Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus by Simpson, A. (e ink manga reader .txt) 📗

die. The next person that happened along might not be as lucky as he was. They might not have protective clothing or a dog to save them. When he heard the feral killers start to squall, he tried to smile and told himself it was a job well done. He wasn’t really feeling it though.

13

Jessie

The outpost on his list was only a few miles ahead, just across the Colorado border, and he was already seeing the indicators of survivors. For miles he had seen hand-painted signs with arrows at some of the crossroads, declaring the existence of the town and that they were open for business. Safe Haven, Traders Welcome, and Court Days 1st weekend every month, they said. Jessie wasn’t sure what to expect, he knew they had electricity because they’d been in contact with Wire Bender on the Ham, the map showed them on the banks of a river but it was barely a dot, just a wide spot on a county road a hundred and fifty miles from Denver. When he approached the gate, he was met by a man wearing a badge and two holstered guns.

“Howdy, stranger,” the man said when Jessie rolled down his window. “Welcome to Tombstone.”

At Jessie’s raised eyebrows, the deputy grinned. “Yeah, I know, but that’s what we voted to call it and now we’re stuck with it, we’ve already got signs painted. You visiting for business or pleasure?”

“Official delivery, I’ve got mail from Lakota for your mayor,” Jessie said. “But after that, this is my first time here, so I’m not sure what your pleasure options are. I might hang out for a day or two, looks like the place is pretty secure.”

“It is. We’ve never had our walls breached,” he said proudly and waved the gate open. “Pull on in and park next to that caboose and I’ll give you a rundown of the rules here in Tombstone.”

Jessie idled through the opening when one of the tractors pulled a rail car out of the way, its well-oiled wheels moving easily on the section of tracks laid out for it. The community was walled, like every town still surviving, but these enterprising people had used their tractors to pull rail cars from a train into a huge circle. There were hundreds of them dragged into place, their couplers removed, then pulled in tight to each other. Blocks, rocks, and dirt had been laid up between the wheels so no crawlers could sneak their way in. It was effective, and although the wall was only fifteen feet high, it was probably more than enough to keep out the undead. This was desolate country, the nearest town of any size was miles away.

When Jessie got out and stretched, the deputy asked him if he’d been in contact with any of the undead, then told him to take off his leather and roll up his sleeves. He checked him over quickly but thoroughly, ensuring there were no fresh bandages or cuts. The scratches on his face and hands were days old, already scabbing over and raised a few eyebrows when he told them about the feral cats.

“We used to just take you at your word if you said you hadn’t been bitten, but we had a trader turn zom on us. He only had a little cut on his arm, said he caught it on a piece of barbed wire. He was lying and it cost us four good men when he turned.” He kept looking at Jessie's scar, then quickly averting his eyes.

When the exam was over, Jessie let Bob out of the car and grabbed the satchel. “Which way to the mayor and what have you got for pleasure? I could use a long soak in a jacuzzi.”

The deputy snorted laughter. “Not enough electric to waste on things like that, we only have a few generators and some solar panels. We live simple here. I imagine you could get Lora Lee to give you a massage in a bathtub, though. That is if you have the coin or something worth trading.” He added a knowing wink.

The deputy led them toward the town center and the only three-story building a few blocks away. Jessie couldn’t get over how much it felt like he’d stepped back a few hundred years to the cowboy and trapper days. He was in an old Colorado railroad town that time had nearly forgotten. The clothes were different, there weren’t any women in hoop skirts, but most of the people wore guns and hats. There were horses tethered to hitching posts, right alongside ATVs. Everyone seemed to be wearing leather of some kind as protection, and he saw a lot of kerosene lanterns when he looked through windows. If he squinted his eyes to blur out the modern signs and the occasional car, he could easily imagine the Gold Digger bar and grill as an old west saloon. The bed and breakfast hotel as a bordello. The Dollar Store as a dry goods and mercantile supply.

“Here ya go, son,” the deputy said as they arrived at the courthouse. “You’ll find the mayor in there. I’ve got to get back to my post.” He touched his fingers to the brim of his cowboy hat in a little salute and headed back to the gate.

It was impressive, what they’d achieved in the past six months since the world went crazy. They didn’t have all the comforts of Lakota, but they hadn’t had the last of America's government and all of their knowledge directing them to the absolute best place to be. These people had built everything on their own, having no contact with the outside world until just recently. They’d been listening to the radio, to Bastille’s programs about defenses and medical treatments, home remedies and proven battle tactics against the undead, for months. A trader had finally brought in a Ham radio and antenna so they could contact them. The winter was over, spring was