OUTNUMBERED (Book 5) Read online

  Supper was delayed for half an hour until the other new members arrived. Altogether, we'd gained nine adults and three kids between the ages of ten and fifteen.

  For an hour after supper, our group mingled with the new members. Finally, our five-year-olds became too wild, and my family went to our rooms.

  After the three kids were bathed and in bed, Kira said, "I took a new headcount; we have fifty-one adults, ten children of school age and four toddlers. We're bursting at the seams and don't have room for more people." We sat on the couch.

  "I don't intend to recruit more people because we'll soon be leaving here, within the next year I'm positive. Besides that, I'm unaware of any other groups within three hundred miles.

  "The gasoline tank contains a little over a thousand gallons, and two of the diesel tanks are empty. The other has about ten thousand gallons. If we conserve the diesel carefully it may run the vehicles and the electric generators that long. We need to be gone before the tank goes dry. When that happens, the electric goes off and the pumps for the deep water wells shut down. Shane suggested converting to solar or wind power at the new site. But eventually the parts for those would wear out and we'd not have the infrastructure to replace them. I don't think it's worth the initial effort for the power we'd get in that time." I wasn't sure she heard me. "You seem preoccupied this evening."

  "Yes I am.... I know a move is necessary," Kira replied, "but I hate the thought of giving up Deliverance. This is where I met you and where we started our family. If that damned diesel storage tank at Keck Energy in Des Moines hadn't caught fire we'd have several more years before we'd be forced to move." She was thoughtful before asking, "Do you have a different location in mind?"

  "Nothing definite yet. But I want to talk to you about the Missouri Ozarks where your dad had that cabin until he died. It's more isolated and far enough south that it would be somewhat warmer in the winter. Are other cabins close by for the rest of our group to claim and move in?"

  "There were cabins all along the river. I assume most of them are empty. Upstream there were several large private lodges and a couple of resorts."

  "I don't think large lodges are practical; they're too hard to heat with wood fires. What about farm ground? Is tillable land close by?"

  "Not a lot. But there was some on the ridges maybe a quarter mile away. Wait―there was some bottom land that had been cleared. It would be to the north of Dad's cabin and closer than the ridge properties."

  "We'll go there soon. I'll want to take you, Shane, Ed, John, and Doc when we go. Our group will need at least twenty-three small cabins; or fewer if they're large and some of the relatives are willing to double up."

  She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "Are you done with that issue for now?"

  I nodded, curious about her obvious detachment.

  "There's something you need to know. Rumors are circulating that Brittney Holescheck is pregnant."

  As usual, I only saw half the picture on social issues. "So I guess there'll be a wedding soon. Who's the lucky groom?"

  "It's more complicated than that. Dean Thibodaux is rumored to be the father. I don't think Rhonda knows about it yet."

  "Oh Jesus, that hot tempered redhead will throw a conniption fit when she learns about this. She has one hell of a violent temper. She's always in a tantrum, slamming doors and throwing things. Do Shane and Vivian know about it yet?"

  A gun shot rang out! Seconds later another followed. I jumped up from the couch and grabbed my hand gun from a high shelf and ran out the door. The shots were loud and came from inside the building. Several people ahead of me stood outside the Thibodaux's room.

  I knocked on the door; Rhonda opened it immediately. Her right hand held a Glock. Dean was mostly obscured behind her, on the floor, cursing. The smell of cordite was strong. I stretched and over her shoulder saw Dean lying there clutching his leg. Blood flowed from a wound in his thigh. I stuck my gun under my belt and reached for Rhonda's pistol. She gave me a stern look before she exhaled loudly and released it.

  Kelli Pitchford was in the hall on her tiptoes trying to see what had happened. "Kelli, fetch Doc and Marcie. Dean's been shot. Hurry!"

  Shane pushed through the crowd and stood at the door. Down the hall, Vivian stood against the wall, talking with several women. I saw Doc scampering through the gathering throng with Marcie ten feet behind him.

  I turned to Shane. "Rhonda shot Dean. You, Rhonda, and Vivian need to go to the office with me. And ask Vivian to bring Brittney along."

  Shane grabbed my arm. "What the hell's going on? What does Brittney have to do with this?" Doc and Marcie pushed past us and entered the room to treat Dean's injury.

  "Trust me, buddy, she's involved. We'll discuss it in private when we get to the office." I turned to the crowd. "The excitement is over. Most of you please clear the hall so Doc can take Dean down to his office. Several of you men please stick around in case Doc needs help."

  I took Rhonda by the arm and led her through the onlookers to the nearest stairway to the first floor. It was easy to tell which women knew about the infidelity rumor, because they looked at Rhonda sympathetically. Carmen Jones even gestured a thumbs up sign to her.

  On our walk to the office, Rhonda assured me she only shot Dean once. The first shot was into the ceiling because she was pissed and wanted his full attention. Shane followed us shortly. Five minutes later, Vivian opened the office door and led a tearful Brittney inside. I sat at the end of the table; Rhonda sat on my right; Shane was seated on my left. Brittney scrunched in a chair between Shane and Vivian and cast fearful, surreptitious glances at Rhonda.

  Shane turned to Brittney; his voice cracked. "Why are we here, Brit?" Brittney blubbered, and snot dripped down her lips and hung on her chin.

  Rhonda leaned across the table. "We're here because my husband knocked your slutty daughter up, and I shot the two-timing bastard."

  From there, the conversation pretty much went downhill.

  Kira stood as I entered our room an hour later. "Well, the rumors were right about Dean and Brittney."

  She nodded glumly. "I was afraid they would be. I heard about Dean being shot. How'd the meeting go?"

  "Shane was surprised and disappointed. Brittney cringed and cried about two quarts of tears. Rhonda ranted and screamed and had to be pushed back onto her chair several times when she tried to crawl across the table and attack Brittney. Vivian was sensible, as usual, and tried to smooth things over. When we finished, I locked Rhonda in an isolation cell. She can stay there for a couple days until she calms down. If Dean wants to press charges against her we'll have a trial and decide what to charge her with. I don't think she wanted to kill him; she's a good shot and he was only six or eight feet away. So I believe she just wanted him to suffer as much pain as she felt when she confronted him about the rumor. Apparently, he owned up to fooling around and she doled out his punishment. As far as I'm concerned, it should be over and done with."

  "I'm thankful Paige and Mitch fell in love and became mates before she got pregnant. Maybe this will be a good lesson for the other young people whose hormones are making them crazy." She pushed up against me and wrapped her arms around my neck as she smiled seductively. "My hormones are causing a raging fire inside me, Doctor. Do you have a cure for that?" Our movements became urgent as we parted and began to throw clothing aside.

  I undressed with one hand and flipped the lights off with the other before we played Doctor Studly and Patient Greatbody.

  When dawn broke the next morning, six of us searched the surrounding woodland for recently used trails. We found four within a half mile radius of the lake. Although we seldom saw them, bare footprints in moist ground proved zombies were slinking around. We picked out six good spots off the trails to build simple blinds in low tree branches.

  Two days later, six hastily constructed blinds were occupied by two shooters in each. From several of the hunters in the group, we'd gathered three distressed rabbit calls, on
e squirrel call, two deer calls and several waterfowl calls.

  Jesse Pitchford and I shared a blind. I'd never hunted predators and wasn't familiar with the injured rabbit call. After an hour and fifteen minutes of Jesse occasionally putting the call to his lips, I saw movement off to my right. Three full-bodied zombies snuck along the trail that would take them to a small clearing a hundred feet in front of our perch. I nudged Jesse with my elbow and silently motioned to my right. He grinned, made two more rabbit cries, let the call drop to the end of the lanyard around his neck, and ever so slowly raised his rifle. My breathing was shallow, and my heart thumped as I raised my M14 then peered through the scope.

  The male and female's outward appearance looked equivalent to sixty-year-old humans. The ugly, naked child looked like a twelve-year-old boy. All three were filthy and scratched. Dried blood caked the deepest cuts and scratches and coated their hands and lips. More dried blood from victims had dribbled down their chests.

  A barrage of gunfire in the distance caused all three zombies to freeze in place. Past the scope's crosshairs, I saw the female's eyes lock onto my position. I fired a half second before Jesse did. Both adults dropped under sprays of blood and brain matter. The adolescent spun around on one foot, scrunched low and bolted down the path with Jesse and me shooting behind it. It ducked out of sight behind a dense bush, and I lost sight of it. I muttered a blue streak of cuss words at not getting all three of the monsters. We'd had our chance and blown it.

  Jesse worked the call intermittently for another hour before we called it a day. Another team would man the blind in early afternoon and return to the compound before dusk.

  We stopped on the trail and stood beside the naked adults. Far off, more gunfire erupted. Then the woods were silent again. Up close, the male showed definite signs of rot. Loose skin hung from its palms and fingers. Other splotchy areas over its body were red and raw where skin and flesh peeled away. The female showed signs of the same decay process, but hers wasn't as advanced as the male's condition. I guessed she was somewhat younger than the male. I wondered if the younger zombie who'd escaped was an offspring of those adults. Since he was naked, I assumed he was.

  Birds were the only animals I heard as we started down the path to get back home. Around a bend and a hundred feet in front of us, I saw a naked body lying face down in leaves at the edge of the dirt trail. I stopped stone still and pointed ahead for Jesse to see what lay ahead. He moved beside me, and we stealthily moved forward one careful step at a time.

  Reports had been made of these zombies ambushing humans. Was that happening to us? Had the boy monster laid a trap for us? Were we being suckered in? Our shots at this one had been out of desperation. We'd fired through foliage and branches at its torso, not the normal and mandatory head shot. From ten feet away I saw two entry wounds at the upper right back below the shoulder blade. They were about three inches apart. Several more bullets had grazed its shoulders and neck.

  I pulled my Glock from the holster and laid my rifle beside the path. Jesse stooped and did the same. We walked closer; still there was no movement. I drew back my right leg and kicked the bottom of the zombie's crusty left foot as hard as I could muster. The force of the impact moved the leg and made it bend at the knee. Still the creature didn't move.

  "Keep a close eye on it while I get my rifle," I told Jesse.

  I stepped off the trail to walk past Jesse with the rifle in my hands and slipped the barrel under the naked body. Jesse squatted and had a two-handed grip on his handgun. A hard upward tug on my rifle flipped the corpse over onto its back. A gaping hole was left where the bullets exited. Just so I'd feel safer, I fired a round into the zombie's forehead as it lay staring up at the tree canopy above us.

  Jesse said, "It looks like at least one of those bullets went through that little monster's heart."

  I grinned broadly. "That's good news if a chest shot will kill them. Our folks will be glad to hear a body shot will work. Some have trouble hitting the top of a skull at a good distance."

  We were at Deliverance well before lunch time. Twenty minutes later, Mitch and Paige rushed in and found me and Ed in the armory. "Dad," Paige blurted, "wait till you hear this. Mitch and I sat in our blind all morning working that deer call. We didn't lure any zombies to us, so we left the stand and started back. On the trail, we were about ten feet apart. Mitch was leading. Suddenly, a zombie rushed us from a huge tree about eight feet away. It had its arms spread and its mouth was open. It scared the shit out of me, and I lurched backward away from it and fell on by butt. As I dropped my AK and pulled my Glock—"

  "When she fell," Mitch ran with the story, "the zombie hesitated just a split second. I guess it was deciding which of us to go after. That gave me enough time to raise the M16 and fire from the hip at about four feet away. As the barrel rose, I kept pulling the trigger putting three round burst from its crotch up to its neck." He looked at Paige. "She was shooting her .40 caliber non-stop at its chest. All of a sudden, its knees buckled and it keeled over backward. It was dead when it hit the ground. I still put a burst into its brain to be sure. But we're sure the shots to its heart killed it."

  I shared my earlier experience that morning with them. Then we wandered throughout the building spreading the news of our morning discoveries with our friends.

  Outside by myself, I heard the sounds of tractor engines running under a heavy load. Tony Osmond was plowing the fields before the disk and harrow equipment was pulled over them. If all went well, and the weather cooperated, initial planting was scheduled to begin in two weeks. The two acre vegetable garden was ready to plant, but we were waiting for the threat of heavy frost to pass. This would be our last year at Deliverance, and we'd need enough canned and dried reserve food to last until after the following harvest at our new home site.

  I agreed with Kira's feelings about Deliverance. Leaving this place of refuge would be difficult. So many memories had begun in that two-story metal building. Thoughts of Emma still occasionally swirled through my mind. Some memories of our time together would likely remain with me forever. I was positive Kira would understand and encourage them. I supposed she also still had residual feelings for her deceased husband. We wouldn't have married our first mates if we didn't love them dearly. Just because they were past history wasn't reason to deny their existence or the love we'd shared so long ago.

  In hindsight, I realized it had been a huge mistake from the beginning to expect to live at Deliverance long-term. At the start of the zombie apocalypse, we'd held out hope that many more humans would survive. None of us was willing to accept the near annihilation of the human race by some devilish undead horror. It was too mind-boggling and unfathomable to even contemplate. How were we to accept the unimaginable before it happened?

  As time advanced, I realized how dire and precarious our position had become. Gradually, I accepted that our current location depended on having electricity forever. We were totally electrified: geo-thermal heating and cooling, computers and printers, deep well water pumps, kitchen and laundry appliances, air compressors in the shop, welding machines, lighting, and electric gate openers. All of those conveniences and many more would soon be lost.

  We would eventually go in the opposite direction: hand powered tools, water carried from a river or pond, horses and mules to pull equipment, wood fires for heat and cooking, animal fat for lighting, wool from sheep to weave cloth. The challenges for people from an advanced society like ours would be daunting. Like Elsie, a few more might eventually opt out when the hardships became reality and proved to be more than they could bear.

  One day after planting began, I discovered something useful in boxes of items I'd stored away after Emma's death. Three aerosol cans stood at the end of a box of miscellaneous junk I'd saved. They were safety air horns left from my fledgling construction company days. They would be useful for people working in the fields, especially youngsters in the vegetable garden, to alert everyone to zombie sightings. I grinned as I recall
ed a day when Emma snuck up close behind me and Shane and shot off a long blast. We'd been engrossed in studying drawings and panicked when she scared the hell out of us. In retaliation, we put her on the floor and tickled her to the point she could barely breathe between fits of giggles. Those were great times worth remembering.

  Even with the additional survivors we'd recruited, we encountered labor shortages. Planting crops took priority and was worked anytime the weather permitted. On random rain shower days, we searched for wild game to feed us, butchered domestic cattle, pigs, or chickens, or hunted zombies. Only when rain poured down relentlessly did a few of our people have a full day off to themselves.

  Since discovering zombies could eat and digest other mammals as well as humans, we understood why wild game had become alarmingly scarce. In prior years, rabbits, wild pigs and deer were a primary source of fresh meat. With the luxury of refrigeration, we had taken advantage of plentiful game and froze much of it to use later. Later had come and passed, and we now often found the freezers empty of meat. We were forced to eat more filler foods to stretch the meat supplies. Rice, bean, and potato casserole recipes were being prepared more and more often. Luckily, we had a great chef, and Andrea could season anything to make it flavorful and enjoyable.

  During the third week of July, Doc and I were at the barn checking the milk cows. Suddenly a loud irritating noise I knew all too well blasted through the open double doors. Someone working in the garden had activated an air horn; gunshots followed almost immediately. We ran outside with our rifles ready to fire at an encroaching enemy. Instead, we arrived barely in time to catch sight of naked bodies streaking from the edge of the surrounding alfalfa field into the woods. Multiple gunshots chased after them. The four undead monsters held their hands pressed over their ears and sprinted and weaved as if fearing for their lives. I joined the vegetable garden crew after gladly watching two of the zombies stagger and fall. Who would have believed the monster's hearing was so sensitive an air horn would cause them intense pain and make them flee?