We sat and stared at the havoc that had been wrought; each of us was absorbed in the realization that two more of our friends had disappeared from our lives. My body shook as my head lay against the steering wheel.
We were silent for several minutes until I spoke softly, "First Maria, now this. I've heard bad things happen in threes; makes me wonder who the hell will be next."
OUTNUMBERED volume 6
Prologue
A storm is brewing. Whispers of it waft around me as low grumbles or snide looks. Conversations stop, and people I considered friends look sheepish as I pass. I broached their behavior with my wife Kira. She reluctantly agreed with my observations; she'd also seen and heard the rumblings of discontent.
We've not encountered a zombie since moving to this remote section of the Missouri Ozarks. That's the good news. On the down side, we've not met another human being in the past five years, either. Are we the sole remnants of the once thriving human race? That though should humble even the strongest of survivors, me included, if I believed it.
Tom Jacobs 2033, fifteen years after the Zombie Apocalypse began.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Elderberry wine. I hadn't tasted an alcoholic drink in fifteen years. The sweet, dark, heavy-tasting liquid was appropriate for the occasion. The taste and color made me think of Mogen David wine. A lifetime had elapsed since I'd tasted that brand. I wasn't at all sure there were actually any similarities, but that was my immediate impression. It took me back to childhood Christmases when all the small kids were allowed a small glass of Mogen David and 7-Up.
I made a toast. "Here's to our continued success as we face the declining world around us."
Kira smiled as she slapped my thigh sharply. "It's New Year’s Eve; don't be so gloomy. We've survived the zombies, our kids are healthy and intelligent, and we'll continue to thrive despite whatever rears its ugly head in the future."
Silently I mulled that for a few seconds as it bounced around in my brain. "Okay, you're right. We assume billions of other humans around the globe succumbed to the zombies and the roving bands of murdering outlaws they unleashed; yet our group is still alive and functioning. That is something to celebrate."
Our glasses clinked before Kira leaned over and planted a brief kiss on my lips. "Be sure to thank Morgan for the wine and tell him how great it is. Do you know where he makes it?"
I shook my head. "No, and I didn't ask. The ban on alcohol hasn't been officially lifted, and I'm hesitant to boil the kettle by stopping it right now. I suspect the dissention we've noticed runs deeper than I can imagine. I've been surprised lately at some of the suggestions and complaints rendered at the monthly group meetings. A segment of people are pushing for more social freedoms. Jesse Pitchford even wants to lift the smoking ban that's been in place since our group formed."
Kira snorted. "I remember, he became loud and adamant about his civil right to choose.... Have you talked to Shane about this?"
"Almost daily. Alcohol isn't a major issue yet, but we're seeing more signs of occasional intoxication with every seasonal change. I suspect someone is making corn mash whiskey and bartering it for other services or goods, but I'm hesitant to make it an issue in the precarious, socially-charged atmosphere that's evolving. At some point soon, I'm sure it will have to be addressed."
"Has any mention of smoking or alcoholic drinks been made in the Leadership Committee meetings? It seems to me that's where these issues should originate."
I mulled her question for long seconds. "Only when Shane, Richard, Doc or I brought up something related to it. Then most of the others looked sheepish and moved to table it or simply let it drop and die."
Kira moved to sit on my lap and cuddle. "That's strange; that group has never held back before, why now?"
I shook my head and lost interest as I kissed and fondled my beautiful, loving wife.
A month later, I rose before the sun and was dressed when it finally poked its rays through the leafless trees. Quietly I opened the entrance door so I'd not wake the kids. Across the road stood a small herd of six nice-sized does and three younger ones. The largest probably weighed one hundred-thirty pounds. Just as carefully, I pushed the solid wood slab door closed and grabbed a .30 caliber lever action rifle from the wall rack. Kira was in the small, waterless bathroom, sitting on the ceramic thunder pot. I whispered, "Pull your clothes on and grab your rifle. Deer, across the road."
Outside we stealthily maneuvered to keep a big oak between the grazing animals and us. "You take the biggest one," I whispered. We'd hunted together before, so she knew the routine. We each used our side of the tree to steady our shot.
The animals grazed leisurely, unaware of the stalkers one-hundred-fifty yards away. They were in meager shadows cast by the rising sun behind the tree branches. Grass and remnants of last year’s garden provided fodder for grazing on the frozen ground. At the report from Kira's AK, I dropped a deer, jacked in another shell, and then focused the 8X scope on the neck of one running straight away toward the edge of the woods. It dropped as I heard Kira fire again. I counted the carcasses on the open ground; Kira had downed a second doe also. There'd be a plentiful supply of fresh venison to feed our forty adults and nineteen kids. I headed toward the horse barn to get a stallion to drag the deer over to the block and tackle at the butchering tables. Kira took my rifle and headed to the cabin to tend
