Code Zulu Alpha: Nerd in the Apocalypse!

As time went on, I spent some of my time supervising the upgrades of our current checkpoints with our builders. Well, not all of them were permanent but the ones that were permanent were given significant buffs.

These ‘permanent’ checkpoints were usually built on top of a bridge to make things extremely easier and the upgrades we put on were a watchtower, an airlock system for their gates, a communication system, and a ‘filter’ right underneath.

We used to just have platforms built a few feet up above the ground, and maybe a catwalk if it was built right next to a wall, but these watchtowers were built at least two-to-four stories high, depending on the location. If the location had just regular houses built around, a two-story watchtower was enough.

All we needed was enough height to spot hordes or anything unusual from a distance so the guards could either phone in a few groups to take care of them or just have them take care of the problem themselves.

Furthermore, these towers had enough supplies and room to have two-to-three security groups to have alternating shifts without ever going back to our home base. They’d be able to cook or store their food, have some rest, a bit of entertainment with their personal effects or just with chatting with our comms, and etc.

The only thing we couldn’t put on the watchtower right now was a plumbing system but it does have clean water in the available containers. With that said, portable outhouses were available where they could do their business privately.

If they wanted to, they could just stay there for a week and just wait for their supplies to get replenished or get their shift taken from them.

This place suited a few loners and a few people that wanted to get some practice with long shooting.

Not everyone wanted to get up close and personal with a fucking deadhead so some of them were getting real-life training of picking them off from a distance. Granted some of them weren’t as good as our main squad, the experience will be their teacher.

In regards to the ‘filter’ we put underneath our checkpoints built on top of bridges, they were sets of loose to tight netting designed to catch trash and rotting body parts floating or going around the flow so we could properly dispose of them.

Our guards stationed there were obviously the ones required to check them in a couple of hours or so to prevent the netting from ripping off when they had too much baggage to carry.

It would’ve looked like a menial job but knowing where undead bodies or any sort of objects that shouldn’t be in a body of water were flowing from was a huge help in regards to finding their actual source and taking care of them properly.

It actually led us to a sewer system that was literally about to get clogged with bloated body parts and we managed to clear it on time.

The limbs and torsos we fished out were almost twice the size when we found them and they were discolored to the point we could mistake them for the characters in a certain blockbuster film that a few first thought would be about someone that could master the four elements.

The only problem we got from that job was that we had to wait for their bodies to dry up before we burned them, and the smell after coming back after a few days was fucking horrible.

It was like a rotting finger was picking our noses the whole time we were in close proximity with the pile, and it didn’t help when we actually burned them. I would’ve traded smelling singed nose hairs from smelling that fucked up slop any day.

With that said, that was just one of the things we had to take care of ourselves ever since the world ended.

We used to be born, brought up, or even put into someplace that would dictate what we would do in the future as a member of our society, but all of it was thrown out the window the first time an infected chomped off a chunk of flesh from its victim. 𝐧𝒪𝔳𝓔𝗅𝑵𝞮xt.𝗰𝑂𝓂

We still had a community with their own roles to fulfill based on their skill set but almost everyone was starting to learn about trades they didn’t think they’d need in the first place.

I could say that I was a jack of most trades like a select few in my group but everyone else was entirely different.

Take Kaley for example, she was supposed to be a nurse that turned out to be a flight attendant but aside from the skills she obtained from attending those classes, she was also taught how to handle firearms by her dad. Her main hobby was actually dancing but the skill she didn’t think could help her as much was the one thing that separated her from everyone else.

Granted she was already a good shot when our paths crossed for the second time, she was still learning to utilize her skill with different kinds of firearms. She would’ve been stuck with her old M70 if we hadn’t met and not only that, the number of other things related or unrelated to making a stick go boom that she learned the time we’ve been together was frightening.

Anyone could pick something that they wanted to do but it doesn’t always mean that they’ll be good at it.

Sometimes, as bad as it could sound depending on the circumstances, anyone’s calling could be entirely different from what they thought it would be. In the end, it all boils down to what you wanted to do and what you needed to do.

We could always pursue our heart’s desire but we shouldn’t forget that we had other organs we also had to take care of.

However, if what you wanted and what you needed were the same thing and you realized that, it was always fucking awesome.

Like the monster truck that suddenly rolled past us.

We were currently doing our rounds outside our walls when Oscar and Raphael rolled up with their first prototype.

It was a beast of a machine, to say the least, but the body of the F-150 that Raphael requested from me wasn’t put on it yet.

Needless to say, it stood almost 3.5 meters tall with its 66-inch tires, and it still looked daunting even with its patched-up body made with fiberglass. Its tube-frame chassis was definitely well-made for their first prototype and it’ll definitely look better if it was covered by paint. However, I assumed it was done on purpose so they could further check on the welding work and to make sure everything was done properly.

Everything they made from scratch was still bare metal, including the axle they took from the military trucks that were out of commission. In some way, adding just a clear coat instead of paint could be a thousand times better.

‘Aesthetics should come after function…’

It’s just that these two idiots also went for explosive power.

I was wondering at first as to why they followed us by the highway and they cleared the road of any obstructions, and then it hit me.

They gingerly drove on the farthest side a straight road could allow then and it didn’t take long before the huge fucking engine they put on it started roaring like there’s no tomorrow. It was even louder than my fucking Charger and I could already guess they modified it to some extent.

Well, the two put on their helmets before Oscar shouted at the top of his lungs.

“HIT IT!”

As soon as his voice echoed, their monster truck just took off and stood only with its rear wheels for tens of meters before it stabilized and gained speed like a motherfucker. It clocked 60 mph in less than a few seconds and it still flew faster as its tires were still gripping tightly on the track. However, its braking capabilities weren’t as good compared to its acceleration capabilities because they were about to crash as they were about to reach the end of the road.

“HIT THE BRAKES! HIT THE FUCKING BRAKES!”

“IF I HIT IT NOW, WE’LL ROLL THIS THING!”

“WHO TOLD YOU TO GO HAM ON THE PEDAL?!”

“IT’S YOU WHO SHOUTED HIT IT!”

“I SAID HIT IT! NOT HAM IT!”

“WHAT’S THE FUCKING DIFFERENCE?!”

Good thing the guards stationed at the checkpoint on the other side opened the gate at the right second or else they’d be making another frame or starting from scratch.

With that said, that truck still got a lot more things to get worked on like exchanging the fiberglass body into a metal one, reinforcing said body to be run-compatible, mounting a .50 cal machine gun, weight testing, and etc.

Nevertheless, the two proved that they could build a monster truck from broken-down military trucks and farm tractors, and all they needed was time to work on all the bells and whistles.

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