by Shane Woods
“Scared,” she said in her usual quiet voice, “we were so worried about you, and those things!”
“Yeah, well I’m here now, and we’re all safe, right?” I tried to reassure.
“Right” she said meekly and went back to her sleeping mat in the middle of the attic.
Gwen started fussing, so I put her down and she took off like a jet to her pile of foam rubber building blocks, scattering them in every direction and giggling.
“You haven’t been outside, right? They haven’t seen you guys?” I asked, turning to my wife.
“No,” she replied, motioning to the girls. “Melissa has been helping her best with keeping Gwen occupied while Henry and I kept an eye on the outside. Those things.”
Picking up where she trailed off, I offered, “Yeah, they’re fucked up. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m happy I was able to make it back.”
“We heard a bunch of noise a few hours ago, like a semi-truck,” as she buried her face in my shoulder.
“Yeah, I had a plan, and for once, it worked!” I said, squeezing her tight.
Just then, Henry made his way up the steps. “Hey hey neighbor,” he said jovially, “brother it’s so good to have you back here,” taking one of my hands and embracing me with his free arm.
“Yeah no shit, it’s good to be here,” I told him, “thanks so much brother, I could damn near kiss you on your bald ass head!”
Henry was a good neighbor. A damned good one. He’d help the wife with things if she needed it and keep an eye on things when we’d go on vacations. Always respectful, helpful, and as happy to see you as a Golden Retriever. Not overly imposing, a few inches shorter than me, but he was built like a freaking pit bull and Lord help you if you ever got on Mr. Henry’s bad side.
Motioning to my youngest, he opined, “The little one sure been a handful. She’s good for a bit, but good Lord that girl has some lungs when she wants your attention. Me and Miss Jennifer,” motioning to my wife, “been keeping an eye on the outside. We got the water shut off to the house, all the sinks and tub filled, and been boilin’ it to make sure it’s safe.”
“Yeah she doesn’t really seem to understand why we’re up here,” said Jennifer.
“Probably for the better, anyway. Y’all been holding up ok though?” I asked “Got any food? I’m starving.”
“Yeah,” Jennifer said, offering me a can of beef ravioli.
I took the can and started to sit, but then heard a commotion out front. All of us moved to the front attic window and watched the scene unfolding.
The neighbors across the street and one over decided to make a run for it, probably hoping to use the cover of darkness the same as I had. The commotion we heard was their own great escape, botched before they made it one step outside their front door. Two of the five people made it outside and were making their way down the front steps toward street level. The third one fell, right across the door jam, making a resounding thud on the porch which was followed almost immediately by a chorus of shrieks and howls as several runners made their way from the surrounding yards and driveways.
“Ah shit,” I muttered, looking back to see Melissa watching from behind us.
“Go over with your sister, you don’t need to watch this,” Jennifer shot at her, and Melissa slunk away.
A scream drew our attention back to the drama, a thin sheet of glass now our own television screen to the horrors. The other two neighbors, Christ, they haven’t even been there long enough for me to know their names, dragged the third back inside as two runners shot up the front steps towards them. The other two made it safely to their car, slamming the doors just as three more impacted the doors just a fraction of a second later. With little hesitation, they started the car and left the others to fend for themselves.
The two runners made it up the steps, one crashing clean through the not-quite-closed front door, the other bursting inside hot on its heels. Screaming echoed out of the house, reverberating off of the houses. One runner began backing out of the house, dragging what looked like the teenage daughter with it, the handle of what appeared to be a butcher’s knife sticking out of its chest. It dragged the girl across the porch, leaving a thickening trail of blood as he bounced her head down the steps, her screams long silenced, turning into gurgled moans, thanks to the large chunk of missing flesh from her neck and down her shoulder. As the runner dragged her body across the devil strip, the three that had attacked the car joined him. Nipping at her legs and removing long strips of blood and sinew-decorated meat.
In the midst of all of this, the one that remained in the house showed itself at the front door, issued several loud, barking coughs, and three of the four attacking the now lifeless body rushed inside the house, and within moments, crimson lines and splatters painted the white of the open front door as a dark, but visible, pool spread its way to the door jam.
The guy dragging the body away was now out of sight, a trail of blood marking their journey to the area of Henry’s driveway. The others in the house were now quiet, presumably feasting on the two left inside, and the sounds of the engine making its escape faded away. Moments later, we heard the screech of tires, a crash, a single gunshot, and then silence.
“I guess, guess they didn’t make it, either,” Henry said, looking a bit sick.
“No,” I replied, “they went south.”
“What’s south?” Jennifer asked.
“That’s where I dropped my trailers,” I explained, as realization spread across their faces.
Leaning against the wall near the window, and sliding down until I was sitting, I began to realize for the first time that I was soaked with a cold sweat. I’d just seen my neighbors slaughtered right in front of my eyes. Jennifer looked about the same as I felt, pale faced and breathing kind of hard. Henry had disappeared back down to the second floor. He came back up with, of all things, a twelve-pack of Miller High Life.
“I need me one of these babies,” he said, offering me one of my own.
I took the proffered can, and, cracking it open, remarked, “I didn’t want to admit it, but I guess this is how you know the world has gone to shit.” And took a swig.
“What you mean?” Henry asked, eyeballing me.
“Because you finally convinced me to drink this piss water,” I said, and was met with a soft chuckle.
“Brother,” he said, “drink about six more of these, and you won’t care how they taste. Trust me.”
Taking another long draw from the can, I looked around the attic. It was pretty average for an unfinished storage area. Wood plank floor, peaked ceiling with no actual walls aside from the slope of the roof interior, and a window on each end. At least it was secure. That was something. We had a whole house full of supplies to sustain us for a while, guns, ammo, and a high vantage point. Henry had stripped the interior of the walls in my garage, and used the plywood, along with a whole box of wood screws, to cover the windows and doors on the first floor.
Finishing my beer, and feeling we were fairly safe in our little hideout, I decided going to bed was the next proper step to take. I had been up for over twenty-four hours at this point, and, though not unusual or difficult for a truck driver, the events of the day made it quite a bit tougher to pull off. Locating a pile of musty blankets in the corner, I instructed Jennifer to lock the door at the bottom of the attic steps, and we all lay down for bed, except Henry.
“You ain’t tired, man?” I asked.
“Somebody gotta stay awake to keep an eye on things, brother. Get some rest, I’ll wake you when I feel too tired.” And, holding the remainder of his twelve- pack up, “Somebody’s got to keep these guys company, anyway.”
“Alright, man. Good night,” I replied, and lay my head down, pulling Jennifer in close.
“Sleep well, my brother,” he wished and turned back to the window.
TWO
I awoke some time later to see light streaming through the windows. It had definitely been more than a few hours. Bot
h girls were awake and playing quietly in a corner, Melissa drawing, and baby Gwen back at it with her blocks and an assortment of stuffed animals scattered around her haphazardly.
“You’re up,” Jennifer observed, handing me a steaming cup of black coffee.
“Nobody woke me up to keep watch?” I asked, eyeballing her.
“Your day was longer than ours, and you weren’t moving, anyway,” she laughed, leaning in to give me a kiss.
Henry made his presence known, appearing on the steps, “Whoa now, there’s children present here!” and laughed.
“Jealous” I admonished with a smile.
“Nah brother, that one’s all yours. Too crazy for me.” He grinned, “I had to nudge you with my foot a dozen times. With your snoring...” He trailed off, shaking his head and grinning.
“Yeah,” Jennifer chimed in, “We thought you were going to lead them right to us.”
We all had a laugh, and then Henry turned serious. “Jennifer and I checked what we have, for supplies.”
“Yeah?” I asked, sipping my coffee.
“About one and a half months, if we’re easy on it.” Jennifer said, “We figured we’d leave it up to you, whether you want to stay or leave.”
“Right,” I said, then added, “No fuckin way are we leaving. Not yet. Not with the girls, and with how fast those things are. We have a month and a half of supplies, we stay for one month, and take what we have on the road then.”
“Where would we go though?” Jennifer asked.
“Don’t know yet, woman, I just woke up. Let’s take it easy for now,” I explained.
“Man needs some time,” Henry opined.
“Yeah, this is a lot to take in, man,” I offered, then, “We should gather what we have and bring it all up here, this is the safest spot we have. Keep perishable food where it is for now and bring everything else up here. Did you count the MRE’s in the closet downstairs?” I asked Jennifer.
“Shit, no,” she said.” That gives us… what?”
“Another two weeks,” I explained. “Get everything. Guns and ammo are all up here, but get both med kits, both bug-out bags, tarps, hand tools, batteries, the kids’ stuff, couple changes of clothes, get everything. Is my phone charged?”
“Yeah, I plugged it in when I got up,” Jennifer explained.
“Cool, I’m going to call my mom, see if they’re alright and what’s going on there,” I said, and got up to retrieve my phone. Grabbing the device, and seeing it had fifty-percent battery, I brought up my mom in my contacts. Selecting her number and putting the phone to my ear, I heard silence for a few seconds, then a beep, and the phone went back to the contacts menu. Pulling it away and looking at the screen, I saw ‘No service’ displayed at the bottom of the screen.
“No phones. No service,” I said and turned to see that the other two had already left to gather our supplies up. “You girls doing good?” I asked my daughters.
“Yeah,” Melissa said, “I’m kind of scared.”
“I know,” I said, giving her a hug with one arm, “we got this though, kid. We’ll be alright.”
“Okay,” she said meekly, then went back to her sister, who was now busy filling in an entire coloring book page with blue marker.
A few minutes later, Jennifer and Henry came up the narrow attic stairs, each with one of the bug-out packs on their backs, and arms full of various supplies. Placing them in one corner, Jennifer turned to me.
“Any luck?” she asked.
“Nah, no service,” I explained.
“Yeah, I checked mine downstairs, it said the same thing.”
“Mom’s too stubborn, Dad’s too smart. I’m sure they’re alright,” I said.
I left Jennifer to sort and stack supplies and left down the stairs with Henry to grab the rest of our stuff. The rest of that day, and the next couple of days after that passed by without too much drama. The occasional freak, or small group of them, could be seen running between houses and down the streets, chasing anything that moved. I got quite a good laugh watching them at the bushes across the street, next to a neighbor’s house. The perpetual flock of little brown sparrows that lived there seemed to be taunting them. They would land, chirping and squeaking loudly, one of the runners would sprint head-long into the bushes, bounce off, and all the tiny birds would fly up to the roof tops, only to return a few moments later to taunt their predator again.
We began keeping watch in shifts at night, each person on-duty for three hours, effectively giving us all six hours of sleep a night. We knew we were in danger, but, from our elevated position, we were more like observers, as opposed to prey.
Four days into our new lives as the silent watchers of our new world, we heard a commotion on the street adjoining our own. A Hispanic man, named Jose, and his family had tried making a run to their SUV that was parked on the street. As soon as the side door to their home opened, the shrieks of those running freaks could be heard. We watched in horror as Jose drew a pistol and fired, hitting one of the monstrosities in the chest, and another in the head. The one that he hit in the chest stumbled and fell, but almost immediately found her feet, and lunged for Jose’s wife, taking the small woman to the ground like a tiger leaping on its prey, and tearing long strings of flesh and cloth free from her shoulder blades that glistened in the sun.
Jose spun when the implications of this new development sunk home, and he started firing blindly. They had now attracted a small flock of about a dozen runners. Jose’s rounds had practically no effect as he squeezed the trigger again and again. He stopped shooting when the group got closer, and turned the gun on his young son, pulling the trigger on the young boy of about 6, then turning the gun on himself. As the spray of skull fragments and brain matter left the top of his head, looking much like the world’s most disgusting party popper, I turned and vomited into our restroom bucket.
No sooner had I lifted my head and began wiping my mouth, Jennifer followed suit, filling the entire attic with the sounds and smells of sickness and second-hand beef ravioli. Henry just walked away, muttering and wiping sweat from his forehead, finding a seat next to the kids, and offering them comfort.
I returned to the window for just a moment, long enough to see the freaks dragging Jose and his wife off to locations unknown. The remainder of their Devil’s dinner party stayed behind, and began pulling on the boy’s body, twisting his small limbs about, pulling and tearing until each had their own meal. I left the window as the sounds of popping bones and tearing cartilage reached me, followed by sounds similar to ripping a wet wash rag as I traversed the wood plank floor.
“Brother, you made a wise choice to stay, I think,” Henry remarked somberly.
“I’m going to get a beer. I have Guinness,” I replied and made my way down the stairway to my fridge on the first floor.
THREE
Thankfully, the next two days once again passed without much drama, though the neighborhood was beginning to already look worse for wear. Dried blood and gore now splattered across the house of two of my closer neighbor’s properties. Long-dried streaks stuck and baked to the pavement from the first encounter, where the woman was dragged across the street to Henry’s driveway. Similar marks and puddles littered Jose’s driveway. A few abandoned vehicles here and there, the bright blue collar of somebody’s dog in the nearby intersection, surrounded by more witness markings of horrible scenes.
The one thing that kept drawing my attention was the runner that Jose managed to shoot in the head. It lay still and hadn’t moved or been touched since it took its last moment of life face down in the grass of the small house’s front lawn. I remarked about it to Jennifer, who promptly wrote it down in her notebook she had begun keeping, the front of the lime green pack of bound paper promptly labelled ‘How to Survive Monsters’.
On the third day of silence, at dawn, I heard the sounds of distant gunfire. Full automatic, the far away thump of what could only be a .50 caliber machine gun. The sound of small explosions, softened b
y distance, reverberated through the empty streets.
“Hey, guys!” I announced, waking up Jennifer and Henry.
Waking wide eyed, and exchanging glances all around, Jennifer was the first to speak.
“What is that?” she asked, already fully awake.
“Is that…?” Henry asked, trailing off.
“Gotta be the fuckin military, man. Gotta be!” I exclaimed.
Our excitement was short lived, soon to be replaced with apprehension and confusion as the power to the house shut off and was soon replaced by a far-off klaxon emanating from the downtown area of Akron.
“Hey, Scott, what is that?” Henry asked, motioning out the back window towards the sky.
I moved into a position next to him as the unmistakable shape of several military aircraft flew in a formation just over the treetops. Their silhouettes letting anyone even remotely interested in military aircraft know that it was a swarm of A-10 attack aircraft. They flew low and fast, barely missing the tallest treetops as the sound of their twin jet engines shook the house on their pass.
Running to the front of the house, the backs of their aircraft wavering in the heat of their exhaust, I watched, and waited. We all did. All curious as to the intentions of a formation of one of the modern military’s most impressive airborne killers. They flew out of sight, though the sounds of their powerful engines remained.
The streets almost immediately filled with pack after pack of running freaks, all turning their attention skyward, then downtown, all wondering what was making this much noise in their part of the city, and if they could eat said intruder.
As the aircraft made their second pass, then a third and a fourth, more and more runners moved through the neighborhoods. There were so many of them, more than any of us had ever imagined there could be, making me all the more thankful that we hadn’t decided to fight our way out of town. Despite years of seeing armchair apocalypse experts offer advice on the internet, bugging in, as opposed to bugging out, had been an apparently smart move.