Jake's Law: A Zombie Novel (11 page)

Jake pointed to the tree branch. “Nice job covering your tracks.”

“I watched a lot of western movies growing up.”

“We’ll get you connected to the electric grid and water shortly.”

Jessica leaned over the balcony and waved down at them.

“You found a good woman there,” Reed said. “I liked the way she jumped into the fracas last night.” He glanced away, an uneasy expression on his face and said more quietly, “You didn’t say anything about my not firing my gun last night.”

Jake sighed. He could see that Reed was condemning himself. There was no need for him to exacerbate his guilt. “It’s hard to murder a man, even animals like them. It wasn’t easy in Afghanistan, and they were killers.”

“I wasn’t scared, at least not too badly. I just …” he paused. “I won’t freeze again.”

“If I thought you would, you wouldn’t be here.”

That seemed to ease Reed’s discomfort. “Thanks. I can tell you feel uncomfortable around people.”

“It’s just that
I just lived alone a long time. All this ….” He brought his hands together to indicate confinement. “It’s getting to me. I’m a loner. Trust comes hard for me.”

“Not me. I need people around. I’ve been going crazy
the past few months. I’m surprised I haven’t been talking to zombies, trying to teach them high school physics. Some of them probably would learn as much as some of my former students.”

Jake
shrugged. “I’ll get over it. I think we need each other right now.”

“
We could find more survivors,” Reed suggested. “Band together. There are thousands of them out there.”

“Let’s see how we
three gel before adding to our entourage,” he cautioned.

Jessica raced down the path
and skipped down the steps. She wore a pair of his blue jeans pinned at the waist and one of his oversized shirts, looking like the youngest child wearing hand-me-downs. They would have to go clothing shopping for her soon.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she gushed at Reed.

Reed smiled so broadly that Jake thought it might split the corners of his mouth. “Glad to be back.”

S
he glanced at Jack. “We make a good team. I have eggs and bacon cooking, and coffee brewing.”

Reed
rubbed his belly, said, “I’m ready,” and headed toward the house.

Jake
smiled as Jessica hooked her arm through his. It was going to take some time to get used to the added company, but he found that he enjoyed it.

After breakfast,
while they finished their coffee, Reed tried to explain the Staggers to them. Jake had watched the news reports and listened to the experts, but most of their explanations were way over his head. Reed promised to keep it simple.

“Tens of thousands of years ago, a tiny protozoan, a single cell organism
transported by mosquitoes and flies, helped wipe out the Ice Age mammoth herds and probably killed a great deal of the human population of North America and the northern latitudes. The protozoan died out as the weather changed, frozen in the northern permafrost. Now, climate change has thawed large areas of permafrost. Tusk hunters in Siberia inadvertently reintroduced the parasite to modern man, who because of all the antibiotics we consume and the practically germ-free environment in which we live is highly susceptible to it.

“
When the first cases of what later became known as the Staggers appeared in Hong Kong in February of 2014, it was considered just another particularly virulent form of Avian Flu. It spread at an alarming rate, reaching dozens of cities within weeks. The first symptoms struck the victims within twenty-four hours. Then, the initial irritating cough and mild temperature the patient experienced rapidly escalated into a hacking, lung-wrenching cough and severe fever of the brain. Within days, a loss of motor function culminated in a deep coma. A few days later, all life functions ceased, but the corpse wasn’t dead, at least not to an observer. Whatever humanity had once existed within the former flesh husk disappeared, replaced by a mindless, savage creature craving flesh and blood.

“
A hundred centuries ago, man kept to closely defined areas, limiting the disease’s range. With today’s rapid global transportation, it spread quickly. In spite of the World Health Organization’s best efforts, no cure was discovered, no drugs proved effective. Spread both by human contact and airborne insect vectors, within a year, the populations of entire cities were decimated. Governments toppled, and petty border bickering flamed into full scale wars.”

“But how does it work,” Jessica asked.

“It acts like malaria on the body. In fact, the first symptoms are malaria-like – high fever, chills, the sweats. Unfortunately, nothing in our modern arsenal of medicines proved effective against it. It spread initially through insect hosts, then by direct contact.”

Jake nodded. “I know all that. That’s why the barricades didn’t work. That’s why so many people fled west thinking there were no mosquitoes in the desert.” He laughed. “They forgot about flies and fleas and dust storms.
”

Reed, looking slightly annoyed by the interruption, continued, “
After a few days of high fever, the body slowly succumbs as the adult parasite destroys the brain and shuts down, like during a coma. Thirty-six to forty-eight hours later, the infected awaken, not quite human, driven to an insane rage and hungry for flesh and blood, human or otherwise. At first, they’re slow and disoriented, thus the name Staggers, after the similar disease affecting a horse’s mind. After that, they become quick, nimble, and deadly. Their scratches and bites spread the disease. Some of us have a natural immunity, probably a gene inherited from our ancestors who survived the disease. Most don’t. Eventually, the resurrected die if they don’t eat, but that takes months, as their bodies slowly consume its own muscle mass.”

“
Didn’t anything show promise as a cure?”

Reed
took a sip from his coffee cup before answering Jessica’s question. “A few drugs did, but they worked too slowly. Once the parasite begins destroying brain cells, the body is doomed. Even if they don’t become zombies, they die eventually of the symptoms. No one ever recovered from the Staggers.”

“No one?”
Jessica asked.

He set his empty cup on the table
and pronounced, “No one.”

“What about the worms?”

“The worms are the adult parasite. They feed on the brain and produce sporazoa capsules that spread by contact or through insect hosts.”

“They’re disgusting,” Jessica said.

Jake agreed with her. Something about the wrigglers gave him the shivers. “Why didn’t the winter weather kill the parasite?”

“It may have killed some, but it’s warm inside the human
host body. The cold killed tens of thousands of people in the cities, as gas and electricity shut off, but the disease spread south to warmer climates, even to Central and South America. There’s no place on Earth that the disease can’t reach. Flying insect vectors live everywhere.”

Silence descended over the table as all th
ey digested Reed’s information. The rattle of his cup on the saucer, as Jake finished his coffee, was unnaturally loud. To break the nervous silence, he said, “But we’re immune, right?”

Reed
nodded. “I hope so. I’m fairly certain I’ve been exposed, and I haven’t succumbed. I expect you two have been exposed as well. Either we’re immune, or something about our body chemistry prevents or slows down the rate of infection.”

Jessica
leaned forward with a look of horror on her face. “Slows down? You mean we might catch it?”

Jake
silently damned Reed for alarming her. Reed waved his hand in the air in dismissal. “Oh, it’s a remote possibility. Odds are very good that we’re immune.”

This seemed to satisfy her, but
Jake wasn’t as certain. However, now was not the time to air his doubts. “How about some target practice?” he suggested to get Jessica’s mind off the disease.

Jessica rolled her eyes
in mock surprise. “Oh, goody.”

* * * *

Though her right shoulder still bothered her, Jessica’s accuracy improved with each shot. She displayed a natural talent for shooting and a good eye. She now seemed more relaxed around firearms, as if she was finally coming to grips with their necessity. Reed was proficient, but somewhat lazy, shooting before taking careful aim. It was important that each shot counted, something Jake couldn’t seem to drill into him. His lack of a sense of urgency concerned Jake.

“I might not hit the target the first time, but I do hit it,”
Reed protested when Jake brought up his accuracy.

“If the target is shooting back, like last night
– a brief flicker of shame crossed Reed’s face –you might not get a second chance. Hitting a zombie in the shoulder won’t work. You have to hit the head or place several rounds into their chest to be effective.”

“
You were a deputy. You’re used to shooting people.”

Jake tensed
at the remark; then relaxed. “In all my years as a deputy, I didn’t shoot a single person.”

Realizing he had spoken out of turn, Reed made light of his remark.
“Maybe we should find some machineguns. Then, being accurate won’t matter as much.”

Jake
shook his head. “Machineguns are harder to aim and fire too many bullets too rapidly. It wastes ammo. Accuracy is the key. It’s better to carry a pocketful of ammo than a lug around an ammo case.”

Reed
replied with sarcasm, “Okay, Sarge. Set up another target. Let’s see. Take a breath. Hold it. Release gently as I slowly squeeze the trigger. Right?”

Jake
smiled. “Right. Then reload quickly. Always keep your weapon loaded until you’re safely at home.”

“Why are you driving us so hard?” Jessica asked.

He stared at her. What could he say? That he was certain Levi would return with more friends? That he was afraid that zombies would locate them? That he didn’t trust the military? That there were people in the world who would kill them for what they had?

“Guns are tools. You need skill just like an artist or a mechanic. Shooting and hitting the target has to become second nature.
Someday, it will save your life.”

She stared at him for a moment before nodding.
“If you say so. I trust you.”

Jake
swallowed. He didn’t want people to trust him. He didn’t have all the answers. He knew how to survive, maybe how to build, but he didn’t know people. He was pretty sure about Jessica and Reed, but what about any others they might meet? Would they be potential friends and allies, or like Levi, taking what they wanted at the point of a gun? The wrong decision could kill them all.

He picked up a handful of paper targets and marched off to the posts he had driven into the ground
to create a makeshift shooting range. As he tacked them to the posts, his gaze climbed the side of the cliff, taking in the rock formations and the desert plants clinging tenaciously to precarious ledges.
That’s us,
he thought.
We’re hanging on by our fingertips. It wouldn’t take much to send us tumbling down into oblivion.
Surviving was hard enough. Now he was certain they had made an enemy.

As he scanned the sky, he noticed a jet contrail to the northeast
, then another.
Military.
Most people would try to attract the jet’s attention. He wanted to remain invisible, or as close to it as possible. The military had their agenda. He had his. He wasn’t sure they were the same.
If the rumors were true.

They spent another hour at target practice. Longer would be better, but he had a limited supply of ammunition.
He had a Lyman cartridge prepper, a Dillon reloading machine, and lead bullet casters, but his powder supply was limited, and making bullets took time. It was a precision process unless you wanted to blow your hand off. For now, at least, it was easier to salvage ammunition from local gun shops or Sportsman Warehouse. Later, it might become necessary.

As they walked back to the house, Jessica summoned up the courage to discuss the previous night’s escapades.

“It was horrible,” she said.

“It was necessary,” he replied. “They were murderers. They
would have killed us if they had the chance.”

“I know, I know, but … it was so horrible. The zombies …”

“We were outnumbered and outgunned. It’s the best idea I could come up with. I suppose we could have thrown bombs through the windows while they slept, but it didn’t seem sporting.”

Jessica whirled at him. Her eyes had narrowed and her jaw twitched. “Sporting? You think killing men is sporting?”

He knew he had made a poor choice of words, but he didn’t back down. “Look. I’ve shot Taliban terrorists I had more sympathy for than that lot. They would have killed Alton and me for sure. You, they would have kept around for a while for their own private sport. Then they would have killed you when they were through. You’re wasting your sympathy on the wrong people. If you want to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for the people they murdered.”