We were all relaxed. A conversation many weeks ago with Frances filled my mind. I relayed it to the other three passengers. "She was adamant on noticing the original rotted zombies simply fall to the ground and stay there." I slowed the truck. "I'm seeing something here that may support what she said. Look out across the ground in this wooded section. A few zombie bodies are scattered out as far as you can see. They're not in groups as we normally find them when they attack us, so I doubt they've been shot. The reason we see them is because few weeds and scrubby bushes grow under the summer canopy of leaves. I'm thinking, if we walked out through the weed covered fields, we'd find zombies without damaged brains lying there where they've dropped."
Thoughtful stares converged on me. "Let's watch closely on the way home and see if we observe the undead dropping for no reason."
Over the next three hours, we witnessed two zombies drop to the ground without being shot. Neither rose back up.
Shane came to me at the end of April. He was responsible for planting this year’s crops and had the ground tilled and ready. We'd taken over surrounding farm land that lay fallow beside ours for the past three years. Tending a five acre apple and peach orchard, sixty acres of wheat, twenty acres of field corn, one acre of oats, two acres of potatoes, one acre of sweet corn, and a four acre vegetable garden required long hours from all our members, me included. Since there were no longer any grocery stores or farmer's markets, we realized we could work to feed ourselves or we'd starve.
The previous harsh winter froze and ruined most of the canned foods packed in liquid that still remained in grocer's warehouses. In addition, lack of roof maintenance caused leaks that destroyed or badly damaged other dry foods like pasta, cake mixes, tea bags and dry cereals. Now it was up to us to provide as many of the basic cooking ingredients as we could. John Alton designed large root cellars for the storage of root type vegetables like potatoes, turnips, and carrots. We scavenged wooden barrels for storing apples and pears like pilgrims had in the past.
One of the books we borrowed from a library described in a short paragraph the methods of food preservation we would need to employ:
In 1815, most Americans ate what they grew or hunted locally. Corn and beans were common, along with pork. In the north, cows provided milk, butter, and beef, while in the south, where cattle were less common, venison and other game provided meat. Preserving food in 1815, before the era of refrigeration, required smoking, drying, or salting meat. Vegetables were kept in a root cellar or pickled.
As a group, we had our work cut out for us. It was learning by success and failure or go hungry. Luckily, we had an experienced farmer in our midst. Tony Osmond grew up on a family farm in the region and came to us after his parents and a younger sister fell victim to the zombies. I expected Tony and Shana Thompson to move in together at any time and add to the list of potential parents that continued to grow. Since a civil authority no longer existed to record marriage contracts, all of us who desired to mate simply cohabitated with a like-minded person of our choice.
On the third day of May, a Wednesday, Barney "Pops" Halcom, James Butler and Barbara Bales left Deliverance to search for horse-drawn farm equipment. They planned to make stops along route 59 North to Worthington, Minnesota, and then return on Route 71. They would stop at farms along the way hoping some of the farmers had preserved equipment passed down through their families. After recording a list of any suitable equipment they found, trucks and trailers would be scheduled to gather the items.
Before supper time, the Ford pickup they'd left in sped up the gravel drive to Deliverance creating a dust cloud behind it. I heard panic in James voice on the radio. "This is James. Whoever is on the watchtower, open the gate. I need Tom and the leadership committee to meet us ASAP. Pop was shot, he's dead."
Morgan and I were the first to arrive. Shane, Andrea, John, and Ed trailed only a minute behind us. Barbara's eyes blazed red and she began to cry as we gathered. "Somebody shot Grandpa for no reason. They just ambushed us and killed him for the hell of it."
Verlie came out when the committee was requested because Barb was her daughter, and Barney was Morgan's father. She hugged Barbara close and took her inside. Many of our people exited the building and stood by.
James stood by Morgan. "I'm so sorry Morgan. There was nothing we could do. They just shot Pop. We didn't do anything to them, weren't even near them." Tears ran down Morgan's cheeks, but a hard glint shown in his eyes.
"James," I requested, careful to keep my tone firm yet sympathetic, "start at the beginning and tell us everything that happened."
"We'd been stopping at farms along the highway and found a couple of things to bring back. The list is in the back seat. We were near the state line, about ten or so miles south of it when we crested a small rise and saw three stinky smellies standing in the road. They were about two hundred yards off. Pop stopped the truck and grabbed that old Remington 700 he's partial to. He opened the door, dropped the glass and put the rifle through the opening. He dropped all three of those zombies one
