(TWO WEEKS AGO)
Major Thorton was bored. They had been on the road for several days and had passed several small towns. None of the towns had been inhabited and Thorton was itching for some kind of action. Any kind of action.
The convoy had been following Route 6 out of California and had made their way to Ely, Nevada. There they picked up Route 50, which according to the maps, should take them all the way across the country. But they had to make some jogs through some more inhabited country, so Thorton was confident something would happen soon.
There had been the occasional dead walker, but the convoy chose to ignore the minor threat rather than stop moving. They had been making pretty good progress, all things considered. With most of the world dead, the road crews were not out to clear the debris from the roads that accumulated every spring from thawing hills and falling rocks. Several times the convoy would stop while men cleared the way.
The last action the Major saw was during one of the stops, a lone zombie was working its way up the road and was nearly on the men before they spotted it. In the scramble to get away, the zombie lumbered on, focused on one lone trooper who raised his weapon to fire, only to have it knocked away by Thorton.
“Don’t waste ammo, dumbass,” Thorton said, waiting for the zombie to get closer before he stepped up and shoved his boot in its chest. The zombie flew backwards, over the roadside and down the mountain. Before it was dashed on the rocks below, the tumble down the terrain literally knocked the zombie to pieces.
The Major had glared at his men. “Use your brains. It’s the only thing that separates you from them.”
That was four days ago. They had crossed most of Nevada and were coming up on the town of Beaver. It was thought that they might try the interstate and see how things were before continuing on side roads. Riding in from the west, Major Thorton could see the I-15 interstate as it loomed above him and the outskirts of the small town. The sign read a population of over two thousand, but in surveying the quiet streets, Thorton had his doubts.
He signaled his driver to slow down, to take a look at things. The town didn’t seem too much the worse for wear, but Thorton knew that any town close to an interstate had a high likelihood of infection. They followed West Center street into the town and there was some evidence of problems. There was a car that had crashed into a tree and the inside was covered in old blood.
As they travelled further into the town, there were some homes that had dirty rags hanging from the mailboxes, reminders of the futility of hoping that the disease could be contained and controlled. As they passed by, Thorton began to get a familiar feeling between his shoulder blades, a feeling that told him something was wrong about this setup.
They turned up North Main Street and Thorton signaled a stop. He had seen the Sheriff’s office and wondered if there were any weapons to be recovered. Stepping out into the street, he adjusted his belt and signaled to the truck behind him that he wanted three men to accompany him. Lt. Tamikara got out of his vehicle and two other men came at his beckoning.
Major Thorton walked over to the three men. “Let’s take a look at the police station, see if there is anything worth taking.” Thorton looked down the streets and back at Tamikara, who was looking at him. The other two men headed for the police station.
“Sir?” asked Tamikara.
“What is it?”
“Do you feel anything strange about this place?”
Thorton looked around. “Yeah, I do. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something seriously wrong here.”
“I agree. Do we need to stay?” Tamikara, normally emotionless, actually seemed nervous. Thorton was somewhat amazed.
“No. Something is telling me to get the hell out of here,” said the Major.
The two men who went to the police station walked out, each holding a shotgun and what looked like some ammo. Neither was talking and they both looked shaken.
“What’s up with you two?” snapped Tamikara, his own nervousness showing.
The first private spoke up. “Sir, you better go look for yourself.”
Morbidly curious, Major Thorton walked over to the station and cautiously peered in. He wasn’t scared, knowing he was more than a match for any dead thing and most, if not all, live things. But the unknown was a different factor and his warning bells were screaming at him right now.
He looked inside and didn’t see anything seriously out of order. There were papers on the floor and an overturned chair, but nothing else. He looked down the dark hallway and could see cell doors at the end of the hall. Moving cautiously, he slowly followed the hall and stood at the end, fully taking in the grim scene before him. In the cells were about fifty people, all huddled together. Men, women, children, all tucked into little positions. Dead babies were held by their dead mothers and dead fathers wrapped their protective arms around their dead children. Curiously, all the bodies were as far away from the bars as possible. Thorton was confused about that until he looked down and saw what had happened. Around the cages were hundreds of footprints, dark and foreboding. Zombies had trapped these people here and paced outside the bars until the trapped people died from hunger and thirst.
Ken backed away, leaving that hellish scene of torment and hopelessness. He walked back down the hall, more intent than ever to get away. He had seen some nasty things, but this was up there with the best.
Walking out of the building, he saw many faces turned to look at him. He waved his hand dismissively, then shouted for everyone to mount up. When the trucks were rolling again, he told his driver to head north. The entrance to the interstate was up that way and he wanted to get out of this town.
As they headed up Main Street, a though kept nagging at Thorton. What happened to the rest of the town? If those fifty people were the last of the living, this place was a couple grand zombies short of an explanation. It was possible that the remainder of the town had melted away into the countryside, but there should have been something. It was just strange and kept getting stranger.
The convoy passed the last of the businesses and started the slow curve to get to the highway. On the left was Beaver Valley Hospital and even from a distance of two hundred meters, Thorton could tell it had been hard hit. Burn marks above blown out windows told the story of a fire out of control, while crashed vehicles told the tale of people rushing with their sick loved ones to the emergency room before they knew what horrors they were transporting.
As they curved around the building, Major Thorton looked hard at the hospital. Sure enough, there was movement. About forty small shapes detached themselves from the shadows of the building and headed out across the open field which separated the hospital from the vehicles. They were moving fast, much faster than they should have been.
“Shit. Kids, coming up on our left.” Thorton was about to radio to the vehicles behind him when something on his right caught his attention. A man and a woman were racing out from a house on side street, carrying what looked like backpacks. They were waving their arms and shouting, hoping to get a ride. Thorton looked over at the approaching horde and back at the two, mentally calculating distance and time and who might reach them first.
He reached a decision. “Speed up.” He turned and pulled a standard AR-15 from the rack and watched the other two vehicles speed up as well, leaving the couple racing for their lives ahead of a pack of hungry zombie kids.
“Stop here,” he ordered, getting out of the vehicle and stepping to the side. He sighted his rifle and fired once, hitting the running man in the leg. The bullet smashed into the man’s thigh, flipping him over and leaving him on the ground. His woman screamed and ran back to him, pulling on him and trying to get him to stand up to run again. The zombie children raced closer, some of them leering in anticipation.
Thorton fired again, striking the woman just above her left knee. She and her husband fell to the ground, unable to run any more. Major Thorton lowered his rifle and watched with interest as the zombies closed the distance on the struggling pair. One hundred yards, then seventy five, then fifty.
At thirty yards, the man proved he was down but still a fighter. He pulled a gun and giving his woman a final kiss, placed the gun against her head and pulled the trigger, surprising the hell out of the Major. Still full of fight, the man fired a dozen shots at the man who shot him, causing Thorton to duck for cover and scramble back into his vehicle as bullets whipped past him.
As the zombies came within reach, the man fired his last shot into his own mouth, blowing the back of his head off and falling lifeless at the feet of the zombies who quickly tore him and his wife apart, ravenous for fresh meat.
Thorton threw himself into his seat as his driver pulled away, sullen that his fun hadn’t been so much fun and his men saw him scramble for cover from a man who proved to be game to the end.
In the second vehicle, Captain Tamikara smiled to himself as they continued driving to Interstate 15.
The interstate seemed to be a good bet as they pulled onto the main road. There were cars here and there, but nothing like the jams that clogged the streets around most cities and towns. The cars that were there were off to the side and abandoned, indicating that they had simply run out of gas. Debris and personal items were scattered around and Thorton kept an eye out for anything that might be useful. The cars they didn’t even bother checking for leftover gas.
On the right of the convoy was Fishlake Forest and Thorton briefly thought about camping there for the night, figuring the trees would serve as a decent natural barrier, but that would require him to actually discomfort himself, which Thorton thoroughly believed beneath his dignity. The fact that his dignity had taken a serious blow just moments before was already forgotten.
Travel went fairly swiftly and Thorton and his men started to get the notion that they would be able to take the highways most of the way across the country, saving a lot of time and trouble. The simple truth that the convoy had been on the road for a week and had not experienced any serious threats should have been a warning, but such was the arrogance of the group that they believed themselves to be possessing better luck than most.
The joy ride came to an end after they crossed into Colorado on I-70 and came near Grand Junction. The gridlock became much worse and Thorton could see many cars that showed signs of violence. Two accidents had snarled the majority of the cars and the steep embankment showed signs of cars that had tried to get off the highway and go around the mess. Several were rolled over and upside down at the bottom. More than a few cars had active zombies in them, clawing at the windows and struggling in their seatbelts. Whole families had been turned and it was weird to see a family of four twisting in their seats, acting for all the world like they had decided to take a zombie holiday, wound up in traffic and now needed to use the bathroom.
Thorton radioed back to the second truck. “Send two men up to see if we can get around this.” He was not happy, but he was practical. The road curved around a hill and Thorton wanted to see if the logjam was just here or if it extended beyond.
The two men moved forward and with a nervous glance back at the safety of the trucks, weaved their way into traffic. The cars were close together, with barely enough room to walk through. The panic had caused the motorists to drive four abreast on a three-lane road, using up most of the available room. The soldiers walked quickly past the occupied cars, fingernails claw at windows while dead faces pressed themselves against the glass, snapping at the food just out of reach.
As the men kept moving, they noticed that some of the vehicle’s occupants were dead, but not zombies. They were usually lying together, huddled into little balls. Bloody handprints covered the windows and it was not difficult to figure out that these families had been trapped in their vehicles, not able to get out and slowly dehydrated while the dead moaned and clawed at the windows. What sort of desperate last hours that must have been, slowly dying while ghouls leered and slavered for flesh just inches away? What kind of feeling of failure did parents feel when they helplessly watched their children die, crying for relief?
The men kept moving and they reached a point where the attacks on the occupants had become much more vicious, cars with broken glass and blood splattered everywhere. Body parts that had been ripped off were scattered about, a large number of them fingers and hands. Many cars had been abandoned as people ran from the attacks, further jamming the traffic. Here hands grasped the air as the men approached and hungry eyes followed their every move.
Looking for an alternative route, the men looked to the side of the road, but one glance over the side rail tossed that notion. The land dropped quickly and at the bottom of the hill was a crowd of around fifty zombies. They were simply milling about, drawn to the scent of death from the road, but when they saw the men looking down at them, they groaned their hunger and tried to scramble up the hill, but it was too steep.
One of the men realized that the zombies stuck in the cars couldn’t reach very far. Jumping up onto a hood, the soldier scrambled over the car, avoiding the rotting hands that grabbed at him as he passed. The other soldier realized he was being left behind and recognizing the value of the idea, quickly jumped up on another vehicle and proceeded to move forward.
Back in the first truck, Major Thorton was waiting impatiently, but smiled as he saw the men climb up on top of the vehicles. Gonna have to promote that little smarty, Thorton thought to himself. He adjusted his belt, which held his favorite firearm, a Smith amp; Wesson Model 629 in. 44 magnum. It was a custom job in its previous life and had a three inch barrel, ported to help recoil. Thorton had relieved it from its previous owner, who had used the large handgun to turn his head into a bowl.
The men reached the corner and disappeared for a moment, reappearing again as they made their way back. They seemed to be moving faster than they had been heading out and Thorton was curious until he saw the large horde of zombies working their way through the cars in pursuit of the soldiers. It said something about the discipline Thorton utilized, as these men had not stayed and fought, but used their heads and ran from a fight they couldn’t win, saving their butts and their ammo.
The men made it back to the vehicles just in time for the major to order a turnaround of the vehicles. They drove quickly away from the advancing horde, but Thorton didn’t want to backtrack any further than he had to. So when the road leveled out, he ordered the trucks to head off the highway and off road it in the direction he wanted to go. He was unaware of the second horde that was at the bottom of the hill waiting for him as he moved his men closer to the slaughter.
The men who scouted and knew what they were getting into, screamed at Captain Tamikara to radio to Thorton, that they were headed to disaster. Tamikara relayed the information but received, “Thanks. Keep moving,” as a reply. Tamikara was sure Thorton was going to get them killed, but he had no choice but to follow. If he broke off and went his own way, he would be killed by Thorton if he lived and ever caught up to him again. The Captain shook his head and wondered for the millionth time why he ever hooked up with this lunatic.
For his part, Thorton finally saw the danger and realized he had made a bit of a mistake. But as he looked at the horde, he realized they were hanging around the hill and were away from the flatter part of the land. “Gun it.” Ken said to his driver and relayed the same message to the trucks behind. They bounced precariously over unseen obstacles, but managed to get past the majority of the horde before the zombies had the wit to turn and start after. Two of them were directly in front of the truck and were mowed down where they stood. The struck zombies smashed to pieces and gooey bits of ghoul stuck to the windshield. The driver never slowed and slewed the truck around a large group, sideswiping several of them and sending them flying in the opposite direction. The rest of the horde, which had begun chasing the trucks, groaned their frustration as the fresh meat quickly drove away.
Thorton smiled, noting the danger in the mirror. It was a close call to be sure, but as long as the vehicles kept moving and didn’t hit any obstacles and get stopped, they would pull through. The last vehicle, not keeping as close as they should have, wound up slamming into several zombies and running over several more. They bounced over the bodies and nearly lost control, but the driver kept his head and swerved around the growing horde. As they pulled away, several zombies spun along the ground and struggled to get up with broken legs and arms. Some didn’t get up at all.
Driving away from the zombies, Thorton’s driver had his hands full finding a route suitable for a truck that wouldn’t damage the undercarriage. After a particularly nasty bump, the Major growled, “We need to find a road.”
The driver nodded and pulled to a stop in a small open area. The highway could be seen to the north and Grand Junction just beyond. The driver pulled out a map and quickly scanned where he was and where they wanted to be. “Sir, we can get on Route 50 and take that around Denver, where we should see less of what we just went through,” he said.
Thorton glanced at the map. “How soon?” he asked.
The driver looked at the map, checked his bearings and said, pointing East. “Five miles that way.”
“Go.” Thorton knew the horde behind them would be catching up if they stayed much longer and they had no idea what they were going to meet in the country. If Grand Junction was infested and it was likely as hell that Denver was, then there was probably hundreds, if not thousands, of zombies roaming the countryside in search of something to chew on.
The convoy moved slowly through the country, passing small ranches and homes, each one abandoned and desolate. Thorton idly considered spending the night in one of the homes, but they were too close to the towns for comfort and he knew the sound of the engines would draw out many more zombies than were currently here. Sound carried far in the open country and he could already see stirrings on the horizon and near the dark draws. It was past noon and they were going to have to find a defendable place to spend the night.
In a short time, they came across a road, which after a brief check of the map took them north to an intersection. At the intersection, the driver stopped for a second, then turned right. His faith was rewarded by a bullet-marked sign labeled Route 50. Thorton looked over at his driver and said, “Well done.” The driver beamed.
The radio crackled to life. “Sir?”
Thorton picked up the receiver. “Go ahead.”
“I just checked the map and if we stay on 50 we’ll be able to take it all the way across country and avoid most cities. There’s a bunch of towns, though.” Tamikara’s voice came through loud and clear.
“Well, at least we won’t have to worry about supplies then, will we? Thorton out.” Ken put the radio down and looked over at his driver. “Very well done,” he said. “Congratulations, you’re a corporal now.”
Ken’s driver preened at the praise and promotion. He was already thinking about what he was going to do with his extra share of spoils, should they come across any. That was the way it worked in Major Thorton’s army. The higher the rank, the higher the percentage of loot and the sooner they got to the women. The rank and file privates had a long wait for their turn.
Route 50 was fairly deserted, despite being a well-maintained road. They passed several cars, but they were empty and had nothing of value or interest. One had a zombie teenage girl tied up in the back seat, duct tape across its mouth, an indication that a family just couldn’t let go of their loved one, even though they knew how deadly it was. The zombie just eyed the trucks as they rolled past, impotent in its bonds.
The first town they approached of any size was Gunnison, but as they rolled through, it was clear the town had been abandoned. No attempt had been made for defense and the stores had been looted. They stopped briefly at the gas station and were rewarded with several gallons of gas from the underground tanks. A summative scouting of the town revealed nothing of value and Thorton did not want to spend the night in a defenseless place. There were no suitable buildings for keeping the zombies out and ammo was to be used for emergencies, not just popping the odd undead.
After Gunnison, the convoy reached Solida, which needed to be skirted. The town was ringed with a tall chain-link fence, but there were hundreds of zombies roaming the streets. Thorton guessed that they managed to keep the infection out, but didn’t know they had it within until it was too late.
Lincoln Park, Pueblo and La Junta were pretty much the same story and the men of the convoy began to wonder if there was any area of the country which had successfully resisted the zombie hordes.
As the sun began to dip lower, the convoy approached a town with the name of Lomar. The population sign said there were supposed to be eight thousand people living in the town, but given the level of activity that could be seen, there were far fewer. But it was a live town, which made it very special in this part of the country.
Thorton grabbed the radio. “We need to be straight military. Pass the word.” He then opened the back window which gave him access to the back of the truck. “We’re approaching a live town. Act like real military and this will be easy.”
Ken adjusted his belt and holster and made sure his uniform was in place. He brushed off his medal bars and checked his look in the visor mirror. Should be good enough to get in, at least. he thought. After that it was all up to the town.
The town was a sprawling affair and as they moved in, they could see that the area had been hit. Dozens of small homes had been destroyed and every one of them had a dirty white flag hanging limply from the mailbox. The center road was fairly open and the trucks only had to go around a few vehicles. There were zombies in the homes, but since they seemed to be contained, there was little danger.
Things got interesting as they approached the northern end of the town. A barrier, which from a distance Thorton thought was brush, turned out to be piles and piles and piles of furniture. Every house that could have been looted of its furniture seemed to have summarily done so and it had been unceremoniously dumped to build this barrier. Chairs, tables, dressers, china hutches, entertainment consoles, everything that could be used was. The convoy drove along this interesting obstacle and the Major had to smile at the ingenuity of the people. Use what you have until you don’t have it anymore. People in Western states were like that. They were practical to a fault.
Following the pile of stuff, the convoy turned in to another area and moved along the road at a quicker pace. This area had been cleared out and several of the homes had gardens planted in what used to be their front lawns. The obvious signs of life encouraged the men in the trucks.
The trucks moved along the road and stopped at an earthen barrier which encircled this part of the town. An old box truck served as a gate and two semi truck trailers were upended to make guard towers. As the convoy approached, Thorton saw increased activity as the town became aware of the trucks. He was acutely aware of the men in the towers who held high-powered scoped rifles at the ready. If trouble came, they would have to be first.
Major Thorton motioned his driver to stop and he got out of the truck. He signaled for Tamikara to join him and the little Captain hopped out of the second truck. He waited for Tamikara to catch up and together they walked up to the barricade. At twenty feet from the gate, they stopped and hailed the men in the towers. Thorton kept his hands behind him, somewhere he had heard military men do that sort of thing. It had the effect of accenting his shoulders and neck, making him look even more imposing than he already was.
In a matter of minutes, the box truck rolled aside and a group of four men walked out to meet the visitors. They were stereotypical western men: thin, sharp-eyed and rough. These were men who had seen bad winters and cruel summers. They were used to accepting what life had to throw at them and rolled with the punches.
“Afternoon. My name’s Brent Rowdan. Who might you be?” Brent’s eyes roamed over Thorton’s uniform, halting briefly on the medals and the sidearm.
Thorton was aware of the scrutiny. He shifted and placed his hands near his sides. “Major Ken Thorton, United States Army, at your service. We’re glad to see you folks alive after the mess.”
Brent shrugged. “Given the choices, wasn’t much we could do. We lost a good portion of the town, though.” He pointed to a large pit off in the distance.
“How many of you are left?” Thorton asked, looking over the onlookers.
“’Bout a hundred, give or take. I ain’t counted recently, you understand.” Brent said.
“I’ll get to the point. We’re on a reconnaissance mission to determine whether or not there are usable assets in a given area, specifically any military personnel who may have left post or are defending an area. Tamikara remained silent next to him.
“We would like to spend the night here, if we may, then push on in the morning,” Ken continued.
Brent cocked his head. “Not meanin’ no offense, but how many men are we talkin’ about?”
“Is there a problem?” Thorton asked, his suspicious nature rising quickly.
“Not at all major,” said Rowdan. “Just thinking about supplies and trying to feed all of you.”
Major Thorton smiled and used his winningest smile. “Don’t worry yourself. We will have everything we need.” The look in Thorton’s eyes would have any sane man reaching for a gun.
But Brent just shrugged and signaled for the truck to be moved back and the three military trucks rumbled through the entrance.
Brent’s eyed drifted back to his assembled men and one of them, an older gent, just shook his head. Brent wandered over to the old man and after several heated moments of furious discussion, Brent’s shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. He had just let a viper in his home, now he had to get rid of it.
Inside the perimeter, the trucks moved to the center of the town, where a neat square could be found. The trucks stopped outside the town hall and the men spilled out of the trucks. They stood in squads and their NCO’s issued quiet orders. Safeties were quietly clicked off and magazines covertly checked. Major Thorton and Captain Tamikara huddled together for an instant, then broke apart as Brent Rowdan and about twenty armed men approached the convoy. The men on both sides eyed each other warily as their leaders met again.
Brent was brief. “You all can camp here, there’s still water in the wells for whatever you need. When will you be moving on?”
Thorton looked at Brent a full minute before replying. “All things considered, Mr. Rowdan, I am probably the last ranking officer in the military, which gives me the authority of the United States Government. Technically, this town falls under my authority.”
Brent didn’t look convinced. “Ordinarily, you’d be right. But since your authority comes from the U.S. Government, which don’t rightly exist anymore, leastaways not that we’ve heard of lately, your authority applies just to military personnel.
“We got nothing against you men, long as you’re peaceful, but if you’re otherwise, I’d say you need to move on.”
Thorton looked at Tamikara, who looked at his men. “I understand your concerns, Mr. Rowdan. I really do. But you wouldn’t turn out a group of men who just need a place to sleep for the night, would you?”
Rowdan looked ashamed. “I didn’t mean to send you out now, but I do not agree with your authority over this town. I think you might know why.”
Major Thorton narrowed his eyes and looked down at the smaller man. “Why would that be?” He was not used to being resisted and it rankled.
“You ain’t military,” said an older gent carrying a pump shotgun. “No officer I ever saw carried a revolver like that,” he pointed to the magnum at Thorton’s hip. “And your medals don’t make sense. You got a Navy Cross and a Vietnam Pin, but you ain’t Navy and too young to be in Vietnam.”
Thorton chuckled. “Well, well. It was bound to happen sometime.” He casually drew his revolver and fired it into the chest of the older gent who pointed out the flaws in the ruse. The heavy slug threw the older man back, dead before he hit the ground.
While the rest of the townsmen were shocked for a second at the unprovoked violence, the fake soldiers opened up with their weapons.
It was a slaughter. The townsmen had no chance to react and were cut down mercilessly. Tamikara dispatched three men to deal with the men in the towers and spread the rest out to sweep the town and get rid of any resistance.
“Round them all up and bring them here.” Thorton ordered, standing over the dying bodies of the town’s defenders. “If they fight, kill them.”
In half an hour, the inhabitants of the town had been rounded up. There were many cries of dismay at the bodies of the men who had been shot and many of the women were crying. There were only five men who survived the assault and there were thirty-five women and twenty children who survived as well. Thorton looked over his prisoners and a pretty young girl caught his eye. He smiled. His bed would be warm tonight.
The prisoners were on their knees in the grass, facing the killed defenders. Women held their children and those without children held each other. Thorton stood in front of the dead and addressed the survivors.
“I am Major Thorton and you all belong to me. Whether or not you survive the night depends on how accommodating you are.” A snicker arose from his men’s ranks. The anticipation in the faces of the fake soldiers was evident and many of the women cringed, knowing what was in their future.
“To make you more accommodating, I have an incentive program.” He nodded to his captain, who signaled his men. The men moved through the prisoners and took the children away from their mothers. Every child under the age of ten and over the age of two was taken away. They screamed for their mothers, who were kicked back when they tried to fight off the soldiers. The children were placed into the bed of a truck, with the older ones being told to take care of the younger ones.
Once they were quieted down, three men stationed themselves onto a picnic table that had been moved close to the truck. The men pointed their weapons at the canvas walls of the truck. There were several shrieks from the women.
Thorton spoke again. “If anyone resists, these men open fire. If anyone tries to escape, they open fire. If any of my men is harmed, they open fire. If I am displeased by anything, they will open fire. Do you understand?”
Defeated, there were several nods of agreement. Thorton smiled. “I’m glad we understand each other.” He stepped forward and grabbed the arm of the girl he had picked earlier. There was a moment of anger that passed over her eyes, but she looked at the truck and submitted without a word. “You’re with me. Consider yourself fortunate. I’m real kind to those who like me.”
Thorton dragged the girl over to the nearest house and called over his shoulder “First squad, take the north side of town, find anything that we can use. Second squad, you’re up for weapons and food. Third squad, you get to go first.”
There were whoops of joy at this proclamation and some groans. But louder than both were the cries from the women who were chosen to service the conquerors. Women were dragged into nearby homes, businesses and alleyways to be assaulted. Clothing was ripped off, backs bent over counters and chairs, while hands clawed at the dirt, the floor and bedcovers. Death and pain had come to Lomar.
When one squad was finished, another would begin, so each woman was raped not once, but at least twice. The prettier ones were raped several times, leaving them broken when the men were finished. Supplies were stolen from homes, ammunition hordes were confiscated and useful tools were taken. Cries sounded from the truck in the center of town, scared children who just wanted their mothers and were forced to hear their parents’ screams of pain and humiliation. The men who guarded the truck taunted the children, pointing out to them cries that could be their parents and laughing at the screams of rage and terror.
In the morning, the soldiers brought the women back to the center of town, many of them trying to hold their dignity together with strips of clothing. The mothers ran to the truck and their children were released to them. Tears of joy and concern flowed from both mother and child. The soldiers jeered at the children and women, then aimed their attention at another atrocity. Around the square, from various branches of the cottonwood trees, swayed the bodies of the surviving men. Thorton had the idea to hang them, tying a rope around each man’s throat and lifting him a few feet off the ground.
Thorton was in a good mood. He had enjoyed himself thoroughly with his own prisoner and had left her tied to the bed he had raped her in. Since he had slowly broken her neck as a parting gift, she was in no condition to complain.
Thorton had his men mount up and as they pulled out of the town, he had the gate torn apart. He then set fire to the first row of homes near the gate. As the flames climbed high, black smoke rolled up in the morning breeze, sending a huge plume of black smoke up into the lightening sky.
That ought to attract a few zombies to this place. Thorton thought to himself as the truck rolled out east. He couldn’t care less about the survivors of his assault on the town. He had been satisfied and he had caused a great deal of misery on other people. It had been a good night. The fires backlight the trucks, throwing red onto the faces of the men who bothered to look back. They were unaware of the hate-filled eyes that followed them, tearfully damning them for what they had done. It was a look that would repeat itself again and again.
Ken Thorton stretched in the cab and looked out the window. The sign that welcomed him to Kansas had no idea what kind of devil it was inviting to visit.