with her arms crossed over her chest. A savage wound had opened her stomach. Bloody cloth lay over the wound, the remains of her shirt.

John leaned down past Marta and saw a neat little hole in Alison’s forehead. He looked back at Marta. “What happened, Marta?”

Marta stared blankly at Alison. “We tried to hold them off, but there were so many. We thought it would be okay, but there were just so damn many. They started pushing the container aside. Alison’s gun jammed, but I kept shooting. She fell off and they got her.” She started sobbing. “She was screaming so loud…they started pulling her away. I jumped down and got her away from them. She was still alive.”

John remained silent, letting her continue.

“I dragged her inside here and locked the door. I’m sorry, I know they got past us,” she sobbed. “I held her until she…I had to do it, John. I don’t even know if she heard me say I loved her one last time. I had to do it myself, John.”

John knelt down and hugged Marta quietly as she sobbed. Jose jumped down off the container and walked inside. John motioned to him and he came over, kneeling beside Marta. The two remained there, two partners in mourning, as John walked outside.

*

They brought Truck Robin’s body back from the barricade as the first rays of morning sun shined down over the valley. He’d died moments before they’d lit the flames on the road, protecting Jack as he moved the hose into place. He’d saved everyone, they said. No one argued, though it was precious little comfort for his wife, Jill.

They buried Truck, Tina, Alison, and two of the newcomers, Eric Knowles and Paul Rubenstein in the little graveyard next to Harold Mason at noon. It was a subdued service, with a lot of tears, both for the dead and for the survivors.

The Kensingtons buried their dead as well, having lost half of their able bodied folks. Jack Kensington was not one of them, and John was thankful for that.

Smoke still curled up into the sky from June Mason’s smoldering house. It had burned down to the ground with no one to put the fire out.

“This is bad, Patrick.” John said to the elder Mason after the last body had been buried.

“You mean, worse than I can see with my own eyes?”

“Half of our food was in my mom’s basement. We used way too much ammo in that fight. And now, the Kensingtons are going to be hard pressed to keep a guard at the barricade over there.”

“Oh, that. Yeah. And, don’t forget, it’ll be even harder for us to get that fence built now.”

“Thanks, Uncle Patrick. I needed to be reminded of that.”

Patrick nodded quietly, wiping away the last tears he would cry for his granddaughter Alison, and walked away.

*

John approached Sara from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist, surprised that she didn’t jump.

“I knew it was you,” she said, answering his unasked question like only his wife could.

“Umm, sweetheart, are you humming the alphabet song?” John asked.

Sara smiled. “You didn’t notice we were shooting the Zeds to the tune of the ABCs? Figures. It was the only thing I could get the kids to sing together. They were so scared, and I wanted to get their minds off everything happening in the hunting shack, Margaret’s, too. And believe me, they were happy to be singing. We should see if any one of the people Jose brought is a therapist or social worker. It’s a long shot, but those kids need to talk it over with somebody. They lost their parents and have seen worse things than any horror movie.”

“Good idea, I’ll check tomorrow. By the way, speaking of parents. Your mom…”

Sara looked at John inquisitively. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, she just won’t leave me alone! She keeps apologizing for shooting me.”

Sara looked at the fresh bandage on John’s arm. “I told her it was just a scratch.”

John nodded. “So did I. She won’t stop.” He winced as he saw Dierdre walking towards them. “I gotta go!”

Sara laughed, yelling “Scaredy cat!” as he ran off into the woods behind the cabin.

*

John saw Jose sitting by himself. He seemed to be talking to someone, but there was no one present. John made a little extra noise as he approached, not wanting to scare the teen.

Jose turned around. “Oh, hey, John.”

“Hey yourself,” John said as he approached. “Who are you talking to?”

Jose moved to the side, letting John see what was in front of him. The decaying head of his friend, Eddie, sat on rock between Jose’s feet. The milky white eyes stared up at them, moving back and forth between them.

John didn’t know what to say. He just stared at the poor boy’s best friend.

“Look, man, I’m going to get rid of it. I just had to tell him about Tina. Didn’t have anyone else, you know?”

John nodded. “Whatever you need. But you know, you have your sister, and your mother, and me. And everyone else here as well. We’re all family now, Jose.”

Jose sat quietly for a moment. Then he nodded, almost to himself. As the Mason compound smoldered around them, yet somehow remained full of life, he drew his razor sharp katana and brought it down on the Zed’s head.

Chapter 12

Fall 2010

Brattleboro, Vermont

After the Battle of the Barricade, as the Mason clan took to calling it, things quieted down for awhile. John and Sara spent the next few days assessing and repairing the damage caused by the rampaging Zeds.

Both barricades were strengthened and improved. The fence the Masons had wanted to build was put in place, first with a ten foot high chain link fence, then later reinforced by cut logs placed upright into the ground behind the chain link. This feat of engineering was made possible only by the discovery and safe return of twenty-three survivors who had taken refuge in an apartment building just outside of town. After searching nearby homes for food, ammunition, and other supplies, they’d also found about a dozen more survivors who gladly joined the Masons in their compound.

The newest survivors had integrated well with the family and the remaining Kensingtons. Two simple log cabins had been erected almost overnight by the enterprising folks, and acted as dormitories for most of those who remained homeless after the attack and fire. A handful of the survivors went to live with the Kensingtons as they began to rebuild their own compound.

John and Sara Mason took in Dierdre and Jose Maxwell, as well as three of the children who had been rescued from the elementary school. Tommy and Tammy Bridges, ten year old blond twins, and Marisa Heddy, a very precocious eleven year old who insisted on calling her pig tails “puppy tails” moved in with the family. Despite John and Sara cleaning up the basement and building simple beds for the children, the little cabin was crowded, however it felt strangely alive. Enthusiastic Princess and Fish, his backside healing, delighted in the constant attention they received from the energetic children.

Sara, amidst the sighs of the youngest folks, put the little hunting shack to good use and turned it into an acceptable schoolhouse. She took all of the orphaned children as well as the Mason clan kids and taught them as well as she could with the few books she had. Despite the fact that their ages spanned from toddler to preteen, the kids thrived under the structure and activities she provided. John was happy to see the smile on her face when she’d come home from the little school after a long day of teaching hungry minds, and his pride for her grew as he watched Tommy and Tammy compete to see who could multiply higher digits. Sara used what little she had, but lamented the lack of books and other basic supplies. John added them to his growing mental list of things needed by the group.

John was also happy to learn Sara was helping the children cope with their situation. Many of them awoke from petrifying nightmares and had been having a hard time dealing with the loss of their parents and everything familiar to them. Sara had been sitting alone with each of them throughout the day, miraculously finding one-on-one time with each child as she could. She encouraged the children to express themselves, and as the older students journaled their feelings, the younger ones painted and drew. She allowed them to use their few precious art supplies and bits of paper to give them an outlet to express some of the horror they’d been bottling up inside. When the paints ran out, she taught a lesson on how clothes were dyed originally using things from the environment and taught the children how to make paints using crushed flowers and leaves.

They got to decide if their art work or journals were shown to the class, and day by day optimistic writings were hung on Sara and John’s defunct refrigerator. He saw how each of the kids responded when he would see them outside of school hours. Each one, from the youngest to the oldest, seemed to adore Sara for her efforts, and he adored her even more.

She made sure to remind John often that they needed to poll the survivors to find someone with a background in psychology to help the children as soon as possible. He dutifully promised to do his best.

Nothing had been salvaged from June Mason’s home except a few photographs, bits and pieces of John’s childhood. Half of the food for which they had risked their lives had been stored in the basement and was completely gone. With the new survivors, the remaining food was consumed at an alarming rate.

Ammunition quickly became a problem as well. Though they had plenty of rifles and pistols to go around, what ammunition they had was carefully hoarded in case of another attack, so John was unable to provide the firearms training he thought so important.

Fuel was also an issue. Each time they took the big dump truck out to pick up survivors or supplies, more and more of the precious diesel was used up. They still had what remained in the big Volvo tractor trailer’s tanks, as well as the gasoline that was still in the vehicles they had arrived in. But when that was gone, they’d have to risk finding a fuel truck or a way to safely extract more from a gas station.

Along with the new human survivors, a surprising number of pets had been added to the group as well. A Boxer, identified by his dog tag as Moose, had shown up one day and sat in front of the barricade until he’d been allowed inside. The middle aged dog had immediately warmed up to June Mason, much to everyone’s surprise, and was her constant companion. Though Moose was older than Princess and Fish, the three got along very well, and were often seen romping through the compound, though Moose rarely went far from June. They’d also somehow collected a few cats that prowled throughout the grounds.

To stretch the remaining food supplies, the clan members had taken to hunting again, but they rarely left the compound alone. Most hunting trips consisted of two or three people, one to hunt and the others to watch for Zeds. They’d learned that the undead beasts rarely wandered the forest, instead sticking to the more populated towns and roads. Deer, raccoon, and rabbit filled the cooking pots of the Masons, along with brook trout from the mountain stream that fed the pond.

Douglas proved to be a very valuable asset in his position as intelligence gatherer. He spent most of his time sitting in front of the radio, gathering data and taking notes on every available scrap of paper. Often his little boy Eric could be found playing on the floor at his feet. Douglas had learned that the Zeds were indeed gathering into bigger and bigger packs, and deduced they naturally formed into these packs for some unknown reason. They would travel between towns, growing as they went, collecting country-dwelling stragglers and adding them as they moved.

Brattleboro became a hive of Zed activity. Though supplies were desperately needed, the Masons dared not go into town for fear of leading the packs back to the compound before they were ready for another siege.

Contact with survivors in and around Brattleboro became far less frequent, until Douglas could find no one within fifty miles on the radio. Every day, fewer and fewer survivors were broadcasting. Though they all knew there had to be people out there that had no access to a radio, there was no way to confirm it unless they stumbled across them during one of their infrequent supply raids.

Douglas was also able to put together a broader picture of the country from his findings. As far as they were able to tell, the outbreak had started in Mexico and traveled across the entire country in two days. It had spread like wildfire, and at least ninety percent, probably more, of the country’s population had been killed or turned into the undead that roamed the lands, from sea to shining sea. The bulk of the survivors seemed to be gathered in Alaska and northern Canada, where the cold slowed the advance of the outbreak. Zeds slowed down tremendously in the cold, the Alaskans had reported. The Alaskans who manned the radios encouraged survivors to travel to the northern most state, claiming that they had plenty of room. However those who had managed to make the long and dangerous journey there reported that anyone who showed up without supplies or valuables was taken to a work camp where they were treated as slaves.

As for the government, Douglas reported hearing sporadic announcements from the west, and a few others closer to home. Some National Guard units were still operating from bunkers, and some Navy ships and submarines, afraid to come near land, broadcast signals every once in a while as well.

More disturbing were the reports of men in camouflage uniforms, who would show up in places, sometimes in armored vehicles, other times in helicopters. They would arrive, demand supplies and information, and execute anyone who tried to stop them. Lately, they had even been seen taking women from among the groups of survivors they attacked. These men reportedly wore a pyramid and eye symbol, much like that on the one dollar bill.

From his contact with others on the radio, Douglas was able to put together information for John, reporting that the cities were wastelands filled with hordes of undead. Few survivors remained in metropolitan areas, having been hunted down mercilessly as they left their bolt holes and searched for food and other supplies. Those safe in bunkers stayed below the earth, while others, like the Masons, tended to their own safety in secret places.

But the little valley was not entirely separated from the chaos of the world outside the fence. Zeds did come wandering in from time to time, alone or in small packs, but the Mason and Kensington clans remained vigilant, always having at least one guard at the ready to repel any attacks. The little compound grew with the new cabins, and new lives. Even while supplies approached critically low levels, they continued to survive. Daily life continued for several weeks, until the red and orange leaves began to fall from the trees, turning to brown and crunching under the feet of the children during their recess time as they discussed what costumes they were creating for Halloween.

*

“John, wait up!” Douglas Gentry came running down the driveway after his cousin. John stopped and turned, waiting.

“What’s up, Doug?”

“You’ll never believe it,” Douglas panted.

“Seriously? What on earth do you think I wouldn’t believe at this point?”

“Of course,” Doug said smiling. “Anyway, I heard from Jesse on the radio!”

John’s jaw dropped. “What? Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. I just talked to him, he was in a camp with other survivors somewhere in Tennessee.”

“Holy shit! What did he say? Uncle Walt and Aunt Sally, are they…?”

“They’re alive. All of them. Jesse said they weren’t going to be able to make it up here before winter. Aunt Sally took ill, and they’re staying in a camp with a doctor and medicine. They hope to try again in spring.”

“Oh God, that’s incredible! I can’t believe it. I’ll go let Jen and the kids know.”

John delivered his message to Jen and their two kids. They wept tears of joy together, a rare moment of happiness in the new world, in the new Zed order.

*

“Okay everybody, please quiet down. The quicker you let me talk, the quicker you can get back to whatever it is you were doing,” John yelled over the clamor of people talking after Douglas had given his report. Gradually, folks began to quiet down, dropping their outdoor voices to mere whispers. The afternoon sun shown down, warming the crowd through what was left of the Vermont autumn foliage.

“That’s better. We need supplies very badly. We have a few options I’d like to throw out for discussion. First, we can make another run to the warehouse for food. The problem with that is there will be more Zeds there now. The fence surrounding the place was knocked down the last time we were there. We’ll be completely vulnerable while we load up. We also can’t guarantee any of the trucks still there will start. We can bring jumper cables and whatnot, but we just won’t know for sure until we get there.” John looked down at the notes in his hand and continued. “We can make supply runs to the grocery stores in town, but again, we’re going to be very vulnerable to Zeds. We know from Doug’s reports that Brattleboro has a lot of Zeds running around, and from what we understand, they’re moving in several big packs. We just don’t have the manpower to take on a pack right now. We have enough ammunition to fend off another major attack, but not much to spare. We need more for training and long term security.

To that end, Doug has mapped out a couple of National Guard bases. One is in Windsor, the other in Ludlow. Both are quite a haul up Interstate 91, but they are relatively close together. I think if we can find the fuel, we could take the dump truck and the tractor trailer right up 91. Neither town is very big, so hopefully we would avoid any major Zed packs. For all we know, one of the bases might still be secure and we could find some help there. Either way, we could find some supplies, ammunition, food, medicine, maybe some clothing and blankets for the winter.” John stopped speaking and looked out over the crowd expectantly. Patrick cleared his throat.

“What else ya got?” Some in the crowd laughed uneasily.

John shook his head and spread his hands. “I’m afraid that’s all I have, Uncle Patrick. We can keep going house to house and taking cans of food where we find them, but the way we’re growing, that’s not realistic. We’ve got a good start on fortifying this place, but without food, it’s not going to matter much.”

“I have a question.” Douglas spoke up and pushed his wire rim glasses higher up on his nose. “What happens if we find people at the bases, and they’re hostile?”

“Do you mean the men in camo you keep hearing about?”

“Yeah, or maybe just desperate people that want our stuff?”

John nodded. “That’s a good point. We’ll do what we have to to protect ourselves, but if it comes to it, we’ll run in any direction but home. We can’t afford to let them know about this place.”

Folks in the crowd nodded their agreement. Patrick stood forward.

“Looks like we got no choice. I say we try for the Guard bases, and if that fails, we go back to the warehouse and get what we can.”

Voices shouted their assent, and John nodded. “Alright then, first order of business, we need to get some diesel.”

*

The next afternoon a raiding party left the compound in the big dump truck. John led the party, with Roger driving. He’d let Jose come along, but made him promise to leave his sword at home, instead using the shotgun he’d been given. Sara and Deirdre had both argued with him, but in the end, he’d managed to convince them both that Jose needed to get out of the compound and think about something other than the tragedies he’d been through. A couple of the new additions to camp had come along as well, each armed with rifles. They had also brought a long section of hose from Patrick’s workshop, as well as a hand pump, and eight fifty-gallon drums.

The first gas station they came across was only three miles from the compound. It didn’t have a diesel pump, so they filled up two of the drums with gasoline for the generators. They sighted only a handful of wandering Zeds, and were able to pump all of the gasoline before they got close. They sealed up the tank and killed the undead quickly before leaving.

The second gas station they found had plenty of diesel fuel, but was crowded with shambling Zeds. They passed it by, not wanting to take any chances. Roger managed to run down several of the Zeds on his way past, much to the group’s satisfaction.

The third station proved more promising for the scavenging men. This one lay just outside of town to the north. It was a small Citgo station with a 7-Eleven off to the side. As they pulled into the parking lot, they could see movement inside the station, but none at all outside. John and the others jumped down off the truck and spread out in a loose circle, while Roger unscrewed the cap from the big underground storage tank. The men watched diligently as Roger used the hand pump to siphon the precious fuel into each of the barrels.

As Roger topped off the last drum, a loud crash came from the direction of the little store. A Zed, putrid and decaying, flopped out of a broken window. The thick plate glass shredded the creature on its way out, jagged pieces ripping gashes in the grey, wretched flesh. John could see that it used to be male, dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt with the store logo on it. Most of its face had rotted off, including one eye. The creature picked itself up off the pavement and began shambling towards them.

John walked up to the creature, pulled his Ka-Bar knife from the sheath at his belt, and drove it into the reaching creature’s empty eye socket, straight into its brain. The creature slumped to the ground, slipping wetly off the long blade. John looked down at the dead thing at his feet and, surprised with his satisfaction, wondered what he had become. He shook off the strange feelings of doubt quickly.

As Roger began pumping diesel into the truck’s fuel tanks, John walked up to the store with Jose close on his heels. John pushed the front door open slowly, pulling out his flashlight. He waved the flashlight around the little store cautiously. Even though sunlight streamed through the windows, the interior was dark and shadows hid every corner in murky twilight. His bright Streamlight lit up each shadowy corner in turn. As they moved into the store, they heard a loud crash coming from a back room. Dust mites floated through the flashlight beam, looking like dirty snowflakes.

“Cover me,” John said to Jose.

The teen climbed up on top of the checkout counter. From his new vantage point, he carefully aimed the black shotgun around the store, making sure to avoid pointing it at John.

John walked through the store, his MP5 held at the ready. As he reached the back door, marked with a “Employees Only” sign, a female Zed, dressed in a pretty floral dress marred by bloody tears where her breasts used to be, ran soundlessly from an aisle right for John. The big man turned, bringing his MP5 to bear as quickly as he could, but before the Zed reached him, Jose fired. Buckshot pellets hit the undead creature in the shoulder, spinning it around, causing it to crash into a display rack. The rack fell over into the next, a domino effect making that one fall too. John brought his submachine gun up, aiming for the Zed’s head, when another creature burst out of the stock room door, running headlong into him. John went down with the Zed in a heap. The rotting stench of the creature threatened to overpower him as he lay there struggling with the monster. Pieces of flesh fell away where his strong hands gripped the creature. His fingers sunk in to the rotting meat, making it difficult for him to get a hold of the Zed.

The female Zed stumbled up out of the mess it had made of the aisles and ran towards Jose. The brave young teen pumped his shotgun and took careful aim at the undead woman’s head. He fired just as she reached the base of the checkout counter. John just barely glimpsed out of the corner of his eye how the Zed’s head exploded all over the candy rack as Jose yelled, “Take it, bitch!”

He had little time to see anything else, as the Zed on top of him nipped at him, trying to bite him with its rotting teeth. John managed to get one foot up between the two of them and kicked with all his might. His foot sunk into the stomach of the Zed, but the force was enough to make the former man fly off him, sailing up and over him to land hard on the coffee counter, scattering glass pots and stale creamer everywhere. John rolled over and fired, his bullets stitching up the creature from knee to forehead.

Jose jumped off the counter and ran to John, helping him up. The two stood back to back as they recovered their breath. John’s walkie talkie crackled to life with Roger’s voice.

“Everything okay in there?”

“Roger that… umm, Roger. We’re fine,” John said, smirking at his brother-in-law. “How’s it going out there?”

“We’re about done here. All the drums are full and the tanks on the dump truck are topped off. Get your asses out here so we can go home.”

“On our way.”

John nodded to Jose and motioned toward the door. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell your mother or Sara about this.”

Jose grinned and nodded.

On his way out, John stopped at the coffee counter, opened the cupboard underneath, and picked up several silver bags of coffee.

“Ah, Colombian. It would be a crime to just leave this here.” He tossed a couple bags to Jose and took the rest himself. As they walked toward the door, John looked at Jose, raising his eyebrow. “Take it, bitch? Seriously?”

Jose grinned and shrugged. “What?”

John just shook his head.

Together, they left the trashed store and climbed up into the truck. The group drove out of the parking lot with their precious cargo of coffee and fuel, the first step of their plan complete.

*

Though everything was ready, they decided to wait until the following morning to begin their journey. Before the Zeds had come, the trip would have taken less than two hours by car, but they anticipated obstacles along the highway, so planned to be gone two or three days. They packed enough food and water for a week, just in case. This left those remaining at the compound with enough food for two or three weeks at the most.

They had a little going away event at the compound that night. Sara, ever the social organizer, put on a great party for everyone, making the most of the dwindling supplies.

“Babe, I don’t know how you did it, but everyone here is smiling. I haven’t seen one frown the whole night,” John said, eating one of Sara’s special chocolate cupcakes.

“That’s because you haven’t been looking hard enough. You know I’m not happy with you going. I’m afraid for you. And for the rest of us here.”

John pulled Sara close with one arm. “I know, Sara, but we don’t have much choice. We need whatever supplies we can get. We’ve been over this.”

“So? That doesn’t mean you have to go.” Sara kept her voice down, not wanting to break the festive mood she’d managed to create out of almost nothing.

“We have responsibilities here. The kids…”

“The kids will be fine, you’ll be fine. I’ll be back, and we’ll all be fine together.” John smiled indulgently at Sara around a mouthful of chocolate heaven.

“Don’t patronize me. I’m the one stuck here, wondering if you’re safe, not knowing if you’ll come home or not. And now I have three kids to raise by myself if you don’t make it? That’s not fair, goddammit!” Sara’s quiet whisper managed to convey her anger.

John wiped the chocolate from his face. His expression turned serious. “Nothing  NOTHING, will keep me from coming home to you. Ever. Do you hear me?”

Sara looked up at John, eyes watery but brave. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

*

John sat, slowly rocking in the old wooden chair his grandfather had made decades ago, nursing a lukewarm beer. The fall night held a slight chill, and he watched as his breath came out in little puffs of misty vapor. His little porch gave him a great view of the valley. The paper lanterns Sara had made glowed brightly, people milled about, enjoying the little send off party.

Patrick sat next to John, drinking something clear and volatile from a chipped mason jar. “You’re taking a big chance tomorrow. I hope it pays off.”

“Me too.” John took a swig from the bottle, frowning as the warm liquid filled his mouth.

“What’s bothering you, boy?”

“I don’t know. It’s crazy, really.”

“Well, out with it. I’ve seen crazy all over the place lately.”

“Halloween’s coming up. I want to be back before then.”

“Why?”

“It’s supposed to be the time when this world and the next are closest together, or when the walls between the two are the weakest.”

Patrick grunted and took a long pull from his mason jar. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know, the old legends about Halloween, people used to dress up to scare the demons or monsters away, that sort of thing.”

“Um, okay. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Look, I told you it’s crazy, but how do we know that what’s going on out there isn’t something supernatural? What if things get worse?”

Patrick started to laugh, but stopped as what John was saying began to sink in. He shook his head, as if shaking the thought away. “Oh come on, how could it get worse?”

“I have no idea. I told you, it’s crazy, but I’d still like to be here, just in case.”

“Well, you’ve got six days, that should be plenty of time to get what we need and get back here, right?”

“If we can get through, it could take as little as one day.”

They both snorted at that, and sat watching the party go on well into the night.

*

Jose stomped his foot angrily. “Come on, you know I can do it. Let me go with you.”

John put his hand on Jose’s shoulder gently. “I need you here, Jose. We’re already taking too many people with us for my liking. I need someone I can trust here to protect Sara, your mom, and the children. You did really well on the diesel raid, man. I know I can trust you for this.”

The teen looked ready to argue, but John squeezed the boy’s shoulder, forestalling the outcry.

“Besides, I have a special project for you,” John spoke quickly, trying another tack.

“What?”

“That armor you told me about. The plastic armor? Can you make it?”

Jose looked skeptically at John. “What? Are you serious, or just trying to distract me from going with you because you know damn well I’d kick some serious ass out there?”

“No, no, I think it’s worth exploring. We keep having to go outside of the fence, and I’d like us to be as safe as possible. If you hadn’t been there at the store, I’d be one of them right now. We need some advantage over these things if we’re going to make it. If you can make a suit, with what we have here,” John emphasized, “then do it. Think you can?”

Jose thought for a moment, then grinned. “Oh, I can do it. Man, it’s going to be sweet!” The boy ran off, waving over his shoulder. “Good luck, John!”

John shook his head and smiled. Well that’s one worry out of the way.

*

“I’m worried about Kurt. He’s not doing well. He’s got a constant fever and is delirious.” Margaret, the school nurse, said to John. June and May, as well as Kurt’s wife, Franny, and his daughter, Jill, stood in May’s kitchen, listening worriedly.

“Is he going to lose his leg?” John asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t see any signs of gangrene, and the wound itself seems to be healing, but his fever won’t break. I honestly don’t know what it is, but if we had a general antibiotic to give him, we might be able to lower the fever.”

“Tell me exactly what we need. Give me as many alternatives as you can, and we’ll find them. One of the bases must have an infirmary, we’ll get what we can while we are there.”

Margaret handed John a slip of paper. “I’ve written down everything we need, in order of importance.”

John nodded. “Thanks, I’ll do my best, I promise.” He cringed mentally at how many promises he had been making as of late.

*

At precisely 9 a.m., with the sun shining over the crisp fall morning, a ragtag band of survivors gathered in front of the big dump truck and the empty tractor trailer. Roger sat in the driver’s seat of the tractor, while Morgan stood next to the driver’s side of the dump truck. John stood facing the group. Marta, Roy, and three of the new survivors stood with rifles on their shoulders, bags of ammunition and food at their feet. Douglas stood slightly off to one side by himself. I’m still not sure about him, better to keep him close, John thought. Jack Kensington stood near the tractor trailer with one of his cousins, Richie. They’d asked to come for a share of the supplies, and John had readily agreed, glad for the Marine’s expertise Jack brought to the team.

He turned around, looking at the Mason clan assembled behind him. God I hate leaving them like this, he thought. Not enough people who can fight to go around, but Sara’s here, and Jose. They can handle themselves. John waved to Sara, who stood with her mother and Jose. The twins, Tommy and Tammy sat on the grass next to them, waving enthusiastically. Marisa stood next to Sara, holding her hand. John chuckled to himself, noticing how Marisa stood exactly like Sara, mimicking her precisely. The little girl had taken to Sara immediately, becoming the teacher’s pet and volunteering with anything Sara needed.

John raised his right hand and whirled it around in the air. They started climbing up into the trucks, when Jill Crawford came running up, rifle and backpack in hand.

“I’m going with you,” she said as she ran past John.

“Jill…” he began.

“It’s for my dad. I have to do something. At least I can go and help you look for the medicine. And I can shoot. You know I can.” She spoke as she climbed up into the back of the dump truck.

Shaking his head, John climbed up into the passenger seat. John switched to his best backwoods Vermont voice.

“Fine! But don’t come crying to me when you get et!”

Folks laughed at the morbid humor as the big trucks roared to life with a blast of dirty exhaust. The trucks pulled out onto the road and chugged past the barricade, heading north.

Chapter 13

October 26, Zed Year One

Interstate 91 North of Brattleboro, Vermont

John Mason sat in the front passenger seat of the big orange dump truck and watched the scenery fly by. He kept a loose grip on his Heckler and Koch MP5 as the beautiful fall foliage slipped past them on their journey north. Looks like it would have been a great season for tourists this year, John thought. Fuckin’ Zeds.

The trip through West Brattleboro went smoothly, as they’d already cleared the road from obstacles on prior supply trips. The group saw scores of Zeds shambling about here and there, but none of the faster, fresher variety. John thought that might be a good sign. They were also lucky enough not to encounter any of the huge Zed packs that they knew to be roaming around the downtown area.

The two trucks pulled onto Interstate 91 and headed north. The northbound lane was fairly free of obstructions for the first part of their journey. They were able to keep up a good pace, sometimes hitting forty miles an hour, stopping occasionally to allow the dump truck to push a vehicle aside.

Their first major obstacle appeared at the Springfield exit. They crested a small mountain and began heading down the other side when they were forced to stop. Ahead of them, just before the exit, a line of cars had been pushed or driven into a makeshift barricade across the highway on both sides.

“Roger, hold up back here for a minute. We’re going to go have a look,” John said into the radio. He leaned out the window and yelled up to the folks in the back of the truck. “Heads up. We’re going to check this out.” In the big side mirror, he saw several rifle barrels move over the side of the truck, pointing at the barrier.

Morgan shifted into low gear and approached the cars at a crawl. John scanned the area with a small pair of binoculars Sara had thoughtfully packed in his backpack. As they drew closer to the roadblock, he began to see signs of a struggle. Great bloody smears and splashes of red gore littered the cars. The ground in front of the barrier was strewn with bodies and parts of bodies. Most of the glass had been broken out of the cars, and John could see there were bodies inside some of the vehicles as well.

After what seemed like an eternity, they pulled to a stop less than twenty feet from the line of vehicles. Morgan killed the engine. The sudden silence loomed ominously.

“Stay here. I’ll go have a look,” John said, as he climbed down out of the truck. He glanced up in the back and was happy to see his family covering him as he walked forward. John carefully stepped over the bodies, checking to make sure that each one was truly dead as he passed by. He swept the muzzle of the MP5 over each one, not willing to take any chances. Most of the bodies had been Zeds, horrible wounds and decomposing flesh giving evidence to the fact, but some looked like they had been fighting the Zeds. These had fresher wounds. He even saw one man slumped against the side of a car with a Zed’s jaw still clamped to his neck. The Zed’s head ended at a ragged neck, its body slumped several feet away.

John climbed gingerly over a big Chevy Suburban, sliding across the bloody hood. He dropped down onto the pavement on the other side, suddenly more cautious. Bodies lay everywhere, most with hunting rifles or improvised weapons made from axes, pitchforks, saws, and other unidentifiable things. Not nearly enough bodies, though. The dead in front of John were only the ones with vicious head wounds, bites or lacerations, or sometimes gunshots from a merciful fellow defender. He did a quick count of the dead on this side of the barrier. Thirty-one.

His radio crackled to life, causing him to jump. “Careful there, we can’t see you anymore.”

“It’s okay, Roger. There’s nothing moving over here either. Looks like they were trying to keep a pack of the bastards out,” John said, bringing the black radio to his mouth and speaking softly.

“Did they succeed?”

“Not even close.”

*

They spent the next hour moving vehicles and bodies out of the way, all the while keeping watch for any of the Zeds that might still be roaming around.

“I don’t like it, John,” Roger said as Morgan pushed the last car out of the way with the dump truck. “It must have been a huge pack of those motherfuckers that hit these guys. I don’t like knowing they might be close.”

“These bodies are a couple days old, at least. The fresh ones, I mean,” John said, looking around at the dead. He bent down and picked up a pistol from one of the former defenders and tucked it in his belt. “But you’re right. I don’t want to stick around here any longer than we have to.” He patted the pistol he’d just recovered. “Let’s pick up what we can and get back on the road.”

They recovered several rifles and pistols but not as much ammunition as John would have liked. They loaded their booty in the trucks and continued their journey north, watching warily for whatever pack of undead had massacred the poor defenders of Springfield.

*

The two trucks rumbled along the deserted highway until they saw the exit for Windsor. No cars blocked the exit ramp, so the big trucks pulled off, barely slowing as they reached the main road leading to the National Guard base. Finally, after several exhausting hours of remaining vigilant, they saw a sign that said “Vermont National Guard Armory 186, Forward Support Company A”. Several brick buildings surrounded by a chain link fence topped with razor wire loomed ahead of them. A big chain link gate lay open in the road, with a small brick guard house to the left. Morgan pulled the dump truck right up to the guard house, but no one hailed them. John jumped down out of the truck and checked the little shack. A plain wooden desk with a clipboard and pen stood against one wall, with a simple metal office chair tipped over on the floor. A telephone was attached to one wall, with the receiver dangling by its cord.

A single bloody hand print stood out in stark relief on the white plaster wall behind the desk.

John climbed back up into the truck. “Looks like the Zeds hit here already.” He brought the radio to his mouth. “No guards; Zeds already came through. Watch yourselves, boys and girls.”

After both trucks had pulled through the gate, Roy got out and ran to the guard shack. Moments later, the big metal gate rolled shut. He mounted back up and the trucks continued slowly into the base. Each brick building had been thoughtfully labeled with a green and white sign. They passed one building marked Administration but stopped at the second building. That one had a sign that read Security. John signaled a halt over the radio, and the group dismounted. They formed a loose circle around the two vehicles, keeping a watch for Zeds. John motioned for Douglas to follow him into the building. The others stayed behind, keeping the two precious vehicles safe.

The single story brick building was about the size of a small house, with white framed windows and a single glass door. John opened the door and shined his flashlight inside. Despite the sun’s position in the early afternoon sky, the hall revealed by John’s flashlight was dark. But he could see that the floor looked wet. As he moved into the hallway, he realized the wetness was blood. The thick red liquid was everywhere, the floor, the walls, even splattered onto the ceiling. As he motioned for Douglas to follow him, a thick spatter dripped down from the ceiling onto his right boot. He frowned and kept walking forward slowly, playing the light around in front of him, his MP5’s muzzle leading the way. Douglas followed close behind, his heavy breathing sounding far too loud in the close confines of the dark hallway.

John reached a lobby area with a desk marked Information. The desk had been tipped on its side, and a body lay just behind it. John slowly peered over the desk to get a better look. A man in his twenties with close cropped black hair and wearing a National Guard uniform lay in a heap, a bloody hole in the side of his head, and bite marks all over his face and hands. An armband marked him as an M.P., a military police officer. The dead man had a large ring of keys hanging from his belt. John reached down and grabbed the ring of keys, as well as the Beretta 9mm and spare magazines from the body. He tucked them into the thigh pockets of the cargo pants he was wearing and continued on past the desk.

They followed the hallway until they reached a door marked Secure. John fumbled with the keys, trying them one by one until he found the right one. The lock clicked open loudly, startling Douglas. John grinned at him and gave him a thumbs up in the dim light of the Surefire in his hand. He pushed the door open, and they found themselves in a briefing room. Papers lay scattered all over the table and floor. Chairs were turned over, and a severed arm lay handcuffed to a ring attached to the wall. More blood soaked the floor in puddles. Another door lay just beyond the big table in the middle of the room, and they made their way towards it. Again, John fumbled with the keys until he found the right one.

Just as John pushed the door open, a horrible stench came wafting out of the room. The overpowering scent of rotting meat assailed the two men, causing their eyes to water. Douglas made retching sounds behind John, but the big man pushed through the smell and illuminated the room with his flashlight.

This room looked like it had been used for meetings at one time. Tables and chairs had been hastily piled up at one end of the room in front of another hallway. A pile of rotting corpses lay on the floor or tangled in the pile of office furniture. Most of them were well on their way to putrescence. John walked into the room and saw that the bodies all had bullet holes in them. Some were in uniform, others appeared to be civilians. One even had a meter maid’s outfit on, with a shoulder patch that said “Town of Windsor”. She still wore her ticket machine over one shoulder. John signaled the all clear to Douglas, and they began clearing a way through the debris. Just on the other side of the pile of desks and tables, they found more bodies. These were all in uniform, and most had M16s or pistols.

“Let’s finish checking out the building before we pick up these weapons. Something nasty happened here and I want to make sure we don’t get surprised,” John said to Douglas as they walked past the dead.

They continued through the building, searching each room as they came to it. They found offices and interrogation rooms, as well as a locked door that led to a room with dozens of M16s, shotguns, pistols and crates of ammunition. “Jackpot!” John whispered a little too loudly. John radioed his findings to Roger, who then reported the outside to still be safe.

They continued searching through the building and eventually came to a set of stairs leading down into the basement. Red emergency lights still shone in the underground part of the building, though they flickered ominously. In the red light, the blood on the floor just looked like water. Works for me, John thought to himself as he walked through the hellish hallways. They finally reached a door with a sign over it that said Holding Cells A-E. John pushed the heavy steel door open to find a scene right out of Dante’s Inferno.

Zeds wandered back and forth aimlessly, tripping over fallen dead. John did a quick estimate and thought there must have been twenty or thirty Zeds in the long hallway facing several barred cells. Dozens more lay on the ground, truly dead. As the door banged open, every Zed in the room turned its head and looked right at the two men. Douglas screamed. John brought his MP5 up, dropped to one knee to steady himself, and began firing aimed shots at the Zeds. Douglas aimed his AK 47 and began firing wildly into the room. Most of his shots hit something out of pure luck, but John’s were better aimed, and soon many of the Zeds had joined their comrades on the floor. A few managed to make it to the doorway, where Douglas had finally calmed down enough to aim for the creatures’ heads. He fired the last shot and brought down a man wearing nothing but boxer shorts and missing his right hand.

After the final blast, the two men stayed where they were, transfixed by the sight of all the dead under the flickering red light for several moments. When John was satisfied no one was getting back up, he stood back up and walked into the room.

“Good work, Doug. Stay here and watch my back.” John continued into the room, walking toward the cells. He heard Douglas reloading behind him as he noticed that one of the cells seemed to have people in it. As he got closer, he shined his flashlight into the cell and saw several uniformed men slumped against the walls. He counted thirteen of them, all seated with their backs against the concrete walls and slumped over, their heads down on their chests. Every one of them had a rifle or pistol next to them. Empty rifle magazines lay scattered about the cell floor. Then he saw the blood splattered all over the walls behind each person.

John walked up to the cell door and pulled. The door was locked. John looked inside at the dead Guardsmen. It was then that he noticed the notes. Each man had a white sheet of paper pinned to the front of his uniform. John could barely make out some writing on the soldier closest to him. He could make out the words “Mom” and “I’m Sorry”.

Douglas came up behind John noisily. He looked inside the cell. “Oh my God, what happened?”

“They ran out of ammo. They knew help wasn’t coming.” John felt a strange sense of pride in his fellow man as he looked in at the doomed soldiers. From the Battle at the Barricade, John understood the feeling of helplessness in the face of waves of undead. “I hope if the time comes, I have the guts to do what they did, what Dad did,” John muttered quietly in the red glow.

Douglas stared at John’s back and shook his head, grimacing. John turned and walked past Douglas, back up into the daylight.

John signaled the all clear to Roger. With a few men posted outside on guard duty, the rest of the Mason clan emptied the armory of its contents, loading everything into the big white trailer. John was also able to find the key to the cell where the brave soldiers had killed themselves to avoid becoming the enemy. They took their weapons, as well as the notes that had been pinned to each man.

While they were cleaning out the armory, Douglas found a map of the base and located the buildings most likely to have food and other supplies they needed. There was no sign of a base hospital, though, this being a relatively small facility. They collected the first aid kits they found in each building.

The next building on the map was a big warehouse marked “Supplies-Consumables”. Roger backed the trailer up to the loading dock, while Jack Kensington and his cousin climbed up onto the roof of the truck and stood watch. John, Morgan and two of the other survivors whose names John couldn’t for the life of him remember, entered the warehouse.

Much smaller than the grocery warehouse they’d raided before, it still represented a dangerous place where Zeds could hide.

“Morgan, take point. I’ll be right behind you.” John motioned for the other two to follow him, and together they walked through aisle after aisle of pallets filled with crates and boxes with indecipherable government identification numbers and abbreviations. Halfway down the second aisle a female Zed in uniform shambled around a corner directly in front of Morgan. The agile young man brought both of his Glocks up and fired at the monster. The Zed tumbled over backwards and sprawled on the floor, unmoving. Almost immediately a chorus of Zed moans and groans erupted all around the four men. John glimpsed movement through the racks of supplies on either side of them.

“Fall back to the doors!” John yelled and began walking backwards, his submachine gun sweeping the aisle while Morgan and the other two men ran past him. As soon as they were clear, John turned and ran after them. He imagined rotting breath hot on his neck, the sounds around them increasing as they ran.

Just as the four men made it to the open loading dock area, gunfire erupted from right in front of them. Someone yelled, “Get down!” John dropped to the ground and spun around, bringing his MP5 up and looking for a target. Zeds stumbled from between the racks right into the withering fire laid down by Jack and the other members of the group. Semi-automatic fire dropped Zed after Zed as they reached the loading area. John joined in, firing into the staggering crowd of undead. The warehouse echoed with the deafening roar of gunfire for several minutes. Zeds flowed into the open space, one after the other, most in National Guard uniforms but John saw some in jeans and flannel shirts, mechanic’s overalls, and other outfits. Finally, after several minutes, the Zed tide began to lessen until one single, solitary Zed with one leg crawled into the dock area. Morgan ran over to it and put two bullets in its head.

John watched the darkness ahead of him, alert for any more Zeds, but nothing moved. He walked over to Jack. “Thanks, man.”

“Heard the shooting, thought you might need a hand. I left my cousin outside on top of the truck, didn’t want any nasty surprises sneaking up behind us.”

They spent the next several minutes searching the warehouse but found no more undead.

*

Jack was the first to make sense of the identification numbers and abbreviations, and soon he and John had worked out which pallets to load into the truck. They moved several thousand MREs first, followed by other bulk food items that had previously been designated “Disaster Relief”. They used propane powered green forklifts to move the heavy pallets filled with priceless foodstuffs into the trailer until it was completely full. John looked with remorse at all the remaining supplies in the warehouse.

“Well, we can secure the building and make another trip if we need to. I didn’t really think we’d find this much here,” John said to Jack. The two of them were standing to one side while the others closed up the trailer and secured the door.

“We got enough here to get through winter and then some. But another trip wouldn’t hurt. Let’s throw some of these MREs into the dump truck too.

John looked through a window at the rapidly darkening sky outside. “It’s almost dark. I think we should spend the night here, and then in the morning, send you and Roger back home with the load. You can take a couple guys with you but the rest of us will continue on to the other base.”

Roger walked over, having heard what had been said, and looked at John as if he were crazy. “Jesus, John. Are you insane?”

“It makes sense, Roger. The northbound lane is clear all the way back to Brattleboro. We didn’t see any of the big packs of Zeds, there shouldn’t be anything but a few stragglers on the way. They need the food back home, and we don’t know what we’re going to face at the other base.”

“We’ve got enough here. Let’s all go home, then. Bring you back to that pretty little wife of yours,” Roger said in his most reasonable tone.

“We have enough food, true. But I’m still worried about our ammo situation, and we need medical supplies. The armory here helped a lot. Those M16s are going to come in handy, but there still isn’t enough ammo to last us until this…whatever the fuck it is, is over.”

Roger nodded. “Alright. But goddammit, I don’t have to like it.”

*

They spent the night in the warehouse. The chilly fall Vermont air was held off by a couple of big metal drums in which they’d lit fires. Wooden furniture from the little office in the warehouse fueled their impromptu furnaces. An almost festive atmosphere reined as the little group ate the foil packed meals the Mason women had sent with them. John happily bit into the juicy chicken Sara had made for him. Her secret recipe consisted of an unnamed mix of spices that turned the white meat almost red and tenderized it to the point where it nearly melted in his mouth.

They’d moved all of the bodies outside and dumped them around the corner, under careful guard by no less than two armed people at all times, posted on the roof of the trailer or dump truck.

Now, however, everyone remained inside, and all of the doors into the warehouse had been secured. Jill was arguing with Morgan about something, as usual. Though the two were cousins, they’d grown up together like brother and sister. That’s just how we are, John thought as he watched the two bicker. The two almost came to blows but Marta jumped between them, good-naturedely pushing them apart.

At precisely 10 p.m., John used the radio in the tractor trailer to call home.

“Mason home, come in. Anyone listening?”

Almost immediately the radio crackled back. “John, is that you?” Sara’s voice was unmistakable.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me. We’re safe. I miss you.”

“Where are you? Are you coming home tonight?”

“No. We’re at the first location. Don’t say it over the radio, okay? We decided to stay tonight. Hopefully we’ll make it back tomorrow, but no promises.”

“Dammit, John. I wanted you back here. I’ve been worried sick about you all day.” Sara sounded hurt and angry at the same time.

“I know. I wanted to be home tonight too, but we discussed this. It just wasn’t safe to rush. We’ve seen some pretty bad things here.”

The radio grew silent for a few moments. Just as John raised the microphone to his lips to see if Sara was still there, she beat him to the punch.

“I miss you. This is the first night we’ve spent apart since our wedding.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I miss you too. I love you, Sara.”

She answered, bravely keeping the loneliness out of her voice, but unable to keep the hot tears off of her cheeks. “You’d better come home to me. You promised.”

“I will. Nothing can keep me away from you.”

The two chatted a few more minutes before John relayed some of what they’d seen. He kept the scarier details to himself.

Sara responded with a report of what had been going on at home that day. “Kurt’s the same, your uncle Patrick says the fence is strong enough to hold off anything that makes it through the barricades, and Jose is off doing his own thing. Actually, I haven’t seen him since lunch.” A hint of worry crept into her voice.

“I’m sure he’s okay, sweetheart. How are Princess and the kids?”

“They miss you too. Princess misses you so much she chewed up your favorite slippers.”

“That’s it. She’s Zed bait when I get home. You tell her I said that!”

Sara laughed. John smiled, happy that he’d forestalled some of the worry she was feeling.

“Oh, by the way, your chicken is a big hit here. I’m going to return the favor and bring you home some delicious Meals Ready to Eat. How about some mystery meat in a bag?”

“How about you pick up a couple of cows on the way home?”

John laughed. “I’ll think about it. I’m going to sign off sweetheart. We’ve got to get an early start in the morning.”

Sara’s voice grew sad again. “I don’t want to sleep alone. Please come home to me.”

“I will. Nothing will stop me. I swear. Tell Princess and the kids I said goodnight.”

“Goodnight, John. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sara. Goodnight.”

John switched the radio off and made his way back inside the warehouse. Morgan let him in, then secured the door again behind him. He walked over to his backpack and pulled out his sleeping bag.

They fell asleep to the sound of wolves howling in the distance. “Maybe they’re chasing down a Zed?” John wondered aloud, and then he listened with the others as he grew drowsy.

“Good luck to them,” Jill said, nestling down into her pink sleeping bag.

*

The morning dawned bright and clear, but cold. John woke to see his breath fogging in front of him. The cold cement floor under his sleeping bag had managed to leech most of his body heat away. He climbed slowly out of his bag, his back aching and popping as he stood.

A quick breakfast of MREs, including hot coffee from the little green pouches helped everyone’s spirits. John devoured his meal and drank his coffee quickly. He found Roger outside with Morgan going over the dump truck. The big orange hood was propped up with a two by four and Roger’s head was deep down inside the engine compartment. John noticed one of the new guys standing up on top of the tractor trailer, scanning the area with one of the newly acquired M16s in his hands.

“Hey Morg. Something wrong with the truck?”

“Nah, Dad’s just making sure everything’s okay.” Morgan bit into a chunk of beef jerky. “Hey, these MRE things are pretty good. I got jerky in mine!” He smiled as he chewed.

“Funny…my omelet tasted like beef jerky too,” John snickered. Morgan laughed.

Roger climbed down off from the truck, dropping the hood behind him. “Looks ok. Just don’t horse it and you should be fine.”

John and Morgan both nodded. Roger stood looking at them for a moment. “Dammit, I really don’t like leaving you guys way up here without me.”

“We know, Dad. We’ll be fine.” Morgan said, exasperated.

“Your mother will kill me, you know that. When I show up without you, she’s going to rip me a new one.”

Morgan laughed. John chuckled. Roger just shook his head and walked off toward the tractor trailer.

*

An hour later, the big Volvo truck pulled out of the gate. Roger, Jack Kensington, Roy, and Jack’s cousin Richie rode in the cab. They’d decided those four would be sufficient to see the truck through any danger it might run into. John was confident Jack would see them home safely.

Morgan drove the dump truck out of the gate right behind the tractor trailer, but turned right when his father turned left. No horns were honked, as no one wanted to draw any more attention than they already had. The last thing they did was to close the gate behind them, hoping to one day make another trip to the base.

John’s group made their way southwest, towards Ludlow, along winding country roads. Though just over twenty five miles, the trip took them nearly three hours. Cars and trucks littered the road, doors open, engines left running when the Zeds swept through now dead and empty of gas. They pushed each one out of the way with the big snow plow on the front of the truck. Finally they saw a sign that said “Vermont National Guard, Company B, 2nd Battalion.” A base, bigger than the last, appeared in front of them. A big iron gate barred the way. John noticed several bodies lay in front of the gate. As they pulled the dump truck to a stop in front of the gate, John climbed down from the cab. He walked over to the guard house next to the gate, a clone of the one at the Windsor facility. As he walked past the bodies on the ground, he stopped short. Cocking his head to the side, he stared down at one of the dead. An elderly man, gray hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, lay on the pavement, a hole in his head as well as his chest.

Suddenly it hit John. The man had a bag clutched in his hands. Even in death, he still held the bag tightly. “Shit!” John yelled, running back toward the truck. A heartbeat after he turned, something whizzed past his ear, crashing into the dirt behind him. John reached the truck and dove underneath it. He rolled across the pavement under the hot truck and came up on the passenger side. He pulled his MP5 off his shoulder as another shot ricocheted off the hood of the truck.

Seconds later, those who had been riding up in the back of the truck returned fire, aiming for the unseen sniper. They fired randomly at nearby rooftops.

“Where is he?” and “I don’t see him!” came down from the back. Morgan crawled across the passenger seat and dove out of the truck. He came up with both pistols in his hands but not knowing where to aim.

John forced himself to calm down and slowed his breathing to an almost normal pace. He leaned around the front fender and saw where he’d been standing earlier. A big chunk of pavement had been torn out of the road behind the spot. He took a guess at where the shot must have come from and slid back around behind the fender. He reached up into the cab of the truck, behind the seat, and came back out with a rifle with a big scope on it.

“What’s that?” Morgan asked in a whisper. Another shot boomed out, throwing sparks from the side of the dump body. Someone screamed in pain. Gunshots rang out in return from those gathered behind the thick steel walls of the truck.

“SKS, I put a scope on it for hunting. I thought we might bring down a deer or something if we got hungry.”

John crept back around the corner of the fender, placing the SKS on the hood. He brought the powerful scope to his eye and aimed where he thought the shots were coming from. Slowly he scanned a nearby rooftop inside the base. His gaze came to rest on a figure behind a ceiling vent. John took a deep breath and held it. The figure on the roof popped up. The sun shone brightly from behind the figure, leaving it in total silhouette. John could clearly see the shadow of the rifle as it aimed for the truck again.

Slowly, John let his captured breath free. As his lungs relaxed, he placed the cross hairs directly over the figure’s head and gently squeezed the trigger. The old surplus rifle coughed once, lifting the scope off the figure for just a second. John brought the rifle back down and watched as the figure on the roof slumped over, dropping the rifle.

John scanned the rooftop for other snipers but saw none. Morgan had grabbed John’s binoculars from the truck and was also looking for further danger.

John yelled up to the truck. “Anyone hit?”

“Andy’s hit in his arm. It’s not bad,” Marta yelled down.

Who the hell is Andy? John thought to himself, but said nothing.

After twenty minutes without any sign of another sniper, John handed the SKS to Morgan, retrieved his MP5, and worked his way toward the guard house in a crouch. He opened the gate, and waved Morgan through.

Morgan climbed back into the truck and pulled inside the gate. John closed the gate and ran to the truck.

“Everyone spread out. Jill, take my SKS and watch for snipers. Marta, cover her. Let’s find out what’s going on here.”

Morgan handed the scoped rifle up to Jill, while everyone else climbed down and formed a circle around the truck. They fanned out, watching for danger. The building where the sniper had been was the first building on the left which had an “Administration” sign over the front door. John motioned for Morgan and Douglas to follow him.

John pushed through the door first. He was surprised to find the lights on, bright lights shining on white linoleum floors. Bloody streaks shone on the walls here and there, but not nearly as much as John expected.

“Let’s find a way up to the roof. I want to get a look at that sniper,” John whispered. They found a stairwell not far from the entrance and worked their way up three levels. The stairwell ended on the third floor. They worked their way from one end to the other, through empty offices and open cubicles filled with antique computer terminals and stacks of documents. Nothing was out of place. It looked to John as if none of the traumatic events had reached this floor. They finally found a door marked “Roof Access”. It had been propped open with a chair. They went though the door and up a steep flight of stairs to another door. This one had been propped open with a dirty red brick.

John signaled for the others to wait there while he went ahead. Douglas rolled his eyes but nodded. John walked out onto the roof, keeping as low as possible. He looked around and found the slumped figure of the sniper near the edge of the roof. He walked towards it, his MP5 out in front of him. Nothing else moved on the rooftop as he made his way over. The slumped form was mostly obscured by the ceiling vent, until John was almost on top of it.

He stopped, his brow furrowing in confusion. The body of a man lay before him in gray urban camouflage fatigues. The man had cropped blond hair, a clean shaven face, and a muscular build. A powerful bolt action sniper rifle lay on the roof next to him. Cartridges lay scattered about the area, having fallen from the dead man’s pocket. But what really brought John up short was the patch on the dead man’s left shoulder. A pyramid with an eye over it. Underneath the patch, the words ” Vires Supremus Totus” were embroidered in gold thread. A belt around the man’s waist held a pistol and a radio.

John bent down and picked up the radio. He turned it on just in time to hear a male voice say “Go”.

Down in the parking lot, gunfire broke out. Automatic fire mixed with louder single shots. John grabbed the sniper rifle and ran to the edge of the building. Below him, he saw members of his family hiding behind the dump truck, pinned down by shots coming from the doorways of two other buildings. Someone lay face down on the pavement near the truck. As John saw the downed man, a pool of blood spread out from beneath him. John couldn’t tell who it was.

John raised the rifle and saw the bright fire of muzzleflash from one of the doorways below. He aimed the scope at the shadowy cove and fired just above the flames. Even over the gunfire, John heard the scream. The gunfire from that doorway abruptly stopped.

Just then, Jill fired at the other doorway with the old but powerful SKS. Years of hunting had taught her how to use a scope. She hit her target with her second shot. This time, there was no scream.

John, Morgan, and Douglas stood with Jill looking down at the three men on the ground. They’d brought the bodies out into the parking lot, including the sniper from the roof so they could get a better idea of what was going on. Behind them, Phil Barstow, one of the new survivors that had come along, pulled a blanket gently over the face of Andy Potter.

They’d done a quick search of the base and found a pile of burned corpses, over a hundred, behind one of the buildings. But they’d found no sign of any living undead. Every entrance to the base had already been secured.

“I don’t get it. Something isn’t right here,” John said, scratching his head.

Douglas reached down and ripped the patch off one of the dead men’s shoulder. He tucked it into his coat pocket. He started searching the pockets of the man. Finding nothing, he moved on to the next one.

“What do we have here?” he said as he opened up a folded piece of paper. He stared at it for a moment, then handed it to John.

John read aloud. “From Ironrock. Orders are as follows: Remain behind with supplies. Convoy will return no later than 23 November for pickup. Eliminate infected or potentially infected locals with extreme prejudice. Maintain radio silence.”

Morgan looked at John. “What?”

“That’s it. That’s all it says. It’s on fax paper.”

“They got a fax here?”

Douglas took the flimsy sheet of paper back. “No…it’s because it’s easier to destroy. Or eat.”

“Jesus. Hardcore, man.” Morgan kicked the dead man in the head.

*

They spent the next several hours searching the base. They found supplies for the battalion that had been stationed there in several buildings, including more rifles and ammunition. Enough ammunition to make John wonder how they’d get it all back home. They found M16s, shotguns, pistols, and knives as well as tools to repair the weapons. John marked everything down on a handmade map as they searched.

They found the motor pool in back of the base. Three big transport trucks were parked outside a huge garage. Several Humvees were parked there too. Inside the garage were two armored personnel carriers, both with their engines pulled out and hanging from chains attached to beams in the roof. Two of the transport trucks started up on the first try. The third refused to turn over.

They began loading weapons and ammo into the first truck. John continued his canvasing of the base as they loaded.

In a small concrete building in the back of the base, near an overgrown helipad, John found something else that made his jaw drop open in shock.

“What the hell are they?” Douglas asked.

John bent down and picked up a short, sleek futuristic looking black weapon.

“FN Herstal P90s. 5.7mm, with a fifty round capacity, and almost no kick. Usually loaded with armor piercing steel core cartridges. Must be at least a hundred of them!” John spoke with a note of awe in his voice.

“Are they machine guns?”

Morgan slapped Douglas in the back of the head. “Come on, man. Seriously? How did your parents go so wrong?”

John held up his hand reverently. “They’re fully automatic, if that’s what you’re asking. These are the real thing, not the neutered civilian version. And look over there, in the other room. Crates and crates of 5.7mm steel core cartridges. Hundreds of thousands of rounds! Do you have any idea what we could do with this?”

“Um…what?” Morgan asked.

“Survive.”

*

As they finished loading the 5.7mm ammo into the second truck, nearly filling it to the brim, John frowned.

“What’s wrong? You should be happy as a pig in shit right now,” Morgan said.

“What were those P90s doing here? And why were those goons guarding them? I don’t like it, not one bit.”

“Who knows? Some branch of the military we never heard about or something, is my guess.”

“No, I don’t think so. For one, as far as I know, nobody in the U.S. Military was using P90s. The Secret Service and some law enforcement agencies were using them, but not the military. And that symbol is right off a dollar bill.”

They stood in silence for a minute. Finally John broke it. “What’s worse, they’re going to come looking for it.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

*

They found the base infirmary and took nearly everything they found, including everything on Nurse Margaret’s list. In the end, they took both transport trucks, the dump truck, and one Humvee with a .50 caliber machine gun mounted to the roof. They packed every inch of space in the vehicles with the weapons, ammunition, medical supplies, and finally dozens of army uniforms and boots in a variety of sizes. Then, with Morgan driving the dump truck, followed by Phil in the first transport truck, then John driving the second one with the P90s, with Jill and Marta bringing up the rear in the Humvee, they left the base. Smoke curled up from the pile of burned bodies in the back, four new occupants mixed in with the old. They’d picked up all the evidence of their firefight with the three soldiers, hoping to avoid any conflict with the “convoy” mentioned in the note when they returned.

The vehicles trundled back the way they’d come, following the same route back to Interstate 91. When they reached the Interstate, they drove up the off ramp and headed south in the Northbound lane. Even though it was long past dark by the time they hit the highway, John refused to let them stop. Too much precious cargo rode in the trucks to risk stopping for the night. They’d received a radio call earlier in the day from Roger, saying he’d made it safely home with his cargo, so John counted on the road still being clear.

At 4:28 the next morning, four vehicles sat idling outside the northern barricade. Dogs began barking as the barricade rolled out of the way, and the big vehicles drove through, belching black oily smoke from their exhaust pipes.

They parked the vehicles on the road in front of the fence. The new gate opened and Masons poured out, sleepy but happy for the return of their family. Jill grabbed the bag she’d prepared with the medicines for her father and ran off to him, Nurse Margaret in tow.

People hugged each other and thumped each other on the back as stories of their adventure were told. Princess, Fish, and Moose yelped happily as they ran back and forth amid the chaos. John managed to ruffle Princess’s fur as she streaked past, barely bothering to pause and receive his attention before continuing on.

Sara moved through the crowd and threw herself at John, letting him wrap his arms around her and lift her off the ground. They kissed hungrily, forgetting everyone around them. Sara melted in his arms as their kiss went on and on. Finally, John put Sara down and held her at arms length.

“Hi, baby.” John said, sporting his best Han Solo grin.

“Don’t you baby me! I was so worried about you! When you didn’t come home last night, I thought you were in trouble, and then you just show up this morning…and look at me, I’m a mess! I haven’t slept since you left and you just show up!”

Sara babbled on for a moment more, before John leaned down and kissed her again. He pulled away and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Sara blinked tears out of her eyes and smiled. “Good. You should be.”

John set his backpack down on the ground and pulled a box out. It was a simple white box with a pink bow on it. He handed the box to Sara. “We made a stop on the way home. I got you something.”

Sara took the box and opened it. Inside, she found a brand new history text book. Underneath the book, Sara found a soft pink dress. She took the book out and checked the tag on the dress, hoping John wouldn’t see. She looked at John in surprise. “It’s the right size!” she exclaimed.

“Of course it is. I checked before we left. Oh, there are twenty more text books in the truck, in case you were wondering.” He grinned at her.

Sara laughed and kissed him again.

Dierdre Maxwell cleared her throat behind them. John and Sara separated.

“Did you tell him about Jose?” She asked.

John looked down at Sara. “What about Jose, sweetheart?”

“I was getting to that. John, Jose’s missing.”

“Wait, what?”

“He’s gone, John. He took his truck and left the day you left. He was here for lunch, and then disappeared. We haven’t heard from him since.”

John looked toward the barricade and frowned. “Son of a bitch!”

Chapter 14

October 28th, Zed Year One

Brattleboro, Vermont

“Get this Humvee unloaded. Take the .50 cal off the mount and unload the ammo for it,” John hollered over his shoulder as he walked toward the field. “Put it up on the tower by the gate.”

“John, what are you going to do?” Sara asked as she walked beside John.

“I’m going to take the Humvee and go find him.” John carried one of the newly acquired P90s with him as he walked. Two of the stick-like magazines protruded from his thigh pockets.

“How? We don’t know where he went.” Sara wrung her hands anxiously as she walked.

John stopped as he reached the field with the scarecrow. He turned to her, his brow furrowed. “Fuck, I don’t know. But I’ll find him. Remember, it’s what I do?”

Sara didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Fine, but I’m coming with you.”

“No you’re not. It’s not safe out there and you know it.” John raised the P90 to his shoulder and aimed the stubby little gun at the hapless scarecrow.

“Exactly. It’s dangerous out there, and my brother is somewhere on the outside of these fences, and now my husband is going out there too. I’m not just going to keep staying behind with the women, you know? And besides, you know damn well I can shoot and I can drive.”

John lowered the gun without firing it. Finally, he turned to Sara. “Jesus Christ, Sara. Of course I know you can shoot and drive better than most people. But come on, this is…this is insane. I can’t…”

Sara reached out and took the P90 from John’s hand. She brought the sleek little black weapon to her shoulder, aimed it at the scarecrow, and pulled the trigger. Puffs of dust and hay shot out of the scarecrow’s chest. Empty shell casings dropped out of the ejection port just behind the grip straight down to the ground, forming a twinkling brass puddle at Sara’s feet. She released the trigger and looked defiantly at John, raising one eyebrow.

John simply looked at her for several seconds. “Fine. We leave in two hours. But first, let me show you how to reload that gun. Then I need to see Jose’s bunk.”

*

Sara and John stood in the little cabin and looked down at Jose’s cot. He’d left his sleeping bag a rumpled mess. An old wooden crate served as a nightstand beside the bed. Several books lay stacked on the crate as well as a candle that had been burned down to a little nub. John looked at the books for a moment before reaching down and grabbing one from the middle, knocking the rest onto the floor. He held it up to Sara, smiling.

Sara looked at the book, a questioning look on her face. “A telephone book? Are you planning on calling someone?”

John flipped through the book quickly. He found a page that was dog eared at the corner and laid the book down on the cot, open. He pointed to a listing in the white pages that had been hastily circled in blue pen. A blue pen rested on the crate, next to the candle.

“Bronson Plastics. It’s in the industrial park on the south end of town.”

*

John stood next to the Humvee. A backpack rested over one shoulder, while his new P90 hung from a sling over the other. He looked toward the cabin and saw Sara running down the driveway, a similar pack on her back. He put his backpack into the vehicle, then placed his P90 down next to two others already inside. He turned as Patrick Mason walked up to him.

“John, are you sure you need to go back out so soon? I know he’s your brother-in-law, but…you know he’s probably dead, right?”

John turned on his uncle angrily. “I don’t know that, and I’m not going to abandon him. He’s a smart kid. He brought his mother and your granddaughter here safely, I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Patrick held his hands up to John. “Whoa, boy. I didn’t mean to insult the kid. I’m just saying, the odds ain’t in his favor.”

John shook his head, visibly forcing himself to calm down. “Don’t say things like that around Sara. I know what the chances are we’ll find him, but we need to do this. Look, I’m not sure when we’ll be back, but there are some things you have to know.” John filled Patrick in on the events of the previous days, including the three soldiers they’d fought, as well as the note about their return. Patrick took it all in without question.

“You need to have someone go back to the supply base and get as much of the food and whatever else they can find as soon as you can. Today, tomorrow at the latest. The northbound lane is clear, they shouldn’t have any problems. Send the tractor trailer and the two transports. Just unload everything here, get it under cover, and then if you can, make a third trip. In fact, make as many trips as we have diesel for. Keep some people here for protection.”

“Alright, John. I’ll see if Jack can help us out again.”

“Get the P90s and the 5.7 ammo unloaded and put it in my cabin, in the basement. Take all of the M16s, they’re the A2 model, and the 5.56 ammo and stick it in your basement. We’ll work on an armory when I get back, but for now, I want it stored separately. No sense in taking chances. I’ll start a training program later.”

“I got it, John. You take care of business, I’ll see to things here.”

John looked like he was going to say more, but decided against it when Sara arrived. She threw her backpack into the Humvee and climbed into the passenger side. John jumped up into the driver’s side and closed the heavy door. At least it’s the up-armored version, John thought to himself, but I bet they never had undead monsters in mind when they put armor on these things.

John managed to spin the tires on the dirt driveway as they pulled out onto the little road, headed for the barricade, and the Zed filled town beyond.

*

They made good time until they passed through West Brattleboro and made it into the center of town. John tried to skirt the main part of it, but many of the roads were blocked by overturned or abandoned trucks that the Humvee couldn’t muscle out of the way. They had been forced through downtown Brattleboro, where vehicle traffic had been lighter on the fateful day the Zeds had swept through.

But where it lacked in traffic obstructions, it more than made up for in Zeds. Buttoned up tight in their armored Humvee, they ignored the hideous creatures for the most part. It started with a small group of Zeds wandering around an overturned hot dog cart that had been long since cleaned out of anything edible. One of the Zeds still wore a white apron, turned brown with streaks of old, dried blood. They turned as a mass when the Humvee approached and began shambling towards the vehicle. John ignored them and continued driving, crushing some, while others beat ineffectually at the thick bulletproof windows. The powerful diesel engine had no trouble driving over the reanimated corpses, though. John noticed Sara’s shocked expression as she witnessed the Zeds on the outside for the first time.

Halfway through downtown Brattleboro, where Main Street intersected with Flat Street, they ran into their first real Zed pack since the Battle of the Barricade. One moment they were powering through a handful of the creatures, and the next they were surrounded on all sides by hundreds, perhaps thousands of the rotting, stinking monsters. They swarmed the vehicle like insects, even climbing up and over it. They blocked out all light, leaving John and Sara completely blind. John brought the vehicle to a halt, afraid that if he kept going, he would hit something and strand them there until they ran out of food and water. Or worse, breach the armored shell that was keeping them alive.

Sara double and triple checked the door locks and clutched her P90 tightly as sweat beaded on her brow despite the cold October day. John reached over and took her hand in his reassuringly. “We’ll be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

Sara nodded but said nothing, bravely keeping her terror inside herself. Ghastly faces, half rotten and filled with blackened, writhing tongues stared in at them, pressed hard against the glass of the windows. The growling and moaning from the Zeds became a cacophony of terrifying noise. “What are we going to do?”

John looked up at the ceiling as loud thumping came from outside. “Just hold on. I’ve got a plan.”

He revved the engine, causing the big vehicle to vibrate wildly. Then, he pressed the horn down, and held it.

Sara looked at him and shouted. “This is your plan? To honk the horn? Are you insane?”

John looked at her and grinned as sunlight streamed through the windshield. Zeds were scrambling over each other to get off the vehicle.

“It’s working, isn’t it?” John stomped on the accelerator as soon as he could see, barreling through the throng of Zeds in front of him.

“I can’t believe that worked!” Sara yelled as John continued to blare the horn.

“Me either. But I couldn’t think of anything else. Maybe they don’t like the noise, or maybe it’s the vibrations. Hell if I know.”

John drove the Humvee through, up, and over the tightly packed Zeds clogging the formerly picturesque Main Street. The vehicle slid over the squished bodies, but kept its traction, proving what a superior vehicle it was. John held the gas pedal down and did his best to steer through the mass of writhing undead until finally, like a rodeo horse let out of the chute, the Humvee burst clear of the pack. Shambling stragglers fell as John ran them down and kept going. He switched on the windshield wipers as he drove. The wipers smeared the blood and bits of rotting flesh all over the windshield, making it difficult to see until finally, after several passes, the wipers cleared the gunk. Sara shouted in glee as the road ahead opened up before them. As they pulled away from the pack, John looked in his rear view mirror and thought he saw a handful of Zeds standing on a nearby rooftop, just watching them as they drove away. He tried to ignore the shiver that crept up his spine.

As they neared the plastics factory just south of town, they came to an intersection. Sara shouted, “Stop!”

John slammed on the brakes, causing the Humvee to skid sideways moments before they would have hit Jose’s truck. The big pickup truck was parked dead center in the intersection, with a big dent on the driver’s side. John pointed to skid marks in the road, leading directly to the side of Jose’s truck.

“Look at that. Someone hit him.” John pointed the tracks out to Sara. “Stay here and cover me. I’ll check it out.”

“Be careful.” Sara climbed into the back of the Humvee, unlatched the turret hatch, and climbed up. She dutifully scanned the area while John climbed out. He shut the door behind him, just in case. Aiming his P90 in front of him, he walked up to the pickup. As he reached the door, he could see the glass had been smashed out of the side window. Jagged little spikes stuck up from the door frame. He glanced down and saw blood on the glass. Then he looked into the cab of the truck. He turned back to Sara.

“It’s empty. No sign of him,” he called back to her.

“Then he could still be alive.” She said it as a statement, not a question.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He turned back to the truck.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to spin around just as Sara yelled, “John! Behind you!”

An old woman, dressed in rags that might once have been a fancy dress, and a black hat with a tattered veil came walking towards the truck. John brought his weapon up and tightened his finger on the trigger. Just as he was about to fire, the woman stopped.

“If you’re looking for your friend, he ain’t here.” The woman spoke in a shrill voice, almost painful to the ear.

John looked at Sara, confusion on both of their faces. He looked back at the woman. “What do you know about our friend?”

She shuffled forward a few steps, then spit a big gob of red phlegm onto the ground at John’s feet. “I know plenty.”

John looked down at the crap inches away from his boot. He briefly thought about shooting her just on principle, but stayed his hand. “Lady, I don’t have time for this. Tell me where our friend is now.”

“John…please,” Sara said warningly.

“Alright. Please,” John said.

The old lady looked up at Sara. “You best be listening to your woman, boy, and show a God fearing old woman some respect.”

John kept quiet and let the old lady talk. She spat again, this time off to the side. “Anyway, he ain’t here. He went away.”

“Went away? Where did he go?” John ground his teeth in frustration.

“He went that way.” The old woman pointed down a side street. John looked down the road and saw that the street ended at an old brick church.

“To the church?” John asked.

“Might be, might be not. How should I know? I’m just a crazy old woman.” The old lady cackled in maniacal glee. She turned around and ambled up a dirt path and into the woods.

John and Sara watched her walk away. “I don’t like this one bit,” John said.

“Me either, but maybe he’s okay. Maybe he found some other survivors?”

“Yeah, that’s another thing. It’s broad daylight, we’re not that far from the biggest pack of Zeds we’ve seen so far, and there’s a crazy old lady walking around alone. And not a single, solitary Zed to be seen.”

Sara looked around, eyes wide in surprise. “You’re right. That doesn’t make any sense. Christ, she was scary.”

John nodded, “I don’t know how much Christ had to do with that.. woman’,” he said, and climbed back into the Humvee. Sara climbed down out of the turret and closed the latch, securing it from the inside. They drove down the side street, right up to the front of the church. The sign out front had been covered with white paint, with new words in red sprayed over it. The sign now read “Church of Azrael”.

“Azrael?” Sara said as she took several of the 50 round magazines from her backpack and stuck them into her coat pockets.

“Angel of death. Or Gargamel’s cat.” John said as he did the same.

“Gargamel?”

“Yeah, you know, from the Smurfs?”

Sara shook her head and checked her weapon.

“Oh come on! It’s classic TV!”

*

John led the way as they walked up the steps to the church. They brandished their P90s at shoulder level, their fingers on the triggers, contrary to every firearm safety lesson John had ever given his wife. As they drew closer to the wooden double doors, a strange scent wafted past them.

“What’s that awful smell?” Sara asked.

“Hell if I know, but it really stinks!” John said, wrinkling his nose.

“Something about it’s familiar, but I can’t place it,” Sara said, walking close behind John.

They reached the doors. John pulled on one. It opened outward, creaking ominously. “This is the part of the movie where we turn around and go home,” John mumbled.

Sara pushed him forward with her hand on the small of his back.

The inside of the church looked just like any other church before Zed Day, as the Mason clan had taken to calling the rising of the undead. Actually encompassing several days, the name had still stuck among those at the compound. The only difference was the clutter. Piles of boxes, containers, gallon jugs, and other supplies lined each wall. Two rows of pews led up to a raised altar, separated in the middle by a wide aisle. On the altar, sat several unlit candles, an open bible resting among them. Behind the altar, hanging high, a huge cross was affixed to the wall, with a replica of Jesus in rags nailed to it.

A simple wooden door stood closed behind the altar, directly under the idol. John signaled to Sara, pointing at the door. They walked toward the altar, stepping over cans of peas and chicken noodle soup that had spilled from a cardboard box. When they were only a few feet away from the door, they began to hear music, a low, dreary sound of chanting and some kind of stringed instrument. John reached out and turned the rusty doorknob. The mechanism clicked loudly, causing John to wince. The music continued, however, so John pushed on the door. It swung open silently.

Just as he was about to walk through, John looked up at the cross above his head. It was only then that he noticed the figure on the cross was not a replica of Jesus, but an actual dead man, nailed through the wrists and ankles. Blood had dripped from his wounds and dried into crusty runnels on his flesh. A chunk of his side was missing in the same place a spear wound would have been on any other crucified Jesus.

Sara looked up and realized the same thing John had. She opened her mouth to scream, but John covered it with his hand. He looked Sara in the eye and whispered, “It’s not Jose. It’s not him. It’s not Jose.” He waited a moment until Sara nodded her head, blinking tears away. He took his hand away.

“I’m okay. Let’s move.”

The next room appeared to be part changing room, part office, for whatever priest had been the leader of the previous flock. A desk lay against one wall with a big leather chair in front of it. Blue robes hung from hangers in an open closet. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a single, solitary stained glass window let in the afternoon sun. Another rough wooden door stood at the back of the room, closed. The sounds of chanting and music were louder in here.

After quickly making sure no one else was in the office, they walked to the door in back. John nodded again to Sara. She smiled briefly back at him and raised her gun. John reached over and tried the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge.

“Locked,” he whispered.

They looked around the little office for a key to no avail. Finally, John walked up to the door, raised his right foot, and kicked. His heavy boot thudded into the door, nearly blowing it off its hinges. It clattered halfway down a set of stairs before it wedged solidly into the narrow staircase. A gap big enough for a man was still open beneath it, however. The music stopped suddenly.

Sara looked at John. “Subtle, big man.”

John smiled and moved into the stairway. Dim yellow light shone around the wedged door, but John reached into his pocket and pulled out his Streamlite, a small but powerful flashlight he carried with him everywhere. The bright beam cut through the shadowy darkness of the stairwell. Each stair was covered in dust, except for a path through the center which had been brushed clean from use.

Sara followed John as they walked down the stairs and ducked under the door. At the bottom of the stairs, another doorway stood, this one without a door. John reached the bottom first. He ducked low and stuck his head around the corner. He held up his hand, signaling to Sara to hold her position. After a few moments, he pulled his head back around and motioned Sara closer. Leaning close to her, he whispered directly into her ear. “It’s bad in there, baby. I think you should stay here and cover our exit.”

The pale look on John’s face seemed to have more of an effect on Sara than the harrowing trip to the church. She gulped air into her lungs as if she were a drowning fish. “Jose…is he…?”

“I don’t see him. I saw bodies on tables. And some kind of cage down at the end of the room, but it’s too dim in there to see much more than that. Stay here.”

“No, John. I have to do this. I have to know.” Sara bit her bottom lip until it bled. John considered arguing, but instead wiped her lip with his thumb, then gripped her shoulder in silent support and nodded once.

“Stay close behind me, then.”

John slipped quietly into the room, crouched low to present less of a target, a feat already made difficult by his large size. Sara followed behind, mimicking his approach. The doorway led to a large room running the full length of the church. Stacks of old furniture, boxes, barrels, and other bits of detritus littered the area. Among the debris, tables were laid out with plates, knives, forks, and cups. The plates were piled with red meat, glistening in the dim yellow light. In the center of each table, a body lay spread eagle. A human body. Each body lay in various states of butchery.

Sara let out a little squeak as her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she got her first sight of the tables. John kept moving forward, noticing movement in the big cage at the end. He motioned to Sara by pointing at the cage. They moved towards that end of the room, trying to avoid looking too closely at the bodies. Mercifully, the dim light hid most of the carnage.

As they got closer, they could tell that what they thought to be one large cage was actually several smaller ones connected to each other, like prison cells. Or dog kennels, John thought to himself. A bare yellow light bulb dangled by a cord from the ceiling, directly over the center cage. Underneath, in a pool of glowing yellow, lay Jose, tied and trussed like a Christmas goose. His mouth had been taped shut, and his clothes were torn and bloody. Blood dripped down one side of his body from a garish wound in his left arm.

As John stepped forward into the light, Jose’s eyes widened. He twisted his body around to get closer to the side of the cage near John. Sara came up behind John and looked down. As she realized who was in the cage, she reached for the barred door.

“Sara, wait!” John whispered, grabbing her arm. As he held her back, bright fluorescent lights flickered to life on the ceiling. Several people stood up from hiding places all throughout the room, pointing old rifles and other weapons at them. John saw at least one person that held nothing but a bloody cleaver in his hand.

John did a quick count as the light steadied. Fifteen. Six men, nine women. At least half were armed with guns. He twisted so his P90 was aimed at the nearest person. He saw Sara do the same out of the corner of his eye and smiled in approval. Good girl, he thought to himself even as he took stock of this new threat.

The old woman they’d met outside took that moment to walk through the door. She let out a high-pitched laugh as she walked to the center of the room. She pulled a rusty old revolver from a black sequined purse and pointed it at John.

“Now you can join your blasphemous friend in serving the flock.” Red spittle dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Several of the people in the room shouted “Amen!”

“Flock?” John asked, keeping his gun trained on the man closest to him. The man held a double barreled shotgun. John judged that to be the most dangerous weapon being pointed at them.

“Azrael’s flock, you heathen!”

“Who the fuck are you people?” Sara shouted angrily. John feared she was losing control of her temper.

The old woman turned to Sara. Her voice dropped an octave as she spoke. “My child, we are Azrael’s flock, saved by the Lord to serve the Angel of Death in his reclamation of this world.”

“What are you talking about?” Sara asked. Behind them, they heard movement in the other cages. John didn’t dare risk looking behind them to see what was going on, though.

“The good Lord sent his Angel of Death, the mighty Azrael, to take his world back from the heathens and the sinners, child. We serve His Angel, and He has given us His bounty to sustain us.” The old woman pointed to one of the tables. John saw that the body on the table, a woman, had had most of its legs removed down to the bone. Heaps of bloody meat were piled high on several plates. A butcher knife stood up from the dead woman’s chest. As he watched, the woman walked over to the table and picked up a chunk of meat. She brought it to her toothless mouth and bit into it. Blood ran down her chin as she gummed the meat. She giggled.

The man with the shotgun spoke up. “Should we put them in the cage with the meat, or convert them?”

“What do you mean, convert us? No one’s converting me!” Sara yelled. A dangerous tone had entered her voice, one John had never heard before.

The old woman spat the chunk of flesh onto the floor. She wiped the back of her hand across her chin, smearing the blood all over her face. “Those who don’t serve to feed the loyal flock become His undead servants, child.” She pointed to the cage on the far right, just beyond the one that held Jose.

John chanced a quick glance in that direction. A Zed stood in the cage, a chain wrapped around one ankle, anchored to the far wall. On the floor next to the Zed, a half eaten arm lay in a pool of blood.

“What the fuck…you sick fucking bastards!” John said, bringing his gaze back to the man with the shotgun.

“Oh my God…are you feeding that thing?” Sara asked.

“Of course we feed it, child. We feed it so it can serve mighty Azrael in converting sinners to do His work. Only when all have been converted will His work be done!”

“Amen! Praise the Lord!” Shotgun man shouted.

John looked at the old woman. “Why aren’t there any Zeds outside?”

“If you mean servants of Azrael, the hand of the Lord protects us and disguises us so the servants know we also serve Him.”

John shook his head, not knowing what to make of the woman. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but Sara beat him to it.

“Let us take my brother out of here, or I’ll kill you.” John let out a sigh and shook his head.

“Oh you’re not going anywhere, child, not until you have become one of His servants. And your brother there is going to be honored by feeding His flock. It has been decided by God, and can not be undone! Praise Azrael. Praise God!”

Sara squeezed the trigger of the P90 and held it as the little gun coughed in her hand repeatedly. The old woman’s head burst apart as no less than six 5.7mm steel cored bullets tore through her and struck the wall behind her. The woman’s body jerked and spun in circles.

The man with the shotgun fell half a second later as John shot him in the eye. Before he hit the floor, another man behind him met the same fate. John pointed at a third as Sara ducked behind a barrel. She pointed her gun at the other end of the room and sprayed it back and forth, raking the entire area with the deadly little slugs. John saw several people fall as the first shots rang back at them from the flock.

“Jose, get down!” Sara said through gritted teeth as she shot another follower in the leg, then the head. Bullets zinged past the pair as John dropped another zealot with two well placed shots to the chest. He flicked his selector to full auto and joined Sara in spraying fire at the flock. The return fire stopped almost immediately.

Sara pulled the now empty magazine from her weapon, dropped it on the floor, and drew another from her pocket. She slammed it into the magazine well on top of the weapon and shot a woman as she crawled across the floor toward the door. The woman stopped moving.

Only a handful of flock members were still conscious and moving, most having cowered behind wooden chairs or boxes. John took careful aim at the obstacles and fired his weapon. The steel cored bullets easily tore through the wooden obstacles and killed the men and women behind them.

In a matter of moments, the fight was over. John stood up and walked across the room. Moans came from behind a stack of crates. He pulled the crates over, causing them to crash across the floor. A gray haired old man cowered there.

“Mercy, grant me mercy, I have done the Lord’s will!” he begged.

John lowered his weapon. He started to turn when he noticed the bloody butcher knife stuck through the man’s belt. John turned back to the man and pulled the trigger twice. The gray haired old man slumped to the ground, dead.

John turned back to the cages. Sara had already opened the cage door that held Jose. She knelt down and pulled the tape from Jose’s mouth. The boy’s dry throat emitted what would have been a scream.

“Sara, get me out.” His terrified whisper was quickly followed by tears.

John reached the cell and handed his knife down to his wife. As she began slicing through the boy’s bonds, John shot the Zed in the head. As the creature fell to the ground, John noticed the priest’s collar around its neck.

Jose stood up, rubbing his raw wrists. He pointed to the cages on the other side of his. “You have to let them out too.”

John looked at the cages and noticed for the first time each one held several cowering figures. They had hidden in the corners or pressed themselves to the floor as the shooting had started. John opened the first cage, which held a teenaged girl and an older woman. A third figure lay prone on the ground. The woman looked up at John. “He fell when the shooting started. I think he’s been shot.”

“Do you know him?” John asked as he rolled the prone man over, he saw that she had been correct. An entrance wound lay just over the man’s heart. He felt for a pulse but found none.

“No, he was already here when they brought my daughter and me in four days ago.” She pulled the teen girl close as they walked past the dead man.

John moved on to the next cell, and the one after that. Each one had three people in it. Sara helped Jose out of the cage. His legs were not yet working correctly as they moved out and headed for the doorway. She held her P90 out in front of them one-handed. John noted with pride that the gun pointed steadily in front of her.

The other prisoners followed them, some picking up weapons from the dead zealots, with John bringing up the rear. As he walked past a body he noted again the strange smell, stronger than ever before. As he bent down to examine the body closer he noticed from the corner of his eye that Sara had crossed back into the room.

She had stopped at the old woman’s corpse and bent down to see what was left of her skull. Standing again, she began to kick the body in the stomach. “You mother fucker,” she yelled. “You sick bitch! My brother? Who the fuck do you think you are?” She kept screaming, words phasing into animalistic yells. The mother of the teenager covered her daughter’s ears.

“She’s not normally like this,” John attested to the crowd of the newly released prisoners.

Jose crept over to his sister, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her away from the woman. “I’m okay, Sara. I’m right here. We’re okay. Please, let’s get out of here.”

Sara regained herself, but the look of rage didn’t leave her face. “Yeah, let’s go,” she said, retraining her P90 and leading the group up the stairs. John held post at the back, trying not to look at the faces of the fallen strewn on the tables.

They walked out of the church and into the sunlight. Some of the ex-prisoners cried openly in the parking lot of the parish. Sara urged the group on towards the waiting Humvee. John scanned the area but saw nothing threatening. Not willing to take any chances, however, he pulled open the passenger door.

“I know it’s going to be a tight fit, but everyone climb in. Sit on someone’s lap if you have to. Sara, you drive. I’ll be in the turret.” He reached in and grabbed the extra P90 he’d brought. Jose’s face broke into a toothy grin as John handed the little gun to him.

“The selector switch is here, and the shells drop from here…” John began, glad to know that at least something would be able to make his brother-in-law smile.

“Duh, man. I know all about the P90. I have one in Call of Duty!”

John shook his head and handed Jose a couple of extra magazines.

“Alright, we’re heading back to our compound. You’ll be safe there, and there’s plenty of food. Anybody who doesn’t want to come, you’re free to go.”

People began climbing into the Humvee. Jose pulled John aside. “We have to go pick up the plastic for the armor. It’s not very far away.”

“Forget it, Jose. We have to get these people back to the compound.”

“No, we have to get the plastic. I can finish the armor. We’ll be safer every time we leave the compound. John, we’ll have a… what’s the word…a tactical advantage.”

John looked at Jose. The teen’s face showed none of the horror he’d endured, just hope and enthusiasm. He thought back to all of the family members he’d lost to Zed attacks. Simple little slips that led to bites. He thought about who would still be with them if they’d had such an advantage. Dad, he thought. Dammit.

He sighed. “Alright, but we’ll have to make another trip. We don’t have room for anything extra. It’ll be tight as it is.”

“Take me back to my truck. It still runs. I hit my head on the steering wheel when they sideswiped me, but it’ll go.”

John thought for a moment. “Alright, we’ll go get the truck, but I’ll drive it. You’re with Sara. You were way out of line leaving the compound like that, and don’t think I’m going to forget it any time soon. I’m not taking any more risks than I have to with you. Jesus, kid, don’t you know what it would do to your sister and your mom if anything happened to you? I don’t think you realize how much they love you, Jose.” Even as he yelled at Jose, John pulled a roll of duct tape from the rear compartment of the Humvee and began wrapping it around Jose’s wounded arm. Sara heard the yelling and walked over.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“We’re going back to get Jose’s truck, then I’m going to drive it to the plastics factory.”

“What? Oh no you’re not!” Sara stomped her foot angrily.

“Sara, sweetheart, I know. Believe me, I know. But Jose’s right, we need this advantage. I believe he can get the armor to work. Think about it.”

“But John, we almost lost him once. We have to get back home!” Sara said, lowering her voice.

John pulled her close and held her. He ruffled her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t you patronize me, John,” she mumbled.

He stopped, realizing he was coddling her. “Baby, we need this. Think of everyone we’ve lost. If we can do anything to keep our people safer, you know we have to do it.”

Sara ground her teeth in frustration. Finally, she softened and relaxed into John’s grip. “Alright, but you’re not going alone,” she whispered. John hugged her tightly.

*

The Humvee pulled up to Jose’s pickup truck. It was exactly as they’d left it, sitting across the middle of the intersection. John climbed down out of the turret.

“Jose, you’re in the turret. Don’t fire at anything unless it gets close to the trucks. We’re not here to take any extra chances.”

Jose nodded and scrambled up into the turret. He pulled his P90 up with him and sat there. Somehow he’d acquired a white head band. He sported the duct tape on his arm like a badge of honor.

John looked into the Humvee and pointed to a grizzled, bearded man in his 60’s. The man now carried the double barrel shotgun and a belt of cartridges.

“Do you know how to use that thing?” John asked.

“Well, it ain’t the M60 I used in Nam, but it’ll do for now.” The man drawled lazily. A heavy scar marred the tanned, wrinkled face, running from forehead to jaw on the left side of his face.

“Good enough. I’m John. John Mason. That’s my wife Sara, and you’ve already met her brother, Jose.”

The man climbed out of the Humvee and shook John’s hand. “Emmet Stoltz.”

“Emmet, I need you to come with me in the truck. We’re going to pick up some supplies at a factory nearby, and then we’ll get you folks to safety. You up for it?”

The older man nodded. “Guess I owe you folks anyway. Might as well start working on that right now.”

John motioned to the truck and ran around to the driver’s side. Emmet jumped in to the passenger side, and John started the vehicle. The engine turned over on the first try. He barely heard Jose’s “I told you so!” as he pulled out in front of the Humvee.

*

The trip to the plastics factory took less than ten minutes. The strange absence of Zeds continued almost until they reached the factory. Just outside the parking lot, a lone Zed in a blue uniform with a badge and a hat that had “Security” emblazoned on it, wandered back and forth, less than twenty feet from a little guard shack. Sara sped up and passed John as they saw the Zed. Jose shot the Zed several times in the chest, neck, and head, as the Humvee approached the parking lot.

John frowned as he pulled into the empty parking lot behind the Humvee. He jumped out and started walking toward Sara, words of rebuke forming on his lips. She slid out of the driver’s seat and held up her hand.

“Don’t, John. Don’t say a fucking word. Just get in there, get what you need, and get back out in one piece.” She said. John heard how brittle her voice was and said nothing.

Jose climbed down from the turret. “I don’t know where the stuff is, but it’s got to be around here somewhere.”

“Tell me what I’m looking for, exactly,” John said to Jose.

The teen thought to himself for a moment. “Just big sheets of plastic. The ones that I have at the compound had this company’s logo on them, so they might have the exact same things here. That’s what we need.” Jose sketched out the general size and thickness of the plastic sheets he need to John.

“Okay. Emmet, come with me. Jose, back up into the turret. Don’t let them sneak up on us.” John and Emmet ran to the employee entrance on the side of the factory.

The two men pushed through the door. John took it as a good sign that the parking lot was completely empty. He pulled out his flashlight and thumbed the switch on, lighting up what seemed to be an employee break room. John led the way, with Emmet a little ways behind. Despite the fact that he had just met him, John felt that he could trust the older man.

They walked past the break room out onto an assembly room floor. John saw light coming from a loading dock area and headed in that direction. As they crossed the big open work room, they were extra cautious. The big machines were mostly hidden in shadow. What little light there was came from several small skylights high above that had long since been covered in a thick film of dust. The entire factory was completely silent, so quiet that every breath the two men took echoed eerily off the walls.

Finally they reached the dock. John played the flashlight around the area until he found what he was looking for. Six big pallets of bundled plastic sheets sat next to the loading dock door. He pointed them out to Emmet. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Emmet didn’t even question John. He simply nodded and pointed to a hand truck, a metal cart with two forks that slid under the pallet and jacked it up for transport. He maneuvered the first pallet to the loading dock and slid the big metal door up. Despite the lateness of the afternoon, bright sunlight poured in, illuminating the interior of the building. Dust motes floated about, but nothing more moved within.

“Wait here, I’ll get the truck.” John jumped down off the loading dock and ran to the pickup. He jumped in and backed the truck right up to the dock. A three foot drop from the dock to the truck bed didn’t stop Emmet as he tipped the pallet off the edge of the building. It slid until it fell over and dropped into the bed with a loud crash. The truck bounced dangerously, but quickly stabilized, though it rode noticeable lower on the tires.

“One’s enough. Let’s get out of here. Are you coming with us to the compound?” John asked as Emmet jumped down and got in the passenger side.

“I might as well. I don’t have anywhere else to go. Damn zombies found my hidey hole. Only reason I got bushwhacked by those sons-a-bitches in the first place. I was on the run.”

“Well, good. Glad to have you.” John drove over to the Humvee and pulled up next to the driver’s side. Sara tried to roll the window down but soon realized it didn’t come down and opened the door.

“We’re going to go down into Guilford and loop around through the back roads to the compound. We’ll come in through the southern barricade. We’d never make it back through town.”

“Good. Let’s get going.” Sara said quickly. John moved as if to kiss her but she had already gotten back in the vehicle. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

*

The two vehicles followed the back roads, which in some places turned to dirt, through the little town of Guilford, and reached the south entrance to the compound in under half an hour. Night had fallen by the time they arrived at the barricade. They were met by Richie Kensington, the man who had gone with Jack and the rest of them on the trip to the National Guard bases. He waved as he recognized John and disappeared behind the barricade.

Moments later, it rolled aside, and John and Sara drove through. They parked just outside the gate to the Mason compound and were met by Patrick and several others. Deirdre was there as well, wringing her hands anxiously exactly like John had seen Sara do. He smiled at their resemblance. Deirdre broke into a huge smile of relief when Jose jumped down out of the turret. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his shirt and now stood there, P90 in hand, still wearing the white headband. He hugged his mother as she ran up, tears streaming down her smiling face. Sara picked up her backpack and gun and took off at a fast walk toward the cabin without saying a word. John moved to follow her but Patrick stopped him.

“More refugees?” he asked.

John turned to Patrick. “Yeah, we rescued them from some weird Zed worshiping cult in town.”

“Seriously? As if everything else weren’t bad enough already. Lord almighty, who needs Zeds when you have people like that?”

“You don’t know the half of it.” John started to walk off after his wife.

“Oh, I sent the trucks back up to the base. Jack’s in charge. He already radioed back that they were okay and bedded down for the night. They should be back tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s great, Uncle Patrick. Listen, can we do this later? I need to go make sure Sara’s alright. It was pretty rough out there. And from now on, downtown is off limits.”

Patrick nodded. He walked off toward the new refugees, welcoming them.

John ran up the driveway toward the cabin. As he reached it, he found Sara doubled over on the porch, vomiting over the side. He came up behind her and gently held her hair up and out of her way. After several minutes, she stopped and turned around. “God damn, a girl can’t even puke in peace,” she noted. She wiped her face and jumped into his arms. John felt her sobbing quietly but said nothing, just holding her. Eventually, she stopped and pushed back, looking up at him.

Before she could speak, John beat her to it. “The first time is always the hardest. But it never really gets easier.”

“What?” she asked, looking confused. She wiped tears from her eyes with her sleeve.

“Killing someone. I don’t mean Zeds, either.”

“But, they were going to kill us. They were bad people! They were eating people for Christ’s sake! I don’t feel bad, John. Not one bit. You don’t mess with my little brother and think you can get away with it. I was happy to have nonviolent arguments with hate filled religious bigots when they were protesting gay marriage down in Massachusetts, but if you fuck with my family, expect to get fucked with.”

“I know, baby, and they deserved it. You did good today. I’m really proud of you.”

She smiled at him, happy to have his approval. “I don’t want to do that again if I can help it.”

“Good. I don’t want you to have to do that ever again either.”

As John opened the cabin door, Princess hurtled out of the dark interior and jumped into his arms. All three fell to the floor laughing as Princess gifted them with puppy slobber.

Chapter 15

October 31, Zed Year One

Brattleboro Vermont

The days immediately following the rescue of Jose and the others from the strange Zed cult were filled with activity. Several trips were made to the National Guard base for supplies, until it was, for all intents and purposes, cleaned out. Those same supplies had to be stored, and for that, temporary shelters were erected around the Mason compound. Some were made from logs and planks taken from a nearby lumber yard, others were tents taken from the National Guard bases or tarps thrown over the non-perishable goods such as clothing, boots, tools, and other miscellaneous items. John was amazed at what the residents had been able to do in only a few days when they didn’t have to follow building codes or OSHA standards.

John began organizing a training program for the survivors, now numbering over a hundred in the Mason compound alone. A large group that had wandered in on their own while he and Sara had been out looking for Jose, along with the folks they had rescued, had significantly added to the group’s population. The Kensingtons on the other side of the valley now consisted of thirty-nine survivors.

The training program consisted of firearms safety and use, as well as what limited battlefield first aid John thought might be necessary. Each adult was trained and given a weapon, either an M16, P90, or one of the other various weapons they’d collected, including several models of pistols as well. John further organized some of the adults into squads for special duties. One of the squads he called the Fast Response Safety Team, or F.R.S.T. They, of course, called themselves First Squad. They were issued P90s and were charged with always carrying their weapons and ammo, even while off duty, as they would respond first to any Zed appearance at the barricades or anywhere else in the valley. They had the use of a few four-wheelers salvaged from a local motorcycle dealership in order to better respond to any incident within the valley.

John also set up and began training special squads who would be responsible for protecting the scavengers and other groups who had to leave the valley for various reasons. Two more Humvees had been added to the fleet of vehicles. A post and beam garage had been built just outside the gate, on the other side of the road, where the vehicles could be maintained as well as the few mechanics in the valley could manage.

Sara kept her young charges learning at a faster pace than children in the old days. John loved to stand outside the window of the little school house and listen as Sara instructed her students on everything from history to math to science to firearm safety. She had a knack for teaching to the most advanced students while bringing the younger ones right along with them. He was most impressed that the children seemed to love her accelerated teaching style.

The teaching of firearm safety had been a tough decision for many. There had been an impromptu town meeting about it when a few of the parents and foster parents had objected. The objections had been quickly overturned when Sara had reminded them that most of the children didn’t have parents anymore and that guns were a tool that each of them would have to master to stay alive in the new Zed order. Even Douglas, who had been one of the initial objectors, couldn’t deny the logic and let the matter drop.

But one thing dominated everyone’s mind in those few days, and managed to keep a smile on peoples faces even through all the hard work and the cold, fall days. Halloween.

“Where did you get all the pumpkins?” John asked, staring wide eyed at the pyramid of orange, basketball sized gourds piled behind their cabin.

“Morgan and Jose found them this morning in a field a mile down the road from the southern barricade,” Sara said, smiling in satisfaction. “They gathered all the good ones they could find and brought them back.”

“They went out alone?” John said, a touch of anger rising in his voice.

“Relax, John. They took some of your escort squad with them.”

His face relaxed, and he even felt a smile form on his lips. Maybe he was being too hard on Sara lately. “Sorry. I just don’t want to risk anyone we don’t have to. But wow, look at this! I hadn’t even thought about pumpkins. You’re really going all out for this party, aren’t you?”

“When have you ever known me not to go all out for a party?”

John chuckled and shook his head. He froze in mid shake, eyes going wide. “Wait, does this mean…”

“Oh yeah, baby. Pies. Pumpkin Pies.”

“I love you.”

*

The festivities started in the afternoon on the thirty-first. It was a Sunday, but Sara had begun teaching the children six days a week instead of five, Sunday through Friday, so school had to be let out early. The decision to teach on Sundays instead of Saturdays had been far less controversial than expected, and it helped fill the gap that a sudden absence of church activities had opened up in many people’s lives.

Children ran and jumped and laughed as they burst from the little school house, hats and coats half on as they jostled each other to be the first out the door. John jumped aside as he walked up the little pathway toward the school. The children waved to him as they ran past. He laughed and waved back.

Sara was walking around the classroom, picking books and pencils up from desks, humming a Beatles tune to herself. She glanced up as John walked into the room, the afternoon sun streaming in through the open doorway behind him. She smiled as he kissed her.

“Well hello there, handsome.”

“Howdy, Ms. Sara,” he said, smiling. “I just narrowly avoided being the victim of a stampede outside. What did you do to them to make them want to escape so badly?”

“Oh don’t blame that on me. They are working on a surprise for the party tonight. They won’t tell me what it is, but they’re very excited about it.”

“A surprise? That sounds rather ominous.”

“You have no idea. I love teaching these kids, John. They are all so bright and anxious to learn. Even though most of them have been through the meat grinder, they still act like children. They’re amazing.”

“They’re certainly adjusting better than many of the grown ups out there.”

“So, are you here on business, or pleasure?” Sara asked, raising her eyebrows as she pulled her husband closer to her body. John smiled down at her.

“I thought I’d come and ask the teacher if she wants to have a little lunch with me before the party starts. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Sara’s eyes lit up. “Oh? What is it?”

John sat the little basket he’d been carrying behind his back down on a desk and opened it up. “How about a quiet little picnic, just the two of us?” He pulled a bright red thermos out of the basket. “I’ve got some apple cider, too.”

Sara beamed at him. “Sounds perfect!”

*

After their private lunch, John left Sara to her party preparations. He walked throughout the camp until he came to a big green army surplus tent. In front of the tent, an iron stove had been erected. Smoke curled up from a roaring fire, dispelling the October chill from the air. In front of the tent, Jose sat on a stump, a piece of blackened, shriveled plastic in his hand. He cursed loudly and threw the offending piece onto the ground. He turned to the opening of the little tent and mumbled, “I told you the fire was too hot.”

“Hey, Jose. Things not going well?”

Jose looked up, startled. Dark circles surrounded his eyes. “Oh, it’s fine, for the most part. I just wasn’t paying enough attention to this one and it caught on fire. It’s the last piece, too.”

John started to look inside the tent but Jose jumped up and intercepted him, standing between John and the half open tent flap.

“It’s not done yet. I don’t want anyone to see it until it’s ready.”

John nodded. “Okay, no problem, man. I was just curious. I guess you found everything you needed?”

Jose nodded quickly. “Yeah, I had a little trouble finding enough leather, but your uncle Patrick helped me find enough. I’m going to have it done before the party if I can just get this last piece to bend how I want it.”

John clapped Jose on the back. “Alright, I’ll let you get to it, but make sure you come down to the party and have some fun tonight. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Jose said. Then he looked up at John and shrugged. “Maybe.”

That seems to be our motto lately, John thought to himself.

*

Evening came on quickly in the late fall in Vermont. One minute the sun was shining, warming with its rays, and the next, nightfall was upon them. The party had been going for a while, and several big bonfires dotted the compound. Everyone but the barricade guards wandered about, drinking apple cider, beer, wine, and various other things they’d found or brewed themselves. Sara had set up cooking fires and tables around the camp, each loaded with different kinds of foods and beverages. “Just like a round robin!” she had explained. “Everyone will have to move around and mingle to get a full meal.” John had laughed when she explained her plan to socialize the original compound members with the new ones. It was so Sara. Everything from roast turkey and venison, beef, bear stew, and chicken to pumpkin and apple pies loaded the tables, and her plan was working. Everyone was mixing and mingling, chatting together about the weather, the children, and other normalities. The Kensingtons came over and joined in, bringing food and drink to add to the party.

One of the generators had been co-opted for music, with someone’s I-pod connected to some old stereo equipment they’d found in a nearby house. Big old speakers stood on tripods around the place, with festive, upbeat music thumping out in the night. Christmas lights were connected to the generator and snaked through the tree limbs that were losing more leaves as Autumn took its toll.

John Mason strolled through the compound, a thick slab of bear steak on a plate in his hand, with canned potatoes and carrots piled next to the dark brown meat. A smile lit his face as he caught a whiff of pumpkin pie. He found Sara sitting on a bench gobbling down turkey and dressing, drowned in canned gravy. She was wearing the fancy pink taffeta dress he had brought her. He sat down next to her and took a big bite of his steak.

“That dress looks really great on you, sweetheart.”

Sara grinned at him around a mouthful of turkey.

“Why thank you!” she exclaimed after chewing her food. “And thanks for getting it for me. I feel like I’m at a prom, class of 1985.”

He laughed. “You know how I feel about girls from the eighties! Halloween is the one night a year you’ll let me remember what big hair does to me. Plus I understand how important this party is to you, you should look extra special tonight.”

Sara smoothed her pretty pink dress out with one hand, beaming at John. “I tried to tease my hair, but without hairspray, it fell flat.”

Just then, Douglas ran up to to the couple, puffing from the exertion. He waved a wrinkled piece of white paper in front of John.

“What’s wrong, Doug?” John stood up, a worried look on his face.

“I found more!” Douglas panted.

“More what? Calm down. Just spit it out, man.”

“More survivors. I found more survivors on the radio. I found two more compounds, and they think there are at least two more that don’t have radios yet.”

“What? Really? Where?”

“The biggest one is over on the coast, near Portsmouth, New Hampshire. They have almost a thousand survivors! And another one near Manchester with three hundred survivors. They think there are at least two more to the north, in the White Mountains, but they don’t have radios.” Douglas grinned.

“Well hell, that’s good news!” John smiled, ignoring Douglas’ redundancy in his excitement. He saw Sara wipe her eyes. “We’re not alone.”

The festivities continued, food and drink flowing freely. A few of the survivors had pulled out battered old guitars and other instruments and played for awhile, making everyone smile. Finally, Sara stood up on the mismatched stage she’d had built out of old pallets and plywood. The music died down as she raised her voice.

“We have a special treat tonight. The children have made something they’d like to share with us. I have no idea what it is, but they’re very excited about it, so let’s see what they’ve made.”

Scattered clapping and laughter bubbled up from the crowd of happy party-goers as Sara stepped down and found John in front of the stage. Several of the children, dressed in makeshift costumes resembling everything from animals to clowns to things no one could identify, pushed a tall, tarp-covered contraption on wheels up onto the stage. John looked at the three children they’d taken in with pride as they pushed and pulled the lumbering object into place. Finally, they seemed happy with its location.

One boy, about twelve years old, blond with bright blue eyes, walked up to the tarp, reached under it, and came back with an old wooden Louisville slugger in his hand. He yanked the tarp down with the other hand as the children cheered wildly.

The adults in the crowd became silent.

On stage, the tarp fell completely to the ground and revealed a life size, papier-mache Zed, complete with tattered old clothing. Its face leered eerily, pale and marred by blood-red scars and bone-white teeth. Pieces of black coal glittered in deep eye sockets. Stringy hair hung limply from its head. The Zed hung by a noose, tied to a wooden frame the enterprising young children had somehow built in secret.

As the adults looked on in silent horror, the children formed a circle around the wooden frame. Each of them held a stick or bat of some kind. The circle began rotating around the frame as the children laughed. As they passed behind the Zed, each child swung at it before moving on so the next child could take a turn. They hooted and howled wildly as they hit it.

Then, as one, the children began chanting as they took their turns hitting the Zed.

“Dead man, dead man,

shamble along,

dead man, dead man,

what went wrong?

dead man, dead man,

we are few

dead man, dead man,

but we’ll kill you.”

Sara muttered, “Oh god.”

Many of the adults began to whisper to each other. A few were openly weeping.

“Shhh…I think they need to do this,” John whispered back, hugging Sara to him.

With a final howl of glee, the children attacked in unison, splitting the Zed apart. Candy burst from the paper body like rainbow colored blood, spilling all over the stage. The children dropped their bats and scrambled for the plastic wrapped booty.

Adults gasped as the Zed split open.

John and Sara held each other quietly, tears in their eyes, as the children laughed with joy as they claimed their sugary treasures.

The party continued even after the Zed pińata had been cleared away. Sara had left John to see to the children and to make sure that none of the adults would interfere in their fun, no matter how bizarre they found it.

John stood with Emmet Stoltz around a small fire. They sipped cool dark beer from brown bottles with labels printed in German.

“The last scavenging party we sent out said they didn’t see a single Zed out there.” He raised his bottle and looked at it. “They were able to bring back quite a few…necessities.” John grinned.

“Funny, I never would have bought this stuff if the world hadn’t fallen to shit.” Emmet drawled, taking a long pull from the frosty bottle.

“Here’s to the world falling to shit, then.” John raised his bottle and clinked it with Emmet’s. They both chuckled as they drank.

Down the pathway, from around a bend, Jose walked, clad neck to ankle in mottled brown plastic covered with leather straps and bright silver buckles. He wore high off road motorcycle boots that went over the plastic armor on his legs, and had a motorcycle helmet under his left arm. He pulled a big net sack with his right arm. He was mumbling loudly as he dragged the bag behind him. “Come on, you could help a little, you know? It’s not my fault you got clumsy.” He stopped talking as soon as he saw John and Emmet staring at him. He straightened up and looked at them.

“What do you think? I told you I’d finish it tonight!”

“Yeah, but you were supposed to make it for me, not you. I’m not letting you out there in that, Jose.” John walked toward his brother-in-law as he spoke.

“Duh. I made one for you too, in size Extra Dorky.” Jose grinned at his own joke.

John looked down at the net sack and saw an identical set of plastic armor, spray painted in matte black.

“I finished yours first. It’s got a little extra something in it. I went for speed on mine, though.”

“How’d you know my size?” John asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Dude, Sara told me. She knows your body disgustingly well, and I’d like to never talk about that again. Or else, you know, I’d have to kill you.”

Chuckling at such a protective brother sort of answer, John and Emmet began pulling pieces of armor from the sack. Flat black pieces of plastic had been heat-molded into tubular shapes that slid over John’s arms and legs in segments. Each piece consisted of a hard outer piece of plastic with a soft, thick fabric inside. The joints were made of the same fabric covered by thick leather.

Emmet picked up a piece and looked inside. “Is that…”

“Bullet proof? Yep! I sewed pieces of those vests we got from the police station in town inside yours. I left them out of mine, cause I want speed.”

“Do you think the Zeds are going to start shooting back?” John said, as he pulled a thigh section up his thick right leg.

“Hey, you’re the one that pissed off those guys at the Guard base.”

“That’s true, but I doubt that this stuff you sewed together would hold up to something like those guys could deliver.” John raised his arms as Emmet helped him into the chest piece. It was actually two segments, a front and back, that opened at the bottom like a clam shell. Emmet fastened it together with the provided belts and buckles, pulling it tight. John was surprised at how much movement it allowed him, while still seeming to cover everything with either the hard plastic or thick leather.

“Relax, John. I had help designing it.” He flicked his eyes quickly toward the path he had just come from. John noticed the glance.

“What do you mean? Other than Sara telling you my dimensions? Who helped you?”

“Oh, uh, I mean, I read some books. It’ll work, you’ll see.” He handed John a motorcycle helmet from the bag. It was a full faced helmet with a piece of the heavy plastic covering the visor with a narrow slit for viewing. The neck had been covered with heavy leather, which slid down inside the chest piece. A row of short spikes dotted the top of the helmet like a mohawk. The padding inside the helmet had been replaced with the Kevlar fabric, two or three layers thick.

John stood in the armor, with the helmet on and fastened down and looked at Emmet. Emmet looked between John and Jose, noticing the differences in the armor.

“You look like a tank, John. I like the spikes on the arms. For punching?” Emmet asked Jose, as he rotated one of the spikes on John’s arm. It lay pointing backwards along the outside of the arm, on a hinge. Jose nodded to Emmet, his helmet wobbling with his head. Emmet pulled the spike out and swung it around so it pointed towards John’s hand. It locked into place, the point laying about eight inches past John’s hand. He pulled on it but it didn’t so much as budge.

Emmet raised his eyebrows in appreciation of Jose’s craftsmanship. “That’s some good, solid work, kid.”

“I told you, it’ll work.”

John walked over to Jose, surprised at how easy it was to walk in the suit of armor. It fit him like a glove, and not a single piece wobbled or felt loose.

“Jose, you’re a good man, and you’re smart, but how on earth did you make this so…perfectly? Not the size, but how it works. How’d you do it?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jose quipped.

“Try me.”

“Fine. I had help.”

“From?”

“Eddie.”

John blinked. “Eddie? Your friend Eddie? Dead Eddie?”

Emmet looked back and forth between John and Jose, the utter strangeness of two men in plastic armor and motorcycle helmets lost in the face of the conversation.

“Yeah, that Eddie. He’s not dead. I mean, he is dead, but he talks to me sometimes.”

“Jose… what are you talking about?” John lowered his voice, not wanting any nearby party-goers to overhear the conversation if they happened to wander by.

“He talks to me sometimes. Like, I don’t know. I… god, I don’t know. Like that movie you like with the…crap, you know.” He made his voice sound raspy and kind of British. If you kill me I’ll just be more powerful when I come back.’”

John shook his head. “That’s Star Wars, A New Hope, and you mangled it a bit. Are you saying Eddie’s a Jedi?”

“No, I mean like a ghost. Like, he comes back to help me and told me some things to make the armor better.”

John stared at Jose for a moment. “Jesus. I’m… I don’t know what to say.”

Emmet stepped in and slapped Jose on the back. “How bout for starters, say Nice job, kid.’”

John nodded inside his helmet. “Nice job, kid. We’ll talk more about this later, though.” He looked down at the wicked spike extending from his forearm. He flexed his fist inside the thick leather glove he’d slipped on. How am I supposed to explain this to Sara? he thought to himself. Aloud he said, “Damn nice job.”

*

Later, after the party had quieted except for a few die-hards, John finished hanging the armor up in the little cabin. Sara lay in bed, watching him.

“Do you really think that’s going to work?” she asked. “Will it keep you safe?”

John kept his voice low so as not to be heard by the others in the cabin. “I think it will. It’s solid, far better than I ever thought Jose could do. It’s tough, it’s flexible, and he even made it bullet resistant.”

“How did he know how to do that?”

“Sara, I don’t know. Honestly, he shouldn’t have been able to make anything this…complex.” John scratched his head as he stood there in just his boxers, looking at the armor.

“I have to tell you something, sweetheart. He thinks his friend, Eddie, came back as a ghost and helped him make it. I overheard him talking to himself tonight. He thought he was talking to Eddie’s ghost.”

Sara frowned at John. “That’s so not funny.”

“I wish I was joking. I don’t know what to do about him. I’m worried that he snapped down in the basement of that church.”

Sara’s eyes welled up with tears. “Who could blame him? I should have been there.” John watched as his wife pulled herself out of her guilt before it consumed her. “John, what do we do?”

“I don’t know, but I can’t argue with the results. Whatever happened, whatever he thinks is happening, he may have just helped save a lot of lives. If he can make more of these…well, first, we have to make sure it works. We’ll use it in a test run before we make any more. Hell, if it works, who knows. Maybe the kid really is seeing ghosts.”

“Damn it, John, this is serious!” Sara said, her voice cracking as she spoke. “He’s my little brother,” she said quietly.

“Baby, I know that. But who knows? The dead don’t stay dead. Why not ghosts?” He shook his head at the thought. “Not like we don’t deserve a little help from anywhere after what we’ve been through. Do you know why we’re still alive?”

Sara looked at John. “Because of you.”

John blinked in surprise. “What? No, no, that’s not what I mean.”

“Well, okay then, why are we still alive?”

“Because we not only rolled with the punches, we threw them back. We accepted what was happening and went with it as best we could. Maybe this is one of those situations where we need to just roll with it and see where it takes us.”

Sara shook her head but didn’t say anything, worry for her brother evident on her tired face.

John shucked off his boxers and kicked them into a corner.

“Fuck. I need sleep.” He crawled into bed and pulled Sara close to him.

“Hmm,” she murmured, “that isn’t what I was hoping you needed.” Smiling, he kissed Sara softly on the back of her neck as he pressed against her. She moaned as she felt his lips pressed on her skin. She turned to him, her smooth, hot skin a contrast to his rough, cool flesh. She pressed her lips against his in hungry, love-fueled need. They made sweet, gentle love under the thick blankets, careful not to make too much noise while still making sure the other heard their heated whispers in the dark. When they were done, Sara lay on John’s chest, breathing softly in his arms as she drifted into the deep, uninterrupted sleep that only an orgasm could provide. He kissed her head, completely satisfied, and listened to the sounds of the last few party-goers outside as they finally moved off to their own quarters.

*

John and Sara awoke to the sound of a single gunshot. John picked up his watch and saw that it was only four a.m. He listened, waiting for the telltale sound of automatic gunfire that would signal an attack on the compound. Then, the little radio John kept on his nightstand crackled to life.

“John, you better get down to the square. Something’s happened with Marta.” John didn’t immediately recognize the voice through his sleep haze and the extra static of almost dead rechargeable batteries.

He thumbed the talk button and replied, “On my way.” He jumped out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants, grabbed his P90 from the chair beside the bed, and ran out the door, grabbing his coat on the way. The freezing cold air hit him like a wall as he ran out of the cabin. Sara wasn’t far behind him when he reached the little open area in the center of the compound they’d taken to calling the square. A crowd of people congregated, but they parted as John and Sara approached.

Ahead, a man lay on the ground clutching his leg. His pants were soaked with red liquid. Marta stood near him, a pistol still clenched in her right hand. Her shirt was ripped, one sleeve pulled all the way off. Members of the Fast Response Safety Team stood to either side of her, a few with their weapons trained on the man on the ground.

“What’s going on here?” John asked, louder than he had planned, but gunshots and blood in the middle of the night weren’t the kind of wake up call he’d expected.

Patrick Mason held up his hand and pointed to the man on the ground.

“That’s one of the newcomers that came into town the other day. Apparently, he didn’t know that rape was against the rules.”

Marta spit at the man on the ground. He moaned and clutched his leg tighter. “Goddammit, someone help me! That bitch shot me!”

“What’s your name?” John asked the man. It came out more as a growl than speech.

“Gino. Gino Machio.”

“Well Mr. Machio, is that true? Did you try to assault this woman?”

Gino spat on the ground at Marta’s feet. “Fuck you. I don’t answer to you or anyone else. Who the fuck do you think you are? The cops? In case you hadn’t noticed, there ain’t no cops anymore.”

John kicked Gino in the stomach hard enough to make him gasp for breath. “Answer the damned question, asshole.”

Sara grabbed John’s arm and pulled him back. Marta stepped forward toward John and Sara.

“I was on patrol after the party, making my rounds. This son of a bitch came up to me and asked me to go with him. He said he needed help, that he had a sick kid back in his tent. I went to see and he pulled me in and tried to rape me.” Her voice grew softer as she spoke, her eyes glazing over. “I kicked him and tried to run away, but he came after me. He kept coming, pulling at me, trying to take me down to the ground, so I shot him.” She looked down at the pistol in her hand.

John nodded. “It’s okay, Marta. You’re safe now.” Sara pulled Marta close and hugged her friend, smoothing her hair as Marta decided it was safe to let tears flow. John looked down at the man on the ground. “Well, last chance, punk. Are you going to deny what she just said?”

“I ain’t saying shit. I want a lawyer and a trial.”

John’s mouth dropped open. “What? Are you fucking kidding me? LOOK AROUND! Do you see a courthouse anywhere nearby?” He pulled his foot back to kick Gino again, but Sara stepped in front of him. “Hold on a minute, John. Maybe he’s right.”

John and Marta both looked at Sara in confusion.

“I know, but look, you have to set an example here. This isn’t going to be the last time something bad happens in the compound. We have to have some way to deal with it,” Sara said.

Gino squirmed on the ground. “Yeah! You better listen to your bitch, Captain America.”

Sara turned around and kicked Gino in the face. Blood spurted from his newly broken nose and flowed freely down his face. He fell backward onto the ground, gurgling in pain.

“Shut the hell up while I’m talking. I would have put a bullet in your face if you’d tried that with me, then we’d see who you thought was a bitch,” Sara snarled at the bloody man. She turned back to John and looked expectantly at him.

John stared down at the man, then up at Emmet and Uncle Patrick. Both men nodded to him. John sighed and rolled his eyes. “This was not in my job description.”

*

They held Gino in a tent by himself overnight, tied to an army surplus cot, with a simple bandage tied around his wounded leg. Sara took charge of Marta through the rest of the night, trying to comfort her as best she could while John held an impromptu meeting with Patrick, Emmet, Douglas, and Roger, along with June and May Mason. They stayed behind closed doors for the rest of the night and into the early morning. Sometime after nine in the morning, children began running from tent to tent, announcing that everyone was to assemble at the square in one hour.

At the appointed time, everyone who didn’t have some essential function to perform gathered around the square, those in front sitting on the freezing cold ground so those behind could see. A smaller crowd of people gathered in a semi circle in the center of the square. John stood next to Gino, who had his hands cuffed behind his back. His face was still streaked with blood, and both eyes had swollen up and started to blacken. A white bandage with a touch of red seeping through was wrapped around his leg. He swayed slightly as he stood there, trying not to put pressure on the leg. John gripped his arm to steady him, admiring the results of Sara’s well placed sneaker.

Behind John and Gino, Uncle Patrick, Emmet Stoltz, Douglas, Sara, and Marta stood. All of them wore at least a pistol at their hip, with Emmet holding his double barreled shotgun, now cut down to a much more manageable length, aimed at Gino’s back.

John raised his hand and the crowd grew quiet. “This man in front of you attacked one of our own last night. He did this deliberately, and with the intent to sexually assault someone who has stood on the line for many of you. She defended herself and shot him in the leg, justifiable by any logic.” John paused and looked around the crowd. He made eye contact with several people before continuing. “My first instinct was to shoot him. But cooler heads have prevailed, and convinced me that we must have laws here, if we want to maintain some semblance of civilization.”

John pointed at the man. “He asked for a trial. And in a perfect world, he would have one. But we are not living in a perfect world. And so, we,” John pointed at the others behind him, “have decided the best course of action at this time, with our limited resources and situation, is to create laws that we will live by. And when someone breaks those laws, we will deal with that person swiftly and justly. These laws will govern us for one year. If at the end of that time we think our system is not functioning properly, we will revise it. Does anyone wish to speak against this now?”

No one said a word.

John nodded. “Right. We’re also not going to get into the business of regulating every aspect of your lives. I am not the government. No one here is. We are a family, a clan. We do things differently here. And so, last night, I asked a few people to help me figure out how to put down in writing what we all know to be common sense.”

John saw Douglas shake his head a little at that. He sighed inwardly. It had been a long night.

“And so, we took an example from the Bible. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not declaring anything to do with religion, only that a few simple, logical laws can do what thousands of ridiculous laws could not.”

The crowd of people began asking questions, demanding answers. John held up his hand again, but the crowd noise only rose in volume. He drew his Sig from his shoulder holster and fired twice into the air. Silence greeted him immediately. He reholstered the .45.

“Alright. Law One. You will not intentionally hurt or cause to be hurt another member of this clan.

Law Two. You will not steal from another member of this clan, or from the clan itself.

Law Three. You will pull your own weight according to your abilities, or you will go without.

Law Four. You will defend the clan and members of the clan, with your life if necessary.

Law Five. All living people, without exception, are equal under these laws.

Law Six. All members of the clan have the right and the responsibility to defend themselves when possible, and by whatever means available. Never shall this right be infringed.

Folks, family members, that is all we need at the moment. If, in the future, we need more laws, we will discuss them together. But these six laws are what we will live by as of this moment forward. One day, when needed, we may incorporate these laws into our own Constitution. Let’s work on survival first, though. If you do not agree with these laws, you are free to leave at any time with your belongings, and with no hard feelings.”

Those gathered around the square nodded or voiced their agreements to the six laws. John looked at Gino. “As for you, these laws are retroactive. And you broke Law One. Do you know what the penalty for breaking Law One is?”

Gino shook his head.

“Marta, this man acted against you first, and the clan second. As the victim, you may decide his fate if you so choose.”

Marta shook her head at first, but Sara murmured something in her ear. She straightened, nodded, and walked forward.

“I gave him his punishment already. I shot him down like the dog that he is.” She moved quickly, as if to lunge for Gino, but stopped herself, faking him out. Gino cringed and whimpered, putting weight on his bad leg. He cursed under his breath.

John nodded to Marta. “So be it. But, Gino Machio, you also acted against the clan, and I say you are no longer wanted here. You are to be exiled from this place and forbidden to return, or to enter any future clan holdings as well. And consider yourself lucky that you are alive, for now.” John raised his voice and looked at the crowd, “Does anyone object to this? Speak now, with no fear of recrimination.”

Again, no one spoke a word.

Gino began to stammer. “You can’t do this! If you send me out there, that’s murder!”

John looked Gino square in the eye. “After what you tried to do to Marta last night, take it like a man, you son of a bitch.”

Gino lunged for John, but Emmet was faster. He brought the butt of his sawed off shotgun down on Gino’s head with a loud crack. The stunned man fell to the floor, moaning.

John looked at Emmet. “Get him out of here. Give him a pack with a week’s food and water, a baseball bat, and some antibiotics for the leg. Take him down the road a few miles and dump him. If he comes anywhere near here, treat him as a Zed.”

Emmet nodded. “Shouldn’t be too hard, as he’ll probably be one by then.”

John’s face remained hard. “He chose his own path.”

*

John walked out of the square with Sara in tow, as Emmet and a few others took the exiled man away. Jose walked up to them, dragging a familiar looking girl behind him. “Hey, Sara, John, have you met Michelle?”

John looked at her, trying to place her face from memory. Sara rescued him, as usual when it came to social obligations.

“From the church. You and your mom came back with us, right?” she asked, smiling at the girl. Michelle stood a little taller than Jose, with strawberry blond hair that flew around her head in wispy swirls. She smiled prettily at the Masons.

“How do you do? And my mom says thanks again for taking us in.”

Sara took the girl’s hand. “Oh, you tell your mom she’s very welcome. We’re glad you’re both here.”

“We had a wonderful time at the party last night. That’s the most fun I’ve had since…well, you know.”

Sara laughed. “We know. Tell me, what are you two doing now?”

Jose broke in. “We’re going to go for a walk around the compound and then I’m going to show her my workshop and my truck.”

John laughed and clapped Jose on the shoulder. “Good! Make sure she gets home safe to her mother before dark, though.”

Jose rolled his eyes. “Fine, but not until after she’s met Eddie.”

Sara looked at John in alarm. She looked back at Jose. “Jose, maybe now’s not a good time for her to…uh…meet Eddie.”

John frowned at her. “Oh right. Let me guess, you think I’m going crazy?”

Sara shook her head. “No, that’s not what I said. But you’ve been under a lot of stress and, well…” she lowered her voice and spoke directly to Jose. “Eddie’s dead, Jose. You know that.”

Michelle piped in. “That’s okay, Mrs. Mason. I’ve already met a ghost.”

John and Sara both stared at the girl. Jose grinned.

“You have?”

“Yeah, back in the church. Right before you guys rescued us and after the leader Zed told the old lady to be ready. Some guy appeared right inside the cage and said we’d be rescued soon. It’s no big deal, you know. Not like there aren’t enough dead guys walking around everywhere else. What’s one more?”

She linked arms with Jose and the two of them went off chatting animatedly with each other. John and Sara stood staring at them as they disappeared from view. They turned to each other.

“Great, Jose found someone as loco as he is,” John said.

Sara elbowed him hard. “Not funny.”

*

Emmet returned within the hour, having discharged his duty with an escort of armed men. John met them at the gate and took Emmet’s report.

“Didn’t see one damn Zed anywhere. Not that I’m complaining.”

“Yeah, that matches with what Douglas is getting from the radio. The other two communities he’s been talking to as well as a few smaller groups have been saying the same thing. At least here in the north, the Zeds have gone quiet.”

“There’s something else, John.” Emmet said. He squinted his eyes and took his wool watch cap off. “We saw a plane fly over. Way up high, but looked like a C-130. It was heading northwest.”

“Shit. I wonder if it has anything to do with the Guard base.” John turned, beckoning Emmet to walk with him.

“It was headed more west than that, I think, but who knows? First damn airplane I’ve seen in a while.”

“Alright, we’ll have to keep an eye out from now on. I don’t want anyone getting wind of us unless we know who they are first. We can handle Zeds now, I think, but against the military, I just don’t know.”

Emmet nodded. “I’d bet even money on whoever has the bigger guns.”

John looked at Emmet. “Are you suggesting we need bigger guns?”

Emmet grinned. “Did I say that?”

*

The rest of the day went without a hitch. No Zeds were seen on any of the scavenging trips, and more progress was made in building shelters and storage facilities at the camp.

As night fell, the temperature dropped quickly. John and Sara walked across the compound, headed for their cabin, with little Tommy, Tammy, and Marisa running along behind. Marisa herded the twins like a mother duck, keeping them in line and out of trouble. John squeezed Sara’s hand as they walked.

“How are you going to outdo yourself when Thanksgiving comes around?” he asked, smiling at his talented wife.

“Are we celebrating Thanksgiving, then?” There was no sarcasm in her voice, just genuine curiosity.

“We’re alive when most everyone else isn’t. At least we don’t think so. And besides, anything we can give our people to look forward to is a good thing.”

“You’re right. I’ll do my best.”

They reached the center of the square and noticed a pole had been erected. On the pole, the six laws had been etched onto a piece of sheet metal.

“Someone works fast around here.” John noted, as he touched the shiny metal. The letters were scored deeply. He brushed frost off with his gloved hand and they resumed walking.

Just as they reached the cabin, the first snowflakes began to fall.

Chapter 16

December 1, Zed Year One

Brattleboro, Vermont

“Sara?” John called out. He looked over at the empty spot on the bed next to him. The blankets were rumpled around a slight indent in the old mattress where Sara normally slept. He heard the toilet flush in the bathroom. At least we still have running water, thank God, he thought to himself. He shook his head as he thought about what life would be like without that little luxury.

Sara walked back into the room holding a towel to her face. “Ugh,” she sighed. “I haven’t felt right since the morning after Thanksgiving. I might be coming down with something.”

“I’m not surprised. You ran yourself ragged putting that Thanksgiving feast together. The cold and snow probably haven’t helped much. I’m already looking forward to Spring.” John sat up, the blanket falling away from him. Sara walked over and sat on the bed next to him.

“At least we haven’t had to deal with any Zeds for a few weeks. Rumors in the compound say maybe they’re gone. Maybe they all died when the snow came, or whatever it was that brought them back to life just stopped.”

“I know people are talking, but I’ll believe it when I see proof. Either way, we’re going to keep sending out as many scavenging teams as we can for now. I also have them looking for somewhere we can build a second compound. We’re practically bursting at the seams here.”

“Maybe you could find somewhere with a hot tub?” Sara smiled wistfully. “I miss hot tubs.”

John wrapped his arms around his wife and hugged her tightly. “Me too, sweetheart.”

*

Dierdre came running up the pathway towards John and Sara as they stepped down off the porch of the little cabin. Six inches of glistening snow blanketed the entire compound, lending it a clean, fresh look.

“Geez, Mom, you’re out early.”

“Sara, have you seen Jose?” Dierdre came to a halt, panting slightly from her brisk walk. Her face showed signs of worry.

“Nope, I haven’t seen him yet today. Why?” Sara asked.

“He didn’t come home last night, and he didn’t sleep in his workshop tent.”

“Someone should have said something last night,” John said as he turned and ran back into the cabin. He emerged a few minutes later, his P90 slung over one shoulder, a backpack over the other. He raised a radio to his lips. “Emmet, did Jose leave yesterday?”

Static broke on the radio as Emmet replied. “Hold on, John. I don’t see his name on the log, but two scavenging teams went out during the day. Both returned safely before dark, though.”

“Who led the teams?” John asked.

“Morgan took one out, and Sal Biederman took the other.”

“Thanks, Emmet. John out.”

“Who’s Sal Beiderman?” Dierdre asked.

“He came in back in November. Good guy, used to be a crop dusting pilot or something,” John said as he started off toward downtown.

“Stay here, Mom. We’ll find Jose. I promise.”

*

John and Sara found Morgan sipping coffee at the big cookhouse they’d built out of logs right in the center of the compound, next to the Square. It had large fire pits and wood burning ovens they’d made from bricks and steel grates. It smelled perpetually of coffee and bread which on most days brought a smile to John’s face. Today, however, was a different story as John thought of how many times they’d had to go searching for his brother-in-law.

“Morgan, you took a group out yesterday, right?”

Morgan nodded and sipped his coffee.

“Any chance Jose could have slipped out with your group?”

“No, we took the dump truck, and I personally saw everyone who went through the barricade. Why, did you lose him again?”

“Maybe. Have you seen Sal?”

“Yep.”

John waited a heartbeat for Morgan to continue. When he didn’t, John raised his eyebrow. “Well? Jesus Christ, Morgan, I haven’t got all day!”

“Whoa, take it easy. He’s right behind you.”

John turned and saw the older man coming towards him. He had a slight limp from some old crash, he claimed, as well as a scar across his chin. Stringy black hair hung around his head. He brushed the hair out of his eyes as he reached the cookhouse.

“Mornin’ Sal.” Morgan said. “John wants a word with you.”

Sal looked to John. “What can I do for you, boss?”

Sara rolled her eyes at the use of the word boss, but said nothing.

“Is there any chance Jose could have slipped out with your group yesterday?”

“Jose? Oh, no way. I check everyone’s equipment before we go out. I think I would have noticed him.”

“You think?” John asked, his tone slightly angry.

Sal waved his hands in front of John placatingly. “No, I mean I know. He didn’t come out with us, and the same number left with me that came back.”

John scratched his head, frustrated. “Goddammit. Where the hell could he be?”

Sara took John’s hand in her own. Worry lines crinkled her forehead. “Calm down, we’ll find him. He’s got to be here somewhere if he didn’t sneak out, right?”

John thought for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” He turned to walk away, Sara’s hand still holding his.

“Oh, say, I did see something kind of strange out there yesterday. I didn’t know whether to report it or not.”

John turned back to Sal. “What is it? Can it wait?”

“Oh yeah, sure it can wait. I just saw some Zeds out there but they were dead so it can wait.”

John stopped, his attention piqued. “Dead? What do you mean?”

Sal cleared his throat and spat a gob of phlegm onto the ground. Sara stepped forward and started to say something but John held her back and made a shushing motion. She flashed angry eyes at him but kept her peace.

“We were driving back with a full load of insulation for the houses when we stopped to check the tanks at that old Shell station, you know, the one that closed down right before the, well, really bad days?”

John nodded.

“We got there and saw a bunch of big, well, piles of stuff under the snow in front of the old furniture factory. Wait, no, it wasn’t furniture. Organs, yeah, that old organ factory. I sent one of the new guys over to see what they were. He ran over and dusted the snow off from one of the piles and came running back like he’d just seen a ghost.”

John smiled ruefully at the mention of a ghost but said nothing and nodded again to Sal.

“He came running back yelling about Zeds, so we got into a firing line and waited, but nothing came. We went over and saw the piles were Zed bodies, all laid out on top of each other, like stacks of wood, but in little pyramids. Like they’d been laying there since the first snow. And we looked, but we didn’t find much for bullet holes or anything. It looked like they just laid their stinking, putrid bodies down in the snow and died.”

“Are you sure they were dead?” Sara asked.

“Well, dead as a Zed gets, I guess. I mean, they weren’t moving.”

“How many did you see?” John asked.

“Well, there were about twenty in that pile, and I guess a dozen piles around the entrance.”

“And? What did you do?”

“What do you mean? We finished getting the gas, and came back here.”

John had to bite his tongue to keep from lashing out at Sal. Morgan came to his rescue.

“Dammit Sal, you should have burned those bodies and got your ass back here and let someone know.”

Sal hung his head. “Ah, jeeze, I didn’t even think about that. I just knew they weren’t moving. I didn’t want to bother anyone, everyone’s so busy all the time.”

Sara looked at John. “Can we deal with that after we find Jose, please?”

John nodded and clapped Sal on the shoulder, a little harder than necessary. “Yeah, sweetheart. Sal, we’ll take care of them. No harm done, and you brought everyone back in one piece. Good job.” He said the last through gritted teeth.

“Might just be me, but that coffee smelled extra strong today,” Sara noted as she and John walked towards a congregating group at the Square.

*

A commotion broke out near one of the storage tents as John and Sara left the cookhouse together. A small crowd of people had gathered and were talking excitedly, but over it all, they heard a woman’s shrill voice yelling like a banshee.

The two Masons ran towards the crowd, John with his P90 in hand. The crowd parted as they approached, giving them a view of the spectacle ahead.

Jose lay on the ground, in just his jeans. His bare torso glistened with a coating of melting snow, his bare feet splayed out beneath him. A big purple mark was already beginning to show on his eye. Michelle, the teenage girl they’d rescued from the Zed worshiping cult, bent over Jose protectively, wrapped in a blanket and little else.

Fish and Princess took the opportunity to race in and out among the crowd’s legs, barking and yipping like mad.

“Mom, stop it! You’re embarrassing me!” Michelle yelled as she pulled Jose to his feet.

“Don’t you even speak to me, young lady! You are grounded for a month. No, a year! You’re grounded until you’re eighteen!” she yelled as she took a step towards the shirtless Jose.

“And as for you, you rotten little hooligan, I’m going to tear your arm off and beat you to death with it!”

John whispered to Sara as they pushed the rest of the way forward. “Crap, what’s her name again?”

“That’s Beth Rothchilde, Michelle’s mom.”

“Oh yeah, from the church basement. Only she didn’t look so crazy then.”

Sara ran over to her brother and stood between him and the wild eyed woman. John stepped in between them and gently held the older woman back.

“Easy, Mrs. Rothchilde. Just take it easy. What’s going on?”

Jose jumped forward. “She’s crazy, John! Watch it!” Michelle slapped him in the back of the head.

“Shut up, that’s my mom!”

“Alright, everybody, just calm down!” John yelled.

Sudden silence rang out, even from the two dogs. Everyone looked at John. Sara walked back to him. “Your gun,” she whispered. It was only then he realized he still had his P90 up and ready for action. He lowered it quickly.

“Now, what’s going on here?” he asked.

“I caught that hoodlum with my daughter!” Beth Rothchilde yelled as she pointed at Jose. Angry tears welled up in her eyes. “My baby!”

John looked at Jose and raised his eyebrows. Sara spun on him and grabbed his arm. “Come on, Jose. We talked about this.”

“It wasn’t my idea!”

Michelle looked at Jose. “Oh really? So you didn’t want to do it with me?” Sara winced at Michelle’s lack of eloquence.

Jose looked like a doe caught in headlights as he stammered. “No, I mean yes, but not…I mean, of course…wait, I mean…”

“Mrs. Rothchilde, could you just tell me what happened, please?” John asked. He shook his head in exasperation and rubbed his temple with his left hand.

“I was worried all night when Michelle didn’t come home, but I figured she was with him. Then, this morning, I came out and saw her hat in the snow outside of that tent. I went in there, and there they were. Together. In… in coitus!” She spat the last word out as if it were poison.

Sara stifled a giggle, before putting her angry big-sister expression back on.

“What? We weren’t sick, we were having sex!” Jose yelled back.

Sara poked Jose in his bare chest. “God, you really have to start coming to school. That’s what coitus means, genius.”

Jose’s face reddened as his breath puffed out in front of him in the cold morning air. “Oh.”

“I demand justice! He touched my little girl!” Beth hollered. She stomped her feet angrily in the packed snow.

“Hold on, Mrs. Rothchilde. Just wait a minute.” John pulled Michelle a little ways away from the group and lowered his voice. “Michelle, please tell me the truth. Were you there willingly? Did Jose force or coerce you to do anything you didn’t want to do?”

Michelle looked straight into John’s eyes as she replied. “Hell no. I wouldn’t have been there if I wasn’t there willingly. What kind of stupid girl would that make me?”

John asked “Are you sure? No one can hear you, you can tell me the truth.”

Michelle raised her voice so everyone could here. “If I didn’t want to be there with him, I would have shot him like Marta did Gino.” She pulled a small .38 pistol out from under her blanket and waved it at Jose, who flung himself to the ground as the pistol wavered in his direction. A fresh coating of snow covered his bare torso as he lay on the ground. John reached forward and carefully took the little chrome pistol from the girl.

“I’ll just take that for now, okay?”

Michelle nodded. “I’m not going to blame anyone. We’re adults, so back off.”

“You’re not adults yet!” Beth yelled.

“He’s killed more Zeds than you’ve seen, Mom. He’s an adult, and so am I. We’re old enough to fight and die against the undead, we can have sex if we want to. Besides, Eddie said the children..”

“Michelle, you’re not supposed to talk about that!” Jose whispered loudly as he sprang back up off the ground.

Michelle looked down and frowned. “Oh gosh, I forgot. Sorry.”

Sara stepped toward Michelle. “What children? Michelle, what about the children?”

She looked at Sara. “I…I can’t say. I’m sorry.”

“If it’s about the children you better start saying,” Sara said angrily, stepping toward Michelle.

“Okay, okay. Look, everyone needs to just cool down for awhile, alright? Mrs. Rothchilde, why don’t you take Michelle to your quarters for now. Get some hot food into her, and Jose’s going to go apologize to his mother for making her worry all night. Then, tonight we’d love to have you over for dinner so we can all discuss this together.”

Beth snarled her acceptance and took Michelle away, leaving Sara, Jose, John, and about thirty other people staring as snow melted on Jose’s upper body and bare feet.

Sara looked at Jose, a fierce glow in her eyes. “Get some clothes on. We’re going to talk later, Jose.”

Jose started to run off toward his quarters. “Probably not!”

Sara yelled after him. “Probably yes, punk!”

*

John sat with Patrick, Emmet, Morgan, Marta, Sara, Roger, Kurt, his daughter Jill, and Douglas in a corner table of the cookhouse. A pot of lukewarm coffee sat in the middle of the table. Each person had an old chipped mug in front of them. John sipped from his before he spoke. “Well, we can’t just leave them there. We need to make sure.”

“Why? They’re dead, just leave them to rot. We don’t need to risk anyone if they’re already dead.” Douglas said, as he frowned into his coffee.

“Yeah, because dead things never become alive again,” Marta quipped.

“Because, Doug, we don’t know if they’re already dead, that’s the problem. We don’t know much about them at all. Besides, any Zeds we get rid of now won’t be back to haunt us in the spring.” Roger said, eying Douglas. “And maybe we can figure out why they seem to gather in packs.”

“I just don’t see the point. We could lose assets if it’s some kind of trap or something.”

“Assets? Doug…Jesus Christ. They’re people.” Morgan said, shaking his head.

“No, I meant assets like our vehicles, weapons, ammo. Or worse, we could lead a whole pack of them back here.”

“Holy shit, you’re cold, cousin.” Morgan said.

“Doug, we have to do this. We have to just go and finish them off. We’ll take some cans of gas and burn the bodies. That’s all. And besides, this gives us a chance to test out the armor.”

Sara frowned. John reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know. But if anything happens out there, we’ll take care of each other, and I’ll be safest of all, in the suit. If it works right, we’ll all be safer for it.”

“I know. We’ll talk about it later.” Sara said, disapproval plain in her expression.

John paused and looked around at the assembled group. “Does anyone have any thoughts?”

Kurt nodded. “I agree with you, John. We have to go do this. I don’t think that plastic suit of yours is going to do much, but we need to make sure those maggot bags are really dead. Permanently dead, I mean.”

The group discussed the idea for a while before moving on to the logistics of the mission. John noticed Sara stayed unusually quiet throughout the rest of the meeting, but said nothing more to her until later.

*

“Babe, I know how you feel. I do. We’ve talked about this before, but Jose made the suit to fit me perfectly,” John said as he walked with Sara back through the snow to their cabin. The cold air sucked the breath from their lungs in long puffs.

“I know. With the help of his dead friend. So it’s guaranteed to work. Ghost best friend approved!” Sara said, almost succeeding in keeping the sarcasm out of her tone.

“I don’t believe that any more than you do, but the results seem to be sound. We have to do this, and I’m the only one that can take the suit out.” John paused for a moment before continuing. “Unless you think Jose should take his out instead.” He looked almost guilty at having driven that point home.

Sara turned on him. “Oh, don’t you dare! That’s not fair.”

John pulled her in and hugged her. She remained stiff for a moment before breaking down and returning his hug. She sobbed quietly into his shoulder while he held her. Several minutes later, she sniffed a little and pulled away from him.

“Just come home. I’m not doing this alone. Promise me.”

John looked into her eyes. “I promise.”

*

The selected group consisted of Morgan and Roger, as well as Kurt, Jill, Marta, and Emmet. A full squad of six, one of the escort teams for the scavengers, also joined them. They loaded up two of the Humvees and a big brown Dodge pickup truck with a snow plow attached to the front they’d added to their growing motor pool. All were heavily armed and each person carried a backpack filled with emergency supplies in case the excursion took longer than planned. Each wore fatigues taken from the National Guard bases with the patches ripped off out of respect for those who’d served, except for John, who wore the heavy flat black plastic and leather armor Jose had designed and built for him. It fit so well that it barely made a sound, though it made him look like a cross between a gorilla and a beetle. Leather straps and buckles secured each piece of thick, hard plastic to a tough undersuit of cured leather.

As John stood next to the pickup truck trying to decide whether to jump up into the back or try to squeeze his armor-clad bulk into the cab, Jose ran up to him.

“Hey John!” He yelled as he ran up. John turned and waved to Jose.

“Hey Jose. Look, I know you want to come but I’m just not going to put Sara through that…”

Jose interrupted him. “No, no. I don’t want to go. I mean, I do, but that’s not why I’m here.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to say good luck, and to give you this.” Jose handed John a little bundle about the size of a baseball, wrapped in tan cloth.

John looked at the bundle. “What is it?” He began to unwrap it.

Jose covered the bundle with his own hand. “No, don’t open it yet. You have to save it.”

“For what?”

“For when you need it, duh.”

John looked skeptical. “And when will that be?”

“You’ll know. Hey John, you just gotta trust, you feel me?” Jose gave John a cockeyed grin.

“Uh, sure, Jose. Whatever you say.” Jose turned and started to walk away. John yelled after him. “Thanks, Jose. I’ll see you when I get back.”

Jose waved over his shoulder. “Or sooner.” he said, and walked away.

John scratched his head one more time, tucked the little bundle into one of the many pockets Jose had thoughtfully provided him, attached to the armor at various points, and climbed up into the back of the truck. He checked his P90, the little backpack he’d brought holding extra ammo and MREs, and his helmet, before settling down into the truck bed. He thumbed his radio. “Ready. Let’s roll.”

The three vehicles pulled out of the driveway. John waved as he saw Sara standing on top of a little knoll in the compound. The last thing he saw as they pulled away was his wife returning his wave with both arms.

*

The trip to the old organ factory took less than forty-five minutes even through the snow. They pulled in to the little parking lot next to the immense brick and wood building and immediately saw the six foot tall piles of snow scattered all around the area. They were most heavily concentrated near the loading dock and the small door next to it. The pulled the vehicles as close to a circle as they could and began unloading. Emmet picked three folks from the escort squad to stay with the vehicles. One manned a .50 caliber machine gun on top of a Humvee; the other two climbed on top of the other vehicles and took up support positions.

John and Emmet walked over to the closest pile of snow, John carrying his helmet under one arm, and his P90 slung over his other. Emmet carried a pistol on his right hip and his sawed off shotgun and wore a bandoleer across one shoulder filled with orange shot shells. He pushed back the old hunter’s cap with the furry ear flaps and scratched his forehead with the barrel of his gun.

“Now that just doesn’t make sense.” he said as he brushed snow off the pile of Zed bodies. His efforts uncovered a stack of almost twenty bodies, all laying in the same direction, in a pyramid shape. They all had their eyes closed. The ones that had eyelids, at least.

“Do you notice anything odd about them?” John asked. “I mean, aside from the fact that they’re friggin’ undead bastards.”

Emmet chuckled and bent down to look closer. “Looks like the one on top is…well… less fresh than the ones underneath. Like, the newer ones got stacked first, then the older ones got put on top.”

John nodded. “That one on top looks like he’s been dead for a long time. Well, undead. You know what I mean.” He paused for a moment. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

John shook his head. “Never mind. I thought I heard something.”

Other members of the group had uncovered the other piles, thirty in all. They pulled small gas cans from the vehicles and poured the liquid over each pile and lit them in turn. As the heaps began to thaw and then burn, the smell of burnt meat assailed their nostrils. Moments after the last one was lit, an angry, pain-filled roar reverberated from within the organ factory. The sound was so loud and so low that John felt it in his chest.

His team turned as one, weapons trained on the factory door. They stood there, waiting, as the echoes of the awful sound finally died away. Smoke from the burning piles of bodies blew across the parking lot, blocking out any view of the building.

“Hold tight, everyone. Stay cool,” John said, his voice carrying through the cold winter day as if he’d shouted. He kept his P90 trained on where he knew the door to be, despite the smoke. A gust of wind blew the smoke in the other direction, giving a view of the loading dock and side door. Both were still closed. John heard a collective sigh of relief behind him.

John pumped his fist in the air once, and pointed to the side entrance. Emmet and Kurt ran to the door first, though Kurt’s limp slowed him a little. They positioned themselves on either side of the door, weapons trained at the entrance. John walked up, lifted his heavily booted right foot, and kicked the door in. The cheap, cold wood snapped in the middle as the door flew off its hinges. Kurt lit a roadside flare and tossed it into the cavernous factory. The little stick flashed to life and a circle of light appeared around it. The illuminated circle ended abruptly at the first pyramid of stacked Zeds. Dim light persisted beyond those piles, to show pyramid shaped shadows that went on and on into the blackness of the interior.

“Holy shit!” Kurt exclaimed as he saw the stacks upon stacks of Zeds.

“Easy, take it easy,” Emmet said as he motioned for the rest of the group, minus the three in the vehicles, to come forward slowly. He pulled a 5 cell Maglite from his belt and shined it into the room. The brighter light from his flashlight shone on the frozen bodies of Zeds, stacked exactly like the ones outside, under the snow.

“That’s why they’re outside. They filled up the inside first. Ran out of room in there,” Emmet muttered, almost to himself.

“Alright, Emmet, you and Morgan are with me,” John ordered. “Kurt, the rest of you, hold this door for us. We’re going to go check it out, and then we’re going to come back here and burn the building down on these motherfuckers. Roger, see if you can get more fuel from the station across the street. We’re going to need it for the bonfire.”

John moved into the room first. He thumbed on the little tactical light on the top of his P90. The small but powerful light cut through the darkness with ease, showing him details of every dead face or body he passed. Why are their eyes closed? he wondered to himself.

Emmet came close behind John, with Morgan bringing up the rear, a Glock in each hand and a miner’s light shining on his head. The small group moved through the factory, staying as close to the center of the building as they could. The piles had been stacked in such a way that two people could walk side by side between them, but no more.

“I bet this place stinks like hell come spring.” Morgan whispered. Emmet chuckled quietly.

Shadows jumped and wavered behind every stack of corpses as their lights played over them. John caught himself forgetting to breathe inside the closed helmet more than once, as he focused too intently each time he thought he saw something moving only to find it was simply a shadow. The only sound inside the huge factory came from the three sets of footsteps as the men moved deeper and deeper into the building.

Close to what had to be the center of the factory, they found a set of chipped yellow painted stairs that descended into pitch blackness. Near the stairs, the piles of Zeds had been set further back, creating a small clearing amidst the thousands of bodies.

John shined his flashlight down into the depths. A rough concrete floor lay at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by darkness.

“Uh uh. No way, man.” Morgan whispered.

John looked back at his young cousin and nodded. “Go back. Tell Kurt and your father to start dumping gas all over the building. We’ll be out in a minute. I just want to check down here real quick. In fact, if we’re not out in ten, light the damn fire.”

Morgan looked as if he were going to argue but decided against it. He nodded, then turned and ran as fast as he could, weaving in and out of the packed Zeds, and out of sight. Moments later, John’s radio crackled. “I’m out.” John thumbed it twice, signaling his acknowledgement.

Emmet looked at John. “Age before beauty.”

John shrugged and stepped on to the stairs. “That’s okay. You’ll probably creak more than the stairs will, old man.”

Emmet chuckled and stepped down after John. John reached the basement floor and panned his light around. More Zeds, these piled in smaller piles of only five or six, lay scattered everywhere, though they seemed to be closer together towards one end of the room. John cocked his head.

“Emmet, kill the light for a minute.” Emmet shut his flashlight off seconds after John switched his own off. Stifling blackness surrounded them. Moments later, as their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they could see a slight glow beyond the more thickly packed Zeds. John turned his light back on.

“We need to see what’s down there.” He pointed towards the glow.

Emmet nodded and switched his own light back on. They moved as quickly as they could through the Zeds. Emmet looked down at a pile as they passed it.

“These don’t look fresh at all. In fact, some of these are barely held together. Older, I think.” He paused and looked around. “In fact, I don’t see a fresh one anywhere.”

John nodded and kept moving. The piles of Zeds grew so thick the closer they came to the far end of the room that they found themselves brushing against the stiff, cold bodies.

“Shit!” Emmet muttered. John heard a clattering noise behind him and turned just in time to see what was left of an arm fall to the floor. Emmet disentangled himself from the body he’d bumped into and shrugged. “Sorry.”

John turned and continued, now able to see the glow even with his light on. It seemed to be coming from a wide doorway at the end of the room, set directly in the middle of a cement wall. Zed bodies lay piled directly in front of the doorway, stacked three or four deep.

Emmet came up short as they reached the wall. “John, do you smell that?”

John shook his head. “Can’t smell much of anything inside this helmet except the bacon I had for breakfast.”

“I think it’s gas. I can’t be sure.”

John peered over the wall of bodies, into the room. A murky haze, lit from within by an orange light, met his gaze, obscuring any details of the interior of the room.

“We’re running short of time, John.” Emmet said.

“Right. Let’s get in there.” John walked forward to the center of the wall of bodies. He picked one in the middle and placed his foot on it. He pushed until the whole wall began to tip inward. Bodies spilled into the glowing room, arm and leg bones cracking audibly as they fell to the floor.

John stepped over bodies and walked in to the room. Emmet followed behind, standing in the doorway. As John walked further into murky glow, a blurry form moved past him. Something bumped him from the side. He turned, but saw nothing there.

“Something’s in here with us!” he shouted. His P90 came up, the light reflected back through the orange haze. He heard Emmet yell from behind him. He turned in time to see two Zeds, most of their flesh gone, rotting muscles and bits of bone all that remained of their once human forms, rush at Emmet. He pulled his shotgun up but the Zeds hit him first. The three crashed through the doorway and out of the room. John started towards them when something gripped his arm in an iron-hard grip. He spun toward the creature and came face to face with a bone-white skull. Dull, shriveled eyes met his gaze. A thick, purple-black tongue protruded from the creature’s mouth. Strands of muscle ran from the lower jaw down into the collar of a tattered tan jumpsuit. John brought his P90 to bear, his finger tightening on the trigger. The creature slapped the gun out of his hand.

“Youuuu dieeee…” the creature moaned, its voice deep and echoing in the room. John gasped in shocked terror as the words bounced back at him from the low ceiling. Behind him, Emmet screamed. Two more creatures, not quite as decayed as the first, came out of the gloom and grabbed John’s arms, holding him still as the first creature let go. John managed to look behind him as Emmet came hurtling back into the room propelled by a huge Zed, the same one that had rushed him before. He fell to the ground next to John, his shotgun nowhere in sight.

“What the hell?” Emmet asked, blood dripping from a deep gash in his forehead.

The Zed behind him brought a heavy, rotting hand down on the back of his head, hard. Emmet slumped over and moaned.

John felt the firm grip of his captors despite the heavy armor. The creature that had spoken stepped closer to him. John caught more movement behind the creature and felt more than saw that there were more Zeds waiting in the gloom.

The creature, John couldn’t bring himself to call it a Zed even in his own mind, reached a skeletal hand up and touched the helmet on John’s head. It tapped his face shield with a bony finger, once, twice, three times. Then, it laughed. The laugh was slow and deep, and perhaps the most frightening sound John had ever heard in his life.

I’m sorry, Sara, John thought to himself. He struggled against the arms holding him, trying to rip them from their sockets, but they held firm. He saw Emmet stir from the corner of his eye just as the creature pulled its arm back and made a fist, preparing to drive the appendage through the face shield and in to John’s head.

“Down!” Emmet yelled as he rolled over. John looked down at him as Emmet pulled his pistol from his holster.

Confusion turned to horror as John realized what Emmet was doing. His knees buckled as he let his full weight pull himself to the ground. The two Zeds on either side of him were caught off guard and let his arms slip through their rotting fingers. John hit the ground just as Emmet fired. He saw the creature reaching down towards him right before he heard the sound of the gunshot. Sudden fire lit the room. John felt himself hurtling through the air until a wall intercepted him, slamming the breath from his lungs. Fire filled his vision right before he blacked out.

*

Uncertain as to how much time had passed, John blinked. Stinging sweat or blood, he wasn’t sure which, dripped into his eyes. Fire lit the room, pieces of debris, old furniture and other detritus, burned angrily all around him. John tried to sit up but something heavy lay on top of him. He pushed, struggling against the weight. Finally, the heavy burden rolled off him and he was able to sit up, despite every bone in his body protesting. A burning Zed lay next to him, most of its head and shoulders missing, having been blown off in the explosion.

Other bodies writhed nearby, most on fire. John looked to where he thought he’d been when the gas combusted, but saw no sign of the Zed pack leader. He crawled over toward the exit, trying to stay below the heavy smoke billowing throughout the room. As he neared the door, he saw movement beneath a pile of burning Zeds. He rose to his knees and pushed the burning mass off from Emmet. Emmet’s face and hands were blackened and burnt. His hair was gone completely, the skin of his face pulled tight in pain.

“Hold on, buddy. We’re getting out of here right now.”

Howls and moans echoed through the room. He heard the tread of thousands of Zeds above him as they woke from their cold-induced slumber. The Zeds outside of the room began moving as they too awoke, burning from the gas explosion.

Emmet tried to speak but no air came from his singed lungs. He looked at John, his eyes unblinking, until John realized he was gone.

Suddenly, the radio attached to John’s suit crackled to life. He looked down at his belt and saw that parts of his plastic armor had caught fire. He squashed the fire with his gloved hands and reached for his radio. The radio came out of its holster, but John could see it had been damaged from his flight into the wall. He held it up to his face and pressed the button to talk. The button fell off and dropped to the floor.

“John, Emmet, come in!” John heard over the radio. Its speaker still worked, and it was receiving.

“John! We’re under attack up here. Zeds are everywhere, and the building’s on fire! Can you hear me?” Roger’s voice echoed from the little radio.

John looked around but saw no sign of his P90. He still had his Sig on his belt, and the spikes in his arm pieces seemed to be functional, but he had no other weapons. He started towards the door, intent on escaping. Movement through the doorway, revealed by the flickering firelight, showed him the dozens, if not hundreds, of Zeds that stood between him and the staircase. Heat from the fire began to seep through the heavy armor.

“John! Can you hear me! We’ve got to fall back! There are too many of them. We’re losing up here!” John heard Roger, panic clear in his voice. Get the hell out of here, John screamed at them in his mind. He looked around for another exit and saw a small doorway at the far end of the little room, opposite to where he’d come in. The door had buckled and lay half in the doorway. He could see nothing from the other side.

“We’ll come back for you, John, Emmet! We’ll be back with help, I promise. Hang in there!” Roger yelled over the radio. John heard the sound of an engine start, and the stutter of a heavy machine gun. Then the radio went dead.

He moved toward the far end of the room. As he reached the buckled doorway, he caught movement from the corner of his eyes. He turned just in time to see the blackened skeletal Zed pack leader stand up, shrugging off burning Zed corpses as it stood. It turned to John and pointed.

“Youuuuu!” it screamed, its deep voice echoing eerily in the fire filled room. John turned and kicked the buckled door out of his way and ran through the doorway. The creature behind him came after him. He saw other Zeds come after him, most of them ablaze. Panic caused him to run faster. Light from the fire lit another stairway in front of him. More piles of Zeds had been here, but most had been toppled by the explosion.

Now, individual Zeds began standing up. They moved towards him, most shambling, but a few running. Howls echoed in the cavernous basement. He caught movement on the stairway ahead of him. He tried to focus on it just as a second explosion knocked him off his feet. He landed hard on the ground. Zeds all around him blew apart in the explosion. Pieces of flesh and bits of bone landed on him, a pattering rain of the dead.

Smoke cleared for a moment, and John saw movement heading towards him. A howl erupted behind him, followed by the sound of machine gun fire. Dark figures in camouflaged uniforms swept past him, deeper into the fiery basement. More gunfire followed by another explosion echoed behind him.

John remained perfectly, playing dead as the men moved past him. The smoky haze along with the hundreds of bodies laying all around him helped to hide him among the Zeds. He lay there as he listened to the gunfire. Dozens of uniformed men moved past, reinforcing those who had come first. He watched from inside his helmet, only the feet and legs visible as they thundered by. The gunfire died down, though he could hear men yelling orders. He couldn’t make out anything they said, however, until one yelled triumphantly. “Fall back! Mission accomplished.”

He risked being caught by moving his head slightly so he could see up and into the room. The same uniformed men rushed back past him, some firing behind them, others holding on to cables. The cables were attached to the Zed pack leader. It struggled uselessly against the braided metal strands and the dozen men who held them. Angry noises came from its mouth as it was dragged past John.

A soldier walked behind the creature, talking in to a headset. “Mission accomplished, the informant’s intel was good. We are extracting now.” The men continued past John, a rear guard firing behind them as they left. The last one was up the stairway and out of sight before John dared to stand up. He looked behind him and saw most of the Zeds near him were down, riddled with bullet holes, though some were still moving. He ran for the stairs, hoping the soldiers were gone.

He made it up into the ground floor of the organ factory and saw a swath of destruction heading towards a wide open doorway directly in front of him. Zeds moved in on all sides. He ran as hard as he could, every battered muscle in his body working to keep him alive. He burst out through the darkness into the clear light of day ahead of a pack of howling, hungry Zeds. As he ran, he saw two Blackhawk helicopters flying away to the Northwest. Under one, he saw some kind of cage hanging from a cable, swaying in the wind.

John risked a glance behind him and saw hundreds of Zeds, some still on fire, chasing him. Most were shambling along slowly but dozens were running, gaining on him. He ran, the heavy armor slowing him down.

John found the road plowed by his team on the way in. He ran faster on the packed snow, but still the Zeds gained on him. He had run for over a mile before the first ones caught him. He knew they were going to catch him, so he flicked out the two spikes on his arms, setting them in place. He drew his pistol and gripped it tightly in his hand.

They jumped on him, grabbing at his arms and legs. They hauled him down to the ground like a pack of hyenas on a zebra. He went down hard. He watched grimly as they bit at him. Their sharp, jagged teeth closed tightly on the armor, but never managed to puncture it. He fired into them at close range, each shot hitting something. As Zeds fell off him, more raced in to take their place. He pulled the trigger a final time. The big pistol clicked empty. He dropped it and punched out with each arm. The spikes drove into undead heads, through eye sockets or rotten skulls. Each one he killed was immediately replaced by another.

As he managed to kill Zed after Zed, he saw the bigger pack of shambling Zeds getting close. He was tired, and slowing down. If I don’t get out of here now, I’m a dead man, he thought to himself. I promised Sara…

He punched and punched, and kicked out with his heavy boots. More Zeds fell. They bit his armor savagely but still he punched with the wicked spikes on his arms. Finally, amazingly, he stood alone. Zed bodies lay in a circle around him. He looked up. A tidal wave of Zeds approached him. His moment of triumph washed away in resignation, he stood waiting to die.

Suddenly, he remembered the package Jose had given him. He reached down and pulled it from the pouch at his side. He unwrapped it quickly and gasped. An olive green grenade lay in his palm. Without thinking, he pulled the pin and threw it toward the oncoming Zeds just as they rushed toward him along the narrow street. Lines of parked cars acted as a funnel, grouping them together in a savage, slavering mob.

John dropped to the ground as the grenade exploded right in the midst of the mob. Cars on either side of the road exploded as white hot fragments ripped through their gas tanks. A shock wave rolled over John’s back. Moments later, he looked up. A smoking crater smoldered where the mob had been. Burning metallic hulks stood to either side. Through the smoke, John saw slow movement as more Zeds, the slowest of them all, shambled after him. John climbed to his feet and started running towards home.

*

An hour later, John rounded a bend. He’d given up running and now walked, conscious that if he stopped to rest, he’d likely be buried under a Zed mob again. He could hear them getting closer, always closer. As he turned the corner, a big pickup truck with bright flames painted on the side and an old steel door mounted to the front sat there, idling in the frozen twilight. Jose stood there in his armor, a pistol in one hand and his sword in the other. A white headband had been painted on his modified motorcycle helmet. He grinned through the clear visor as John approached.

“I thought you’d never get here, man.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” John said, his voice a mixture of relief and curiosity. “And where did you get a grenade?”

“Found it. And I’m here to give you a lift home. They already radioed back and said you were probably dead. I told Sara you weren’t but I don’t think she believed me. She really loves you, John. She’s a wreck.”

“How did you know I’d be here?” John asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Not that it matters. You might want to grab that extra P90 in the truck.” Jose reached into the cab of the truck and turned the stereo up. Loud, screaming music ripped out into the evening. Jose yelled. “Dude! All Nightmare Long by Metallica. It’s my zombie killing song!” He pointed his pistol at John and pulled the trigger.

A Zed fell right behind John, a neat round hole in its forehead. Behind it, more shambled along, their rotting hands reaching for the two men. He ran to the truck and opened the passenger door. He grabbed the black weapon from the seat and turned to fire. Jose fired his pistol into the throng. A Zed got too close and Jose sliced its head off, whipping the curved sword clean through its neck. John fired, each shot taking a Zed down, one after another, until they were all gone.

When it was finally over, Jose bent down and wiped his blade off on the dirty red dress of a female Zed, laying prostrate at his feet.

The two armored men climbed up into the truck and turned towards home. John took his helmet off and breathed in cool, fresh air for the first time in hours as Jose radioed back to the compound.

*

“John! Don’t you ever do that again!” Sara yelled as she hugged her husband tightly. “I love you so much,” she said as her anger began to show itself as anxiety followed by relief. He hadn’t even had time to take off his scarred, melted armor before she’d leaped into his arms. Her eyes were red, and teary streaks flowed down her cheeks.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m okay. I’m right here,” John said as he kissed the top of her head.

Sara cried into the hard plastic of his chest piece. She pushed back and pounded her fists into his shoulders. “They said you were dead! I thought you were dead!” she cried.

“I know… I would have been if it hadn’t been for Emmet,” he said. His voice cracked as he was caught up in Sara’s pain as well as his own grief over Emmet.

They held each other like that for some time. Princess flashed in and out of their legs, reminding them of her existence with the occasional happy bark. Finally, Sara wiped her eyes and drew back from John. “You can’t go out there again, John.”

“Sara,” he started, “I have to. You know that. We have things to take care of, people that count on us.”

“John, there’s something I have to tell you. I know you said we’re bursting at the seams here, but there’s going to be another person coming in soon. Don’t worry, though,” she said, smiling. “They won’t take up much room.”

He looked down at his wife’s now-beaming, tear streaked face, and broke into a happy grin as it was his turn for tears to fill his eyes.

EPILOGUE

Spring 2011

Brattleboro, Vermont

John stood, looking out over the muddy road, his arm around Sara. Princess sat at her side, her constant shadow for the last couple of months.

“I’ve stopped the trade convoys. The last one came in this morning. The Zeds are moving again with the spring thaw. We’ll start the convoys up again when it snows.”

“Even with the new armor?” Sara asked.

“We don’t have enough of it yet to equip all of our escorts, but Douglas thinks he’s located another source of similar plastic. We’ll make a run for it in a few days.”

“We?” Sara asked, arching her eyebrows.

John looked down at Sara, smiling as he took in her beautifully pregnant belly that seemed to grow more every day.

“I mean they. Not me. I’m staying right here,” he said as his hand moved down to gently rub her protruding midsection. “For now.”

She looked back up at him and winked. “Damn straight.”

Their attention was caught by movement from down the road. A bright red pickup truck pulled into sight. It slewed around a muddy corner and came closer into view. John pulled a small pair of binoculars from a vest pocket and brought them to his eyes.

Moments later he whooped in joy. “I don’t believe it!” he yelled.

“What?” Sara asked. Princess started yapping excitedly at their feet.

“It’s Jesse! Jesse made it! And he’s not alone!”

John hugged Sara close as the big red pickup truck pulled into the compound.

From the Journal of John Mason

January, Zed Year Two

Things we know about Zeds:

They are tough. You have to shoot them in the head or burn them to really be sure.

They gather in packs. I’m not sure why. Some of the older Zeds seem to act as pack leaders. I’ve heard one speak a few words.

Most of the population of the world is now Zed, or has been killed by Zeds. I’m just guessing, but I would say we lost 90-95% of the population to them. Most of that in the first week.

We don’t know where they come from. I have my suspicions, however…

There is no cure. There is no treatment. There is only final death.

Whatever it is that causes one to become a Zed seems to be transmitted through bites. Whether it is the saliva or something else in the bite that does this, I have no idea.

Dogs and other animals seem to be immune. I’ve never seen a Zed cow wandering around out there.

They don’t seem to like the sound of car horns. It won’t kill them, but it might buy you a few seconds.

The recently dead can move really fast. They run and jump much like a living person. The longer they have been dead, the slower they seem to get.

Zeds don’t like the cold. Vermont winters are hard on them. Some hibernate. Not all, though. This could be key to our survival.

They can be beaten. We can survive this new Zed order.

About the Author

Born and raised in Brattleboro, Vermont, Todd Sprague is a private investigator and former police officer. He lives in Massachusetts with his wife Patti, their Australian Shepherd Max, and a little gray and white cat named Noel.

He is currently working on the next book in the New Zed Order series, as well as other creative projects.

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