Free Plague of the Undead by Joe McKinney Page A

general,” Nick said. “I’ll, of course, record the location of any settlements we find. We could always arrange a future expedition to make the first contact.”
    “But it might be an opportunity to open trade,” suggested Bree. “And if they’ve survived like we have, they’re probably not the kind of people who would want to hurt us. I mean, right? They’d know that survival is a team effort, right? They’d welcome more team members.”
    Sheriff Taylor stood up.
    All discussion stopped, and all eyes turned on him.
    He leaned over the table and met the gaze of every person in the room. “Listen up,” he said. “These are the ground rules. We make first contact only if we have to. We will record the locations of any settlements, as Nick suggested, but we will avoid first contact if at all possible.”
    Owen Webb started to object, but Taylor held up a hand to silence him.
    “And I want to make sure that each of you understands this one thing. Under no circumstances are any of you to say a word about Arbella to anyone outside our circle. Not a single word. I will die before I give away the location of our home, and if you are going on this expedition, you better damn well do the same.”
    He scanned the room again, his gaze unflinching, the matchstick clenched tightly in his teeth.
    “Is that absolutely clear?”
    A few nodded right away, clearly cowed. Others, including Owen, Jacob, and Frank, slowly nodded a moment later.

8
    They left Arbella on April 21st, and for that first week on the trail it seemed to Jacob more like a vacation than exploration. For one thing, his headaches were gone. There was no one else to make asinine suggestions that etiquette demanded he listen to. And all the public pressure of what to do and how to do it were finally a matter for the record. He’d taken action. He’d made the decisions. Now, finally, he was alone with the consequences of those choices. And he felt pretty damn good about it.
    The last of the hard freezes were behind them, and spring had come upon them quietly as a cat. The mornings were cool and usually foggy, but the afternoons were mild. It got cold at night, but not even that had been much of an issue. Working closely with Nick and Frank, he’d charted out their course so that they always ended up close to some sort of structure by nightfall.
    At night, they kept up a rotating guard, which had seemed a little silly that first night out, but proved useful during the second night.
    Just before dawn, Owen Webb woke Jacob in a panic.
    “Outside,” he said. “Three of them coming up the road.”
    “Shhh,” Jacob said, instantly awake.
    He went to hand signals. Just three. You’re sure?
    Owen nodded.
    They’d taken shelter inside an abandoned store that had once sold propane tanks. Frank Hartwell and his salvage teams had long since drained the tanks, but it was still one of the salvage teams’ most popular stops on their treks outward from Arbella. It was set back from the highway by a good distance and offered some excellent places to hide the horses. It was also easily defended and afforded a fairly good view of anything coming up the highway in either direction.
    Jacob went to the edge of the lot, keeping low between two large rusting tanks, and scanned the road where Owen pointed.
    There were way more than three. Jacob picked shapes out of the darkness, eventually counting fourteen in all.
    A fairly decent-sized herd.
    There were only three before , Owen signed to him. I promise .
    Something rustled in the grass behind them. It was Sheriff Taylor, coming up between the tanks, a black, mean-looking rifle in his hands. It looked sort of like an AR-15 with a collapsible stock, but it had a long, built-in suppressor on the muzzle and flip-up tactical sights. Jacob thought he’d seen every rifle in Arbella, but that one was a surprise
    Jacob gestured at the rifle. What’s that?
    Taylor shook his head as if to tell him not now. The others were watching