Dave's Zombie Proof Bunker and Refuge for Unattached Wimmens

[Ellafun]

*Notices that Chain & Whip are planning another field trip, so I pack up some food and water....and a first aid kit...for them to take along.

I'll just stay here and keep watch over the bunker while you're away. You know, in case any other wimmens happen to show up.

 

[WhipLuvr]

Right... clothes.... this will be fun. Umm.. any chance you could help me dress?

And ... Well, I'm worried about you. That scarecrow incident doesn't sound like you at all. Has stuff like this happened before? Seeing things, and them not seeing them?

* wriggles into a bra and tshirt without much difficulty, then some loose pants with considerably more trouble*

Do you feel alright otherwise? No visual, tactile hallucinations?

* presses a hand to his forehead, feeling for a fever*

I'll drive.

* takes an arm for support and walks out to the truck, the rifle slung over one shoulder*

 

[Chaingun]

"The hallucinations, if they are that, are new. I don't know what's going on there, but I'm writing it off to the drinking."

Let's all just get into the trucks, shall we?

 

[WhipLuvr]

Okay.

* walks outside with him, limping slightly and picking up the first aid kit Ella has so kindly prepared*

Thanks hon, you're a doll.

* squints at the bright sunlight outside as we walk to the truck convoy all warmed up and waiting for us*

I don't remember it being this sunny....

* lets Dave hop in the driver's side and put the thing in gear. As we roll out of the gates, there's something off to the left that makes my blood run cold*

Oh Dave... I don't think you were hallucinating at all...

 

[Chaingun]

Oh Dave... I don't think you were hallucinating at all...

Meh, ignore it. We've got bigger fish to fry.

Nice day for a drive, huh? I bet the sun feels good on your face and the fresh air is nice after all that time in the medical bay. I'm so glad you're getting better.

*Miles pass as the heavy truck rumbles east on Interstate 4. Orlando, Winter Park, Altamonte Springs, Longwood, Lake Mary, and Sanford all pass behind us. The world is strange, still. Cars are left right where their owners abandoned them. Businesses look the same, but unkempt. Grass and landscaping in the medians grows wild. Bones of those who died in the beginning lie in little piles, picked clean by scavengers and left to bleach in the sun. Small cairns of calcium that say, 'This is where Mrs. Sydney Johnston died.'

Finally, we get off the exit for Lake Helen. A long line of vacant (and some not so vacant) cars stretches off into the distance, still queued up to pass through a military checkpoint that had tried to contain the outbreak here and keep the contagion from spreading further south into central Florida. A ruined helicopter is in the middle of the road, three burned out Humvees are parked across the road forming the road block, and two Abrams tanks sit further back along the shoulder, enforcers whose job it was to make sure the roadblock did not get breached.

One tank is blackened and covered in the remains of bodies. Empty shells lie behind it, evidence that it had been firing rounds...but not into the line of cars. There are craters north of the tank and bodies everywhere there too. But the tank just wasn't the effective killing machine for a massive herd of the walking dead. Those who feel no fear, keep coming if they're able. So the defenders clearly fought their last stand around the giant piece of armor while its gun roared over and over, attempting to decimate the crowd of zombies.

The other tank clearly wasn't even manned at the time. Its gun would have been blocked by the ruined tank anyway. It sits, pristine, in the mid-morning sun. The hatch open, the coaxial gun still loaded and ready. Its dull green paint absorbs the Florida sun and corrosion has begun to set in on the long unused treads, but it is otherwise immaculate.

"That's the one," I say, pointing out the tank to WhipLuvr. "That's the tank I found for you. But...let's approach this cautiously. I know you want to climb all over it and check it over, but we're here to recover it, not drive it. The area may not be safe. Stay here..."

I get down from the idling truck and look around. I realize the truck's engine may attract the dead and worse, I won't be able to hear them coming over its diesel. I look back up at Whip in the cab and make the finger drawn across the neck motion and she understands, cuts the engine, and we begin looking about carefully.

I move away from the truck, being careful to stay on the passenger side of the large vehicle. That way, Whip can see anything coming from her higher vantage point and possibly cover me with the new rifle. I move all the way to the edge of the woods where the still intact fence keeps deer from running onto the interstate. This side seems safe; there is literally no sign of trouble.

I begin moving back towards the front of the truck, being careful to keep checking my six. I motion to her to move to the driver's side to cover me there, but she's already done it in anticipation of my needs.

"Good girl," I whisper under my breath. "I wonder where she picked all this up."

On the driver's side, I again move away from the vehicle. I examine the bodies I find on this side and continue to look for signs of movement...from them or from the treeline on this side of the road block. I find a tanker's helmet with the com gear intact and four feet away...the tanker. He's been dead so long, that his uniform is nearly rotted away. I pick up the helmet; maybe Whip will want that someday.

As I approach the vehicles, I realize that trying to secure the area alone may be a bad idea. It can't be helped though.

"Dave!" I hear in a low shout. I turn, Whip is pointing out something and aiming the rifle. I turn quickly to assess but see nothing. I move a few paces back towards the truck but I am a hundred yards from her.

She's lining up the rifle and watching whatever the threat is through her scope.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot, Whip! It will attract more..."

But her look tells me that she knows this. She is merely watching through the scope since it has magnification and makes assessing the threat easier. I wish I'd been quiet. The look she gives me says, "How on earth, you stupid man, could you believe that I am going to make a noise like firing a rifle out here in the middle of nowhere unless it's absolutely necessary? Geez, you're dense."

I turn back to look in the direction she's watching. Cursing my stupidity, I can't believe that I keep finding ways to rub her the wrong way. I want her to be happy...and not angry with me.

With a sudden realization, I am smiling. "Well...this probably means that she is feeling like her old self again..."

 

[Chaingun]

As I watch in the direction that Whip is looking, an old Who song comes to mind and I start signing it under my breath. I find that singing something familiar calms me when I'm worried.

"There's a young kid inside me somewhere
He stays up all night,
a vampire that never dies,
With the blood and the moon in his eyes
I hear his voice when I'm comin' down,
Sleep is for fools,
who never see the sunrise,
Who never get to live twice."

A distant sound finally reaches my ears. I'm watching to the west and keeping the rifle up to my cheek as I watch for the threat.

"I know you young and dumb,
I know where you're comin' from.
Don't know where you're goin' to,
But I been there same as you,
You're running out of ideas,
And new hats to try on.
I know you middle age
Same song, different page,
I know what you're goin' through
Made the same mistakes as you,
All you want is some hope
And a shoulder to cry on."

Some hope. Yeah, wouldn't that be nice? The realization that I'm out here alone with a girl who when healthy, is a valuable ally, but while weak and recovering, is perhaps a liability. This may have been a dumb idea. The truck isn't fast enough to escape something like a car and the good tank's batteries are probably dead. I guess we could shelter inside the tank if we had to. Button up the hatch and wait out whatever danger is coming.

I turn to look at Whip and she's still watching to the west. I can hear a noise getting louder, but I'm still uncertain what's coming. And there's no way I can get her out of the truck, carry her to the tank, lift her up onto its hull, and get her inside in time.

I check the mag on the rifle. I'm loaded and ready. I need better cover though. I move to the corner of the tank to keep that heavy steel between me and whatever is coming.

"There's a stranger inside me somewhere
That shadow behind me,
don't even look like me.
An echoed apology.
He's a wolf in sheep disguise,
I wake up in places I don't even recognize,
Pretender in paradise."


Pretender indeed. What am I doing? I'm more than capable of protecting myself, but my first responsibility is to the young lady--my long time friend--behind me in the truck. I resolve to stand and fight and come what may, attempt to hold off the danger in hopes that she can escape.

There's something moving in the far distance. The heat coming off of the baking pavement distorts it so badly, I can't tell what it is. The humming that accompanies it is getting louder.


"It's your turn, step up and take it
If you've got the guts to hang on you can make it.
C'mon, c'mon, come on,
Ooooh take it!"


That's right. Come on and take it. Daltry wasn't meaning it this way when he sang it, but I am meaning it now. If I'm going down, it's going to be in a pile of spent brass. Come on, bitches. Take it if you can.

Molon labe, motherfuckers.

The figure moving towards us is coming fast and right as I'm about to start popping rounds into the heat waves of the blacktop, I realize that it's a motorcycle. Smoking badly, it buzzes and pops from long neglect. I can't see the man riding it; in fact, I can't even tell if he knows we're here. I turn towards Whip and make the quiet sign by putting my finger to my lips and then turn back to watch the approach of this threat. I try to stay out of sight.


Two hundred yards away.

One hundred.

The rifles sights are zeroed on the man's head. He's wearing all black and...what the hell?...he's got what looks like a Halloween mask on his face.

As he gets closer, I realize that the face is Richard Milhouse Nixon. Why on earth...?

The thought dies before reaching my lips and I simply watch the motorcycle rider get closer and closer. Twenty feet away; he's going to pass me in a second.

He raises his hands and rides simply by balance for a second. Both hands make the peace sign and he shouts, "I am not a crook!"

And keeps right on going, weaving through the vehicles at the road block and down the line of cars.

Strangest damned thing I've ever seen.


Um...good luck, Mr. President.

 

[sereneone4u]

I see you have been busy.

 

[Chaingun]

I see you have been busy.

Um, yeah.

If it had more spelling errors, I could at least claim I was drunk.

 

[sereneone4u]

Um, yeah.

If it had more spelling errors, I could at least claim I was drunk.

Hey now!

 

[Chaingun]

Hey now!

Hard to tell sometimes, isn't it?

 

[WhipLuvr]

Well, that was certainly something. Not the strangest thing I’ve seen in my life, but up there. Setting the rifle down on the truckbed I double-check to make sure I have my sidearm ( I do) before pulling a toolbox from the back. Dave’s staring dopily after the oddball on the bike as it hiccoughs its way down the road.

“Come on. Let’s get moving before he either comes to his senses or kills that bike.”

Setting the toolbox down between the tanks, I pull out a lug wrench and hop up onto the charred tank. Dave gives me a spacey stare, struggling to comprehend why I’m not choosing to work on the more whole tank.

“ Spare parts.”

He seem to understand that and gets to work pushing the biggest of the rubble out of the way. As I undo the bolts that hold the treads on, the stink of rotting flesh drifts from the hatch. The smell churns my stomach. Either someone in there is dead, or the zombies didn’t eat everything. Lovely. And the battery’s in there too.
“How’s the ignition?”

I take a break to press my head to the warm steel of the hull as he does inside the new tank to check. I really, really don’t wanna go in there to get a new battery. The clean tank roars to life. Thank goodness.

After hauling a few massively heavy treads to the bed of the truck, we stop to crack open cans and discuss our next move.

“I think we have enough parts. I can siphon some diesel over to reserve tanks, then we should get out of here. If one person can get onto this road and through, I don’t wanna be here any longer than necessary. Alright?”

 

[Chaingun]

After several hours of labor--positioning the truck correctly, playing out the winch cable, and securing it with D-rings--the running tank is ready to be recovered and towed back to the bunker.

Whip has been the perfect patient/helper. She's been careful to not over-extend herself while scavenging parts; running the winch while I pull cable; and keeping an eye out for zombies, raiders, and more ex-presidents. Theodore Roosevelt, James K. Polk, and Ronald Reagan have yet to show up though.

That whole thing with the motorcycle and Tricky Dick has kind of freaked me out though and I'm wary as hell as I'm sweating in the sun. Climbing back into the cab of the truck, Whip hands me a Gatorade from a cooler of ice and food that Ella packed for us. I chug the cold liquid; it really helps.

I turn to Whip and throw her my dumbest looking smile while holding up the bottle.

"Brando! It's got what plants need!"

She rolls her eyes and stifles a laugh.

I crank the diesel and the starter whirs for a few seconds and...nothing. It won't start. The batteries can't spin the starter fast enough to create enough compression for the big engine to start. Running the electric winches has apparently drained the cells too much.

"Shit, keep an eye out," I say to Whip and jump from the cab. I know there's not a lot of time, we could be in danger and have to get out of here. With a non-running truck, we're sitting ducks.

The Humvees are out. They're burned badly. The other tank is ruined so it's batteries can't be any good. And a lot of those passenger cars in the line at the checkpoint will not have enough power in their batteries to fire the truck again. The big military wrecker has a 24 volt system that will require two batteries powerful enough to crank the diesel.

Whip has wisely left the tank running in case we need to move to it for our own defense.


Luckily, I notice a Ford Super Duty pickup several cars back in the line of derelicts that were waiting to get through the roadblock. Those have two batteries! Shouldn't take a minute to scavenge batteries for the military truck from that civilian truck. The tank's batteries may be needed yet; I'm not pulling them.


Thirty minutes later, the batteries, which had previously resided in a F350 Super Duty Dually are now sitting in the engine bay of the flat green truck. Hopefully, they will have enough juice remaining to crank the truck.

Success! The diesel fires to life and we're off. Slowly, of course, since we're dragging a very heavy tank.

In an hour, we should be back at the bunker!

 

[WhipLuvr]

As we're driving back to the bunker, the exertion of the day begins to catch up to me. My arm and leg begin to burn. soon the pain is nigh unbearable. Sensing my discomfort, Dave rummages in the cooler and comes up with a ziplock baggie full of pills. I pick out a few with shaky hands and swallow them with a gulp of cherry-flavored Gatorade. After a moment's thought, I pop one of the Valiums someone, possibly Ella, has considerately thrown in. As we grind back to the bunker the pills take effect. The pain fades to a dull ache.

"Can I put my head on your lap?"

 

[Chaingun]

"Can I put my head on your lap?"

You know you can. I'm here for you, My Friend.

Try to sleep. I know you're tired.

The truck rumbles and slowly moves west on I-4, ever closer to the bunker and safety. The zombies seem rare these days. Perhaps the living have mostly found safe enough places to shelter and the dead have rotted enough to not be able to maintain their ability to move about. In any case, I don't really mind.



Later, as we approach the bunker on the vehicle road through the woods, Whip is still asleep. Coming out of the woods and making the 100 yard drive across open ground to the roll up armored door, I look off towards the cornfield.

I do a double take.

A new scarecrow is perched on a wooden stake two hundred yards out and watching over our corn.

 

[WhipLuvr]

I wake as the truck bumps to a stop. The Valium's done it's job well, and I feel pleasantly relaxed and not at all groggy. He looks down at me, a soft grin tugging his handsome features. He obviously enjoys this. Slowly, I sit up.

"Whip..."

He points out to the field, and it takes me a moment to realize there's a new scarecrow, standing upright a distance out. It looks like a normal scarecrow, dressed in a manky old sweater and torn jeans that I guess no-one wanted to wear anymore.

" I guess someone got busy while we were away. "

We're exposed out here. I hop out of the cab and limp over to the speaker panel by the gate. After punching in a code the armored door grinds open. I must remember to oil that thing. Dave drives the truck inside, slowly pulling my new tank into the motor pool. Inside, I shut the massive gate again.

"If you'll get the tank where you want it, theres something I gotta do."

He nods and I go inside. Thers a tiny room in the hall by the infirmary where I've been undertaking a little project. About a dozen shoeboxes line the walls on one side, each of them a kit consisting of a tiny weatherproof camera, tripod, some screws and zipties, cable, and a solar powered recording bow. I take one and hook it up on the roof, training the thing at the new scarecrow. Hopefully there's a logical explanation for this.


I don't want to think about the possibility of Dave's mind slipping.

 

[Chaingun]

The truck finally is motionless and the silence inside the cavernous motorpool is deafening.

Whip steps outside for a moment and I move towards the door with my rifle at the ready in case I need to protect or cover her. She places something with a spiked end into the ground at the end of the corn field. I'm tired and not paying a lot of attention.

She turns and walks wearily back towards the heavy armored door. I watch the corn. So good to see stuff growing that will sustain us and I love cornbread, creamed corn, corn niblets, and corn chowder. I hope somebody makes me something because I can't cook well.

"Hey you. Let's get you a shower and a clean bed to rest in. I'm going to head to the Nightly Naked Dance Party to let everyone know we made it back before turning in."



The iron bottom panel of the door slams home on the threshold and with relief, she and I realize we've got a new tank to work on tomorrow. Maybe someone else will unload those heavy tank treads and other spare parts. No need to refill it; we won't be needing this truck again for a while.

As we move towards the door to the living quarters, I stop and open the explosion proof locker where the paint is stored. I take out the "Hello Kitty Pink" and set it on a work bench as a joking threat that I plan to paint the Florida National Guard tank in such a hideous color.

She looks almost sick, but too tired to argue about it.

As we move towards the exit together, I put my arm around her and say, "Well done today. How are you feeling?"

Before she can answer, I pull my Government Model pistol and fire a well placed 45 caliber hollow point into the can, exploding a pink splatter all over the work bench. "No more pink tanks. I promise."

 

[WhipLuvr]

I'm clinging to Dave as he shoots the paint can, splattering violent pink paint all over the motorpool. My legs hurt and I think I feel blood seeping through the bandage. Great, now I'm damaged as well as exhausted. Dave seems to understand this. He sets the gun down and leads me inside.

Inside, the bunker's pretty quiet. Everyone seems to be out on sentry or livestock or security duty. Only a few people decorate the common room. Ella, for one, is reading in a corner. I offer her a little wave as Dave helps me to the showers.

Soon we're standing naked in the shower room. Dave's body is pretty much totally healed. A few pink scars decorate him, in stark contrast to my scabbed legs. He's got an arm around my waist, stabilizing me as he gently scrubs my back with a sea sponge. It feels so nice, and that combined with the Valium and painkillers is almost enough to put me to sleep. Suddenly much less steady on my feet, I slide both arms over his shoulders in a clumsy hug.

 

[Chaingun]

Whip is terribly exhausted and at first, I think she's falling against me as she's passing out. Bad timing, because I almost didn't see it happening as I was enjoying seeing her naked. Fantasy had started to run away with me for a second and I turned away from her for a little bit so she wouldn't see my state of arousal as I scrubbed her back.

When she collapses against me, I barely have time to drop the sponge and catch her sexy little body.

Her face is against my neck, her wet body against mine, and her lithe arms are around my neck...I am torn. I mean, I want her...I've always wanted her. But she is my guest here; I've made it a point to try not to make any of these ladies think that I require "payment" for their safety here.

I would hate for my friend to take this the wrong way.

"Whip...Hon, I can't. I want to. But, you're in a state. And I NEVER take advantage of a lady."

I finish washing her and pat her down with big fluffy towels before wrapping a robe around her. Effortlessly, I scoop her petite body off of her feet and carry her through the hallway. Passing Ella in the hallway, I get a look from her that says, "Don't you hurt her."

"It's not...no. Umm...no. Ella...I don't. Oh never mind."

I continue walking until we arrive at Whip's dormitory room. Her feminine touch is everywhere, but there are also weapons in various stages of assembly, camo fatigues, and odds and ends that look like vehicle parts everywhere. A disassembled carburetor is on her nightstand. And a pink camisole is hanging from the bedpost.

I place her gently on her bed and briefly have an internal argument. Damn, she's sexy...but I can't. I can't do that to her. Maybe when she's better, alert, and able to say no. But not just now. It's not fair.

I tuck the little doll into her bed and kiss her forehead.

"Good night, Munequita."

I hurry out of the room before I can change my mind and do something really stupid.

I really should just go to the ammo locker to load magazines until my hands are sore. But something keeps me from this vital duty.

 

[Ellafun]

I'm waiting in the hallway with a handful of bandages when Chain comes out of Whip's room.

"You need to eat something before you fall down. I've made a platter for you. I even managed to make dessert. Please go and eat it. And drink some water. All of the bottles of water in storage have been boiled, so they're safe. I want to check on Whip."

Before he can argue about how much work he still needs to do, I tiptoe into Whip's quarters. She is lying on her bed in a restless sleep, murmuring something about scarecrows.

I softly whisper for her to "shhhhhh" as I put fresh bandages on her leg, which seems to be healing nicely except for one spot. We need to find more antibiotics. It occurs to me that somewhere in the books we've scavenged there might be something that would teach me how to concoct natural remedies. Her arm looks better, but the scars are going to leave a bizarre pattern on her.

I hear a noise in the hall, and I realize that Chain is still hovering outside the door. I reach my hand out and brush some hair from Whip's face and I softly say, "He really cares about you, you know. You are a lucky, lucky girl." I bend over and gently kiss her on the forehead. "Get better, Whip. He needs you. We all need you."

I deliberately tiptoe to the door and open it to confront Chain.

"You don't listen very well, do you? I told you to go eat. You can take her some food in a little while when she wakes up. Let her rest now." I sound like a nagging mother scolding her child, and he gives me a scowl, then shakes his head and walks away.

I follow him down the hall to what passes for a galley in the bunker. The room is spotless, even the floor. I have been working in there all day, channeling my worry into something productive. I have been organizing, cleaning, wrapping herbs and hanging them to dry, canning what fruit we managed to pick, baking, making lists of things we need to scavenge...anything to keep busy. Tomorrow I will start going through the books again for homeopathic recipes.

At the moment, I just want to get Chain fed. I am annoyed. I am relieved. And in a moment of tense emotion, I grab the plate of food I set aside for him and I slam it onto the counter, intending to tell him, "Sit. Eat."

But the plate hits the edge of the counter, and it shatters. Stupid stoneware plates...who brought those damn things in here? The food and pieces of ceramic scatter everywhere.

I look at the mess and look up at Chain, who is just as surprised as I am by what just happened. And in an uncharacteristic moment of frustration, I burst into tears and run out of the galley.

 

[Chaingun]

I stand there dumbfounded. If I ever figure out women, it will be a miracle.

What was that George Clooney said in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"

"Believe me Delmar, woman is the most fiendish instrument of torture ever devised to bedevil the days of man."



I can't allow another friend to go without the care she needs. I realize with a start that I must go after her. I need to talk to her and try to make her feel better.

I move to run after her and slip on a piece of stoneware. Face first, I fall into a pile of carrots, celery, cheese, and...cornbread? Really? She made me cornbread?

What a sweetie.

I consider getting up, but my knee hurts again. Whatever, I'll attempt that later. Right now, I'm going to lie here on the cold tile floor and eat cornbread.

Wish I had some butter. Damn, that knee hurts.

 

[Ellafun]

Over the sound of the music and my useless tears, I hear a thud, followed by a single expletive. I stop in my tracks, maternal instincts taking over, and run back to the kitchen.

The sight of the Zombie-killing, gun-toting, fixer-of-all-things, leader-of-the-pack -- sitting in the middle of the floor, happily eating cornbread -- makes me start to laugh.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, let me make you a fresh plate of food, you...idiot," I babble, laughter and tears mixing together.

 

[Chaingun]

Nom, nom, nom!!!

Got any butter?

 

[Ellafun]

"Yes, yes, I have butter! C'mon, let's get you off the floor."

I hold out my hand to help Chain off the floor, and he struggles to stand. His injuries are still not quite healed, either. I wonder if there is a way to get him to rest for more than 4 hours at a time.

Getting him settled in a chair with cornbread and butter, I put another plate of food together and 'verrrrry gently' place it in front of him, with a cup of cold water and two ibuprofen.

"Let me know when you're ready for dessert. I baked chocolate brownies. You can have them with hash in them or without."

I leave him to eat in peace and go to clean up the mess on the floor.

 

[Chaingun]

"Oh my! This cornbread is awesome and so fresh...and so warm!"

I'm stuffing my face and watching her work. The no clothes rule--ostensibly to avoid anyone hiding a zombie bite that would later cause them to turn and endanger the entire population of the bunker--is working to my advantage. Such beautiful women that have come to live with me!

And my rule about not expecting anything from them. Not acting like I'm interested. Not taking the bait and falling for them...is damned hard to keep. Everywhere I turn, there is another dear friend, another warm and very sexy body, and another chance for pleasures I can only imagine.

"Down boy," I say to myself and Ella turns to see what it is that I'm mumbling about.

"Uh...nothing. It was nothing."

I concentrate on munching on fresh cornbread and hoping that Ella knows how to make southern style biscuits and gravy. Cause even though I know she's from "up north" this boy requires some light, flaky biscuits and some peppery sawmill gravy in the morning. Maybe I'll ask about some grits too.


"I love the cornbread. Thanks."

 

[WhipLuvr]

I wake up a few hours later as sun filters in through my teeny window. I fell strangely... healthy. Nothing much hurts, and someone's even replaced my bandages. I bet that was Dave. Did.. did I pass out in the shower? Makes sense. The heat, exhaustion, hunger ... and having a naked man tenderly bathing me must not have helped me keep up. Despite the air-conditioned air of the room my cheeks burn. I let him touch me like that... let him see me in that state. The strangest thing is, that doesn't feel so wrong. Dave's proven himself to me again and again as a honest, fair guy. I'd be okay with spending the night with him.

After dressing in a loose, long tshirt I head out to the kitchens for a bite to eat. All this healing makes me really hungry.