Legacy of the Living Page 8

  Two more dirt bags each standing there with AKs were watching in both directions. Fridaddy saw the muzzle of the closest to him track down and start to aim, but it was already too late for this piece of human filth as his finger caressed the trigger again and a hole appeared dead center between the addict’s eyes as he fell dead.

  Fridaddy’s ears rang from the shots. He hadn’t had time to slip his earplugs in, but he shook it off and rose in a crouch. He listened. Slowly it came in. Grunts and tiny whimpers reached him. He crept forward and his eyes widened.

  Actually, the setup was clever. A commercial treadmill reverse-wired to provide power, and on it were two zombies chained to the rails. Both were walking rapidly, their arms straining against the chains and reaching for ...

  “Jesus Christ!” The expletive exploded from Fridaddy’s mouth as he saw a bleeding baby suspended from a rafter by a rope around its chest, swaying directly in front of the zombies. The little boy was naked and someone had sliced into his skin, making him bleed. Just what the zombies needed to keep walking and providing power. Little guy couldn’t have been more than a year old if that. Jesus Christ! Fridaddy whipped his buck knife out and quickly cut the rope tied around the tyke’s ribcage. The whimpers he had heard were coming from him. Unzipping his jacket partway, he put the little guy next to his chest and turned around, gun ready and searching. Where there was a kid there was usually a mother. He spotted her in the corner, huddled down, her head between her knees as she peer fearfully at him.

  “Please don’t shoot me,” she squeaked when she saw he had spotted her.

  “Why?“ Fridaddy asked. Actually, it was a stupid question; he already knew the answer.

  “We didn‘t hurt him bad. Only little cuts. Just enough to make them move.”

  Fridaddy shook his head and shot her through the forehead before he could stop himself. Then he turned and shot the two zombies in the head, while turning sideways so the little boy would be protected from as much of the noise as possible. It was then that he a lot of footsteps ringing on the hardwood floor from the front and a voice hollering "Clear!". He raised his right hand that held his Sig high in the air while his left arm cradled the child within his jacket and waited.

  “Don‘t move!” the soldier shouted as he ran into the room at a low crouch, his M4 pointed straight at Fridaddy. “We have four, no, five down with gunshot wounds. Lone survivor. Two dead zombies.” He was speaking into his wire headset as his head swiveled back and forth. Fridaddy assumed it was being broadcast to others.

  “Don’t intend to,” Fridaddy muttered while jiggling the baby within his jacket. The boy was starting to whimper again and right now, more distractions were unneeded.

  “What are you doing? Is that a bomb? Bomb!” the soldier shouted and raised his M4 while Fridaddy sighed and rolled his eyes.

  “NO! Not a bomb, man! It’s a boy.” Then carefully, he slowly unzipped his jacket and the little guy’s head popped into view. The soldier’s eyes widened and he lowered his carbine.

  “Why do you have a boy in your jacket?”

  “I’ll tell Miguel. It’s complicated. Is he on the way? I'm part of the work crew clearing these houses out. I'm Fridaddy.”

  “He’s right outside, and the commander’s on the way too.” The soldier was communicating on his tactical microphone again and updating whoever he was talking to with the information he had just received. It was obvious he received a favorable reply because the man slung his weapon and relaxed slightly.

  Fridaddy sighed and wiggled his Sig still held high overhead. The soldier nodded and he lowered his arm and stuffed the automatic in his jacket pocket. Not bad, he thought. Only needed one clip this time. Miguel entered and looked at him, then the boy.

  “You, Señor, are called Fridaddy, correct?: he asked.

  “Yes Miguel.”

  “Wait for ... the governor.”

  “You bet.”

  Then Jay was entering the room fast, with an M4 cradled in his arms. Fridaddy watched as he saw the man's eyes take everything in within seconds, then walk over to the woman lying dead in the corner. His boot flipped her head back and he nodded. Next he moved over to the treadmill where he crouched, looked the wiring and bloodstains over carefully and shook his head.

  “Very clever.”

  “Isn’t it though.” Fridaddy had spoken up and now Jay looked at him closely. Too closely, as if he was peering inside him.

  “Your work.” It was a statement, not a question, but Fridaddy answered it anyways.

  “Yes.”

  “Crack? Meth?”

  “Meth but maybe some crack. I didn’t explore. Was busy.”

  “Good job. Who’s the little guy?” Now Jay was nodding at the small child whom Fridaddy still held cradled against his chest.

  “Honestly I’m not sure, but I suspect the whore’s.” Fridaddy nodded towards the corner of the room and Jay nodded in return. “They had him suspended from the ceiling and had cut him some. The zombies were running the treadmill for power trying to get to him.”

  “Yeah, got that. Christ! Very good job.”

  “Thank you. Governor.”

  “Call me Jay. I’m sorry about your partner. He’s dead. You were on the work crew, right?”

  “Yes, Jay, and thank you. Randy was a good man.”

  “They’re all good men and women Fridaddy.”

  “Agreed.” Miguel was whispering something in Jay’s ear while pointing to something on one of those computer tablets people always used to carry around. Jay looked at it ,then looked up at Fridaddy again.

  “You’re an ex-sheriff?”

  “Yes, and deputy, and not ex. We were here on vacation. Oakland County, California.” He saw the governor nod, then turn away for a moment. Then he was pulling Miguel to him and whispering. Fridaddy didn’t pay attention. He was jiggling the kid again and hoping it wouldn’t pee on him, although from the malnourished look, he doubted the boy had been fed or given water in some time. Then the governor was looking at him again and smiling while placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here. This place stinks and it’s not good for the boy. I’ll have a crew come in and strip it.” Then he was leading them outside where others waited. Fridaddy saw a black Humvee pulled up in the yard and another on the road with two crewed military Humvees in front and to the side of it. The governor walked to the second Humvee and, opening the back door, bent inside and a moment later pulled out a squealing tot. Fridaddy noticed that even though almost a dozen men had taken up positions of guard around the governor, Jay's eyes were roaming everywhere and he never stayed still for more than a split second. Man would be hard to shoot at a distance, that was for sure, Fridaddy thought.

  “Specialist Deuling. Take the child from Fridaddy and make sure it gets to one of the nurses for treatment, then the daycare for the young ones.” The governor was addressing one of the Army men who nodded, walking up and removed the child from Fridaddy’s arms. Fridaddy was relieved the boy would be treated quickly and turned back to the scene before him.

  Fridaddy recognized Emma the governor’s daughter, as the squealing child removed from the Humvee, and watched as she was kissed, squeezed, then perched on top of Jay’s shoulder. In her hand, she clutched a small doll. He peered closer and grinned. She had one of the new Reaper dolls. He had seen many in the hands of children in the last couple of days. This one was made a little better than most and the likeness to the Reaper was uncanny, from leather boonie hat and beard down to combat boots. Emma was holding it tightly to her chest and giggling as she rode on her father’s shoulder. Idly, Fridaddy wondered if the Reaper knew he had been franchised and grinned again. He also wondered if the governor realized there were no Governor Jay dolls floating about. The governor started walking down the road as the Humvees followed very closely behind, a cordon of men arrayed to either side keeping pace with them. He appeared deep in thought, and Fridaddy just strolled along beside him staying silent. Finally Ja
y spoke.

  “Miguel’s records say you’re a deputy sheriff from Oakland with two wives. One of whom had a sister down in Grant who’s no longer with us. He also told me that you’ve been on several work parties with no complaint. In fact, he had you slated for a supervisor’s position until this happened.”

  “Darn, so no sitting on my ass and eating croissants now?” He heard Jay chuckle beside him, then the giggle of Emma again as he bounced her up and down.

  “No croissants and no sitting on your ass. We need a sheriff!”

  “You mean more police officers.”

  “No. I said exactly what I meant. We need a sheriff and my gut tells me you’re the man.” Jay stopped and looked at him.

  Fridaddy pondered it for a moment. He did indeed realize the distinction between a sheriff and a city police officer. Deputies were better trained and usually better armed. Deputies typically had much greater authority in arrests and jurisdiction also. Fewer questions were asked after shootings, and it was normal for a sheriff’s deputy to hold down several hats at once. Fridaddy was, or had been up until the zombie outbreak, a Forensic Death Investigator in the Coroner’s Bureau. He saw the governor was waiting for an answer, smiling slightly at him while playing with Emma in the street. She was throwing stones at the Humvees. They were making it more fun for her by backing up slightly, then rolling forward again while she squealed in delight. Her father was handing her the stones she threw.

  “OK, question. How do you wish me to play it if I take the position?”

  “Frontier justice with common sense. Make it obvious so they don’t come complaining to me. Issues like that meth lab back there.” The governor was jerking a thumb over his shoulder and continued. “All I want is a brief After Action Report. Very brief! Which means the fewer sentences the better.”

  “Some will complain anyways, you know, but I get you.”

  “Sure. I’ll show them the door.”

  “What about a jail?”

  “Jail? Is there a reason they should live?”

  The statement was said so matter-of-factly that Fridaddy had to smile. Here was a man who got it, and tolerated no bullshit. The more he thought about it the funnier it was, and soon he was laughing so hard, tears streamed down his cheeks. Finally he got control of himself as the governor waited patiently.

  “I’ll take it. What’s my manpower budget?”

  “Grab six men you trust. Make damn sure about them because if there are issues I won‘t go to them. I’ll be coming straight for you. Feel free to pull on the Armory for anything you need and grab one or two of the Humvees, black ones if you don’t mind. One crew-mounted weapon is fine. I won’t tell you how to maintain discipline but I’m inclined to normal first offenses being only a warning. Anything against my ethics, shoot on the spot or throw them out past the barricade. You know my ethics?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good. Welcome aboard then.” The governor was holding his hand out and Fridaddy shook it hard, both men testing the other and grinning. The governor scooped his daughter up and trotted back to the lead black Humvee, getting in after tossing a salute his way which Fridaddy returned. Miguel was coming up and smiling while holding his own hand out.

  “Thank you señor. I believe we have made a good choice in you, yes?”

  “Probably. I‘m pretty mean though, Miguel.”

  “Mean we need. Get out of here and find your men. You’ll have an office upstairs on the second floor of the granary. There are several empties. Pick one. If you need anything let me know please, or see my assistant Jean.” Fridaddy nodded at his words and watched as Miguel trotted off to his own black Humvee.

  Fridaddy had an idea of the men he wanted, including two soldiers he was impressed with, and got to work. It was close to noon when he finally let himself in the house he was sharing with his wives and a couple other families that were all nice people. Kim and Nat looked up as he entered, and then looked at him again. He was now wearing a cutout holster high on his right hip, and an M4 Carbine with infrared holographic sight was slung across his chest on a three-point sling. A black bandana tied around his left bicep completed the ensemble as he swaggered back and forth before them, grinning like a maniac.

  “You look like someone shoved a stick up your ass, Daddy. Nice rifle by the way. Who you supposed to be?” Kim was the first to say something. Nat was just being herself and waiting for the explanation.

  Fridaddy grinned at the both of them, savoring the moment. He could see Kim was losing patience and laughed. A short quick bark.

  “Girls. Newaygo has a new sheriff, and you’re looking at him.” For once Kim was at a loss for words, and he cherished the moment.

  *****

  Jeff aimed the Hornet Crossbow at the furthermost zombie, loosed the twenty-two inch arrow, and watched as it flew straight and true to embed itself through the skull and partially out the backside. Instantly he lowered the rifle-like bow and, grabbing the cocking handle in both hands, jerked the string back to its seat and fitted another arrow. Beside him, Earl released his, shooting the next closest in, and then Henry beside him fired, taking out the next. By then Brad was ready to fire again and, aiming carefully, he shot the last one to come around the garage they had been sneaking around, just as the creature noticed them but before it could get its shambling run going.

  “Four down and plenty more to go. Let’s go collect our arrows, guys.” They ran forward at a trot and Henry pulled a mini two-pound sledge from his belt and gave each of the zombies’ heads a couple of good hits, crushing them. They had found a crushed head made pulling the arrows out much easier and quicker. The arrows were quickly retrieved, wiped on the zombies’ clothing, and put back in over-stuffed quivers at each man’s side. They also had automatic rifles liberated from the police department slung over their backs, and plenty of ammunition, but nothing brought the zombies running faster than gunshots.

  Every day for several hours they worked in three-man teams, ten in all, hunting down new zombies. Leaving the Sparta High School and Smart Start they headed north through the woods to the next street over, then circled around. The theory was that this way any zombies that saw them would not know exactly where they originally came from. So far, it had worked well. Ten teams would go out, scout for survivors, and kill zombies. They all used crossbows freely liberated from the Gun and Archery Shop near the police station. Other teams behind them would throw the bodies in a large wagon pulled by a team of horses. The bodies would be dumped in a pit near the hog farm on the east side of town.

  Jeff grabbed the walkie-talkie from his belt and called it in.

  “We have four for you. Look for them on the west side of a green garage, at 460 Eklund Street.”

  “Roger that. The teams will get to them. Keep thinning them out and good luck.” Someone who's voice Jeff did not recognize was staffing the base receiver at the police station. They kept a permanent crew there for two reasons. It was extremely secure against zombies and the base station couldn’t be moved because of its large antenna system. The base station was also vital because they had over forty 5-mile police radios tied into it. The men and the woman working on the body bagging crews were all heavily armed and took no chances with the undead. If a zombie was spotted, they shot quickly and accurately, damn the noise. This had resulted in more than a few pitched battles, but the zombies were getting smarter and if they couldn’t get close enough before their numbers dwindled they quickly tried to leave and hide.

  Jeff ran to the front door of the house and knocked. No answer. He didn’t expect one but you never knew. They had either found or taken in over three hundred survivors in just the last few days. The Sparta High School had become too small for their numbers and they had been forced to take over the Smart Start School which was next door, for the space. Everybody had a job to do, even the kids, and by God, there were a lot of children and older kids. Every so often during the day they would get lucky and someone would gratefully answer their knock.


  Earl and Henry guarded his back as he ran from house to house along the street knocking. Then a door opened before his hand could reach it.

  “Help us, quick. Our uncle is dying. Help us please.” A small girl about seven maybe was standing there with tears running down her face. She held the door wider and Jeff entered, quickly followed by Earl and Henry.

  “We’re here to help lass. Where’s your uncle?” They all carried first aid kits, but they were mainly for basic first aid. Anything more serious would have to be treated by the doctor back at the high school.

  She led them to the back and they followed after Henry made sure the door was bolted. A back bedroom with a small bed and nightstand also contained an older man lying on bloodstained sheets with an even smaller boy trying to clean his face with a blood-soaked washcloth. Jeff saw the man was unconscious and he quickly reached down and checked the pulse at the neck. The little boy didn’t seem at all scared to see them and instead was talking to the girl with excitement.

  “I think he’s going to be OK, Sis. The bleeding has almost stopped.”

  “That’s because he’s almost out of blood,” Larry replied, pulling his radio out.

  “Base, Jeff here, we found survivors. I need an ambulance at 482 Eklund.” Jeff surveyed the figure from head to toe with a quick glance and raised the radio again. “You‘re going to need blood as he’s almost bled out. I’m counting at least twenty bite wounds and I haven’t turned him over yet.”

  “Roger that, Jeff. Ambulance is en route now. ETA about a minute, give or take.”