Joseph Talluto - Taking It Back

“Yeah.” I said shakily. “One inch left or right and Sarah would be raising Jakey alone.”

Tommy had nothing to say. I needed to get through this one on my own. I had just nearly bought the farm and brushing that close to death had a tendency to refocus your priorities.

I shook myself and looked around. There weren’t any more immediate threats but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there.

Tommy was inspecting one of the corpses, then he walked over to another, and another. “That’s weird,” he said, half to himself.

“What is?” I asked, cleaning off my weapons.

“All these Z’s have a stab wound in their throats.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and it looks like it was done after they had turned.”

That was odd. “Any theory as to why?” I asked.

Tommy pondered for a second. “Its almost like they wanted to make sure they couldn’t moan, like when people used to do that surgery on dogs to keep them from barking.”

That made no sense. Why would someone go to the trouble of silencing Z’s and not finish them off altogether? Oh well. We had other things to do. I motioned for Tommy to follow me and we went over to a small building next to the main administrative building. I saw a lot of footprints in the sand going to the building and was curious.

I tried the door with Tommy standing guard and I was surprised the door opened. I let the door swing outward and was rewarded with the foul odor of sweat, urine, feces, and something else I couldn’t identify. I didn’t smell the dead, so that was a good sign. I couldn’t see in the darkness very well, so I unholstered my SIG and pulled out my flashlight. I scanned the building and saw it was a warehouse of sorts. A skylight allowed natural light to illuminate the interior, although that didn’t help at night. There were boxes of supplies and alcohol, stacks of dried goods, and piles of clothing and shoes. Walking into the stores, I was surprised at how much there was. This group had done well, considering where they were.

As I walked slowly down the center aisle, I became aware of a sound. It wasn’t loud, but it was there. It sounded like crying, but it was muffled, like someone was trying to keep themselves from sobbing out loud. I still hadn’t found anything that created the smell and it was getting stronger as I moved farther back.

Towards the back of the building it looked like where they had stored the leftover material for the fence that went around the complex. I flashed my light over this material and froze as I shone the light on a living face.

I stopped suddenly. It was a woman, but it was difficult to tell her age. She was thin and filthy and her clothing barely covered her. Her hair hung in dank strips over her face and outside the circumstances, she might have been pretty. She was in a cage fashioned out of the fencing material and as I played my flashlight over the area, I could see several more cages similarly occupied. I could hear shifting as more women moved to see what had disturbed their sleep. In all, I counted sixteen cages, all of them occupied. They were roughly eight feet long and eight feet wide, six feet in height. Each contained a bucket, a cot, and a threadbare blanket. The blankets were whatever was grabbed in a hurry and some of them looked like children’s blankets.

“Tommy.” I spoke softly, but the woman I was looking at flinched as if I had struck her. She looked like she had been used badly and had resigned herself to the fact she was going to be used badly again. I could see the remnants of a bruise on her cheek and could see more on her arms and legs.

Tommy trotted over and turned on his flashlight, the beam playing over the cages and captives. “What the hell?” he said softly, as more women woke up and looked out at us.

“What’s going on here?” I asked the nearest prisoner.

“We’re the slaves,” came a voice from the center of the cages. “That’s what they call us. Didn’t they tell you that?”

I walked down to the center and looked at the woman who had spoken. She was a thin blonde with a decent figure, dressed in a threadbare sundress that barely covered her. She looked at me with large brown eyes that had seen a lot of nasty things in recent times.

“I’m not with them,” I said, noting the stir that caused. Several women stood up and came to the doors of their cages, holding the chain links and looking at Tommy and me with new eyes. I imagine we looked different than what they were used to. I was dressed for combat in my jacket, cargo pants, and vest, festooned with weapons. Tommy was similarly dressed.

“Who are you?” The woman’s voice lost its disinterested drawl and became much more alert, more hopeful.

I thought for a second. “I’m John Talon. This is Tommy Carter. I’m here to kill the sons of bitches that slaughtered a family and terrorized the towns around here. I didn’t expect to find anyone here worth saving, but I guess I was wrong. If you want to leave, you’re coming with us right now.”

The women rushed the doors of their cages and in short order we had freed them from their prisons. After being hugged and kissed several times, I told them to get to the stores and help themselves to whatever they wanted. Several grabbed bottles of water and headed off to the corner to wash up, while others picked through the clothing for more appropriate attire. While we were waiting for the women to get their fill of food and water, as well as being washed and dressed, Maggie, the woman who first spoke to me, filled me in on what had happened and what was going on around here.

The men had descended on the towns like thunder, sweeping through and taking whatever they wanted, including women. When they met resistance, they killed the dissenters and cowed the rest. They took the women back to this complex and kept them in these cages to be used however the men felt fit. No women were allowed in the “command center” as the men called it. The leader, a man called Art, was as ruthless as they came, killing with impunity any who crossed him. His favorite method of dealing with dissent was to release someone out into the yards where a few zombies were allowed to roam freely. The hapless victim would run themselves ragged until eventually being torn apart by the zombies while Art and his cronies watched from the rooftop. The zombies had their throats cut, so they couldn’t moan and warn their victims. The women couldn’t go anywhere if they got out of their cages, since the zombies would get them, too.

“Sounds like this Art guy is a real sweetie,” I said to Maggie.

“He’s a bastard,” Maggie said around a mouthful of dried apricots. “And he’s gotten meaner since his brother was killed on a raid.”

Well, well. Now I knew I had the right place. I waved Tommy over from his discussions with two other women and filled him in on what I had been told.

Tommy nodded. “Sounds like what I had been hearing as well. What do you want to do about it? We can’t find bikes for all these women and some of them are in bad shape, needing medical attention. We can’t fight ‘cause some of them will get killed for sure. I don’t want to run, but I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

Tommy had good points. As much as it galled me not to be able to put a bullet in Art’s face, I had another job to do. I walked outside for a second and looked over the area. From where I was standing, I could see a fairly large crowd of zombies wandering around the outside fence. That wasn’t too much of a concern, since zombies were usually easily distracted. But transportation was my big problem. I looked over to the trucks parked in front of the main building and realized suddenly that I could do both.

I went back into the building and outlined my plan to Tommy. He looked at me like I was nuts, but as the plan unfolded, he got a grin on his face that got wider as I explained further.