Lord of the Dead Page 5

  “Like Hub, I find this choice to be a difficult one,” I said as I kept my hands in my lap to hide the way they were trembling. “When we were out front, and they shot me and were shooting at our people, I wanted them all dead and was willing to kill them myself. Taking them prisoner seemed absurd to me, but after going out there and taking out all those zombies…I…. They are winning. The undead are winning, and there are too few of us left. On our side or not, these men are fighting to survive like us. I hate their tactics. Yes, maybe they’ll come back, and we’ll have to fend them off again, but I do know that they’ll be out there fighting these damned zombies, and that means that we, as a race, still have a chance. I vote for release.”

  I was surprised by my vote, but it was out there. In the crowd, some people nodded their heads in solidarity with me while others shook their heads in disbelief and anger.

  “You’ll regret this,” Brother Ed stood up and shouted, “those men have the mark of Cain on them for their transgressions.”

  Greg stood and said loudly, “The voting is completed. We’ll take the men out and release them in the morning.

  Chapter 6

  Catch and Release

  Things rarely go as smoothly as a person plans them. The release coordination team consisted of Greg, Brandon, Travis, and me. My side ached, and my range of motion was limited. The Kevlar may have stopped the bullet, but it didn’t protect me from the impact. Each breath sent a pulse of pain around my side that felt like a shot from a nail gun, but I “manned-up” and didn’t complain – much.

  Our plan to release the remaining captives was simple enough: blindfold them, drive them into the hills, and let them go. Easy, peasy.

  Before we had even collected the captives, a group of concerned individuals led by Brother Ed and one of the more obnoxious members of our group, Mrs. Hatcher, cornered our team and started to hector us about our decision.

  “These men are dangerous,” Mrs. Hatcher said, her face flushed, “this is a bad idea, Greg. They need to be taken care of.”

  “The decision was made last night,” Greg responded. “We’re going to fulfill the vote of the committee.”

  “I think a vote needs to be taken from all of us,” Mrs. Hatcher said, moving closer to Greg.

  Greg ran a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly, “This was discussed by everyone. Many people either don’t feel qualified or don’t want to make these type decisions. It was decided that a leadership team would have the authority to take on matters like this for the whole group. We didn’t take over leadership by brute force or coercion; we were elected by the group.”

  “When we will have new elections?” Brother Ed asked.

  I could see that Greg was doing his best to keep his cool. “There was no decision for term lengths. As far as I’m concerned, you can have a new election tomorrow, but as of now, we’re in charge, and we’re moving forward with the captives’ release. Now, Mrs. Hatcher, Ed, please let us do our job.”

  Reluctantly, they let us pass to retrieve the captives. That was even more fun.

  They came quietly at first. With their hands still tied behind them, we led them out of the basement and to the first floor. Greg had selected a route that would lower the amount of time they were exposed to the people at The Manor, but once we got to the front exit, there was no place to hide. Brother Ed and Mrs. Hatcher stood with their arms crossed, watching us from one of the connecting hallways. Their looks were filled with nothing but contempt. If it were up to me, I’d have grabbed the both of them right then and there and taken them out with the captives.

  Greg gave them a “Don’t you have anything better to do” look as we passed, but they ignored him. At least, they didn’t say anything.

  We entered the foyer, and Greg turned to Brandon who produced blindfolds for the men.

  As soon as the man whose brother had hanged himself saw the blindfolds, he broke away from Travis’s grip and ran across the foyer, slamming into a wall and cowering in a corner. “You lied. You’re going to shoot us like damn animals!”

  “We’re not going to shoot you,” Greg said as calmly as he could.

  “But we wanted to,” Brandon said. Greg shot him a sharp glance, and he lowered his gaze to the floor.

  “We voted to release you,” Greg said, “if you want to live, then you have to put on a blindfold. Okay?”

  Four of the five men, their arms tied behind their backs, must have decided that they didn’t have a choice, and all surrendered to the blindfolds. The one who had tried to run, put up a fight, but Brandon manhandled him, locking him in a chokehold that nearly cut off his air supply. It took a forceful tap on Brandon’s shoulder from Greg to get him to lighten up the hold. The man accepted the blindfold willingly after that.

  The glare off the snow was nearly blinding for those of us without blindfolds. The temperature had ticked up a few notches from the day before, but we were far from any tropical numbers.

  We took two SUVs, and the route was predetermined. Greg had the lead with Travis in the shotgun seat and three of the captives with them. Brandon and I trailed behind with the two other men. The going was slow since no road crews were plowing. I don’t think we broke twenty miles per hour after we left the main road. My SUV almost slipped off the icy road more than once. Because of our mission and the state of the roads, we were silent most of the way.

  After some deliberation the night before, we decided not to drive them west and dump them fifty miles from home. That would have been a true death sentence. But we also decided not to give them curbside service either.

  We stopped twenty miles north of Minford at the end of a paved road and got out of our vehicles. Travis and Brandon stepped away from the captives as Greg, and I helped the men out of the vehicles and took off their blindfolds. The blindfolds had been Brandon’s idea. I think it was more of a fear-inspiring gesture than anything else. These guys knew the area and how to get back to us, but Brandon had been insistent, so Greg gave in on this one item.

  The woods around us were still, and no one spoke in the awkward silence.

  Brandon broke the quiet. “End of the line, boys.” He hoisted his rifle into a shooting position and ignored Greg’s reproachful look.

  The captives looked at each other, a hint of fear in their eyes.

  Brandon let that play out for a few seconds before Greg spoke, “We’re not shooting you.” He said it as much to Brandon as to the men. “You can make your way back to your people from here.”

  “What about our dead?” This was the tall man named Henderson.

  “We’ve taken care of them,” Greg said.

  “And our guns?” Henderson asked.

  “Sorry,” Greg said, “You can’t shoot up our place and expect us to give your weapons back. And your truck is ours, too.” He paused for a moment, looking at each of the men and then continued. “I know what I’m about to say isn’t going to mean a lot to you, but you don’t have to take from others to survive in this world. I’d like to think you’ve come to the conclusion that,” he said, taking in our group with a wave of his hand, “we are not your enemy. The undead are. I know there is a limited set of supplies, but our group hasn’t taken from others, and we’re making a go of it. I’d recommend you do the same. And lastly, if we see any of your people anywhere near our area, we will take it as a threat, and we will shoot first and ask questions later. Do we have an understanding?” Once again, he looked to each of the men, and Henderson grudgingly nodded his head.

  One of the other men asked, ”Aren’t you going to untie our arms?”

  “No,” Brandon said, “you’ll figure out how to do that on your own. Think of it as an exercise in cooperation.” There was a sly smile on his face as he said it.

  We weren’t making it easy on them. They hadn’t made it easy on us, but they were resourceful, and we knew they could get themselves free and most likely make it back to their people.

  Greg looked to Travis and Brandon and said, “Time to head
back home.” We walked back to our vehicles, feeling the eyes of the other men on our backs. Greg stopped before he got back in his SUV and shouted back to the captives, “Remember what I said. We don’t want to see you back in our area.” He climbed inside his SUV and started the engine. Travis returned to his place in the shotgun seat.

  I opened my door and started to get in, but saw that Brandon was still standing beside our SUV, staring at the men, his rifle held at the ready.

  “Brandon, it’s time to go,” I said.

  Still, he stood there, watching the men. I slapped the side of the SUV to get his attention, and that broke him from his trance. He looked to me and smiled, brought his gun up, and aimed it into the air, and pulled the trigger, letting rip with an entire clip of bullets into the bright blue sky.

  The captives cowered and stumbled away down the road. A couple broke into a run and fled into the woods, trying to find cover behind some trees.

  The driver’s door on Greg’s SUV flew open, and Greg stepped out, a dark scowl on his face. Brandon put his free hand up in the air in a gesture of surrender and entered the passenger seat of our SUV, essentially ending any chance for Greg to reprimand him there.

  I got inside and looked to Brandon. “What’s going on with you?”

  He didn’t meet my gaze. “They needed a little more of a lesson.”

  “You can’t do that on your own. And besides, the racket you just made will bring zombies from miles around.”

  “Exactly.” He paused for a moment still not meeting my stare. “And that’s too bad.”

  Greg pulled away, and I decided to let it go. As quiet as the trip there was, the return was worse, filled with an unnecessary tension.

  Chapter 7

  Lord of the Dead I

  Anthony was ready. He had his army set for a test drive. The only decision was who to attack.

  The people at the church were weakened, and their numbers reduced, but not enough. That would be a risk. Better to tackle a more manageable number first.

  The attack would have to be on the people on the hill. There were only a few of them, and he had his army at a five-to-one ratio. They would do.

  The school bus wound around on the streets at the base of the hill, smashing through the snowdrifts as it made its way upward. Something in Russell’s gut told him that no good would come of that bus. Not at all. If he had only known how badly it would turn out, he might have run as soon as he saw the bus.

  “Where is it? Where is it?” Sherry asked, her voice getting shrill.

  “Chill out. It’s on Monroe Street,” Cody said spying the bus through his binoculars. “It’s turning onto Hillview. Yes, he’s coming to us; I’m sure of it.” At twenty-three, Cody was the oldest member of the group and its de facto leader. Both Russell and Cody were tall and lean, and anyone could tell that they were brothers, but Russell was a little softer around the edges with most of that attributed to his age. At seventeen, he still had to grow into the man he would become.

  They had seen the bus making its way through the town a few times before, but they had their own problems to manage. Problems such as staying alive.

  Ten months ago, the world as they knew it went to hell in a handbasket when the dead came alive and started eating the living. It was as if God had decided to re-cast the world with the undead rather than to go on suffering the indifference and antipathy of the living.

  The Outbreak reached their sleepy little Ohio River town within six weeks of the first media reports, and the city was overrun within two weeks. Fortunately, they had a back-up plan just for an apocalypse. Or better put, their uncle did.

  Russell and Cody’s Uncle Boyd was a surgeon at the local hospital and a little bit paranoid from listening to too much late night talk radio. Fearing government black helicopters and forced internment at a FEMA camp with the ensuing collapse of society, he hired a world-class architect to design and construct an off-the-grid home at the top of a tall hill that overlooked the north end of the city. Publicly, he claimed that he was concerned about the power outages, but it was really his rampant paranoia. The bunker, as they had come to call it, was designed to operate independently of the city’s grid. The roof came with a set of state-of-the-art solar panels to power the place for several hours a day. The bunker also had a water collection and purification system.

  All-in-all, his home was one of the best places to ride out an apocalypse and was what kept them one of the few groups still alive in town. The only other group had been the one at the church near the downtown, but a rogue army contingent showed up just over a month ago and took most of them out of the equation. This only confirmed their decision to fly under the radar and keep to themselves.

  “Steven, fire-up the genie,” Cody shouted back into the house. The solar power ran the house, but not the external amenities such as the security cameras that encircled the perimeter and the security gate that blocked the road up the hill.

  The roar of the generator resounded from the back of the house a few seconds later. The bus disappeared from view behind a large stand of pine trees and then popped out the other side, making its way up the winding road toward them.

  “Sherry, keep an eye out here. Russell, let’s check this guy out,” Cody said pointing to Russell as he left the living room window with its panoramic view of the city.

  “Cody, what am I supposed to do?” Sherry asked, her voice was an octave higher than before.

  Cody ignored her as Russell followed him to the security room with its wall of monitors that displayed a view from all the cameras surrounding the house. As he entered the room, Cody clicked on each monitor, and the screens flickered to life. The black and white images gave a clinical and detached view as if they were showing preserved archival documentary footage instead of the here and now. Most of the screens displayed dense woods, but three had different views of the road leading up the hill. One was located at the expansive security gate and gave them a view directly down the road.

  The bus passed in and out of view in flashes, passing two of the cameras, and then it came into full view as it labored up the hill toward the gate. Because of the dense trees, they only caught glimpses of the side of the bus.

  “Can you see if he has anyone else on that bus?” Cody asked.

  “It did look like there were people in the back, but I couldn’t make out much,” Russell said. His view of the back of the bus didn’t tell him much. There were shapes, but they were dark and indistinct.

  “He’ll be at the gate in less than a minute. We need to get ready,” Cody said. “We” encapsulated their group: Cody and Sherry and Steven and, his wife, Belinda. Russell followed up the rear of the group being the youngest and sans a significant other. That was just his luck. Alone at the end of the world.

  Steven had been Cody’s best friend from high school and still lived and worked in town, holding down a job at the local hospital in accounting. Sherry was Cody’s girlfriend from college. Both of them were at Ohio State University when their world turned upside-down, but he convinced her that he had a safe place for them to ride out the storm. Too bad this storm never ended.

  Cody pressed the intercom button on the wall, “Everybody, get your weapons. We don’t know what these people want. It could be nothing, but it could be something.”

  For some reason, they felt in their bones this would be something.

  The bus eased to a stop. The driver sat impassively behind the steering wheel staring at the gate. He wore a military helmet and goggles with a bandana, all of which obscured much of his face. Russell and Cody could see behind the driver but couldn’t make out much more than ill-defined shadows. After a moment, the driver disappeared from view and then reappeared, walking around the front of the bus and toward the camera. To compliment his helmet and goggles, he wore military riot gear from head to foot, sporting what looked like an armored chest plate with protective pads on his arms and legs. The look made Russell think of a robot from a 1950’s sci-fi film, but despit
e this imagery, the driver moved with a practiced ease as he strode through the snow toward the camera. Draped over his shoulders was a set of wires leading into a panel that sat on the side of his chest. The panel had a set of buttons on it, and neither Russell nor Cody had an earthly clue as to what they did. They would learn later — the hard way.

  There was something about the few bits of exposed skin that Russell could see that bothered him. It seemed unnaturally white.

  “What’s up with his face?” Russell asked.

  “What is it?” Cody asked in response.

  “It’s so white. Like he has makeup on.”

  Their conversation was cut short as the man took a moment to tug off a padded glove, and his large hand reached for the monitor just out of view. He leaned in towards the camera, his face filling the screen. A speaker just above the bank of monitors crackled to life. “Anyone home?” he asked as he flicked at the camera. Involuntarily, Russell couldn’t help jumping back a step when the man’s huge finger filled the screen with a thunk. Cody shot Russell a ‘hold it together, little man’ look that Russell always hated. The man’s big face loomed into view. His face seemed unnaturally pale. “Yoo-hoo.”

  Cody pressed the talk button and asked, “What do you want?”

  “Hmmm. Now, what do I want?” the man asked, his goggles made him look like a menacing insect. “How about everything you have?”

  Cody stood still for a moment and then pressed the talk button again. “What do you mean, everything?”

  “Everything you have. Food, medicine, weapons. Everything.”

  “Well, we need that stuff, so why don’t you just go screw yourself?”

  “Is that any way to treat a guest?” This guy was a laugh riot.

  “Listen, I don’t know what your game is, but why don’t you get back in your bus and go back down the hill to wherever you came from?”

  “Okay, here’s my game. I know if I ask for everything, you’ll hold back some of what you really want to keep, but that’s okay with me. I’ve been watching you for a while. Since your place is Dr. Wilton’s house and he was crazy about government take-overs and the end of the world conspiracies, I know he probably stockpiled a lot of medication and food. And, of course, weapons.”