Die Trying: A Zombie Apocalypse

by Ryan, Nicholas

  “This meeting isn’t to decide if we should move from this house,” I said. “It’s to decide which way we go when we leave – and whether we should stay as a group, or separate.”

  I hadn’t thought about that second option – hadn’t thought about it at all until the instant the words slipped from my mouth. It caught me – and everyone else by surprise.

  The silence in the room was a heavy melancholy gloom, the tension becoming more palpable. I saw Jed’s eyes narrow into cunning, calculating little slits, and I saw Harrigan inhale a sudden sharp breath. Only Walker seemed not to react. It was like the man was carved from stone.

  “Separating would be a bad idea,” Walker said, and his voice dropped to a low rumble like distant thunder. He leaned forward, his face intent and serious. “There’s strength in numbers. More guns – more eyes. There are enough of us for the group to rest while others guard. We will stand a better chance,” he said. “If we separate, we will all die.” Walker was worried all right – I could hear it in his voice – but he wasn’t scared. In fact he didn’t look like the kind of man that scared easily.

  I saw Harrigan from the corner of my eye. He was nodding his head. I glanced at Jed. He glared back at me.

  “That makes sense,” I conceded. I remembered the terror of those first days of the apocalypse before Jed and I had stumbled upon the safe house. They were dark horrifying days and nights filled with nerve-wracking anxiety. There hadn’t been a single moment to relax, or a moment to rest. It was a waking nightmare of constant fear that went on without end.

  There were still problems that needed answers. My eyes made another searching sweep across the faces gathered around, and then I started with the biggest question of all. “Where do we go?”

  Walker spoke immediately, which surprised me. I had formed the opinion that he was the kind of man who sat back and watched, and only intervened or became involved after carefully assessing a situation. But now his voice had a restrained measure of urgency to it.

  “We head towards Pentelle,” he said. Emphatic.

  For several seconds the room remained silent. Finally it was Jed who spoke.

  “Why?” he asked, his attitude petulant and simmering with rebellion. “Why not head towards Richmond? Or why don’t we get onto the 64 and make a run towards West Virginia?” He got to his feet quite suddenly and stabbed his finger in Walker’s direction but his question was aimed squarely at me and Harrigan. “Why are we just going where this guy wants us to go?”

  “It’s not where I want to go,” Walker’s calm restraint slipped a notch. “It’s the only place left to go,” he said. He came to his feet like a cat, surprisingly agile for a big man. Secretly, I guessed that Walker and Jed would be a good physical match for each other. Jed was an inch taller, and maybe a few pounds of muscle heavier, but Walker moved like he knew how to fight. He carried his strength in his shoulders and thighs, and looked like he was more than capable of trading blows in a fist-fight.

  “Richmond is a slaughter-house. And West Virginia is a wasteland. There’s nothing left, man,” Walker said. “Life no longer exists the way it once did. There are only the undead, those about to become undead – and a few thousand survivors, aboard navy vessels in the Atlantic, east of Norfolk. There’s nothing else,” he said. “Nothing at all.”

  I turned to Harrigan. So far he hadn’t said a word. “Clinton? You’re part of this group. What do you think?”

  For a long time Harrigan said nothing. There was no sound at all. Everyone’s head turned towards him, and he got slowly to his feet, almost statesman-like, as though he were burdened with some dreadful news he was about to share.

  His eyes swept across our faces, and then finally he said, “I vote that we attempt to reach Pentelle,” he said slowly, “– but it won’t make any difference. We’re all going to die.”

  He didn’t say it with his words filled with panic. He didn’t say it with his face twisted in fear or despair. He said it like it was a simple, unavoidable statement of fact. That’s what scared me.

  I stared at him, stunned. “What?”

  He slid his hand deep inside the pocket of his trousers and pulled out the small worn copy of his Bible. He had a page marked and the book fell open.

  “And this shall be the plague wherewithin the Lord will smite all the people

  That have fought against Jerusalem;

  Their flesh shall consume away while they stand upon their feet,

  And their eyes shall consume away in their holes,

  And their tongue shall consume away in their mouth.”

  He closed the book, and tucked it back into his pocket. “That was Zechariah 14:12,” Harrigan explained.

  I didn’t know what to say. None of us did. We all stared at Harrigan for half a minute, and he stared right back at us, his gaze level and steady. Even Jed seemed stunned to silence.

  I frowned. “Then why vote for trying to reach Pentelle, Clinton?” I asked gently. “Why didn’t you vote to stay here – to hide and wait it out? If you think the Bible has predicted doomsday, then why are you in favor of trying to travel forty miles through hordes of infected ghouls?”

  Harrigan smiled – but it was a listless, tired gesture, like he had already considered the question himself, and already knew the answer. “Because,” he said softly, “it’s better to die on your feet than live on your knees. And if we’re going to die – if the good Lord has turned His back on a world filled with sinners – then I want to die trying.”

  Harrigan sounded like a wise old prophet who had just come down from the mountaintop. It surprised me, but it shouldn’t have. He was a thoughtful, intelligent man. He never said much, but I had learned during the last week that when he spoke, he was a man worth listening to.

  I turned back to Jed. “Do you still vote in favor of heading to Richmond, or West Virginia?”

  He glared at me and screwed up his face. “Is there any point?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “Not really. Not unless you want to go alone, because it seems that the rest of us are heading south – to Pentelle.”

  I looked back to Walker. “When?”

  He looked a little bemused. “Why are you handing all these decisions to me?” he asked slowly. “Have you finally decided that I’m trustworthy?”

  I smiled coldly. “No,” I said. “But I’m trusting you to make the best decisions for your daughter’s safety. You’re the military guy, and you’re the one who knows about the Jaws virus. You’re the most likely one amongst us to make good choices.”

  He sat back down and thought for a moment. “If we go tonight, we would be travelling in the dark,” he said. “We’d need to find a car and navigate our way through the suburbs until we could get onto the highway.” He made a sound like he was sucking air through his teeth. “On the one hand, we have the cover of darkness, but on the other hand, we’ll never see what’s coming. We won’t have time for alternative options.”

  “But surely the cover of dark is a big advantage,” I said. “Especially if we can stay quiet.”

  “In a car?” Walker shook his head. “Any undead within a mile will be drawn by the sound of the engine. And remember, the cover of darkness only conceals us until we find a car. From the moment we gun the engine, we’re going to become targets.”

  I sat back. “So it’s daylight. Tomorrow.”

  “Walker nodded. “We’ll be at risk from the moment we leave this house until the moment we find a car,” he said. “But after that we’ll have the advantage of daylight. If the road is blocked with wrecked debris, we might be able to go around. Once we make it to the freeway, the going will get easier.” Then he shrugged, as if to say, ‘well it’s a plan, but it’s not a very good plan’.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Harrigan. He nodded, but said nothing more. Jed huffed and blustered for a few seconds and then stormed out into the kitchen.

  The discussion washed away into heavy silence. Harrigan disappeared down the hallway. I gue
ss I became grim and reflective. In twenty-four hours we were going to burst out of the house and make a mad, desperate dash for a car – supposing we could find one before the undead filled the streets and we were torn to pieces. But I had no illusions that our escape would be the romantic stuff of movies. This wouldn’t be a guns-blazing charge into legend – it was going to be a terrifying, stomach-churning scramble.

  Harrigan was gone for some time, and when he finally came back into the living room, there was something in his face. Maybe frustration, or concern – I couldn’t tell. He was carrying a couple of cans of soda. He handed me one without saying a word and offered the other to Walker. Walker shook his head curtly. Clearly, there were more important things on his mind. His face was pale and full of worry.

  “Best-case scenario is that we find an SUV nearby,” Walker said. “One with the keys in the ignition, and a full tank of gas.”

  I almost laughed, but feared if I did, I might sound slightly hysterical. “I don’t like your chances,” I said.

  “No, neither do I,” Walker admitted. “But even a mid-sized sedan will do until we can get clear to the freeway,” he said. “Half a tank of gas would be enough. Once we’re in the clear, we’ll have time to look for a better option.”

  “Have you thought about a driver?” I asked.

  He stared at me. “You.”

  “Me?” I was appalled. “My driving record isn’t too good,” I reminded him. “I crashed the first car Jed and I escaped in, and I killed the second one.”

  Walker seemed deaf. “You,” he said again. “And your brother up front beside you.”

  I frowned at that. “Maybe Jed should be in the driver’s seat…”

  Walker shook his head. “No,” he said. “At least you are mentally stable. I’m not so sure about your brother – and besides, he looks like he would enjoy the violence of blazing away at the undead. I’d hate to deny him the opportunity if it comes to that.”

  I shrugged. “So that puts you and Harrigan in the back seat.”

  “Yes. With Millie wedged in between us where she will be safest. Give Harrigan your Glock – you can’t shoot and drive at the same time – but maybe carry the little revolver if you think you would feel better being armed.”

  “I would,” I said meaningfully. “I most definitely would.”

  I cracked open the can of soda. It was blood-warm and tasted like drain cleaner.

  * * *

  Time crept by slowly. Daylight dragged on and on. I spent some time reading one of the Stephen King books, and a lot more time sitting alone in the silence, wondering if this was what it was like for those who served in the military, counting down the hours until an attack. Was this what it was like for the heroes of D-Day during World War II? Were those men nervous and trembling in the hours before boarding the massed invasion craft that swept across the English Channel? Were they so scared they felt physically ill?

  What about Jed and Harrigan? Were they feeling the same nauseating, debilitating fear that clawed at me?

  And what about Colin Walker? He said he was ex-military. I wondered if he had served at the pointy end of the spear in the Middle East, and whether fear was a shadowy companion for all of us.

  Or was it just me?

  We took turns on guard duty at the kitchen window, while the others slept. Not that there seemed to be a lot of sleeping going on. The floor was hard and uncomfortable. After an hour of tossing, I crept out to the kitchen and relieved Harrigan who was standing watch. I stole a quick glance through the curtains. The sun was setting. Harrigan and I exchanged a few desultory words, but there wasn’t much to say. He drifted down the hallway and I took another can of soda from the pantry and sipped at it while my thoughts swirled round in ever-decreasing circles of fear and death.

  I suddenly heard soft footsteps behind me and I whirled on the spot. Walker’s daughter, Millie, was standing in the kitchen doorway. She had slipped off her shoes and was creeping through to the bathroom.

  She froze, and her eyes went wide. I saw her clutch instinctively for the bracelet on her wrist and wrap her fingers round the chunky floral detail.

  “Hi,” I said softly.

  The girl said nothing.

  “Millie, right? My name is Mitch. Mitch Logan. We haven’t had a chance to talk since the helicopter accident.”

  The girl said nothing. She stood perfectly still, like a forest animal on the edge of a clearing – ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

  I had the Glock in my hand. I set it down on the kitchen cupboard and offered her the can of soda. Her eyes searched my face – and then she reached out and took the can from me.

  “It tastes like warm piss,” I said. The girl blinked.

  I apologized.

  She sipped at the drink, then handed it back.

  “You’re fifteen, right?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry about your mother. Your dad said she died in the first days of the outbreak.”

  The girl frowned, like she was annoyed. Maybe she thought such personal matters weren’t to be shared with strangers. Maybe she had a sudden memory of her mother before the apocalypse. She bit her lip, and then said softly, “That’s right.”

  “And you don’t have any brothers or sisters who might have escaped? There’s just you and your dad?”

  She nodded. “I’m an only child.”

  I made a wry face. “I wish I was…”

  The girl said nothing.

  I leaned back against the kitchen counter. The girl still hadn’t moved. “Do you remember much of what happened when the helicopter went down?”

  The girl shook her head. “No,” she said. “Just a lot of noise and smoke.”

  I nodded. “You and your dad were lucky to survive.”

  Millie didn’t look so sure about that. She stared at me for long seconds, with an expression that seemed almost a glare of defiance, then her demeanor altered and she shrugged her shoulders. “I guess so.”

  “It is a pity about the pilot… did you know him?”

  “No,” she shook her head again, and the long tresses of her hair flicked across her shoulders like a swishing tail.

  I studied her face very carefully. There was no doubt that the helicopter crash and our subsequent close escape from the undead had terrified this girl. I had seen her face – seen the look of sheer horror in her eyes. They were looks that couldn’t be faked – not by a fifteen year old kid. She had been scared out of her mind.

  But now…?

  I wasn’t getting the sense that this girl was so traumatized – so deeply scarred – that she could barely put two words together without collapsing in a blubbering mess of tears and trembling. Not at all.

  In fact, now I was getting the impression that this girl wasn’t frightened at all any more. She was guarded. Wary.

  Maybe her father had given her the mother of all ‘don’t talk to strangers’ speeches.

  She crept past me to the bathroom without another word, and I turned back to the window. She was gone for a few minutes. I heard her footsteps as she passed back through the kitchen, but I didn’t turn around. I kept staring out through the window.

  I was thinking troubled thoughts.

  Chapter Four.

  Sunrise.

  I stayed awake through the night and watched the morning dawn bright and clear and blue through the kitchen curtains. My eyes felt gritty and raw. When I heard the stirring, shuffling sounds of people waking, I went down the hallway towards the living room.

  The room looked like the aftermath of a plane crash. Millie was curled up on the sofa chair with her head tilted back towards the ceiling, and her legs tucked uncomfortably beneath her bottom. Harrigan and Jed were lying sprawled across the floor. Jed was on his back, one arm flung wide and the other across his face, as though shielding his eyes from the light. Harrigan was lying on his side. He was awake. I saw him gazing up at me with an expressionless face. I looked him in the eye for a couple of seconds then
turned away.

  Walker was half-laying and half-sitting, his body resting up against the side of the sofa, and his legs thrust straight out in front of him. His body was limp, like a wounded man who had been propped up until the paramedics could attend to him. But he wasn’t asleep. His breathing was deep and steady and rhythmic, and yet I noticed the flickering movement of his eyes behind the closed lids. I stood perfectly still and watched him until he went through the pantomime of waking – complete with a convincing yawn and tight-muscled stretch of his arms. His eyes went straight to mine. They were clear and alert. He knew I had been watching him, and I guessed he knew that I knew he had been awake all along. But neither of us said anything.

  “I thought you army ninja types slept with your eyes open, Mr Walker.”

  The corner of his mouth twisted up. It could have been a smile – but it might have been a grimace. He said nothing. He got to his feet, and the movement stirred his daughter awake. She blinked and yawned, still muzzy with sleep, until a moment later when the realization of where she was struck her like a delayed shock. She looked up at me.

  “Morning,” I said.

  The girl looked towards her father, as if she should take her cue from him, but Walker had crossed to the full-length window. He had his back to us.

  “Morning,” she said softly, then looked quickly away.

  I got the message.

  I went down on my haunches beside Harrigan. “I know you slept well,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “You’ve got a body like a mattress – all that soft padding. Must be like sleeping on a cloud.”

  Harrigan grunted and rolled onto his back. “A man who loves and trusts the Lord as his Savior always sleeps well, Mitch” he said – and I wasn’t sure if he was serious, or mocking me.

  Breakfast was silent and tense. Even though the morning had dawned clear, the gloom as we huddled over cans of beans and the last of the sodas was like a heavy cloud. Hardly anybody spoke. Millie ate nothing at all, and even Harrigan picked at the contents of his can like a sparrow.