AWOL: A Character Lost

by Anthony Renfro

  Eric stopped and put the carrier down. The cat let out a soft meow as it sat there and watched the scene unfold. In the dim light, Eric knelt down and looked at the character’s feet. He had given the character some extra clothes for the walk – a warm hat for his head and ears, gloves, and another sweat shirt – blank this time. They had gotten the body warm, but forgot about the character’s feet. The tennis shoes the character was wearing were soaked through, and it was obvious that the feet needed some immediate warmth. It would be hard to contend with frost bite in a world like this.

  “How long has it been?”

  “A while.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to slow us down.”

  From somewhere out in the growing darkness they heard a moan. It was distant, but it was still a sound they didn’t need to hear. The cat arched his back and let out a screech.

  “Shit,” Eric replied, as his eyes looked into the gloom, searching between the heavy snow flakes, zombie instincts on high alert.

  “What?” The character asked, as another moan erupted.

  Both moans were close, very close, too close for comfort.

  “One moan we can handle. Two moans and we have trouble.”

  “Zombies?” The character replied with growing concern in his voice.

  “Yes,” Eric replied, taking out his gun.

  Another moan and it was closer this time.

  “We need to get inside.” Eric could see movement in the distance, dark moving shadows shambling forward, pushing slowly through the snow; and they were closing in. Eyes shifted from the zombies to the world at large. No shelter as far as he could see, just a long road full of dead snow covered bodies and cars, neither of which would keep them safe. “I wish I was a vampire. You know one of those Ann Rice ones, the ones who could see for miles and miles in the dark,” Eric replied, as the cat screeched again.

  Another moan; and it was much, much closer now.

  “They sound like they are right on top of us.”

  “Got it!” Eric locked eyes on what they needed. It was dark and square, larger than the cars around it.

  “Got what?”

  “Come on.”

  They picked up their feet and hurried their way through the thick snow. It was tough going, but fear made their muscles move. The moaning sounds faded into the distance as they moved as quickly as they had moved all day. The character could see something looming, growing closer. It was an oasis of safety, a big hulking dark mass.

  What they were moving towards, was a package delivery truck that looked like an armored vehicle from a Road Warrior movie, parked long ways across the fast and slow lanes. It looked like it had been barreling through the cars before it came to a sudden and sliding halt. The front had a big spike sticking out of it with at least 10 dead zombies hanging from it. Bullet holes to the head of each one of them had stopped their moaning and taste for flesh. Zombies, as we all know, won’t stop until you stop them. The doors on either side of the cab had a gigantic spike welded to them with more zombies hanging around, dead, dark hole in the center of their foreheads. There was nothing on the sides of the truck, beyond the doors. It was smooth and flat like it was the day it rolled off the factory line, but it was dinged and severely scratched, covered in blood, as if this truck had been through a war zone.

  They reached the truck and stopped.

  Eric motioned to the character to stay put, handing the cat carrier to him. Eric cocked the gun and approached the truck. He tried the cab doors first, but they were both locked. A loud moan erupted from the dark, but this time it wasn’t behind them. This moan came from somewhere in front of them. It, like the moans behind them, was a little too close for comfort.

  The character watched as Eric made his way down the side of the truck, stopping just before he reached the back. Like a cop in an old TV show, he leaned against the wall of the truck, raised the gun, took in a breath, and then stepped forward, dropping the gun to a shooting position as he did. There was no one there, human or zombie.

  Eric tried the double doors, and he found them not only locked, but welded together. The moans erupted in the back ground like they enjoyed this latest fiasco.

  Eric went back to the driver’s side door. He gripped the barrel of the gun and slammed the handle down into the window. It smashed on impact.

  Eric grabbed a shoulder of one of the dead zombies hanging from the spike on the door, and hoisted himself up to the window. He hung there a moment with one hand, cleaning out the glass with the other. When he was sure it was clean, he dropped back down to the ground. He motioned to the character that it was safe to come over.

  “Everything okay,” The character asked, as he stopped in front of Eric.

  “I don’t hear anyone inside so I’m going to climb in and hoist you in after.”

  “You mean, get up close to those things on the spike.”

  Another moan, followed by more, they were really close now.

  “Do you want to stay out here?”

  The character looked back into the dark. Night had decided to finally cast its veil upon the world, and it was pitch black for miles. He wasn’t sure how the zombies could see them or if they needed to see them, but he was sure of this – he couldn’t see anything. He could only hear those moans; and, now that the zombies were closer, he could also hear their shuffling feet, as they pushed through the snow.

  The character turned back to Eric, who was waiting for a response. “What are you waiting on man, go for it,” the character replied, anxious to be inside.

  Eric said nothing as he grabbed the shoulder of a dead zombie on the spike and hoisted himself up to the window. This particular zombie had died with his mouth open and his eyes wide. The character could see the whites of those eyes as they stared off into nothingness. The character also noticed that the mouth was pointing in the direction of Eric’s now dangling legs. Would this be worth mentioning to him, or should he just let it go? He wasn’t sure about that; but, by the time he had made his decision, Eric was already inside.

  “Hand me the carrier.”

  “What about me?”

  The cat screeched, and nearby something metal banged. This sound came from a car that couldn’t have been more than three or four cars away.

  “You’re next,” Eric replied, leaning out of the truck.

  The character grabbed hold of the zombie Eric had used to climb up with –those eyes staring at him – and hoisted himself up enough to get the carrier into Eric’s hands. Eric grabbed it and disappeared inside. He didn’t return for a moment or two.

  The character scanned the dark as he heard a side mirror snap from a car that couldn’t have been more than two cars away. Then the moans erupted. A chorus of them, and it sounded like they had formed a circle around this truck. A snapping of fingers pulled the character out of his trance. He looked up, and saw Eric leaning out, holding two hands down to him. The character scrambled up and grabbed Eric’s hands, and then was pulled upward with a relative ease. He fell into the cab (empty – not even a frozen corpse) and landed on the driver’s seat as Eric scrambled to get out of the way. They were inside and safe, just as a zombie appeared beside the truck.

  The character scrambled off the seat and looked around for Eric, who was standing in front of the door that leads to the back of the truck, gun poised and ready. He grabbed the handle and slid the door open quickly.

  The room was dark and empty, no signs of life, living or dead.

  “Is everything okay?” The character asked, peering over Eric’s shoulder.

  “Yes,” Eric replied, turning on a flashlight and holstering the gun. He took a moment to shine the light around as the character waited. “Found something.” Light flooded the room as Eric turned on a kerosene lamp. It was hanging off a hook in the center of the ceiling.

  What the guys could see in the light was that the back of the truck was hollowed out and stripped down to just bare walls. There were no shelves
in here or anything that would tell you this was the inside of a delivery truck.

  In one corner there lay a couple of sleeping bags with plush pillows that had the logo on the pillowcase of a local hotel. In another corner there was a small fridge, like the kind you would find in a dorm room. There were also a couple of hammocks, some canned food, and a wood burning stove. The stove was at the back of the truck, near the double doors. A pipe to let out fumes ran from the top of the stove to the top of the truck. This hole looked like it had been cut with precision hands and sealed professionally. There was a box for wood beside the stove. Eric leaned down and pulled up the door to the cabinet. Empty.

  He moved from there to the fridge and when he opened the door, the smell of rancid meat nearly tore off his nose. He closed the door quick before the smell got out and made itself home in the small room.

  He let out a breath of frustration as his eyes scanned the walls. On them were hooks, and on a few of these hooks were weapons, hanging from straps. There was a club with spikes on the end of it, a bat with razors attached to it, a shotgun, and a sharpened garden hoe. Several hooks were empty, which led Eric to believe that who ever crafted this truck was either dead or long gone.

  He checked the shot gun to see if it was loaded. It was. He rummaged around for bullets and found several boxes inside a small cabinet, in which he also found, bottled water, warm beer, an old cassette player, a cassette carrying case, and a very small TV.

  Eric turned to face the character who had taken off his shoes, and placed his wet feet under one of the sleeping bags. He was trying to help the sleeping bag warm them by rubbing his feet.

  “How are they?” Eric asked, concerned.

  “Red, but I don’t think there was any damage done.”

  Eric went over to check on his friend’s feet. They were indeed bright red, but they were warming up fast, and any chance frostbite had of getting a hold of these feet, was dying with each bit of warmth. “They’re looking good.”

  A loud moan close by caught their attention followed by several more. They both turned towards the sound.

  “Are we safe in here?” The character asked.

  Eric looked around as he let the cat out of the carrier. It stretched and purred as it explored its new home. “I think so, but we need wood to burn; and we need to get warm or we will probably freeze to death inside here tonight.”

  Another moan and then a chorus of the damned erupted outside, coming from all directions. It sounded like they were surrounded.

  “Sounds like a lot of them,” the character replied.

  “A regular feeding frenzy if they had food to frenzy on.”

  “Do you need help, getting wood?”

  “You can’t move like you are, plus I don’t have shoes for you. We need to dry the ones you have; and then maybe tomorrow, or whenever we get out of here, we can find you some boots. There might be something in here if we look hard enough, probably not though. I would wager to bet the last occupant either died with them on or is hoofing it in them as we speak.”

  “What about that hatch? Can we use that to get outside, since it sounds like we might not be able to use the doors right now?”

  “What?” Eric looked up, and it was the one thing he hadn’t seen. There was a hatch leading to the roof of the truck. A small step ladder overlooked as well lay against one of the walls. Eric took the ladder and placed it underneath the hatch. He climbed up the ladder; and, with a cautious ease, opened the hatch. Small flakes of snow fell into the truck from the pile that had decided to call the plastic window home.

  He leaned down into the truck. “Can you boost me up?”

  The character got up and pushed Eric upward. He scuttled through the hatch and then out onto the flat roof. The character dodged flakes of snow as they fell on his face and clothes.

  Once outside, Eric surveyed the roof with the light of the flashlight, the beam somewhat distorted by the heavy falling flakes of snow. There was a generator, a satellite dish, and a large pile of meat, which was wrapped nice and neat, strapped down and frozen, almost covered by the snow.

  Eric scrambled over to check the generator. It was out of gas, but it looked like all it was there for was to keep the fridge and TV going. It was so small; it couldn’t have been used for much more than that. The satellite was of course no concern, but the meat, the meat could still be good. It didn’t smell rotten or spoiled, so Eric took out his knife (the one he didn’t use to kill zombies with, he just kept it for times like this) and cut away enough for them to eat. He took this meat over to the hatch and handed it down to the character who took it and placed it on the stove.

  Eric started to drop back inside when he noticed something, something just barely silver and visible under the thick blanket of snow. He crawled over to investigate, and he realized it was a ladder with a hook attached to it. There was also a place to hook this ladder into, so it could hang over the side. He crawled back to the hatch.

  “It looks like there is a ladder over here that I can use. I’m going to scurry out to find some firewood.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Be at this hatch when I get back. I will hand the wood down to you. I’m not getting much, just enough to get us through the night. If we need more tomorrow, we can scrounge for it in the daylight. Maybe this storm will have let up by then and maybe the zombies will have spread out as well.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “Will do,” Eric replied, standing up. He took a moment and let his ears come to him. He had been trying to train all of his senses to react to a zombie carcass. In this kind of storm and in this dark of night, his ears would serve him better than anything else. Also his nose, his nose could be a friend too. So he stood there with the snow falling, and he listened and he smelled. The zombies were hoarding, but they weren’t as close as he thought. He should be able to get out and back without much hassle.

  Finished with his listening and smelling surveillance he decided to use his eyes and check the side where the ladder had to go. He shined the flashlight down and let the spotlight show him the ground below. No zombies on that side, just fresh undisturbed white snow. He then checked the ground around the rest of the truck, and he found the snow was in his favor. The zombies were struggling to move. They were either stuck or confused as to how they would make their way through it. The need to feed was strong inside them, but that need could only take them so far. Their dead bodies would have to do the rest.

  Eric hooked the ladder and dropped it over the side. He had to push on it in order for it to reach the ground below the snow. One rung disappeared into the white. “At least six inches,” he said, “maybe more.”

  He took out his pistol, cocked it, and climbed down the ladder to the ground below. He moved his legs for a moment in order to get a feel for how packed the snow was. It would be tough going, but it wouldn’t be so tough that he couldn’t move in it. Satisfied, he gripped the gun tight, and made his way into the woods.

  Zombie moans filled the air; they shuffled towards the smell of Eric’s warm human flesh, shambling through the thick snow on dead and decaying legs, partially frozen from their feet to their ankles.

  Eric didn’t go too deep into the forest, staying close to the truck, keeping it in sight the whole time. He scrounged around for any kind of wood that would burn. It was impossible to find because the snow was falling so hard and the ground was covered so thickly. As luck would have it, he found a falling tree that was thin and spindly. It would work perfect for firewood. He began to stomp on it in order to break it up into pieces big enough for him to carry.

  A sound of swooshing, like skiers on snow, and something flapping, like it was in a heavy wind, caught his ears – thank God for that perfectly tuned sense.

  He looked up through the trees and shined the flashlight in that direction. He saw nothing, but he could hear it and it was getting closer.

  “Couldn’t be, impossible,” Eric replied, trying to ignore that sound, s
tomping on the wood as fast as he could.

  When he finished breaking up the wood, he collected enough for the night, an arm loads worth that was heavy, but not so heavy he couldn’t carry it with one arm free. The swooshing flapping sound was now almost on top of him, but he thought he could make it back to the truck before whatever was making that sound arrived. He took a quick survey of the scene to make sure his path was clear, flashlight flashing bright through the snow and trees. He froze on the spot when he saw what was making that swooshing and flapping sound. It was four zombies, and they were all on skis. That’s right folks. I just went there – zombies on skis.

  They were coming at him fast, somehow dodging in and out of the trees, their smelling sense must have really been on high alert to be able to hone in on him so quick, and to maneuver with such ease. These zombies were all decked out in snow gear, complete with ski goggles, hats, and gloves. Their once white outfits now covered in dry and fresh blood, and everything, including their skin, was tattered, flapping in the breeze as they skied towards him.

  “You got to be kidding me,” Eric replied, dropping the wood and flashlight at his feet, pulling out his gun just as the zombies arrived.

  The undead skiers unlocked their skis from their feet and leaped off their boards without stopping – four zombies, flying through the air, gnashing their teeth, eyes wide, sailing right towards him.

  Eric was able to get his gun up in time to kill two of them while they flew, flipping them end over end into the deep snow before they had a chance to land on him. The other two managed to miss the flying bullets, sliding to a stop just inches from Eric’s feet. When they finished their slide they started crawling towards him as he tried to get away, scrambling backwards through the snow, heavy flakes still falling.

  He aimed his gun and hit one with a clean shot to the head. It stopped instantly; and now there was just one. He noticed that she had long blonde hair sticking out of her hat, and this gave him an image of who she might have been before – a ski bunny at a local lodge. He shook the image away as she opened her mouth to bite.