Read Online Outnumbered (Book 6) by Robert Schobernd - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Schobernd
Tags: Zombies
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and children. Kira and Vivian were both strong and exuded confidence, and both were excellent shots. But if another group of roving outlaws caused trouble, I wanted two men like Junior and Adam to face down the intruders. Of course, that would only work if they weren't outnumbered by eight or ten people. We didn't need another massacre while we were away righting a previous slaughter. Besides all that, Vivian was closing on being seven months pregnant with her and Shane's last child. She had no business taking a lead roll in confronting aggressors.
Me, Richard, Mitch, Paige, Suzie and Vernon were on horseback and the other ten people were distributed on two supply wagons. Each rubber-tired wagon was pulled by four draft horses and carried our food, heavy weapons and other supplies for a month long campaign. Four aggressive dogs trotted along and disappeared at times while they chased a wild animal. Eventually, they reappeared. Sometimes they'd have fresh blood stains around their jaws from whatever small animal they'd eaten.
The old concrete roadway was slowly pitting and flaking, not from heavy traffic but from the ravages of weather over time. The terrain was hilly and the jury-rigged hydraulic brakes were used often on the downhill grades to lessen the burden on the trailing pair of horses tasked with holding back the weight of the load.
A few hours before lunchtime of our second day, we arrived at our old burnt-out camp. Bloated bodies of the murder victims had been attacked by scavengers. The stench was nauseating. We ate a quick cold lunch up wind and then set to digging graves at the expanded cemetery where seven of our friends were already interred. The work was tiring in the hot, humid, late August heat. One at a time, the eleven maggot infested corpses were rolled onto an old plastic tarp and dragged up the slight grade to their final resting place.
While supper was being prepared far upwind, we gathered briefly to say good-byes to our departed friends and relatives. Without speaking out, I wished my disillusioned friends could have appreciated the precarious situation they had placed themselves in by refusing to acknowledge the horrible and deadly dangers surrounding us.
The burial detail finally finished. A large pot of stew simmered over a low fire while the men stood guard along the rivers edge. The women disrobed and then waded into the cold, clear water to scrub off the stench of death. Before they emerged from the river, their clothing got a dousing. They put on clean clothes and hung the wet ones on the clothes lines that were still intact. Then it was the men's turn to wash before supper while a small group of women stood armed guard.
For our third day of travel, we rose at dawn. Before breakfast was cooked and eaten, it was apparent the sky would stay overcast. We lingered longer than we should have and were late getting started. Most likely, we would never visit that desecrated spot again. Previous good memories had been overshadowed by the recent horrible acts inflicted there.
A strong breeze blew from the south and the air smelled cleaner, as if it had been filtered through a rain storm. The temperature hadn't risen much since dawn, and we all felt rain was imminent. The wagon crews took the threat of rain seriously and searched for our rain gear from the piles of supplies while we rode.
We'd been on the road about two hours when, as expected, a fine drizzle began. Within the hour sporadic summer showers pummeled us and most of us were soon drenched to some extent.
At lunchtime, we pulled in under the leaky roof of an abandoned gas station at a small, wide spot in the road to eat our cold meal in a relatively dry space. Smoked meat, cornmeal tortillas and watermelons made for a quick meal while we vigilantes joked and bantered back and forth. No one joked about the intent of our mission. That was too personal to speak about lightly.
Traveling had become easier for the horses when the road
Me, Richard, Mitch, Paige, Suzie and Vernon were on horseback and the other ten people were distributed on two supply wagons. Each rubber-tired wagon was pulled by four draft horses and carried our food, heavy weapons and other supplies for a month long campaign. Four aggressive dogs trotted along and disappeared at times while they chased a wild animal. Eventually, they reappeared. Sometimes they'd have fresh blood stains around their jaws from whatever small animal they'd eaten.
The old concrete roadway was slowly pitting and flaking, not from heavy traffic but from the ravages of weather over time. The terrain was hilly and the jury-rigged hydraulic brakes were used often on the downhill grades to lessen the burden on the trailing pair of horses tasked with holding back the weight of the load.
A few hours before lunchtime of our second day, we arrived at our old burnt-out camp. Bloated bodies of the murder victims had been attacked by scavengers. The stench was nauseating. We ate a quick cold lunch up wind and then set to digging graves at the expanded cemetery where seven of our friends were already interred. The work was tiring in the hot, humid, late August heat. One at a time, the eleven maggot infested corpses were rolled onto an old plastic tarp and dragged up the slight grade to their final resting place.
While supper was being prepared far upwind, we gathered briefly to say good-byes to our departed friends and relatives. Without speaking out, I wished my disillusioned friends could have appreciated the precarious situation they had placed themselves in by refusing to acknowledge the horrible and deadly dangers surrounding us.
The burial detail finally finished. A large pot of stew simmered over a low fire while the men stood guard along the rivers edge. The women disrobed and then waded into the cold, clear water to scrub off the stench of death. Before they emerged from the river, their clothing got a dousing. They put on clean clothes and hung the wet ones on the clothes lines that were still intact. Then it was the men's turn to wash before supper while a small group of women stood armed guard.
For our third day of travel, we rose at dawn. Before breakfast was cooked and eaten, it was apparent the sky would stay overcast. We lingered longer than we should have and were late getting started. Most likely, we would never visit that desecrated spot again. Previous good memories had been overshadowed by the recent horrible acts inflicted there.
A strong breeze blew from the south and the air smelled cleaner, as if it had been filtered through a rain storm. The temperature hadn't risen much since dawn, and we all felt rain was imminent. The wagon crews took the threat of rain seriously and searched for our rain gear from the piles of supplies while we rode.
We'd been on the road about two hours when, as expected, a fine drizzle began. Within the hour sporadic summer showers pummeled us and most of us were soon drenched to some extent.
At lunchtime, we pulled in under the leaky roof of an abandoned gas station at a small, wide spot in the road to eat our cold meal in a relatively dry space. Smoked meat, cornmeal tortillas and watermelons made for a quick meal while we vigilantes joked and bantered back and forth. No one joked about the intent of our mission. That was too personal to speak about lightly.
Traveling had become easier for the horses when the road
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