Warrior's Chronicle by Mark Won

Author:Mark Won [Won, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Published: 2018-10-13T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4: What’s in a Name? How to Captain a Starship, and Knocking Down the Man

“If you don’t mind I think we’ll name it a ‘ghast’,” Mark said while looking over a picture of the Changed cannibal, Harris.

I said, “Whatever you say. One name’s as good as another.” Mark really liked to name things. He thought he was good at it.

I’d given Mark a full account of my journey as soon as we’d returned from our previous mission. The winter had passed without difficulty. Felicia had no complications delivering my son. We named him Martin, after Felicia’s granddad. He was a tubby little guy and I was seriously thinking about giving up my wandering ways so I could settle into the joys of being a father.

Now it was spring and we were due to head out again. This time with trade goods and a whole lot of personal armor. After hearing our story, Mark had made sure we would be taken care of. His initial thinking was that the scouting crews would try to avoid engaging the enemy, while the island clearing crews would be actively attempting to enter into combat. From that point of view it made perfect sense to reserve the armor for the militia clearing the islands. After seeing our wounded he changed his mind. If he hadn’t then I would’ve handed in my resignation on the spot.

Not that our body armor was fantastic or anything, but it was better than nothing. Mostly cobbled together sporting gear and scrap metal laminated with duct tape. I remember one guy handing out the armor told me that the human bite force couldn’t penetrate a scuba suit. I asked him if he was willing to put that to the test, personally. He said no. Hence, the sporting gear.

Mark said, “If this deal with the people of Flag Town works out we’ll be halfway there when it comes to bullet production. But there’s something I need to make clear. I don’t want you to take any bigoted crap from a bunch of cross burning racist hicks. That’s not who we are. Obviously, I don’t want you to go around picking fights, but I really don’t want the people we meet to get the misimpression that I’m...I mean we…are okay with that crap, understood?”

I said, “I don’t think it’ll be a problem with Flag Town. Maybe with Shallow Ford, but I only think I’ll need to deal with Mayor Callow once.”

Mark wished us well and off we went. The drive back to Shallow Ford was blissfully uneventful. I had been worried about large migrating (or at least moving) hordes of the undead. They do tend to get around.

We had even had reports from some refugees originating up north, that a mob of monsters was what had chased them south. The refugees had no idea where the zombies had originally come from. Old Man Althaus (a friend from west of the bay) actually went out and picked through the pockets of a few of the dead.

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