I turned to Mom. She swayed back and forth. Her face was white. I grabbed her before she fell and eased her to the floor. In the bathroom, I wet a washcloth before I returned and gently dabbed Mom’s forehead while Dad held her up.
“What’s going on?” Mom whispered. “Why did they attack that woman? Please tell me she’s part of the prank. Please.”
Dad shook his head. “This is not a prank. I don’t know why they killed her, but we can’t let them get in here.”
The sound of shattering glass echoed up the stairs. I ran to the window and peered out, but couldn’t see anything. Dad ran to the door and opened it a crack before slamming it shut a second later.
“They’re in the house,” he whispered loudly.
Mom’s eyes grew wide and she scrambled to her feet. “They’re in the house? They’re in the house?”
Dad clamped a hand over her mouth and moved her toward the closet. I followed them in, and he pulled the string for the attic stairs. I climbed as fast as I could, then turned to help Mom up. Dad followed behind and pulled the stairs up after him. We crouched in the dark and waited.
More glass broke and footsteps thudded up the stairs. Mom grabbed me and backed into the corner farthest from the door. The muffled sounds of things breaking drifted into the room. I placed my arms around Mom’s waist and buried my head on her shoulder. Mom wrapped her arms around my head, and I felt her cheek on the top my hair. It reminded me of when I was little girl, waking in the middle of the night from a nightmare. I used to have dreams about being chased by dinosaurs. They always caught me and ate me. I’d wake up screaming, and Mom would come into my room with a glass of water. She’d hold me and hum until I fell back asleep.
Every crash and thud made my entire body jerk, and Mom shook beneath me. This was almost like my dreams. The creatures would eat us if they caught us, but unlike my dreams, there was no waking from this nightmare.
After a while, it was quiet. I assumed Dad remained by the door, his gun in his hand ready to fire. Mom and I slowly uncurled from the corner and went to him. We moved carefully so we wouldn’t make a sound. When we were close, Dad gathered us into his arms and we sat hugging by the door.
“It’s all right. I think they’re gone.” Dad’s voice was almost inaudible.
“What are we going to do?” Mom whispered. “We can’t stay up here forever. We’re going to need food, water.”
Dad pulled away and the attic light clicked on. I squinted at the brightness and held up my hands to block the light. Mom fumbled for the cord.
“What are you doing? They’re going to find us,” she said.
Dad grabbed her hands and calmed her down. “It’s all right. They won’t be able to see the light. Even if they got the closet door opened, they can’t get in here. I locked the attic door. They’ll need an axe to get us.” He glanced around the room. “We’ve got to see if there is anything in here we can use.”
My eyes adjusted, and I took in our surroundings. Boxes full of Christmas decorations, old clothes, and stuffed animals were everywhere, and I doubted any of it would be useful. Dad ripped open a box and pulled out some strings of tinsel and a few ornaments before stuffing them back inside. He moved to another, opened the top, and peered in. He knocked the box over. Glass ornaments skittered across the floor and a few shattered into red and silver shards.
“Isn’t there anything up here besides Christmas crap?” he spoke almost to himself.
Mom slowly approached and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He buried his face in her neck and they hugged for several minutes.
Eventually, he looked up and wiped his nose on the back of his hand.
“Okay. We need to figure out what we’re dealing with. Any ideas?” He looked at his wife.
Mom shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe it’s gang related.”
Dad grimaced. “What gangs do we have in Oregon?”
Mom slapped her hands on her thighs. “We have Neo-Nazis here. It’s not that unheard of. Gangs attack and kill people all the time.”
“I don’t think it’s Neo-Nazis.”
“Then what is it?”
“Maybe they’re escaped convicts. We probably wouldn’t hear about a prison break,” Dad suggested.
“Seventh graders were attacking other students, Dad,” I interjected. “I don’t think it’s escaped convicts.”
He glanced at me. His look told me he wanted to know what I thought it was.
“What if it’s zombies?” I asked.
Mom cocked her head to the right. “Zombies? Yeah, that’s more believable than a gang or escaped convicts. You really watch too many horror movies. As soon as we get out of here, I’m taking all your books and movies away.”
“Think about it. They don’t move very fast or well. They’re attacking the living and eating their flesh. What else could they be?”
“Maybe they’re crazy,” Mom said.
Dad huffed. “How many crazy people do you know who eat people?”
“Jeffrey Dahmer.”
Dad shook his head. “He cooked them first. He didn’t eat them raw. Besides, he never attacked them on the street. Or in a group.”
Mom unfolded her hands and threw them up into the air. “You can’t expect me to believe the dead have returned to life and are killing people. That kind of stuff only happens in the movies. It’s insane.”
“What if the movies were right?” I whispered. “What if the movies were made to make us believe it can only happen in them?”
Mom chuckled, a small nervous sound. “And why would anyone release zombies into the world?”
“What if it’s a biological weapon?” I asked.
Mom’s breath caught in her throat and her skin paled. Dad stared at me.
“It would be the greatest weapon because no one would believe zombies were actually attacking.”
Dad and Mom stared at each other for a moment. “We’ve got to get out of here,” Mom whispered.
“And go where?” asked Dad. “If Krista is right, then this thing might be spreading across the entire country. If no one believes zombies are attacking, how are they going to defend against it?”
“I don’t care where we go, but we can’t stay here.” Mom folded her hands across her chest. “We have no food and water. We have to try to find help.”
Dad sighed. “All right, but we’re not going to run out there without a plan. We need to figure out where we’re going and how we’re going to get there. What do we know about zombies?”
CHAPTER 2
By the time my parents and I made a plan, it was night. We agreed that whatever we learned from the movies probably wouldn’t translate into real life. We talked about all the movies we’d seen and decided the creatures were more like George Romero zombies than 28 Days Later zombies. They didn’t move very fast and craved human flesh. Although, we were pretty sure they weren’t turned into the undead by space radiation. Other than that, we couldn’t make any comparisons. None of us had a chance to study the undead. As if we’d want to. We hoped they could be killed by a shot to the brain or by beheading, but the only way to test our theory was on a zombie. We were all still too scared to poke our heads out the window and start firing.
We figured our best hope would be to get to the nearest military base. On a good day, the closest one was forty-five minutes away, but we had no idea what the roads would be like or how many zombies we’d encounter along the way. We had a 1911 and four rifles, but not that much ammunition. We couldn’t stay and wait for help. We had to go find it. We’d stay in the house for the night and start out in the morning.
Dad cautiously lowered the attic stairs and listened. I strained my ears to make sure he didn’t miss anything. Nothing. He slowly headed down into the closet and then opened the door. I peered over the edge of the attic as he shone a flashlight into the darkness. The light illuminated our empty house. He signaled for us to follow him, and Mom and I crept down the stairs. Dad’s task wa
s to go to the kitchen to grab as many cans of food and bottles of water as he could carry. Mom was in charge of grabbing bedding and extra clothes, and I was to gather ammunition and a bucket to use as a bathroom in the attic. We worked fast. We figured we’d get enough supplies to see us through the night, then we’d gather more before leaving.
It didn’t take me long to get my stuff, and after taking them up to the attic, I waited for my parents at the closet door. I had the rifle in hand and waited anxiously, switching my weight from one foot to the other. I heard them rummaging through the house, along with another sound I couldn’t place. It was so distant it could have been the wind howling through the trees, but as it drew closer, I realized it was unmistakably human, yet somewhat primal. It sent shivers down my back, and I whispered under my breath for my parents to hurry.
At first, there was only one constant moaning, but soon enough, it was joined by a few more, then a lot more. I didn’t know exactly where the sound came from, but it was somewhere in the neighborhood. My parents made it back into the attic when the moaning sounded as if it was at the front door. As Dad pulled up the attic stairs, the sound was muffled but never went away. I popped in my earbuds and cranked the music so the sound was drowned out. I closed my eyes and pretended it was the only sound that existed. Needles by System of a Down was playing when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and turned. Mom handed me a bowl. I pulled out one earbud and listened. The moaning was still prominent, so I put it back in.
We ate a dinner of cold Spaghetti Os, then Mom and I attempted to fall asleep. It was impossible to get comfortable on my blankets and pillows, and my music was so loud I got a headache. A few times I drifted into sleep and saw Carmen and my neighbor being eaten alive.
At close to three in the morning my batteries died. Groggily, I pulled the buds out of my ears and braced for the moaning. I was surprised when I didn’t hear anything and sat up on my makeshift bed.
Mom’s soft breathing and Dad’s low snores sounded on the other side of the attic. I crawled toward them. They were curled up on the blankets Mom had brought for them, and I wiggled my way between them. They wrapped their arms around me, and we slept for the rest of the night.
***
We woke late the next morning, around ten, and had a quick breakfast of granola bars and water. Dad opened the attic door and surveyed the area before we climbed downstairs. Equipped with duffel bags and backpacks, we loaded up with as much food, water, clothes, and blankets as we could carry. I glanced out the window into the empty streets. The sun shone and it seemed like a normal day, but everything was quiet. Not even a dog barked. My stomach knotted. We couldn’t stay in the house. It was a death sentence. So much could happen. The greatest worry was what we’d do if we ran out of food and water. Other things could happen, too. Like the house could catch fire or fill up with zombies. We’d be trapped in the attic and have to endure a slow, painful death. Even those thoughts didn’t make me feel any better about venturing out into the open.
After all the supplies were collected, we met at the garage. As quietly as possible, Dad strapped our belongings and extra gas tanks to the two four wheelers.
“Are you sure we can’t take the car?” Mom whispered. “I’d feel so much safer with sides and a roof.”
Dad handed Mom her helmet. “I know, but if people abandoned their vehicles on the road, we won’t be able to make it in the car.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and his forehead against hers. “We discussed this last night. The fastest way to get to the base is by four wheeler. It might not be the safest, but we don’t have any other option.”
Mom nodded. Dad kissed her gently on the mouth and patted her shoulder. Mom pulled the helmet onto her head. I took a deep breath and did the same. Dad made sure both our chinstraps were secure before pulling on his own and then climbing onto his ATV. Mom climbed onto hers, and I climbed on behind Dad. We took a collective breath, then started the engines. The garage door rose.
I held my breath and waited for a horde of undead to swarm us. I released it when Dad gunned the engine and the ATV shot out into the street. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Mom was behind us.
We zigzagged our way through the deserted streets. Dad had been right about the main ones in town—they were blocked with abandoned cars. The going was slow at first, but not as slow as the zombies that followed us. At first, there were only a couple, but after ten minutes of threading through the streets, the number grew. I gripped the back of Dad’s jacket until my knuckles were white and my fingers ached. I kept turning around to make sure Mom was behind us and didn’t relax until we made it to the highway where the cars thinned out and the zombies were left behind.
Dad threaded through the trees to stay away from any cars that had been left on the road and any zombies that might inhabit those vehicles. We stopped after a while to refuel and get something to drink. My throat was dry, but my stomach was in knots, so it was difficult to swallow the water. Every little sound made me jump. A bird tweeted and I almost peed my pants. I had to force myself to take deep breaths and calm down. Mom and Dad wouldn’t let anything happen to me.
“The base should be right over that ridge.” Dad pointed to the hill on his right. “We should approach it slowly in case it’s been taken over by zombies.”
Mom and I nodded. Dad gave me a rifle, and I laid it across my lap. When the four wheelers were refueled and we’d had our fill of water, we climbed back on, heading toward the hill. We stopped on the top of the ridge. The base was right below us. Hundreds of people were lined up to get into the gate. Soldiers with automatic weapons kept the masses in order and shouted instructions for them to follow. As I surveyed the area, I noticed ambulances at the far end. I tightened my grip on the stock of the gun.
“Dad, I’m not sure going in there is such a good idea.”
He turned to look at me. “Why?”
I pointed at the ambulances. “What if they’re bringing in infected people? If they get loose in there, all these people are sitting ducks.”
Dad sighed. “What do you want us to do? We can’t camp out in the open—we’re the sitting ducks then. We can’t go back to the house, it’s too risky.”
“I have a bad feeling about going in there.”
Dad stared at Mom.
“What can we do?” Mom asked and shrugged. “We’ll stay one night, formulate a new plan, then head out.”
Dad let the clutch out and was about to head down the hill when I grabbed his shoulder and made him stop. “What about the cabins?” I suggested. “We could stay in there. We have enough food to last a couple days. We can figure out what to do after that.”
Dad glanced at Mom again, then focused his gaze on me. “Are you really that afraid of staying at the base? They have guns. They might have medicine to treat whatever this is. I mean, we don’t know if we’re actually dealing with zombies.”
I shook my head. “Even if it’s not zombies, look at the amount of people. Mass hysteria is bound to set in and something bad will happen. People are scared and don’t know what’s going on. They’ll easily fall prey to ideas and suggestions from others and start rioting.” My psychology lesson had no affect. “What if they take our four wheelers away?”
“She has a good point, Charlie,” said Mom. “We can’t afford to lose our things. When we planned on coming here, we didn’t expect there to be this many people. We can stash our stuff at the cabins, then come back and find out what’s going on.”
Dad sighed and stared down at the base. He was silent for a long time. “Fine.”
The cabins were a cluster of six buildings owned by the Forest Service where my family and I had stayed during the past three summers. I didn’t want to stay in the cabins but in the lookout tower nearby. It was used to spot forest fires, and the only way in or out was to climb a rope. I hoped no one else had thought about it as a hiding place, but if they had, I prayed they’d be nice enough to share.
As we approached the c
abins, Dad slowed down and stayed within the tree line. The ground was extremely uneven, and several times I almost dropped the gun and careened off the back of the four wheeler. When we were within ten yards, Dad cut his engine and signaled Mom to do the same. He told us to wait while he checked out the situation.
Dad was gone for five minutes, but it felt like five hours. Mom and I stood together next to the four wheelers, each with a rifle. Do you have any idea how many sounds there are in the forest? Twigs snap and fall off trees and sound just like someone, or something, had stepped on them. Plus, with the echo, you’re never really sure which direction the sound came from. It’s very nerve-racking. It’s understandable why people accidentally get shot in the woods.
Once Dad approached, both of us raised our weapons in his direction. When we realized it was him, we lowered the guns with a sigh of relief.
“It’s clear,” he told us and unloaded the four wheeler. “We’ll stay tonight and figure out what we’re going to do.”
The three of us loaded our supplies into the basket, then Mom and I climbed the rope into the tower. Dad made sure we were safe and the supplies had been pulled up before following after us.
We stared out the windows onto the tops of the trees until it got dark. I could see the top of the military complex on the horizon and shivered. The floodlights from the roof of the barracks clicked on, and I hoped everyone was safe.
A snap resounded through the room, and the acrid smell of sulfur tickled my nose. I turned to see Dad lighting a fire in the fireplace.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Mom asked.
Dad shrugged. “What’s it going to hurt? Even if someone sees it, they can’t get to us. I pulled the rope up so no one can climb in here.”
“Yeah, but they might destroy the four wheelers.”
Life After The Undead (Book 1) Page 2