“Do you guys just cover Myrtle Beach?”
“Yep. All of it, including North Myrtle.”
“Well, if you’re offering to help. I could use a few things, but I have to know one thing before I do.”
“Shoot,” Rat replied.
“How old are you? Not important, just curious.”
Rat smiled again, a cool smile, one that said he had it all worked out. He seemed to be much older than he actually was. “Me and Spider are both 14, Centipede is the oldest at 15, Bee the youngest at 13, but she’s also the toughest. Ain’t that right, Bee?”
She grunted a yes, and fell back to silence.
“Who taught you how to survive?” Mike asked, wondering how these kids had made it so far without adult supervision.
“We are Apocalypse Orphans, forced to be adults before our time. We’ve accepted that fact, and tried to make something good out of something bad. We grew up on zombie fiction, and we just kind of applied that knowledge to this new world.”
“Hey, Rat, we better move on before the day gets too long,” Centipede replied. “We have others waiting on us.”
Rat looked at him, and then back to Mike. “Guess he’s right, we should be moving on. So, what do you need?”
Mike thought on it a moment. “Real food if you can find it.”
“Anything else?”
“Something to read other than the bible,” Mike replied, knowing that every motel room in the U.S. had one, and if he looked in his motel room he was sure he would find one in there.
“Not into it, huh?”
“Just not my thing.”
“That’s cool. We don’t push,” Rat replied. “There’s a library close by. You should check it out. Lots of stuff still there, but we can grab you a few paperbacks to keep you busy for a while.”
“Anything horror related, maybe sci-fi would be great,” Mike replied.
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Tools, rope ladder, maybe a gas can if that isn’t too much to ask for?”
“We’ll see what we can do. Can’t promise miracles, but we will do our best,” Rat replied, motioning to the others it was time to move.
“Thanks,” Mike replied.
“Sure. Just doing our part.”
“Have a good day and be safe out there,” Mike replied.
“Will do,” Rat replied, turning to follow after his crew, who had managed to make their way around the machines blocking the stairs and were already descending.
“Hey,” Mike replied. Rat stopped and turned. “If you guys need a place to sleep or stay. The rooms up here are always open. I plan to eventually find a way to bathe and wash clothes. It won’t be fancy, but it should keep us all clean.”
“Thanks. Might just take you up on it,” Rat replied. “By the way, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Mike Beem.”
“Take care, Mike.”
“You too.”
Rat made his exit. He joined his friends on the ground, and Mike watched as all four of them made their way down to the beach. He watched them until they disappeared into the distance.
The day passed.
Mike relaxed, napped, and even read a bit of the bible. It still wasn’t what he would have liked to read, but it was nice to find hope in the words and passages.
Evening arrived, night shortly thereafter, and Mike retired to bed. When he closed his eyes, he fell instantly asleep.
+
Dawn’s light woke Mike the next morning. He stretched, pulled himself up to a sitting position, and glanced out the window. He had left the curtain open so he could not only see a possible intruder, but he liked to see the ocean once his eyes adjusted to the new day. It calmed him, soothed him, helped him to get the morning started off right. This kind of view was what he and his wife had been working for before the zombies took over the world. He thought of her as he sat there, thought of his kids, thought of that other life he had before the apocalypse changed it all. He could see their faces, their smiles, and tried to shut them out, but it was no use. He just couldn’t do it, because he missed them so badly and he hurt everyday thinking of the good times he would never have again with them. He hung his head and started to cry. He was alone in this new world, and everything he had ever worked for was now gone.
A knock on the door.
Mike wiped the tears away, grabbed his gun, and walked over to it. “Hello?”
“Brought some supplies,” Bee replied. “Didn’t want to leave them outside.”
Mike put the gun away and opened the door. Bee was standing there looking up at him, dressed in jeans and that same Stryper sweat shirt. She had slipped a cap over her head in order to protect herself from the cold.
“You okay?” Bee asked, noticing the redness around Mike’s eyes.
“Just some old ghosts.”
“Those kind of hauntings never go away. Do they?”
“Nope.”
“On a positive note,” Bee replied, trying to shift the conversation away from this awkward moment. “We brought some good stuff for you. Rat helped me with a bit of it before scurrying away to help out some others. Hope I didn’t disturb you when I knocked.”
Mike looked down at the box sitting beside Bee’s feet. “You didn’t. I enjoy the company,” he replied, as he knelt down in front of the box. Inside it was a crazy amount of good stuff. There was country ham wrapped inside a faded blue towel, granola bars, oranges, fresh bottled water, instant coffee, turkey and deer jerky, a few tools, and four paperbacks. Sitting beside the box was a rope ladder and a gas can full of gas. He looked from the box to her, overwhelmed by their act of kindness. “This is too much, Bee.”
“Don’t expect it every day and don’t always expect as much. This is more of a house warming gift,” Bee replied.
“Thanks,” Mike replied, picking up the country ham. He devoured the salty meat like an animal. How long had it been since he tasted fresh food? He just wasn’t sure.
“If you like, and don’t mind to work, there’s a farm nearby where we get all our food supplies. You can trade chores for eats. They’re always looking for a working hand.”
“Is it far?” Mike asked, finishing the country ham and moving onto the oranges, which were sweet, plump, and ripe.
“Not too far,” Bee replied, smiling, watching him eat. “I better go now, the guys will be looking for me. Have a good day.”
“Thanks again,” Mike replied.
“Sure. See you around,” Bee replied, and made her way down to the vending machine barrier. She slipped around them by climbing onto the rail and jumping onto the stairs. She descended, and made her way down to the parking lot. Two zombies shuffled towards her. Mike watched as she stopped, aimed, and launched the spear she was holding into the skull of one of them. It was a perfect shot, dead center of the brain. The zombie tumbled to the ground as its buddy eyeballed Bee and went in for a fatal bite. Bee (without panic or fear) pulled out her knife, quickly slipped beside the zombie and tripped it. The shuffler stumbled and fell to the ground face first. While it was face down, she straddled it and pushed the blade effortlessly into the back of its skull. The zombie stopped moving. She looked up at Mike, winked at him, retrieved her spear, and then made her way down to the beach.
Mike watched her disappear from view and then decided to give it one more day before starting his fortification of the motel. He made instant cold coffee (bitter and harsh, but the best thing he had drunk in a while), picked up a Dean Koontz book, put his butt in a chair, and propped his feet on the rail. He rarely left that spot for the rest of the day. When night arrived, he retired to bed, and slept without dreaming.
+
Once again, Mike woke up as dawn was pushing its light onto the horizon. He slipped out of bed, put on his clothes and boots, and made his way outside. He stood on the balcony for a moment letting the cool breeze off the ocean wash over him. He watched the wave’s crash, the sunrise, and several zombies shuffling by in the parking lot. They made their way onto a wa
lkway that led to the beach, and then they tumbled down the stairs at the end of it into the soft white sand. He smiled as he watched them climb back to their feet and shuffle off into the distance, somehow kicking through the sand with their undead feet.
Mike pulled himself away from the view and looked around for a moment, debating about what to do next with the motel. His eyes found the vending machine barrier. It looked secure enough, but he thought he could make the barrier a little bit stronger. He went back into his room and retrieved the set of keys. He walked down to rooms 8 and 9, opened both doors, and pulled out the dressers from each room. He drug each dresser over to the barrier, and slid them behind the vending machines. He paused and looked at his work. It might not keep out looters or people of their ilk, but it would be hard for a rotten zombie to push his or her way onto the second level. Feeling safe, he walked back to the box of supplies and picked up the rope ladder lying beside it. He attached it to the rail, and dropped it to the ground. He grabbed a gun and his knife, and descended to the ground.
He paused for a moment on the asphalt to check for zombies. Not seeing any, he quickly made his way over to the office. He quietly made his way into the musty room and made his way over to the pegboard. He removed all the keys, and slipped them into his pocket. After that, he walked back to the door, checked again for zombies, and once again found it all clear. He stepped outside, closed and locked the door, and hurried off to the pool.
When he reached it, he opened the rusty gate and made his way onto the faded blue tiles. He looked down at the water, which was not only green and covered in mold, but it also had a foul tainted smell, like water that had been sitting stagnant for way too long. He tossed the room keys from the pegboard into the murk, and looked around at the useless furniture. There was nothing he could use if he ever found a way to reclaim the pool. Feeling a bit let down by that, he turned to leave, and paused when he heard a splash. He turned around to the water and saw that something was moving underneath it.
Mike pulled out his gun, and made sure it was ready to fire. He watched as this moving thing went from the deep end to the shallow end, slowly revealing itself as it emerged from its resting place underneath the water. The zombie (dressed in lifeguard gear complete with whistle) reached the stairs that led out of the pool, eyeballing Mike, rotten body water logged and full of nasty liquid, covered in leeches, and algae – blue-green algae that had consumed the entire left side of its face, the eye in that socket barely visible. It was hungry for a long awaited feast, and Mike’s warm body was just perfect for that.
Mike raised his gun and fired.
The zombie’s head exploded, splattering its water logged brain all over the tiles. It tumbled back into the pool with a splash, and disappeared from view.
Feeling tired and ready to rest, Mike hurried back to his room, and called it a day.
+
The next morning, Mike decided to do what he would do for the rest of the winter and most of the spring, explore the area around his motel on foot. He got to know his neighbors, checked out books from the local library, walked up and down the beach, rummaged through the gift shops and restaurants, and played many rounds of Putt-Putt Golf.
The PIRATE’S TREASURE course was dead and lifeless, its former thrills and frills no longer viable thanks to a world without electricity, but the holes and the greens were still puttable and that made it particularly attractive to two former golfers who couldn’t hit the links anymore. John and Kevin (the owners of the fortified Pirate’s Treasure) beat Mike at every game they played, but he was there more for the company than the competition. It was just nice to have a place to go in order to kill some of the dead hours in the day.
Once the spring moved on to summer, Mike decided it was time to find some wheels. The South Carolina heat was brutal and intense, with most days in the nineties and heat indexes much beyond that. It was hard to walk around and explore when it was that hot, so Mike found a car lot and restored a truck he found sitting there. It provided him not only air-conditioning, but a vehicle to explore many areas beyond his motel. He ventured as far north as Wilmington and as far south as Charleston in his trek to kill time, stay cool, and find supplies. Rat and his crew were more than willing to bring Mike supplies when he needed them, but he preferred to find them on his own.
Living at the motel also proved to be tough that summer, because of the intense heat. When Mike was there, he kept the Level 1 generator running so he could rest downstairs in one of the rooms he had fortified and cleaned. At night he tried to save gas by sleeping upstairs with the doors and windows open, letting the sea breeze cool him the best it could. It wasn’t exactly safe, but he had no choice, desperate times called for desperate measures. He only gave in to running the generator for his upstairs room when the heat became too much and he just couldn’t take it anymore. There were no hurricanes (thankfully). A few tropical storms and a few nasty thunderstorms, but mostly it was just a hot dry South Carolina summer.
In the fall, Rat and his crew led Mike out to the farm where most of the area got their fresh supplies. The farm had sixty walled off acres, complete with guards around the clock, and anyone was welcome to what they produced as long as they were willing to help out around the place. Mike was more than willing to do his share, and this allowed him many home cooked meals. It also helped him to obtain the occasional hot bath, clean clothes, and fresh liquids to drink.
November arrived with relief in the form of cooler weather, and while Mike worked on the farm, he started thinking about Christmas once again (his favorite time of year). He thought it might be nice to give back to everyone who had helped him adjust to his new home and surroundings. He knew of only one person who could help him make this wish come true, and one day in late November he pulled Rat to the side in order to see what he could do to help.
“Do you think that old Rec Center near my motel can be used again?” Mike asked Rat, as they both stood near the old farmhouse that was now restored with fresh white paint and a brand new porch.
“I think so. What’s buzzing in your brain, Mike?”
“Christmas.”
“Christmas?”
“I thought it might be nice to give us all something to smile about. I’ve found in the past that celebrating just that one holiday can make the next year click so much better, especially during times like these.”
“We can check it out tomorrow morning if you like,” Rat replied, pulling his coat tight, trying to keep warm in the stiff winter like breeze. “I honestly can’t believe it’s this cold this early this year.”
“Me either,” Mike replied. “Sure beats the summer though.”
“I’ll give you that. I better go. See you tomorrow morning,” Rat replied, and scurried off to help out his three man crew who were currently herding cows.
Mike watched all four of them for a moment, amazed at how well they had adapted to farm help, and then returned back to repairing the part of the barn he had been working on.
+
The next morning, the day was grey, cool, and rainy when Rat and his three man crew met Mike at the BLUE BOMBER motel. The Rat Pack (Mike’s nick name for them) had adopted Mike as their fatherly figure (Bee especially), and now they dressed just like him in camo pants, boots, long sleeve shirt, and jacket. Mike didn’t mind being their fatherly role model, in fact, if he had been asked, he would tell anyone that he loved it, because he was a dad at heart and it made him feel good to have kids to take care of again, well, sort of take care of. The Rat Pack didn’t truly need his help because they were skilled beyond their years.
Mike and The Rat Pack made the two mile trek to the Rec Center on foot and when they reached it, they stopped and stood in front of the rusty metal gate that led into the parking lot. They could see dead cars, aged and weathered, two emergency vehicles (ambulance and firetruck) sitting on flat tires, and lots of trash and debris tumbling and flipping across the cracked and worn pavement where five shambling zombies seemed to be stuc
k and unable to escape. The shufflers showed severe signs of malnourishment, skin hanging off the bone, clothes baggy, hair in patches and clumps. Two were dressed in army fatigues, stripped clean of their weapons. Two were in firemen uniforms, and the other shuffler looked like it was just an ordinary citizen until the day it had died, still dressed in jeans, Slayer tee-shirt, and sneakers.
Mike looked at the four kids with him (Spider and Centipede on the outside, Bee standing beside him (where she always liked to be when they were together), and Rat beside her). “You guys ready to go?” He asked.
They nodded that they were, and then prepared their weapons for the zombies in the parking lot. Mike grabbed the gate, and pulled. It was unlocked so it swung easily open. When the zombies heard the rusty rattle of the gate, they turned and saw food. They started shambling towards Mike and The Rat Pack.
While Mike closed and locked the gate, Centipede and Spider let their arrows fly. Seconds later, two zombies dropped to the ground with arrows stuck out of their skulls. Bee took out another one with her spear, and then one more with her knife. The citizen zombie was the last one left, and as it shambled towards Centipede, Spider, and Bee, they looked at one another. Centipede nodded that he had it. He raised his bow, and let the arrow fly.
THUNK!
Bull’s eye, dead center of the forehead. The citizen zombie tumbled to the ground, his shuffling days were over.
Mike and Rat didn’t even have to draw their guns, they just stood there and waited for the zombies to hit the ground. When the threats were eliminated, Mike walked over to the ambulance and pulled open the back doors. The rear of the truck was in complete disarray, stripped clean of all of its medical supplies. But in this world you never truly gave up on a find like this, so Mike took the time to rummage through what was left. He found a few things, but what he found had already expired. He moved onto the cab of the truck, but no luck. There was nothing in there that could be used.
“Find anything?” Rat asked.
“Nope, but there is half a tank of gas and keys in the ignition,” Mike replied, jumping out of the truck and walking over to one of the flat tires. He knelt down and looked it over. The tire wasn’t punctured or busted, just empty from non-use and sitting undriven. He looked at the other tires and noticed the same thing. “If we had some tires or a way to put air into these. We might be able to use this machine until the gas runs out.”
The Mike Beem Chronicles: 6 Tales of Survival, Hope, and The Zombie Apocalypse Page 22