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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


We’re gonna make a break for it, Pecos. We gotta. Them zombies are almost all gone now. We ain’t got any water left. Filter’s busted. Food’s gone. Mary’s got some infection in her foot. It’s now or never. If this works, we’ll see you in about a week. If them boys from Van Horn try to stop us, well, God will surely know who is on the side of right here. If not? Well, He can figure it out after we stack them fuckers like cordwood.”

From: Collected Radio Transmissions of the Fall,

University of the South Press, 2053



Governor Grace Lenity-Jones clearly cared for her people. It didn’t matter if they were her actual family or the few remaining security personnel who had made it to Deer Creek with her. After a year together, if they weren’t family by blood, they were by choice. At least, in her eyes.

The security people were an odd collection of individuals. Violet, who kept apologizing for shoving a gun in my face after hearing from Sister Ann and Kayla about what I’d done up on campus, was a thirtysomething recruit who had been a janitor before trying to become a state trooper. The decision had undoubtedly proven to be the right one, since she was still alive and not some shambler wandering around carrying a mop or something ridiculous.

Besides the governor’s children—all vaccinated and brought to Deer Creek weeks before the Fall of Richmond happened with her husband—two other men had joined her security team during those hectic first few days.

Raphael “Call me Rafe” Morozov was a retired Army guy who had helped drive one of the big SUVs that got the governor out of Richmond. The big, lumbering vehicle had been swarmed by a massive crowd of shamblers when they hit one of the freeways leaving town. Apparently it’d gotten pretty dicey and they had a long-running shootout with shamblers and “someone else” while escaping. They somehow made it onto I-81, ditched their noninfected pursuers, and managed to get to Lexington before things . . . became complicated. Rafe didn’t go into many details, but I was able to figure out that someone had turned in the middle of the drive. Rafe had taken care of the issue and got them to Deer Creek, where he pretty much became my counterpart for the governor, teaching Sammie Rameau everything he could about how to protect the governor.

Once upon a time, Sammie Rameau had been a lowly mail clerk interning in the governor’s mansion. A sophomore from the Virginia Commonwealth University who’d originally called the rough neighborhood of Oak Grove home, he’d managed to escape a traumatic upbringing and make it to college. Then the Fall happened, the world ended, and Sammie had found himself pressed into duty to protect the governor as they tried to escape the Executive Mansion on the day he’d almost called out sick due to the rioting. Of the fourteen people who’d joined the group and become part of this impromptu security detail, only Sammie and the governor had miraculously survived their escape from the grounds. If he’d found a girl and saved the day, it would have been something out of an action adventure novel . . . or a B-movie plot out of Hollywood.

So naturally Kayla instantly gravitated to him and was instantly smitten . . . 

Sometimes life is nothing but a self-fulfilling prophecy for the girls of St. Dominic’s Prep.

It turned out that both Officer Atkins and Officer Pew had come down with the governor’s husband and children when the flu had first cropped up. Fortuitous, and lucky for us. They’d provided on-site security until Rafe had arrived with the few survivors and gotten everything more or less organized. He was now more concerned about getting the governor’s daughter under Dr. Brittany’s care, and ensuring everyone made it up the mountain and to the relative safety our school provided.

The trip to the mountain, after a brief inspection of the vehicles and Rafe walking us through the damage report, was not looking so hot.

“These do not look like they’re in good shape,” Sister Ann stated as Rafe and the governor walked us into the garage where two massive, armored black SUVs were parked. Both were dotted with bullet holes and splattered in mud and blood, telling a violent tale of their wild escape from Richmond—an escape I really wanted to hear more about. Not because of the excitement factor, no. I wanted to know how the heck they’d pulled it off with only four people, and who was trying to get them—besides the shamblers, I mean.

“They’re not, actually.” The governor paused and shrugged her shoulders. She was taller than Sister Ann by almost a head, and positively towered over me. At the moment, though, she looked worn down and exhausted. The expected rescue party was not what she’d thought it would be, and the news about King Dale and what was going on in Clifton Forge put a damper on her spirits.

“The big one has a round through the tank and only fills up a quarter of the way. We got lucky there,” Rafe said as he patted his side. He smiled ruefully. “Another round caught my spare mag on my hip: five five six, thank God. If it’d been a seven six two I’d probably be limping around with a round still in me. Or bled out somewhere on the side of the road. Smaller SUV has a dead alternator. We don’t have the tools to swap them out.”

“Even with the extra gas we brought, there’s no way to get both your Suburbans through Rich Patch,” Sister Ann murmured as she eyed the bullet-riddled vehicles. She pointed at the farthest one in the garage. “That other one’s got a flat as well. You have any way to fill it up?”

“No, ma’am,” Rafe responded as he scratched his beard. “Air compressor ran off gas, and we ran out of fuel months ago. Tried to keep the generator going longer than we should have.”

“That’s my fault,” Governor Lenity-Jones admitted from the doorway, chuckling dryly. “I was hoping I could keep the power on the radio long enough to hear something . . . anything. All I got was a few stations going off the air, and lunatics declaring this is the Second Coming of Christ. If this were the Second Coming, I don’t think it would start off as a zombie apocalypse.”

“No solar?” Sister Ann asked, confused. “Officer Atkins mentioned something about having issues with your well?”

“Been using the Cowpasture River to force water up through the pipes,” Rafe said and jerked his head somewhere to the west. “Wasn’t easy to get it up that hill, let me tell you. Siphoning just about made me pass out, and that was with us all taking turns. Then it took us a few weeks getting used to the unpurified water . . . even boiling it first only got it mostly clean. Lots of pine around here, though, so we could boil the water outside and then store it in. Thankfully, the Cowpasture River is the cleanest in Virginia. But . . .”

“But that was before the zombie apocalypse,” the governor added in a quiet voice. I shivered at the thought of corpses floating in the river. In Covington, the Jackson had washed most of the bodies and debris downriver. There’d been some still in town but most of them had ended up near the transfer station. “I told the girls not to drink the river water, but Laveda thought she was helping . . . She’s sick, I don’t know how bad, and I need to get her to a doctor ASAP.”

“If it’s bacterial, Dr. Brittany said the penicillin should start to help,” I said, remembering the instructions our veterinarian had given me before we left campus. “But with bodies in the river . . .”

“At least the bass are eating well,” she added with a helpless shrug. The poor woman sounded on the verge of tears.

“No power, potential long-term water issues, immediate emergency with your daughter being sick, and an untenable security situation with your neighbors once they start looking this way,” Sister Ann murmured and tapped her lips with her forefinger. “No wonder you had Officers Atkins and Pew scouting a route to the campus. How long have you been planning your breakout, Col—I mean, Governor?”

“Three months,” Governor Lenity-Jones replied after a moment of contemplation. She coughed before continuing. “I was waiting to see if there would be any surprise flooding this season. Usually the rains flood everything out in March and April . . .”

“And this was a mild spring following a mild winter,” Sister Ann finished for her. “Then your child became sick, and you couldn’t wait any longer. Breakout time.”

“Breakout time, TNT. Give me the abbreviated rundown of Clifton Forge. How bad is it, really? Don’t hold back. I need to know what my constituents have been up to.”

“There’s a nutcase who took over the entire town and says he’s the King of Appalachia, ma’am,” I interjected, feeling a little left out. “They came for us a few times, the last not too long ago. It was kind of a standoff situation until it . . . turned into something more.”

“How many died?” the governor asked me after a long pause. Her insight was surprising.

“One man was killed.”

“Oh.” She walked over to me and cupped my face gently in her hands. Her warm brown eyes stared into mine for what felt like an eternity before she pulled me into a hug. Confused, I hugged her back. “Oh you poor, sweet child. I’m so sorry you had to do that.”

“How . . . ?”

“I could see it in your eyes,” she replied and released me from the embrace. “It leaves a mark. I’d seen it with many soldiers in Afghanistan. Young men, barely adults, having to take another human’s life . . . they come back different. I’m sorry you have to go through all this. You didn’t sign up for this pain.”

“I volunteered to protect everyone,” I told her, my voice quiet but firm. This was a demon I’d fought once already. Yes, I might have barely beaten it, but defeat it I did. Once exorcised, it wasn’t welcome back. There was no way I would let it. “All the people up on campus and our mountain. He tried to hurt one of the girls, tried to take her away. I couldn’t let him. I wouldn’t let him, ma’am. I swore to Ulla she would be safe, and I keep my promises.”

“How?” The governor stepped back and looked at Sister Ann. Her expression was a strange mixture of wonder and fear. “How do you find them . . . us . . . Gunny, how do you do it?”

Sister Ann shrugged her shoulders. “Everyone has the potential to be great. They just need to find a way to unlock it. I merely help as best as I can.”

“Still . . .” Governor Lenity-Jones shook her head and stepped back. “The odds, Gunny? Low. Miniscule. Maybe you taking your vows and becoming a nun was the best thing after all.”

“I ended up where I was needed most,” Sister Ann said, her voice calm and sure as always. “God works through us all, whether we’re ready for it or not.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Heck, nobody could. Sister Ann was never wrong.


It was late afternoon when we finally addressed the big, looming problem at hand.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no way either of your trucks can make it up Rich Patch,” Sister Ann said after everyone sat down for lunch. The extra foodstuffs we’d brought along had been gratefully received by all, especially the kids. The governor and the first husband, or whatever he called himself, had been neglecting their own calorie intake on behalf of the kids. A noble gesture, but stupid. If the heavy lifting can’t be done because of a lack of strength, then everyone suffers and dies. Those not working going lean was a far better alternative.

On a fundamental level, though, I understood her reasoning, and even agreed with it a little. There’d been quite a few meals when I’d skipped my share so one of the younger girls could have a little more. It’d left me wiped out the next day, and sometimes even affected how my brain worked when I was out on patrol. But it’d felt like the right thing to do. Sister Ann had put an end to it when she’d found out. Her insistence that I keep my strength up to protect everyone else was why I’d been forced to eat extra Spam for weeks after.

“We could try the freeway,” I suggested as I looked at the large state map of Virginia that Rafe had pulled down from the wall. “I-64 is clear until you hit the first Covington exit . . . and that will be cleared by the time we get there.”

“Is there another way out of this valley?” Sister Ann asked as her finger traced a line to Covington. She backtracked along the route and stopped at a juncture just south of Clifton Forge. “Looks like this road avoids Clifton Forge . . . Temple, that looks like 220.”

“Yep,” he replied, scratching at his beard. “We came up from the south on it. Continues north right through Iron Gate and splits, with one part going into town while 220 proper angles away from Clifton Forge, then meets up with I-64 about a mile up the road and you can go westbound on it, and eventually reach Covington. If King Dale was smart, though, he’d have 220 blocked in Iron Gate . . . although . . . Governor? Doesn’t McKinney Hollow Road dump out onto Longdale Furnace Road on the other side of the river?”

“If the bridge over the Cowpasture was still standing, yes it would,” Rafe answered instead. His face was dark. “Didn’t know if we were still being followed or not after Lexington, so a few days after we arrived, Sammie and I blew up the bridge.”

“You blew up a bridge?” I asked. “How . . . ?”

“Materials on hand,” he answered in a decidedly calm voice. “It’s amazing what household cleaning supplies can do, with just the proper application.”

I shivered at the thought of what he could teach Finlay and Fiona. He would have to take a vow to never, ever show them how to blow up a bridge with household cleaning supplies before I let this maniac up on campus.

“So cutting through this little pass is out,” Sister Ann said after looking at me. I must have been making a face. “Which means pushing through Iron Gate.”

“Which is blocked as well,” Violet added. “Spotted it about a week ago. Just after town, where the road gets twisty and narrow, and there’s this rocky outlook thing? Someone set up a roadblock. It’s not much, just a few barricades and a car, but it’s there.”

“That would be Appalachia Rex and his men.” Sister Ann nodded. “As expected. He’s like a tenacious dog.”

“Who?” Violet asked. The governor snorted, amused, and answered.

“It’s Latin, dear. It’s means ‘King of Appalachia.’ It’s probably what the sister here has been calling King Dale.”

“He got soooo mad when he thought Sister Ann was making fun of him,” I said, chuckling softly at the memory. “That was right before we stole his BearCat!”

“The armored vehicle,” Sister Ann said for their benefit, though she did it with a smile.

“I was wondering how you’d grabbed one of those,” Rafe muttered. “I’m a bit jealous, to be honest.”

“I had help,” I admitted.

“Still impressive.”

“So how do we get through his roadblock, past the other roadblock you mentioned, and back to campus?” the governor asked, getting the conversation back on track. “We can’t all fit in the back of your BearCat and go back through Rich Patch, correct?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Sister Ann answered. “It’s designed for six people in back. We can squeeze in ten, total. Maybe.”

“Even sitting on top of each other, we couldn’t all fit,” I pointed out. “We’ve got, what, thirteen people, counting the kids?”

“Correct.”

I walked away from the table, thinking. Timing was key. We didn’t know yet just how sick the governor’s daughter was, only that her stomach was hurting and she was having bloody diarrhea. We couldn’t spend the time making two trips. Using the SUVs was definitely out of the question. As knowledgeable as Rafe was, if he knew how to swap out an alternator or replace a gas tank, he probably would have already. He seemed like the sort who didn’t leave jobs lying around waiting to be completed.

We had the gas, though. Probably. The two five-gallon cans had enough fuel to get one of the SUVs through Rich Patch. The problem wasn’t the fuel, but how much the damaged SUV could carry.

The one with the bad alternator was out of the question. According to Temple, cars and trucks were so electronically reliant these days that a single damaged computer chip could prevent a car from driving forever. These were government cars, part of the protective detail the governor used on a daily basis, so they were probably filled with random electronics.

Cutting through Clifton Forge was an idea, but a bad one. King Dale would be on us like a rabid dog, and if he had control of the governor? I shuddered at the thought. He could force her to proclaim him to be the legal King of Appalachia or something. Until the marines under Wolf Squadron arrived, he’d be the power in the region. And since they had no idea when they would start clearing anything remotely close to us, King Dale could potentially have years to establish a power base with the authority of the last governor of Virginia.

Walking was out. It would take us two or three days to make the hike, and none of the adults—other than Rafe—could probably make the trip with as skinny as they were.

“How much gas can the damaged SUV hold?” I asked, interrupting the group’s muted conversation. They stopped and stared at me, each and every one of them confused . . . except Sister Ann. She had a knowing look in her eye.

“Maybe two gallons now,” Rafe finally answered. “We stopped twice from Lexington to fill it up with the spare cans we had. That thing gets less than ten miles to the gallon.”

“. . . a tenacious dog . . .” I muttered, thinking back to Sister Ann’s earlier comment about King Dale. He’d risked everything for his stupid bridge, and it’d cost him his BearCat—and some of his men. He did not like to have things flaunted in his face. Leave him alone, and he left us alone. But poke him in the eye . . . 

I looked out the front door at the BearCat, then back at Sister Ann. An idea began to form in the back of my mind. It was a stupid idea, which meant it was brilliant. Or just really stupid. Really, really stupid. It was hard to say. These were strange days, after all.

No. It was definitely stupid. But just because it was stupid didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.

“Miss? Madame Governor, I mean?” I pointed at the speakers mounted on the wall surrounding the large TV. They were nice, and probably had cost a small fortune before the Fall. None of them had wires running out of them. Bluetooth, I figured. They were definitely high end. Perks of the job, I guess. But I was willing to bet they made a lot of noise. “What’re you doing with those, ma’am?”

“They’re dead,” the governor said and shrugged. “No batteries. So . . . nothing. Why?”

“Oh, we’ve got batteries, ma’am. We brought plenty. I . . . wonder if I can use them?” I couldn’t believe Sister Ann telling me to pack C batteries was going to pan out. It was like someone was whispering directions to her sometimes. Well, of course someone was. Life simply wasn’t fair.

“For . . . ?” Sister Ann asked, one eyebrow quirked upward. I’d seen that look before—half curiosity, and half terror. She knew me too well. Or she’d dealt with the twins enough to know that I was planning on something both brilliant and simultaneously idiotic.

I grinned as the idea blossomed further. It could work, but we would have to sell the crap out of it. “A distraction, ma’am. No, the distraction.”


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