Zomb-Pocalypse 5

by Megan Berry

  I don’t have an exact rendezvous point picked out to leave the truck, I thought I would wing it and see how far I could get before I start to lose my nerve. I actually don’t get very far at all before something up ahead catches my attention. I squint to make out what it is, but its still a couple seconds before my eyesight gets on board and I can piece it together. Another car, the thought fills me with dread and I instantly break out in a sweat. It’s heading right towards me, and I panic and start to slam on the brakes- maybe I still have enough time to turn around and make a run for it or find another road to turn down and get away from them, but the other car isn’t that far off. I don’t know if I can maintain a big enough gap between our vehicles, even at full speed, to out distance the inevitable gun shots that would follow a high-speed chase.

  An idea permeates my fear-soaked brain after a millisecond where every possible scenario and outcome runs through my head at lightspeed- running can only make it worse. They have the advantage of knowing the area, and I don’t have a completely full tank of fuel, and maybe they do.

  If they are from Louisville, and let’s face it, they most likely are, being this close to the fortified city, maybe they will recognize the truck and not give it another thought when I blast past them heading in that direction. Maybe they will just think it’s Zombie Boy returning home after a supply run. I pull down the sun visor with trembling fingers, to hopefully block my face from their view, and I force myself to take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm me.

  I vaguely remember seeing something in the center console that might be helpful, and I pounce on it, pulling the latched lid open, and shifting through some papers, all while trying to keep the truck in a straight line on the road. I come across the baseball cap and slap it on my head, as far as disguises go, its pretty weak- but it’s all I have, and I cross my fingers that maybe it will be enough.

  As the other vehicle gets closer, I can see that it’s a smaller car- kind of an odd choice for the zombie apocalypse, but I suppose it would be better on gasoline in a world where fuel is getting harder and harder to find. I’m a little relieved to see it’s tiny, if push comes to shove, I should be able to do just that with a much larger truck and force the other car off the road and escape. I absolutely do not want to have to do that, I don’t want to hurt anyone, and my idea also comes with the very real possibility of me getting shot first, but I keep the plan in my mind as a backup, just in case.

  My foot presses a little harder down on the accelerator as we get closer to meeting, I want to use the faster speeds to my advantage and hopefully it will make it harder to see who’s driving. It’s a delicate balance though because I don’t want to go so fast that it looks like I’m trying to hide something. I keep the speedometer right on sixty mph and try and sit up a little higher in my seat to appear more like a man, and less like the terrified teenage girl I actually am.

  I hold my breath when the car and the truck meet each other on the highway. I keep expecting bullets to start pinging off the metal of the truck, but everything is silent, and the other car stays in its own lane and doesn’t try and cut me off. I can’t quite make out the features of the other people in the car, just that there were two of them in the front seat, and I hope that means they couldn’t quite see me either.

  My eyes rush to the rear-view mirror, and I know I’m not out of the woods yet. They could still turn around and give chase or start firing at me. I stare so hard at their retreating back end that my eyes start to blur, but the brake lights don’t light up to indicate they have any intention of turning around.

  I finally let myself release a shaky breath even though I know I’m far from safe being out here in the open like this. There could be other vehicles that aren’t so willing to accept this truck at face value, or the people in the car might have radioed ahead and warned people about me. The idea fills me with terror. I have to get off this road!

  I glance in the rearview again and watch until the other car is no longer visible. I don’t want to do anything erratic while they can still see me. When the second the car is gone from my sight, the longest five minutes of my life, I press the accelerator to the floor and keep it there until I come to the first turn, I see.

  I take it a little too quickly but manage to straighten the truck out and then pin it again and the truck takes off like shot. I have to avoid the interstate like its poison.

  I drive aimlessly for a few minutes, before taking a few more random roads, trying to create a tangled trail if anyone is trying to find me. I finally lose my nerve to keep driving around in the truck and pull into the driveway of the next house I see. I sit at the top of the driveway and hold my breath as I scan for danger- tensing against the possibility that shots could ring out at any minute. Nothing happens, but I don’t let myself relax, I slowly ease the truck further down the driveway, taking in the run-down appearance of the property and the long un-cut grass- not that mowing the grass would really be a priority in the apocalypse, but I don’t see any tracks in the grass and weeds.

  I pull up in front of the house and unholster my gun- I’m keeping it close this time. I exit the truck with more bravado than I feel and march up to the house and bang on the door. I pause and listen and hear shuffling within. I wait a few minutes and then knock again, jumping backwards and nearly tripping over the step when a decayed face appears in the small window in the door and begins to go absolutely nuts. I wrinkle my nose up at the sludgy mess the zombie is leaving behind on the glass. Definitely no one alive living here then.

  A second zombie joins the first, and then a third, and I take another few steps back, letting the screen door fall shut on the gory view. I don’t really want to try taking these zombies out by myself, for all I know there could be even more inside. The house also doesn’t have a garage- which I need to hide my truck. I look assessing at the house- I could maybe park it around the other side of the house?

  I walk around the other side of the house and discover that the truck would still be visible from patchy sections of the bushes that line the yard, but there is a barn further across the yard and I get back into the truck and pull it closer to the barn. There is no way in hell I’m going to get too far away from the truck, in case I have to run.

  I approach the barn, and everything seems ordinary, but I do have a gruesome image pop into my head of a barn filled with zombies. Just the idea makes goosebumps pop up all over my skin. I decide to knock first when I finally reach the big wooden sliding door. I crane my head to listen, but unlike the house, I don’t hear anything moving around in there.

  I start tugging on the door, hating the way I have to pull it- if it opens and something jumps out at me, I’ll probably still be holding onto the handle trying to slide it. I open it a crack and jump back, but again, nothing tries to reach through the dark space that I just opened up.

  Shivering at the excess adrenaline that’s racing through my body, I force myself to pull the door the rest of the way open. Sunlight streams inside, lighting the area and I’m relieved to see that its just an empty space filled with straw and a few empty wooden pens. I step inside and lug a couple hay bales that are sitting in the middle of the floor, to the side of the wall and then go back for the truck.

  It fits, but barely. The mirrors almost rub on the sides of the door when I pull it through and when I come to a stop with the hood of the truck practically touching the far wall, I’m nervous that I won’t be able to get the door shut again, but there’s about a foot and a half of room by the bumper. I step back outside and slide the door shut, then turn and glance around the yard. I feel so exposed without the truck. Even though I know its big and would be easily spotted, so I can’t continue to drive it up to the gates of Louisville, it did give me a false sense of security with the metal cab that wrapped all around me and the speed in which I could travel much faster than the dead. Why do human beings have to be so awful to one another?

  I adjust my backpack a little more comfortably and start walking back
through the yard. When I pass the house, I can see that the zombies have broken the window, but its too small for them to actually get out- not unless they manage to break the door open. I peel my eyes away from the smashed glass and the black gooey blood that’s running down the outside of the door and walk a little bit faster, trying to leave their moans of excitement behind me.

  I’m keeping the map in my coat pocket now, in case I get separated from my backpack and I pull it out and take a look at it. I’m still a good ten miles from Louisville. I would have liked to keep the truck a little longer, but running into those people earlier, ruined that for me. I’m not completely sure how long it will take me to cover the distance, but its about mid-morning now, so I’ll have to get a hustle on it. I’m really hoping that today is the day that I actually accomplish something. Ever since Silas and I got separated I can’t help but feel like I’m muddling through, making a big mess of things.

  The sound of glass breaking has me turning back towards the house. The zombies have moved to much larger window and their battering has broke it. I watch with anxiety as the three of them tumble through the glass. They are sliced open and dripping the black sludge, but it doesn’t slow them down as they scramble to their feet and start after me with a moan.

  Great.

  Chapter Nine

  My first instinct is to run- but of course they will just follow me. I could easily outpace them initially, but they will never get tired and I will. I don’t want to be forced to deal with them once I’m winded from running, and what if I run into people that I have to fight with, I don’t want to be simultaneously fighting off my undead fan club as well.

  “I hate zombies.” I mutter under my breath as I turn and face them. They are grouped together walking almost shoulder to shoulder, jostling each other out of the way in their haste to get to me. I don’t really want to deal with them when they’re all together like that. I pull my gun from my hip and bite my lip. I don’t want to risk the noise, but I am pretty secluded, and my gun does have a silencer on it, not that the silencer makes it completely silent.

  The lead zombie is getting closer and I make a split-second decision, raise my gun and pull the trigger. The zombies keep coming. I missed. “Not good.” I tell myself as I aim again, a little more carefully this time. This time the lead zombie goes down and I let out a small breath of relief. If I had missed again, I would have been on the verge of panic, and second guessing myself. Another shot and another zombie go’s down. “Just breath.” I tell myself, mimicking advise Silas has given me in the past about shooting.

  My next shot is too low, and I hit the zomb in the shoulder. I see him stagger back from the force of the impact, but he keeps coming. I raise the gun a second time, and my hand shakes slightly. Hes getting a little close for comfort, and if I don’t hit him this time, I’m gonna have to run back a bit and try again, or switch to a melee weapon- like my axe.

  I don’t think my second bullet even hits him, though it is hard to tell because zombies don’t react to pain. I pivot and start running towards the end of the driveway to get a little space between me and the zombie, before I turn back and plant a bullet right between his eyes. I finally let myself breath, sucking in deep breaths to calm myself down. That was terrible marksmanship.

  I’m usually better, but I think being out here alone, and only having myself to rely on has gotten inside my head and made me second guess myself. I stare at the three bodies on the ground and then at the house behind them. I don’t want to waste anymore time, but the house is clear now, and curiosity is getting the better of me.

  I run back to the front door, keeping my gun out, and turn the knob, it’s locked. I let out a huff of irritation and then decide that I don’t care if I wreck it, the bodies in the grass are already a neon sign if anyone wanders past here. I step back and kick the door as hard as I can several times. The force of the kick reverberates up my spine, but I ignore it and after the third kick, the door jam splinters and smashes open against the wall inside. I stand back for a second and wait to see if anything else comes charging at me, but it doesn’t.

  With the front window all smashed out, the house is well lit. I enter a formal looking dining room that looks like its seen better days, chairs are knocked over and glass dishes are smashed on the floor. I pass a buffet hutch and round the corner to the kitchen.

  It’s also kind of a mess- I didn’t realize zombies cooped up in a house for months would make such a mess. I guess I kind of assumed they went inactive without a human nearby to tempt them into a frenzy. It looks like they totally trashed this entire house.

  I skip the fridge. Nothing good ever came out of opening a fridge that hasn’t had power in months. Whatever might be in there, is not worth the odour to me. This house smells bad enough from its previous occupants.

  I find the kitchen and start opening cupboards- not a lot of stuff, but I do come up with a couple puddings, fruit snacks, and a bag of cookies. I toss them in my pack and then add a roll of duct tape I find in a junk drawer- Silas was getting low.

  I poke around some more, but only find a bathroom. Next, I stumble across a set of stairs, leading down into a basement. “Hell no.” I mutter to myself as I shine my light to the bottom. It isn’t completely dark down there, there must be windows, but it’s pretty dim. I pan my light back and forth, but nothing starts fussing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “You’re an idiot.” I tell myself, even as curiosity has me taking my first step down. I have no idea why it’s suddenly so important to me to see whats down here, but the urge somehow overrides my fear. This is a home that looks like it’s had zombies in it from the first outbreak- which means it hasn’t been picked over. There could be something really good.

  I let out a small whistle when I reach the middle of the stairs, but still nothing pops out at me. I keep my gun up and my flashlight aimed straight ahead, police style. I reach the bottom of the stairs without mishap and take a deep breath when I see its just a normal living room. A green futon sits against the wall in front of an older style tube tv, a wood burning fireplace in the corner and the far wall is all bookshelf, filled with dusty old books that I don’t recognize.

  I tread softly across the old-fashioned orange and brown patterned carpet to the doorway that leads to a small hall with two rooms. The first, the room directly across from the room with the books has the door open, and I can tell with just a cursory glance that it’s a bedroom. I step inside and shine my light on everything from the red metal twin bed frame, neatly made with a blue blanket to the matching painted red dresser. I step closer when I see the binoculars sitting on the top of the dresser. They will definitely come in handy.

  They have a string, so I take the time to hang them around my neck. The weight is unfamiliar and a bit annoying, but they will be perfect for doing reconnaissance when it comes time to find Silas. I’ll get used to them, or I’ll toss them into my pack when I have more time. Right now, I am getting anxious to see whats behind door number two and then get the hell out of here and go find Silas.

  I walk up to the second door with a tad less confidence, I’m really not a fan of shut doors. I knock softly on the door and then pause to listen, but I don’t hear any moaning or scratching, so I turn the knob. I don’t even get the door all the way open when something comes shooting out of the darkness and nearly takes me out at the knees.

  My knees buckle and I let out a startled yell at the impact of the hit, but its not a zombie. Its too fast and too low, and it doesn’t stop to snack on my flesh. I turn just in time to see a tail disappearing around the corner into the living room and I bring my gun up and barely resist the urge to fire at it.

  I turn back to the dark room, half expecting something else to come flying out of it, but it seems to be empty now, except for the terrible smell.

  After past experiences with feral dogs, I have zero trust in peoples once lovable-family pets. I’m pretty sure that thing was a dog, and a big one if the throb in my knee is anything
to go by. I step into the room and have to bite back the urge to gag.

  I shine the light around the room and pause on the body that’s almost unrecognizable in the middle of the floor. It’s been chewed so badly. The room itself is littered in dog feces and I would have turned around a ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction, if it wasn’t for the large gun safe in the corner.

  I decide that, as disgusting as this room is, the unknown factor of the dog is a lot more dangerous, so I shut the door, trapping myself in the room with the smell, and keeping myself safe from the man-eating dog.

  I pull my shirt up over my nose, and even though, I’m not the best smelling right now, my own odor doesn’t even a little bit cover up the smell. I carefully start to cross the room, avoiding the dog’s piles as I go- until I get to the middle of the room. I stop and examine the body. There is a gun laying beside it, and I at least know the dog didn’t shoot the guy. It must have been a suicide once this person’s family turned into zombies.

  The body is chewed to being practically unrecognizable and really, I’m not even one hundred percent sure if this was a man or a woman at one point. Why in the heck would a person kill themselves with the poor dog trapped in here with them. I guess maybe they were scared and not thinking clearly, or they wanted to shoot the dog too, but didn’t have the nerve when it came down to it.

  I look around for evidence of how in the hell a dog managed to survive in here for so long? Obviously once things got desperate the dog began to snack on its owner. In the corner of the room a large fish tank is tipped off it’s stand and laying on its side. It’s a wonder the thing didn’t break when it tipped, but here I find the answer.

  The tank fell at an angle, so not all the water tipped out, a small portion of it still remains sloshed at an awkward angle. Its not very good-looking water, its green and full of algae and there isn’t a fish to be seen left swimming inside the tank- making me wonder if the dog also had something to do with that. The water is barely visible above the thick layer of gravel and I get the uncomfortable feeling that the dog probably wouldn’t have had much longer to survive down here if I hadn’t come along and let it out. I just hope that it pays me back my kindness by running far, far away and not trying to eat me for my trouble. I get to the gun case and am elated to find it open- probably because the person laying in the middle of the floor wasn’t exactly thinking about long term.