Zombie Rules (15 page)

             
“Tommy, do me a favor and hang onto these for a while.” I said and handed him the ammunition.

             
“Okay Zach. Bye.” He said wistfully.

             
“Bye Tommy.” I suddenly realized I was going to miss him. We had a lot of fun riding around on the ATV. I walked over to the passenger window and looked in. Janet and Don looked at me tentatively. Julie lay down in the back seat and pulled her jacket up around her face.

             
“If we kept your weapons I don’t think you would stand a chance. But, you’d be wise not to touch them until you’re well away from here. When you leave here, turn left on the state highway, go for a few miles until you see a large intersection, and then turn right. Drive about five miles. If you don’t see the Interstate, you’ve gone the wrong way. Whether you get lost or not, don’t come back.” I nodded to Don and pointed toward the road. Don looked old and tired sitting there. I almost felt sorry for them. Almost. They left without any further ado.

              Rick got the backhoe repositioned. I got the dogs fed, and then got Rick fed. He was in a drinking mood rather than an eating mood, but I chided him into finishing his plate. The five of us were now sprawled out in front of the fire. I had changed out of my clothes and donned a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt. Rick had not bothered changing. He just took his boots off and let them drop in front of the old wingback chair he was sitting in. He propped his feet on the stool and produced a fresh bottle of whiskey. He saw me looking at it. “Found it under the counter at the gas station.” He looked at the label adoringly. “Jim Beam.” He unscrewed the top, took a test swallow and grimaced appreciatively. “Damn Zach, how could we have been so wrong about them? They seemed righteous enough.” I grunted as he chugged another deep swallow. “That was my nickname you know.”

             
“What was?”

             
“Righteous Rick. It’s what they called me back in ‘Nam.”

             
I looked over at him in surprise. I had known Rick for quite a while now and thought I knew him pretty good. “I never knew that.”

             
“I never told anyone. You should have seen me back then. Young, fit, handsome, full of piss and vinegar.” He took a large swallow and handed it to me. I shrugged and took a very small swallow. It was strong and burned the throat going down. Just what both of us needed.

             
“Why not?” I asked.

             
“I didn’t want anyone calling me that again on account of I got some poor kid killed.” He shook his head in frustration. “I’ve tried for years, but I just can’t seem to remember his name. You see, I couldn’t get to him in time and he stepped on a booby trap. It took him a few minutes to bleed out. He died in agony, screaming for his mother and wanting to go home, and there was nothing I could do.” He looked over. “That’s how I got hit in my leg. When the booby trap exploded, I caught some shrapnel. It might have been okay, but infection set in and caused a lot of nerve damage. I got a purple heart and sent home because of it.” He took a long swallow. “You see, according to the therapist over at the VA I have a lot of what you call survivor’s guilt in addition to PTSD. So, when I got back home I didn’t tell anyone my nickname. If everyone went around calling me Righteous Rick, all I’d ever be doing was thinking about ‘Nam and the kid whose name I can’t remember dying in my arms. I’m fucked up enough as it is.”

             
“Well I don’t think you’re fucked up. You knew this zombie shit was going to happen and you planned for it. You got us to where we are today. We’re going to survive this because of your foresight.”

             
“Yeah, but without any pussy.” It was a crass statement but I started laughing anyway. Soon both of us were in stitches. It was a good stress reliever. The dogs looked at us like we were crazy.

             
Instead of going to my bed, I climbed up on the couch and pulled a quilt over me. I wanted to be near Rick and talk with him. Curly jumped up beside me and made himself comfortable. “Don’t forget to soak your dentures.”

             
“Right.” Rick unsteadily stood up. “I’ll do it right now.” He came back a minute later and turned the lantern out. The fire was now our only light source.

             
“Where do you think they’re going to go?” I asked.

             
Rick grunted. “Don’t know and don’t care.”

             
“If they’re smart, they’ll park under an overpass or find a secure building for the night. The snow is really coming down hard. The streets will be pretty slick.”

“You’re worried about them.” Rick said.

              “Yeah, I guess so.” I said. Rick grunted again. “I know what you’re thinking and I agree. They were up to no good, and good riddance to them. I can’t help but think Janet was behind it all. What a psycho bitch!”

             
“You got that right brother.” Rick said. I heard him taking slow sips from his bottle. He was going to finish it off before he would be able to sleep without the nightmares. “Zach, I’m glad we’re friends.” He said quietly.

             
“Me too buddy. You may not realize it, but you saved my life. I don’t think I’ve thanked you properly. By the way, Merry Christmas.”

             
Rick chuckled. “Hell, I’d forgotten what day it was. Merry Christmas to you too kid. Oh wait, I’ve got your Christmas present.” Rick delivered a long, noxious fart. It sounded like a hippopotamus dying. Moe took offense and snorted.

             
In spite of the fetid odor, I laughed. We talked some more before I eventually drifted off to sleep. There was no way of knowing, no indication, no omen, of what was going to happen next. Sometime during the night, Righteous Rick died.

              I shot Rick in the head before breakfast.

             
It was a no-brainer, no pun intended. When I finally accepted the fact he had died in his sleep, I carried him to the barn and laid him on a tarp. I sat on the cold ground looking at him for at least an hour. I thought of all of the good times I had had with the old man and how much he had taught me.

             
I did not wonder so much about how he died. Bad heart? Too much whiskey? Lack of pussy? I did not know, and it did not really matter at this point. He was the father figure I never had, a good man. I was going to miss him terribly. He was the last person on Earth who cared about me, and now he too was gone.

             
He did not turn. His body did not reanimate, nor was there any hint of him becoming a zombie. Nevertheless, I stood, took careful aim, and fired. Rick understood.

             
I buried him on a small hill overlooking the brook bordering the east side of the farm. Rick had once told me it was an old Indian mound. I had to use the backhoe to break the frozen ground. I buried him deep. The boys watched quietly. Only once did a forlorn whimper come from Moe. I was going to put up a tombstone when I had the chance. After covering him up, I did something I never did. I prayed. I prayed to God that Righteous Rick was finally at peace.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. I went through the motions of the never ending chores. At the end of the day I started the generator and took a long hot shower.

              Yeah, I cried a little.

             
I could not tell you specifically what I did for the next month. I performed chores. I ran for miles at a time. I worked out with an old rusty set of weights. There was an old punching bag hanging in the barn. I would punch it until my fists pulsated in pain and my arms were so fatigued I could not hold them up. I knew I was burning calories, but Rick had stored enough food to keep me fed for years.

             
Every once in a while I would turn on the Ham radio. I’d capture bits and pieces of someone talking or Morse code, but nothing of consequence. There was one man I spoke to when the atmospheric conditions made for good skip, or radio waves bouncing off of the ionosphere. He lived somewhere on the Cumberland Plateau. He really did not have much to say, just the usual. Zombies everywhere, lots of dead, etc. I never answered anyone else. I did not have it in me to talk to anyone. I just went through the motions. At night I’d sit by the fire and brood. The dogs were my ever present companions. They would try to play with me, but after a while would give up when I did not respond.

             
Depression had returned with a passion. I really missed the old man. My Grandmother, Felix, Macey, I missed them all. Now, with Rick gone, I found myself asking daily why I should go on.

             
I had nobody.

             
One particularly cold evening, I had wrapped myself in a dirty blanket and sat in Rick’s chair. His bottle of whiskey, still half full sat beside it. I opened the top, wiped it off, and then drank until I passed out. I felt like I dreamt of many things, but the only part I remember was a nudge on my shoulder. I dreamt I opened my eyes and Rick was standing there, grinning at me. “Wake up kid.” He said. As I roused from my sleep and everything came into focus, Rick was gone, but the boys were sitting there staring at the spot where I dreamt Rick was standing. Strange.

             
Yes it was strange. I got up quickly and went through the house, searching every room and closet. Even the root cellar.

             
Nope, nobody here but yours truly and three stinky dogs. I hustled outside and retrieved some eggs. I checked the barn while I was at it. Empty, except for the calves and their mommas. They had steadily been putting on weight. I had turned them out to pasture a couple of weeks ago, but they’d keep seeking shelter in the barn. I shooed them out again and closed the double door.

             
The sun probably would not make an appearance today. It was cold and windy. I made a decision as I ate breakfast. It was time to start clearing houses and scrounging for supplies. Rick and I had talked about it, back when he was still alive, and we speculated a zombie’s motor skills would be severely hampered by cold weather. I even made it a rule, even though it was untested. Well today would be a good day to test the theory out. Rick had one of those large thermometers, the kind with a tin frame painted with an advertisement for a soda, nailed to one of the columns on the front porch. It read twenty degrees. Perfect. The decision was made. I’d clear a few houses, scrounge for supplies, maybe I would even find some fellow survivors.

             
I rushed through the morning chores, loaded the truck with equipment, gassed it up, checked the fluid levels, and the tires. When I was satisfied I had thought of everything, I headed out. I took Moe with me. He was some kind of shepherd mix and was a decent watch dog. He only barked when a stranger came near. He would have to be my security monitor while I went through houses and buildings. I put Moe in the truck and got in behind him. “You’re going to have to watch my back Moe, okay?” Moe looked at me then licked me on the face. I interpreted it as a yes.

             
Rick and I had many discussions about clearing buildings and scavenging. It was going to be an essential element of long term survival. Here is the plan we devised.

First: One should always assume a structure is occupied. Second: If a house appeared to have an alarm system, leave it. Most alarm systems had a battery back, so in theory they could still be activated, even after several months. Noise was bad. Third, if it was obvious the house may be occupied, determine if the occupants were real or infected. If it had real people and they weren’t sociable, back off. Go to another house, or even better, move on to another neighborhood. Rick surprised me with a tidbit of logic. He said, any
house occupied by zombies were going to be goldmines of needful things. It made sense I guess. Zombies weren’t going to eat up all of the food, nor would they use toothpaste and toilet paper. Well, I don’t believe infected people bothered with those things, but I couldn’t swear to it.

             
Since I was going to be doing this solo, I was going to restrict my work to smaller homes or small businesses. Imagine trying to clear out a large office building by yourself. You round a corner only to run into a dozen or so infected secretaries who were fresh out of donuts. Nope, not me. I’d stick to small stuff. Even then I almost screwed the pooch on the very first home I went to.

             
I started with a quaint community in the southern area of Nashville known as Lennox Village. I turned in and drove up to the front door of the closest one. I sat in my truck for a couple of minutes to see if there was any type of reaction, living or otherwise. There was nothing. Only the ticking sound that a hot car engine makes when you first shut it off, and a couple of noisy birds fighting over a worm or something. I got out and knocked on the first door while giving an innocent salutation.

             
I said, “Hello? I’m friendly, not looking for trouble, anybody home?” I was just about to make entry when the door suddenly burst open. An older woman, wearing nothing but an untied bathrobe and her hair in those big round curlers, ran out. She was screaming like a banshee. The suddenness of it startled me. Even more unsettling was the visual image of her open robe. I stumbled backward while pointing my handgun at her. She continued screaming while running to God knows where. I watched in rapt befuddlement as she rounded the corner of a townhouse and disappeared.