Deadrise 2: Deadwar (3 page)

“My God.” Sheriff Busley said, his voice hollow. “What did we do to deserve
this?”

“This isn’t
His
mess.” Jenkins said, barely suppressing a laugh. “And he’s not going to clean it up…”

That night, back at the lake, they had a communal BBQ for dinner. It had been at Jenkins behest, as he wanted to address everyone at once. Most of the ash from the backyard fire had either blow away, or soaked into the ground after a couple mid-summer mountain sprinkles, and the refugees spread out blankets just like an evening picnic at the park. The main course of the BBQ was a freshly butchered cow, rounded up from one of the pastures down in Kittewa. Fish and deer meat were also available, plus canned fruit and vegetables as well as fresh baked bread, cakes and pies. Everyone helped in the preparation and serving of the food, and it was a great social bonding event.

It wasn’t until everyone was stuffed full and relaxing in the cool evening air that Jenkins addressed the crowd. He simply stood atop his chair and in a firm voice called “May I have everyone’s attention?” The gathered crowd had been expecting him to address them; it had been the gossip circulating about the lake all day, and they quieted at once.

“Thank you…” Jenkins paused a few moments to collect his thoughts. “As you all know, the world we knew, the life we all knew…it is gone…forever. We have all suffered terrible losses and endured great horrors just to be here, alive today. And though we find ourselves at a temporary respite, a calm in the storm if you will, make no mistake…we are in a
very dangerous situation
. Earth is still under siege by the Krylok aliens and the armies of the dead must now number hundreds of millions…possibly billions. It is a deadly new world, straight out of hell. If the human race is to survive, we must stay strong. We must stay vigilant.” He paused to let his words sink in, peering out over the faces in the crowd. They had all been told of the Krylok invasion and the different kind of zombies, but up until now they had been focused only on their own survival. They had devoted little to no thought on the survival of the species. But now it was sinking in.

“What more can we do?” asked a thin, middle-aged man in blue overalls and a red ball cap.

“Exactly what we’ve been doing.” Jenkins said. “We keep on constant alert. We stay on the lookout for
live
humans and we bring them into the fold. And we develop relations with other strongholds.”

“Other strongholds?” someone said from the crowd.

“Yes, other strongholds. You don’t really think we are the only ones do you? Hill Air Force Base has become a major outpost. Thousands of people are housed there. And there are dozens of small towns like Kittewa nestled along these mountains. The zombies can’t have overrun them all. And those are just locally. Across the globe…” Jenkins let his words trail off.

“That would mean going…
out
, wouldn’t it General?” Another man asked. The look on his face, as well as the faces of many of those gathered told him that even the thought of such a prospect was more than they could bear.

“Yes it would mean going out. But only the Militia will be going out. The rest of you are civilians, and are needed here in the community.” A collective murmur of relief went through the crowd.

“The first wave of the alien invasion is over.” Jenkins continued. “We survived the initial shock, and with Zack running free, the alien Mothership crashed on the moon and most of the Krylok dead among the wreckage, their invasion plan is in shambles. Now is the time to send raiding teams into the cities. Evanston, Provo, even Salt Lake City are ripe for the plundering.”

“There are tens of thousands of zombies in the cities!” exclaimed a woman in the crowd.

“That would be suicide!” exclaimed someone else.

“Without a superzombie to control them, the zombies are mindless and easy to handle, even in large numbers, so long as you’re prepared. We have a tank at our disposal, and several other large vehicles that we can outfit for excursions into the cities. We also have a helicopter for rooftop assaults. But these are matters for me and the other Militia commanders.”

“What about our homes?” someone from the crowd called.

“When can we return to our homes?” called another.

Jenkins had wondered when they would get around to asking that question. “For the time being, you should stay here at the lake. There is plenty of room and supplies. And most of the town has been looted.”

“Are we prisoners?” asked a woman standing in front of Jenkins. She was tall, with short brown hair.

“Of course not!” Jenkins said. “Anyone is free to leave at anytime.”
Here it comes…
“However, you MAY NOT take anything with you but the clothes on your back, the weapons you are carrying and a good ration of food and water. You WILL NOT take any vehicle or animal you arrived with, as all have been co-opted by the community for the good of the community.” Jenkins cast a look to Matt, Susan and McReedy. He had told them what he would be saying tonight, and they had all agreed to back him. But Jenkins could sense an unrest stirring through the crowd of civilians. He continued before the unrest could grow into something more.

“So long as you are a part of the Rainbow Lake community, and work and strive for the betterment of the community, you will be welcome to all of its resources. But should you choose to leave, then you will do so at your own peril.” He could see that many were still uneasy with what he had just told them, but they would learn to live with it, or they would be dealt with appropriately.

“I was a Freebooter in Park City.” The man was tall and thin, but had an air of untamed ferocity. He had icy blue eyes, a grizzled mane of dishwater blond hair and a beard and mustache that masked a mug only a mother could love. He wore a black leather jacket over a black T-shirt, with black leather-riding chaps over black jeans, and black steel toed riding boots. He exuded an aura of hard, cold steel.

“Your point?” Jenkins asked.

“You’ll have to kill me and my crew before you’ll take what's ours.”

The entire crowd went silent.

Jenkins and the biker and stared each other in the eye, and like two angry dogs their hackles began to rise.

Several other tattooed and leather garbed warriors mingled about the crowd, readying themselves for action.

Half a dozen Militiamen tightened their grip on their AK-47’s, ready to snap to and fire in the blink of an eye.

It was the biker who blinked, opting to negotiate rather than spill blood. “What kind of deal are you going to offer Freebooters?”

Freebooters had been a vital part of Park City’s fledgling yet robust barter based economy. They went out into the abandoned cities, towns and neighborhoods, salvaging food, fuel, medicine, drugs etc. Jenkins himself had been a Freebooter, along with Ron and Rick. Hell he’d even had Matt sold on the idea.

“Freebooters will be given a special exemption. Since you are willing to risk your lives by venturing out to salvage for the community, you get to keep your vehicles for raiding. The community takes a 90% Tariff on anything you bring in.”

“Park City only levied 50%” the biker growled back.

“Park City is gone.” Jenkins retorted. “Rainbow Lake is where you are now. And Rainbow Lake has a 90% tax. If you have a better prospect elsewhere…” He knew that was as good an offer as any Freebooter would get anywhere. The look in the biker's eye said he had reached the same conclusion. Even with a 90% tax that would still leave plenty for the freebooters personal take and allow them to live well in a barter based economy.

“Well then General, it looks like me and my crew have us a new home.” The man said and a smile spread across his shaggy face.

“What's your name friend?” Jenkins asked.

“Tucker…Smitty Tucker.”

“Glad to have you.” Jenkins let out a breath of relief, and at the same time could feel the tension drain from the crowd.

That was close.

He addressed the crowd once again.

“Furthermore, as our community has grown, so too has the need for leaders to manage certain areas and tasks. We will be instituting Leadership Council to better administer the needs and resources of the community. The Council will consist of ten members. Matt and Susan Robbins, Colonel McReedy, David Young, Sheriff Busley, Dr. Reilly and myself shall all be charter members, with the other three positions to be selected by a vote among the rest of you.”

The charter members of the Council had been told of this plan as well and they too had supported it, the rationalization being that it would give the members of the community something to focus on, to vent their concerns and needs to. But this took the crowd by surprise and the murmur of conversation sprang up.

"Why are there charter members?" someone asked. "What makes them so important?"

"This is our stronghold!" Jenkins barked. We routed Mordecai Necrotura and took this lake. All of you arrived after the fact." His eyes were laser beams as they panned the crowd.

“Folks, you’ve got to understand something.” This time it was Sheriff Busley who spoke up, his deep baritone rising above the buzz of the crowd as he stood to his full height. “General Jenkins has mentioned it already but I must stress the point; Civilization as we knew it is gone… Finished! The United States of America is no more, as well as every other government worldwide. Whatever way we go from here, we will have to make it ourselves. Now we can choose lawlessness and anarchy, and most likely fall prey to those dead sons-a-bitches if we don’t kill each other first, or we can start fresh…try a new way…build a better place for our children… If that is what we choose, we’ve
got
to have law and order and structure to our society…” The Sheriff trailed off, and Jenkins could see that the old man had had an effect on the crowd. He had been a community leader for many years before the plague broke out, and they trusted him with their lives and those of their families.

“Now it’s late, and you’ve a lot to take in, so I suggest we all get a good nights rest and work out this Council business in the morning.” The only one who appeared to disagree with the Sheriff was Jenkins, but he could see the weariness and uncertainty on the faces in the crowd, and he said nothing. Without much fanfare, the crowd broke up as families regrouped and finished eating, talking quietly amongst themselves before drifting away toward their sleeping quarters…

Matt lie awake in bed.

He could hear Susan’s breathing drift into the deep, heavy pattern of sleep, but he had too much on his mind to sleep.

While Jenkins and Mac busied themselves with organizing the Militia, Matt and Susan had concentrated on organizing the community itself. At first it had merely consisted of assigning a bed, offering food, medicine and comfort. But now the community had spread across several estates, and the logistics of keeping everyone fed, clothed, bathed and healthy, and the estates well maintained and supplied was fast becoming a nightmare. Once they began delegating work assignments and rationing supplies, they both expected challenges to their authority. But none came. Most of the refugees were simple farmers and ranchers, and they were content to be safe and secure. It was just as Jenkins had said it would be. Everyone contributed where they could, hauling supplies, counting inventory, preparing food, offering suggestions on planning and organization, but the leadership role seemed to fall naturally on Matt and Susan’s shoulders. It wasn’t necessarily a role either of them cherished, but it was a responsibility they both accepted.

“I think we’re going to be ok.” Matt said, talking to nobody.

“What?” Susan asked, her voice slurred with sleep.

“Just thinking aloud babe. Go back to sleep.” Matt stroked her shoulder and back and she snuggled her head deeper into his chest…

CHAPTER 5

Thursday, July 12, 2001

Rainbow Lake, UT

8:00 PM

The vote for the remaining three Council seats had gone smooth and without a hitch; In addition to the charter members of General Jenkins, Colonel McReedy, Matt & Susan Robbins, David Young, Dr. Reilly and Sheriff Busley, the three Council members elected to office were Patty Marshall, Lucas Casey and Guy Hammond.

Patty Marshall was a tall woman in her early forties, buxom and full figured. She wore her brunette hair short, her eyes large and blue, her mouth full-lipped and her cheekbones high. She had been a teacher at the town elementary school as well as a member of the Kittewa town council. A community leader pre-plague, it was only natural that they turn to her now, in a time of dire crisis.

Lucas Casey was a retired breeder and trainer of pedigree horses and hunting dogs with a comfortable cabin on the south end of the lake. He was tall and thin, with coffee colored skin and a hint of gray in his dark, close cropped hair. His brown eyes were warm, yet aloof, as if he were in constant amusement of what was going on around him. He was also an avid hunter and he knew these mountains and trails as good as anyone and better than most.

Guy Hammond was a frail, mousy man, with thinning blond hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He exuded an air of meek timidity, hardly a man one would expect people to turn to for leadership in a time of crisis. But he had been the Curator and Librarian of the towns small Museum-Library and the townsfolk regarded him as the most knowledgeable person on virtually any subject in Kittewa before the outbreak. He had passed up several offers from college museums and libraries to devote himself to the history and folklore of the surrounding area.