Knight of the Dead (Bok 2): Cavalry Page 3

  “Apful shauce!”

  “App-full? Okay?” Beth hugged him. She hid her cries with a chuckle and wiped her nose quickly.

  Mom smiled and looked up at the girls, all around, eating, safe and happy.

  “So she's not Christian. Hollywood. Typical,” Dad shrugged, sitting in the classroom as his wife busied herself at her armoring table.

  “Well, who would be? Would God leave Christians behind, here?”

  “Except us?”

  “There's others. I know there are. But maybe we're the only one's here.”

  Dad's eyebrows rose. He ate a handful of handy dog food and drank water from 'The Best Teacher In The World' coffee cup.

  “How are Benjamin and Ruth doing?” Dad asked crunching on lamb rice dog food.

  “I don't know. I don't keep tabs on them.”

  “You probably should.”

  “They're old. They sit in that corner room. He's reading children's books. She just sits there. I have to clean out their crap and feed them.”

  “Sorry. I just felt sorry for them. Cleaning their crap? Isn't that keeping tabs on them?”

  Mom tossed a kid's backpack at him. It hit his side and flopped. He smiled at her. She focused on sorting out the clothe pieces, the canvas packs. “I need better stuff. I need sewing stuff, needles, thread. And more of the sports gear. I can make some of this into armor but not like the sports gear or that armor you got from that sword store.”

  “Okay, I can take a trip to the sword store. I left a lot of good weapons. There's plenty of armor and martial-arts gear. Sewing stuff, we can start with the grocery store. Oh wait, next to it, the cleaners?”

  “Oh yeah, they should have everything I need there. Definitely as many needles as you can get, the larger ones especially and the thickest threads.”

  “Got it. I'll do that first.”

  “No, get the armor first, then the sewing stuff.”

  “Got it.”

  Beth sat on a bench in the courtyard. She was in the shade of the walkway. She was nibbling on a mixed trail snack. She could not get herself to eat the dried dog food – not yet. But she realized it was easy to get, in large bags, stored well, and was plentiful. It was their mainstay food, though they certainly had plenty of other dried goods. At some point she'd have to start eating it, and in this world, why not.

  She watched her daughter and son practicing stick fighting with the older girls. Maggy seemed enamored of Charlotte. It made Beth happy. Maggy was much shorter and younger than Charlotte and looked up at her like a big sister. She saw how Charlotte looked up to her big sister. She couldn't help but smile.

  Lena and Lisa brought out an assortment of plastic swords and armor that one of the teachers stashed away in his classroom. He used it for his annual Shakespeare project that Lena had done years ago when she attended. He was her favorite teacher. Carl got so excited when Lena donned the plastic helmet on him and gave him his shield and sword. He awoke as a boy ready for battle, brave and wide-eyed.

  Lena got him to simmer down and focus on how it really worked. Instead of swinging wildly and yelling, she got him to focus on sword movements and silence. She taught him how to breathe and exhale, controlling his energy, saving it for when more zombies come.

  Beth listened intently, gasping afar, knowing that her own husband fell because he never knew these simple things. The tears that welled in her eyes were the hope that her son and daughter would not live in fear.

  Lisa and Lena circled him and stretched out their arms grasping at him. Maggy stepped away in fear. They moaned like zombies and put a fear into him that froze him. Beth sat up and watched. Lena stopped to remind him in a stern yet calm voice. “What did we teach you? Use your training!”

  Carl suddenly grimaced and swung at their legs. He held his play shield up against their upper bodies and swung fast on their calves and backed away. Lena and Lisa had their armor on so the swing of the plastic sword didn't bother them. Lisa went to her knees and couldn't keep up with Carl. She moaned and acted like a frustrated zombie. Lena went down to.

  “See? Leg'em and back off.”

  Carl bounced around and posed for his mom. Beth giggled through her emotions.

  “No, Carl, no...” Lena wagged her finger.

  Carl stopped bouncing and focused his attention.

  “That's wasted energy. You'll get tired. Then what?”

  “Uh, they'll catch me?”

  “Yep. No getting tired. You gotta stay calm. Right?”

  Carl nodded.

  “No wasted energy. Stand still.”

  “You'll get zombies all crazy if you move a lot,” Lisa added.

  “That's right. You want more of them to come?”

  Carl nodded no.

  Lena and Lisa got up and pulled out the high five signal. Carl stepped forward and leaped up to high five back.

  Beth clasped her hands to her face: perhaps in joy, for a smile permeated, or perhaps in sorrow, for tears welled up. She noticed an old man and woman taking a stroll. He was wearing large pants with suspenders and a wife beater t-shirt. She was wearing some sort of bathrobe.

  The old man and woman walked nearly past her before they stopped and turned. She smiled politely, clearing her tears and emotions.

  “Hello? New arrivals?”

  She nodded and tried a polite smile.

  “I am Benjamin and this is my wife Ruth.”

  “Hullo, I'm Beth.” She stood and put out her hand. Benjamin shook it, giving a warm smile. “Those are my children, Maggy and Carl.”

  “Oh, children, beautiful.” Benjamin looked at them then at her. He looked around but saw no man. Beth tried a smile. Ruth seemed not quite there. She stared as old women do who suffer from dementia. Benjamin thought of something to say. “Your children, you know, they are the future.”

  “Oh yes, I know.”

  “The Lady of the Man, the Duke...”

  “Ah?”

  “The Man who runs this place, they call him Dad, I secretly call him the Duke,” Benjamin said, stepping closer.

  “Oh yes.”

  “His Lady, she's too old to have any more children. Her insides are gone. Cancer.” Benjamin motioned to her womb being flushed out with a brisk wipe of his hand.

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, she's fine. But no children.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “But you. You are young. You can have more children. And the Duke, he won't have children with them.” Benjamin motioned to the girls.

  Beth's eyes widened as she looked up at the girls, at Lena and Lisa, then at Benjamin.

  “Children are the future,” Benjamin winked and took Ruth's arm as she nodded affirmative. They continued on their stroll around the courtyard.

  Beth sat back down and nibbled on her trail mix.

  The Duke or rather man walked into the courtyard in his armor. He walked up to Beth as he looked from her to the children.

  “Are you okay?”

  She looked up at him. Past him the old man and his wife were circling around the courtyard. Benjamin winked at her.

  “I'm fine,” she sat up.

  “My wife is preparing a room for you.”

  “A room? For what!?” her eyes widened.

  “To sleep, to rest,” Dad said, unsure of her surprise.

  Her eyes tightened. She looked at this ugly brusque man stuffed in his armor.

  “You and your children? A room for you.”

  She blinked out of it. She looked to Benjamin who was strolling away with his wife. “Oh yes, thank you.”

  “Right now, we've got plenty of room. But I do plan on finding more people if I can. Rescuing more. So we can build a place for others. But you and your kids will have a whole classroom to yourself for now.” Dad donned his helmet but kept up the visor. He tried a smile. It was a grimace.

  She grimaced back, then realized and looked away.

  “I am going out. The most important thing is quiet. Lena and Charlotte know. Lisa knows. Your kids must know. You have to keep them quiet.”

  She nodded.

  Dad waved to Lena. She came over. Dad talked to her and told her of his plans. She would like to come but Dad said no. “You have no sword, and you can't drive a bike.” Lena accepted it. Beth was impressed by his ability to maintain control. She saw his leadership, his father qualities.

  “If you want to see your room, it’s up on the second floor. My wife is there. It’s to the left, at the end, next to Benjamin and his wife's room.”

  Beth stood up.

  Lena helped Dad. She checked his buckles and straps. Carl came over and called out to his mom. Charlotte rushed up and grabbed his arm and turned him to her, putting her finger to her lips. Shhh. “Carl, wave only, if you want to call someone, no yelling out.”

  Carl nodded emphatically.

  Beth didn't intercede. She knew he must respect and learn from the older girls.

  Charlotte patted him and let him go.

  Carl went to his mom and hugged her as he stared up at the Dad in armor. Dad gave him an odd thumbs up with his gauntlet on. Carl thumbed up back and buried his face into his mother's womb.

  Beth hugged her son back and looked at Dad, grateful.

  “You need anything?” Dad suddenly asked.

  “A bottle of wine.”

  Dad smiled or grimaced, hard to tell. She smiled and blinked her eyes slowly.

  3. A Knight and His Horse

  Dad walked out of the gate. Lena and Lisa, armed with knife-sticks, their swords, and armor were the gate keepers. They watched from behind the parking lot fencing as he stomped out. Charlotte and Maggy were up on the roof, scoping the area.

  First, he had to find a new motorcycle. His first mount was ruined when The Horde took down his home and
hearth. In his neighborhood, he knew of one house with two motorcycles. He used to walk his dog past it.

  They hadn’t seen their dog Rondo since the Horde's attack on his home. It wasn't like the zombies were attracted to animals but any sudden movement or fleeing would have had an initial response from thousands of zombies. They would have bitten or horded around such activity. Once they realized it wasn't human, they'd lose interest. But for a lone panicked dog amidst The Horde and the fire, Rondo surely perished.

  They had a small wake or funeral in remembrance. Charlotte started the crying which led them all to tears. Their dog was gone. He could have made it and been a great asset but The Horde almost took everything. It almost took Charlotte.

  Dad walked two blocks back behind where his house once stood. He remembered the dog walks. The place was now dry and dead with the green grass and foliage replaced with brittle browns and desert weeds. Some of it was green from the rains but it wouldn't last. Many cars littered the neighborhood streets. The roads here were abnormally wider than most areas of Hollywood and Los Angeles. These were the million dollar plus homes just below the multi-million dollar bungalows in the Hollywood Hills. These homes, outside of Beverly Hills, Bel Air and Hancock Park, were probably some of the most expensive in the area. For Dad, it was prime scavenging territory.

  It had been weeks upon weeks since this all began. He wasn't sure if anyone was still holed up. Were they watching him through their windows? Through his helm, it was difficult to see through hazy windows or past reflections. His helmet's holes tended to refract the light and break up his vision. He had a purpose so didn't seek out survivors today.

  He turned up the street to the house where the motorcycles were parked. The resident had a small RV. He spotted the small RV. It barely got a half block up before it was blocked by the jammed traffic of Hollywood Boulevard. The RV's door was bashed open. It was easy to surmise the fate of the owner.

  Dad walked up the driveway where I knew the RV came from. He saw both motorcycles parked. One had the key in it. Dried blood smears were evident on the driveway. Whatever happened here didn't go well. He doubted it would start. The batteries had likely drained from the vehicles sitting this long. He tried it anyway. It started. Excellent. But he realized he must get a battery tender, a battery charger with starter cables. He knew of an auto parts store and decided that was going to be part of his trip.

  Just as he cradled the bike and gunned it to make sure, a zombie crashed out of the window of the house. It rolled and leapt up charging at him. Dad elbowed the frail beast at the right moment with his steel limb. The steel did not give. The zombie's head did.

  Dad strapped his shield to the bike. He had a kid backpack hanging on his belt. He put that on the bike. It was lightly packed with a water bottle and snacks.

  He reversed out of the driveway. Several zombies rushed at him from the neighborhood. Most were limping, old or half eaten. He ignored them. Nope, he changed his mind. He killed them. This was his realm now.

  He drove up to Hollywood Boulevard, past the RV and through the jammed cars.

  He swerved around the mess of dust ridden death. Cars blocked each other like an artery with dead cells. Most of the city's main thoroughfares were like this. The day of the panic, when it all began, just a month or so agao, it was morning rush hour and the spread of the infection was fast. People were barely drinking their coffee, unaware of the violence that would hunt them down one by one. Seeing crazies rush at you, when you were thinking of another day at work, another errand to do, and stuck in the worst traffic, was incomprehensible and thus deadly.

  To see bodies fly at cars in front of you, to see violent impacts and imploding glass, to see flailing arms and the gnashing of teeth, then the blood and screams, to then pull out one's phone and record, then realize too late that you were next, this was the chain reaction of violence that epic day. Now they were all shadows that Dad casually swooped the motorbike through, on his way to the epicenter of Hollywood tourism.

  He had made that trip before. He knew of the vast calamity that occurred in the morning hours as tourists and buses collected in the arena of Hollywood & Highland.

  Weeks before, he came to the area, knowing of one particular store that was a mix of martial-arts memorabilia, medieval and fantasy swords, movie props and more. He collected some decent weapons and armor, fighting and killing many zombies through the store's security gate.

  After The Horde took down his house, he lost most of the ones he had collected. So he was returning to get more. Another concern was his guns and ammo. Those too were lost in the epic attack. They were mildly handy against zombies but he was more concerned about their use against humans. If there were any murderous types still alive, surely they were using guns and would not hesitate to put bullets through his armor. If God did this, and took all the good, all the saved, except a few like him, then the rest were all empty shells of people. Those that had no guidance by the Holy Spirit were easily swayed by their emotions and fears, by demons and spirits.

  Oh yes, Dad was a true believer. And if he was, he had to believe everything described in the Bible. And it made clear that the fallen angels, that a host of them, fell with Lucifer. And their charge of arrogance was to infect the unbelievers, to corrupt them with fears and doubt. They would doubt God's Word and believe in arrogance and in their own godliness. 'You could be your own gods' the Serpent told Eve.

  It was this that gnawed at Dad. He would need to get guns, but where and how? He suddenly stopped. He looked at a Los Angeles Police Department car. It was stuck like all the rest, in the long train of jammed cars. It was as dust ridden and grey as the rest but showing its characteristic black and white. He stopped his bike and got off. He looked about. There were zombies coming but few and far between. On his last visit, he had killed many and drew many away. These few probably migrated in recently.

  The car door was open. He looked in. A beautiful shotgun sat in its spot, right there. He heard a moan. He looked around, aimed his sword. The police officer was under a nearby car, crushed. It moaned and jerked its head. He finished it then yanked and hacked at the police officer's limbs. He dragged the body free. He found the handgun and several magazines. He dispensed with several zombies as they finally neared. He continued with the salvage and took the police vestl. He couldn't help it. He got on a knee and prayed a little prayer for the fallen. That was the first time he did that for a zombie, for someone, for a police officer. The officer never even pulled his gun. He got out to help and got crushed by a car, not even a zombie killed him but by someone with road rage or panic.

  He bagged the Smith & Wesson .45, very similar to his handgun. He got several magazines off the body. He pulled out the shotgun. It was a Bennelli with a shorter barrel and a pistol grip. It felt pretty handy. He liked the feel of it. He bagged that and found fifty shells in the car and trunk. He found handcuffs and zip ties... and wondered. Will he have a prison? Will he need them? Against people? He set them down and thought too long, as if a spirit of doubt weighed heavily on him. Would it come to that? Was it inevitable? It weighed on him suddenly more than he wanted. He took them. He got the keys from the officer. His hands were shaking as he put the keys into the handcuff socket and stuffed it into the child backpack.

  The gun and magazine were heavy and strained the child's backpack with his water and snacks. He strapped the shotgun to his shield. He got back on and drove off.

  There was an auto parts store past the hub bub of Hollywood tourism. There the streets were more 'normal', less touristy stuff and traffic jams. The auto parts store had a decent parking lot. He passed the sword store and continued on to get a battery tender so he could charge motorcycle batteries with the solar power connection at the school. It was a long cable that ran from one of the houses across the street that had solar panels. They used it up in the classroom to watch movies in the darkened library. It was the first thing the girls made him set up when they moved to the school.

  He stopped short. At Hollywood and Vine, there was a mess of vehicles. They were stacked atop each other. The Horde had passed through attacking someone or many. The buildings were taller and the area had an enclosed feel, like a mini-New York City area. There were plenty of zombies. He pondered his move. He went for it. He raced up with a loud growl from his mount, gunning the gas. Zombies perked up, heads rose, bodies smashed through glass doors and windows. A few leapt from second or third floor windows. They seemed fresh. Something must have happened recently. Many that barricaded up in these buildings must have lost their fights.