Zombie Crusade: Evolution Read online

  “Yes sir,” Jack agreed, “we’ll be ready tomorrow night.”

  The word spread quickly that railroad workers, or anyone with any possible knowledge about the workings of locomotives or rail lines, were needed for a new project. Ted Simmons, a sixty-five year-old Vietnam Marine veteran who’d played an important role in saving the refugees surrounded in Fire Station One in the early days of the outbreak, had spent twenty years working on the railroad. Three other older men had also worked on the rails at some point in their lives. Two of them had operated locomotives, and they all had experience working on the yards and the lines. All of the men were certain the plan would work if the right switches were made between Indiana and Utah. One of them had an old map of US rail lines in the attic of his house and believed that they could use it to creep toward Salt Lake City, manually setting switches as they slowly used a locomotive to carry them and their equipment.

  Jack was almost overwhelmed with the possibilities as he considered the reality that he was about to ally his group with nearly a million survivors living fifteen hundred miles away. For almost three months he’d lived with the belief that nothing more than small groups such as theirs still existed around the world. Of course, he’d known all about the preppers who’d been gathering in the mountain states for years, people who’d taken to calling the area the American Redoubt. His heart swelled with pride in those people, many of whom had apparently survived the outbreak and were alive and well in their fortified homes and communities. Many nights he’d worried that humanity was on the brink of extinction, and he had often struggled to quell his fears and convince the members of his own small group that they would eventually triumph in this war of extermination against the infected.

  There were also times that he worried about America. He knew, of course, that the sprawling, wealthy, powerful nation of over three hundred million souls was destroyed, but the ideals and values of just two million colonists had once provided the seed that led to victory in the Revolutionary War and the eventual massive growth of the nation. He firmly believed that a small, dedicated group could do it again. He knew that many committed preppers carried pocket-sized U.S. Constitutions for the day when an apocalypse of some sort would hit the world and they would be forced to rebuild. Most pre-outbreak Americans had considered the preppers to be paranoid extremists, but Jack knew that they rarely bothered anyone other than try to convince as many folks as possible to take steps to protect their families in the event of a disaster.

  He understood that the people heading to the hills and stocking their retreats had expected any one of a hundred threats to the world to lead to an ultimate collapse, worried about everything from economic disaster to nuclear war. He strongly doubted, however, that any of them had truly believed that a zombie apocalypse would ever occur, and indeed, the flesh-eaters had turned out to be quite different from most of the monsters found in movies, books, and television. Nevertheless, when the outbreak occurred many of the serious preppers were as ready for the collapse of society as anyone could be.

  Jack had grown increasingly concerned that bands of survivors would gather around charismatic and militaristic leaders out of necessity, and within a few years the ideals of democracy in America would have given way to some type of feudalistic despotism. Strong, capable leaders would carve out safety zones and then consolidate their power. The same process had occurred plenty of times in the past when dominant civilizations had collapsed. But now he knew that what had to be by far the largest group of survivors in North America was still holding true to the values and beliefs that had once made the United States the greatest nation on Earth. He suspected that they weren’t out of danger yet; the risk of people becoming more attached to the military leaders who ensured their continued existence than to the civilian government trying to administrate a just society would continue to threaten democracy for the foreseeable future. Still, the idea of America wasn’t dead yet.

  For further reassurance, Jack tracked down Gabe Fox. The young man had proven himself to be resourceful, brave, and smart, and Jack wanted to ask him what he knew about Utah and the people who lived there. He found Gabe chatting with a group of young ladies from his church and asked him to take a short walk around the grounds.

  “What do you know about Utah and the people and churches out there?” Jack inquired.

  “Not a lot,” Gabe confessed. “I mean, I’ve been out there a few times to visit some of my extended family, but I didn’t travel around the state doing surveys or anything like that. Funny thing, first time I went out there I really thought I’d see some type of world where boy scouts were on every corner helping old ladies with their groceries. I was surprised to find liquor stores and Hooters restaurants. Typical America, that’s what Utah was. I think I’d heard somewhere that less than fifty percent of the state’s population was Mormon, and even so, it’s just another denomination with the usual percentage of devoted followers and apostates. But, in the smaller towns where life centers around the churches and most people are Mormon, you could sense that it was the whole baseball, apple pie American type of life. Those communities were solid, Jack, really solid. I’m not surprised at all to learn that many of them pulled together and survived this mess.”

  Jack nodded, “Do you happen to know anything about Stephen Carlson?”

  Gabe shook his head, “No, but it seems to me he must be doing something right. Some of the folks from our Ward have been talking to their families out in Utah today, and it’s the real deal out there—a network of communities, a strong resistance. If we can really get some trains running between our two groups, I think a lot of the non-fighting folks you have here would be better off out west.”

  “Yeah, that’s certainly crossed my mind,” Jack replied. “I can’t say my instincts are perfect when it comes to people, but my gut says that Carlson is an honorable man.”

  Gabe agreed, “Seems that way to me. So what’s on your mind? Are you worried he’ll try to position himself or the church as leaders of some sort of dictatorship down the road?”

  “Maybe,” Jack admitted, “but mainly I’m just trying to be careful with people we don’t really know. This entire situation, finding hundreds of thousands of survivors, it seems almost too good to be true. It’s hard for me to trust it, but Carlson and the leaders out in Utah could really be starting things over the right way, not losing sight of our democratic traditions. And then again, power can be intoxicating in the wrong hands. History has shown that in times of chaos people gravitate to dictators, iron fists of control to restore security.” Jack smiled grimly, “I guess we should cross that bridge if we come to it—right now we just need to do whatever we can to help humanity defeat the infected and avoid extinction.”

  “Let me put your mind at ease,” Gabe offered. “Carlson’s a Navy guy, right? You may not be aware that I joined the Navy when I was twenty-one with the typical Midwest-boy fantasy of becoming a SEAL. In reality, I did make it to officer candidate school, and I ended up an ensign with the Pacific fleet. As a former officer I’ve continued to believe that I took that oath for life when I joined the military. I’ll continue to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, regardless of the zombie apocalypse, and I trust in my fellow naval officers to do the same. I know you Army guys were an unsavory lot, but the Navy was different.”

  Jack laughed in response, “Okay, I’m taking your word on that, even though I was just an enlisted peon rather than a gentleman such as yourself.”

  Gabe grinned, “Better look around you, sir; I think you’ve done more than enough to earn yourself a battlefield commission over the past three months. You’re at least a captain by now, so you outrank me.”

  “Captain Smith,” Jack mused, “I like that. I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

  CHAPTER 6

  By the next morning Jack and the rest of The Castle leadership had a plan in place. The Maumee expedition would begin that afternoon, with a heavy security force escorting the t
eam to retrieve their canoes and transport them to the St. Joe River. Jack, Carter, and their RRTs would provide protection for Ted Simmons and the other railroad workers, who insisted that they just needed to find a locomotive somewhere along the nearby CSX line and they could begin their slow trip westward. Todd was switched over from the river mission to Carter’s security team for additional railroad muscle, and Christy took his spot in her husband’s canoe. Both of the missions were important to The Castle’s community and the other groups of survivors that they knew of, and probably any they might discover in the coming months as well.

  The first order of business was safely getting the river travelers on their way. They would be taking one of Joe Reed’s old radio rigs with them as well as some high-end walkie-talkies that provided reliable shorter range communication. Joe had insisted that there was nothing wrong with his old equipment, only that he’d continued to update his own system over the years while keeping everything he replaced in case he ever needed it. Luke and Gracie were certain that they had seen several large antennas on both Middle and North Bass Islands, so the people there should be able to use those with the old radio set. That was all they were taking on this trip. Besides the communications equipment, the plan was to carry only food and a few small tents, in addition to the usual arms and armor they always wore outside of The Castle. They intended to paddle to Maumee Bay and paddle back—no motors and batteries to add to the weight at the portages. By noon they were on their way.

  The six members of the team crowded into one Hummer, followed by another driven by John Shea and carrying his wife, Tina, in addition to Zach Kinstler and Maddy Johnson. The four fighters had all insisted they be allowed to accompany the team as far as the river in order to provide additional security. The first task was to retrieve the canoes they’d stashed on Cedar Creek, where a pack of five hunters met the business ends of John and Tina’s pistols when the creatures finally caught up with the vehicles they’d been trailing for a few miles. With the hunters dead and the canoes strapped to the vehicles, the team drove to the house on the St. Joe where David’s group had rested before beginning the final leg of the journey to The Castle just a few weeks earlier.

  The home was close enough to a housing addition that several small packs of hunters followed them to the debarkation point, but again, John and his security detail annihilated the creatures with their silenced pistols without any problems. Within ten minutes David and the canoeists were packed and ready to go.

  They were leaving on a Thursday evening, and David believed that they would probably be in Toledo by Sunday morning. That meant they would have to wait a day for Father O’Brien, but they all figured they would rather be early than late and have to spend a week waiting on the priest. Everyone in the group had night vision goggles (NVGs) with fresh batteries, and the plan was to clear Fort Wayne that night before spending the day on an island near I-469 that David’s group had camped on during their journey upstream. The city, or at least the area of the city bordering the rivers, had been full of hunters the last time David and the others had passed through. They’d lost Christy’s father to a massive attack at the dam below Anthony Boulevard, and miraculously survived the portage around the large dam at Johnny Appleseed Park with dozens of infuriated hunters literally on their heels as they tossed their canoes in the backwater and frantically paddled to safety.

  David and the others had spent hours discussing their experiences on the river during the journey from Toledo to Fort Wayne, and they did their best to develop a plan for this trip that would reduce the risks they believed they would face this time around. Since the beginning of the outbreak, the zombies and hunters had displayed excellent hearing, probably the best that human ears were capable of achieving, but their night-vision seemed to be no better than before they had been infected. Unlike many predators, the hunters tended to hole up and rest during the hours of darkness. David and the others knew from past experience that their NVGs gave them a big advantage over the hunters at night, so they planned to travel between dusk and dawn as much as possible.

  With portage yokes now in place each canoe could be carried by one person as they portaged around the dams, while the other could provide security for both. The rest of their equipment all fit nicely into waterproof bags stuffed into their backpacks, so unlike the journey from Ohio a few weeks earlier, they expected the portages to be completed more quickly and with less risk than the last time they navigated the Maumee. Ultimately, they all knew that no travel was without risk in the post-infection world, but hoped that the lessons learned on the river during the trip to The Castle would lead to a safer, faster trip this time around.

  The water level was a bit higher than normal for late summer thanks to a thunderstorm that had passed through the area the previous night, so the paddlers let the current move them lazily along through the darkness until they were within a few hundred yards of the first dam. At that point everyone went on high alert and focused every ounce of their attention on the approaching shore. The portage here was over one hundred yards long, and if they made noise they knew from experience that they could bring dozens, even hundreds of howling hunters down on their position. They had wrapped cotton shirts around the shafts of the paddles and duct taped them tightly into place so they wouldn’t make any noise if they accidently hit the gunwales of the canoes as they drew closer to the dam. All of their gear and weapons were strapped down so they wouldn’t even brush metal or plastic against their leather armor.

  Christy was in the front seat of the lead canoe as David paddled them to the take out point. He strained to see any movement or other sign of hunters as they pulled into the shallows, and he knew the others were doing the same. Neither he nor Christy could see anything of concern, so they quietly stepped out into the knee-deep water and pulled the canoe around so the others could safely join them. When they finally had everyone in place with the portage yokes positioned properly, David led them around the dam.

  The last time they had passed this way they had been ambushed by a group of hunters hiding in the brush along the bank. When the monsters had started howling after spotting David’s group they had alerted every other flesh-eater in the area, and the creatures had come running from all directions. The weary travelers had killed all of their initial attackers that night, so David hoped that the immediate area around the portage was now clear. The only sounds they made were squishy noises as they walked in their soaked shoes, and they passed the brushy area with no sign of any hunters. Then, as they approached a small, brick building David saw three or four of the monsters sleeping against the walls in the exact same place he and Lori had quietly exterminated a pack the last time they were here.

  David held up a closed fist and the tiny procession immediately halted in place. Then he slowly walked toward the building with his silenced .22 pistol in hand, once again getting the drop on the creatures who seemed oblivious to the world around them. He shot all of them in the head within three seconds, then put another round in each skull before motioning for the group to continue. Nobody stumbled or kicked more than a pebble loose as they quickly but carefully covered the rest of the distance to the rapidly flowing water below the dam where they once again boarded their canoes.

  For the next hour the current carried them through neighborhoods and, finally, the heart of downtown Fort Wayne, but all was quiet along the banks as they approached the dam below Anthony Boulevard. This was the portage where David had lost his father-in-law, and he didn’t want to remember the experience that he still regularly relived in nightmares. He looked over at Christy, her helmet off and dark hair flowing behind her in the moonlight. She met his gaze, and he saw a fierce determination under her pain that seemed to challenge any hunter to cross her path in this place. David was glad that Christy was sharing his boat on this trip; they gave each other strength, and sometimes he thought they could read each others’ minds. He knew what she was remembering now, and he felt a lump rise in his throat as he thought of Ji
m. Christy turned her head slightly and David noticed how his beautiful wife resembled her father when she tipped her chin a certain way. Inexplicably, an odd sensation of peace washed over him and he felt in his heart that Jim’s love was still with them, and that Christy’s dad would have no regrets for the way things turned out on that fateful day. David thought that Luke and Gracie were probably struggling with their own demons in the night as they slowly drifted to the bank where they had been so soundly defeated by the hunters, and he hoped that this trip could help bring them peace as well.

  All was quiet as Marcus guided the final canoe up to the muddy bank behind the others, but David knew that didn’t mean they were safe. The top of the embankment above their heads was lined with brush that could hide dozens of the monsters, but he also was pretty sure that they would be howling by now if they’d seen the group pull up.

  Unlike the last time the members of David’s group passed over the narrow, short trail around the dam, they made no noise and attracted no unwanted attention. They were all back in the water and paddling away from the portage in less than five minutes, again having accomplished the task without any problems from the hunters. In some ways the trip so far seemed surrealistic to David—the last time he’d passed through here they’d all been scared, weary, and full of uncertainty about what awaited them. They’d also had to constantly care for four children and several adults who simply weren’t strong enough to fight. Now, David was teamed up with five other experienced soldiers, well-rested and fed, all knowing exactly what they were doing and where they were going.

  The rest of the night went well, and since the water was flowing a little higher than when David had led his group upstream, they didn’t have to get out and pull the canoes through any shallow spots in the river. He estimated that they were averaging around five miles an hour, and since they were well into farm country by dawn they continued to travel for several hours in the daylight. About noon David finally signaled them all onto an island between Antwerp and Defiance, where they spent the remaining hours of the day sleeping in tents set up beneath a canopy of leaves provided by large, billowing trees.