Rust, Gore, and The Junkyard Zombie Page 5

  The silence quickly became awkward. I shrugged, as only a teen can do comfortably. “Yeah, I know you care. We are family after all. Still, we aren't the closest.”

  She nodded and with a rueful grin replied, “I am as much to blame for that as you are. Perhaps we can try to fix our closeness sometime. After the raid, of course.”

  We reached the house sooner than I expected. Mom and Dad were having a quiet and tense discussion as we walked up. Neither one saw us approach, and so we overheard.

  Dad was planning on leaving. No way in hell was he going alone. I saw a stiffness start to line Lizzie's face. I feared it was lining mine as well.

  Lizzie spoke, and I felt the same. “Do I get a say in my own fucking life, brother? Or do you plan to hide me away from everything? I won't have it! I am a goddamned adult. It is time you accept that.”

  Dad looked supremely pissed at Lizzie. He was ready to blow his top until he saw me. “Shara, honey, please go inside and grab some breakfast.” He ground out the words softly.

  I hesitated, mostly because I really hated pissing Dad off. Then I stuttered, wishing I felt more brave. “No, this is about me too. I am no longer a kid, and with the world going to pieces, I can be useful. I refuse to be treated like a kid.”

  Dad struggled to get his temper under control. He visibly took several deep breaths and pinched his nose. I thought the vein on the side of his head would burst it was so visible. When he spoke again, it was in a strained and tight voice. “Elizabeth, I am not treating you as a child. I am trying to keep you and the child you carry from being exposed to whatever it is that is going on out there. Just let me fucking protect you for once in your life!”

  I probably flinched, as I had never heard Dad call her Elizabeth. I didn’t think I had ever heard anyone call her that. I didn’t even know that it was her name. I could tell she hated it when her full name was used. It flashed across her face before she got herself under control. I didn’t know the whole story behind why her name was always shortened, but I would love to find out. I bet it was an amazing story.

  Her nearly whispered reply floored us all. “Too late, brother. We are all already infected. I ran the tests twice. Even I am carrying the disease that is causing the dead to walk. So you might as well take me with when you go traipsing about looking for answers.”

  Dad just blinked as he studied her face. It almost seemed like he was mad because she made sense. He took another few breaths to calm himself before he gave his response. “We will discuss it after the raid. Until we get back, this is only a distraction that is not needed. Amara made Danishes and biscuits. Both of you go grab you some food.” He sounded like the discussion was done, but I waited for Lizzie before going inside.

  She was still pissed, but I figured it was safest to stay at her side. I was supposed to be in her group anyway. I was to drive the van back. Dad grouped us so that we could get the most from the dealership as possible. He really seemed to know what he was doing— except for dealing with Aunt Lizzie.

  Mom had made two types of Danish, cheese and apple, and sausage biscuits for breakfast. Lizzie detoured to the bathroom. Aunt Tara was sitting at the counter when I went in, munching on a couple of sausage biscuits. She looked up and smiled as I walked in. She seemed more relaxed than she had for a couple of days.

  “So did you sleep? I know that Lizzie had a lot of samples to examine.”

  I shook my head and smiled. “She asked me the same question, and I find myself amused that both of my aunts are suddenly so worried about my sleeping habits.”

  Tara laughed and tossed me a cheese Danish. Her good humor was infectious, and we ended up laughing and sharing a bit of fun conversation.

  The rest of the people started filtering in over the next half hour. Most grabbed food, but nearly everyone grabbed a cup of coffee. Once everyone had gathered, Dad came in and separated us into groups. He assigned the youngest of us or the oldest to drive the vehicles to the RV dealership.

  We would be bringing the original vehicles back to the junkyard. The others would be bringing motorhomes back.

  Those he assigned to trucks would be bringing back trailers. The raid was supposed to be safe, but he made it clear that those who were unable to fight were to stay in the vehicles. He said that unless we were assigned to bring back RV’s there was no reason for us to leave the safety of the vehicles.

  The plan for the campers that would be brought back was to spread them out in the yard to be personal homes for the survivors. Dad said that he would be taking a couple to raid the hardware store for the connectors for the power and water. He said the hardware store would be an easy side trip.

  I was sure he would be picking up other supplies. Dad was good at planning the survival of a group. It might have been his military training that caused that competence. Or it might have just been his natural inclinations toward survival.

  I wondered how he planned to get to D.C. We were normally about two hours away from Alexandria, Virginia, which was about a thirty-minute drive from D.C. Fort Belvoir was the nearest military base.

  That was under normal conditions. We had no way of knowing if the roads were blocked or if this was a localized thing. Dad probably should plan to check out Charlestown first and then go farther out to D.C. for answers. I considered saying just that when the discussion happened.

  Yeah, I knew I was just a kid. I probably shouldn’t worry about what his plan was, but I didn’t care! I was able to help. Other than him, I was the only one who knew this junkyard the best. I was also a better mechanic than my brothers. I had the smarts to be useful, if he only let me. I just had to convince him to see me as more than his youngest kid.

  Thankfully, he had never been gender biased. So me being a girl had never held me back. Mom worried about me helping in the garage, but Dad told her it was where I belonged—I was five. He saw the truth of it. I was happy there. I understood the tools and the general gist of engines even then.

  We had an old army tank in the back that my great-grandad shipped home from World War II piece by piece. He assembled it after he returned home. I always thought it was cool that we had such a mechanical family. It used to be a big family story, how he snuck such a huge toy home without the government knowing. It had never been run to my knowledge. I wondered if Dad could fix it enough to make it a safe haven for him and a really small group.

  I would have to remind him that the tank was there. Maybe if he had a safe way for some of us to go, it would solve the issue without as much argument. I understood why he didn’t want to take me and Lizzie. Not that I intended to be left behind.

  Amara

  Watching my husband set up the junkyard, I was reminded of why I married him. A few of the survivors had tried to argue, trying to take control. Chris, being him, just shut it down. Then he took the time to sit down with those who were causing the trouble.

  He would not allow anyone to do harm to the small community he was building, but he also understood enough to talk with everyone about their problems.

  Chris's father was the local drunk. He had been belligerent and often violent, and people who knew him expected his sons to follow in his footsteps. Most knew that Chris was not like him, but his half-brother Curt acted like their father. So much that Chris was sometimes tarred by the shadow of a man unworthy of the son he had. Curt, thankfully, moved last year. I would not be stuck with either refusing him refuge or having to deal with him.

  Chris had already planned on leaving James in charge of security when he left. Most didn’t realize that the two were half-brothers; otherwise, I doubt James would have been elected police chief. Chris trusted family and had struggled so much to be more than the family's reputation. I could only hope that his strength brought all four of them home.

  Tara

  Sometimes I felt like a rope in a tug of war, caught in between Chris and Lizzie. I was in the truck with Chris, and the whole way there he was mumbling about people risking themselves unnecessarily. Even thoug
h he was irritated, I realized that he was also kinda proud of them.

  He admired backbone. I did too, but they were also risking a lot. I didn’t want to lose either of them. It would make the trip more interesting for all of us. We would definitely need a different vehicle than the truck we had originally planned to take. Two seats did not go four ways.

  Truth be told, I was nervous that it would affect the raid, but I was surprised to find that we pulled it off without a hitch. We had cleared the dealership the day before, so there were no creatures to hinder us. We gathered enough campers and motorhomes for everyone to be safely given their own space.

  When dealing with a community of survivors, sometimes the ability to close doors did so much for peace. I was sure I read somewhere that the key to a good marriage was the ability to close a door. Privacy was a necessary evil. I felt like it worked for communities as much as it did for marriages.

  Chris spaced the campers to allow for everyone to feel less like they were sitting on top of each other. I even was given permission to move back into my trailer.

  Chris assigned patrols and enforced a check in, stating the only way we could drop the buddy system was for everyone to be seen at least twice daily. We still needed safety, even if we were all infected.

  He took the next two days to settle the junkyard and everyone in it. I took a couple of my nephews on supply runs during those two days to reinforce what was available while we would be gone. It also would show them how to go about the gathering.

  I knew Chris took a small run, but I had no idea where he went. He was gone less than an hour. He came back with a smile and a better attitude than I had seen since this shit began. I would have asked him then and there, but Candy came to gather everyone for lunch. It took me several hours to finally catch him again.

  “So what did you find?” I demanded.

  Chris turned to face me with a smile on his face.

  “Whatever do you mean, Squid?”

  I cringed. I hated that nickname and he knew it. “I’m serious! Damn it, Chris! I need to know what we are doing!”

  He hesitated for just a second before he responded. “I went back to the car. I went through the thing with a fine-tooth comb. Searching the papers and the crap in it. I was able to piece together where we need to go or at least where I believe we need to go. The car started at Fort Belvoir.”

  I shook my head. “Was that so hard? So we are heading to Fort Belvoir? Do you have a route planned? And have you decided how to deal with the girls?”

  He sighed. It was obviously a touchy subject. However, it was one that had to be dealt with. “One step at a time, Tara. I suppose we will need to have a discussion with all four of us and Amara this evening. Then afterwards we will make our plans, including routing. We will need to also discuss what vehicle we will take and what we need to do to fortify it.”

  He was right. By making it a group discussion, he was acknowledging the right of Shara and Lizzie to voice their opinions. Chris was definitely smarter than I realized.

  We all gathered in the living room of the main house with everyone who was not involved settled down elsewhere. Amara even set out some snacks and drinks. Chris called us to attention. “Okay. We need to talk. I have thought about what both of you said. I still want you to stay here. However, I am fairly sure that if I don’t allow you to go you will just follow me. Since I would rather keep you both safe, you may go. You will follow my rules to the letter.”

  I thought Lizzie and Shara were going to faint from the shock. I was feeling the shock myself, as I had not expected Chris to give in so easily. Still, it really made the most sense.

  Amara was the only one of us who didn’t seem surprised. Perhaps because she understood my brother far better than any of us, which was probably due to a lifetime together.

  Lizzie was the first to recover. “So what information have you recovered? My tests have revealed that there is a virus infecting all of us. It seems to be what is reanimating the dead.” Chris considered what she said, replying with an easy tone.

  Chris considered what she said, replying with an easy tone. “Can you assemble a cure? You said it was viral? As to what I found, the person who crashed the vehicle at the edge of town appears to be the original infection point here in town. The vehicle had papers inside that indicated an origin of Fort Belvoir in Alexandria, Virginia. I believe that we may be able to get some answers there. So my plan is for us to go and see if we can find them. I have been trying to reach anyone on the radio. I have not had any luck, which is surprising because I am always able to reach someone. So, my takeaway is that those on the other end are not able to sit safely to use the radio. Which means we go in assuming the worst.”

  Which means we go in assuming the worst.”

  Shara piped up. “Hey, have you decided how we are getting there? How about the tank that you have in the back? It wouldn’t be hard to get running, and it would be a safe place if we need to sleep. Also it might be a good idea to check

  Charlestown for info as well.”

  Chris looked surprised. Apparently, he had forgotten about the tank. He seemed to consider the idea. His response actually had a note of pride. “You know what, kid, that is a brilliant idea. It hasn’t run in my lifetime, but those things were built to last. I have heard of others getting those old tanks running before. My girl, you are awesome! Do you think you can help me to get her mobile?”

  Shara practically beamed as she answered. “You know I can, between us there is no better mechanics.” This was a common phrase between them, but it used to be “Between

  Jimbo, you, and I, there is no better mechanics.”

  I saw the pain cross Lizzie's face as she heard it. I knew it was not meant to be hurtful, but it didn’t lessen the pain. I saw the pain in everyone’s eyes and knew I had to lighten the mood.

  I joked they had better not forget the wet bar. Chris gave me that exasperated look and then realized I was joking and smiled. I relieved enough of the tension to make everyone feel less strained.

  The rest of the evening planning session was a lot more relaxed and fun. I realized that during an apocalypse fun should be the last thing we looked for, but it just felt right. Sometimes tension was too much to handle.

  Amara put in plans for food to be sent with us, and we planned out our route exactly. We could have waited and did that on our way, but it just seemed prudent to have all our plans ready before we left.

  Chris and Shara planned to get the tank in the morning and see about its repairs. I was going to work on reinforcing the fence around the junkyard. I wanted to be sure we were leaving it safe.

  Lizzie was going to help Amara pack us for the journey. We were only about three hours from Fort Belvoir. Still it was a good idea to prepare for us to be gone the better part of a week. That would allow for impairments in the route and it taking longer at the fort then we expected.

  Two of my nephews also worked for the force, so we were leaving security mostly in their hands. Amara was going to be in charge with a few of the survivors assigned to assist her. We were going to take one of the better CB radios in the tank so communication wouldn’t be an issue.

  James, the police chief, and his wife were among the survivors. James, also Chris’s favorite poker buddy, would never let anything happen to those in his care. He would be helping with security. James was mostly building up our ammo supplies when he was not working on the patrols. He was fond of making arrows and bullets, so it was a fun adventure for him. I always felt like James judged me, but he was a decent boss. He just didn’t seem to think I was living up to my potential. Maybe he was right.

  We had taught several of the group how to go out to gather. We had mostly cleared Jarvin, but Charlestown was less than an hour away. This group was as solid as we could make it. That was a huge weight off all our minds. There was a large group of people we cared about behind the junkyard gates. We wanted to keep them alive. We needed to not worry about them while we were gone.
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br />   The morning found us all still planning and laughing. Days like that reminded me why I enjoyed my family so much. We were a close group who lived and loved largely and with passion. As the sun rose, Chris and Shara headed to the back lot. I guided Lizzie home to get a few hours of much-needed rest. Amara started on breakfast prep.

  We were happy with how things were. Finding moments of happiness, even when the world had gone to shit, was always a good thing. Moments like that were what got us through the rest of the darkness of life.

  The rest of the week was spent in prep for our trip. I was far from mechanically inclined, so I worked on reinforcing the fences. That was more needed than I would have ever believed. It was simple labor, and it was cathartic to beat nails into the wood.

  Though I thought we had cleared most of the town, when I was working on reinforcing the fence, we were approached by a small group of shambling dead.

  Not a big deal for me, but there were definitely people among our survivors who were clueless when dealing with a weapon. I barely missed getting shot by one of my fence people. I decided to start everyone on weapon training. James could continue it when we were gone.

  Shara, Chris, and the other survivors who were mechanically inclined worked on the tank. Stopping in the garage for lunch was hilarious, as I am fairly sure the air was blue from the conversation in there. It sounded as if repairing the tank was giving them some trouble. Chris had meant it to be a fun distraction of a project when he acquired it. Somehow, I doubted that was what it had become.

  Only Chris and Shara seemed to be unruffled by the frustration of the repair. I heard Chris suggesting alternatives to needed parts, almost calmly. I doubted he felt as calm as he sounded. In truth, he was irritated at how many times he had to suggest options to those who he felt should know what they were doing.

  Those who were assisting in the repair mostly worked in the garage before the dead walked. Chris was a perfectionist. He wouldn’t have allowed anyone to mess with a vehicle unless he knew they had the skills. Shara, for all her youth, was a master mechanic.