Vague predictions and pr.., p.15
Kings of the Dead, page 15
The old timer stepped around the corner and said, “What can I do for ya?”
I was still dumbfounded, but I told him we needed some diesel if he had some. He walked over to the pump, fiddled with the nozzle and started to fill our truck with fuel.
I asked him, “You do know what’s going on out there, don’t you?”
He looked at me oddly and asked, “Now what are you talking about son?”
“Well, the riots in the cities, the dead walking the earth. Honestly, there are not very many of us living people left.”
He spit in the dirt by the pump and scratched his head a moment, “That sure might explain a few things I reckon.”
I asked him, “Things like what?”
“Like why my wife tried to bite me, and why I ain’t had many customers in a while. I figured it was the damn truck stop down the way taking all my customers.”
“So, you did not know about this stuff? Don’t you watch TV?”
“Ain’t got much need for one, no radio either.”
The trigger on the fuel nozzle released and he triggered it a couple more times just to make sure we were topped off, then he looked at the pump and said, “That’ll be sixty-two dollars even.”
Derek reached behind my seat and pulled a handful of twenties out of the bag of money we had kept and passed them my direction. I counted out four bills and told him to keep the change. He took the money, thanked us and walked back to his bench and sat down.
I looked up at Derek, who was sitting there with the biggest ‘what the fuck?’ look on his face I had seen in quite awhile. Shaking my head I climbed into the truck and we headed back down to the highway. Laughing about that crazy old man kept us going for quite awhile.
Going through Ogden, Utah, was another story altogether. As we got into the outskirts of town, we found barricades across the highway, with signs plastered all over the place reading “STAY OUT.” The thing that bothered me the most is that while there were several emplacements for guards, there was nobody manning the stations. It almost seems as if somebody had tried holding the city together but failed.
We passed through the barricade at the outskirts of town and headed up the remarkably clear road, driving deeper into the downtown area. There were plenty of wrecked cars on the sides of the road along with signs of firefights and mass burnings all over the place. No matter how hot your fire gets, there are still going to be traces left of what you have burnt. There were enough identifiable remains in the ash piles to know that someone had been burning an awful lot of people on this stretch of highway.
We were about 5 miles in when I caught a flash of something in my rear view mirror. I looked back and was able to make out a pair of vehicles. They looked like Chenoweth off-road vehicles... and they were coming on fast. They pulled up beside us, one on either side of our vehicle. There were two people in the one on my side and only one on Derek’s. They were all dressed in what could have been military uniforms, or they could have just dressed up like they were military.
They motioned for us to stop, and Derek asked me not to but I told him we would be safe as long as we stayed in the vehicle. I pulled to a slow stop, but kept the engine running. Derek and I both slid the barrels of our weapons out the firing ports built into our doors. The passenger on my side of the vehicle stepped out and raised his hands in the air.
He identified himself as Ranger Hanson, of the Ogden Rangers, as if we were supposed to know who they are. Apparently, around fifty National Guard troops stationed in Ogden had been able to band together and stop the tide just before the city was completely wiped out. The Guard members had taken on the name of the Ogden Rangers and had taken on the responsibility of saving Ogden and as many of the cities citizens as they could. They only had a few thousand people in a secure area, but it was a start.
He kept his hands above his shoulders and neither one of his drivers ever took their hands off the wheel. Since I did not see any signs of aggression or deception, I lowered my guard and got out to talk to him face to face. He told me that while the Rangers have kept peace and order in the north, a rather nasty group of raiders had claimed the southern part of town. They had been watching us since we got within 5 miles of town, and did not want us going into the area blind. I guess there are some people out there that still care about getting another person’s blood on their hands.
I thanked him for the information, and wished him the best of luck with his town and his Rangers. I also commended him and his troops for their dedication. It was nice seeing someone else that has been able to hold on.
I asked Derek to drive and I grabbed my M-16/M-203 with some extra ammo and climbed onto the top of the truck in between our two storage units. Before we took off I asked Derek to take it nice and easy with me up there. While I was in a fairly safe place, I was still on top of a moving vehicle. With him driving at about 20 miles per hour, I was actually left with a very stable platform in case we did have a run in with some raiders.
I could see the final barricade off in the distance when a truck came flying onto the highway from a hidden on-ramp. As the old Bronco flew up beside us I got a good look at them from under the storage unit to my left. This bunch of assholes had seen Road Warrior one too many times. I kid you not, they had everything down almost perfectly.
Derek was doing everything as we had discussed, he was keeping his speed steady and in a straight line. Even when the idiots swerved in on him he kept the vehicle steady. That helped me as I stood up and pointed my weapon down into the passenger compartment. The passenger was standing in his seat so when he looked up he was less than ten feet from the open maw of my grenade launcher. He dropped into his seat with a scream and the driver of the Bronco slammed on his brakes and did a power slide, winding up facing the other direction. I thought for a moment about launching one into their ass as they took off like crazy headed the other direction.
We made it to their final barricade without further incident. About five miles past the barricade I signaled for Derek to stop so I could get back in the truck. He pulled over and we both took a moment to stretch our legs.
We were grabbing some water and using our gas cans to top off the tank when we saw a zombie slowly walking up the road towards us. She was blonde and except for a pink tank top and bloody panties, she had nothing else on.
Derek just kind of chuckled and said, “Looks like a witch, dude!”
I looked at her for a moment and for whatever reason, I felt pity on her and wanted to put her down. I raised my gun to fire. Just as I squeezed the trigger, Derek hit the underside of my arms with his hands and yelled “Don’t! She’s alive!”
He was right, she was not a zombie. This was a young girl, maybe 15 or 16, with massive scars around her wrists and ankles, showing signs of having been tied up for many months, maybe even years. She came walking right up to me and through split lips and broken teeth said, “Help me,” as she collapsed into my arms.
While she was unconscious, we stripped off her clothes and did the best we could to clean her up with what we had available to us. We needed to check her fully for any signs of bites or infection. We figured since she was already unconscious we could do it real quick and without any problems.
All I can say is this: she is free of bites and infection. But, the signs of massive physical and sexual abuse were too much to not notice. This poor girl has been through the worst kind of living hell imaginable.
We got her dressed into some of our spare clothes and laid her into one of the beds in the back of the truck. I told Derek to hit the road and head east; I had some work to do in the back.
I got an IV going in to her. She needed fluids and needed them fast. I also gave her a catheter so I could get some fluids into her bladder, really hoping for no signs of kidney failure.
She is malnourished, dehydrated, anemic and beaten. I fed a vial of Rocephin, a broad spectrum anti-biotic, into her IV bag hoping it would not kill her from an allergy standpoint but also in hopes that it would stop any possible infections she might have.
That was around two days ago. She is still unconscious, and I am actually to the point where I wonder if it is worth using any more of our supplies to help her. She might be too far gone both physically and mentally for me to do anything about either one, and all I am doing is delaying the inevitable. I don’t like the idea of putting her out of her misery but I really don’t like the idea of just putting her on the side of the road and driving away.
We need to figure out what we are going to do.
Meanwhile, here we sit at the Little America Truck Stop just outside of Cheyenne, Wyoming. We have been able to refill our fuel and have even found a good supply of dried goods inside the store.
Derek has spent most of the time opening and searching trailers looking for anything useful. What he has found has mostly been truckloads of electronics and other goods that are worthless to anybody these days. However, he did find one smaller truck that was filled with beef jerky and other well preserved junk food. His response? “It’s better than tofu!”
We might need to stay here another day or two just to rest up and figure out what to do with the girl.
September-October 2010
Her name is Kimmi, with an “I” not a “Y”. She is 17 years old and states she has been on her own since the day the zombies pulled her mom out of their mini-van on the way home from soccer practice. That was almost 18 months ago.
Obviously, she woke up this morning, the morning I was going to regretfully do what I needed to do. Isn’t it funny how things work?
I was sitting there on the right side bunk trying to find the strength and courage to pick her up and take her out the back of the truck when all of a sudden she opened her eyes and said “Kimmi”.
I am not going to lie, I broke down into tears. All this time I have been taking lives, both alive and undead, and I finally got to save one. We immediately got her some of the Pedialyte I had taken from the warehouse and made her take little sips, just a little at a time. Even then she threw some of it up.
When she got enough strength together she told us about her mom dying and how she ran from the van all the way home, only to find nobody there. She said she stayed there for several weeks hoping someone in her family would come back. Nobody ever did, at least nobody she wanted to come back.
She told us of the night they came for her, four or five men, how they broke into her home that night, how she tried to run, how they caught her, how she tried to fight and what they have done to her since they have had her in their custody.
She has been pregnant twice, losing the first one within weeks, and going full term the second time. Immediately after the delivery the baby was taken from her, and none of us want to know what happened to the baby.
She has told us about her family, a younger sister, her parents and her extended family and her friends. She has also asked us what we were going to do with her. When she told me she would “earn her keep” in order to stay for us I was quite taken back. She said that sex means nothing to her now, and if we will take care of her, she will “take care” of us.
Derek and I have both assured her that neither one of us want anything of the sort from her. We simply want her to know we will both do everything in our power to keep anything from ever happening to her again.
She was so tired she continually fell asleep throughout the conversation. Without a doubt, this has been the most she has spoken in months, if not years, and it has used every bit of energy reserve she has built up.
Right now I am thinking we will stay here at Little America for a few more days, at least until she gets enough energy back to be able to hit the road.
Mid-October 2010
It is somewhere around the middle of October, and I either have a birthday in a few days or it has already happened. Not that it or any other date really matters anymore.
Kimmi has finally gotten to the point of being able to walk around without getting tired and has been able to run at a sprint for close to a couple of city blocks. I told her I needed to know she could make a run for it if we needed to once we were back on the road. She jumped out of the back of the truck, ran across the parking lot and back to me without being too winded. She is good to go, so we finally hit the road this morning.
As much of a show as she put up with her run across the parking lot, it took a bit out of her to do so. Kimmi is now resting in the back of the truck but has not stopped talking about the trip ahead. She told us that her family had never traveled beyond Ogden very much so she was excited about what she would finally be able to see.
You know, I was too, especially after almost two weeks at that truck stop, I was getting the itch to go.
We drove about 100 miles east of Cheyenne today and we are currently sitting in the parking lot of the Cabela’s main store in Sidney, Nebraska. I expected it to be completely emptied of anything scavenge worthy and for the most part it was.
I was able to get some more size appropriate clothing for Kimmi, along with some good shoes. So at least now she will not be swimming in our clothes and when she needs to run, she will be able to do so in significantly more comfort than she did in bare feet.
What I was surprised to find left in the store was a good portion of the gun library. When money mattered, they sold guns with values in the 5 digit category. Like the quote from one of my favorite zombie films, “The only person that could miss with this rifle is the sucker with the bread to buy it.”
I dug through the racks of expensive rifles and pulled out a Johann Fanzoi Sidelock in .500 Nitro Express. Why did I choose this rifle? Well, definitely not because I am familiar with the rifle, the caliber means nothing to me, and it sure as hell is not a practical PAW weapon. No, I chose this weapon because of the price tag. $50,000
I could have never afforded a gun like this in the BZ, so why not?
They only had 5 boxes of the ammunition for this rifle on the shelf and with a price of close to $400 a box, I wouldn’t think they would have sold many of these.
One thing I am certain of though, if I come across any zombie elephants now, their asses belong to me.
Or any tanks. Yeah, I think I could definitely take out a tank with this thing. Maybe a hummer.
Mid-October 2010
Today, while driving along I-80, Derek saw something off in the distance. We stopped the truck for a more focused look. There, off in the distance was a farmhouse, which in itself is no big deal, we have seen thousands of farmhouses since we left Oregon.
The big deal is, how many farmhouses have we seen flying an American flag the size of the one flying over this place?
None.
Not to mention the fact that through our binoculars, this flag appeared to be intact and clean. That can only mean one thing: Survivors.
We found a road off the highway that got us on the right path for the farmhouse. Then we found the drive to the house and parked the truck. Derek said he would stay there, so I grabbed my rifle and asked Kimmi to come with me. We started to walk away from the truck when Derek honked the horn a couple of times. I turned around and he yelled out that he was signaling the farm.
Okay, it made a little sense to me.
Kimmi and I walked up to the house, me with my rifle in my hands and over my head and her walking right beside me. No, literally, right beside me. She was right up against my body.
Considering what the poor kid has been through, I can understand her latching on as tightly as she did.
We got to the fence when someone yelled out from the house to stop, followed quickly by, “What do you want?”
I introduced myself and Kimmi, mentioned Derek in the truck down below and told them we are nothing but weary travelers looking for some rest. We have our own provisions and are not looking for anything more than some fellowship.
Beth, as I learned shortly after, stepped out of the front door with an old double barreled shotgun aimed right at me and asked, “Is that your young ‘un?”
I told her no, but followed up both quickly and briefly what the story was.
She said, “My name is Beth, upstairs is my husband Bob and the young man who is making your friend bring the truck up the drive is my nephew Eddie. Y’all might want to come inside.”
Their last name was McCoy, I kid you not. Bob McCoy told us that they stayed out of the cities when things started going south and have been holed up here on the farm ever since. They have seen a few zombies out here but nothing too threatening. They don’t even refer to them as zombies. They just keep calling them “those sickos.” The closest house to them is 3 miles in any direction so I can see how they have not had much of a problem out here.
Kimmi latched onto Beth real quick. She must have sensed that there was nothing bad about these people because it was the first time in weeks she had let herself get more than four feet from me.
Bob took Derek and I for a walk around the farm, showing us the layout of the farm. Even in a post-apocalyptic world men like to show off their toys.
Their windmill provides enough energy for the basics in the house and at the same time provides enough pumping action to keep them in running water from the well. They have cattle, some sheep, plenty of chickens and a beautiful garden. All told, I would almost consider this place to be an ideal location to stay.
We had made the full loop around the farm when Bob told us we seemed like “nice enough fellers” and asked us if we would like to stick around for a while and help out. He was getting on in years and could not do as much as he used to be able to. Derek and I talked to each other briefly and decided we could stick around for a few days and go from there.
Bob wanted to see our truck; apparently Eddie had told him we had a massive gun in the back of it. We took him to the truck and dropped the fifty down from the ceiling so he could take a look at it. Like most people when they touch one of these things for the first time in their lives, he asked if he could shoot it. I grabbed some hearing protection for him and told him to shoot high over the top of the trailer.
