He moved on with his attention divided between avoiding the zombies in the car and watching the ground in front of him, and nearly ran headlong into a lone walker emerging from behind one of the gas pumps.
Daymon had little warning and was forced to leap over the snarling ghoul. The move brought back memories of his track and field days at Teton High. He stopped abruptly, turned and sized up the pint-sized flesh eater. Somewhere along the line the zombie had lost its foot and most of the fingers on both hands. Daymon had noticed that nearly all of the creatures had similar defensive wounds, suffered when they were still human, trying unsuccessfully to survive the brutally vicious attacks the packs of hungry dead were capable of.
The limping ghoul scraped forward dragging its mangled stump, nubs for hands reaching for him. Daymon thought the thing would be a good candidate for an eye patch considering that the raw protruding leg bone resembled a peg leg and the guttural moaning sounded a little pirate like. What a way to end up, he thought to himself.
Calmly, the lanky dreadlocked man stood his ground. Like a bullfighter without a cape, he swiftly sidestepped the gimpy zombie and followed through with a vicious downward blow to the top of the skull. The twice dead corpse slid freely from the blood slickened shank and collided with the ground.
Daymon wiped his only weapon off on the zombie’s tee shirt and continued on his way. He was only three blocks removed from the encounter at the Texaco when he found what he was looking for. The enormous darkened sign loomed above him. It appeared to Daymon that C.K.’s Rocky Mountain Outdoor and More was closed for business... indefinitely. The words on the reader board silently urged everyone passing to Gear up for bear season! And the promise of a Military Discount adorned the bottom of the sign, likely put there to deter base personnel from venturing into the big city for their sporting goods needs.
The temporary fencing here was nearly as tall as the one ringing the air force base; uneven and sagging in spots, it looked like it had been hastily erected. Still smarting from his last encounter with a security fence, he walked the perimeter looking for an easier way in than over the top.
Daymon noticed several smaller businesses standing adjacent to the outdoor store. A cellular store, flanked by a sushi restaurant and a UPS mailing center; all were boarded up and dark. It was your garden variety retail cluster, minus the ubiquitous Subway or Baja Fresh fast food store. He had no idea why they took the time to board up the sushi restaurant. Fifteen minutes with no power and all you have is bait anyway. He couldn’t even fathom what it smelled like inside after a week without refrigeration, and he shuddered at the thought. As for protecting the Verizon shop from looters--that was wishful thinking at best. Thanks to the zombie apocalypse all of those fancy phones were now just useless paperweights. Welcome to the Dark Ages, he thought.
As Daymon walked the fence on the far side of the sporting goods store, he found the chink in the armor he had been searching for. With a little jostling he successfully moved the two cinderblock bases apart enough to allow his narrow frame access to the empty parking lot. A stiff wind kicked up, delivering the stench of rotten flesh to his nose. After surveying the surroundings for the source and finding the lot free of undead, he came to the awful realization that the odor was from the bodily fluids soaked into his sleeves and pants legs. His first order of business, he thought, was to find a real weapon and then a set of clean clothes.
After locating the front doors of the outdoor store, Daymon quickly traversed the large parking lot with the Mission Impossible theme playing on a loop in his head. Shit, he thought, as he spied the heavy duty chain coiled around the handles like a steel anaconda. One glance told him the lock wouldn’t yield so he chose the path of least resistance, and prying around the edges with the tent stake, removed the quarter inch plywood covering the glass. Daymon’s first kick, aimed just below the door handle, buckled the entire window inward. The subsequent blow from his size eleven boot shattered the spider-webbed pane spraying hundreds of pea-size glass nuggets inside the store. He ducked his head under the bar, contorted the rest of his body to follow, and slowly crossed the debris field, trying to heel and toe it as quietly as possible, although doing so while retaining a modicum of stealth proved to be futile. The glass shards crunching under his boots sounded like small caliber gunshots echoing about the cavernous store.
Daymon sat on his haunches with his back against the wall, letting his eyes adjust to the shadowy interior. Now that he was inside and sitting in one place the stench of death permeating his clothes quickly overwhelmed him, so he stripped naked and heaved the stinking clothing outside.
Daymon stood silently in the dark. So far, so good. He heard none of the hissing and moaning he had come to despise since the outbreak. Nothing stirred inside the store and it appeared that his amateur attempt at breaking and entering had gone unnoticed.
Since he had no one watching his back, and certainly didn’t want any visitors while searching for supplies, he looked around the store entry for something big to take the place of the missing glass. Daymon wasn’t worried about tangling with a few zombies. The walking corpses were fairly predictable, and in small numbers, easy to handle. Humans, on the other hand, were to be avoided. Except for Cade and the old dude, Duncan, most of the people he had encountered since the dead started walking were nothing but opportunists and stone cold killers.
He decided early on that anybody slowing him down, thus lowering his odds for survival, was expendable. Hoss wasn’t the first warm blooded biped that Daymon had seen fit to cull from Earth’s dwindling herd. He had already left several unlucky bandits littering the roadside in the days since the outbreak.
Between the restroom doors labeled “Buck’s” and “Doe’s” in a small alcove off of the store entrance stood a six foot tall wooden Indian. The carved piece of brightly painted art weighed upwards of two hundred pounds, and with some effort Daymon was able to move the statue into place, effectively blocking the opening.
The big Chief eclipsed the scant amount of moonlight filtering in from outside, causing Daymon to change his priorities. A new weapon and change of clothes would have to wait, what he needed now was a working flashlight. The nude dreadlocked man cautiously crept further into the store, painfully aware of his exposed situation. All around him it looked as if a small amount of looting had taken place. The glass cases ringing the walls, usually reserved to display the high end pistols and collectible knives, were still intact but all of their shelves had been picked clean.
The low slung checkout counter seemed a logical place to start. The cash drawer was open with a note, written on a crisp sheet torn from a yellow legal pad, sitting where the bill tray would have been. Daymon plucked a Mini Maglite dangling from a display and cast the beam on the paper.
C.K.
I got here early Sunday morning. Some people were waiting for the store to open. (Not looting like on TV... strange.) I only recognized a couple of them but they all had guns. I wasn’t threatened but I could tell they were desperate. I know that if I didn’t let them in they would’ve made me. So much for friendly Coloradans... They bought all of the guns and ammo in the store plus camping gear and some other stuff. The itemized bill and credit card imprints are in the office in the top desk drawer. By now you probably realize they left me in one piece... hope this thing gets under control. Schriever AFB is locked down. I took half of the secret stash before bugging out. Going to check on my parents in Sulphur Springs.
P.S. As you see the fence guys you called showed up sometime Saturday... get your money back the shitty fence didn’t keep anyone out! Take care of yourself. Thanks for everything! Lewis.
Daymon snorted after reading the last sentence, and thought to himself, at least the fence kept the zombies out.
He panned the flashlight left to right across the knotty pine walls adorned with multiple trophy kills: pheasant, turkey, geese, and duck, all in a permanent state of flight. He was feeling the chill in the air as he walked the aisles, but
still he passed up the display of bright orange coveralls. Not gonna cut it, he thought. Finally Daymon found the Carhartt work clothes, in all the usual drab colors, stacked chest high and tucked behind the day glo hunting garb. Using his mouth to hold the flashlight, he wasted no time rifling through the piles with both hands.
Once again dressed in full black, courtesy of whoever C.K. was, Daymon crept towards the back of the store. He passed the narrow beam of light across a display of camping gear searching for a stuff sack or soft internal frame backpack to load his loot into. The maroon and gold Kelty propped up beside a White Stag dome tent caught his eye. To show off its full capacity, the backpack was already stuffed full of pre-packaged freeze dried food, an MSR stove, a sleeping bag, and a rolled up Therm-a-Rest mattress, most of which Daymon had no use for. He emptied the bag of everything except for some of the food.
Not everyone liked to hunt bear with a high powered rifle. In Daymon’s opinion there wasn’t much sport involved and therefore not enough adrenaline in the equation for him. Judging by the reader board in front of the store, he reasoned that there must be a department that catered to bow hunters such as him.
Stealthily he slipped through the jungle of clearance priced clothing, his head on a swivel and the flashlight held high. Unexpectedly a pale form materialized from the shadows. Daymon’s senses were already ratcheted up, and he reacted without thinking. The tent stake flashed and pierced the mannequin’s Styrofoam head with a dry squeak. Fuck! He caught the dummy by the wrist before it could fall and make a racket. Want to dance? Then he lowered his partner to the floor and removed the survival knife strapped to the high riding pair of hip waders and clipped it onto his belt.
Before proceeding deeper into the bowels of the outdoor supercenter, Daymon paused and remained still, listening for any telltale movement or sound that would indicate he wasn’t alone. Nothing. The store’s all mine, he thought, as he passed through the white water recreation section. Racks of colorful kayaks and canoes formed a plastic canyon that funneled him face to stomach with a six foot Black Bear. The big mammal stood upright on a two foot tall pedestal. The taxidermist had done a superb job of bringing it back from the dead. Bared canines glistened, forever longing for its next victim. The obsidian eyes twinkled in the flashlight beam and seemed to follow him as he stepped around the ursine.
Daymon had once encountered a specimen its size in the wild, but unfortunately the cagey bear proved difficult to track and managed to elude the hunt. The following season, in the High Uinta Mountains of Utah, he proudly bagged a smaller black with only a compound bow.
This stuffed bear would have been menacing had the ridiculous placard not been hanging around its thick neck. The sign read Everything you need to hunt me... and Bear repellant. At least there wasn’t a smiley face on the sign, Daymon thought. What a way for an Alpha predator to end up--shilling bear spray in an outdoor-n-more.
Like a kid in a candy store, Daymon salivated over the selection of crossbows spread out before him. Fitted with optics and bristling with extra bolts, the Excalibur Equinox called to him. The thousand dollar camouflage beauty would have been a luxury purchase a little out of his price range in the old world. Put it on my AmEx, he thought as the corner of his mouth curled, revealing a sly toothy smile. After arming himself with the crossbow, Daymon continued through the store. He traded the tent stake for a pair of eighteen inch machetes, both identical to the one he was relieved of upon entering Schriever AFB. The best binoculars money could no longer buy went into the Kelty, along with a pair of two-way radios. Loaded for bear, the ex-BLM firefighter donned the backpack and beat feet.
After leaving the sporting goods store, Daymon crossed the street and jogged around the Cadillac, once again giving it a wide berth. He could see that the ghouls were still inside, rocking the boat on its springs. With the flashlight beam sweeping the ground, he carefully skirted the mass grave that had almost become his final resting place. Nothing moved and all was quiet as he picked up his pace, racing the clock to get back over the fence before first light.
The corpses were still where they fell and the burlap sacks remained, fluttering in the light breeze, still stuck to the pointed barbs where he had placed them. Without realizing what he was doing, he ran his hand over his shirt, tracing the painful gashes on his chest. Clearly the thought of going back over the sharp wire was a little disconcerting to him.
Daymon tossed the Kelty backpack in a high arc, trying to keep it from getting snagged. It fell back to earth on the opposite side of the fence with a dull thud. Then he strapped the crossbow on his back and climbed over himself. Once on the other side and clear of the camera’s watchful eye, he pulled up his shirt, inspecting his body for fresh wounds. There were none, but the ones suffered earlier were beginning to fester and had become hot to the touch. He wasn’t surprised. There was no telling what kind of shit he may have contracted in the pit of the dead.
Chapter 2
Outbreak - Day 8
Schriever Air Force Base
Colorado Springs, Colorado
Brook awoke as the first tendrils of muted pre-dawn light probed the interior of her family’s quarters. Cade’s chest rhythmically rose and fell under the threadbare sheet. He appeared at peace, blissfully content. She lay next to her man until he stirred. Cade’s eyes opened slowly and scanned the room, taking inventory of his surroundings. Once he was awake and became fully aware that Brook was in the bed next to him, a sleepy smile cracked his usually stony demeanor.
“I was playing voyeur,” Brook confessed. “You were sleeping like a baby.”
“The operative word is were. What time is it honey?”
“It’s nearly five,” Brook said, her empathetic expression making an apology unnecessary. “Did you make a decision?” She gestured at the thick folder sitting under the bunk bed. Top Secret, spelled out in bold red letters, was prominently displayed across its otherwise plain russet exterior.
“Not without your input,” Cade said, stroking her arm. He stole a long look at her beautiful face, intently trying to memorize every crease and soft curve. He couldn’t help but notice how her brown eyes had changed. They were no longer soft and all encompassing; instead they were focused yet distant. In the short span of a week Brook had changed forever. Cade didn’t need to hear it from her mouth to know she would be reliving, for the rest of her days, those painful seconds, minutes, and hours spent running, surviving, and protecting Raven.
“My gut tells me whatever is in that folder is more important than what I might want you to do. Major Nash wouldn’t have asked you back on board unless it was an act of desperation.”
“Nash isn’t on point this time... this comes straight from the President herself,” Cade said.
“If that’s the case, Cade Grayson, then you have no choice. I’m telling you to go... get it done and come back to me and Raven.” Her eyes were moist but she somehow managed to hold the tears in check. “To be brutally honest, I wish I were going instead of you. This waiting in one place is killing me. I know those things are still out there and I’ve seen up close and personal what they are capable of.”
“You and Raven will be safer in here. Carl should be back on his feet in a day or two. I want you to stick close to him while I’m gone. And keep close tabs on our daughter.” Cade’s voice was even, almost monotone when relaying very important information to Brook or Raven. To anyone listening in, the way he spoke to her would have sounded condescending as hell. Brook knew he was just being direct and thorough with his delivery. “If the base is compromised and you aren’t lucky enough to get on a helo like you were back at Bragg, then go west overland through Manitou Springs. I trained with the Unit a number of years ago near Lake George. We brushed up on rappelling and mountaineering at the Gunderson’s horse ranch. Real nice folks... John and Lucy are their names. Go there and I’ll find you.”
Brook collapsed atop her husband and clutched him in a viselike embrace, afraid to let go. She allowed herself
a few precious moments of peace and just lay there, holding him. Finally she sighed and sat up, brushing her hair back from her face. Cade squeezed her hand gently and locked eyes with the love of his life.
“Mom... where are you going?” Raven’s sleepy disembodied voice asked from the dark side of the bunk.
“I’m going to check on your uncle. Go back to sleep. You and Dad can go to the mess hall in a couple of hours.”
“I can’t go back to sleep... they’ll be waiting for me.”
“Tell me about your nightmare sweetie,” Cade urged. He knew full well that confronting her subconscious fears and putting them into words would take the power out of them.
“I keep having the same one. I’m at the dark store... peeing in the parking lot...” Raven’s face tightened and her brow furrowed as she looked at her mom. “Those things pouring from the store... .” Her lower lip quivered.
Cade noticed a silent message pass between his wife and daughter.
“That was my fault Bird...” Brook said. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “We should have never stopped there.” Brook shuddered, thinking how close they had come to being eaten.
“The monsters get us. We die every time... horribly. I’m not staying in bed. I’m going with you Mom,” Raven said forcefully.
“You’re safe now honey. Mom and I will protect you,” said Cade.
Raven crawled off the bunk and grabbed her jeans. Pausing with one leg in and one out, she peered at her dad, trying to decide if she should keep playing dumb. “Dad?”
“Yes honey?”
In Harm's Way: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse Page 2