"I hear tell you're the man who gets stuff done."
Marcus stared at the two men before him. All three of them stood in front of the gate next to the watchtower. The men had introduced themselves as Jack Ferris and Bob Macklin. Jack seemed amiable enough. He looked to be in his forties, he was tall and athletic in a rangy kind of way. There was an ease to him, a calm certainty that came from certain men who were used to doing everything themselves, and competently. He admitted to running the Grange, which was what they called the truck stop just outside of town where his crew was staying at. He wore a form-fitting t-shirt and cargo pants with work boots and carried a machete and a pistol.
The other man, Bob, seemed somehow shady and mistrustful. He was tight-lipped and he seemed uncomfortable. He had a thin figure, though not very athletic, with shaggy brown hair and angry blue eyes. His face was narrow and seemed of the variety that sleazy used car salesmen wore. He had a shotgun across his back and a crowbar in his hand.
"Bob Macklin...there's something incredibly familiar about that name," Marcus replied.
The man suddenly broke into a smile. "Well, I was a lawyer in Danforth," he said. "Quite successful, I might add. You may have seen my commercials..."
Marcus shook his head. "No, that's not it. It's that name..." Suddenly, he had it. "Now I know! Parks and Rec! Burt Macklin. That was the name of that stupid FBI persona that Chris Pratt created. Oh man, that's hilarious."
"Yes, riveting...I didn't watch Parks and Rec," Bob replied glumly.
"So, what needs doing?" Marcus asked, giving his attention to Jack.
"One of our own has gone missing. He's been gone since last night. All we have to go on is that he was in town, on this side of the river, over in a cul-de-sac of houses. We were going to go ourselves, but when Becca, the other member of our group, mentioned it to your radio operator, she suggested that we ask you for help."
Marcus considered it for a moment. He felt relatively ready and raring to go, he had supplies on him, and he knew where the place was.
He nodded. "Okay, yeah. Sure. You've got a car?" he asked.
"We do," Jack replied, pointing at a big black four-door pickup truck. "My own personal vehicle. Bought it just last year, brand new."
"Damn. Very nice," Marcus replied.
"I thought so as well. Come on," Jack said. "You can ride shotgun, show us the way."
They all got into the truck. As they began driving, Marcus picked up their story. There were four of them out at the Grange. The missing man was named Quentin. He'd been an employee at the Grange. Bob's car had broken down and he'd heard that Jack Ferris had the best mechanic shop in town, so that's where he'd brought it. He was still there when the zombies struck. Becca was apparently a girl in her early twenties who had just kind of showed up one day. They were doing pretty well for themselves, but Jack knew that they couldn't last forever on the supplies they had. So they'd started heading into town to look for more.
Quentin had apparently gone on his own last night, looking to hit up the cul-de-sac for food, water, maybe some building materials. Apparently talking with Lily had given them the idea to build a watchtower all their own.
They didn't really run into too much trouble on the way up there, but as soon as they drove up the road into the area with the houses, Marcus knew there was going to be trouble. The area was basically laid out like T, with the road they had to drive up being the base. It was at an incline, leading up to a large shelf of land that overlooked the rest of the town. Two short streets that ended in cul-de-sacs extended away from the top of the first lane. Marcus counted seven houses, one of which was just skeletal, in mid-construction.
A large cluster of zombies was off to the left. He saw a pair of what everyone had started calling 'screamers', the armless freaks with the bulbous gray heads, mixed in. The zombies had seemed interested in a nearby shed but now that the car had arrived, they had taken a dire interest in the newcomers instead.
"Everybody out!" Jack called.
Marcus all but leaped out of the truck. He had his machete ready to go. He, Jack and Bob were careful, not getting too close to each other, letting the zombies come to them. Marcus brought the machete down into the skull of the first one, cutting through the bone and slicing into the gray matter, killing it instantly. He ripped the blade out, reared back and brought it around in a tight arc, completely severing the head of the next zombie.
The men kept this up for a solid five minutes. Marcus made sure to kill the two screamers almost as soon as he could, pulling out his pistol and shooting them both in the head, to prevent them from gathering any more damned zombies to the assault. It was difficult enough as it was, but before long, the last zombie fell and all three men waited, scanning the immediate area. They relaxed when they saw they had killed the last of the zombies that had any kind of direct interest in them. A few more still wandered in the distance.
"Come on, let's hurry," Jack said.
They came off of the street and up the short driveway of segmented concrete that led up to the little detached garage. Marcus opened the door, stepped in and looked around. There was the usual collection of garage stuff: metal shelving, stacks of boxes, gardening tools, a lawnmower...and a guy, crouched in the corner.
"Who are you?" he asked, sounding wary.
"Marcus. I brought some friends of yours," Marcus replied, stepping out of the way. Jack stepped in behind him.
"Hey, Quentin. Thought you could use some help," he said.
Quentin let out a big, relieved sigh. "Oh my god, you have no idea how good it is to see you. Thought my ass was done for. I, uh, found some gasoline," he said.
"We'll help you get it out to my truck. Come on," Jack replied.
Marcus helped them by making sure no more zombies came up to chew on them while they loaded a few canisters of gas and some building material into the truck.
"You should come back with us, see the place," Jack said as they all got into the truck.
"Sounds good to me," Marcus replied. "So...you guys notice that there seems to be more of the weird kind of zombies around?" he asked after a moment of silence.
"Yeah. We call them freaks. They're creepy and dangerous," Jack replied.
"I wonder what's up with them. I mean, where do they come from? Why do they exist?" Marcus asked.
"It'd probably help to know how this whole thing got started," Quentin murmured.
To that, no one had any answers. They all kept their own counsel as they left Marshall and drove a little ways up the road to the Grange. Marcus studied the place. It was a handful of buildings in the middle of nowhere. He saw a pair of huge repair bays to the back, an industrial supply shed to the right, what appeared to be a kind of general store to the left and, further behind it, in a fenced-in lot, was another shed.
As soon as they were out, the front door to the store opened up and a young woman in a leather jacket with short, dark hair, a spiked collar around her throat and a lip piercing stepped out. She marched right up to Quentin and smacked in in the chest.
"What the fuck were you thinking!?" she cried.
"Uh...hi, Becca," Quentin replied awkwardly.
She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes, stepping back and crossing her arms. "Oh don't fucking 'hi, Becca' me with your 'aw, shucks' country boy charm. Go inside, now!" she snapped.
"Okay, Becca...good to see you," Quentin replied.
He and Bob began walking up to the store. Becca came over to join Marcus and Jack.
"You must be Marcus," she said. She stuck out her hand. Marcus took it and shook it. "I'm Becca Collins. Thanks for the help."
"I'm always happy to help," Marcus replied.
"Well good, because we might be needing some in the near future. We'll give you a call on the radio if we decide anything."
"Looking forward to it," Marcus said.
Becca thanked him again, then went inside.
"We do appreciate the help," Jack said. "Becca can be a bit...blunt. But she's smart and actually pretty good at keeping us all in line. I was thinking maybe we could trade some things. Not sure what, yet, but I'm sure there's something you've got a lot of that we don't have much of and vice versa. You seem trustworthy."
"I try to be. And that sounds great. Get on the radio with Lily and set something up," Marcus replied.
Jack nodded, shook his hand and thanked him again, then offered to drive him back home. Marcus, not quite feeling up to the walk, accepted the offer.
"Looks like you got company," Jack said as they pulled up.
Marcus frowned. A cop car was parked in front of the truck stop. And not just a cop car, he saw as he pulled up, but the sheriff's car. Not really a good sign. Seeing it gave Marcus a chill. They both sat there for a moment.
There was no one in the car.
"You want me to stick around?" Jack asked.
"No, you should probably get home. I'll handle this. I appreciate it, though," Marcus replied.
Jack nodded. "Give me a call on the radio if you need help with anything. Good luck."
As he got out of the truck and began heading for the front gate, he spied a man in a cop's uniform talking with Maya and Jacob. They were standing out in the open, about halfway between the fence and the main building. They all looked over as Marcus pushed the gate open and began walking towards them, still trying to assess the situation.
"You must be Marcus Campbell," the cop said, turning fully to face him. He seemed amiable enough.
"That's me," Marcus replied, coming to a stop in front of the man and shaking his hand. He studied him. The man was definitely on his way into middle age, at least in his early to mid fifties. His hair was still dark but very thin. He had the look of a man who had spent a long time keeping in shape but, over the past few years, had stopped hitting the gym and started hitting the doughnut shop instead. Marcus had no doubt that the guy could still hold his own, though. There was something about him, an air of calm confidence and competence.
"I'm Sheriff Carl Parsons, though I'm not sheriff of much more, these days. You seem to be the only people left in Marshall that aren't part of our camp. Well, you and the people staying out at the Grange. I was hoping to talk with you."
"What about?" Marcus asked.
Carl shifted uncomfortably. "Well, let give you the lowdown. After the shit hit the fan and it became obvious that help wasn't coming, Judge Lawton got a lot of us together in the courthouse. We've been sort of building a society down there. The end of this is that she wants you to come down for a talk."
"Me, specifically?" Marcus replied.
"Well, whoever's in charge. That seems to be you. Well, you and Maya here."
"So you want us to come down and talk with your boss about...joining your enclave?"
"That's about the size of it."
Marcus considered it for a moment. He glanced back at Maya and Jacob, over Carl's shoulder. She looked reserved but she nodded to him.
"Okay then. We'll follow you there."
Carl smiled. He looked tired. "Glad to hear it."
The courthouse turned out to be just on the other side of the river. They took the SUV and followed Carl right up to the front of the courthouse. They'd clearly done some real pro work, and Marcus was interested to know how it had been achieved. Four shipping crates had been stacked in two rows, providing a pair of walls, a sort of natural alcove leading up to the front entrance. Most of the rest of the street was blocked off with fencing segments and concrete road barriers. A couple of cops stood out front with rifles.
They both nodded to the trio as they walked inside. Apparently, Judge Lawton was waiting for them. She was middle-aged, dark skinned and heavyset. She wore black slacks and a button-down shirt that were beginning to look worn out.
"Hello. My name is Judge Constance Lawton. Welcome to our society, where we offer safety and security for anyone who is willing to join. I believe we've made a nice little set-up for ourselves. Now that the Mayor is dead, and many, many others, Sheriff Parsons and myself had to step up and take control. Obviously, the Army isn't going to help us at this point. We're on our own, and my citizens, those who haven't joined, are living in fear. Fear of the undead, fear of the criminal element, fear of starvation."
Marcus got the idea that she had this speech prepared for everyone who came in through those doors that didn't immediately fall to their knees and beg for sanctuary. He glanced briefly at Carl, who looked even more uncomfortable now.
What was coming next?
Lawton continued. "Obviously, it's our goal to unite all the survivors in the valley. But, of course, any society has to have rules." Here she crossed her arms. "All civilians who live among us are not allowed to carry firearms. Only law enforcement officials will be legally allowed to do so. Of course, anyone who joins up will have to give up their own personal belongings for the good of the whole. But in return you will be cared for, fed, clothed, given access to any medical treatments we can offer and, obviously, protection."
She paused. This was the part where Marcus gave his answer to the apparent question she had, in a roundabout way, posed.
Would they be signing up under Judge Lawton?
He glanced, once, at Maya, just to be sure. The look of incredulous confusion, bordering actual fear of this woman, said it all.
"Um, well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Judge Lawton, but I think we're doing quite fine on our own down at the truck stop. I imagine that if we keep to ourselves, we should be able to operate without getting in each other's way, and, of course, we'd be more than willing to trade for resources," Marcus replied.
Judge Lawton frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that, Mister Campbell. Obviously, we'd like it if people joined freely...before the issue has to be forced."
Maya took a step forward. There were two more cops standing around in the lobby. They shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard that correctly. Did you say forced? As in, you'd make join your little 'society'?" she asked. "Make us, as in, with violence?"
Judge Lawton, to her credit, didn't back down. "The Wild West can't last forever, ma'am. Law and order must be maintained. Whatever the cost."
"Hold on," Marcus said, putting a hand on Maya's shoulder. "So what you're telling us here is that, basically, you're off your rocker?"
Judge Lawton blinked and shifted her focus back to him. "Excuse me?"
"Okay, let's examine this situation for just a moment. We're in the zombie apocalypse. There's like thousands, if not tens of thousands, of the living dead roaming around outside. In your mind, the appropriate response to this...is to take away our guns, our weapons...because we aren't cops?! That is beyond unreasonable!"
Carl stepped forward. "Marcus-"
"No!" he snapped, cutting the man off. "This is bullshit! There's no reason, no logical reason, why we should just give up our weapons. Is it a matter of training? You're afraid that we can't handle a pistol or a shotgun? Obviously that isn't the case. We'd all be dead if we couldn't shoot worth a shit. I'm willing to bet I can shoot just as good as any of your cops here. Is it because you don't trust us? Fair's fair, I suppose, but then there's the matter of trying to force us to give up our guns, join your society and then we're just supposed to trust you to take care of us? Completely? Why, because you're a judge? Because judges are incorruptible, right? They'd never let their own ego get in the way of logical decision-making, right?
"But no. Instead of accepting our disinclination to join you and instead open up trade negotiations or any potential of working together, you straight-up threatened us. You want to talk about criminal element? That sounds like fucking criminal element to me. 'Do what I say or I'll shoot you.' So yeah, given the facts, I think you're insane. You've got a screw loose. So no, I don't think we'll be joining your society. And don't fucking come by again unless you're waving a white flag, very clearly and very visibly," Marcus snapped.
He turned and stalked off.
Maya followed after him.
"Holy shit, what was all that about?" she asked.
"I'm just fed up with morons and bureaucracy and following 'The Rules' even if it means their death or someone else's," Marcus replied.
"That was very brave," Maya said as they got into the car. "I'm proud of you."
"Well...here's hoping I didn't just screw us over."
"We can handle them."
As Marcus pulled away from the courthouse, he hoped she was right.