The trucks were loaded in the beginning of March and by the start of Spring in earnest, the convoy was ready to go. Ken Thorton inspected the vehicles and spoke with his captain and lieutenant.
“Do we have everything we need?” he asked, looking back over the trucks.
“Yes, we’ve been over everything twice, Major. We have planned for everything we could think of.” Tamikara was barely concealing his contempt these days.
“What about the men staying back, who will it be?” Thorton pressed, looking for weakness.
“Lt. Hansen will be staying behind, as well as Sgt. Nick Harris. They have chosen the men to stay behind as well.”
“Excellent. We will be leaving thirty-five men. Will that be enough to keep this place until we return?” Thorton asked.
It had better be, thought Tamikara. “We figure they should be sufficient. We chose the men who would be more brutal than the others, keeping the rest in line until we get back with more numbers,” he said.
“Good, good.” Ken looked at his fortress and turned back to his Captain. “What about my toys, what were we going to do with them?” Ken was concerned. Not for the well being of his victims, but for his own pleasure when he returned.
Tamikara sighed. “We are sending them back to their families to work. We figured they would be better used as incentives to not fight than as a reason to inspire further hatred.” Tamikara was deliberately trying to bait Thorton.
Thorton was oblivious. “Pity, it would have been nice to bring one along.”
Tamikara shrugged. “A useless mouth to feed.”
Major Thorton glanced sideways at his captain. A suspicion formed in his mind, but he realized the futility of pursuing it at the moment. He changed the subject instead.
“Raid should be coming back tonight from over the mountain. We’ll leave as soon as they return,” he said.
“At night?” Tamikara seemed surprised. Everyone who survived the Upheaval knew not to move about at night.
Ken shook his head. “I figure them back by this evening. We’ll get a good start out and rest over at Maudy’s. After that, we’re on our own.”
Ted nodded once and then turned to Lt. Lon. “Let the rest know and we need to make sure it is quiet.”
Lt. Lon saluted, then walked off towards his men. Major Thorton watched him leave, then turned to Tamikara.
“Listen carefully.” Ken spoke softly. “If you ever speak like that to me again, I will take your pretty pistol and shove it up your ass before I pull the fucking trigger.” He stuck his large face into Tamikara’s. “Clear?”
Tamikara stared back a full minute before answering. “Crystal. Is that all, sir?”
“That’s enough. Go find a weakling to intimidate, Captain.”
Tamikara spun on his heel, seething with impotent fury. He knew he couldn’t take Thorton in a fight, and if he had tried to pull his weapon, Ken would have easily killed him. This insult was going to be answered, but it would be on Tamikara’s terms, not Thorton’s.
Later that evening, the raiders returned. They had various foodstuffs and supplies, but picking were getting slimmer and slimmer. It was noticeable that three men who had gone out had not come back. After the supplies had been stored, the big event was the departure of Ken Thorton and his band of renegades. The people watched from their homes, hopeful their ordeal might be coming to an end after all.
In the middle of the night, Private Levi Denton, a nineteen year old from Vegas died in his sleep. He had been feeling a little ill since he had gotten back from the raid, but he had dismissed it as just a case of indigestion. The truth was he had managed to get infected. The raiders had been surprised by a number of zombies in the store they were looting. The fight had been vicious, short, and in close quarters. Zombie fluids had flown nearly everywhere.
Private Denton had been hit with some zombie gunk on his gloves, but he hadn’t known it at the time. A chronic nail biter, his fingertips were usually raw from being worked all the time by gnawing teeth. When he took his gloves off, some of the zombie fluid had gotten on his fingers and worked into the raw sores around his nub-like nails.
The virus had taken a while to reach the vital areas and it was well past midnight when Private Zombie, formally Denton, opened his eyes to his new world. It was dark, but that was unimportant. There were sounds from all directions, causing a brief moment of confusion. Private Zombie jerked his head in the direction of a loud snore which suddenly erupted from the right side of the room. Private Zombie was aware of a hunger in his gut and in his mind. Feed. Eat. Now, now now! It was a call that would not, could not be denied. Wonderful smells of food permeated the air and the strength of the smells told him that prey was tantalizingly close. Private Zombie pushed himself erect, only to smack his head on the underside of the bunk above him. He fell back and tumbled out of the bed, causing a few of the lighter sleepers to mutter.
Private Zombie pushed to his feet, the motions familiar but only vaguely, like a memory that stayed just out of reach. He turned his head slowly, locating a source of smell and sound. His eyes fell on his neighbor, Private Samwell.
Private Samwell was snoring softly. He had no idea anything was amiss until he felt teeth ripping through his larynx. Arterial blood sprayed the ceiling, and Private Samwell struggled briefly, but rapidly weakened due to blood loss and was unable to push his attacker off. Private Zombie tore great chunks of flesh out of Samwell’s throat, then started tearing at the sweet meat around the chest and shoulders, working to get through the clothing to the succulent organs within.
After twenty minutes, Private Zombie stood up, no longer interested in the former Private Samwell. Private Samwell had become infected with the virus and tasted different to Private Zombie, causing him to stop and look for more prey. Private Samwell sat up in his bunk, blood pouring out from numerous wounds. He stood up slowly, opening his mouth and flaring his nostrils as he took in the smells and sounds around him.
Private Zombie moved over to the next bunk and, opening his bloody mouth as wide as it could go, fell on the throat of his next victim. Private Samwell, learning to walk again, fell against the top bunk of his bed and looked at the man sleeping there.
Private Thames hated to be awakened from his sleep. The last time he had been awakened, he gave the unfortunate a severe beating for his trouble. This time, he was awakened rather rudely, as Private Samwell bit off his nose. Pain woke up Private Thames, and he gasped as his hands flew up to his bleeding face to find his nose was gone. He looked at his bloody hands, then shrieked as his bunkmate came in again and bit a huge chunk of his cheek away, exposing the teeth to the molars.
The scream awakened several others and as they struggled to wake up fully, the zombies in their midst were upon them, biting and tearing. One by one, they fell to the disease. One by one, they rose again, seeking out their former comrades, overcome by their hunger for blood and flesh. Uniforms were red-covered as bits of flesh were torn away. The zombies moved quickly from victim to victim, the spreading virus keeping them away from those who would turn.
Three men managed to make it into a closet, their raw fear palpable in the night. Outside the door it was feeding time for several zombies, two of the victims did not turn and they fed the hunger of the rest. Twenty men crossed the dividing line between human and zombie and not a single shot was fired.
The men in the closet huddled down, fearful to make any noise whatsoever. They were all veterans of the Upheaval and knew they were only a short time away from being discovered.
“Jesus, what the hell happened? Where did they come from?” one of the men whispered to the other.