IC- Living Past The Apocalypse

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Never present your neck to a dead body

For a minute he pried his eyes open. He watched and heard a police officer and a man dress casually argue.

"This man has a record a mile long. He's been tried for five felonies and each time he was found innocent because of a fluke. He's dangerous. Just leave him here."

"Detective, I have deep respect for you and I always have, but I can't side with you on this one. If you knew what was going on, you wouldn't risk any lives. But you've been kicked off of the force now and I'm the cop and you're the unruly criminal. I have every right to put you in cuffs and have one of the other losers drag his ass out to the paddy wagon. But we don't have time for that, detective."

"Alright, just because we're in a hurry and I hate being in handcuffs. The first time I can finally get this man arrested and it’s when I'm not on the force anymore and I have to move his sorry ass...What has become of me?"

He passed out again. He didn't notice when they sat him upright in the truck. He didn't feel a thing when he fell over and one of the other criminals kicked him aside. It was when someone said his name when he woke up.

"Wow...It's really him? He's dodged five felonies and hasn't been in prison longer than a decade. I have deep respect for this man."

"So do I. I've been chasing his ass since we suspected him of smashing that poor computer salesman's head in with his own machine."

"Didn't they find the real criminal in that one?"

"Yeah, but from what we dug up, he almost did bash the china man’s head. He has more self-restraint, though. Isn't that right, Mouse?"

Mouse. That was his name? No. It was a nickname, but it fit him well. Take what he needed and hide and run as soon as you can. But what was his real name? Mouse sat up and looked around. There were five other men, all obviously criminals of some sort. There were three black men in here. Two wore blue bandanas, the other a red one. They were obviously of rival gangs, but their eyes weren't on each other, but Mouse. Another man wore tank-top and torn blue jeans and had a long scar going from his chest to his ear. The last man had gray hair, a puffed up lip, a long-sleeved black shirt, and cargo pants. Mouse realized that it was getting rather hard to keep his right eye open, his tooth and lip were bleeding, and his head hurt like hell. He moved back onto the seat.

"What's going on? Where am I? And who am I?"

"You're Mouse, the only felon in the United States not persecuted for a felony. You're in a paddy-wagon because something huge came up and the police want us out of the jail for some reason. We're probably headed to the prison. We can't do a damn thing there."

"Why am I so beat up? And who are you guys?"

"I'm Detective Harold Gibson. Retired, but I've been chasing you most of my life. I finally got you arrested, but I got arrested, too. We got in a bar fight. We both started it. We beat each up pretty badly. Haven't had a brawl like that in a long time," the gray-haired man said.

"I'm Randy Run. I was muggin' this blue-bandana buffoon here," said the man with the scar, gesturing to one of the African Americans.

"I'm Joseph Jones. Randy was stupid enough to try and mug me. This red-Rambo wanabee decided it'd be funny to help out Randy. Marco here saw what was goin' down and came to my side. We got busted right after," the man Randy gestured to explained.

"I have a name. Gregory Grones," the rival gang member said. He rolled his name out so fast it was hard to understand what he said, "And you're the best damn criminal I've ever known about."

"What about Adolph Hitler?" the detective asked, smirking.

"Hey, Mouse is a genius. Hitler was mad."

"He was stupid enough to be caught."

"And you were only smart enough to get caught with him. He was drunk, you weren't."

"I downed a few brews."

"He downed seven. Mouse here told the world last time he was arrested for theft that he was retiring. He was going to live an honest life; you fucked that up for him."

"Mouse would never retire."

"Says you."

"All of you shut up. The faster we get out of this city the better and I don't want to get out to slap you all, especially with what's going down outside," the police officer said. The car went silent. Mouse wiped his lip again and looked out the barred window. Something was wrong. And something very bad was about to happen to him.

Mouse felt the car bump a few times. He saw people running around outside the vehicle, screaming. One man was shooting like crazy as a huge mob consumed him. Must be some crazy riots going on outside. Maybe these men were very dangerous and the police couldn't risk having them instigate further riots...Or something more evil was afoot...

The wagon went over something hard. The driver whooped. Mouse stared out the back window and saw that they had road killed a woman. He skull was nonexistent. He noticed something odd, too...Her arm was missing, but with the way they had hit her there was no way that it would have come off...Not like that anyway. They went down a sharp turn and they ran another person over.

"Yo, what the fuck is going on?" Marco asked.

"You don't want to know," the police man replied.

"Officer, you know as well as I do that not only were those two people victims of hit and run as well as murder, but one of these men could consider this unusual punishment," the detective said.

"All will be explained as soon as we are out of Chicago. We'll head to Iowa or something. There isn't anybody in Iowa so there won't be any of these...Things."

"Things? Those are PEOPLE!"

"Not anymore!" the driver shouted, running over a child.

"HEY! I knew that kid! He was a good kid! His mother wasn't a bad one, either!" Randy shouted, standing up.

"His ma's probably around here somewhere, too. I wouldn't be surprised if the kid bit his mom and infected her."

"What the FUCK is going on?" Joseph and Greg shouted at the same time. They snorted at one another.

"If you MUST know the de-"
At this second the driver steered too far to the left to prevent hitting a pedestrian he didn't want to hit. The car flipped, sending the criminals inside all over the place. When Mouse awoke, he noticed that only the Detective was up. He was performing CPR on Marco.

"Detective?"

"Wake the others. Everyone still has a pulse, but I haven't gone outside. Come one, you damn Crip, wake up!"

Mouse crawled over to Randy and shook him. He stirred.

"No, momma, I didn't fuck the Jones girl again..." he mumbled. Mouse slapped him. Randy jumped, now fully awake. The other two were not so hard to wake. Mouse rubbed his head and noticed it was bleeding. He slipped the bandana off of Marco's noggin and wrapped it on his own head to stop the bleeding.

"Will Marco be alright?" Joseph asked.

"Who cares? Let's bail now and save our asses," Greg snickered.

"Hey, if he was in your crew you'd be worried, too."

"My crew wouldn't do shit for me, why should I worry about them?"

"'Cause you can't fight, punk! You need them to do it for you!"

"ENOUGH! Joe, he's alive now. His heart's beating. Let's wait for him to wake up. Check the cops," the detective shouted. Joseph and Gregory stared at each other for a second and Joseph looked into the cab.

"They're dead. You'd think that since they have seatbelt and we don't they'd live and we'd die."

"We should have died. We don't deserve to live. Those two men could have left us for whatever is going on to take us. Instead they died for our sins and our stupidity. Now I don't care if you're a Blood, Crip, or if you're Barney the fuckin' purple dinosaur and Michael Jackson's love child, we've got to find out what's going on, alright? Now stop bickering and let's try to get Marco here awake."

After several minutes of arguing and attempts to awake Marco, they were successful in getting Marco conscious. They all checked themselves for injuries. Mouse had his bad bump on the head, but it wouldn't slow them down. Marco was still in pain and pretty bruised up. The detective suspected internal bleeding. Randy's wrist was sprained and Greg's ankle was twisted, possibly sprained or broken. Joseph's ear was crushed. Fortunately they could still walk. Mouse opened the door and looked around. He didn't see anybody. He walked to the cab and opened the door. He removed the bodies of the police officers and took their weapons. Two 9mm pistols with an extra clip, two canisters pepper spray, and two batons. He handed the detective a pistol and a clip, and gave Randy a baton and Gregory the other.

"Mouse, are you sure it's a good idea to give me this thing? My wrist is hurt," Randy asked.

"Use your other god dammed arm."

"Right."

"No, left."

"Right."

"No, left."

Randy stared at Mouse and smiled.

"Right."

Mouse shook his head.

"No, left."

"Correct."

"There you go. Let's find someone."

They walked a block when they saw a man crying his eyes out performing CPR on a woman. She twitched, opened her eyes. The man stopped and starting crying in relief. She took a chunk out of his neck. The man ran away screaming in pain. The woman stood up, hissed, and chased after him.

"What the fuck was that?" Joseph asked, shivering in fear.

"Maybe that's why the driver was running people over..." Randy responded. Mouse turned off his safety. They walked down a few more blocks and watched as people were chased down and devoured by chewed-up ghouls. Randy had the six. One of the creatures charged at him. It was given the response of a baton to the face. It stumbled and charged right back at him. Randy proceeded to beat it on the head until it didn't even twitch.

"God damn, Randy...Experienced?" Mouse asked in horror.

"No, just came natural."

"Look, the hospital! Finally!" Marco shouted.

"Not a good idea. The hospital's probably crawling with those things," the detective said.

"How would you know?" Marco asked.

"I'm a detective. If my suspicions are correct, if you get bit by one of those things, you're pretty much fucked."

"Zombies?"

"Aye."

"Damn. We need a car."

"Where can we get one of those?" Mouse asked.

"Pick one," Gregory said, chuckling. Mouse looked in front to see a parking lot.

"That works. A minivan. Those are big and we can fit all six of us to a car."

"Consider it done," Marco said. They followed Marco to a nameless minivan. He opened the door, which was surprisingly unlocked, and started to hotwire it. He got it running and he hopped in the back. The detective took the driver's seat and Mouse decided it would be best if he took the passenger. Harold backed up the van and drove towards the exit of the city. They weren't a good crew, but they weren't all bad. Mouse felt he could really relate to Gregory.
 
We filed into the hotel one at a time. The lobby looked like it would anytime a new guest would have arrived. Except that there was blood on the wall behind the receptionist's desk. The ghouls had been here, and perhaps still were.

We formed a lose circle, our weapons in our hands but the room was quiet, peaceful but pregnant with dread.

Jorge had come in last. He was looking behind us, perhaps expecting to see one of the ghouls come running through the snow and the mist, its face bloody and limbs missing, but desperate to bite into his throat. But the ghouls were elsewhere. He didn't see the blood behind the receptionist's desk until he bumped into Eric. When he looked up he said instinctively what we were all thinking. "Oh shit. They're here."

Pretty insightful for a philosopher.

A moan came up from behind the desk and then a bloody hand reached up and clawed at the desk, trying to find something to dig its fingers into. Then, once it had it's nail in the wood it pulled itself up.

The ghoul was still wearing her uniform, but it was ripped apart, blooded near the neck and over where her breast had been. Once upon a time she might have been a beautiful girl, in her teens, working in a nice hotel and perhaps dreaming of meeting someone who might take her to a better life. That hadn't happen. Rather, something else had come in and dragged her down and ripped out her throat, torn open her blouse and begun to eat her breast and her internal organs.

Now she hissed her fury, dug her second hand into the desk and pulled herself up. I understood her difficulty in climbing, because whatever had killed her had also taken her legs which followed in a bloody trail behind her body.

But it was her face. That face will stay with me forever. Sometimes, even now, when I sleep, I see that face, the bloody eyes, the pale skin, the yellow teath and the greenish skin, and the hatred and the horror. Sometimes I remember it's strange hiss like cry as it came for us.

It crawled across the table and fell to the floor, picking up speed, crawling towards us.

We watched it shocked, unable to move. A few of us stepped back from the horrendous thing that had once been human, once been one of us. As if it's touch would kill us or worse, make us one of them.

Somehow it found it's balance and began to walk on its hands across the floor, faster, as we began to back up towards the door, the exit back outside into the night.

But had we gone out there what would we have found but more of them.

It went for Jorge, and reached for his leg, but in doing so it lost its balance and stumbled over. Jorge jumped back but the creature had it's hands digging into his leg, and went for the bite.

But Pable swung hard with his large metal wrench, the metal hitting the head hard with a clear thunk, cracking the skull beneath and knocking it away across the floor. But perhaps the blow had only glanced it, for the creature came around and now went after Pablo. But this time Pablo hit it again, this time the blow driven by his own anger, and when the creature fell again, it stopped moving.

Carl was saying, "oh fuck, oh fuck" as the rest of us began to look around for the next to come.

And they came fast. The first, dressed as some kind of bellhop, came stumbling down the corridor of the floor above us, slipping on the descent down the stairs and flipping over the stairs railing onto it's back until it sat up and came at us. Another came through the kitchen, a cook perhaps, but now with both hands replaced with stumps. Following him was what appeared to be an asian girl, her long black silky hair matted with blood. A hiker in jeans whose flannel shirt was bloody where they had taken his arm. A grey haired senior citizen whose hair was still tight in a bud, but half her face removed.

They came at us in groups and one at a time, and we fought them in groups, using our weapons, clubbing them in the head until they stopped moving.

I remember the cook stumbling, and Eric hit him above the eye with a fire axe. But the axe bit deep into the ghoul's head and Eric couldn't remove it before the cook's aide was upon him.

Carl tried to hit her in the head, but she was fast and Eric could barely keep her from biting him. Pablo got behind her and grabbed her, moving to throw her to the side when she dug her teeth into his arm.

"Bitch bit me!" He yelled as he threw her across the room. She hit a sofa and knocked it over, but was up in a second, stumbled over the sofa to her knees and then then lept back at Pablo.

Eric had his foot on the head of the ghoul he had dropped and was trying to pry his axe loose. I moved forward and swung my crowbar at her head. It connected and she fell.

I glanced to Beth and saw that she was were the bellhop had fallen. He had gotten up but Beth was there before he could attack, jabbing something sharp through his eye and into his brain.

I yelled "Beth watch out" as the grandmother came down the stairs next, turning over down the stairs until she ended up sprawled on the landing. She started crawling faster than any grandmother after Beth. Beth backed up, I don't know why, perhaps because the woman reminded her of someone.

I knew Beth wouldn't have swung at it, and so I went for her, catching up to the old hag as Beth got pushed to the wall and it was reaching for her booted foot.

I hit the hag once, twice maybe three times. Maybe more. I don't remember how many times I hit the dead old woman but I remember seeing blood and tissue splatter on Beth's boots before I stopped.

We weren't prepared for this. Is anyone? To bash in an old woman's head till it break open like a ripe fruit. To sink an axe into a cook's head.

I looked at Beth, her back against the wall, in one hand a screwdriver in another a hammer, both held at her side, her eyes wide.

"You ok?" I asked. A stupid question.

Behind me the Jorge were getting crazed on the one armed hiker, battering it with what looked like a bat. The hiker was still moving as hepounded it's body. It seemed to shiver once and then it stopped moving.

Then came a low moan, and I heard another coming running for us.

Beth didn't answer me so quickly took her by the hand and pulled her with me back to the group, back where it was safer.

They came at us in ones and twos and because there were more of us then them, we fought them in teams. I remember the first ghouls clearly, but the others I don't. Too much time has pasted. They were guests or staff members, they were all bloody and angry and hungry. People who had been caught here and had suffered terrifying last moments until they had been killed and devoured, only to be resurrected.

I am not sure if I believed in evil before or understood it. But at that moment, I knew it. And I feared it. Evil was hungry and without remorse or feeling or hesitation. It was simply destructive.

We learned quickly, improvised our weapons, using table tops as shields to block them. We tried to stay together to fight them as a group. When a ghoul would go for one of us, the others would use the opening to strike first.

We overcame our caution, our trepidations, whatever psychological inhibitors a more civilized mind might have conjured to rationalize this, and fought for our survival.

It seemed to last for hours but the fight lasted little more than a few minutes, and when it was over we were breathless and exhausted and yet thrilled and exhilerated. Around us were the bodies of ten ghouls that had tried to take us, but there was no thrill of victory.

We expected to find Pablo wounded but he was lucky. The Asian girl that had bit at Pablo had not broken through the tough coat he was wearing and had not broken skin. There was still a bruise were she had gone for the bit, but there was no other damage. Perhaps he had thrown her far away.

Spencer looked outside the building. "I wonder why those out there have not come for us yet."

"Maybe they are still at the other end of the canyon."

We thought of our missing friends. Robert and James. Each of us wondered if they were still alive or coming to get us.

"We should check the other rooms," Suggested Eric.

We all murmured our agreement and began to investigate. We found the kitchen empty but for the signs of violence of where the cook and his assistant had been killed. From the kitchen we found food and filled our bags. We also found an assortment of cooking tools that we could use as weapons, mostly knives and hammers, as well as a first aid kit.

In the managers office we found the body of two men, both dressed as staff. One had been shot through the chest, although there were no other wounds. The man who shot him had put the same gun to his head. The gun was on the floor next the chair in which his dead body slouched.

"Why aren't they ghouls?" Asked Pablo.

"Maybe because they died of other causes. Maybe you need to be bitten to turn into one of them." Suggested Carl.

We took the gun and found a box of ammunition in the desk. In a case nearby we found a cabinet, within which we found two guns, both rifles. Apparently they had been left as protection from the occassional bear that would come into Yosemite during the off-season.

We continued to search the offices and found a switchboard for the phones and a radio. For some reason this was the first time we though to use the phone, but when we did we found the line dead. Jorge attempted to use the radio while Pablo turned on the FM and AM. Neither got any result.

We found the door to the basement area and checked it but found nothing but the building laundry machines and linens, more food supplies and other surplus items that no one would ever use. Pablo liberated a bottle of scotch and carl took a bottle of vodka, seeing as no one was likely to use it for awhile.

We had taken a skeleton key from the manager that got us access to the rest of the rooms but we found noone, alive or dead, in any of the rooms. All that was left were some suitcases, some clothing, and some other personal items. Content our search was over, we we returned to the lobby to go up the stairs to the second floor.

That was when the lobby windows flooded with lights from outside.
 
"Mouse, watch the fuckin' road!"

Mouse snapped back to attention. Two hours ago he had swapped with the detective in the driver's seat. He started to doze off and Randy shouted at him to wake him back up. It was almost midnight and Mouse noticed they were low on gas. He looked around the road and spotted a sign.

"Welcome to Indianapolis!"

Had they been driving that long? They had gone from Chicago to Indianapolis on a full tank of gas. They were making good time, but now they were dangerously low.

"Hey, we've got to stop for gas," Mouse said.

"Make it quick."

Mouse spotted a Citco sign and followed the directions it gave. He pulled into the gas station, and turned off the engine. He got out and put the pumper into the car and waited. He looked up and noticed that the sign said,
"Please, wait for an attendant to fill your tank."

Mouse laughed. If Marco was right, he definitely wouldn't want to be served for gas. He looked behind his shoulder and noticed there was someone stumbling toward him. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at him.

"Stop or I'll shoot!"

To his surprise the person stopped.

"What's your name?"

"Jennifer."

"Has anyone bitten you?"

"No, I've sprained my ankle."

"The get over her and get in the car while I finish pumping it up."

"Thank you, sir,"

He watched as the woman limped over. The nozzle twitched and Mouse put it back and closed the tank. He tapped on the window, waking the others inside.

"We need food. And move over, we've got another one going with us."

"What's her name?" Greg asked.

"Jennifer."

The four men woke up at this. The detective laughed.

"You four go into the station and steal as much healthy food as you can. No high-sugar foods or liquor. Randy, take my gun just in case. You see anyone in there you tell them to stop then shoot their head off, alright?"

"Right."

Mouse turned to Jenny. He walked over to her and lifted her arm over his shoulders and helped her walk to the van. She was light as a feather to Mouse. She was indeed beautiful, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Then again, his earliest memory was waking up to two arguing men while he was in a jail cell. He opened the door and showed her in. She was buckling her seat belt when he noticed that she was still in her nurse uniform. Mouse sighed at the fact he knew the other four would make all sorts of jokes about that one.

Blam!

Mouse heard Randall fire the 9mm. There was a zombie in there or they had all gotten in a fight. He heard a scream and another shot. Only Greg, randall, and Joseph walked out with food. Joseph had the gun, however.

"I thought I gave Randy the gun."

"You did. He shot the dude behind the counter and flipped out. He bit Marco so I had to shoot him. Man, Marco was my best friend..."

"All in the name of survival. Load the van with the food. And don't make any jokes about Jennifer."

Joe opened the back and saw the girl.

"Damn and I've got so many, too!"

"Make any of them and I'll kick your ass," the detective warned.

Jennifer laughed. She turned and asked as randall was setting down his groceries,

"Could I have something to eat? I'm famished."

randall dug through the pile and handed her a Ready-to-eat bowl of Fruit Loops. She attacked it.

"Damn, my mom's never eaten that fast and she's almost four hundred pounds!"

Joseph smacked Greg on the back of the head.

"Get in the car. We're leaving."

"Where to?"

"Not America."
 
“Where? Africa? Europe? Asia? I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. Everywhere else is getting hit just as hard as America. Our best bet would be to find somewhere high and fortified, somewhere that doesn’t have many people,” Jenny said to Mouse.

"Hadn't thought of that. What about the US military?"

"Doomed, last I heard. There may be some over out in the Sierra Mountains guarding top politicians, but I don't think they're helping out the people in this one."

"But cities are a bad idea since they have so many people," Randy pointed out.

"True, but we could have gardens on top of skyscrapers and barricade the bottom floors to prevent anything from getting in," Greg replied.

"That's good thinkin'. Both of you. But Marco's brother, Polo, is an absolute genius. He's got connections. Out in the App Mountains, he's got a freakin fort. The fuzz never found it, but I know where it is. It's a really big structure Polo made with the help with his mafia connections in case the Crips ever were starting to crumble. We could grow as our own selves, a separate nation if you will within the United States in case of disaster. Polo's loyal to his people. He'll take us in," Joseph said. He looked at Greg.

"Most of us," he added.

"Right. So while you have protection and good living conditions you'll just leave me out to die?" Greg pressed.

"I wouldn't know. Polo is very loyal and stubborn. He's also a devout Christian. He might let you in. I wouldn't know, Greg. I hope he does, because we're gonna need everybody we can get."

"So we're off to the Appalachian mountains, then?" Mouse asked.

"Sounds like our best bet," the detective replied. The van fell silent as the night, with only the noises of the van filling their ears.


"What in the world?" Mouse asked himself quietly. There was a circle of vehicles blocking the flat road. It was absolutely huge, stretching for at least a mile in diameter. He slowed down and woke the detective.

"Harold, what do you make of this?" Mouse asked.

"What? Looks like some sort of corral..."

"Should we check it out?"

"Why not?"

Mouse and the detective grabbed the handguns and approached the large circle of RVs, Volkswagen buses, and transfer trucks. They peeked inside and saw a few people walking around fires, but not too many people. They squeezed through and looked around.

"What the? Hey! Are those two zombies?" a heavy southern accent shouted, pointing at them.

"No, we're survivors like you. Our minivan is right outside the circle. Mind if we join you caravan?" the Detective explained.

"Got wounded?"

"No, but we have a nurse who might help."

"Well, darn, tootin', why not? I'll order some of our vehicles to move to letcha in," the man replied. He knocked on the door of a couple RVs. They seemed to know what he wanted, since they opened up a hole in the circle to let them in. The detective left to fetch the van. The man approached mouse. He was wearing red long underwear, had a long, busy beard, and a shotgun. Very much like your stereotypical hillbilly.

"I'm Hootin' Harry, leader of this fine group of survivors. We're headed to the secluded Southern areas of the Unite States of Zombies. Less people, less zombies. Good plan, huh?"

"It's good, but what are you going to do when you get there?"

"We're gonna build a nine-foot wall and a city in it. Maybe even a moat. I like moats."

"Well, we happen to be headed south, as well to a fort build before this all happened. They might not have enough room for all of us, but it doesn't hurt to try."

"Not at all."

Mouse watched as the others left the van and was greeted with tents and sleeping bags.

"You seem to have a lot of supplies."

"Yup. I raided a Wally World and a Sam's Club 'n got everything we need for the trip down, plus a bit extra. We have enough for about fifty more people. Well, forty-three now. Some guy calling himself Polo joined up looking for people to follow him. Dunno what he's talkin' 'bout, tho. Some last salvation crap."

"Polo? Did you say Polo?"

"Yup."

"JOE! Joe get over here!"

"Not so loud, numbskull, the zombies will hear you!"

"Sorry..."

Suddenly Harry's pocket started vibrating. His eyes widened and he grabbed his shotgun.

"Sorry won't cut it here, buddy. We gots Zombies. You might want a better gun than that. Polo brought a bunch of fancy weapons with him. He's got that nice-lookin' camper over there."

Joe finally caught up with Mouse.

"What is it, Mouse?"

"Polo's here. He's got guns. Get the others, we're being attacked."

"Right." Joe ran towards the van. The detective already knew the news of being attacked. He was on top of the vehicle shooting his pistol. Randy and Greg had their batons at the ready.


The RV was like a motel room on wheels. Mouse banged on the door and it opened.

"Who are you? Whatcha want?"

"I'm a friend of Marco's. We need guns, the convoy is being attacked."

"Automatic or not?"

"A rifle."

"Scope or none?"

"Non."

"Want it-"

"Just get me my damn gun."
re starting to crumble. We could grow as our own selves, a seperate nation if you will within the United States in case of disaster. Polo's loyal to his people. He'll take us in," Joseph said. He looked at Greg.

"Most of us," he added.

"Right. So while you have protection and good living conditions you'll just leave me out to die?" Greg pressed.

"I wouldn't know. Polo is very loyal and stubborn. He's also a devout Christian. He might let you in. I wouldn't know, Greg. I hope he does, because we're gonna need everybody we can get."

"So we're off to the Appelaichan mountains, then?" Mouse asked.

"Sounds like our best bet," the detective replied. The van fell silent as the night, with only the noises of the van filling their ears.


"What in the world?" Mouse asked himself quietly. There was a circle of vehicles blocing the flat road. It was absolutely huge, stretching for at least a mile in diameter. He slowed down and woke the detective.

"Harold, what do you make of this?" Mouse asked.

"What? Looks like some sort of corral..."

"Should we check it out?"

"Why not?"

Mouse and the detective grabbed the handguns and approached the large circle of RVs, Volkswagon buses, and transfer trucks. They peeked inside and saw a few people walking around fires, but not too many people. They squeezed through and looked around.

"What the? Hey! Are those two zombies?" a heavy southern accent shouted, pointing at them.

"No, we're survivors like yourselves. Our minivan is right outside the circle. Mind if we join you caravan?" the Detective explained.

"Got wounded?"

"No, but we have a nurse who might help."

"Well, darn, tootin', why not? I'll order some of our vehicles to move to letcha in," the man replied. He knocked on the door of a couple RVs. They seemed to know what he wanted, since they opened up a hole in the circle to let them in. The detective left to fetch the van. The man approached mouse. He was wearing red long underwear, had a long, busy beard, and a shotgun. Very much like your stereotypical hillbilly.

"I'm Hootin' Harry, leader of this fine group of survivors. We're headed to the secluded Southern areas of the Unite States of Zombies. Less people, less zombies. Good plan, huh?"

"It's good, but what are you going to do when you get there?"

"We're gonna build a nine-foot wall and a city in it. Maybe even a moat. I like moats."

"Well, we happen to be headed south, as well to a fort build before this all happened. They might not have enough room for all of us, but it doesn't hurt to try."

"Not at all."

Mouse watched as the others left teh van and were greeted with tents and sleeping bags.

"You seem to have a lot of supplies."

"Yup. I raided a Wally World and a Sam's Club 'n got everything we need for the trip down, plus a bit extra. We have enough for about fifty more people. Well, forty-three now. Some guy calling himself Polo joined up looking for people to follow him. Dunno what he's talkin' 'bout, tho. Some last salvation crap."

"Polo? Did you say Polo?"

"Yup."

"JOE! Joe get over here!"

"Not so loud, numbskull, the zombies will hear you!"

"Sorry..."

Suddenly Harry's pocket started vibrating. His eyes widened and he grabbed his shotgun.

"Sorry won't cut it here, buddy. We gots Zombies. You might want a better gun than that. Polo brought a bunch of fancy weapons with him. He's got that nice-lookin' camper over there."

Joe finally caught up with Mouse.

"What is it, Mouse?"

"Polo's here. He's got guns. Get the others, we're being attacked."

"Right." Joe ran towards the van. The detective already knew the news of being attacked. He was on top of the vehicle shooting his pistol. Randy and Greg had their batons at the ready.


The RV was like a motel room on wheels. Mouse banged on the door and it opened.

"Who are you? Whatcha want?"

"I'm a friend of Marco's. We need guns, the convoy is being attacked."

"Automatic or not?"

"A rifle."

"Scope or non?"

"Non."

"Want it-"

"Just get me my damn gun."
 
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