Forget The Zombies (Book 3): Forget America by R.J. Spears Page A

attributed to my concussion. None of my dreams were very cheery. In fact, death predominated them as the undead wandered around in the recesses of my dark nightmares the entire time. Needless to say, there were no Sugar Plum Fairies.

    I awoke just before the dawn, a low level anxiety pulsing through me. The morning air was moist and crisp. The giant switched off with another man I hadn’t seen before and he wasn’t any friendlier. He passed my window twice before he noticed me staring at his passage. He didn’t say anything, but just moved on with his rounds.
    Just after the sunrise, I heard a clamoring of footsteps in the hallway and I put my ear to the door to listen. There were several men out there. I listened intently as they went from door to door, unlocking each one. I heard Clint’s voice issuing a series of commands. From what I could hear most of the people complied. I heard Dave put up some token resistance, but ultimately, he must have decided he didn’t didn’t want another rifle butt to the gut.
    They saved me for last. I could have tried the hero act and tried to jump out and take whoever was there, but that didn’t seem to be a winning hand, so I decided to play along and hope that Chuck came to the rescue.
    My door swung open and Jeb and Clint stood outside. Jeb wore a hint of a smile while Clint’s face looked like he had just sucked on a lemon. He also held a gun.
    “Grant, so good to see you up and about,” Jeb said. “I’m so sorry about yesterday. We got a little rough, but you seemed a bit upset and we didn’t want any trouble.”
    His tone was conciliatory, as if I just looked as he just cut in line at lunch or something, instead of tossing one of our friends into a pit of the undead.
    “Clint here has some instructions we’d like you to follow.”
    Clint stepped forward with a pistol in one hand and a set of handcuffs in the other.
    “Put these on or one of us will put them on you and it won’t be pleasant,” he said.
    “So, you have the good cop and bad cop thing going on here, huh?” I asked.
    “Just put them on,” Clint said as he threw the cuffs at my feet.
    Knowing I had the weak hand, I retrieved the cuffs and snapped them on. He stepped forward and checked them yanking on them roughly, causing them to cut into my wrists. I thought I saw a slight grin cross his face, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it stung and smiled back.
    When I stepped into the hallway, I saw everyone else out there and all of them were handcuffed just like me. Dave was looking a little worse from the wear and had the start of a black eye. They had left the cuffs off Jessica and Martin, and they did have a wheelchair for Rosalita. While it seemed humane at the moment, it was like the Nazi’s offering the death camp victims a cushy ride to the extermination buildings. It was only a matter of time before things went in the wrong direction for us and we all ended up in the pit.
    “Let’s head to the mission hall for breakfast, shall we?” Jeb asked. It seems he said everything like we had a choice.
    We filed out of the building with most of us with our heads down. I kept mine up, ready for any sign of Chuck, but saw nothing. I was beginning to think that Chuck’s appearance at my window was nothing more than a conjuration of my concussed brain. I mean, if he were out there wouldn’t he be doing something?
    After a quick march across the compound in the dawn air, we entered the mission hall again. The ladies were there again and the tables were decked out with plates and silverware while rich aromas of bacon wafted in from the kitchen.
    I stopped in my tracks and Clint, who had been guarding me, rammed into my back.
    “We’re dumb, but we’re not that dumb,” I said. “We not falling for that again.”
    Clint shoved me forward roughly and I nearly toppled over.
    Jeb stepped toward me with his hands up and said, “Oh no, Grant, the food is safe now. I promise you