Jake's Law: A Zombie Novel (2 page)

Ax eyed the incinerator with trepidation. “What if they decide to start it up?”

He chuckled. “Then, my friend, we die a horrible death.”

After using a metal rod to pry open
the small maintenance door used to remove ash from the incinerator, and wriggling his way through the tiny opening, Levi stood inside the narrow chimney and stared at the small circle of moonlight above him. It represented freedom. Ax, groaning and bitching, forced his bulk through the small opening and stood inside the smokestack.

“Christ Almighty
, it’s hot in here,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow with his hand.

“And you say you’re from Arizona
,” Levi chided.

The heat
from the idle burners was stifling, not hot enough to kill, but enough to discourage them from spending any more time inside than necessary. He didn’t see the need to inform Ax that he had tripped a sensor when he had opened the incinerator door. It was unlikely any guards were monitoring the trash room, but if so, they would likely be shot dead before they made it to the wall. Once outside the walls and a decent distance away, they would be safe. Too many cons had died during the plague for the guards to expend time and energy chasing down and re-capturing escapees.

He
climbed up the narrow ladder first with Ax following closely behind him. The rungs were hot, but his hands had become tough from roping and breaking wild mustangs. The heat didn’t bother him. It was barely as hot as Yuma on a midsummer’s day. He closed his eyes as he climbed and imagined the feel of cool free air on his face. However, Ax had been an accountant before accidently killing his client during an argument over dubious money movements. His hands were soft as a baby’s ass.

Ax seemed a strange companion for a prison break. He had no skills.
He was lousy in a fight. Levi had taken pity on him one day when two cons started shoving him around. He had given Howard the nickname ‘Ax’ to make him at least sound tougher than he was. He wasn’t a friend. Levi had no friends. The only thing Ax could offer Levi was the ability to watch his back after they escaped. He couldn’t stay awake twenty-four hours a day and he didn’t want to wake up with a Staggerer munching on his leg. There was no one else in the prison he could trust not to slit his throat in his sleep.

Ax’s
constant stream of complaints as they climbed grated on Levi’s nerves. “Shut the hell up,” he finally shouted down to his reluctant companion, “and climb.”

At the top of the smokestack, he peered over the edge. Only two
of the guard towers were manned full time, both at opposite ends of the yard, the reason he had chosen this particular spot to make his escape. The tower nearest them was manned only occasionally. He couldn’t see anyone in it, but no lights didn’t mean no guard. The searchlights from the other two towers swept the walls at roughly five minute intervals, just long enough to climb the wall and get over the top. If the dark tower was manned, or if they took too long to scale the wall, they would be shot. It was a risk he was willing to take. Remaining inside was quickly becoming a death sentence.

They descended the smokestack to the
roof, lay flat while the searchlights passed over them, and then shimmied down a drainpipe to the ground. Moving in the shadows as much as possible, they made their way to a small metal tool shed near the east wall. The shed was locked, but that didn’t matter to Levi. He had made other arrangements.

“How are we going to get over the wall?” Ax asked.
His gaze followed the twin searchlight beams as they swept along the walls and the courtyard.

Levi had
meticulously planned his escape. To answer his companion’s question, he produced a length of old fire hose from beneath a pile of depleted fire extinguishers awaiting refills. A two-barb hook he had fashioned from copper pipe had been shoved down the mouth of the nozzle to make a crude grappling hook.

“With this.
I made sure I was on the fire extinguisher detail. We hook the wire on the wall and climb up.”

“We’ll be cut to shreds,” Ax moaned.
“Besides, the wire’s electrified.”

Levi
grinned and pulled a roll of copper wire from his pants pocket. Tied in a loop at one end serving as weight were several half-inch steel nuts he had been surreptitiously removing from the garage for weeks. He threw back a dusty tarp to reveal a rolled up and discarded bunk mattress. He had spent three weeks stealing small snips of copper wire and secreting the other items near the shed. All he had needed to set his plan in motion was help from the hapless McHugh.

“We short out the fence and lay the mattress over the wire.”

Ax frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this?”

“Because you’ve got a big mouth.
Now, come on.”

When the s
earchlights had reached the far end of the yard, the two rushed across the open space and hugged the shadow of the wall. Levi attached one end of the copper wire to a metal drainpipe and flung the heavy, weighted end over the razor wire, releasing his grip before it touched the wire. Sparks flew as the wire shorted. The searchlights went dark as the fuses blew. Quickly, he stepped away from the wall and twirled the fire hose to gain momentum. Then he tossed it up and over the coiled razor wire. On his first attempt, it fell short. The barb caught on the lip of the wall. It took him several heart-stopping moments to free the hose and try again. He sighed with relief as it snagged the wire on his second toss. He handed one end of the hose to Ax.

“Now, pull.”

The wire stretched taut but remained in place, secured by the steel posts embedded in the concrete. Hoisting the mattress over his shoulder, secured by a piece of twine, Levi began climbing the hose hand over hand, feet braced against the wall. He reached the top, slung the mattress over the wire, and signaled for Ax to follow him. The out-of-shape accountant struggled up the hose, eating away at their precious time. The searchlights flared as an emergency auxiliary circuit was thrown. They had very little time remaining. Levi considered leaving his companion behind, but the frightened Ax redoubled his efforts. With both of them on the top of the wall, protected from the sharp wire by the mattress, Levi pulled up the hose, dropped it over the outside wall, and slid down the other side.

T
he hard earth beneath his shoes renewed his strength. Years in the prison had dulled his senses. Now they were fully awake, revitalized. He took a deep breath. The air, free of the stench of other prisoners and death, filled his lungs with joy. He would not go back to prison.

Ax’s descent was ungainly, but he managed to reach the ground without falling to his death.
Heading southeast, they passed the water tower he had gazed upon so many times. It had stood like a giant taunting his confinement. They soon reached the Florence Canal, the first of three they would have to ford to reach safety. The water was cold but only reached to his knees. As they waded across it, the first sirens began wailing behind them signaling their escape. They had no time to stop and rest.

They encountered the first zombies stumbling along the railroad tracks
. The creatures were gaunt and slow moving. Until he saw them, Levi had no true idea of how bad the situation outside the prison walls was. The creatures were starving because human prey had become scarce. That meant either few living people remained in the area, or they were remaining indoors. That was bad for the survivors, but good for them. With few people watching, they could make good their escape. The zombies spotted the two humans and gave half-hearted chase, but their emaciated condition slowed them down. Levi easily outran them, but Ax struggled to keep up. Levi didn’t bother looking back. Ax either kept up or he died.

At
the Central Arizona Project, the last and the largest of the three canals they would have to cross, Ax knelt on the ground catching his breath while Levi studied the current. The CAP was deeper than the other canals, and the water, fed by pumps, ran swiftly. The ribbon of concrete meandered from the Colorado River to points throughout the state, delivering water to farms, cities, and reservoirs. There was no way across except for the bridges at the roads, and they would be watched. They would have to swim. He took a deep breath and dove into the frigid water without hesitation. He didn’t know if his companion could swim, but such thoughts didn’t enter his mind. He was free, and he intended to remain so at any cost.

An hour later, wet, cold, and exhausted, they reached a mobile home
on the outskirts of Florence. It appeared abandoned, but the pair approached carefully. Now was not the time to receive a load of buckshot in the face from an overly cautious homeowner. The door wasn’t locked. Inside, the trailer was empty of people with signs of being hastily abandoned. Stale, rotting food remained on the table. Drawers had been pulled out of counters and their contents dumped on the floor. Levi stripped off his wet prison uniform, toweled dry, and in the pile of discarded clothing on the bedroom floor found a pair of pants and a shirt that fit. There was no food in the cabinets, but he discovered a six-pack of hot beer beneath the sink. He popped a top and guzzled it down, his first taste of beer in three long years. It tasted like manna from heaven.

Ax walked into the small kitchen from the bedroom looking ridiculous in a too small ASU jersey and a pair of bright red exercise shorts. His pale legs almost glowed in the darkness of the trailer. “What’s next?” he asked.

Levi collapsed into a chair and finished his beer. “We wait until things die down, and then make our way to Tucson.”

“Why Tucson? I’m from Phoenix.”

Levi shook his head. For an accountant, Ax could be incredibly stupid. “
And I’m from Yuma, and those will be the first places they look for us.” He picked up a straw Stetson sitting on the coffee table and tried it on. It fit. Soon, they would need food and transportation, but he knew the police would give up the chase quickly. They had bigger problems to deal with than a pair of escaped convicts. Once the commotion died down, they would find refuge in Tucson. A breakdown in society was an opportunity for men like him. With a few like-minded individuals, they could survive the apocalypse nicely, taking what they wanted, living like kings. He lay back in his chair, crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and dreamt of his future in the new world.

2

June 7, 2016   Split Rock Canyon, Galiuro Mountains near San Manuel, AZ –

Jake
Blakely laced up his boots while the coffee brewed. The aroma of freshly ground French Roast filled the kitchen and drifted down the hallway, helping to clear his head almost as much as the coffee itself would. He didn’t often overindulge in alcohol – just a couple of beers or a glass of whiskey every now and then – but yesterday had been a special occasion, an anniversary of sorts. It had been exactly one year since the world, his world, had ended; a reason to celebrate or to commiserate, depending on one’s point of view. Others might argue the exact date, but for him, June 6, 2015 was the one he had red-lettered on his mental calendar. June 6, 1944 was D-Day, the invasion of Europe. June 6, 2015, exactly seventy-one years later, was his personal E-Day, the end of his world when almost everyone died. In comparison, a slight hangover headache didn’t seem much to complain about.

Boots laced
, but the coffee not quite finished brewing, he walked to the window and gazed out over his domain. Split Rock Canyon was a narrow defile thrusting six-hundred yards into the rugged Galiuro Mountains north of Tucson, Arizona. His home, built of native stone and Ponderosa pine logs, rested on a ledge fifty feet above the canyon floor, accessible only by a set of fifty-five hand-hewn steps and a twelve-foot-long plank bridge spanning a narrow cleft in the cliff face. His view of the canyon was spectacular, one of the reasons he had chosen such a remote site for his home

A soft sigh escaped his lips, a
s he noticed two figures beyond the gate lumbering up the dirt trail. His day wasn’t starting out well. Even fifteen miles from San Manuel, zombies still managed to find him, roaming along the river from the local farms and ranches. He believed the creatures could smell living flesh, sought it out as a bat seeks cactus blossom pollen. He seemed to be the only living flesh in the area. Moving to the living room, he picked up his Browning X-Bolt rifle always kept handy beside the sofa, and stepped out onto the balcony.

He sighted his first target
through the scope. The creature wore ragged jeans and t-shirt but had no shoes. Its bare feet were lacerated and bleeding. Its eyes, retaining none of the qualities of a living human, scanned the fence hungrily, like an animal. Carefully centering the crosshairs on the zombie’s forehead, he took a deep breath and slowly released it as he squeezed the trigger.
Jake’s Law #1 – Aim high; shoot straight.
The zombie collapsed before the echo of the shot reverberated from the canyon walls. The heavy .308 Winchester round took out the back of the creature’s head, spraying a fan of blood across the sand. He had learned from experience that head shots worked best. You could kill a zombie if you inflicted sufficient damage to vital organs, but a single round to the brain worked just fine and saved ammunition.

The second creature stared at
its fallen companion with disinterest for just a moment, as if judging it as a possible source of food, and then returned its attention to the gate. As Jake sighted it in his scope, he was shocked to recognize the creature as one of the area ranchers, an old man named Caldwell. He had met Caldwell once or twice at the grocery store in Catalina when Caldwell had struck up a conversation. He had seemed a nice guy, but whatever the creature now was, it was no longer Caldwell. It joined the first zombie a few heartbeats later with Jake’s second well-placed shot. Shortly, he would transport the bodies to a nearby gully and incinerate them, but not before breakfast and an aspirin for his mounting headache. He hated to face zombies, alive or dead, before his first cup of morning coffee. At the noise of the percolator gurgling, he set aside his rifle and strode across the room to the kitchen.