Walking Dead

(The March Onward)

Chapter Two

Gone were the family reunions, barbecues, and pretty girls in white silky dresses. Morgan had picked up a stranger, a young, female teenager with the marksmen skills of the military elite, and she didn't hesitate to shoot a walker. She decided that her hometown wasn't worth saving since all the people were infected, and Morgan didn't mind the company since Duane did very little talking. She looked over the house she had occupied, and said, "God's sending me messages to go with you."

He looked at her, and asked himself, "Is she joking? She has to be joking." If God existed, he didn't care about man or mankind. Where was God when his wife turned? Where was God when Atlanta exploded? Where was God when the United States crumbled? Morgan couldn't fathom the concept of God after seeing the world crumbled before his very eyes and losing his wife. If God did exist, he must have loathed mankind because there wasn't much left, nobody. Was mankind feeding upon itself some sign that the human race had become too greedy? The concept of God after all that nonsense didn't make any sense to him. God was madness and madness was everywhere.

His son had grown silent about the loss of his mother, and he did his best to comfort the young boy, but it hardly helped. What could help? Children needed both parents in a wicked and unforgiving world, and no world was as cruel as a world full of walkers. He knew that. Not even in his wildest dreams did he imagine one day he'd wake up to dead people roaming the streets, and America wasn't prepared for the holocaust. Nobody had food stored away for the pitiable day, nobody. Nobody had fuel rations stored away on the tragic day, nobody. The CDC didn't move fast enough. FEMA didn't have the manpower. The Red Cross was just a red symbol. It even rained on the first day. Nobody could have planned for the horrors. The first head shot was an accident before it became the normal way of life when dealing with the walkers, and everything had gone downhill since.

"My father had a theory," she said as she slowly chewed on a piece of beef jerky that she had stored in her front pocket.

"What's that?" Morgan asked.

"The Amish," she said, "Self sufficient, well put together, and isolated."

"You think they survived?" He asked.

"Maybe," she said, "The Amish, Mormon extremist, and fringes of certain right wings militias might have survived. It's hard to say."

"That's a good idea though," he said, "You've really thought about this."

"Yeah," she said, "Maybe God chose to protect them."

Why not? His mind wandered. It was like she had opened up a waterspout of information when she said that the Amish might have survived. It was feasible. It was a possibility that he needed to explore, but he didn't think a god would protect them more than somebody else's god would. The Amish knew building techniques. The Amish knew farming techniques. The Amish knew what man needed to survive and grow. It made sense. It made hope. He needed hope. Hope was the only part of insanity left in his mind.

She pulled out a map, and said, "Searched the Internet for Amish communities before the town lost power."

"Really?" He asked.

"Plenty up north, but several scattered throughout the Midwest too."

"What's the closes to us?" He asked.

"Lancaster," she said, "It's a strong Amish community according to the Internet."

Cars scattered the roadways near every major city, and it made driving at night difficult, but the team of three managed to navigate through the mazes of abandoned cars. The stench of the dead bodies was unforgettable and everywhere; and every time his nose found relief, the horrid smell of the dead returned with a vengeance. Shauna fell asleep, but Duane stayed awake the whole ride to Lancaster. He stopped short of a large field where he could see several huge houses, and two men not zombies roamed inside the gate. It was the morning. In the middle of the compound stood a large tower that stood above everything in the area.

"We're here," Morgan whispered, "Grab your weapons."

It was a warm morning, a bright morning, the kind of morning he'd use to mow the lawn if he didn't have to work. Shauna had her rifle attached to her back like a soldier, two pistols on either side of her body, and a large knife in her boot. Duane had his shotgun.

"Smell that?" Duane asked.

"Burning bodies," Morgan said as he pointed to smoke rising to the north of the compound. "That's a good sign."

By the time they made it halfway to the compound, a group of men dressed in handmade clothing made contact with them. They all had shotguns, hats, and beards with thick woolly jackets.

"Glad to see you," an older gentleman with a white beard said, "Jacob by the way."

"I'm Morgan. That's my son, Duane and that's Shauna."

"Hungry?" Jacob asked.

"Starving," Shauna said.

Not all the men were as sociable as Jacob, but nobody wanted to get too close to strangers, especially when the entire world was in chaos. Several of the men gave Morgan a few sneers, but he thought it had more to do with him being a stranger, a man of the world than his skin color. He kept a special eye on an Amish named Jeremiah Benson, a tall red headed man who grunted at him several times, and seemed to be a little too forceful with his wife and daughter. In the last walker attack, they lost eight members of their flock, but put down over thirty walkers before they made it through the fence. At least two walkers stumbled onto the compound every hour, and the sniper in the tower that set in the center of town put them down. A group of men would retrieve the bodies, burned them, and that was a daily routine with the Amish.

"Would you shut up?" Jeremiah said to his wife as she tried to ask him a question.

"It's just..."

"I don't want to hear it." He snapped, "She'll be okay."

She didn't try to say anything after that, but tucked her chin into her chest, and scurried out the tent. Jeremiah had been snotty the whole time with his family, but it wasn't clear why. Jacob said that he had two daughters, but only the one with the reddish hair showed up to breakfast, and she took a few rolls to her sister.

Jacob had mentioned several times that he thought the walkers had a tad bit of intelligence, and that the two walkers at a time were some sort of decoy. Was it possible? The question raced through Morgan's mind repeatedly because he thought the walkers were void of any intelligence. Nevertheless, when Morgan thought about the way the walkers came out in twos, it made sense that they were up to something. Jacob's assumption was probably on the money, but he was a thinker, a leader.

"We're low on ammo," Jacob said, "We're running through it faster than we can make it."

"You make your own?" Duane asked.

"Indeed," he said, "Self sufficient to the very end."

The Amish women worked quietly in the rear of the tent making food for the men as they patrolled the area and sowing up tattered and torn clothing. Women's work and men's work were as defined as grooves in the sidewalk, and Shauna crinkled her nose at the sowing and cooking, and simply said, "Point me to a patrol point?" It wasn't that she thought the women weren't doing important functions for their community, but she was a fighter, and she could read people.

"That Jeremiah is hiding something," she snapped as he walked out of the tent. "He's short with everybody."

Morgan looked up at him as he walked out of the tent, and wondered what the man had hidden in the dark crevices of his mind. The women were docile and meek and shy and only did what the men told them to do, and she hated that. The elders decided the punishments for serious crimes like rape, and many times the punishments wouldn't seem that severe to outsiders. He wondered if Jeremiah had committed some sort of atrocity against his daughters. The way he acted, the snapping over little things, the snotty attitude towards his wife was all indicators that something was off in his household.

"Now now. You're a girl," Jacob said, "Girl's work is in the kitchen."

"That was then," she snapped, "We're all soldiers now." She grabbed some old jars from the rear of the tent, walked outside, and placed them neatly on the fence.

"What's she doing?" Jacob asked.

"Watch this?" Morgan asked with a wicked grin on his face.

She stood nearly fifty meters from the bottles, placed her rifle on the ground, and grabbed her two side arms. She twirled them between her fingers like a seasoned pro, and in a matter of seconds, the jars were nothing but broken glass on the ground. She used those two pistols as if they were extensions of her arm.

"Holy snapping turtles," Jacob said, "Never seen shooting like that."

"Me either," Morgan said with a smile. "Me either."

She walked over to Morgan, and said, "I'm getting that icky feeling."

"Your time of the month?" He asked.

"No! An uneasy feeling that death's approaching."

"Maybe it's the food."

When night fall happened on an Amish compound, the only light was candlelight, a low density light that disturbed Morgan because he couldn't see very well in it. He and Duane pulled a four hour shift from eight to twelve, and Shauna was on the four o'clock watch with a man name Clyde Scott. Every hour, Morgan and his son walked the fence line searching for any walkers that might have stumbled onto the compound. He walked past Jeremiah's house several times, and noticed a lot of banging, but decided it wasn't his business what the man did in his home.

Clyde was a big man, a morbidly obese man who had problems walking the fence line, but he did what he could do. Even with the intense heat and all the work that the Amish did with farming, he somehow managed to keep his weight above three hundred pounds. All Morgan knew was if and when the walkers broke through the gates, Clyde wouldn't stand a chance of survival because he couldn't run, anywhere.

Shauna had a problem clicking with the Amish women because she felt they were relegated to a position of servitude instead of being equaled to the men. Morgan told her repeatedly that some cultures saw life differently, and today wasn't the day to take on a feminist cause, but it ate at her nonetheless. They were in a cozy little loft in one of Jacob's old barns, and as soon he laid his head on the pillow, somebody rang the alarm bell. Morgan, Duane, and Shauna hopped to their feet, grabbed their weapons, and Jacob flew through the barn door

"Walkers!" He screamed, "It's bad. Real bad!"

"Where?" Morgan asked.

"Everywhere," he snapped, "They're attacking from all sides. Damn Jeremiah's eldest was a walker too. He had the damn girl tied up in the house. "

"That explains a lot," Morgan said.

When they ran outside, an Amish woman ran in front of them with half her arm torn off from her body, and then fell to the ground. It was Jeremiah's wife, and her dress was drenched with blood, and she landed a few feet in front of Shauna. Her eyes were a golden yellow and dark circles developed under her eyes. It was evident that she had begun the change.

"Don't let me become one of them," she cried, "Kill me!"

Shauna walked over to the woman, put her pistol to the woman's head, and said, "May you find comfort in the arms of Jesus." She pulled the trigger. Morgan gave her an awkward stare, and then she looked up at him, and asked, "What?"

"So, you have religion?" Morgan asked.

"Don't you?" She asked.

The time that it would take to answer her question would have gotten them killed, but he wondered if she thought she killed in the name of Jesus. He had his doubts about her sanity; but in the face of a zombie attack, who could be sane?

They moved across the compound in a v-wedge formation, and several walkers jumped in front of them gnashing their teeth. Morgan took out the one directly to his front, and Shauna killed the other one. All they could hear was the Amish screaming in the background, but that didn't stop them from heading to the perimeter to try to keep the undead from bombarding the compound. Morgan opened fire on the walkers that kept trying to pass through the fence, but the cries of the town's people kept causing him to pause. Clyde staggered to the fence line, and a walker had torn into his stomach, but he kept firing his rifle at the walkers, but the pain on his face was noticeable and loud. He placed the butt of his weapon on the ground, and then put the barrel to his chin. When he pulled the trigger, his brains flew in every direction.

"Dad, what's wrong?"

"The people," he said, "Their cries."

"Can't help the bitten," Shauna screamed. "Gotta keep fighting or we'll die too."

Morgan continued to pop the walkers one by one, and the remainder of the mob tried to tear down the fence. Frightened, he pulled Duane and Shauna away from the wire, and it fell to the ground. They ran back towards the center of the town, and Jacob stood by himself shooting every walker in his sight.

"Follow me," he screamed.

Jacob ran to the tower, and lifted up a storm shelter door with over fifteen people crowded inside. He locked the door, and said, "Damn walkers. We didn't stand a chance."

"Is anybody bitten?" Shauna asked as she looked at all the frightened women.

Morgan looked around the room, and the majority of people inside the storm shelter were a bunch of women and children with absolutely no fighting skills. One of the women in the very back had blood dripping down the side of her face, and she had a chunk of flesh missing.

"Are you bitten?" Morgan asked.

Her red face had the fear of God in it. Tears raced down her cheeks. Her eyes were like blood. Blood drenched her blouse, and Morgan stuck his pistol to her head. She pressed her forehead against the barrel of the gun, and begged, "Lord, please take me home." The other women and children walked to the other side of the shelter as Morgan and the woman stood in the center.

His gun hand trembled because of the anguish of taking a human life, but he knew it had to be done. Everybody bit died. Everybody that died turned. Everybody that turned attacked.

"Do it," Shauna said. "She'll turn and infect us all."

"Can't we just tie her up?" Duane asked.

"This is the only way," Jacob said, "It's the only way."

"We got rope," one of the ladies said as she held it in the air.

"A walker infected Jeremiah's eldest, and she tore into his wife," he said, "That's how all this started."

Frustrated, he lowered the weapon, stepped to the side, and Shauna shot the woman in the head. It was fast. It was clean. It was brutal. The other women screamed, and Shauna said, "God, I hope you have the strength to put me out my misery if I'm infected 'cause I would definitely put you out of yours."

"How did you become so cold?" Morgan asked.

"Can't be miss prissy when the dead are walking the streets. It's either them or me and I'll choose me every single time."

The woman lay dead on the cold cellar floor, and several of the other women gently wrapped her in an old quilt. A rumbling noise—the walkers scratched at the door—startled the ladies, and some of them jumped out of fear. Morgan stood at the ready position, but the walkers never made an entry into the cellar. Thump! Shauna placed her two hand guns on the ground, checked the magazines, and looked up at Morgan. "About ten rounds left. Probably thirty or forty of them standing right above us."

"At least that," Morgan said as he loaded up his shotgun. Thump! "They're trying to break the door."

"It'll hold," Jacob said, "Maybe it'll hold too good."

"What's that mean?" Morgan asked.

"The sun will be up in a few hours," he said as he looked at his time piece. "It'll be hell on Earth in this place, a sauna."

"We won't have the strength to fight suffering through that," Morgan said.

"Then we'll have to fight," Shauna said as she looked at the other women attending to the dead body. "They'll have to fight too."

"She had a name, you know?" One of the older women said with a grimace, "Jessica Parker. Her name was Jessica Parker."

"It had to be done," Jacob said as he knelt beside the body. "May the Lord take her home."

"Amen," Shauna said.

It was a little after eight in the morning when the heat rose dramatically inside the shelter, and Morgan had pulled off his shirt. It was worse than a sauna, and sweat poured off his forehead and he unbuttoned the top of his pants to try to find some relief. The majority of the women had unlaced their dresses to try to find some comfort, but kept covered as much as possible.

"We can't stay," Morgan said as he looked up at the lock on the cellar door. "We'll have to fight our way through the hoard."

Jacob looked over at the women, and said, "Run as fast as you can."

"But..."

"Don't stop. Just run. When you feel the wind hit your face, run."

"It's strategically impossible to save all of them," Shauna said, "Facts are facts."

"We gotta try," Duane said.

"Shauna, you're the first out the door," Morgan said, "Then the other women."

Jacob climbed up the ladder, unlocked the cellar door, and opened it gently. "I see about three." Shauna climbed over him, slid out the door, and ran. Several of the other women made their way up the ladder, slid through the door, and ran. A scream sent Jacob, Morgan, and Duane up the cellar into a swarm of aggressive walkers that charged them with the speed of NFL football players, but at least eight women were still in the cellar. Morgan opened fire with his shotgun that sent several of the zombies flying backwards; and then Shauna stood on top of the old barn, and picked off the walkers one by one. Morgan saw two teenagers run for Jacob's old barn, and then shot a walker in the head. Duane and Morgan then ran towards the perimeter, but a swarm of zombies had over taken Jacob. When he looked back for him, Shauna had already put a bullet between his eyes.

"She's fast," Duane said.

"Keep running," he said as he shot two more walkers that wobbled towards them.

He heard several pops from her 9mm, and when he looked back, she swung down from the barn on a rope, and popped several more zombies in the head before she caught up to Morgan.

"Just keep running," he said, "I saw two ladies behind Jacob's barn."

"Just leave them, Dad."

"Can't do that," he said.

The walkers heard the other ladies screaming inside the cellar, and the majority of them went under the ground. He ran over to the two ladies behind Jacob's old barn, and grabbed them by the hands. They ran to the edge of the property where he had parked his car. When he opened the car's door, a walker lunged out at him, and Shauna shot it in the head.

"Did it bite you?" She asked.

"No. Thanks."

The gang looked back at the Amish compound, and Morgan didn't find any relief in escaping without any injuries. What God would allow this? It was a question he asked himself repeatedly.

"What's your names?" He asked of the women.

"Ruth Parker," the lady with the red hair said as tears swelled in her eyes. "Is my Momma okay?"

"No," Morgan simply said, "Everybody except us is dead."

She began to sob.

"Tina Thomas," the other lady with the brown hair said.

"Ruth. Tina. Go ahead and cry. Get the pain out of your system," Morgan said as he drove down the street. "Maybe we'll all have a good cry."