by TW Brown
I had to plant a foot on her chest to wrench the axe free. I did this just in time to come up and shoulder a second zombie aside. This one had a mangled arm that did not look right for some reason. It took me a few seconds to realize that this person almost had his arm wrenched off. It had been severely dislocated and turned almost completely backwards.
I ended this one with a surprisingly clean blow considering the circumstances. The downside was that I ended up losing my grip on the trusty hand axe. The sounds of approaching moans caused me to scurry away frantically, leaving my favorite weapon jutting from the forehead of my last kill as I ran for the front door of my target home.
I tried the knob and breathed a sigh of relief when it opened. Slipping inside, I sniffed the air. Other than what I identified as rotting food or garbage, the air was relatively fresh. I ventured down the hallway of what had been a rather stylish residence just a short time ago, pausing to glance at a large family portrait that hung on one wall of the hallway.
The family that smiled back at me seemed strangely familiar. It took me a moment to recognize the man in the photo as one of the members of the professional basketball team in Portland. His smile was what had thrown me. He was known for being a bit ferocious on the court and had a very recognizable sneer that had become a bit of a trademark. His huge hands rested on his wife’s shoulders and she was looking over the head of a young girl with long, wavy black hair.
I moved into the living room and plopped down on a very expensive-looking couch. I almost felt guilty. The snow-white couch would forever bear a dark smear from my blood splattered clothing.
I only intended to simply catch my breath. I started awake when a beam of sunlight stabbed through my eyelids. It was well past sunrise.
Getting to my feet, I made a full tour of the house. The first thing I did was locate the ibuprofen. My head was pounding.
“That must be the first sign,” I muttered to myself as I popped six tablets into my mouth and swallowed them down with some tepid water. The next thing I did was rifle through the cupboards.
Eventually, I was seated at the expansive oak dining room table with a box of dry cereal and a bottle of Gatorade. I could look out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the dining room and see the street with a handful of walking dead staggering past. As I munched, I made up the conversations I imagined would take place. Sort of doing my own riff of the opening fish tank scene of Monty Python’s Meaning of Life.
“Hey, somebody left an axe in Herbert’s face.”
“Seems like a waste of a perfectly good axe.”
“Morning Missus Bennington, you’re looking particularly pale and ghoulish today.”
“Have you lost weight, Mister Jones?”
“Thank you for noticing, had my insides pulled out a few days ago. Already up and about…almost as good as new.”
“Amazing what they can do these days.”
I wondered briefly if madness was another symptom that I was slowly becoming one of the undead. I had a mouthful of Crunch Berries in my mouth when a realization hit me like a ton of bricks.
Jumping to my feet, I sprinted to the bathroom where I’d located the ibuprofen. Holding up my lantern, I switched it on. I squinted from the initial glare, then leaned forward and stared at my reflection.
“Why aren’t the tracers showing up yet?” I asked the empty bathroom.
I don’t know how long I stood there staring. Eventually, I headed back into the living room and then upstairs. I went from bedroom to bedroom, not entirely sure of what I was looking for. Certainly none of the clothes would fit. If I remembered correctly, this guy was listed as being almost seven feet tall.
After not finding much that I needed, at least at the moment, I returned downstairs. That entire venture had used up maybe twenty minutes. Time seemed to have stopped.
“I might kill myself to escape the boredom of waiting,” I groused as I opened a cupboard under the island in the kitchen.
I pulled out all sorts of instruction booklets for the assorted appliances and smoke detectors as well as a few phone books that were from almost five years back. A pamphlet stuffed in the rear of the cabinet caught my attention and I pulled it out.
A map of the local area.
I don’t know why, but this made me laugh. I’d searched for one earlier in order to try and locate a local vet. Chewie’s tail injury had been a point of concern those first days. Betty had helped get her all cleaned up and on the mend.
“What the hell,” I muttered and spread the map out on the kitchen table.
I traced the route with a pencil, making notes on a piece of paper as to where I needed to turn. If I drove the majority of the way over, I could abandon the car someplace close by. Then, after I made the last bit of the journey on foot and gathered a good bit of supplies and much needed dog food, I could load the car up again and drive it back. I could park it at the foot of the driveway up to the compound where Carl and the others were staying. Maybe I would even see about getting some gear for the humans.
Next, I went out to the garage. I couldn’t help but let a low whistle of appreciation escape. I don’t know what sort of vehicle was used by this family when they evacuated, but I was more than a little impressed with the luxury Mercedes-Benz GL parked inside. Now all I needed to do was find the keys.
That quest proved to be harder than I’d expected. I emptied drawers, searched through every room and then my eyes fell on them. Wadded up in a corner of the master bedroom were a pair of pants. The size told me they were his. The nasty black stain on one leg told me somebody had met with an accident. Sure enough, in the front right pocket was a key ring.
I stuffed them in my own pocket and then went about the process of tossing a few things in the passenger side of the luxury SUV. All that remained was to physically climb behind the wheel and make my way out of this place.
That is when it dawned on me that there were a few problems with this plan. For one, Carl and I had gone around and pulled all the gates shut to this community. We’d even managed to block it with some cars from the outside that he’d rather smartly disabled. We’d wanted to at least make any passing scavengers work for what they would take. It wasn’t that we had any right or claim to this area, but it was one of the closest communities, and so we’d sorta called dibs even if nobody else knew.
It had been quite a job for the two of us. I wasn’t sure how well I would fare trying to pull it off by myself.
“There went a day wasted,” I snapped as I returned to the living room and collapsed into the couch with a feeling of utter defeat welling up inside me.
I’d just wanted to do one last thing for my Chewie. Yes, I’d planned on going through this neighborhood and trying to take down as many of the zombies as I could so that it would be an easier run for Carl, but I’d really had my heart locked on doing one last thing for my dog.
I was being an idiot. I was not thinking things through. I had walked out with no real plan. I was just lunging after any random idea that drifted through my brain.
I’d always considered myself to be at least marginally smart. So why was I acting like a complete moron? It had been so easy from the comfort of my couch to watch a movie and point out all the stupid things the characters did. So far, I was doing much worse. I’d willingly walked into a hospital and then fallen asleep. I’d collected two children who would be able to provide minimal contributions while consuming much needed supplies in addition to needing to be watched over. Toss in the fact that I’d been teamed up with a woman I couldn’t stand right off the bat for no real reason. Also, there was no way I could ignore the fact that I’d basically led a psychopath back to our compound.
I walked back up to the master bedroom and looked out the window. If the breeze blew right, the trees would flutter and I could see the roof of the house where Carl, Betty, Michael, Selina, that new girl Amanda, and my Chewie were safe and secure. Leaving them was probably the only thing that I’d done right since this whole nightmar
e began.
And that brought up another thought. My grand plan was to walk basically across the street and wait until I was so sick that I would take my own life—sure, it was down a hill, across a four-lane road, and then up another grassy expanse. Carl might not be the touchy-feely or warm-fuzzy type, but I was willing to bet it would still be an unsettling day when he stumbled across my rotting corpse…my brains splattered all over some wall. Worse still would be if I chickened out and he encountered the zombie version of me.
“I need to get out of this place.” The words sort of echoed off the walls.
It took me a few hours, but eventually I’d set aside and then pared down what I considered a proper amount of supplies. When I thought about it, Carl was more than capable of clearing this place. Heck, even if he had to do it alone, I was willing to bet he could pull it off.
I slipped out the back door of the house. I was about to take off when I recalled that my axe was still out front in the middle of a zombie’s head. I crept to the gate and peered over it. I spotted it jutting up from a body near the foot of the driveway of the home I’d just exited. There weren’t any walkers close by so, after taking a few deep breaths, I took off at a sprint. I heard a few moans as I grabbed the handle and wrenched my weapon free. As soon as I had it liberated from its impromptu skull sheath, I bolted back to the gate and into the backyard of the house.
From there, I used the series of yards to make my way to the wall. Once I reached it, the wall was a struggle to climb up onto without any sort of ladder, but I made it. I glanced back in the direction of where I knew the others to be.
“Take care of my Chewie,” I whispered into the wind.
With that, I slipped down to the other side. I paused at the edge of an open park. A small sign identified it as Altmont Park. It wasn’t much more than a flat section of land with grass, not much of a park in my opinion. There were a few lone zombies staggering about. Nothing I didn’t think that I could slip past even if they did manage to see me and start in pursuit.
As I reached the other side, I noticed the first houses all showed signs of hasty evacuations. All I needed was one with a car in the driveway. That would become my target. I would slip in, look for the keys, and hit the road.
If not for the fact that I would be abandoning this vehicle once I had it loaded with supplies from the veterinary hospital, I would try for Mount Hood. I couldn’t think of a better place to end it. I’d always loved the mountains. My hand absently patted my bag. Inside it was my single memento of the world before: my picture of Stephanie and I on a ski trip to that mountain.
I was disappointed to discover that apparently most of these people had either left no vehicle behind, or the closed garage doors hid their second or third vehicles. I was not about to peek in and search every one of them for something that I knew would eventually reveal itself to me in plain sight. I was just starting to rethink that idea as I arrived at the end of the street I’d started down.
I reached the tee-intersection of Southeast Bristol Park Drive and Southeast Bristol Park Terrace. From here, I could see another neighborhood. I recalled spotting it on the map and being somewhat amused by its unique spiral shape. I didn’t realize that it was another gated community until I got closer. But that wasn’t what was so humorous. Who designs a neighborhood where the street wraps inward with a distinct spiral shape?
Southeast Bristol Park Drive was the street that led up to the gate of this spiral-shaped townhouse duplex community called Graystone. Honest to God, I’d had no idea there were so many gated communities in the entire city of Portland…much less in just this little region.
I was about two houses away when I started to notice something. The gates had been left open, which is what had me heading this direction in the first place. I wouldn’t have to worry about how I would escape the neighborhood. Only, just past the first set of duplexes on each side where the road split and led into the heart of the community, there were a series of vehicles.
From here, I could see that they spanned the road all the way into the yards on each side. There were even cars that sat parallel to the fronts of those first houses. It was as if they’d been placed in a defensive position. I paused, looking around at what I was now certain was some sort of created barricade.
Maybe this isn’t where I need to be looking, I thought. I took a step backwards, not wanting to turn my back on this area.
“That’s far enough,” a voice called down from the upper floor of the house on my right. This house was still outside of the walls of the gated community.
“Damn,” I breathed.
“On your knees and lace your fingers with your hands behind your head.”
“I don’t want any trouble,” I called out. “I’ll just go back the way I came and you won’t see me again.”
“A week or two ago, I might’ve believed you,” the voice replied. “But I think I’ve seen enough these past ten days or so to erode any degree of hospitality or trust that I might’ve had in my heart.”
“Yeah, well, I was just across the way and saw it as well. I understand, but I ain’t asking to come in. I just want to go about my business.”
I was greeted by silence. A moan from behind me ended my attempt at being patient.
“Look, I’m not gonna stand here and be eaten. I’m gonna turn around and walk away. If you are gonna kill me, you’re gonna have to shoot me in the back.” I spun on my heel and took a few steps when a gunshot rang out and the road just to my left erupted in a puff of grit.
I drew my Glock and turned, diving to that side of the road. My thought process was to get as close to that building as possible. That would make it more difficult for this person to get another shot at me. Of course, if there was another individual in the building across the street, then my actions were all for naught.
“I said I didn’t want any trouble,” I shouted as my eyes scanned the area for any approaching zombies. The first one rounded the corner of the house I was pressed up against.
One zombie didn’t pose much of a threat, but when five more rounded the corner, my mouth went dry. I was caught between a rock and a hard place.
Funny thing about knowing you are going to die soon…you think you are going to become magically fearless. You believe that you will adopt the mindset that, since you are about to die anyway, you can act boldly and charge into the teeth of danger because you know you’ll be croaking soon.
I stood rooted to the spot. My brain was trying to send my feet the signal to run, but one way was into a small mob of zombies and the other was into a potential piece of high-velocity lead. Neither seemed all that appealing.
Still, the thought of being eaten outweighed all other options in the degree of how much it would suck. I backed up and looked down the length of the house. Looking up at the second floor, I saw a shadow in one of the windows. Just as I spotted it, I caught movement and ducked back as a shot was fired and a bullet ripped through the siding right by my head, sending flecks of metal flying.
A look over my shoulder revealed that the approaching number of zombies had now reached well over a dozen. There was no choice. I would make a run for the front door of this house. Real people were not as good at hitting a somewhat fast-moving object. Sticking to the house as close as possible would reduce what this person could see and get a clean shot at. Once I reached the front porch, I would be under cover. After that, all I needed to do was get inside. I doubted this person left the front door open.
Taking a deep breath and holding it, I took off at a sprint. I heard cursing come from above and a volley of shots were fired hastily, but I didn’t feel anything, so I was going to assume he’d missed. I dove onto the porch and then hurried to the front door. I wasn’t surprised when I discovered that it was locked.
Backing up, I went to the large front window. Using the butt of my pistol, I gave the window a solid rap, jerking away as glass shattered. I could hear something inside that sounded like a herd of buffalo stampeding a
bove me. Looking inside, I spied the stairs just down a semi-dark hallway. I brought my Glock up and waited.
Silence fell and I guessed that this mystery person had just realized that running down the stairs might not be the best thing to do. Very cautiously, I swung my leg up and over the sill of the busted window. I winced when my boot came down with an audible crunch as the shattered glass broke into even smaller bits underfoot. A bit hastily, I ducked down and swung my other leg inside. I certainly didn’t want to be caught half in and half out.
I could hear the moans from behind me as the zombies neared the corner I’d come around. I’d come in at the side of this porch and had to throw myself up onto it. The stairs were around in the front. Zombies were not known for their powers of reason, so I was hoping that they would just shamble on by. Of course, if there was any noise made, they would turn and come for the house and make their way up the stairs. Since I’d busted the window, they now had easy access to this home.
I wasn’t doing well on my first zombie apocalypse.
“You idiot,” the voice from upstairs hissed.
I crept to the hallway and made my way to the stairwell. As quiet as I dared, I called up, “You started it by shooting at me.”
“You were supposed to run away.”
I guess I could see the logic in that. Most people just a few weeks ago would have bolted like a jackrabbit the moment they were shot at. So why hadn’t I? I’d rushed over to a spot that basically pinned me in a corner and then had to choose between a shooter and some oncoming zombies. I could’ve just as easily taken off up the street and left this place behind. It wasn’t like there weren’t literally hundreds of other options for me to seek out and spend my last days.