Z14 (Zombie Rules) (42 page)

Julie explained while I began inspecting the
dead zombies. I was not surprised to see the black eyes, but the decomposition was nowhere near the level it should have been. I looked closer at one man, and gasped.

Andie walked over and stood close. “What is it Zach?” She asked.

“Look.” I pointed. “Everyone, come here and look.” I waited until everyone was close. I squatted down and pointed again. “Look at this one’s face. That’s not decomposition. Those are scabs.”

“Well, what the hell does that mean?” Mac asked.
I stood.

“
Scabs are a healing process. The question is, why does he have scabs? Was he healing from being scratched up before he turned, or is there something else going on? I’m not sure I have an answer, but I’m going to cut this one open. You might want to go sit in your RV if you’re squeamish Mac.” I said, but did not bother waiting for a response as I got some nitrile gloves out of the truck. Her only response was a snort.

Pulling the dead zombie’s shirt up, I
opened my lock-blade knife and made a Y-shaped incision. A dark colored goo oozed out as I peeled the skin back. The putrid smell was nauseating but I kept at it until I had a clear view of the insides. I pointed with the blade of the knife.

“His guts should be completely
dried up and rotted away by now, but they’re not. Alright, stand back a little bit.” I said as I slit the stomach open and jumped back. Pus, or bile, spewed out. Everyone made their own little noises of repulse. I leaned forward and inspected the contents. It looked like this one had eaten some type of small furry animal recently. It was enough for Julie. She ran a few feet away and heaved. Rowdy decided it was a good time to retrieve the magazines we’d dropped on the ground and reload them. Andie and Mac stood there watching.

“
Anybody got any opinions?” Nobody commented.

“
Okay, I’ve seen enough for now. We’ve made a lot of noise, and it’s time to get out of this area.” I looked at our new acquaintance. “Mac, we were on a mission to find a tanker truck. We are going to attempt to establish a trading post at the radio station on Concord Road.”

“Do any of you know how to drive a truck
? In case you can’t, I’ve been a truck driver for the last ten years.” She said. I looked at her and smiled. “I think I’m going to like you Big Mac.” Mac grinned at me broadly. To my surprise, she had all of her teeth.

We got the RV unstuck, and followed Big Mac to her family’s farm, which, surprisingly, was only a few miles from College Grove. Unfortunately, there was nothing left. The homestead, barn, and outbuildings had been burned to the ground. There was a large W.E. spray painted on the road in front of the house. I looked at Andie, but she didn’t make eye contact. We went up to the remains of the house and looked around. Mac gasped, and pointed at a skeleton mostly obscured in the ashes.

“Who would have done such a thing?” Mac questioned sadly. “He was a sweet old man
who wouldn’t have harmed anyone.”

“It could have been anything.” I said.
“Maybe a chimney fire or a lantern knocked over in the night. He might have been infected. Some of the survivors used fire as a means of attempting to eradicate the infection.” I looked around at my friends. “Would you like us to help you bury him?” She nodded as tears ran down her cheeks.

Big Mac did most of the shoveling. She worked as hard as any man, and had a hole dug in little time. We used a
n old blanket to wrap up the skeletal remains and carefully placed them in the ground.

             
Big Mac pointed with her meaty finger. I noticed she was a nail biter before I looked down I-65 with my binoculars.

             
“Do you see it?” She asked. The tanker truck was stuck in a long line of other cars and trucks. I answered in the affirmative. “I noticed it as I drove by it. The driver left about ten feet between his truck and the truck in front of him. Some little weasel tried to wedge his Audi in between them, but with a little work, we can get it free and drive it home.”

             
“Do you know if there is any fuel in it?” I asked. Mac shook her head. No matter, I knew where we could fill it up.

             
“The good thing about those big diesel truck engines, charge the battery and they’ll most likely start right up.” Mac said. “If it don’t, I know how to work on them.”

             
Rowdy smiled. “I bet you do.” Mac responded with a cool look. Rowdy stopped grinning and directed his attention to the Interstate.

             
“Alright, we’ll get back to it. “I said. “Let’s go have a look at the radio station.”

             
The radio station in question is located on Concord Road beside the Interstate. When you get close, the first thing you notice is a very tall tower painted red and white. The wire cables holding it in place were still intact. The station itself is a plain white building, and doubled as the caretaker’s residence. It was nestled on approximately twenty acres, which now consisted of overgrown grass and weeds. It was surrounded by chain link fence with a couple of strands of barb wire on the top.

             
“The fence looks intact and I see a large generator beside the station.” I scanned some more, looking for any signs of life. “I’m not seeing any threats, but there may be something inside. Are you guys ready?”

             
“I was born ready!” Rowdy said enthusiastically. Mac looked at him, as if she was wondering if he were firing on all cylinders.

             
The station was locked, which was not an issue, and devoid of life. Upon entry, we were hit with a stale, musty odor. Nobody had been inside in quite a while. The radio room itself was smaller than I had imagined it would be. Most of the room was taken up by the equipment. There was a small kitchen, two equally small bedrooms, a full bathroom and a small half-bath in the radio room.

             
“It looks like all of the radio equipment is intact, and it doesn’t look too difficult to figure out how to use it.” Rowdy said. “Let’s get that tanker over here and fire this sucker up.”

             
“I’d like to see this thing running as well.” Mac said. “But I was hoping we could eat first.” Julie quickly turned away, but not before I saw her grinning.

              Getting the semi started only took twenty minutes. Getting the tanker truck maneuvered through the half mile maze of vehicles took another hour. But with teamwork, and not less than a dozen zombie encounters, we got the truck parked at the radio station. The tanker indeed had fuel in it, and Big Mac knew precisely how to transfer the gasoline to the generator’s tank.

             
“We got two choices.” She said. “Give the engine a good tune up first, or fire it up and see if she runs.”

             
I wanted to give the engine a thorough going over first, but I was out voted. After I bitched about it a minute or two, they agreed to at least let me clean the spark plugs and air filter. There was a spray can of ether sitting beside it, which told me this thing would probably be a bear to start. We hooked up the jumper cables, put a squirt of ether in the air filter inlet, and gave it a try. This time it only took ten minutes before it roared to life with a thick puff of black smoke. Everyone cheered in delight. Rowdy ran inside the station ahead of us, hooting the entire way.

              “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. This here is Rowdy Yates, lately of Brentwood, Tennessee. The time here in Brentwood is high noon, give or take a few minutes, and this is my very first radio broadcast since the world went to hell in a zombie infested bread basket.” Rowdy paused to take a drink of some Patron tequila. Andie rolled her eyes and took the bottle away from him.

             
“It’s only noon for Christ’s sake.” She said. Rowdy looked at Andie like a whipped puppy dog, drew a deep breath, and continued.

             
“Well, I have just been informed that there is no drinking allowed until sundown. I know friends, it is a terribly unjust law, but if you care to visit, we’ll make arrangements.” Andie rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, let me tell anyone who is listening about us. We are a group of survivors. Hopefully, you’re just like us. We’re not like some people we’ve encountered. We’re friendly and are always willing to help others. If you’re good people and you can hear this radio transmission, come visit us. We’re in Williamson County, Tennessee. Come on down Interstate 65 until you get to the Concord Road exit. Look for the big red radio tower. Oh, and if you’re so inclined, the provisional government of the United States has a refugee center in good old Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Tell Captain Steen I sent you. Now, don’t go assuming that we’re some kind of s
ocialist community where everything is free for the offering. Our resources are limited. Don’t come empty handed. We’re always open to trade.”

             
Rowdy continued speaking nonstop for over an hour, until I reminded him of the generator’s fuel consumption.

             
“Alright folks, I’m signing off for the day. We should be back on the air this time tomorrow. In the meantime, be safe, and always remember rule number one, shoot ‘em in the head. This is Rowdy Yates signing off.” He flipped the switch and the ‘on-air’ light went out. He looked at all of us expectantly.

             
“How’d I do?” He asked.

             
“Rowdy, you’re a natural.” I said. Everyone voiced their agreement. He grinned broadly.

             
“We can make this work guys, but it’s going to take a lot of blood, sweat, and tears.” I gave a wry grin and pulled out a folded sheet of paper from my shirt pocket. I heard a collective sigh from Julie and Andie. Mac looked perplexed.

“Oh yes, it’
s a list. First, we’re going to move one of the stills out here. Second, we’re going to need a couple of outhouses dug, otherwise you’ll have people crapping everywhere. Third, Captain Steen provided us with a few thousand sandbags. They’ll need to be filled and stacked around the facility. I’d start with four foot high walls and then go from there. Oh, and here is a big one, zombie pits.”

             
“What the hell are zombie pits?” Mac asked.

             
“I’m glad you asked.” I responded with a grin. “Zombies are so stupid they’ll walk right into a hole in the ground without the forethought of how they’re going to get out. I think if we dig a trench around the fence line, say about six feet wide by eight feet deep, any zombies wondering up from the Interstate will fall into them and they won’t know how to climb out. Hopefully there is a backhoe nearby. Do you know how to use one, Mac?” I asked.

             
Mac scoffed. “Does a hog like slop? Of course I can run a backhoe. I can run a bulldozer too.” She grunted, as if this were something I should have already known. I nodded without any smart assed retort.

             
“And then, we’ll need to create an airstrip for the soldiers. This little task will require a lot of work, including knocking down the power lines around here.”

             
“You’re right about one thing, that’s a lot of work.” Rowdy said.

             
“It is.” I said. “However, if we have any survivors dragging themselves in with nothing to trade, we can put them to work in exchange for food. But, I’m thinking we’re going to need to round up a whole lot of cattle and start planting more crops.” I frowned for a minute and rubbed my face.

             
“I know that look.” Julie said. “What’s wrong?”

             
“Sometimes, I’m like totally stupid.” I said. “There is a large horse farm within a mile from here and we’ve never checked it out. Let’s go have a look.” We shut the generator off and loaded up in the truck. We crossed over Interstate 65 on Concord Road, heading toward Franklin Pike. I pointed to the right. There was a large farm surrounded by a wooden green plank fence.

             
“This is, or was, an active horse farm owned by a family who made millions in retail. I think it’s somewhere around eight hundred acres.” We drove to a gate and stopped. In the distance, there was a large mansion facing Franklin Pike.

             
“Let’s go in and check out the barns. I bet there may be some horses still alive.” Julie said.

             
“I bet you’re right, look at the field. The grass isn’t overgrown, something has been eating it.” I continued scanning the area and frowned.

“Guys, this area looks like there’s been some human activity. It may still be occupied.”

              “What do we do then, Hoss?” Rowdy asked.

             
“We’re going to drive in slow. If we encounter anyone, just remember, this isn’t ours, we’re visitors here.”

             
Julie drove through the gate and I closed it behind us. Instead of getting back into the passenger compartment, I jumped in the bed of the truck and kept the M4 out of sight. As we neared the barn, my suspicions proved correct. A man walked out of the barn and stopped near the door. He was a white man, mid-forties, an untrimmed salt and pepper beard, somewhere around six feet tall. He was wearing bib overalls and a well-used John Deere ball cap.