Fever! Zombie Rules Book 6

  FEVER!

  Zombie Rules Book 6

  David Achord

  www.severedpress.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2018 David Achord. All rights reserved.

  Chapter 1 – True - 3 A.Z.

  Nimrod Abraxas True. That’s me. Named after my father, or so my mother claimed. Truth be told, I had no idea who my father was. He was African American though, which wasn’t a good thing for my mother. Her family disowned her the moment I was born, or so she said.

  I guess I was around fourteen or so when I told people to stop calling me by my given name. I hated it. Being named after a man who took no interest in me was hard, so I’d tell people just to call me True.

  I was the oldest of seven. My momma was what you’d call a wanton woman. Each of my siblings had a different father, so there you have it. Life growing up for me was about what you’d expect under those circumstances, I was constantly doing stupid shit and getting in trouble.

  When I was seventeen, I got caught breaking into a home, the home belonging to my history teacher. He was an old, crusty-looking dude. Rumor had it he was a Vietnam veteran and had lots of medals. He visited me in juvie and told me if I enlisted, he wouldn’t press charges.

  It wasn’t a hard decision. I’d been arrested so many times, the District Attorney told my public defender she was going to get me tried as an adult. Make an example of me, she said. She was a big, fat, homely woman who always seemed to be scowling. She made it plain she didn’t like me none. Like I said, it wasn’t a hard decision.

  Besides, the only thing waiting for me back home was an apartment in government housing I shared with my siblings, my mother, and whoever she was sleeping with at the moment. The place had a permanent odor of overcooked food and dirty clothes.

  Mister Johnson himself signed me out of juvie and drove me directly to the recruiting office. It was at one of those commercial strip malls. They had the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Coast Guard, and National Guard all jammed together in a row of offices. Everyone had gone home for the day, except for a National Guard sergeant who was playing solitaire on his computer. Mister Johnson had a long, private talk with him and the next thing I knew, I was signing papers as a full-time member of the National Guard.

  Basic training was a culture shock, as you might expect. I thought I was tough, but I didn’t have anything on those drill sergeants. I did alright though. After I graduated AIT, that’s advanced individual training, I spent some time overseas before transferring to Houston Barracks in Nashville, Tennessee.

  It seemed like everything in my life was finally going okay, and then, it all went to hell. That was eleven hundred and eight days ago. I kept track of the day the world ended by starting on the day I first saw a zombie. In fact, I saw about five thousand of them. It was a game-changing moment.

  It don’t matter what all I got into during that time. Not much to tell. Chaos, people going crazy, and the National Guard being called upon to restore order. Hah! What a joke. There wasn’t no way to restore order.

  Several months later, here I was, standing outside in the middle of the night with three white men who’d become my friends.

  “The truck is a good one,” Zach said as he handed the keys to me. It was a red dually 4X4 diesel. The man had modified it all kinds of ways. He had those big redneck tires on it, a huge bumper with a winch so you could either push things or drag them out of the way, a light bar on top, and he’d even put some fencing over the windows so the zombies couldn’t get to you. We even found a camper top that fit on the back so we always had a place to sleep.

  “There’s an M60 in the back with five hundred rounds,” Zach told us. “It’s all I could spare.”

  “You are awesome, Zach,” Blake said.

  Zach’s full name is Zachariah Gunderson. That name alone screamed, “White Boy!” but, he was a good dude. Smart too.

  “Are you guys sure I can’t talk you into coming with us?” he asked.

  I shook my head. Most of them were going to pack up and move to a place called Mount Weather. With us being in the military, it was naturally assumed we’d go too. We’d talked about it many times and a few days ago, we made the decision. Me and my two friends, Blake Mann and Brandon Caswell. We decided we were tired of being in the military and tired of taking orders. We were going to strike out on our own. I wanted us to keep it a secret, but BC, that’s what we called Brandon, decided to get advice from Zach.

  I was pissed at first. I thought Zach would snitch us out. But, he didn’t. The next day, he approached us and opened up a spiral notepad. It was full of ideas and suggestions for us. That boy sure liked to write stuff down.

  We sat in the privacy of his barn and read his notes over while he talked. He had things in that notepad that I would’ve never thought about. I had to admit, talking to Zach was a good idea after all. And he didn’t tell anyone of our plans.

  Yeah, Zach was a good dude.

  We met at midnight the next night. Zach shook our hands and wished us well.

  And so, on a warm August night on the eleven hundred and ninth day that I saw my first zombie, the three of us headed out. Our destination was a place called LBL, the Land Between the Lakes. BC had an aunt and uncle who owned a marina and campground somewhere around there, and he seemed to think they were still alive.

  It was a life-changing decision. At the time, the three of us were convinced it was the best course of action for us. If I had only known.

  If I had known the path we had set for ourselves was going to lead to us becoming murdering marauders, I would have jumped out of that truck right then and there.

  Chapter 2 – New Johnsonville

  We made it to New Johnsonville with little trouble, encountering only a few zombies wandering around. Most of them were out of the roadway, but any of them who were stupid enough to not move were run over by BC. Otherwise, we didn’t waste our ammo on them.

  New Johnsonville was a small southern town located on Kentucky Lake in the western part of Tennessee. The nearest city was Waverly, eleven miles back to the east, but it wasn’t much bigger. BC pointed.

  “Kentucky Lake is up ahead. It’s really the Tennessee River, but they dammed it up; now they call it a lake. I have no idea why they didn’t call it Tennessee Lake. It’s always been a small town, only about two thousand people lived here the last time I visited.” He turned onto a side road off State Route 1 onto Nell Beard Road. “The marina is at the dead end. I hope it’s still intact. It was pretty impressive, back before.”

  “I hope your people are still alive,” Blake said.

  “Yeah, me too,” BC replied.

  I could hear some tenseness in his tone of voice and he was looking around as he drove. It was a long rural road, with lots of trees and bushes on both sides. But, there was something a little different about this road.

  “Ain’t no trees lying across the road,” I mentioned. BC and Blake looked around. Blake then pointed.

  “I see a lot of tree stumps and cut up trees,” he said.

  BC slowed to a stop. “Yeah, somebody’s been working to keep the road clear. That’s a good sign, right?” he asked.

  “Well, someone’s doing the work,” Blake replied.

  “Yeah,” BC muttered and started the truck moving.

  He got quiet now. He was trying to hide it, but I could see he was tense. I guess the not knowing of what awaited us at the marina, whether or not his kin were alive, was getting to him.

  He had been holding steady at twenty-miles-per-hour, but as we rounded a slight curve, he slowed to a crawl. There was som
e barbed-wire fencing and a heavy gate that was currently open.

  “I don’t remember this,” BC muttered.

  “It’s new, huh?” Blake asked. “That’s got to be a good sign.”

  He was trying to be optimistic, but I wasn’t so sure it was helping BC.

  “Well, here we go,” BC said and eased the truck through the entrance. There were several campers to our right, and each of them had been fortified with barbed wire and sandbags. We eyed them as BC proceeded forward, and soon we were in a decent-sized parking lot. Ahead of us was a cove and a boat dock with multiple piers and slips. A lot of the slips had a boat tied off.

  “There are some nice boats out there,” Blake said. “Someone’s been taking care of them.”

  BC put the truck in park and killed the engine. I could hear a dog barking from somewhere, but otherwise, it seemed quiet. I opened the door to the truck, got out, and stretched. I then slowly, nonchalantly, turned back toward the truck as Blake opened the passenger door.

  “We got company,” I whispered.

  They emerged from some trees that lined two sides of the parking lot. I counted nine of them and they were all armed with various firearms. I was holding an assault rifle, but I held still and did not try anything.

  “Holy moly, hold up, fellas,” BC said and ran over to an older woman. Her jaw dropped as he grabbed her in a bear hug. Thankfully, she recognized him immediately, so nobody was shot. He motioned us to walk over. I wasn’t so sure, but I trusted my friend. She looked to be in her late fifties, with long gray braided hair and a face that looked like she’d seen a lot in her lifetime.

  “This is my Aunt Leslie,” he said with a big grin. “She’s the best aunt you could ever have.”

  While we said our hellos, a man separated himself from the others and walked over to BC. He looked meaner than a Tennessee cur with a biker’s beard and long gray hair also braided. He looked like he was in his sixties with a whipcord lean physique. That didn’t fool me though; he looked as strong as any thirty year old.

  When BC saw him, his face widened in surprise.

  “Boy, you sure have grown,” he said. The two men approached each other, shook hands, and then hugged tightly.

  “Guys, this is my Uncle Gavin,” BC said.

  We introduced ourselves, and when he shook my hand, he squeezed it a little tighter than normal and gave me an unfriendly stare with shrewd gray eyes, silently letting me know what he thought of me, which I assumed meant he didn’t care much for blacks. The tattered rebel flag fluttering on the pole nearby was another clue. I met his stare, letting him know I didn’t give a shit. He responded with a small smile.

  “So, you boys are friends with my nephew?” he asked, although the answer seemed obvious to me.

  “They’re my best friends, Uncle Gavin,” BC replied. “You can count on them to have your back.”

  He looked us over again. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir,” BC replied.

  “Oh, it is so good to see you, Brandon!” Aunt Leslie exclaimed and hugged him so tight I thought he was going to piss himself. Uncle Gavin joined in and gave BC what I suppose was a friendly slap on the shoulder.

  I looked over the other seven people. All of them were giving me some other curious looks, nothing hateful, but curious. BC’s aunt and uncle were the only old ones. The rest of them were all younger. They were mostly a scraggly looking lot. Except for one. She was a blue-eyed blonde who was built like a brick shithouse, and when she saw me looking, she gave me a slight smile. If I didn’t know any better, I’d call it a friendly smile, maybe even a little bit flirty.

  It’d been a while since a woman looked at me like that. I smiled back. It’d been so long since I actually smiled, it felt strange and uncomfortable.

  Chapter 3 – Acceptance

  “So, you boys are soldiers too, huh?” Gavin asked.

  We were sitting at some picnic tables overlooking the marina. Aunt Leslie doted over us like we were her own long-lost kin and had plates of fried fish sitting in front of us before our butts could warm up the chairs.

  I watched quietly and tried to remember the names of everyone. There was Aunt Leslie and Uncle Gavin, of course. The beautiful blonde’s name was Sandy. She had a brother named Shane, who had the same ashy blond hair and blue eyes. I found out later they’re fraternal twins. He was a cocky shit who looked like he used to work out with the weights a lot.

  The rest were Lee, Jinni, Jolene, Big Bear, and Kathy Ann. Jolene saw Blake staring at her.

  “Heterochromatic,” she said.

  “What’s that?” Blake asked.

  “My eyes, they’re heterochromatic. Very rare. I was promised a job with a prestigious modeling agency in New York. The agent said he’d never seen eyes like mine before.” She looked off wistfully, and then gave a languid smile.

  “Now she’s all mine,” Shane declared, reached over and gave her a slap on the behind. She let out an embarrassed yelp which caused Shane to guffaw like an adolescent kid.

  “Mind yourself,” Sandy admonished and looked at me. “So, is True your first name or last name?”

  “Yeah, or is it a nickname, like mine?” Big Bear asked. The man was a big one, well over six feet tall. He was wide and barrel-chested, with big gnarly hands. He was also covered in thick, coarse hair.

  “We just call him True,” BC said. “He doesn’t talk much, but anything that comes out of his mouth is always the truth, you can count on it.”

  “You got the right,” Blake added.

  I caught Gavin staring again. He nodded slowly and looked like he was thinking something over. He then gave a grin that didn’t reach his eyes and waved a hand at the food.

  “Dig in, boys, the women here are damn good cooks.”

  We talked as we ate. After we’d finished eating, the man they called Lee went inside an RV that was parked nearby and emerged a moment later with a bottle of Jack Daniels. “Let’s have some dessert.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Blake said with a grin.

  “Our reserve stock,” he replied with his own grin. He was missing a tooth or two, and the ones still left looked like they were barely hanging on. I guessed him to be in his mid-twenties, wiry, brown hair and eyes, and a scruffy beard that had some bare spots. His hair and clothes were clean though, so that was saying something.

  Sandy brought some glasses over and Lee poured us all a shot. By the time he’d filled twelve glasses, the bottle was almost empty.

  “Here’s to our nephew and his friends,” Gavin said.

  We all raised our glasses and drank. I don’t think I’d had a drink since way back in Manchester, so I’d forgotten how whiskey would sneak up and burn your throat. I kept from coughing and making a face though and put the glass back down on the table slowly. I caught Sandy out of the corner of my eye staring at me again.

  “Any of you see any action?” Lee asked. “Besides killing stinkers?”

  BC laughed. “Stinkers, marauders, we’ve had plenty of both.” He then pointed at me. “True served a tour in Iraq. He saw a little old-fashioned combat action with those ISIS motherfuckers.”

  Lee looked over at me. “How many of them damn ragheads did you kill?” he asked.

  “Hard to say,” I replied, which was true enough. Sometimes you saw your target, sometimes you were putting rounds downrange so fast you didn’t know if you were hitting anything or not.

  “Lee, damn it, don’t you know real soldiers don’t brag about who all they killed,” Gavin declared. I looked over and he continued staring. I didn’t see any warmth those eyes.

  He glanced at BC. “Isn’t that right, nephew?”

  “That’s right, Uncle Gavin,” he replied and looked over at Lee. “True is rock steady in a fire fight though, you can count on it.”

  Gavin laughed, finished the dregs from his glass, and poured himself another shot.

  “Well now, my nephew seems to think a lot of you, Soldier True.”

  “We’re friends,�
�� I said.

  “That’s good. A man needs friends he can depend on.” He gestured around. “These are my friends. They always have my back too.”

  “All white folks,” I said levelly. “Don’t you have any black friends?”

  He gave a slight smirk. “Now, I’m not saying folks around here have any qualms about blacks, but we ain’t exactly fond of them either.”

  “True is my friend, Uncle Gavin,” BC said.

  “We’re a package deal,” Blake quickly added. “If True is not welcome here, just say so and we’ll move on.”

  Gavin’s expression was like a block of ice, cold and unemotional. Only his eyes held any emotion, and they weren’t showing any hints of kindness. He looked over at BC. “What about you, nephew, how do you feel about it?”

  BC’s expression was different from his uncle’s. There was a lot of what you’d call conflicted emotions. I was about to save him the trouble of making what was a hard choice for him.

  “Listen, I…”

  BC stopped me with an upraised hand. He then squared his shoulders and faced his uncle.

  “Like Blake said, we’re a package deal. If True isn’t welcome here, well, we haven’t even unpacked the truck yet. I’ll give Aunt Leslie a hug and we’ll be on our way.”

  Gavin sat silently. I guess we had our answer. The three of us stood at the same time, but Gavin flicked a hand.

  “Sit down, fellas,” he said and reached for the bottle. “Welcome to the family.”

  BC picked up his glass but held off from drinking. “I appreciate this, Uncle Gavin, but what about the rest of you people?”

  Now Gavin smiled, but there wasn’t much warmth to it. “They do what I tell them. Don’t worry though, we need you boys for the kind of work we do.”

  I waited all of three seconds before asking. “What kind of work do you do, Mister Gavin?”

  He looked at me with those gray eyes. “We do what we have to in order to survive. You can understand that, can’t you, soldier?”