The Compound
We drove north for about three miles until the man beside me pointed to a road that turned off to the right.
“Turn up here. We’re close now.”
“Close to what?” I asked.
“To what passes for home these days.”
I glanced over at him to read his expression, but he faced away from me staring out the window. I slowed the truck to a stop just before reaching the road he indicated.
“Why are we stopping?” he asked.
“You’re welcome.” I replied.
He gave me a sidelong glance for a moment, then realized what I meant and looked down, flushing a bit.
“Yeah, I guess I have been kind of quiet. Thanks for helping me. I didn’t mean any disrespect, it’s just…” he seemed to struggle with what to say next.
“Hey, it’s cool, don’t worry about it,” I said, making a dismissive gesture. “What’s this safe place you mentioned?”
“There’s an abandoned textile mill about two miles down the road here. I’m one of thirty six survivors that have holed up there in an old warehouse. It’s defensible, there aren’t a lot of creeps around, and we have plenty of food. You’re more than welcome to come and stay with us.”
He looked up and I finally got a good look at his face. He had a thick brown beard, and obviously had not had a haircut in a long time. His hair was a shade lighter than his beard, and he had large brown eyes that would have looked effeminate if not for his broad nose and strong, square jaw. He was wearing Army surplus battle fatigues and combat boots similar to mine. I could tell that he was a little taller than me, and probably had about forty pounds more muscle than I did. His neck was nearly as big around as his head, and he had big, thick hands with long fingers. His arms were significantly larger than mine, and they strained the fabric of his bush jacket.
“Actually, I’m headed north to try and find a friend of mine, but I don’t mind giving you a ride home. How did you come to be down in Alexis anyway? And by ‘creep’, do you mean one of the infected?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s what we’ve started calling them. My wife gets the credit for coining the term. To answer your first question, every week or so a few of us go out on trips to look for supplies. Two others went north to find food, and I volunteered to go south to Alexis.”
“Why go to Alexis alone? Why didn’t you go with the other two?”
“They’re after food, and I’m after ammo. I knew there was a gun store not far from the Burger King where you found me. The old man who ran the place was a survival nut, and kept a ton of guns and ammunition in a cellar under the building. We’re starting to run low on ammo at the compound, so I figured I’d get as much as I could and bring it back.”
“Judging by the mess I found you in, I’m guessing something went wrong.”
His expression darkened, and he nodded.
“I’d be happy to tell you about it once we get to the warehouse. I hate to be a pain, but do you think we could get moving? I’d really like to get back. My wife is probably worried sick by now,” he said.
I looked around to see if any undead were approaching, and didn’t see any. That didn’t mean they weren’t nearby.
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” I put the truck in gear and turned down the road to the right. We rode in silence until we got close to a service road with a dilapidated sign that read “ARCONN TEXTILES” in faded letters on a filthy, pitted white background.
“Turn in here. It’s around the other side of the factory,” he said.
I figured as much, but kept silent as I turned in. I followed the service road around the massive building that once housed a thriving business, and approached a wide, squat warehouse about fifty yards behind the factory.
The warehouse was large, but not as big as many I had seen. It was seventy or more yards long, and fifty yards wide. For all of its area, it was only about two stories tall, giving it a strangely squashed appearance. A large blue shipping container sat against the front of the building, and the top couple of feet of a steel garage door were visible above it. A wooden scaffold stood on the side of the warehouse nearest to us with a winding staircase that led to the building’s roof. I could see three people on top of it, one of them looking at us through the scope of a hunting rifle. I hoped he kept his finger off the trigger.
“Pull around the back, that’s where the entrance is.”
I did as he said, and stopped in front of a heavy steel door. My passenger got out and waved to the man on the roof with the hunting rifle. He lowered his weapon and waved back, then turned and made his way down the scaffold. I got out of the truck as my passenger walked around the truck toward the entrance. He stopped in front of me and held out a hand.
“I’m Ethan Thompson, by the way,” he said.
“Eric Riordan.” I shook his hand.
“And this is Bill Cooper,” he said, pointing to the man with the rifle walking toward us.
Bill looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties, and wore the same kind of Army surplus fatigues as Ethan. He was about five-foot nine, medium build, and wore a flat brimmed straw hat that detracted from the military look his clothing suggested. His beard was mostly white, and he had bright, intelligent blue eyes that regarded me with mild suspicion. He stopped a few feet from me and looked at Ethan.
“You have a good hunt?” he asked.
I noticed that although his rifle was lowered, he held it in a way that allowed him to level it quickly if he needed to. I suddenly wished I had grabbed my pistol before getting out of the truck.
“Clear all the way,” Ethan replied.
I looked at him in confusion for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about, and then it dawned on me that they had just exchanged some kind of code. Bill slung his rifle over his shoulder and approached me with his hand out, smiling.
“Pleased to meet you sir. You’ll have to excuse the frosty reception, we don’t get many visitors here.”
“Yeah, looks like it,” I replied.
I glanced up to the roof of the warehouse and noticed the other two guards standing on the edge of the building watching us. Bill followed my line of sight and waved a hand at them.
“Go on now, you two can gossip later,” he shouted, smiling.
He had the thick, resonant Southern accent common amongst older generations native to the region. The guards reluctantly turned away and went back to their patrols. Bill pushed his hat up from his eyes and regarded me for a moment.
“You don’t look too bad, son. Last folks that come around were mighty hungry looking.” He let the comment hang in the air.
“Yeah, well, my house is pretty isolated. I hunkered down and waited out the worst of the outbreak. I managed to stay fed by raiding abandoned houses, but pickings were getting pretty slim back my way.”
It wasn’t a complete lie, but I didn’t feel comfortable telling these people everything just yet. My grandmother, who grew up during the Great Depression, once told me that desperation makes demons of us all. I didn’t know how desperate these people might be, and it didn’t make sense to take chances.
“And where might your way be?” Bill asked.
“Just north of Charlotte, about twenty miles southwest of Lake Norman.”
Again, not a complete lie, but Bill seemed to sense that I wasn’t telling him everything.
“You run into any trouble on the way up here?”
I was getting a little tired of playing twenty questions with this old man. I had just rescued one of his friends, and wanted nothing more than to be on my way. I was about to say as much when Ethan defused the situation.
“Bill, you’re being rude. This man just saved my life, at great risk to his own, and asked for nothing in return. He’s got his own food and equipment, he’s not here for ours. He was just giving me a ride back to the compound.”
Bill glared at Ethan, but the younger man met his gaze with an even stare. Bill looked away first, glancing down for a moment, then looking back up at me. He seemed tired all of a sudden, and I could see the apology in his expression.
“I’m sorry if I seem impolite. The last folks who came through tried to steal from us. It didn’t end very well, for them or for us. You look like you’re doing okay, so I guess you ain’t gonna try to steal from us. If you was the bad kind, I doubt you would have stopped to help a stranger.” He made a gesture toward Ethan, who had visibly relaxed.
“I reckon I better get back on watch, then. Don’t want Donna and Jake getting themselves in trouble.” Bill tipped his hat to Ethan and me, and ambled back over to the scaffold.
“Sorry about that,” Ethan said. “Bill is kind of the leader here. He took it hard when we lost a couple of folks not long ago. Been real serious about security ever since then.”
“What happened?” I asked.
Ethan frowned and shook his head.
“I’m not the best person to answer that question. I was on a supply run when it all went down. Why don’t you come inside, I’ll introduce you to some of the folks.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I really need to get going. I’m trying to get to a friend’s house before sundown,” I replied.
“Which way you headed? Me and the other scouts have ranged pretty far afield, maybe I can tell you where the trouble spots are. It’s the least I can offer, considering what you did for me today.”
I debated for a moment whether I should tell him or not. Gabriel wouldn’t want anyone knowing how to get to his cabin, but on the other hand, Ethan might have valuable information about the road ahead. He seemed like an honest enough guy, and he could just as easily have told Bill to put a bullet in my head and taken all of my stuff. I decided to trust him, for the time being. I motioned for Ethan to follow me and walked back over to the truck. I took my atlas out from the center console and opened it to the route I had marked out earlier in the day.
“I’m planning on heading this way north up to Morganton. You know of any trouble up that way?” I asked.
“Uh, yeah, a little bit,” Ethan said as he studied the map. He pointed to one of the towns along the route.
“The Army sent some troops out from Fort Bragg to set up a safe zone here at Iron Station, and here at the Lincolnton Regional Airport. Both were overrun. If you try driving through that way, you’ll never make it. The roads are choked with abandoned vehicles, and the place is swarming with creeps. You’re going to have to take back roads northeast past Highway 73, all the way up to 150. From there you can cut back west and pick up your route just north of Bolger City.”
“Shit,” I swore. That would add several hours to the trip at the low speeds I would need to drive to ensure a safe journey.
“What about north and west of Bolger City? Any trouble out that way?” I asked.
Ethan shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been north as far as 150, but I haven’t been near Bolger City since before the dead started walking. I can plot you a clear route to the highway, but I don’t know what you’ll be up against once you head back west. Sorry.”
I waved off his apology.
“No, you’ve been a big help. I’m glad I didn’t have to find out about Iron Station the hard way. At least now I have an idea of what I’m up against.”
I closed the atlas and tossed it back into the passenger seat. I leaned against the side of the truck and crossed my arms over my chest, sighing in frustration. Right then, my stomach decided to groan loudly, and I remembered that it had been nearly five hours since I had eaten last. Ethan heard it and chuckled.
“Listen, man, you saved my ass today and I owe you one. There’s no way you’re going to make it to Morganton before sundown. Why don’t you stay the night with us? We’ve got plenty of food, and my wife is a pretty good cook. The folks in the compound would be glad to hear some news from the outside. We even have a place to take a shower set up, warm water and everything. Trust me, you ain’t gonna find a nicer place to sleep anywhere within a day’s drive,” he said.
I thought about it for a minute, and realized he was right. I was hungry, and tired, and drenched with sweat from the day’s events. A warm meal, a shower, and a good night’s sleep sounded pretty appealing. Gabriel had waited this long, what was one more day?
“Yeah, what the hell,” I said. “I might as well get some rest. God knows what’s waiting for me between here and Morganton.”
I reached into the bed of the truck and started to pull out my sleeping bag and toiletry kit, but Ethan stopped me.
“Instead of lugging all this shit inside, how about I get a forklift and move that shipping container. You can just drive your truck in,” he said.
I shot him a suspicious glance.
“Why would I need to park my truck inside?” I asked.
Ethan laughed and shook his head, then raised a hand and pointed to the western sky.
“Because there’s a storm rolling in, and I would hate to see your fancy tools get all wet.”
I looked where he was pointing, and sure enough, there was a massive thunderhead moving in our direction.
“Uh…right,” I said, embarrassed.
Ethan laughed again and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Drive her around front, partner. I’ll get the container moved for you.”
I drove the truck back around to the front of the warehouse and waited while Ethan climbed into a forklift parked under a makeshift carport. He drove the forklift around to the near side of the container, used the fork to lift it off the ground a few feet, and pushed it forward. I noticed there were two wheels welded to the other side of the container. Clever design, that. The undead wouldn’t be able to move the heavy container in the direction needed to get in, but the forklift could move it with ease if they needed to drive something inside. Like many forklifts, the one Ethan drove ran on propane. I guessed that they must have a stockpile of canisters somewhere.
Once the container was far enough out of the way, Ethan lowered it and climbed down from the forklift. He walked over to the rolling steel door and slapped it with his hand three times in rapid succession.
“Earl, open the gate!” he shouted.
A moment later, the gate slowly started to rise. I could hear the sound of a chain being drawn through a pulley, and after a minute or two, the door was high enough to drive my truck through. A massive man with dark ebony skin and a shiny bald head stepped out and waved for me to drive in. I pulled forward and drove into the gloom of the warehouse. The large black man motioned for me to follow him, and I parked the truck beside a long row of shelves laden with all manner of containers. By the time I got out of the truck, Ethan had moved the blue shipping container back into place. The man who I assumed must be Earl walked back over to the garage door and pulled the chain to lower it. When it reached the concrete floor, he used two large padlocks to secure the door to irons rings set into the cement.
Once the door was secure, he made his way back over to where I stood beside the truck. He held out a hand big enough to swat condors out of the sky, and grinned broadly, his brilliant white teeth standing out in contrast to his dark skin.
“How you doin’. Name’s Earl,” he said, his voice surprisingly high-pitched for a man his size.
“Eric Riordan, nice to meet you,” I replied as I shook his massive, calloused hand.
Just as I suspected, he was strong enough to crush bricks. Something popped in one of my knuckles as he gave it a firm squeeze. He noticed my pained expression and quickly released my hand, his smile fading a bit.
“Sorry ‘bout that. Don’t know my own strength sometimes. Hope I didn’t hurt you.”
I flexed my fingers, and everything seemed to be in good working order.
“No problem, I’m fine.” I gestured at the massive expanse of the warehouse.
“Nice place you got here.”
“Yeah, it ain’t too bad. Long as you don’t mind livin’ in a big-ass cave.”
I laughed at that one. “I guess it beats the alternative, right?” I replied.
“Yeah, I guess it does at that. How bout I give you the grand tour?”
“Sounds good, lead the way.”
The big man turned and walked toward the other end of the warehouse. On both sides of us, there were stacks of crates and boxes, some of it on shelves and some of it sitting on the bare concrete. Most of the stuff on my right, near where I parked the truck, looked like food and other dry goods. On the left were large stacks of various types of lumber, as well as metal sheets, long square bars that I recognized as raw metal stock for machining, and more barrels than I could count at a glance.
Ahead of us, beyond the storage area, were what looked like wooden shacks built against the warehouse walls. As we drew closer to them, I noticed that the shacks varied in size. Some covered close to eight-hundred square feet, and others were smaller and seemed to be made for only one or two people. There were twenty shacks in all, with plenty of room on the warehouse floor for more.
Earl jerked a thumb behind him at the massive piles of supplies.
“Back there is just storage. We got all kinds of stuff over there, and we bring in more all the time. If we ever run out of room in here, there’s plenty more storage space on the factory floor. Most of the production equipment got pulled out of there back when the plant shut down, so it’s mostly just empty space now. We keep the living quarters in here on account of its easier to keep the creeps out.”
I looked around the expanse of the warehouse. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the gloom, I noted that most of the light in the place filtered in from windows near the ceiling. All of the shacks had what looked like metal pipes that extended from their roofs to the windows less than ten feet above them. I figured they were set up to vent heat and smoke from cooking fires. Some of the shacks had candles burning in glass holders.
“Yeah, I guess this place is kind of a fortress. How do you light it up at night?” I asked.
“Candles, mostly. Bill makes sure everybody uses those glass candleholders when we burn em. Says it’s too easy for a fire to break out, everything being made of wood and all.”
“About that, what’s with the shacks? Seems like there should be plenty of room for everyone. Why not just lay out cots and avoid the fire hazard?”
“We did that, at first. Then folks started arguing bout what belongs to who, complaining about people snoring at night, some of the couples got to hurting for some alone time, things like that. Bill said we should build partitions to give everybody some privacy. Turned out to be a good idea, most of the arguing died off since then. Bill’s a good man for thinking up ideas.”
We reached the far half of the warehouse and I saw that each of the shacks had names spray-painted on their fronts in a variety of different colors. Bill’s was one of the smaller ones, about the size of a single bedroom. As I began to study some of the artwork and decorations that adorned the outsides of the shacks, the steel door at the far wall opened and Ethan stepped inside, closing the door behind him and sliding a steel bar in place to secure it. The door opened inward, and anything trying to get inside would have to be strong enough to break through the steel barrier. Smart.
Ethan took a moment to look around, saw me walking toward him, and made his way over.
“You parked down by the rolling door?” he asked me.
“Yeah, why?”
“I need to get that bag out of your truck.”
I had completely forgotten about the heavy duffel bag Ethan brought with him during our escape from the besieged Burger King.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “What the hell is in that thing? It looks like it weighs a ton.”
“Nah, just about two hundred or so pounds,” he replied, grinning.
“Right, so what’s in it?”
“The most valuable commodity on the face of the Earth, my friend. Ammo, and lots of it.”
A few of the people who had been milling about perked up when he said that. A tall young man and a pretty girl with dyed blond hair that had grown several inches of brown roots approached.
“Dude, did I hear you say you got ammo? ‘Cause that would make my fucking week,” the tall guy asked.
Ethan beamed. “Yup, round everybody up, and call Bill down from the roof. I’m gonna start parceling it out. And as for you little lady,” he said, playfully punching at the young girl’s arm, “I got a gun that you ought to be able to handle just fine.”
“Whatever, douchebag. The only gun I care about handling is Justin’s,” she said, sliding an arm around the young man’s waist.
Ethan turned to say something to me, but right as he was about to speak a door to one of the shacks slammed open and a gorgeous redhead came storming out marching straight for Ethan. She carried a baby that couldn’t have been more than a year old on one hip. Ethan’s expression immediately became serious and he raised his hands in a placating gesture.
“Alright, Andrea, calm down…”
“Don’t you tell me to calm down, damn it! What the hell is wrong with you? Where have you been? Are you trying to give me a heart attack, you thick-skulled idiot? I’ve been worried sick about you.”
She punctuated each sentence with a poorly aimed slap that deflected off the side of Ethan’s arms as he backpedaled away from the woman. The baby, finding the whole situation immensely entertaining, laughed uproariously and flapped his little arms in glee. I couldn’t help but smile. Here was a big, strapping man getting the riot act read to him by a little redhead with a baby on her hip. Classic.
“Baby, calm down! I’m fine, everything is fine. I got the ammo we needed. Can you stop hitting me for a minute?”
Finally, he caught the woman’s arm not holding a baby by the wrist, and brought her close in a tight hug. She struggled for a moment, then buried her head in his chest and clutched him tightly. Her shoulders hitched, and she began to sob. Ethan looked as though he felt like the world’s biggest shitheel, and muttered soothing words to her, stroking her long hair and holding her against him. The baby babbled and reached his little arms up toward Ethan. He took the baby and held him in one arm as he consoled his wife with the other. The people gathered around, me included, stopped smiling. Everyone suddenly seemed to find the ground at their feet acutely fascinating.
“You can’t scare me like that,” Andrea said between racking sobs. “I thought you weren’t coming back. You can’t leave us alone.”
“I’m not, baby. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”
The baby seemed to miss the gravity of the moment, and babbled happily as he tugged at Ethan’s beard. Ethan winced, and pulled his head away.
“Come on babe, come see what I got for you.”
Andrea released her hold on Ethan, and used the bottom of his shirt to dry her eyes. She regained some of her composure and reached for the baby.
“It better be good for you to scare me like this, or your ass is gonna be sleeping on the roof.”
Ethan smiled. His grin had an infectious, endearing quality to it. I decided that it must be pretty hard not to like the guy.
“It’s good, honey. Hang out here for a minute, I’ll be right back.”
Ethan turned away and walked to the storage area. As he left to get the ammo, Andrea noticed me, and she stiffened in surprise.
“Hi, I’m Eric,” I said, giving a little wave.
Andrea flushed, and walked forward, offering me a hand.
“Hi, Andrea Thompson. I’m sorry about all of that. It’s just been really stressful lately, with everything that’s happened...”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” I shook her hand and gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. It must have worked, because she smiled back.
“And who is this little fella?” I asked, holding a hand out toward the baby. He reached for it and gave a high-pitched squawk when he got my index finger in his little fist.
“This is Aiden. Say hi Aiden.” She took his hand from around my finger and mimicked a wave with it. The baby turned to his mother and gave her a sloppy, open mouthed baby kiss on the side of her face. Andrea giggled, and wiped slobber from her cheek.
“He’s a bit of a mess, just like his father.”
“I’m guessing Ethan is your husband?” I said.
“Yes, that’s right. I assume you met him out on the road?”
“Yeah, something like that,” I responded, looking toward the far end of the compound where Ethan was pulling the bag out of my truck. Her smile faltered, and her brow furrowed slightly in confusion.
Before she got a chance to ask any questions, Ethan came back with the duffel bag on a rolling cart. By that time, more people had gathered around to see what was going on.
The folks inside the warehouse ran the gamut of ages, ethnicities, and gender. There were four or five old timers, fifteen or so adults anywhere from twenty to fifty-five years of age, and a handful of children. A few of the children were teenagers, but the rest looked twelve or younger. Earl, who had somehow managed to stay quietly in the background during Ethan and Andrea’s theatrics, helped Ethan lift the bag from the cart. A crowd gathered round as the two men opened the bag and started taking out boxes of ammunition and a few guns. Ethan had retrieved the .22 magnum rifle from the back of my truck and wore it strapped across his back. Earl stood up and addressed the crowd, holding out his arms and calling for order.
“Alright everybody, back up and chill out for a minute. We gonna divide this up and everybody gonna get what they need.”
“You heard the man.” A voice called out from behind the crowd. I turned and saw Bill push his way to the front. Justin had let him in, and was securing the steel door.
“Go get your weapons and lay them out in front of your shelter. Earl and Justin will make an inventory of who needs what, and Ethan and I will make sure everything gets distributed accordingly. Go on now, you’re holding up work.”
He waved his arms in a shooing gesture at the crowd. There were a few grumbles, but everyone did as they were asked. It seemed that the people here really did look up to Bill. Andrea switched the baby to her other arm and stooped down to plant a kiss on Ethan’s cheek.
“You know what we need, I’m going to go finish feeding Aiden,” she said.
Ethan nodded. “Okay, I’ll be in shortly. Just got to get this stuff handed out.”
He reached out and gave Andrea’s hand a squeeze before going back to work. Andrea turned and went back into her shack.
Earl knelt down to help Ethan sort the ammo. There were at least a couple of thousand rounds in numerous calibers. Justin and Bill pitched in, and they quickly had the boxes sorted by caliber into several piles. Ethan also pulled a few handguns and four rifles out of the bag. One of the rifles was a .270 hunting rifle, and the other three I recognized as civilian model SCAR 16 semi-automatic assault rifles. Prior to the end of the world, that would have been about ten thousand dollars worth of hardware. Bill’s eyes widened as he looked at the weapons.
“Ethan, where the hell did you get all this stuff? Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” Bill said.
Ethan stopped working for a moment and stared at the ground.
“It’s a bit of a long story Bill. If it’s all the same, I’d rather just tell it once, after dinner.” Ethan looked up, his expression somber. Bill nodded, and Ethan went back to sorting ammo. I tapped Bill on the shoulder to get his attention.
“Anything I can do to help?” I asked. “I don’t like standing around while everyone else is working. Makes me feel lazy.”
Bill pointed at the people taking weapons out of their shacks and laying them out in front of their doors.
“You can go with Earl and Justin and take inventory of the ammo everybody needs, and make sure all of those weapons are safe and cleared. You know how to do that?”
I nodded. “Yep. I’m on it.”
I met Earl and Justin in front of the shack closest to the entrance. It was one of the larger ones, and four people stood in front of it. Two were adults, a man and a woman, and the other two were teenagers. Earl had a pencil and a piece of paper and Justin squatted down in front of the weapons rattling off their ammunition types. Earl glanced up, and offered me a pencil and a small notepad from one of his cargo pockets.
“You mind going across the way and starting on that side? If we finish up over here we’ll come help you out,” he said.
“Sure, no problem,” I replied.
I went across the warehouse to the opposite row of shacks and introduced myself to the resident of the shelter nearest the far end. It was a small one, about the same size as Bill’s, and the man in front of it was a short, middle-aged fellow with close-cropped gray hair and a strong build.
“Hi, Eric Riordan, nice to meet you.” I offered a hand.
“Rick Farrell. You must be new here.” He gave a slight smile, and I noted the strength of his grip as he shook my hand.
“Just passing through actually, thought I might lend a hand while I’m here,” I said.
“Well, we can use all the help we can get. What can I do for you?” he replied.
“Bill needs me to inventory the guns and what ammo they use, and make sure they’re all safe and clear.”
“Well mine should be easy then.” He pointed at his feet, and I recognized the rifle as a Ruger Mini 14 tactical.
“Nice choice,” I said. “Simple, rugged, easy to shoot. My grandpa had one, used it for varmint hunting.”
“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers. I took this thing off a guy’s corpse when I ran out of ammo for my twelve gauge. Wish I still had the shotgun, but I bent the barrel busting open a creep’s head. This thing shoots .223, and it’s safe and clear already.”
I wrote down the man’s name, his rifle, and the ammo it used.
“Cool, thanks. Nice to meet you, Rick.”
Rick nodded and I continued down the line. I took a moment to introduce myself to the people at each shelter as I went. Most were friendly enough and seemed genuinely glad to see me, but a few were tense, and glared at me with suspicion clearly written in their eyes. I was polite to each of them, not wanting to start any trouble. After ten minutes or so, Earl and Justin finished their inventory and helped me with the last few people on my side of the warehouse.
I walked back over to Bill and Ethan, who were inspecting the new firearms. I handed my list to Bill, who pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his breast pocket and peered down his nose at the piece of paper. Justin came over with his list and handed it to Ethan. After a few moments, Bill took off the glasses and called out to the other survivors.
“Anyone who doesn’t have a firearm, come on up.”
Four people approached, three of them women. Bill pointed at the rifles and pistols on the ground.
“Them two assault rifles are going to be for folks on guard duty, and that third one is Ethan’s. Call it a finder’s fee. You can take your pick from the rest, including that hunting rifle. Any of you ever hunt?”
The lone male of the group, a portly man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, raised a hand.
“I go deer hunting every fall in South Carolina. Well, I used to at least.” The man looked down as he spoke.
Bill nodded solemnly, and offered the man the rifle and several boxes of ammunition.
“These should last you awhile, Greg. We got more if you need it, just let us know.”
The man muttered a subdued thanks, and walked away. The three women examined the pistols, asking Ethan’s opinion on which one they should choose.
“They’re all nine-millimeter,” he said. “They all shoot the same bullet, so just try to find one that feels alright when you aim it.”
After a few more moments of hefting the various guns, each lady settled on one, and Ethan gave them all two hundred rounds and a spare magazine for each weapon.
Bill again turned and addressed the people standing in front of their shacks.
“Alright, now that everybody has at least one weapon, we’re going to start passing out ammo. I’ll call your name, then you come over and we’ll give you a few hundred rounds. The rest will go into the gun locker. If you need more, just let me or one of the other three deputies know so we can keep track of how much we have left. Ya’ll know the gun locker ain’t locked, but that ain’t a license to go crazy and use up ammo we can’t afford to lose.”
I turned to Ethan, a skeptical look on my face. “Did I just hear him call you guys ‘deputies’?”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah, I’ll explain later.”
Bill began calling out names, and one by one, Ethan gave them a few hundred rounds for their various guns. In spite of the variety of firearms on display by the compound’s residents, the range of calibers was fairly narrow. It made sense, really, considering that most guns are chambered for a few popular types of ammo. Ethan had plenty of bullets for all of them.
After everyone’s name had been called, Bill thanked everyone for cooperating and asked for volunteers to help pass out food for the evening meal. Several people raised their hands, and followed Bill to the other side of the building. I turned to Ethan, who was loading ammo back onto the rolling cart. It looked like only about a third of what he brought back with him was distributed.
“Looks like you made everyone’s day,” I remarked.
Ethan smiled and nodded. “I bet so. Folks were starting to worry about the lack of ammunition around here. Having a loaded gun next to you makes sleeping at night a little easier these days.”
“How did you know what kinds of ammunition to bring back?”
Ethan shrugged. “I got eyes. I just paid attention to what everybody carried around and made sure to pick up the most common kinds. This here,” he said, patting a pile of .223 boxes, “is just a sample. There’s a shitload more where this came from. We just have to find a way to get it out of Alexis without getting eaten alive.”
The blond girl with the two-toned hair I met earlier came over and sat down by Justin, who was helping Ethan load boxes onto the cart. Ethan stood up, took the .22 magnum rifle off his back, and held it out to the girl.
“This should work pretty well for you. It shoots a small bullet, but it has good penetrating power out to eighty yards or more. It even has a halfway decent scope on it. Let me know if you need help learning to shoot it.”
Ethan placed several boxes of ammunition beside the girl, and loaded the rest onto the cart. The girl looked the rifle over, worked the bolt, and brought the stock to her shoulder to peer through the sight.
“So who’s the new guy?” she asked as she lowered the rifle.
“The new guy is Eric, and he can hear you,” I said, glowering at her.
“Don’t mind her,” Ethan said. “She’s all bark and no bite.”
The girl slapped Ethan on the leg. He ignored it, and continued his work.
“I’m Emily, and this is my boyfriend Justin,” she said.
She laid a delicate hand on the young man’s shoulder. She looked up at me, and I noticed that she had green eyes set in a pretty, heart shaped face. She wore a t-shirt with a heavy metal band’s logo emblazoned across the front, and a pair of threadbare jeans. She was exactly the kind of girl I would have gone for in high school and college.
“Nice to meet you Emily. And you too, Justin. How do you folks know Ethan here?”
Justin spoke up, “He saved both of our asses getting out of Charlotte. We wouldn’t be alive if not for him.”
Justin’s voice, and the look in his eyes, conveyed a maturity and seriousness that seemed out of place given his boyish exterior. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen, if he was a day. Emily looked barely legal for a guy his age to be shacking up with.
Ethan, meanwhile, flushed beneath his beard and waved off the compliment.
“I did what anybody would have. You two don’t owe me anything.”
“Plenty of people saw us on top of that bus, and not a damn one stopped to help. Nobody except you and your father,” Justin replied.
Ethan looked up, a pained expression on his face. Justin met his gaze and laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
“I know, man, I know. He might still be out there, we don’t know anything for sure,” he said.
Ethan nodded and got up to haul the ammunition back to the other side of the compound. Justin watched him walk away, his expression somber. Emily wrapped her arms around his waist and he hugged her back.
“He’ll be okay, he just needs some time,” she said.
“His old man was a tough one. If anybody could have survived that mess, it would be him,” Justin replied.
“Did you know his father?” I asked.
Justin turned to me and shook his head.
“Just stories that Ethan told us. He sounds like a tough old bastard, though. Taught Ethan most everything he knows. Anybody who can raise a man like that is someone who knows how to fight, and how to survive.”
“So what happened? Why isn’t he here?”
“That’s a long story, and one best told over a warm meal,” Justin said. “Come on, man, I can hear your stomach growling from here. Let’s get you some food.”
The rumbling in my belly again became distracting, and I decided that satisfying my curiosity about the people of the compound could wait until I had some food on my stomach. Just as I was about to follow Justin to his shack, Ethan returned from stowing the spare ammunition. He walked over to me and patted Justin on his shoulder.
“Hate to deny you company, bud, but this guy saved my life today. He’s earned himself some of Andrea’s cooking.”
Both Emily and Justin’s eyes widened.
“What do you mean, he saved your life?” Emily asked, stepping in front of Ethan. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story, and if you guys come over for dinner, I’d be happy to tell you about it.”
Justin gave me a glance that held a combination of respect and curiosity, then took Emily by the hand and led her away. The young woman protested, clearly not happy about Ethan’s admission.
“Don’t worry about them,” Ethan said. “They worry too much.”
I followed Ethan to his shack, which was one of the larger ones, at about six hundred square feet. Inside, it looked like a small one bedroom apartment. There was a Coleman stove on a table beneath a makeshift range hood, which connected to a pipe that extended through the ceiling. It was warmer in the shed than outside on the compound floor. Andrea came from the lone bedroom and held a single finger to her lips.
“Baby’s sleeping,” she whispered as she pulled a heavy burlap cloth across the door.
Ethan motioned to a couch and a couple of comfortable looking chairs that, along with a large coffee table, took up most of the near half of the room. Looking around the shack, I could tell that it wasn’t built to be a sturdy barrier, but only a rough partition to provide some privacy. It was constructed of two-by-fours and plywood, and the cinder block wall of the warehouse comprised the far wall. Everything around me was exposed wood with no insulation or drywall. Two candles burning in glass containers on the coffee table provided the room’s only illumination.
Ethan sat down on the couch, and I took a seat in a chair across the table from him. Andrea opened a cardboard box beside the Coleman stove and started pulling out boxes and cans.
“Is mac-and-cheese with kidney beans and corned beef hash okay, guys?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“I could eat just about anything right now. Whatever you want to make is fine by me,” I said.
Andrea stacked a few items beside the stove and filled a pot with water from a small plastic barrel beside the kitchen table. A spice rack stood to the left of the camp stove, and she picked a few spices and dried herbs from the racks.
“It might be simple fare, but that lady can make miracles happen with even the most simple ingredients,” Ethan said, gazing lovingly at his wife.
“Honestly, I could eat roast snake and grilled frog legs right about now,” I replied.
“That won’t be necessary, at least not yet,” Andrea said as she set the water to boil on the stove and started opening the cans.
There was a knock at the crude front door, which was simply a sheet of plywood hung on three hinges with a latch to hold it closed from the inside. Ethan got up to open it, and Justin and Emily came inside. Justin waved at Andrea.
“Hi. I hope we’re not interrupting anything.”
“Oh no, sweetheart, come on in. You two want some dinner?”
“We’d love some,” Emily said as she crossed over to Andrea and gave the other woman a warm hug.
“Didn’t Bill say something about preparing the evening meal?” I asked. “Does everyone here cook indoors, or is there like a little mess hall or something?”
“A little bit of both,” Justin replied. “Most folks bring out folding tables and eat in the open area between the partitions. We call that the common area. It’s usually pretty simple stuff, and not nearly as good as what Andrea puts together, but it’s nice to sit down as a community and have people to talk to.”
I nodded. It was easy enough to understand how being surrounded by flesh-eating ghouls might make a person long for some friendly company. Justin’s words reminded me of something Ethan mentioned earlier.
“Hey, didn’t you tell me there were two other people out scouting with you?” I asked him.
“Yes, but they may not be back for a few days yet. They’ve set up a relay system that allows them to bring supplies back in large shipments, at least as long as the available gasoline holds up.”
Emily looked quizzically at Ethan. “What do you mean? There’s plenty of gas out there. We just have to siphon it out.”
“Gasoline expires,” I said. “It doesn’t stay volatile forever. It usually goes inert after about nine months or so, unless you put an additive in it to preserve it. Even then, under ideal conditions, you might get a few years out of it at most. Whatever work you need to do that requires a gasoline powered motor, you better get it done in the next six months or so. After that, gasoline supplies will become increasingly unreliable.”
Emily stared at me for a moment, then turned back to Ethan pointed a thumb in my direction.
“Is all that shit he just said true?”
Ethan laughed. “Yes, it is, and he said it a heck of a lot better than I could have. That’s why we’re working so hard to stockpile supplies as quickly as we can. Once the gasoline goes bad, we’re back to pulling carts.”
“So what do we do when that happens?”
Ethan shrugged. “The best we can I guess. If we play our cards right, and store up the right materials, we can build a sustainable community that doesn’t rely on gasoline.”
“How do we do that?” Emily asked.
Ethan gave her a look of mock condescension. “Since when do you care about planning and logistics?”
Emily slapped him on the arm. “Don’t make fun of me, I’m serious. How are we going to survive without machines?”
Ethan heaved a sigh. “That’s a simple question with a very complicated and uncertain answer. For now, we plan as best we can and make do with what we have. No sense borrowing trouble from tomorrow.” He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder and led her to the little sitting room with Justin and I in tow.
“Anyone fancy a little wine?” Andrea asked.
Even Emily perked up at the mention of wine. A chorus of affirmatives went up from the gathered company, myself included. Andrea fished around in one of several cardboard boxes stacked in the little kitchen and produced three bottles of a decent pinot noir. She uncorked one of them and poured the rich red liquid into clear plastic party glasses.
“Sorry folks, but we left the good crystal in Charlotte,” She said. Her comment elicited a round of rueful chuckles from the assembled guests. I didn’t get it, but I smiled anyway as Andrea passed them around. Justin raised his cup in the air.
“To living to see another day,” he said.
Everyone agreed, and we clinked the plastic cups as best we could. I sipped the wine, and sat back in my chair.
“So, Ethan.” I said. “Why don’t you tell me how you ended up down in Alexis stranded on the roof of a Burger King?” I asked.
In unison, everyone’s heads first swiveled toward me, then toward Ethan, almost as if they had rehearsed it.
Andrea gave Ethan a piercing glare, cocked her head to the side, and placed one petite fist on her hip. “Yeah, honey, why don’t you tell us about that?”
Ethan squirmed a little under her scrutiny and shot me an irritated glance. I smiled my best guileless smile, and took another sip of my wine. Emily did her best to rescue him.
“How about this, why don’t you tell us how you came to be here,” she said, giving me a hard glare.
“Three reasons,” I responded, counting off on my fingers. “Number one, the stories are related. Two, this guy owes me one for helping him out today, and three, he already promised to explain it all over dinner. I made no such promise.”
“Well, dinner ain’t here yet, but I suppose you’re right,” Ethan said. “I did promise, and I owe you for helping me today.”
That last part wasn’t necessarily true, but he didn’t need to know that just yet. I planned to share what I knew about fighting the undead with these people, assuming they didn’t turn out to be meth-smoking cannibals or something, but I would do it when I was damn well good and ready. For the moment, I wanted information.
“Go on,” Andrea said, making a twirling motion with one hand. “Tell us where you been the last two days.”
“Two days?” I asked. “You were stuck in Alexis for two days?”
“Yes, I was,” he said, heaving an irritated sigh. “And if everyone will pipe down for a minute I’ll explain everything.”
Ethan tossed back the rest of his wine, picked up the bottle from the coffee table to fill it back up, then leaned back on the couch for a moment, his gaze distant. Uneasy silence filled the room for the space of a few heartbeats. The storm that Ethan had pointed out to me earlier rolled in, and rain began to beat on the roof of the warehouse. The first peals of thunder rumbled as Ethan began to speak.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s what happened.”