OUTNUMBERED (Book 4) Read online

  OUTNUMBERED vol. 4

  A zombie apocalypse series

  by

  Robert Schobernd

  Published by Robert Schobernd at Amazon

  Copyright 2015 by Robert Schobernd

  Cover Art by Katrina Joyner

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  The End

  Prologue

  At the beginning of the Zombie apocalypse, there were approximately three-hundred-thirty-five million people in the United States of America. My gut feeling is there are far less than fifty thousand humans alive now. Even that equates to only one thousand people in each of the fifty areas previously known as states.

  A year after their inception, zombies outnumber humans by about 7,000 to one. Each man woman and child must terminate that many Zombies before the daily undead horror ends. Now, say we do eliminate the undead menace in the next decade, what then? The national electric grid is down and deteriorating. It can never be recharged. No power plants or oil refineries are operational to supply energy. All modern manufacturing throughout the world has ceased. Fuel to run generators, vehicles, and furnaces, will be depleted or contaminated in the next decade. Horses will replace fossil fueled vehicles. Robotics and assembly lines will be replaced by manual labor on a miniscule scale. Homes will be smaller of necessity and will be made of stones, logs or mud.

  Mankind will have reverted to conditions of the fifteenth century; we are not emotionally or materially prepared for that upheaval. Everything humans need to survive will be handmade by people in centralized communal settings. We prepare for the new old world because we are on a downhill run to the past.

  Tom Jacobs – 2023, the fourth year of the zombie apocalypse.

  CHAPTER ONE

  We left Deliverance before dawn heading for Ames, Iowa. Jeff Tanka drove from the compound for two hours before I slid into the driver's seat. Occasionally, zombies hurried to the road, drawn by the headlight beams and noise of the tires and exhaust. At the second group I saw, I slowed to run over and crunch three of the decayed devils that tried to block the road. Each of the withered skeletons couldn't have weighted over fifty pounds. Stopping in the dark alone to shoot the chomping, scratching, monsters was unthinkable. We knew one bite or deep, blood letting, scratch was enough to turn any human into one of the blood thirsty zombies in a minute or less.

  An old disk of Credence Clearwater Revival was turned low to let my friends snooze and still take the edge off of driving along the zombie infested roadway. Under the faint glow of a quarter moon, I had a lot to think about as my two passengers slept. A smile creased my face as I reveled in the thought of Kira. We'd been a couple for over six months, and she and Paige made my life complete once more. Emma still claimed a place in my heart, but her memory had slipped to the far reaches of my mind. Life is for the living, and time spent dwelling on past love affairs, no matter how wonderful and precious, is simply clinging to a past that is long gone.

  Two recent happenings crowded family matters aside. The discovery of two feral livestock that had been attacked and killed within three weeks of each other was a cause for concern. A medium sized hog and a young calf had been brought down, killed and partially consumed. We attributed the kills to wolves moving into the area or possibly a dog pack had reverted to the wild. It was a major concern because those same once domestic animals were a food source when the supply of penned animals dropped to minimum numbers. It was strange we hadn't seen the marauders or heard their plaintive howls at night as they hunted.

  As the sun rose to light the day, I saw the area around the Ford Excursion was clear of danger for several hundred yards. Dead ahead a group of about twenty zombies swayed to whatever tune played non-stop inside their diseased brains. I stopped the truck in the middle of the highway to engage the group of undead at a safe distance. My passengers woke as the truck came to a stop. Instead of plunking away at targets and wasting bullets, I preferred to put the slugs in a zombie's brain and eliminate another threat to our fragile existence. When all were flat to the roadway, we continued the trip into Ames.

  A discussion of the undead menace ensued as we rode along. Francis Halcom put forth an observation based on several recent trips away from our compound. "The overall number of zombies we've encountered seems to be less on each trip even though we traveled to different area's each time." She paused as if in deep thought. "I don't like to bring this up because it may sound ridiculous.... Several times in the last six months, I swear several of the slow moving zombies have fallen down and stayed down for no reason. Each time we were driving along and didn't stop or slow, so what I saw is mainly an impression in my mind. I can't explain it, but it stays in my head and won't go away."

  Jeff and I hadn't noticed such a phenomenon, but we were curious enough to say we'd watch for the same effect. The possibility of zombies dropping dead on their own would be a major new development. I turned my thoughts to that possibility and stayed silent for a time.

  Jeff, Frances, and I were on an information procurement trip. At mid-morning we left the Parks Library at the Iowa State University. Our goal was to gather knowledge covering any subject related to methods of survival in the thirteenth to seventeenth centuries. There wasn't much to choose from, and we left the dark, cold, musty smell of the acclaimed hall of learning with only three small boxes of hardcover books. We weren't even sure they would reward us with the type of information we desperately needed. We had to move quickly because the derelict library's books were drawing moisture and would eventually deteriorate in the humid atmosphere.

  Thus far, we'd found far more stinking zombies than good books. Many of the college students had been infected on campus and still hung around waiting for their next human meal. We avoided them as much as possible because the noise of multiple gunshots simply attracted more of the disease infested beast. It was still a mystery to all of us as to how the undead could hear, see or smell, when all of the bodies' facilities for those senses had rotted away. That's why our group, almost in unison, had bucked the common opinion that the zombie affliction was caused by a virus. In our minds, it was most definitely an ungodly curse deliberately spawned by some dark, despicable, disciple of evil. That said, we to a person couldn't explain how the zombie curse was transferred to humans by drawing blood through bites or scratches. Somehow, the zombie bodies exuded some ingredient that infected humans almost immediately when induced in sufficient amounts directly into the blood stream. And yet, if trace amounts of zombie body fluids were allowed to slowly seep into the human body through abrasions or under fingernails or cuticles the transition might take weeks.

  I shifted gears in my brain and thought of cities and towns as they had declined. The experience of visiting a huge, complex, edifice designed and previously inhabited by humans and not seeing a single one roaming the streets at any hour of the day or night was always eerie. It was as if the world had suddenly stopped and the entire human race had fallen to the ground and turned into dust. Only in the real world, they had turned into evil, human biting, zombies.

  Our next stop was the city's public library on Douglas Avenue. I drove off the street and parked on the brick apron close to the quartet of glass doors at the main entrance. Jeff and Frances stood guard four feet behind me, leaning against the truck, as I labored to pick the lock. Martin Radcliff had taught me the mechanics of picking; I needed practice to hone the skills to a workable level. My gloves were off and my hands quickly chilled in the cold and blustery mid-March temperature.

  After struggling for ten minutes, I finally pulled the door open to the smartassed applause of my heckling audience. The undead had sensed ou
r arrival, but they hadn't managed a full scale assault. Three of the stinky smellies had gotten close enough to be a threat if they'd advanced closer. Those single stumblers were put down with single head shots from our military rifles. We entered the vacant building quickly before the undead milling about in the distance sensed us and massed to attack.

  Inside, we sniffed the air; it was musty like Parks, but it didn't cause us to make a face as we would have if rotting zombies had recently shuffled through the rooms. Light from the mid-morning sun filtered in through large floor to ceiling glass panes letting us see to the back of the first huge room. I hadn't been surprised to find the door, lock, and glass panels intact. It made sense because most survivors would be searching for food, water, ammunition and clothing. Few had the time or inclination to pursue higher learning.

  While looking for the research section, we eliminated the newer, modern architecture, addition and climbed the stairs to the original 1920s redbrick library building. Each of us was quietly cautious while involved in our own private thoughts. My flashlight beam brushed an overhead sign that indicated we were entering the children's section.

  Our light beams danced from book shelves to the floor and occasionally flashed across the beamed ceiling like spotlights crisscrossing a moonless sky. A space in the middle of the room contained small tables and chairs for children to sit and read. Frances said, "There's a stairway ahead and to my far right. I'll see what's there. Cover me."

  A quivering, fearful voice cried out, "Stay where you are. I have a gun. If you come near me I'll shoot you. Now go back the way you came in and leave."

  "Miss," I said, "we're here to pick up books. We won't harm you. We don't want trouble."

  "Sure, I've heard that one before, right before I was raped by three of your kind. Now leave or I'll shoot."

  Frances had stopped twenty feet away. "Miss, I'm Frances Halcom. I'm with Tom and Jeff. We're visiting libraries looking for information on how to survive in the future after the zombies are eradicated. We have a compound in Iowa. There are forty-seven of us there, nine are children under sixteen. I promise we are not going to harm you. There's no reason for us to do that. I'm walking to the end of the book shelves. I'll walk along the aisles until you can see me."

  "No! Don't come near me. I'll shoot, I swear to God I will." The hidden woman practically screamed her threat at Frances.

  Frances looked at me and Jeff and rolled her eyes upward in exasperation. I waved both hands flat out in front of me and shook my head. She walked toward the aisles anyway. "Miss, I'm walking along the rows of shelves with my light shining up my body. Tell me when you can see me.'

  I didn't like what Frances was doing. She had placed herself in great danger. My right hand was near my Glock, and my palm and fingers tightened on the butt. My index finger lay straight along the frame, ready to curl and touch the trigger.

  Frances turned her light beam into the narrow walkway between two rows of books. "There you are." Frances said softly. "I'm going to lay my pistol on the floor so we can talk peacefully." The unnamed woman turned her light onto the three of us.

  We all heard the thunk sound Frances' Glock made as she squatted and gently tossed it onto the multi-color commercial carpet. I slowly moved sideways to the end of the aisle Frances stood by and then motioned for Jeff to join me. In an uncomfortable move for me, I raised my hand away from my pistol to reassure the frightened sounding woman. The woman's head was all I could see. Dirty blonde hair, thin face, prominent cheek bones and pale skin.

  The plaintive female voice whimpered, "Please leave me alone. I only came here to get books for my children. They have nothing else to entertain them, and they're sick of staying inside the house for months and months on end."

  "I understand. Is there a group you and your children live with?" Frances asked.

  "No. There's just the three of us. Please don't hurt me, my children need me."

  "I promise we won't harm you. My name is Frances, what's your name."

  The lady was medium height and thin. She stepped to the center of the aisle. A huge long barreled, chrome, revolver was in her right hand pointed in our general direction.. "Lindy. Lindy Caruthers. My children are Barry and Carla."

  I spoke, "Lindy, I'm Tom Jacobs. Would you and your children care to join us at our compound in Iowa? You'll be welcome there and safe. Your children could go outside and play and spend time with other kids. How old are they?"

  "Barry is twelve, and Carla is eight."

  "About half of our kids are in that age range. All nine are schooled by a certified teacher. Barry and Carla would join them in age appropriate subjects."

  "How about it?" Frances asked again in a soft, friendly, tone, "do you want to come with us?" She turned her light on Jeff and I and then onto herself."

  Lindy sounded ten times more confident as her handgun pointed to the floor, "Yes. We would love to join you."

  "Alright," I said, "give us an hour to search the section with historical research volumes. We'll then follow you home and get your things and Barry and Carla."

  Lindy was cheerful, "We don't have much to take, so it won't take but minutes to pack. We do have a few cases of food to contribute. It's in the garage."

  Two hours later, we loaded several more boxes of books into the SUV. Without further incident, we followed Lindy two miles to her house. She was armed with two revolvers, a .38 caliber and a long barreled .45 caliber. She claimed she knew how to use them and was a fair shot. I figured she must be a capable shot, or she and her offspring couldn't have survived so long on their own. I admired the woman, she had spunk.

  The house was a small four or five room white clapboard sided structure in an older neighborhood. It sat off the street back two hundred feet in a small thicket of pines.

  Lindy parked her dented and faded green Subaru wagon on gravel beside the front porch steps. I pulled to the right behind her and stopped for Jeff to get out. He was going with Lindy to get the kids and help pack. Quickly, I backed down a gravel driveway to a single car garage attached to the house by a short glassed-in breezeway. The sun still shone through intermittent clouds and a slight breeze moved the pine tree branches lazily.

  Frances and I stopped talking as the engine stopped. We exited the truck to get the supplies from the garage. Loud rough and tumble noises from inside the house preceded two large caliber gunshots. We looked at each other in shock and disbelief and ran to the front of the house. Male and female screams poured out the open front door as we leaped to the porch decking. Inside the living room, Jeff and Lindy were in the throes of death as their futile struggles ended a losing battle. A huge male zombie had overpowered Jeff and was ripping the back of his neck apart with its teeth. A whole bodied female zombie lay in the middle of the room where it had been shot in the forehead. Lindy lay on her back with a male and two child zombies tearing at her body. The small zombies appeared to have been about eight and twelve. Lindy's screams had subsided to feeble moans of pain and then she was silent.

  Frances and I each shot the huge male and saw it flop forward on top of Jeff. At the sound of gunshots, the other male zombie and both children diverted their full attention from Lindy to us. All three turned to the source of fresh meat with their bloody maws chomping incessantly. Our handguns blasted repeatedly until the three undead were prone to the floor and unmoving.

  We watched as Jeff's body began its descent into the black hole of the curse he'd been drawn into. Lindy's body twitched violently as it transitioned to the undead menace. There was no choice but to shoot each of the deceased humans.

  Softly I said, "I can't even imagine what went through Lindy's mind when she realized the children she'd risked her life for had been mutilated and dragged into the zombie world." Frances closed her eyes, exhaled and shook her head in silent disbelief. Tears of grief ran down her cheeks, and her posture slumped.

  I looked behind us before closing the door. In the dimly lighted room there was movement to our right. Natural s
unlight through two curtained windows let us see the main room, but left the corners in dim shadows. I swiveled and pointed my .45 caliber Glock in the general direction. Frances came out of her horror induced trance and focused there also. Something small moved on the carpet near the far corner. A medium-sized dog or a big cat maybe? And then there was a groan, or a moaning sound, or maybe a crude whimper. Something deep and primal that I'd never before experienced and couldn't place. Frances turned her flashlight on as I reached for mine. I wasn't prepared for the sight that my eyes locked onto. The narrow white beam focused on a small body twelve feet away. A large baby lay on the floor. Why hadn't the zombies attacked it? We both moved toward what we'd pegged as an infant. The child was whole; no chunks of flesh were missing. It lay on its belly; the small arms and legs kicked frantically. It was naked and caked in filth on the dark green carpet.

  We were three feet away when it flipped over onto its back. "Aawww Christ!" Frances exclaimed, "that's the ugliest damn baby I've ever seen." She looked at me in awe. I was at a loss for words. I suspected what we'd discovered, and the very idea frightened and repulsed me. I've never turned to religion for strength, but I quietly prayed to God that I was wrong.

  I studied the female zombie on the floor. She was full bodied, no sign of rot on her flesh. Several bite marks on her arms and body looked old and dry. She'd been rather plain but not ugly, about eighteen or twenty I guessed. The ratty, simple, pink cotton dress she wore was filthy. It had white buttons from the waist up the bodice. A large bloody stain had soaked the front of the fabric high on her thighs and turned brown as it dried. When she fell she'd landed on her back; her left leg was straight out and her right leg was pointed away from the left with her knee bent and her foot almost touching her left knee. Frances followed my stare. "No. You don't think. Surely not. No, that can't have happened.... Oh, my God, Tom."