Sometimes We Ran (Book 3): Rescue (3 page)

We picked up the sheet and began to drag it to Lisa's fence kill that was still lying in the road. It was a long walk back, but eventually we reunited the two corpses. Someone had wrapped Lisa's kill in another sheet with stars and planets all over it. All of us were breathing hard in the cold air, so we took another break for a quick sip of water. I wasn't looking forward to dragging these heavy zombies all the way to Doctor Connelly's infirmary, but her orders were clear. The doctor wanted to look at all the zombies we killed. She was trying to find clues to the source of the infection.

I wasn't comfortable with that. I'd rather burn them in a big pile and be done with it.

As we stood there, a pair of powerful headlights and a sound like a motorcycle approached us through the winter gloom. It was our Chinese-built, utility all-terrain vehicle, with two residents of Cannon Fields on board. Someone must have thought this was an emergency because the ATV was never used unless things got bad. It cut into our dwindling gasoline supply.

The camouflaged, 4-wheeled beast of burden slid to a stop on the front lawn, and the occupants leapt off their seats and into action. One was Big Thomas, a hulking country boy who hadn't met an animal he couldn't hunt down and kill. His skill as a hunter was invaluable to Cannon Fields. Thanks to him, we always had something to eat.

The other person was a bit more diminutive than Thomas. Standing five-foot-one and weighing in about a buck-ten was my good friend, Claire. Before I was a resident of Cannon Fields, Claire had been my companion on the road. Her small size masked her toughness. Claire could be a wrecking machine. She jumped off the ATV, wielding her favorite weapon: an aluminum baseball bat. I think she had a rack of them at her house. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was still damp. Must be bath day.

They walked up to our little group, and looked us over. “Is everything okay? We heard there might be zombies on the loose inside the fence,” Claire said.

“Everything is cool. We got them,” I said.

Big Thomas lowered his prized hunting rifle with the big, silver barrel. “Coming down here, we told everybody to stay inside. How many this time?”

“Three,” Lisa said. “Ben and I each got one, and John and Elizabeth greased another one trapped in one of the houses.”

Claire frowned. “Which house? How did it get in there?”

“1201 Songbird. Got in through the back door,” I said, uncovering Zombie-Boy to show Claire.

“Oh...that house,” she said. She looked down at the broken corpse. “So young. Nice work with the knife.”

“Thanks.” I didn't want to tell her that my gun had been knocked out of my hand. She would never let me hear the end of it.

Ben started coughing again, much worse this time. “Okay Ben. That's it. You need to go to bed.” Lisa gently shoved him away from the group.

“All right. You win,” he said. Ben slapped me on the back. “Let me know if you need me.” He turned towards his house to get some rest.

“Come on guys. Let's get these things to Doctor Connelly before we freeze to death,” I said. We pushed, pulled, and struggled to get the sheet-wrapped corpses into the little flatbed area on the ATV. When we finally got them situated, Lisa strung a few bungee cords around them to keep them secure. The bodies were stiff and unwieldy, and it was quite an effort to move them around.

“Man...these things get stiff in the cold. I don't know where to grab them,” Thomas said, wiping his forehead.

We all piled into the little vehicle, and Thomas turned around to take us back to the admin building where Doctor Connelly had set up the former Cannon Fields fitness center as an infirmary. We bounced through the front yards and curbs at a steady but slow speed. I was grateful for the ride. The thought of dragging two heavy zombie corpses wrapped in sheets was not a pleasant one.

We rode in silence, as it was too cold to talk. I hung on as Thomas skillfully took us down the street. Several residents stood on their porches and waved as we passed. Some stared at the two bodies in the back. We waved back, and tried to hurry up the task at hand. Just get the dead Red-Eyes to the doctor and everyone can get back to their lives.

It has been a hard winter so far. This was the coldest winter of the past five years since the outbreak, and the first one that really tested our resolve and survival skills. It tested our willingness to keep going. Our supplies were okay, but we were still rationing to make sure we had enough. Between the cold, sickness, and the zombies, we didn't know which might get us first. We were all pretty exhausted and frustrated. Spring was still about two months away.

Thomas brought us to the traffic roundabout in front of the Cannon Fields office buildings. The admin building, where all the action took place, loomed up to my right. All the business of survival and keeping people happy took place in this building. We ate our main meal, got medical attention, planned missions, and asked for supplies in this building. Some of our people were born here, and others had died. It was our castle, and the nerve center of our little, fenced-in world.

And it was warm.

Thomas pulled up the curb and we got out. Lisa unstrapped our silent cargo and placed the bodies on the ground. A few people hanging around the building stared at us as we made our arrival. They asked no questions. The body fluids staining the sheets provided all the answers they needed.

Lisa wiped some sweat from her forehead. “It's okay, John. Big Tom and I will take care of the bodies. We'll get them to the Doctor. You go make your report.”

“You sure?”

Lisa and Thomas nodded. “Yeah...we got it,” Thomas said, grabbing an arm.

“Okay. You guys be sure and get warm,” I said. Claire and I turned and walked up the steps to the building. I opened the door, and warmth flowed over my body. Someone had built a fire in the big stone fireplace.

We walked up to the desk, basking in the warmth of the lobby. Jaci, the eighteen-year-old helper to the leader of Cannon Fields, was there to greet us. My wife, Karen, was the usual assistant, but she was sick at home. “Is Denise in her office?,” I asked.

Jaci smiled, revealing a mouthful of braces. I often wondered how she was going to get them removed with all the orthodontists gone. “She's in a meeting. It's almost over, I think.”

“Thanks, Jaci,” I said. Claire and I turned down the short hallway to the most important office in the building: Denise's office. The leader of Cannon Fields.

“What do you need to see Denise about?” I asked Claire as we walked. The hallway was nice and warm.

“I broke my can opener. I have to ask for the key to the storage locker.” Can and bottle openers, vegetable peelers, and other assorted essential kitchen tools were some of the most valuable things in the world these days. We kept them under lock and key in case bandits from the road broke into the compound. People will kill for a good can opener.

Raised voices reached our ears from Denise's office. Claire and I stood outside the door to see what was going on. It was a meeting with Salvatore, our resident butcher and food guy. Also present was our quasi-governing body, the association, who assisted Denise in running Cannon Fields. From what I could gather from my eavesdropping, they were discussing our supplies. The conversation was getting a little heated. Denise was her usual stoic self. She was listening to everyone and trying to keep things moving forward. These skills made her a good leader. Solutions came easy to her, and she could compromise like a pro. Denise was one of the reasons we were all still alive.

At least she kept us from killing each other.

“Maybe we shouldn't be snooping at the door,” Claire whispered.

I nodded, and we left the hallway for the big fireplace in the lobby. Jaci had built a huge roaring fire that warmed the whole room. I took off my gloves, and tried to warm my semi-frostbitten fingers. Claire did the same. She was looking at me funny.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” I asked.

Claire made a circular motion with her finger in the air around the lower half of my face. “When did you grow that?” Someone else making fun of my beard.

“I was sick, and I ran out of blades. I almost died trying to shave with a knife. You don't like it?”

Claire scrunched up her nose. A sign that she thought I was terminally uncool. “Doesn't do anything for me. Makes you look kind of old. It came in gray.”

“May I remind you that Ryan, your husband and love of your life, not to mention the father of your son, has a beard?”

Claire giggled. “Yeah...but he's younger. He pulls it off better.”

Jaci walked up with an armload of wood for the fire. “I think the beard is cool. It makes you look distinguished, like a professor or something,” she said, looking at my face.

“Thank you, Jaci. See? Somebody likes it.” I said.

Claire just made a face. “She's just trying to be nice. 'Distinguished' is another word for old.”

The big meeting was breaking up. Salvatore appeared at the end of the hallway with a big smile on his face. No matter what the situation, Sal could always be counted on to be cheery. He grabbed my hand and shook it with authority. He then saw Claire and went into charmer mode, kissing her hand. Sal was a bit of a ladies man despite the fact he was pushing sixty years old.

“How did the meeting go, Sal?” I asked.

Sal rolled his eyes. “Ask Mike. He talked the most.”

The association was next down the hall. Denise was last, with her granny glasses on a chain around her neck and her ever-present gray sweater. She was deep in discussion with Michael, a member of the association. As usual, he was still arguing despite the meeting being over. Denise just nodded and tried to hustle him out of the hallway. She looked up and saw me standing by the stone fireplace.

“Good to see you, John. How many zombies get in?” she said, stopping to warm her hands.

“Three. Lisa and Ben each got one. Elizabeth and I trapped one in a house.”

“How many bullets did you guys use this time?” Mike interjected.

Michael and I sometimes didn't see eye to eye. He was always worrying about how many bullets we had, or how many knives were checked out of the armory. “Just a few,” I said. “We're all fine, by the way.” Michael seemed annoyed by my report, and started to say something. Denise stepped in.

“John...Michael, be nice,” she said. Michael and I walked away from each other. When I first arrived at Cannon Fields, Michael had been a snotty nineteen year old with a bit of an attitude. He seemed to be allergic to hard work, and never took to security. Instead, he turned to the association and politics. It suited him much better to tell everyone else what to do, even if at times he didn't know what he was doing.

Denise, Claire, and I walked down the short hallway to Denise's office. Doctor Connelly joined us. “Mind if I tag along?” she asked.

“Sure,” Denise answered. “I hope we all fit. The meeting with the association was a little tight.” She did have a small office for a leader. We stepped into the space and found seats, in the small space.  Good thing we were all so thin, or it would have been a tight squeeze.

Denise sat down heavily in the old leather office chair. It was beginning to fray around the edges. “Okay...first thing. What do you need, Claire?”

“A can opener. I broke mine. Just need the key to the storage area.”

“No problem.” Denise moved Chester, her old office cat, out of the way to root through one of the drawers in the desk. She threw a set of keys into the air. “Here you go.”

Claire skillfully caught the keys in mid-flight. “Thanks. I'll be right back.” She disappeared to the storage shed to hunt down a new can opener.

Denise turned to me. “Okay. Now for your report, John. Three zombies this time?”

“Yes. Two climbed the fence. Lisa got one as it was coming over. Ben shot one as it tried to run away. Elizabeth and I got the third in one of the houses.”

Denise put her glasses on. “Everybody okay? Any damage to the house?”

“Elizabeth bumped her head, but nothing serious. We cleaned up the house.” I paused for a few seconds. “It was 1201 Songbird Lane.”

Denise nodded. “Strange. The intruders always seem to pick that house. Right...well, glad no one got seriously hurt.” She turned to the Doctor. “Is Elizabeth okay?”

“She's fine,” Doctor Connelly answered. “Little cut on her scalp. Going to hurt for a while.”

“Good ...Thank God. Anything unusual about these Red-Eyes?”

“They were climbing the fence. Looks like they're remembering again,” I said.

Denise shook her head. “Yeah...not great news.” She turned to Doctor Connelly. “You think they're getting smarter, Johanna?

Doctor Connelly leaned back, interlaced her fingers, and put them palm down on her head. She always did that when she was thinking. “Maybe their food supply is low. They could be getting desperate, I guess. I have to look at the ones John brought to the infirmary.”

“We could be in trouble if they all learn at once. Cannon Fields might be swarmed,” I said.

Denise sighed, and shuffled some papers on her desk. I didn't envy the responsibility on her shoulders. Keeping people safe is hard work. The first year was rough on all of us. The corn and other things we planted didn't do so well in the soft, clay soil of Alabama. As a result, we went through our stored supplies a little faster than estimated. Denise had to hold the community together even as the potential for starvation tore us apart. Some of the group decided to leave.

Denise begged them to stay, but they left anyway. We never heard from them again.

Things improved. Our crops got better, and we learned to live off the land. We even raised a few goats, pigs, and chickens thanks to our resident farmer, Peter. Our little trips outside never turned up any cows. Our guess is the Red-Eyes got all the cattle. We got used to goat milk and cheese for breakfast.

“I guess we'll have to start patrolling again. Walk the fences, and watch for zombies that climb,” Denise said, rubbing her tired eyes. I wondered how much sleep she was getting these days. “I know with this sickness going around we're a little short on security.”