Man Eaters (Book 2): The Horde Page 10

  “I should go,” Roper said.

  Dallas shook her head. “He needs the practice and this is as safe as it gets for that.”

  Churchill continued up the ladder. Seconds later, the gunfire started and zombies began falling all around the Fuchs. “I wonder where they’re headed.”

  Dallas and Roper looked at each other. “The ‘gator farm.”

  Stepping on the gas, Dallas sliced through a half dozen zombies as she made her way to the alligator farm.

  The horde was definitely on the move, and Dallas knew it was going after the humans she’d left at the farm. She could only hope the fences held or that the ‘gators could hold them off.

  When she screeched into the parking lot, she saw hundreds of zombies clamoring to get into the farm, their collective moaning piercing through the air, setting her teeth on edge.

  “Hold your fire!” Dallas yelled, bringing Churchill down the ladder.

  The zombies didn’t give the Fuchs a second look. There were no genetic markers inside to draw them to it, so they ignored it and continued pawing at the cyclone fencing—fencing designed to keep the ‘gators from getting loose, so it was pretty sturdy.

  For the moment.

  The problem with zombies was they never tired. They never needed rest or food or water. They would just keep coming and coming and coming. Eventually, the fences would give in— but if Dallas timed it right, they would be long gone by then.

  Grabbing the mic, Dallas announced, “Hold your fire. We’re going to clean the area, then we’ll bring the Fuchs in. You’ll need to open the gate once I give the word to open up. Once we pull in, hold your fire. Shoot once if you understand what we need you to do, twice if you need me to repeat.”

  One gunshot was fired, taking a zombie near the gate out. They waited for a second that never came.

  “Excellent.”

  Dallas stopped the engine and addressed the other seven CGI’s sitting in the Fuchs. “You know the drill. We’ve practiced this dozens of times. Stay clear of each other’s swings. Be methodical in your choices and approach. When your arms get tired from swinging, take a break in the Fuchs. No gunfire when we’re this close to each other. Are there any questions?”

  No one had any.

  “Good. Here are your assignments.” Dallas gave each of them an area to clear. When everyone had theirs, they grabbed their machetes, bats, and tire irons and waited for the ramp of the Fuchs to lower.

  When the ramp touched the parking lot, they all hit the ground running and swinging. When all but Dallas and Roper were gone, Roper turned to Dallas and kissed her softly.

  “Stay safe, lover.”

  Dallas nodded. “You do the same, baby.”

  As they exited the vehicle, Dallas was not surprised that two dozen zombies were already down…headless and no longer a threat.

  Running to cover her area, Dallas used the two-handed method. Her new weapon of choice was a katana, a very sharp Japanese blade Roper had found for her in a home in the French Quarter. As long as a Katana was sharp, it would slice through cartilage and bone with relative ease. With two hands, she could drive the blade through rotting flesh, cutting the head off in one fell swoop. She was very proficient with the sword and spent a lot of time keeping it sharpened.

  Her first eight kills were a piece of cake. With fresh arms and a sharp blade, she had no problem taking them out with a minimum amount of swings.

  Zombies don’t fight back when attacked by something other than ZBs. They do not feel anger or fear. They do not think. They do not hurt. One thing and one thing only prompted man eaters: The need to destroy what they were programmed to destroy.

  Months ago, Butcher had figured out why the eaters grouped together in hordes. The virus that created the zombies caused them to react like white blood cells. They then grouped together like cells to attack what they perceived as a threat.

  Straight DNA.

  Dallas and the other gays were not a threat perceived by the man eaters, so they could come right up behind them and take their heads off. There was no retribution from those moaners standing next to them. They did not care that fellow zombies were dead. They did not even look at their fallen comrades. They continued moaning and pawing at the fence, and soon, they joined piles of dead bodies and severed heads.

  As the moaning slowly quieted down, Dallas looked up and watched as Roper, wielding two machetes, cleaved heads with an efficiency that would have been admirable if it wasn’t also so frightening. Roper could kill quickly and easily with her two machetes. She had exceptional upper body strength from all her rodeo activity and it showed in the quick, powerful strokes of dual machetes.

  As another head was clipped off its rotting body, Roper looked over at Dallas and smiled. Their team had effectively mowed down somewhere between two and three hundred zombies in less than fifteen minutes. Not one of the team had gone back to the Fuchs. Everyone was covered in old blood and muck, and when the last head fell, they all stood there panting, with tired arms and bloody clothes, successful again.

  Then there came clapping and cheering.

  Dallas and her team of trained killers looked up at the tree fort and extended platform at a couple dozen smiling, waving people.

  Sully quickly came down and unlocked the gate, shaking Dallas’s hand. “That was incredible!”

  Dallas glanced over at the wrecking crew. “We get the job done.” Then she looked up at the others on the platform. “Apparently, so do you.”

  Sully followed her gaze. “We got the word out, and they came.”

  “Do they know what to expect? What our plan is?”

  Sully motioned for his people to come down. “They do now, but I think we ought to give them time to ask their questions.”

  Dallas signaled to her team, which joined them on the cement center platform of the farm. “We need to make this fast, others are coming.” When everyone came down, Dallas counted twenty-eight people––too many to take in the Fuchs.

  Sully addressed the group first. “Well, some of you questioned the theory that the zombies don’t attack gays and lesbians, and now you’ve seen the truth with your own eyes. These eight people just demolished three hundred and something undead without suffering a single casualty. This woman, Dallas, is their leader, and she will answer any questions you might have. Dallas?”

  Dallas first introduced her group before asking for questions.

  One woman in the back raised her hand. “You’re certain you’re safe because you’re gay? That just seems so unlikely.”

  “Not safe. Safer, perhaps. We do not attract their attention. Remember—these are unthinking creatures without a plan, without anger, without emotions. Still, they come together to absorb that which they perceive as a threat. Heterosexual humans are that threat, and we believe that together we can fight our way back from this catastrophe.”

  Another hand went up. “How do you know Angola is safe?”

  “Honestly? I don’t, but it has been my experience that these things are hunting us. If there are no people, they don’t linger. If they are there, we’ll clean them out and make base camp there. Cement walls are one thing a horde can’t get through.”

  A woman who looked like a librarian raised her hand. “This is for those who are with you. Why do you follow her? She’s a woman, and women know so little about war and battle. Why would a man be willing to follow this woman?”

  Roper bristled. “Because we’re alive? Is your issue with her gender or orientation?”

  “Easy,” Dallas whispered. “It’s a fair question.”

  “Dallas has a plan,” Churchill picked up. “She is a very capable leader who makes smart decisions and who weighs carefully her ideas before acting. We have military men who follow her as well, if that helps any.”

  Sully’s group murmured to themselves before another hand went up. It belonged to an elderly gentleman with a white beard. “You’ll create an army of homos who will kill those things while the rest of us do what? S
it around watching a buncha queers hashing it out with a buncha dead guys?”

  “Well, while you’re just sitting around, hopefully, you’ll learn some respect,” Roper growled, stepping forward. “Look—no one is forcing you to join us. We have a solid plan, a small fortress, and a growing army. Yeah, that’s an army of queers, so if you take offense at having a homo saving your ass, then you oughtta’ stay right here.” Roper turned and glared at Dallas. “Let’s go. We don’t need this shit.”

  Before Dallas could respond, Sully spoke up. “I agree with Roper. This is no pissing contest, Herb. It’s your choice to go or stay, but if you go, you need to understand that committee doesn’t run their group. Dallas is their leader, and so if you do not wish to be led by a woman…or a lesbian, I’d rather you not accompany us.”

  Benjamin stepped up. “You don’t get to make that call, Sully. Just because gays are somewhat in control doesn’t mean we can’t express our opinions.”

  “Sure it does, Ben.”

  Dallas mouthed a thank you to Sully, then addressed Ben. “You saw us fight just now. Imagine what eighty or eight hundred of us could do. Come or don’t, but know this—if you do come, and you toss around words like ‘homo’ or ‘fag’, you’ll have to answer to Roper and anyone else offended by such remarks. This country’s preservation now rests upon our very queer shoulders, Benjamin. Remember that when you make your decision.”

  No one was surprised that Herb and his family remained behind while Dallas and Sully worked together to figure out the best way evacuate the nearly thirty survivors willing to fight.

  “We need two more vehicles,” Roper said, after taking a head count. “And we need to know who among you is gay. There are no more closets any more, people. We are this nation’s only hope, so secrecy has no place here. Complete transparency or nothing.”

  Of the newbies, only two others were gay men: Michael and Ferdie, two young gay men who were strangers to each other. There was a woman named Zoe, a young lesbian with a pink mohawk and black leather jacket. She had piercing holes, but no piercings, and three star tattoos on her right temple. She was small to the point of petite, but Dallas could tell her personality more than made up for it.

  “You two will ride in the Fuchs with the rest of us,” Roper said, nodded to Michael and Zoe. “Ferdie, you’ll be in the bus.”

  “Okay then,” Dallas added. “My people will go in search of two more vehicles while three of us will spend the rest of the day training you.”

  “Training us? For what? Your army? I’ve never shot a gun in my life.”

  “Survival. See, one of the problems with hiding out is that we can’t share information with other groups, and we need to. We also need to post signs on freeways as to where we are. We can defeat these things with larger numbers, but conserving our ammunition is crucial at this point. Some of us will contribute to the fight by fighting while others can do other, equally as important tasks.”

  “Have you considered bows and arrows? There are two archery stores in New Orleans.” Dallas looked at Roper, whose eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “I can tell you where.”

  With the addresses in her head, Roper took Churchill, Michael, and the young woman, Zoe. They took the Fuchs and, after a quick briefing, went straight for the archery store and range, aptly titled Bow-Diddly.

  ****

  Sully and Dallas made quick work of the training. When three zombies wandered over to the farm, Dallas used them as training dummies, knowing more were to follow. She had seen the horde making its way to them.

  She went outside the fence and showed everyone the best way to kill a zombie.

  “You have to destroy the brain. Like this.” Dallas grabbed a bat and bashed in the first zombie’s skull while the other two eaters were still clawing at the fence. “Or you can be certain they are truly dead, or TD, when the head is removed completely.” She picked up the katana and effortlessly cut the head off the second zombie with a nearly silent slice of the long blade. “As long as you do major damage to the brain, you’ll put them down.” When she finished dispatching the third, the group applauded.

  “That was unreal. They don’t even give you a second look.”

  “It’s like you’re not even there.”

  “You make it look so easy.”

  Dallas shrugged. “We’re not on the menu. This is why we’re forming an army, or as Einstein calls it, the garmy. The odds are we’ll find more and more gay survivors. As our army grows, we’ll attack more and diminish their numbers. Think about it. Every time one of them dies, that’s dozens of living who get to see another day.”

  “I’m all in,” Ferdie said. “I don’t much care what anyone else says or does, but I’d rather go down swinging than like a trembling diva.”

  “Welcome aboard, diva.”

  Dallas spent extra time with Ferdie, showing him how to swing a bat accurately and where he should aim to dislodge the skull from the spine. He was a little man without much body strength, so she opted for a baseball bat instead of a blade, which he was only slightly better at using.

  “Don’t worry, Ferdie. There’s a weapon for everyone.”

  Wiping his sweaty brow, he nodded. “Just don’t put me on the bench, coach. I’ve got a lot of fight left in me.”

  After training, Sully sent everyone to pack up their supplies so he could talk to Dallas.

  “You surprised to see us so soon?” Dallas asked as they sat at a picnic bench. She thought it odd Sully acted as leader even though Ben was the commander.

  “A little bit, yeah. Your people are remarkable to watch in action. I think…I think you give us hope.”

  “Without hope, you’ll never make it. You have to believe in tomorrow.”

  Sully nodded slowly. “It’s communication we’re missing, Dallas. If we could somehow let people know where we are and what our goals are, this would be so much easier. There must be tens of thousands of people in hiding. We need to be able to reach them.”

  “Agreed. A megaphone would work, but we need something on a bigger scale. It’s too gas-consuming to drive around in the Fuchs announcing our plans.”

  “Ever since I met you guys, I’ve had an idea I’ve been kicking around.” Sully leaned forward, a sudden glint of joy in his eyes. “There’s an old cell tower behind the city. We can make a flag out of a sheet and paint the words Survivors to Angola Prison on it.”

  Dallas grinned at him. She liked this sharp thinker. “I love it. When we get the Fuchs back, we’ll send a couple out to make that happen. It’s brilliant.”

  Sully blushed. “Really? Ben thought it too dangerous and a waste of time.”

  “Not true on either count. We’ll get that flag raised before we leave NOLA.” Dallas looked around the mini compound they had created. “You guys had some good ideas here, but that fence just isn’t strong enough for the long haul. They’re coming and in a big way.”

  “We wanted to build it up, but no one wanted to risk working there during the day, and at night we just stopped going down there. We drew straws to see who would try to find food.”

  “That’s no way to decide. A good leader would know that.”

  Sully nodded. “Yeah well, that’s a whole other story.”

  That was when Dallas figured it out. “You drew the short straw when we first got here, didn’t you? That’s why you came down first. You were the guinea pig.”

  He nodded and tried shrugging it off. “All part of being in a group, I suppose.”

  “Not true. If you choose to lead the people, then you have to lead. Ben should know that. He should have come down first.”

  Sully started to reply, but then his people finished bringing down their few possessions, and they all sat together and shared their experiences while they waited for the Fuchs to return.

  When Dallas excused herself, she walked by Ben and noted the “straws” sticking out of his pocket. As tempted as she was to say somethin
g, she didn’t, and just walked on by. His days of leading were over. Time enough to deal with his way of doing things.

  As the air grew more still and quieter, Dallas knew beyond any doubt that getting the hell out of Dodge was the right thing to do.

  She just hoped they got out in time.

  ****

  As Roper, Churchill, and the others slowly cruised through the deserted streets of New Orleans, Roper felt a slight chill. The city was eerily quiet, with papers blowing across the streets and shutters occasionally banging against the post-Katrina vacant houses. There was also the occasional wind chime to be heard, but other than that, the city was dead.

  It was painful to see a city that had weathered the worst of nature’s curve balls only to die a swift death at the hands of the horde. If there was anyone living, they weren’t in the city proper, and if the dead were roaming about, they, too were not anywhere near the French Quarter.

  When Roper pulled up to Bow-Diddly’s she was surprised to see at least two dozen dead zombies laying about the place, all dead with a hole through the head.

  “Stay here.” Hopping out of the Fuchs, Roper knelt down and studied the zombies. Each one had an entry wound and an exit wound, but their skulls weren’t blown out as they would have been from a bullet. She surmised these wounds were from a bolt from a bow or crossbow. “Someone’s awfully good with a bow,” she said, rising. The man eaters were in several stages of decomposition, and maggots crawled around the entrance wounds of three of them. The bolts and arrows were nowhere to be found, so she gathered someone had retrieved them.

  That made this place suddenly quite dangerous.

  Jumping back into the Fuchs, Roper said, “Pretty sure they were killed with an arrow or bolt of some sort. That means we need to be very careful going in there, as there could be survivors…armed survivors. Armed survivors who are spot on with a crossbow are more dangerous to us than the eaters.”

  Churchill grabbed his machete and started for the door. “Stick with me, Michael,” he said, waiting for the ramp to lower. “I’ll watch your back, you gather the crossbows and bolts. Got it?”