Tell you what: You keep writin, I'll keep readin!

You got one hell of a story going, don't go all Swindle on us :-) and leave us hanging!

I love Swindle's work. Only problem is getting him to finish it!

I promise I will finish this story. My track record backs me up - I'm 3/3 so far...

Chapter 20

Kara was completely out of sight by the time I got to my feet. She must not have noticed me missing. I tried my radio, but it was broken. Probably from the not so nice landing. I tried to sprint back up to the road, but a sharp pain in my right ankle kept that from turning into a reality.

After the swearing and collecting myself from falling, I realized that I likely had a sprained ankle and maybe a sprained knee for my effort. So I took my time and slowly hobbled to the road.

By the time I got to the road, I made two realizations. First, Kara was long gone, I knew this much because she would have turned right around at the instant she realized I was no longer in the truck. Second, I realized I would not make it very far in my current condition.

It had taken me over five minutes to cover what was no more than thirty yards. I was really fortunate I could not see any undead. Outrunning them would be difficult at best. Then the thought occurred to me: my number one priority right now was getting back to the mall we had been using as a meeting area.

That in mind, I sat down and began to evaluate everything I was carrying. If there was any way to lighten the load by shedding unnecessary items, my ankle would definitely appreciate it. Problem was, I did not think there was anything I could afford to ditch. I only carried my AR (which had skidded across the ground and made my trip back to the road a bit longer), ammo, a basic first-aid pack, a bit of food, and the radio. I had a sidearm, but I might need that.

Most of the weight was ammo, but I needed that. Oh, well. My best option would be to find a car that ran and drive it back to the mall. I started the long walk back, keeping in mind to look out for any undead and also look for any houses or other former places of civilization. I knew it would be a couple of miles at least before I came to that point, this town had the old town square, and then all of the new, growing businesses were actually a few miles down the highway.

Pain was in my mind constantly. My ankle was starting to throb. Every step was labor. Every yard was pain. It became a simple battle of fortitude to simply keep moving. I knew that if I stopped, and some Z’s came by, though…

I shook the thought from my mind. I was certainly not in top fighting condition, but I would have to use my mind to keep one step ahead of the undead. Nonetheless, any obstacles or circumstances to gain an advantage were a couple of miles down the road. Out here, everything was pretty plain: farmland with the occasional trees.

From the trips I had made here and back from our previous scouting trips and fighting, I pretty much knew where the major landmarks were, and how far apart those were. The first one I came across was invigorating and dejecting all at the same time. The landmark was an old, weathered barn some three hundred yards off the road. It had been red once, but it was more of a gray now. I knew it to be about five miles from the mall, and about two from the town square. Problem was, we had traveled a mile and a half by truck when I’d fallen out, so I had only covered a half mile at best. And that was in three hours.

I slumped to the ground, clutching my AR like my son clutched his teddy bear. My son. He would be my motivation again. I quickly calculated that at the rate of a mile every six hours, this trip might take several days. I had to keep stopping to rest, and regain my composure from the excruciating pain, though.

I realized there was no other good landmark or place I would be able to reach by nightfall. And why hadn’t Kara come back for me? Surely they had made it back to base by now and realized I wasn’t there. What was keeping them?

Ultimately, I knew they could not come back for me. They did not know exactly where I was and they could not risk coming after me with all the undead in this direction. I couldn’t really blame them. And if Kara got back to Paul and Austin, they would all be safe and that’s what mattered.

So I took inventory again of where I was, the time, and what I had to do. I figured the barn would provide as much shelter as anything. It did seem to have the upper level – which would be where I would be staying with the undead all out on the hunt.

Thirty minutes later, I was there.

The horses in the open stables below would likely notify me of any intruders – living or dead. I had an open view to the road. It was almost 8pm and I was really hungry. I ate a small bit of the prepackaged food I carried, just I case of a situation like this.

All the while, I could feel my ankle swelling. It felt like it needed to pop, like a knuckle. I didn’t have the courage to try that, though. I had made sure that I had two exits, just in case. Although both were down ladders into the same lower level, one was barricaded up a bit more, and I would likely be able to use it as an emergency exit is the first one was blocked.

I don’t know exactly when I drifted off to sleep, but I did. I remember a fitful sleep, plagued by dreams of monsters eating me and my loved ones. I also kept ‘hearing’ cars go by while in my sleep. I would awaken and see nothing, so after a few times, I paid those dreams no attention whatsoever.

I woke up the following morning to a throbbing pain in my ankle and an overall need to stretch. When I did, I inadvertently stretched my feet too. When I did that, my ankle did indeed pop like an ordinary knuckle. The pain was intense and doubled me over for a moment. Then, there was a feeling like pressure relieved. The pain was lessened, to be sure, but it was not gone.

I stood gingerly and stretched some circulation into my legs and arms. The hay had been a fairly comfortable bed. I looked to the road. Of course, there were no cars. There were, however, zombies. I guess at their meandering pace, even they could get here overnight. But how had they homed in on me? Or was it even me?

Then I heard rustling below. I realized the horses were deathly quiet. Then the smell hit me. I smelled death and decay. Grabbing my AR and moving silently, I went over to a spot where I could look down at the lower level.

What I saw was revolting. There was a mass of zombies feasting on what I figured to be one of the horses below. The poor creature had been pinned in and couldn’t escape. I figured several arrived at about the same time as just one or two would have been easy for a large creature like a horse to escape.

I scanned the whole area. There were dozens of the undead here. How had I not heard them? And if I didn’t hear them – which was fairly obvious – what else had I missed in my slumber?

I sat to regroup and evaluate my situation. I remembered the “back door” exit, for just such a case as this. I checked it out, but there were Z’s there, too. Back to the drawing board.

I thought about shooting my way out. I looked out into the field and counted seven undead wandering about. The shooting would surely attract them. Then I counted the ones already in the barn. There were thirty four others. Forty one zombies. That would be quite an exercise, especially with a bum ankle.

I struggled to find other solutions. None came to mind. I realized my hunger and nibbled at an energy bar I’d been carrying. I had barely enough food for today, and I was running desperately low on water. There was no way I could stay here and hope they wandered off.

With all of that in mind, I set off to count my ammo. I had twelve full magazines, and a little left in my current mag, totaling 370 rounds. I did something I had never before advocated doing: I performed a tactical reload. In this case I could justify it as I knew I’d use all thirty rounds in the new mag, and I would get around to the partially used one, as well.

All in al, I toiled for at least an hour over whether to open fire or hold off. As I waited, I realized these things weren’t going anywhere. I reflected on the fact that in open combat, they were supremely efficient. They cared not for losses to their ranks, they simply advanced with only the thought of victory.

I flipped my magnifier to the side, and took a comfortable position in the loft. I spaced my remaining food and water around me in arms’ reach. This would be an unconventional battle as I had all the advantages. I could take my time and eliminate them easily in this setup.

I placed the circle-dot reticle on the first Z’s head. An even squeeze of the trigger was all that was needed to splatter a graying blood all over the other occupants of that horse stall and get the attention of all the undead in the whole building.

The shot also reminded me of a basic of combat: hearing protection! I fished through my pocket and retrieved a set of gel earplugs. I’d probably shoot through two mags or more, and my ears would not be able to tolerate that.

Another target acquired, and another spray of graying blood. I wondered to myself if that was one of the symptoms of their infection. I placed shot after shot after shot. Eventually the bodies were mounting up. I reminisced absently about this time last year, when internet keyboard warriors would occasionally trash the 5.56 mm round as ineffective. I had a lot of live proof to the contrary.

Problem was, even after a dozen killed, their numbers seemed to be growing, not shrinking. I did a quick recount and came up with fifty four Z’s. Not the 29 or so I would have expected. I stood and moved closer to the back door and soon realized why. It seems that more were coming from all directions.

There was no way to tell exactly how many were coming from the back, as there was a pretty thick tree line that was acting as concealment for the zombies’ movement. I had to solve this problem, and do so quickly.

Below, the massing hordes were pushing against the barriers they saw. In and of itself, pushing against one door on one stall would not have been a problem. However, dozens of bodies pushing against walls, including supporting beams could cause a problem. And they were. The age of the barn was not helping in this situation, either.

I moved back to my firing position, noticing the occasional twinge of pain in my lower leg. I pulled up the targeting reticle and began firing again. This time, I shot at a more expedient pace. I was averaging a shot every three or four seconds. This time, I would plow down the enemies that were closest to the front exit.

Since I could not determine how many undead would swarm from the back door, I figured the front door was the only remaining option.

I shot and shot, and began to make my way through the crowd and take down a lot of the zombies towards the front. However, two simple facts were adding up against me here. The fact that there were still so many undead. Id’ killed at least twenty, but it seemed as though there were actually still more than fifty walking corpses.

The second fact was that all the while the zombies kept pushing in a rage against the barriers, I was accidentally shooting some of the support beams as I tried to kill the undead. I realized this error as I heard the first of several loud creaks and groans, coming not form the Z’s, but from the structure itself. I quickly realized my error and set about preparing to get down and out of here quickly.

I grabbed up all of my gear, donning my vest, and setting my equipment all in place. I checked and grabbed my empty mags and put them away.

More groans from the strained wood.

I kicked myself into high gear and really set out, trying to shoot as many undead at the front of the barn as possible. And, just as I got to a point where I thought enough were out of the way that I could make a break for it, the second floor collapsed. I hit the ground and rolled a bit.

Zombies were upon me…

Good job .. keep'em coming!

I'm jonesing for the next chapter... :)

Chapter 21

My rifle had been jarred loose, but my pistol was firmly in place. As the first zombie bit at me, I shot him in the mouth. His brains exploded out the back of his head and showered us both. I repeated this process on the two nearest undead, with similar results. Then I was free.

I rolled to my feet and assessed the situation. The horde of remaining zombies was trapped in the barn. The second floor had collapsed on one side only, forming a makeshift ramp of sorts. This provided a barrier to keep trapped the Z’s. I noticed a twinge of pain from my ankle.

Then I realized I needed my rifle if I was going anywhere. A quick scan and it was back in my hands in no time. There were random zombies wandering in my direction from several angles. They were anywhere from 50 yards to more than 400 yards away. With my current setup, and lack of real cover or support, I doubted I could accurately get a headshot on the ones more than 200 yards away.

I knelt and steadied my aim, picking the nearest zombie to work my rifle’s magic on. A single shot and he was down. I reflected absently that he had been an enemy soldier in life. Either way, he was destined to die on a battlefield, I supposed.

I repeated this process, picking apart the six zombies that were within 200 yards. The few stragglers farther out than that posed no immediate problem, so I slung my rifle and began the trek back to the road. The path was winding and a bit difficult for me in my injured state, but not nearly as hard as it had been yesterday. I was thankful for that.

As I reached the road, I turned back and noticed something rather odd. The far off zombies were still heading toward the general spot I had been in when I fired at their brethren. I knew these creatures could see, but I hypothesized that perhaps their vision was not on par with a normal man’s. Funny, I thought.

I continued my journey, down the road. For me, a five mile hike would normally have taken just over an hour at walking speed. With my injury, and additional weight, it took me just over two hours, but I made it to the mall area.

When I arrived, the mall was deserted. I entered cautiously, not knowing what had or had not happened. I kept my rifle ready as I walked through the breezeway and into the areas that had been quartered off into functional military operations spaces. There was nobody here. I called out here and there, looking to find any live person, and all the while I stayed to the middle and away form doors, just in case there had been an infestation of the infected here.

Not a soul. Not a single undead, either. Strange.

I made my way to the area they kept the food and helped myself to some cereal bars and juice that I found in there. My mind was racing, I just really could not figure out why there was nobody here. None of it made sense.

Satisfied that I was the only person here, and that my next logical option was to head back to Paul’s place, I finished up my makeshift meal and headed out of the mall. I realized I really did not want to walk all the way back to Paul’s house – that was almost twice as far as the barn had been from where I stood now! I scanned about, wondering exactly how I would hotwire one of the cars around, then I saw something that made more sense.

Across the street form the mall, no more than 500 yards away form where I stood was a strip mall. In the strip mall was a local car rental operation. Like everything else around here, it had been months since that had been used or opened. However, I figured it was worth a try.

I made my best time across the street and strode up to the car rental outlet. For a moment, I wondered how I was going to get in as the door was locked. Then I felt like a fool.

A swift kick shattered the glass door.

I entered cautiously, just in case. I stayed just to the side of the door in the open lobby, kneeling down and keeping my rifle pointed at the doors leading to the restrooms and the back room.

A few moments of waiting assured me nothing undead was in here. If there was a living person in here, I would be very curious as to what the hell they would be doing in here. I scanned each restroom quickly, and then moved to the back room. Nobody was here.

The tidy little desk had no indication of where the keys to the rental cars might be. I searched every drawer and every shelf, but they were not there. I went to the front and repeated the process, and repeated the results. Still no keys. A thought overcame me.

I went outside on a whim and checked the cars, but all of the doors were locked, and there were no keys in sight.

Back into the office. A dull metal glint caught my eye – the safe. If I managed a car rental location, I would keep the keys and money in the safe after hours. But I would also lock it. The manager who had worked here was not a complete idiot, as I found the safe to be locked.

A realization that I was not going to get anywhere started to overtake me. It was almost depressing. I thought about the car dealership just down the road, but they were likely in the same condition. And dealerships usually keep even less gas in the cars than the damn car rental places!

As I was thinking these and other thoughts, I saw something else that caught my eye: “Training Manual.” It was in my hands just like that. I skimmed through quickly and saw no mention of the safe code. But I had the idea. I thumbed through everything in and on the manager’s desk, making a real mess of the place.

After much searching, I finally found a card with the code to the safe on it, located on the manager’s rolodex under the name of the actual outfit I was in, and on one of the manager’s own business cards. Chase Hatton was his name. I wondered to myself what sort of guy he was. I wondered if he lived still, or if he had been killed in the attacks, or even if he had been infected and was now among the undead.

A moment later, I held all the keys and the bank bag in which they had been kept. I went outside and started looking through the vehicles. I finally settled on a nondescript midsize American-made sedan. I put the bag full of keys back inside right behind the front counter in the open. Moments later, I was driving down the road.

Damn cheapskates had only a quarter-tank of gas.

No matter, I only had seven or eight miles to go, so that would be more than enough. My mind ran through several possibilities of when I returned, but nothing could have prepared me for what I actually encountered when I got there.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The place was deserted. Nobody was home. I could tell people had been here. When I entered, it seemed as though there might have been people here as early as this morning. There were washed dishes in the drainer to dry, and I could smell the bacon from breakfast.

I eventually came to the conclusion that at least there were no zombies here, so I anticipated they would eventually return. I also came to the conclusion that I was tired and needed to clean up a bit.

It took a while, but I showered, put on a fresh set of clothes: had to go back to my place to get those, and nobody was there, either. My ankle looked horrible – it was several colors: purple, yellow, and blue mostly. I figured it to be a sprain. I was surprised it did not feel any worse than it did, though. Maybe popping it this morning had helped.

After cleaning myself up, I proceeded to take my AR down. I unloaded it, checked the chamber, and released the takedown pins on the lower receiver. I removed the charging handle and the bolt. I disassembled the bolt carrier group as I had learned to do, down to the last little pins.

All the small parts got a scrubbing with CLP. The bore and the chamber got much the same treatment. I was careful to scrub the barrel from chamber to muzzle only. After scrubbing the parts appropriately, I added more CLP to lubricate the weapon. This was my rifle, and I was useless without it as the old Marine prayer went. As I finished up, I took out the motor oil to lube the bolt carrier group. Heavier lube for the heavier moving parts, thought. I never had a malfunction with this rifle in a fight, so there must be something to it.

In moments my rifle was back together. A function check assured me my reconstruction was true. My magazine went back in and a thought hit me. I went to the ammo closet downstairs and grabbed several boxes. An hour later, my magazines were all full and I was set to go back out, had I needed to do so.

I cleaned my Glock with the same regimen, figuring even though I had only fired it thrice since its last cleaning, it would not hurt a thing to do so again now. It went back into the tactical holster on my vest.

At some point, I had lain down to rest and at some point after that, I passed out. I only became aware of this as I was jostled back into consciousness by Austin hugging me and asking me to wake up.

It took a moment to shake the cobwebs, and after that I realized Kara, Paul and the others were home, too.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Kara said. She was understandably emotional.

I explained what happened and where I had been.

“You should have stayed near the road, we rode up and down at least ten times last night and this morning!” She replied to the news.

“Too many Z’s,” I replied. “And like I said, until this morning, I couldn’t really walk that well.”

Another round of hugs.

“Well you’re here safe, now and that’s what matters.” Paul said. “Kara, why don’t you tell him the news?”

“What news?” I asked.

Yeah, what news?

What news? is she, you know?

Impregnated!?!  

Impregnated?

Infected?

Promoted?

Dying of a mysterious illness?

Bat-crazy?


hmmm.....

Nice job. I am totally hooked.

or she's LEFT HIM already!!!!!!


















I'm not really good at guesses.

Yeah what news!

any idea on when we can expect more?  I NEED MY FIX!

Probably this weekend. Had to go to corporate offices this week.

Part III – Death of a Hero

Chapter 22


Running.

Fast as I could. Bullets zipping through the air not far away. I hear the angry buzzing sound now and again, but they aren’t directed at me. I duck behind a corner and take a few deep breaths.

I am lighter now than when all of this started. I think I weigh a solid 175 or so. Used to go about 230, but food isn’t as good now. And most of it I share with Austin anyways. I do a lot of running and walking now, too. We like to save on Diesel fuel, so when I scavenge a neighborhood or something, I usually park the vehicle toward the middle and walk back and forth with the loot.

Austin is helping me now, too. He’s growing. At this point, he just turned seven years old. He is the one shooting from his lookout post. We are in the middle of a small town, looting whatever we can. He loves to shoot his .22 at the zombies. Kid can hit ‘em and put ‘em down, too. He rarely needs a second shot. He loves his little rifle. He loves his little sister, too.

Sister? Oh, I forgot to tell you. That thing Kara had to tell me. She was pregnant. She had baby Anna eight months after telling me. That’s a really good thing, because other than our family and the Chinese immigrants we helped out, we haven’t seen any other people in the year that it’s been. We figure it’s time to repopulate the Earth. Oh, yeah. Kara is pregnant again. I guess I can’t stay away from her!

The Chinese immigrants have been really good help. They helped us plant crops and they aren’t afraid of manual labor. The women are pretty good at sewing, too. Of course we got them some rifles and pistols so they could take care of themselves. They live in a home not far from Paul and not far from me and Kara, either. Their English is getting better, too. They even helped translate those books Kara took from the town when we first learned of the zombies.

The big book was about some fellow named Matt who went through all this crap, but somehow he had already made it to the other side. And there was no mention of zombies. Most of the other little books were the journals that were compiled to make the book. We still can’t figure out why the big book ends the way it does. And the Immigrants tell us the diction used in the last few pages is not the same as the rest of the book. Oh, well, it doesn’t really matter to us.

So here I am, waiting on the undead to come after me so that Austin can pick them off like the little sniper he is. None of his shots will be over 40 or 45 yards, so I think he will be on the money each time. Kid can work that little bolt-action single shot .22 like nobody I’ve ever seen. I raided a good scope from a sporting goods store several months ago and helped him sight it in. The scope was really designed for a larger rifle, but since it was free, I rationalized that Austin could keep it when he moves up to a bigger rifle, if he wants.

Another snap of the rimfire raider led to another thud as another undead hit the ground. My ear, sensitive to anything that’s not undead, hear him perfectly work the action of the miniature rifle and put another hollow point shell into place.

Another snapping pop.

Another thud.

Damn… kid’s good. I trained him to be good, though, so it doesn’t surprise me. I reflect on his marksmanship as I hear him load another. However, this time there is a much longer pause between shots. In fact, no additional shot comes.

“Austin, you OK?” I say softly into our two-way radio.

“Yeah, dad,” he replies. “No more ‘Z’s’ in the street, though. Sun came out from the clouds. They are going to hide now.”

He was right. Children simply observe and repeat what they see. Austin is no different. He knows Zombie behavior better than I do, because he has no preconceived notions of how they should act. I keep thinking, even now, that they might follow more human behavior patterns. They don’t.

I peeked out and scanned visually, my red-dot on my rifle moving in perfect unison with my eyes. Nothing out there. Nothing undead, that was.

Scanning like this and properly clearing houses and other structures had become second nature to me now. Austin also knew what to do without having to be told. He would scan for zombies: a minute left, a minute right, and a minute down the way. He would repeat this process until he saw me come out with the all-clear wave. Then I would load up the truck and he would keep watch until I was done. Then I would keep watch until he got out from his sentry post and made it to the truck. Then we would be gone.

It was almost always that simple now. Of course, there was the occasional hiccup, but nothing we were not in a position to handle – and that was the crux of it. By taking our time and doing things *right* we would be able to do things again tomorrow.

Earlier in the day, I had swept the building Austin was holed up in right now. Then, bringing him back with me, I would help him set up and take his position. Then we would go over the possible entry points of any zombies and “label” them numerically. I would put stickers down in the window-sill from one to four (or however many entry points there were) so Austin would know when to check each one.

Now I was here. Before I moved in and searched building to building, I had some other spoils to gather. Here in these streets, a war had been fought. From all of the guns lying on the ground, I figured the zombies won this round. Many of the weapons were military issue M4’s and M16’s. I would gather all of those. I saw some others, too: shotguns, lever action rifles, pistols. All of them would go with me. As well as any ammo I found nearby.

There was ammo, too. It was in magazines and other devices, usually kept in pouches. But the pouches were long since shredded. There was little dried blood as the many rains over the last year or so had washed most of it away. As usual there were no bones. Zombies ate most all of the flesh. After they left, wild-roaming dogs and coyotes would scavenge the bones. Then the other small creatures would fight for whatever was left.

It took two hours, but I grabbed up all the guns and ammo. This would be good. We now had a large cache of weapons and much ammo. Having had access to the military ammo from the group that we’d fought alongside, we had well over 100,000 rounds of 5.56 mm cartridges. I would have traded all of that to have the people back. I miss the people so much.

Make no mistake, Paul still talked to other survivors throughout the country on his HAM radio. But most places were like us here, few people left. Roaming hives of undead. A scavenger’s life. A farmer’s life, too for us. During planting and harvesting, I would farm, too. At other times, I went out looting – no, make that gleaning. That’s what I liked to call my activities. I would certainly have felt bad about the ‘stealing’ aspect of it, had I ever seen another live person out in my travels.

By this time, I knew the sixteen of us (oh, yeah, Steve and Maggie had a little boy now, too) were the only living ones in our county or the surrounding counties. Kara’s mom and her new husband – Gus, the ol’ M1 Garand totin’ fellow we’d fought alongside was now her hubby – had made occasional contact via HAM radio. I still don’t know how they ever found them, but as long as it kept Kara happy.

I moved on to the building I was going to scour. My AR was my friend now more than ever. This is when things got too close for comfort. I flicked my flashlight on. The same sporting goods store that had been where I got Austin’s .22 was also a place I raided for many batteries for this flashlight. I was still only through a small fraction of them after nearly a year.

With the flashlight lighting my way, I would pie every corner, every turn. When I swept a room, I would close the door behind me somewhat out loud, so that other zombies in the house would hear it and come stumbling my way. It worked most of the time. Problem was that some of them were really quiet for one reason or another. Another problem is that I had to make sure to check closets, under beds, and the like before I could clear the room, and occasionally a Z would catch me with my back turned as I scanned a closet or under a bed.

All in all, it was pretty routine now. I would keep a set of foam-covered earpieces that plugged into my radio in my ears as a mild form of hearing protection. I had sewn a little Velcro place on the rear rim of my boonie hat to keep the wire suspended so it would not tangle.

I swept along. Once the structure was clear, I would go back through the house, looking for objects that we could use. The list was long. I still carried a paper list of all the clothing sizes: but most of the time, I just took all of the clothing I found as we had most sizes represented in our little community. I would also take canned food, bottled water, batteries, firearms and ammo of all calibers (we were really growing a nice stockpile, now), lighters and matches, and a few other sundry items (mostly toiletries).

Today, the house would not be clear. In the third room, I found my first Z (for this house, anyways) in the closet. He was some sort of businessman in life. This was a pretty nice place. The Z had been a tall man in life. His clothes were once very snappy, but now they were the same old rags I saw hundreds of times per day.

When I opened the closet and he lunged at me, I was knocked back by his stench as much as his attack. He had probably never fed since getting infected from the looks of it. Huge chunks of flesh were simply not there. I wondered how he got holed up in a closet, but wrote it off to coincidence among a pressing hive. They had likely used this room as their daytime shelter until the glass window had been broken. I figured that to be about eight months ago due to the water damage inside and the overall smell of mold.

Back to the predator: I pulled my AR up and shot once. His head did as they most often do, and that was explode into a few hundred particles. Blood everywhere. Grey blood. Nasty stuff actually smells worse than the infected.

I knew that as surely as I had killed him, if I came back in a week’s time, there would be no remains. The other Z’s and then the natural scavengers would take care of the corpse. Nothing would waste. Fortunately, the dogs we saw never showed signs of infection. Still, we had to euthanize the wild dogs that strayed too close to the houses we lived in. Out here, though, I would not take a potshot at a dog or ‘yote. They helped get rid of the filth.

Sometimes, too, a pack of dogs would take out a Z or two. Particularly if those zombies had few friends around, to help protect them. And then, sometimes, zombies would kill a dog or two that got himself into a spot where he couldn’t escape. Such is nature, I guess.

I continued to sweep the house. The last room also had a zombie in it. This had definitely been a hive of some sort. This infected was a female. I wondered absently if she had been the wife or girlfriend of the man I had just put down. As I thought these thoughts, I let loose 62 grains of lead into her skull. Again, no further movement, she collapsed to the floor in a heap as they always do.

Upstairs was next. Upstairs was always easy. Infected almost never were upstairs. I would scan quickly and it would be done. This place was no different. As I finished the sweep, I headed back downstairs and out the front door. I saw Austin looking my way. I gave the ‘thumbs-up’ sign: meaning all was clear and I was about to start ‘shopping.’

He gave me a thumbs up back, indicating all clear from up there. He really was a good boy. I hoped I’d find some candy in this place to reward little Austin. But, first things first. I found some candy – for me, though. It was not sweet to the taste, but it was easy on my eyes. Before me lay a dropped M4 from the battle that had taken place here some time ago. On that M4 was the nicest ACOG optic I had seen since my days surfing the net.

For a moment, I lost myself. I checked the ACOG and it was working fine. I took out my multi-tool and unscrewed the ACOG form the upper receiver. I took off my optics and put them in a plastic bag I had in a pocket. I examined the M4 at my feet. Mine was the same build, same barrel length and all, just not the Colt brand.

I put the ACOG on my rifle. Sweet looking piece of metal, I thought. I ran back out and gave Austin the ‘thumbs up’ sign again, indicating wait a minute. I looked around, finding a mailbox about fifty yards away. I took careful aim and fired one round. The bullet struck almost dead-on.

A few more shots and I had the optic lined up just right. I had been wanting one of these for a while, just never been lucky enough to find one. I tested my zeroing out on a target I estimated to be two hundred yards away – a garden gnome down the street. A squeeze of the trigger knocked the little fake man over. Good enough for now, anyways.

I went back in, rifle slung, and got to work. An hour later, I was finished and moved to the next house. A few more repetitions and we were done for this area. It was getting late in the afternoon and we needed to get on the road before dark. The infected came out mostly at night, and it was good to not be there then.

Decent day, today. I had a truck bed full of things we would need. At this point, we had enough supplies to last four or five years at a minimum. More if we calculated in the crops. Still, as my duties, I continued to do salvage operations, just in case. And when I finished and boarded up a house or building, putting a no Zombie symbol over the door, it helped us know what areas were relatively safe and what areas weren’t.

I went to get Austin. He followed me down the stairs and to the truck. No undead here. He got in the truck. I went back and got his supplies. That’s how we did it so we would be safe and never be carrying too much at a time. As I came out and made my way to the truck, arms full of Austin’s supplies, Austin scanned behind me to either side, making sure there were no surprises waiting.

This was our typical day. It had been for a year. I had to gradually work Austin up to the point of being able to do his jobs correctly. Austin learned quickly. I had at one point been hesitant to let him kill zombies, since they were former humans. After he had seen a few killed, and I realized he understood the difference, my hesitancy was no more. That’s when he started going along with me.

At first, he had stayed near me the whole time, and just watched. Then I set him up in the house with me and let him shoot zombies out the windows. Then one day I realized it was safer for him to do that from the upper levels. Then we decided to let him stay in his original spot. So over time, he had morphed into the perfect little assistant for me as I endeavored to do my new job.

I wanted my old job back.

Then I realized, yet again, that the world had changed, and we were stuck with it. I remember the days when I would actually yearn for this type of world a bit. I hate the fact I ever did, it’s just not what it was cracked up to be.

I drove back, listening to Austin talk. Occasionally answering his questions. Always glad to have my little buddy with me. Very glad to have him covering my ass out in the field.

nice update...

VERY good, nice twist, too bad the other story never had this! i love zombies!

I thought you were only halfway done?  It seems to be winding down... OR IS IT.

This is the first chapter of Part 3.

I have four parts planned. It is entirely possible that there may be five parts - I just had an idea to intermingle the story line between this and the first Hitman a bit more. I am going to play with this idea a bit; turn it over in my head and outline a few possible outcomes. It will likely be included in one way or another.



So, in short: we are halfway through, at best.

Great stuff Usagi, looking forward to more!

Sounds good to me. Between this, Lost and Found, and Lights Out I have plenty to read!

Very good story.  Keep up the great work.  



Ron

Awesome story. Thanks for your hard work.

Chapter 23

Trouble.

As we pulled up to Paul’s house – just after dusk, but not quite dark out – what I saw was not very reassuring. Hordes of the undead were swarming the area. I had been out with Austin for three days, but no radio contact had been made. I immediately feared the worst!

The undead were everywhere, but it looked as though they had not yet broken through the front fence. The fence was constructed of stone held together with mortar, so that didn’t surprise me. My worry was the gate: it was wrought iron, but as the point with a hinge and a lock, it was definitely the weak point of the property.

I scanned the area visually and the undead seemed no thicker at the gate entrance than they did at any other spot along the stone wall. There were hundreds here, though. They did not seem to have broken through, but I still worried for those inside. And then I worried about my place, and the immigrants’ house, as well.

And then a series of shots rang out. They came from Paul’s house. I identified them all as AR rounds. When you’ve been in enough conflicts, you can tell the difference in the sounds of an AK, or an AR, or even a .308. These were definitely 5.56 mm rounds. I did not hear angry buzzing through the air, so I knew the rounds were not fired in our direction. Good thing, it meant that whoever was still alive inside was still thinking straight. That meant it was likely everybody was OK.

I looked for an opening, thinking I could plow through a thinner spot of the zombies, back the truck up to the fence, and jump over with Austin. But then I hesitated. That plan might work, but there might be complications. And what if the Z’s used the truck to climb over the fence themselves? They’d never done that before, but there’s always a first time for everything.

“Austin. What would you do?”

The boy thought it over for a few moments. “Dad, if we shoot at them, they will just come towards the sounds of the gun. That’s why you have me use a .22.”

“That’s right.” But we’ve got to get in there.”

“Why? We could just shoot them all from out here. I’ve got hundreds of shots left, and so do you.”

“What about when they start to get close?” I asked. I was starting to like his idea, I had already figured a way to make it work.

“We can just drive away. Or park near a big tree and climb up. When they come close, we just keep blasting until they are all gone.” He said.

“Great idea. Here’s what we will do. I will point the truck that way,” I said, pointing in a direction that ran parallel to the house. “You shoot from the window, and I will shoot from the bed of the truck. As they get close, I can get in and drive away so we can get a better angle.”

“OK, dad. Just don’t let ‘em get too close.” Austin said. He was earnest, and saw no problem with this plan.

I knew the plan wasn’t perfect, and could take a very long time, but it also might just create an opening to do something else, too. I just didn’t know what that something else might be.

I moved the truck to face parallel to the house. Austin got his rifle ready silently. This was just business for him. The boy could shoot some zombies, that was for sure. With any luck, he might get as many as me out here.

As I prepared my rifle and began to angle the spotlights on the truck so we would be able to see what we were about to shoot, I realized two things: first, almost all of the zombies were right at the fence and not roaming all about; second, Austin was preparing very methodically, just like me.

I wondered for a moment what that meant about the undead. All of them were right at the fence. In face, not many of them seemed to want to get inside the fence. They were just milling around right at the perimeter. Very curious.

Austin was opening his little boxes of .22 ammo. He would open another r50 rounds and pour the contents of the box carefully into his milsurp pouch. I think the pouch was originally used for a canteen, it had a long strap that Austin looped over his head and arm and kept in front of him for easy access. He had learned to never overfill the pouch, instead he kept it between a third full and two-thirds full. As the supply dwindled, he would pause and open new boxes to refill the pouch.

I asked him one time why he worked his pouch that way and he said it was easier for him to know how much more ammo he had. True, he had never run out of ammo before notifying me way in advance. There was something to be said for his little routine.

I was hard at work while these thoughts passed absently through my head. I had filled an ammo mag carrying setup: two bandoliers, each with three pouches. Each of the three pouches held two mags. So I had my starting mag and a total of twelve additional mags. I had just shy of four hundred rounds on my body, at my disposal. We would have to move the truck a couple of times before I had to restock.

“OK, Austin, it’s live. Fire at will. Don’t aim at the house!” I said. And with that, I turned on the floodlights.

And it was on!

I took careful aim with my new ACOG and fired, time and time again. I was really liking the magnification for this range of fighting. Austin was shooting carefully at zombies near the corner of the fence nearest us, some fifty yards away. I was shooting at Z’s toward the opposite corner, some as much as three hundred yards away. After every few shots, I would take a moment to cull some from Austin’s corner, too.

Austin was working methodically. Though I was faster, he was more persistent on his targets. The boy instinctively knew to take out the one closest to him. He ALWAYS shot the one closest to himself. That trait right there would keep him alive. He would scan the whole area visually while loading the small rifle by touch alone. Perhaps had he kept his eye on the rifle and the new round, he might have been able to work a bit quicker, but he was plenty fast. The fact that he always shot the nearest threat helped tremendously, too.

By this time, I had to do a mag change. Unreal, I was already to nearly thirty kills. A couple of the longer range shots had required a second shot, but that was user error – not equipment error.

“How many you got, Little Buddy?” I said on the headphones.

“Twenty-four, dad. I’m catching up to you.” He was right. He had yet to need a second shot.

But the masses were gaining ground on us. Some were within thirty yards. All of the zombies I could see were moving in our direction. It was time to move.

“Austin, keep taking out the closest ones! I’m going to get us ready to move!” I said. His thumbs up indicated he got the message.

I slung my rifle, after picking off a couple of undead that were a bit too close, probably to Austin’s chagrin, as they would have been his next targets. I climbed down, out of the bed, and into the cab, visually scanning all around as I went. All clear.

I jumped in and took the wheel, starting up the vehicle. Austin had intelligently stayed in his seatbelt and simply pulled his rifle into the truck. I kicked it in gear and we tore off, through the open fields and alongside one of the stone walls, about forty yards out. The ride was bumpy, but worth it as we gained some distance. I was surprised that there were just about as many Z’s out here as there were up front. I knew the fence went at least five hundred yards in each direction, so that meant we probably had several thousand Z’s here.

As the enormity of it dawned on me as we came to a stop, veering away form the fence for a moment before taking a parallel course. As soon as I stopped the truck, Austin was in position to fire some more. I lit up the spotlights and swung around to the bed of the truck.

“Fire at will.” I told Austin in the headphones.

Thumbs up from my son, and it was on. He fired almost immediately, dropping a very large zombie forty yards off our starboard side. He had made a couple more headshots before I could get my rifle unslung and take aim. I began to shoot. First at the Z’s closest to us in an effort to cull them out.

“No fair, Dad. I was going to get those!” Austin barked. He was irritated, but not hurt. I decided to take out the second or third farthest ones for a while. It worked as we trimmed them down pretty neatly. After a few minutes, all of them were coming at us from over sixty yards away in that direction. Then I remembered the other direction!

They were almost on us. My momentary lapse of concentration had almost cost us dearly. I began to acquire targets quickly and fire. The first two corpses dropped just yards away form the truck. Then I started getting some traction, and Austin helped, too. We mowed them down out to fifty yards. It took me a total of three mags to do it. Only a handful of them needed a second shot, and most of those were at the beginning when I was rushing through shots.

Austin kept up his almost monotonous efforts, blasting away at the undead. He had now cut them down for a full hundred yards out. He swiveled his point of aim and started shooting the monsters coming in the opposite direction. We were thinning them out, too. Then I realized something:

The majority of the zombies had kept moving to where we had been the last time. Only my panicked shooting had turned some of them in our current direction. There was still a growing congregation of them at the corner spot we had first fired from.

Then a thud on my truck startled me. I whipped around and saw my former Father-in-law up in the bed of the truck with me. I played as though the noise hadn’t startled me and struck up an ordinary conversation.

“Glad you could make it, Paul.” I said.

“Couldn’t have you go and get my grandson in trouble.” He commented back.

“Gramps, why are you here?” Austin asked.

“Just thought I’d help you boys out.”

“We got it, Gramps. But I’m glad you’re here now.” Austin said, grinning ear to ear.

“You better get back to shooting those monsters, Little Buddy,” Paul said. He admired as the child went back to his ‘work’ and performed better than you could ever hope for a non-military person in the same situation. Heck, he was doing better than most of the military folks could have done. He was very focused.

“Kyle, I saw you boys roll up. We watched when you started this merry-go-round of death, and I thought I’d get out here and tell you what we see.”

“Thanks. Any help is appreciated.” I responded.

“These things react well to loud, visible stimulus. We talked about it inside and we figured to try to lure them away from the gate so we can get you in.”

“What then?”

“Defender’s advantage. We outlast them with shifts and eventually they are gone.”

“Sounds better than what I could have figured out!”

With that, Paul jumped down and was back over the stone wall in a flash. Then I realized I couldn’t coordinate with him! I wasn’t about to leave Austin here to try to get him back…

“Kyle, do you read?” In my earpiece.

“So that’s how we are going to coordinate. I forgot to ask.”

“Yeah, it’s when we heard you and Austin on the comm that we decided to use these to coordinate tasks. Now. On my mark, you two head back up to about where you were. Make sure you get the truck in line with the front of the fence so you can scoot right on over when we are ready. No, wait… Kyle, drive there and keep your ears on, we may have another plan.”

I got in the cab and started the engine.

“Kill your lights. Be as quiet as possible,” Paul started on the radio. “Get to the corner, and pull away. Get down the road. We are sending two groups to draw them away. We will signal with a flare in the sky when you are to come. Then come in hot. We will have the fence open for a moment. That’s all.”

I did as I was told. As I drove off, I saw a couple of groups moving in the darkness toward the front corners of the stone wall. I drove back out onto the road and down the road a few hundred yards. I looked out ahead in the darkness. No undead.

I looked behind us. Same story. There were no undead around here. The trees at the front of Paul’s property that helped disguise it from the road must also act as a sort of noise barrier, too. In fact, he was surrounded by his own forests, hundreds of yards thick, on all sides of his expansive property.

I kept my eyes toward the house, though I could not see it. Seconds dragged into minutes. Minutes dragged into hours. Hours dragged on. Austin had long since fallen asleep. Still I waited, ever watchful. Finally, late in the evening, the flares went up.

I drove into the property and toward the gate like a bat out of hell. There was no way I was going to miss the opportunity. Sure enough, the zombies were attracted to the corners, and I wondered how. Nevertheless, I drove through the gate, which was being held open for me. The people holding it open snapped it shut quickly once I cleared the gate area.

We were safe.

Good chapter. I think his son is a better shot than me.

I blazed thru the first hitman friday at work. and after "Honey do this.. honey do that" yesterday, I have caught up with the rest... this is a great line you have going ...keep it comoing and bring it.... I noticed earlier you said we were probably 1/2 way thru... just keep it coming ..I think you have started something here.


P.S.  For a part-timer and just for kicks.. you are doing a great job!!!!

Chapter 24

Rain everywhere.

This has got to be the nastiest day I’ve seen in a long time. Here I sit, in the bed of a truck, propped up with my rifle at about 75 yards from Paul’s stone wall. The bottom of the bed of the truck is filled with a half inch of running water. I had to re-park the truck so the back of the bed was downhill just so it wouldn’t fill completely up with water.

Before you say it, I know the whole thing would not fill up – it’s just an expression. I really dislike being cold (kind of, anyways) and wet. My boonie hat keeps the rain out of my face, but it gets wet anyways.

My rifle has held up beautifully, as it was designed to do. The AR 15, when kept free of carbon buildup, performs well wet, dry, sandy, dirty, or under most any other circumstance. I found that out long ago in this conflict. Before the zombies. Just keep the gun wet, and it runs. By wet, I mean oil. My bolt carrier group is slathered with motor oil. New oil, not used. Every thousand rounds or so, I make sure it is well oiled, if not outright cleaned thoroughly.

If I get a chance, I clean my weapon after every time I shoot it. If not, I make the time to re-lubricate it. It has not failed on me yet.

I take shot after shot at these zombies. Several hundred yards away from me, Steve is shooting, too. He also has an AR 15. His has a longer barrel – 24” I believe. He has a large scope mounted on the top. It has a quick detach mount and backup iron sights, should he need to switch to close in fighting. I’m really hoping that won’t happen today.

We have spent three days so far shooting zombies. We get a little over a thousand a day. If I keep up the pace, we should be through by this evening. All of us have been wondering what drew these undead here in the first place. To our understanding, there have been no new undead come in during this time. If so, it has been relatively few, as we have kept approximate counts and those have been consistent.

We have been worried about all the noise attracting other undead, but that does not seem to be happening.

Steve shoots again. Another Z down. We try to pack them down in spots. We’ve noticed that they are fairly unable to stand on their dead brethren, they just stumble and fall near them. Then, a little while later, they finally get back up and start meandering around again. That’s a good thing, because as many undead as we have out there, they would surely have climbed over the corpses to get over the wall if they had been able to do so.

I shoot again. My ACOG is zeroed in at 50 yards, then again at 200 yards. At 75 yards, the strike is less than an inch higher than where I place the dot when aiming. This is really getting quite boring. I must admit, I do like being out here with Austin, when he wants to come out. But then, he’s my son and I like spending time with him.

I see a familiar flash of hair. I see Kara coming up to me. I safe my rifle and pull out my earplugs.

“How’s it going?” She asks.

“Boring, but we are still making progress. With luck, we’ll be finished by tonight. If not, definitely by tomorrow.”

“You need a hand?”

“You wanna shoot?” I didn’t quite believe it. Not that Kara was against shooting – not in the least. She just preferred not to see more battle.

I guess this wasn’t so much like battle as it was like target practice.

“I just want to get my rifle warm. And be next to you.”

“And the kids?” Gosh – I actually said it. We have ‘kids.’

“Safe with the others, as usual. I think Paul is playing a game of hide and seek with Austin.”

“And the ladies can’t wait to take turns holding the baby girl?”

“You got it.” Kara was in the bed of the truck now. “Hey, I bet I’m more accurate with my plain red dot than you are on iron sights.”

“What’s the wager?”

“Winner gets whatever they want tonight, after the kids go to sleep.” She had a very mischievous look in her eyes.

My ears perked up. Yeah, it had been a while.

I flipped the ACOG off of my rifle. My BUIS was popped up and ready to aim in another instant. “You go first. We take turns. How are we going to keep score?”

“Use these,” she said. In her hand was a ziplock bag full of empty cartridges. “I’ll put one on my side every time you miss and I hit. You put one on your side if I ever miss and you get lucky and hit.”

“OK” I grinned. She was very naughty, indeed.

Kara shouldered her rifle and snapped off a round in less than three seconds. One Z down. I did likewise. We were still at a tie after one round.

This scenario played out over and over. Occasionally, she would miss, occasionally I would miss. At the end of an hour, I was up by two. Before I knew it, I hardly thought about the rain any more. After a while, the conversation picked up. Especially when Kara realized I was up by about a half-dozen.

“You know, Kyle, I had a really interesting chat with our Chinese friends the other day.”

“About what?”

Another Z down.

“That pile of books we got when we first saw the zombies, actually. You know it was written in Chinese. I asked them a little while back to read the books and tell me what they were about. They have been reading them for a little while now, a little each time I go over to help out.”

“What are the books about?”

“That’s just it. It’s hard to explain.”

“Don’t go teasing me now.”

“I have to – try to throw you off. I can’t lose to you, because I have something special planned for tonight.”

I wish she hadn’t said that, I missed the next Z.

“Go on and tell me about the books.” I said.

“Well, they are about a man. A hitman…” she paused.

“A hitman? Like shooting people for money?”

“Yeah, like that. But it’s about this situation here: the invasion. But there’s more.”

“OK, go on.”

“Well, for one thing, I read the books that were written in English. There are two journals. One by a guy named Matt. He is the hitman.”

“I thought they were reading these books to you?” I asked, slightly confused.

“Don’t interrupt. I’ll explain. See the Chinese books were also printed once in English, too. But they don’t match exactly the journal I’ve been reading. But they do match.”

“How so?”

And at this point I stopped asking questions, and Kara explained very thoroughly.

“See, it goes like this, there are two journals, one written by Matt, and another by a girl named Amanda. Amanda was dating a friend of Matt’s:  a guy named Keith. Matt keeps record of what goes on in a very pragmatic, organized way. He has just assassinated a man when all Hell breaks loose. He gets his buddy Keith to ‘get out of Dodge’ with him. Problem is, Keith has two girlfriends.

“Really, Keith has several girlfriends. But he was only seeing two at the time the SHTF, so he goes and gets them. They all leave town together. Matt has weapons for all of them, and gets them some survival gear, too.

“Then Matt takes them out to the middle of nowhere. He finds a farmhouse connected to some land he had performed a hit from earlier in life and kills the farmer that owns the place. This farmer was a really survivalist – had everything stored up for long term survival.

“Matt brings his friends to the house and claims it was his all along. Of course, nobody suspects a thing, because they all know he is rich and a little eccentric, anyways. Well, one day, Amanda finds out, and tries to blackmail Matt. In a show of superiority, Matt shoots his own girlfriend, Britney, to prove to Amanda he won’t be blackmailed. Matt did not want Keith to go through anguish over Amanda dying, so he tried to shut her up instead.

“Amanda called his bluff, but it was no bluff. In the end, Matt shot Amanda and Keith. The gunfire caught the interest of a local bunch of the Chinese and Arabic invaders in the area. There was a big gun fight. Matt slaughtered every single one of them, over thirty in all. He was really a good shot. But, he had a problem:

“Not being a soldier, he did not really know what to do with the bodies. As a Hitman, he relied on police and newspaper reports to show his clients proof of his work. Therefore, he had to leave bodies behind. Now, he realized he needed to hide these soldiers, and he couldn’t figure out how exactly to do that.

“At the same time, he knew he needed a social group to live in. Although he worked alone, he liked company as much as anybody else does. He also wanted to have a family, and that is not possible without a wife, so he formulated a plan.

“He burned his house, after putting all the soldiers in it. That way, he could use it as an excuse if anybody ever found out – he could say he blew it up and burned it to kill them all. Without modern equipment, nobody would ever know that three of the bodies were those of his friends that he had killed. He did not burn the shed or the barn, or the underground area – those places had all the stores of supplies he would need for a long time.

“Matt then went to a nearby town, far enough away that it was unlikely for any residents to know anything of him, his friends, or even much about the farmhouse. He made new friends, and even taught them some basics of shooting. They had some success raiding supply convoys. Until one day.

“Evidently, Matt got killed in a trap situation. The invaders sent another convoy at the same time and place, but had counter-snipers posted. At Matt’s first shot, they located him and when the time came, they shot him. In the end, he got a bit overconfident, I would suppose.

“The last few lines in Matt’s Journal were written by somebody named Kathy. All it indicated was how Matt got killed and her finding him dead and finding and reading the journal.

“Now here’s the interesting part. The Chinese document had all the same characters, down to a man. However, there was not one mention of Chinese being part of the invasion. They also changed the story, making Matt more heroic than I thought he was from the journal.

“They changed the parts for convenience – making the Farmhouse Matt’s from the beginning. Making there be epic struggles in which the terrorists killed his friends. Even a fake back-story about Matt being trained by the Mob and making a very difficult shot with an old lever action rifle.

“I the end, Matt winds up the hero. The actual ending was a work in progress. In another document, there is a note by a General Chang, saying a few things you would want to know.

“First, General Chang was in command of this particular area, in addition to others. He was having a  Colonel Xiaushuang translate the journals into Chinese and then rewrite them to fit the General’s wishes. They were going to use these as propaganda pieces. The reason they needed them was to say that it was the Arabic nations that were attacking, and that the Chinese came to help us – which is obviously a bunch of crap.

“The General felt that if he could gain sympathy from the few surviving Americans, he and some others could defect and live here. That was their goal. Several of the Colonels were in on it. One day, though, Colonel Ziaushaung reported that the General had become a zombie. That was dated about a week before our raid.”

“So what do you think about all of this?” I asked.

“More important question, what do you and Paul think about this?”

“Does Paul know?”

“Yeah, I’d just told him. He was the one thought I should tell you. He trusts your judgment.”

I thought this over for a little while, never breaking stride in my zombie shooting routine.

“Was there any other information in those documents?” I asked.

“Not much we haven’t figured out ourselves already – mostly how to deal with the Zombies. They say it came from some strain of the flu, but even their military was not entirely sure. They just knew what precautions to take once the virus had been released. There was one thing we don’t know is true or not.”

“What’s that?”

“The zombies can be destroyed with fire. Once they are dead, they are combustible. Supposedly very combustible.”

“Hmmmm…” I said as I thought it over some more. “I have an idea.”

I jumped down from the truck and scampered over to the stone wall, at the side that was 90 degrees from where Steve was shooting systematically. I slung my rifle and picked a spot where there were no Z’s for at least 100 feet in either direction.

In a flash I was over the wall and found myself a really dead zombie. My lighter was out in an instant and I leaned down…

And was nearly scorched form the instant poof of flame. It was like lighting a puddle of gasoline. The flames shot out and the body was being consumed faster than I would have thought possible.

And there was another benefit: all of the “nearby” zombies that saw the flames started walking in the opposite direction, shrieking. They wanted nothing to do with the fire. I hurried back over the wall and to the truck where Kara stood, watching in a bit of amazement.

“That’s one theory proven,” I said. I thought for a minute longer. “I wonder, do the documents give the names of the town or location of where Matt’s farm would be?”

“They do. What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s finish killing some Zombies.”

Nice update! Keep up the good work.

AKASL

LIVE ZOMBIE FREE OR DIE

nice updaye...like the tie in.

damn....i really liked Matt as the hero....OH WELL, THIS IS BETTER!  GREAT UPDATE!

This, It makes me sad.

Oh well, MORE.

Now thats one HELL of a tie in. Damn nice work my friend. DAMN nice




One request though. Can you update the original title with the chapter and page since this is at page 6 already?

Done.

Thank you for the compliment!

Chapter 25

I reflected on the events of the past twenty four hours as I drove. The road was clear for the most part. Of course there was the usual abandoned vehicle here and there. But by and large I had a straight shot. I knew where this farm was that was supposedly used by this hitman guy and I wanted to see for myself if the document Kara had told me about was the real deal or just propaganda or fiction.

Paul had been against me going. Kara had not necessarily been for my going, but tolerated it. Of course, if Austin could have reasoned me into staying, he would have. But I was on a mission. I questioned that mission right now, though. It was a six-hour drive and at least that long back. That’s if things went as planned.

And I thought about the zombie attack on Paul’s property. It was a little unusual. Out of nowhere, a huge group of undead show up and start coming at us? All the while, no more ever show up? Too many questions like this for me to think them all through. It would have driven me crazy.

I packed three days worth of food and decided to travel light. I knew that I could rummage through some places and get some more food if need be. In fact, I looked forward to doing just that to build up some more supplies for back home. No need to let things just sit there unused.

Sure enough, the time passed and I eventually came to the county and then to the town near where this farm was supposed to be. I jotted down the address and stuck the paper I wrote it on in my pocket. I did not know where the exact road was, and I didn’t have the gas or the time to just wander around looking for it.

I pulled up to the old post office in the middle of town. It was a little after noon. Perhaps as late as 2 pm. I had left out early in the morning, but after a good breakfast. An hour or so ago, I’d nibbled an energy bar and had a sports drink. That had held me over.

I gathered my rifle and slung the ammo carrying pack around my neck. I double checked my pistol, and felt the spare mags in another pouch. My knife was secure in my pocket, as well as the multi tool on my waist. I pulled my boonie hat low. Scanning the area, I saw only a few Z’s in the distance in each direction. Only a couple of them were meandering in my general direction. But they were keeping to the shadows, as usual, and that meant they would not reach me as there were several breaks in the shadows.

I exited the vehicle, keeping my noise to a minimum. I moved cautiously toward the old post office. My thoughts were simple: I didn’t want to come across anybody; and if I did, I wanted to keep the advantage of surprise to the extent there would be one. I moved up to the door and looked in first, scanning for signs of the living, or of the living dead. No visible signs.

I moved around the building, checking in the windows at every opportunity, and making sure to keep a watchful eye on my 6 o’clock. My rifle moved as my line of sight moved. It led me to what I wanted to look at, regardless of how silly that thought is. If I had to fight, I wanted there to be no lead time on getting things started. I carried the AR with the safety off.

For this mission, I had attached a tactical flashlight. For picking off the zombies from the truck yesterday, there was no need for the flashlight: it was just in the way and had no discernable uses. Today, however, it was needed more than ever. I would be clearing an unknown building or two with no electricity.

Wait, how come we still had electricity at Paul’s house?

That makes no sense, but I have other things to think about right now. I completely circled the building, and it took nearly twenty minutes to do so. That’s OK, though, because I am in no hurry to rush headlong into a building full of undead. This one seems to be empty. However, I will not assume that. Assumptions right now like that will get you killed. Or worse.

I moved back to the front door. When I enter, I want to do it with the most light at my back to help me see. I move to the side of the door and strike the small pane of glass near the handle of the door with the butt of my rifle. The crash is louder than I would have liked, but I couldn’t think of anything else right at the moment.

I turned the knob carefully with my left hand, even though it was an unusual angle. I kept my pistol in my right hand ready and pointed at the door and whatever might be behind it or beyond. My rifle was slung over my shoulder for this part of the operation. With a jerk, I forced the door wide open and stepped back, ready to fire.

Nothing.

Yet, anyways.

I waited a moment longer, then holstered my pistol and in the same motion, brought my rifle up to ready. Safety off. Finger off the trigger, but ready to move. I used my left hand to activate the flashlight. Damn, that sucker is bright. But that’s what I need right now. I have another flashlight in a pouch on my waist, but I won’t use that unless the rifle mounted unit fails. And if the backup fails, I withdraw immediately and go get another.

I moved into the building on high alert and with my rifle leading the way. I wished for a moment I had the red-dot on the rifle right now, as it is a bit more useful for clearing the building than the ACOG. But the ACOG had its advantages, too. Then I realized, I needed to get a micro red-dot for the rifle and ACOG setup, it was a logical choice.

I cut no corners in sweeping the building, cutting the pie with each corner I encountered. Clearing room after room with precision and in an almost robotic fashion, I made sure not to let my guard down. This building was clear.

I moved back to the room that had the large map on the wall. On the lower left corner was a legend of the streets by name. I looked at it and quickly found my target. I grabbed a scrap piece of paper from the desk and jotted down the map directions to the farm house street from the post office where I was standing. I also drew a makeshift map to help me along.

Forget that, I thought as I saw a real map folded up on another desk. I grabbed the real thing, abandoning my drawing and stuffed it in a utility pocket. That done, my mission here was over.

I turned to the door and approached with caution. I knew the walking dead would be attracted to my very presence: noise, smell, and sight up close. I looked out at an angle and confirmed my suspicions. There were many Z’s all around, at least a dozen I counted as I looked side to side.

I checked and double checked, finding my lanes of escape. This was not going to be pretty. Before I bolted out the door, I had another thought. Running back into the building, I climbed the stairs and headed back toward the front of the building. A bird’s eye view would be just the thing. As I approached, I realized my goal of getting back to the truck might be harder to do than I thought from downstairs.

There were about a dozen zombies within close distance, as I had seen from the downstairs window. However, there were also several dozen more wandering around just beyond – too close for a chance. I decided patience would be my friend here.

I observed the hordes for a while, taking in as much information as possible. I took notes of which ones were fairly fast (for a zombie, that is) and which ones were slower than most. I made sure to take spacing into account, as well as angles. Which angle they attacked from depended on two things, where I was going to be and if anything was directly in the way.

The more I appraised the situation, the more I realized a head-on assault was not the best solution at all. In this case, I would do far better to try an alternate approach. Even if I made it to the truck, there would be too many in the way to move the truck very far. But coming up with an alternate plan was not easy. There were not many suitable places of shelter around. If I did draw them away, I’d have to move a lot just to keep out of reach.

Then it dawned on me. I needed to keep moving and draw them away form the truck toward a specific point. The only way to do that was with noise or smell. At that thought, I jumped to my feet and hauled myself downstairs.

I scanned the refrigerator, the cabinets, and other office areas for any type of meat. I was also looking for a battery operated radio when it all hit me! Across the street was a “mom ‘n’ pop” grocery store. It would probably have both! At the thought, I made my way to the back door. I scanned the area, making sure I knew where the targets were, and where they were moving. The undead did not see me, as I stayed out of sight, behind the door and windows until I knew the time was right.

I bolted out the door as quietly as possible. My target was only a few yards away, so I sprinted straight toward it. The trash dumpster would hide me from a lot of them. Don’t get me wrong, a few Z’s saw me get there and I watched them start to meander my way from my open side. I kept watch on those approaching as I swept my eyes to both sides looking for other points of ambush, as well.

With a sudden move, I began to run toward the grocery store. A swift kick and the door was open. Multiple zombies saw me and heard the crash. More important than that, the smell of the rotting food overtook me almost immediately. Surely the remaining zombies would be smelling that soon. I realized these things as I got back to my feet after crashing through the door.

I ran to the back, searching for the rear exit. There was the door, but it was locked. It was one of those push-bar emergency exits, but the push bar would not open the door. It was the locks at the top and bottom. I flipped those locks and pushed again – this time with success. The door popped open and I was out. I scurried over to the side of the building and peeped around.

Zombies everywhere. Most of them were moving toward the shop I just left. The commotion and the smell were irresistible to the undead. I slid down the wall to a seated position, clutching my rifle to my chest and sighing in relief. A few moments and I could get back to my truck. Then off to see if this hitman ever really was real.

I let my mind wander on and on down this path. If Matt, the hitman was real, and if he really was as good as the diaries and literature would have indicated, how would he get shot at a time when he had set up the ambush? Would he really have let his guard down? Did the Chinese find somebody else’s body and claim it was his?

I let my mind wander for a while, but kept up with the progression of the undead into the building I was hiding behind. After a while, it started to get very crowded. I figured that was my moment. I got to my feet and moved quickly from cover to cover, making my way back around to my truck.

It really wasn’t hard by this time, most of the zombies were moving toward the shop, and the rest had lost interest in my prior position at the post office. I quietly got into my truck and prepared. In one motion, I started the vehicle, put it in reverse, and got moving. It was mere moments before I was back on the road.

I estimated twenty minutes to the farm Matt had “inherited.” In fact, I was just about right on, I realized as I pulled up to the residence. I stopped down at the street for a few moments, leaving the engine running; just in case. I munched a cereal bar for a quick pick-me-up as I observed the area.

Just as had been documented, there was a scorched part of the earth that would have been about the size of a house. Everything was burned completely to ash – there was no telling what the ash had been before, living or inanimate. There were a few vehicles about, some in a semi circle at the front side of the yard, in an apparent defensive position. There were also a couple of vehicles up near the barn, including the truck I had read about with the camper cover over the bed.

The barn was just as I’d imagined form the diaries and the book. So was the silo near it. They were in immaculate shape, and I wondered if there were any leftover goodies in there. Surely there had to be!

My curiosity got the better of me. I was here just to see if this hitman had really been a real person. I still didn’t know for sure about him, but I did know the farm was right here and it was just as it had been described. This was too much to be written off as mere coincidence. I looked down at my tiger camo pattern pants as I debated internally as to whether I should take a closer look.

Why not, there was no chance there’d be zombies up there!

I put the truck in gear and pulled into the driveway, instinctively turning it around to face back out to the road, just in case. I got out rather timidly, expecting something to be wrong. But the more I looked, the more I realized I was alone.

I went immediately to the barn. All of the things in here were the same as described in the book: solar panels on the roof, large containers of diesel fuel in the back, a HAM radio in the barn, along with tractors and other machinery. It was a real work of art. I almost got the creeps because it was so much like the one described.

The silo was the same as it had been described, too. It had food out the yin-yang. I decided upon seeing the food that I would be taking some back. It took a while, but I loaded the truck almost full of the food I found. Cool thing was there was still so much more here. If I ever had to come back, it would have plenty more for us all.

I soon found the underground tunnels. They were not much to look at, but had all of the weapons we could ever need in them. As stocked as we were back home, I decided against a massive looting of the weapons. However, I did find a 6.8 mm AR 15 and ammo that went straight to my truck. I’d never shot that caliber, and I’d always heard great reviews on it online. Back in the days of internet.

After putting the new rifle in the truck, I moved on to the barn again, looking for secret panels in the floor. It took a while, but I found them. Inside were the generators and equipment described in the book I’d read. This fascinated me to no end. Here I was, seeing all these things I’d read and thought were pure fiction. I had no doubts now that this Matt had once lived. Too bad he was gone now, I would sure like to meet him, I thought.

“Freeze!” said a voice I do not know from my six-o’-clock. “Don’t move.”

Is it Matt?  
I know it's not likely.  I'm not sure the number of years in between these 2 stories.  It might not even be possible.  But I liked Matt.

The time frame now is about a year after the initial invasion.

The original "Hitman" was over a time frame of about 18 months -but we know for sure that many parts of it were altered by the invading forces as a means of distributing propaganda.

Fantastic!

Chapter 26

***
Meanwhile, back home:
***

Steve was outside the house, doing some routine yard work when a movement beyond the wall caught his eye. He called to the house saying he’d be right back, then turned and started jogging toward the stone wall fence. It took a few moments, as the wall was several hundred yards from the house.

When he got there, he looked around, seeing nothing but the usual trees. He looked carefully, side to side, and off into the distance as much as he could. The thick wooded area made it difficult to scan far into the trees. Then he saw something that froze the blood in his veins.

Eyes, looking at him. Wild eyes. But they were of a man. The man, of oriental descent, was about a hundred yards into the trees and was standing completely still. Steve had only just seen him, but then the man realized that Steve saw him and turned and ran.

Steve leapt over the wall with a hand on the top to help him spring into action and the chase was on. Steve un-shouldered his rifle and had it at the ready, keeping the Asian man in his line of sight at all times. Then something strange, as he ran past the opposite side of the fence, he smelled something absolutely rotten. Nevermind, he thought, realizing he could check on that smell later.

Through the bushes and trees, Steve was gaining on hi quarry. He could tell he was nearly a foot taller than the other man. Steve had wondered if it was one of the folks they had rescued in that town so many months ago, but those men would not have turned and run. Steve felt there was something very suspicious about this whole thing.

As he neared the road, and the subsequent end of the tree line, Steve heard vehicles with their engines running. Diesel powered trucks, he thought from the sound. He slowed to a brisk walk as the Asian man did the same. Steve was fifty yards from him or so. But the Asian man had a sudden confidence to him now, and this unnerved Steve.

Steve decided against calling out to the man, preferring instead, to just see what was going on first. As he got close to the road, he realized why the man was so confident. There were about a dozen pickup trucks there. Steve ducked down behind some of the thicker brush and hid well, keeping his rifle at the ready.

On the opposite side of the road were a dozen cages, each well over six feet tall and as wide and long as the truck beds. In the cages were zombies! There were about two dozen Asian men doing this and that around the area, it looked as though they were preparing. From his left first, then from the right, several more Asian men came out of the woods, looking all around them. Then Steve smelled the same rotten smell again.

Just as he thought he would be going crazy trying to figure all this out, things became spectacularly clear. The men filed into each of the trucks, three in the cab and a fourth in the bed. The trucks were parked in a line, each one right beside one of the cages. A signal was given and the men in the beds of the trucks, in unison, unlatched the cages and opened the doors to the cages.

All together, the men in the beds of the trucks slapped the roof of the truck they were riding in, and off the trucks drove.

This was a planned attack and Steve knew it! He had to get back to the house and warn the others. More importantly, they would need to know what he saw of the people planting these monsters here. It was obvious there was somebody that wanted to harm them, but who? Leftover Chinese soldiers from the invasion?

Steve made haste back to the house. The return trip seemed to take three times as long as the first sprint out here. Finally, he made it to the wall and over.

Once inside, Steve took a few moments to catch his breath. And a few more to fully explain to Paul and everyone there what had happened. Paul had a troubled look on his face, and was somewhat silent. Finally he spoke.

“I have no doubt what is going on here. Some remnant of the Chinese invaders wishes to play the war of attrition with us. I have a plan to win the war.”

“And your plan is?” Asked Kara.

“First, we trap these zombies, using the cages out by the road. We burn them. This will take far less energy and supplies than shooting them.” Paul said.

“Then?” Asked Cort.

“Second, we wait for Kyle to get back. We will need him for the next part…”

“Which is?” Maggie asked.

“We attack them. Now we know we have enemies, we scope them out, then attack once we know what we are up against. Kyle and I can do the recon work, but we will all have to pitch in to get them all.”

Nods all around. Everyone was in agreement.

It took time, but the men got the cages down to the property. Meanwhile the women had been scoping out the outside of the stone wall and found the dead animal carcasses that had been planted to lure the zombies in. Using gloves and plastic bags, they had rounded up most, if not all, of the carrion.

When the men got a cage in place, the women brought them the plastic bags full of rotting animals. A few pieces of meat were placed in each cage. The tricky part would be closing the cages, but Paul came up with an idea for that, too. A rope attached to the door was laid on top of each cage. The cages were set up next to the wall, with the closed back of the cage flush with the wall. The plan was to have one of the men climb up and pull the door closed, once the cage was full of trapped zombies.

With a full cage, fire would be used to kill the trapped zombies. The process would be repeated until the zombies were completely eliminated. If a few shots here or there were needed, then so be it.

The time it took to set everything up seemed long, but the zombies form the road had not even crossed through the trees when all was finished. The members of the house set up a rotating schedule so that there would be two people on watch at all times. They would watch for more of the invaders, and they would watch the cages, ready to pull the cord and set the fire if need be.




***
Back at Matt’s Farm
***

“So who are you?” I asked as the man lit a cigarette, keeping his rifle pointed at me.

It was certainly an AR 15, and it looked like a 6.8mm barrel.

“What does it matter?” came the reply.

I had no response for that. “So do you own this place?”

“What does that matter?”

I tried to keep my expression blank.

“No answer, tough guy?”

Still I gave no visible response.

“Look, I’ve killed hundreds. I’ve met other who have. You ain’t one of ‘em.”

I looked up at him.

“That there tells me I’m dead right. Oh, you’ve killed some of our undead friends, maybe even lots of ‘em. But that’s no different than a hunter killing animals.” He saw me look away. “And you may have killed a man or two, but it’s not the same. You ain’t cold blooded.”

He was right. I have killed men, but I could justify it in every case. I could tell his look was a bit different.

“You are right, my friend. My look is different. I’ve hunted man. Before all this shit happened. You ain’t like me.”

“Why are you telling me this? To scare me?” I asked.

“Is it working?”

“No.” I turned my eyes away, just in case.

“I’m telling you for one reason, so listen up. I am going to ask you some questions. I want you to tell the truth. If you lie to me, I’ll kill you. If you don’t answer the question, I’ll kill you. If I don’t like your answer, I’ll kill you. I want you to know up front so you have a chance to play by my rules.”

I kept my eyes focused on my rifle in the corner. “I understand.” I said. He had taken the rifle from me immediately after he’d told me to freeze. I’d have done the same if the situation had been reversed.

“Good. Now down to business. Who are you?”

“Kyle.”

“Where you from, Kyle?”

“About six hours southeast of here.”

“Good. See, it’s not so hard now, is it?”

I gave no reply.

He lifted his rifle and took aim.

“No, not hard.” I said.

He lowered the rifle.

“So why are you here?”

“I was looking for something.”

“What?”

“Verification.”

“Of what?”

“You’d never believe me.”

“Try me.” He said.

“I had heard this place belonged to a fellow that was a ‘hitman.’ I came here to see if it was true.” I replied.

“How could you see if it were true just by coming here?”

“The source said the house had been burned to the ground, and that there was a barn with certain equipment, and a silo. Pretty specific stuff. If it was true, then I knew what the source said was at least partly true.”

“Was it true?”

“So far, yeah.”

“All of it?”

“See, that I don’t know. There were actually two sources. One of them was obviously not true because it had this hitman guy winning the war for us.”

“So was the other one true, then?”

“I don’t know. See it had the hitman getting killed by the invaders, but it was written by the invaders and had other false parts.”

“So now you are really confused?” He asked.

“Yeah. Both have some truth. Both have some lies. I don’t know what to believe.”

“This hitman, tell me about him.”

“Well, one source had him as a hero. The other painted him as a bit of a jerk.”

“I am curious, what are these sources?”

“One was a document written in Chinese. The other was an apparent diary.”

“How did you get your hands on these documents and diaries?”

“By luck, really. My town ambushed and overtook a Chinese base camp. The documents were there. We had some immigrants we helped out translate them for us.”

“Very curious.”

That was no question, so I did not respond. I really did not like this game. It reminded me too much of being in a courtroom, answering attorney’s questions.

“So do you live here, now?” I asked.

“I’m the one asking the questions, smart-ass.”

MOAR!!!!!  excellent work!

Great update.  Is it the hitman!?!?!?!?!

Chapter 27

***
Back at the Ranch
***

Gunfire rang out now and again. Paul was taking occasional shots at the odd zombie that did not want to go into the pens like everyone else. Meanwhile, Bill and Steve were busy helping one another close the doors to the traps and set the undead on fire. It was a bit painstaking of a process, but it would save on ammo and that would help a lot in the long run.




***
Matt’s Farm
***

I think I had figured this guy out by now. He was scooping for too much info. Most people would not care about all of that. Especially the details he wanted. Most folks would be comfortable enough with a broad overview. This guy was asking a lot of questions. More than I expected.

I thought back to those diaries and books. Up to a point, there was detail. A lot of detail. Then, after a point, that detail just went away. Like somebody else was writing the story. Like the material it was being copied from had run out!

“So how did you get away from them?” I asked.

He looked up at me, though no shock registered on his face. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. In the diaries and books, you were killed by the Chinese counter snipers. How did you get away?”

His face contorted ever so slightly. I had him now! I could tell he was turning this over in his head, weighing whether to tell me, and of so, how he would tell me.

“I was never shot.”

“No? Who was shot then?”

“The whole group I was with got shot up. It was a trap…” he drifted off and looked away. I could see his eyes welling up.

“They set a trap for you. But you escaped?”

“I set up as I always did. I made sure all of my lanes and nearby rooms in the building were clear. But we were running a bit late. I could never get the others to clear their areas before setting up. This last time it was a mistake.”

“So why were you running late?” I went on a hunch, thinking I’d heard something in his voice as he’d said that part.

He really stiffened up now. “Susie and I’d had a fight that morning. It was all we could do to get her out there. Now I wish I hadn’t ever brought her out.”

Matt turned completely away from me. I wondered if he was weeping softly. Talk about an uncomfortable part for me. Then he took a really deep breath and straightened up. His movements were controlled and focused. He turned back to me, eyes raw from the pain.

“Susie and I had a little talk that morning. The talk about where we were going to end up, what we were going to do, that sort of thing. I had said I was not ready for a commitment. That was the stupidest thing to say at the time.”

I started to ask something, but Matt held up his hand, keeping me silent.

“Susie then told me she was pregnant. My first words were asking her whose baby it was. But I knew I was the father. Who else could have been? She was hurt, as well she should have been. Inside I was overjoyed, and unsure, and elated, and for the first time in a long time, I was scared.”

“To be scared is to be human.” I offered quietly. I noticed he was no longer holding me at gunpoint.

“You could never understand. I have trained for years to keep the emotions level. It was the only way to do my job. But now, having them overtake me, that was the mistake. Sure, Susie fussed at me a little later on. Sure, we weren’t seeing eye to eye because of what I’d said. But I still thought I could go out there and hit that supply convoy. I was wrong. My emotions got in the way of my better judgment.

“So we went out, later than I would have ever allowed, had I been in my right mind. We set up. Tony, Martin, Kathy, and Allison set up like they always did. That was the mistake. That’s what the enemy was counting on. Obviously, they’d scouted out our group. That can happen to anybody, but I never saw it coming. I was arrogant – I thought we had the advantage of surprise, even though we were doing the same damn thing for the eighty-seventh time!

“My attacker came out of nowhere, from beyond where I usually clear. This guy had expected me, and wisely, he brought friends. They all had rifles. I had mine, too, though. They shot first and got me in the shoulder. I was in motion after that. I spun to the floor, as I was still on the ground level, and made my way behind a wall for some concealment.

“I think they thought they got me with the first shot, because they all four burst through the door at the same time. Big mistake. I was on my feet, around the corner. My six-eight had all twenty rounds ready to go. I opened up, putting a controlled pair into the chest of each man as I plowed through them. Two required a follow up headshot before they dropped. After all four men were down, I put headshots into the last two and performed a tactical reload.

“I moved immediately to the nearest building, where Tony and Allison were going to set up. By the time I reached the top floor, Tony and Allison were dead. Their attackers, another group of four, were still there, celebrating their victory. That day, their victory was short-lived. I came up on the rearmost two and shot them both through the heads before the other two even popped up to their feet. And popping up to their feet was a tactical mistake in this case.

“I capped the third as he shouldered his rifle. I remember seeing his brain actually fly out of the window behind him as I turned to face the last man. He had his rifle raised and had fired a shot off, over my right shoulder. I blasted him right in the face as I closed the distance.

“Now let me stop here and point out that most tactical manuals will instruct you to create distance when fighting with rifles. I agree. Most people need to do just that. However, there are some things that a person puts into his arsenal – no pun intended – when he reaches a certain skill level. Others, too might be naturally good at fighting close, just due to natural reactions and personal physical traits.

“Back to that day. I realized my friends were dead. I also realized everyone around had hear my six-eight ring out nearly forty times at this point. I did another tactical load, putting my nearly empty magazine in the same pocket as the other nearly empty one. I moved to the building that had my dear Susie, as well as Kathy and Martin.

“I then remembered having heard gunfire at other nearby places. I was moving tactically from building to building, keeping as flat as possible to walls and using all the cover and concealment I could. I never got shot at as I approached, but I do remember seeing two men escaping out the back as I entered the front door of the final building.

“I ran upstairs quickly and saw my worst fears. My beloved Susie was blasted to bits. I also saw the dead Martin and Kathy, but they were irrelevant at that point. My dear, dear Susie was dead. And my unborn child, who I’d only known of for a few hours at that time.

“And I realized the window was open and pointing in the direction of the men who had been fleeing me as I’d entered. And I propped up the ol’ six-eight. And I measured out to them. Three hundred yards or so. If you read my diary, then you know I made a three hundred yard shot with a .30-30 using only iron sights as a boy. This time, however, I had my accuracy rifle and a powerful scope.

“I dialed up thirty power on the scope and put the sights on the nearest man. A single trigger squeeze and he was down. Another and his frantic partner was down. I moved. I moved silently and relentlessly to the downed men. As I left the room, it became clear that somehow, Susie, Kathy, and Martin had killed two of the four that had attacked them.

“I did not run, but I don’t remember walking, either. I made my way to the downed men. One was still breathing. I stopped that in a hurry. The other had been killed instantly with a spine shot that blew out most of the front of his chest.

“At that point, I heard heavy vehicles coming my way. I remembered I’d left all of my heavy gear, including my diary and other possessions in the first building. I was cut off, there was no way to get the stuff. So I left for a safe place to watch from. And I watched. And I grew angry.

“And, quite frankly, I was a thorn in the side of the invaders right up until most of them turned into those undead creatures. And I’ve been using the undead as target practice since then. I found if you burn the bodies, they burn completely up, leaving almost no remains, and other undead won’t come near that spot, either.

“So now you have the story, Kyle. The real deal. From the horse’s mouth. What do you think?”

“I think,” I started. “That you have had incredible pain and hardship. Like most of the rest of us that are alive.”

“Yeah.” He turned away.

If I’d had to bet, I’d have bet his eyes were welling up again. He was hard as nails, just as I’d expected, but he had a soft spot for his girlfriend and his unborn child. He was human way down deep somewhere, I suspected.

“But pain is temporary. It can be controlled. And I’m damn good at controlling it,” Matt said as he turned back around.

I’d been wrong, he was just thinking. Guy was good at keeping his temper in check.

“I think you do need other people in your life. I think I know where other people are that not only want you to be there, but need you, too.” I said.

“You would invite me to your place?” He asked. “After me holding you hostage and everything?”

“It’s what I would have done with an intruder on my place. You realize now that I did not mean to steal your stuff. I thought you were dead and it was free to be taken. You realize all that. You realize that what you’ve been searching for – regular human interaction – is something I can provide. You realize that me and my family and friends do not judge you. You realize we have no need to backstab you as some have done since all this shit started.”

“You’re right,” Matt said. “But I also realize you want something in return.”

“That’s the case and I won’t try to hide it. I knew if I found you here, which I did not expect to do, that you would be a real asset to our little village of people. I think the best way to survive this… plague… is to team up. The biggest thing we as a people lost was others. We need communities. And those communities are made up of individuals who bring different skills to the group. Your skills are in defense and offense, and that is needed now more than ever. We could learn from you.”

“How did you survive this long?” Matt said, pointing at my rifle.

“I can fight. I can shoot. We all can to some extent. Not like you.”

“But why me?”

“Because there’s something about you. Something the Chinese didn’t say in their manuscripts or translations. Something they feared. Something primal in your will to live.”

“Why should that matter?”

“I have this feeling that not all of the invaders are gone. I think there are some who survived, like we did. I think they were behind an attack at our ranch, but I cannot prove it, yet. I think you are just the man to help us overcome them.”

“Again, why me?”

“We’ve tried, twice, and haven’t taken them out. Granted, it was before the undead. But if some of them survived this outbreak, chances are they are not going to be easy to take out at all.”

“Anybody who has survived this long will be hard to kill.”

“And that’s why I want you to join us. I know we can do it with your help.”

“And exactly why should I join you?”

“You’re American.” I said and left it at that for a moment to make the point stick.

Matt just looked at me and then looked to the floor. I could tell he was mulling this whole thing over. He stood and picked up my rifle, handing it to me while he pondered some other things in his mind.

“No need for me to keep this from you.” He said plainly.




***
Back at the ranch
***

The zombies were cleaning up rather nicely. Paul had a concerned look on his face. Bill and Steve had just managed to finish trapping another round of the creatures that had once been people in the large steel cages. They had found that they had to move the cages after burning. The Z’s just would not go to a place where their kind had been destroyed.

Bill walked over to Paul as Steve lit the fire that would consume this bunch of the undead. “What’s up?”

“Somebody’s here.” Paul said shortly.

“Who? Where?” Bill said, looking around.

“I don’t know who, but I keep seeing real people, a few of them, out in the trees. They are watching us. I don’t like it.” Paul said.

“Do you think they want something?”

“I think it’s the same people who left us this ‘present’ and I think they are scouting us out,” Paul stated. “This won’t end well.”

Cool,
Matt's back.

Just a minor discrepency...if the zombies are being burned in the cages, and they woun't go near the spot where others were burned...how are they trapped in the cages?
Other than that, this story has me waiting for and wanting the next chapter in the same ranks as Cold Winter, Lights Out and Shattered.

They have to move the cages.


You are right - I should have put that in there somewhere.

Still no comments on the ARFcom subtleties, anyone?

The subtleties are great.

87 and tac reloads aren't subtle

ETA: great update, I'm glad to see Matt!

Unbeleivable!! This story rocks!!

This story is AWESOME!  MOAR PLEASE!!

Any updates?