Aliens Versus Zombies

by Mark Terence Chapman

  She kept watching from behind the big oak tree and hoped it wasn’t a small pack of Zoms, or worse: aliens.

  The faint image got closer and larger. She began to sweat, and not just from the afternoon heat. What if…?

  After a few minutes the image grew clear enough that she could identify it. She cried out again.

  “False alarm! It’s just Geoff.”

  Geoff Meisner was riding Mabel—she could just make out his broad-brim hat at this distance—but he wasn’t alone. There was something else behind him.

  Make that, two something elses.

  A grin spread across her face at what she saw.

  “Everyone, he’s got another horse! And something else… Hot damn. It’s a cow!”

  Tied behind the pony was a much larger stallion, and trailing behind was a Holstein.

  Chrissy could hardly restrain her excitement for the twenty minutes it took for Geoff to get within hailing distance.

  “Where the hell did you find those?”

  Geoff grinned. “Hold on there, missy. Give me a few minutes to get them into the barn and I’ll tell everyone at once.”

  The rest of the group now waited outside the house to see what was going on. As promised, Geoff was done quickly and strode back toward the others.

  “It was the damnedest thing. Mabel and I found this farm on the far side of the woods. It’d been ransacked. Nothin’, really, of value left. I walked around to the back of the barn to see if there might be some tools or somethin’ we could use. And there were these two, just happily munchin’ away at some grass, side by side. When Buck—that’s what I’m callin’ the stallion—saw me, he just moseyed on over, pretty as you please, and Elsie followed. Wherever he went, she went, too. It was like they was the best o’ friends. I didn’t even have to tie her. She just followed us back the whole way. I checked in the barn for a saddle, but I didn’t see any horse tack there. They musta wandered there from somewhere else.” He beamed at the end of his story.

  “A cow,” someone in the crowd said. “Steaks!”

  “No! Milk!” someone else cried out. “I haven’t had fresh milk in forever.”

  An argument ensued over which was the best use of the cow: milk long-term or meat short-term.

  Geoff whistled to stop the chatter. “Y’all city folk should know that a cow that ain’t milked daily quickly stops producing milk. Until she calves again there ain’t gonna be no milk. And she ain’t gonna calve unless we find a bull somewhere.”

  That settled the argument. They would have one hell of a barbecue.

  “But we can’t possibly eat hundreds of pounds of meat all at once,” someone called out. “Then what? We don’t have any refrigeration.”

  “Yet another inconvenience of post-apocalyptic life.” That drew a chuckle.

  Someone else replied, “We can cure the beef, make jerky out of it. It’ll keep indefinitely that way.”

  “That’s great. Does anyone here know how to cure meat?”

  A couple of people volunteered to do it, having experience curing venison and rabbit. They were going to need copious amounts of sugar or salt. That meant finding a store somewhere that had some. And it meant putting off the barbecue until they had the means to cure all that meat.

  Daniels volunteered to go in the morning.

  “Cool,” said Chrissy. “While you’re out, see if you can find some binoculars, too.”

  “And maybe somewhere that sells saddles,” Geoff chimed in. “Buck needs one—and a pad and bridle. A halter, too, if you can find one.”

  “And some shotgun shells, too,” Jesse added.

  “And more diapers. Lots of them,” from Abby’s mom, Andi.

  Daniels sighed. “Somebody make a shopping list.”

  * * * *

  The colonization efforts had expanded considerably over the past few weeks. More than two thousand Drahtch colonists had settled in, along with several hundred soldiers. Two-thirds of the city was secure behind the protective perimeter field. There were still daily sightings of indies within the barrier, but only a few here and there. Most were quickly eliminated, but somehow a few always managed to elude the soldiers.

  * * * *

  Jay shut the door behind him and leaned against it, panting.

  “What’s wrong, Uncle Jay?”

  “Golden people. Uncle Mike, dead.” He shook his head. “Bad.”

  “Oh, no! Not Uncle Mike!” Amanda pouted. “I hate those golden people! They’re mean!” She started to cry. “First Uncle Bobo, and now Uncle Mike. Now there’s only four of us left!”

  Aunt Suzi hugged Amanda tight to her chest. “We safe. We okay.”

  “Please Aunt Suzi, Uncle Jay, can we go somewhere else? Somewhere the bad golden people won’t get us? I don’t want you or Aunt Joanie to die.”

  Uncle Jay nodded. “We go.”

  Amanda left Aunt Suzi to hug Uncle Jay. “I love you, Uncle Jay. Can we go now?”

  He shook his head. “Now not safe. Morning.”

  * * * *

  The next morning, Daniels set out on Mabel. On a previous foray through the woods he had spotted a church steeple off in the distance. It was too far to reach on foot that day, but with Mabel he thought he should be able to get there within a few hours. Where there was a church, there was probably a town nearby.

  He stroked Mabel’s neck before turning her in that direction. “That’s a good girl. Let’s go shopping.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Amanda, Jay, Suzi, and Joanie packed their meager possessions—mostly food and a few items of clothing—in pillowcases. Then they set out for some part of town where the golden people weren’t. They were only a couple of miles from the outskirts of town, so they headed that way.

  After walking for twenty minutes, they reached a strip mall. They could pick up some food there for their trip. Before they reached the small food store they passed a pawn shop.

  Jay stopped and stared.

  “That’s a pawn shop, Uncle Jay. My daddy worked in one. People sell stuff they don’t want there.”

  Jay stood there for a moment thinking. Something about the place seemed familiar, but he had no memory of it. He headed toward the glass door. It was smashed in. He entered, followed by the others.

  Several glass display cases had been tipped over. Watches, brass cigarette lighters, jewelry, and other baubles were scattered across the floor. Much of the merchandise was missing. A gun rack hung on the wall behind one of the counters. It, too, had been broken open. For whatever reason, the looters had left two pistols. Jay picked one up.

  He had a vague memory of what it was. He knew he had held one before, but he had no idea what it was called.

  “Guns are bad, Uncle Jay. Only bad people have guns.”

  Gun. That was the word. Gun.

  “Need.”

  “No, Uncle Jay. We don’t need a gun. Guns are bad.”

  “Need,” he repeated.

  He put down his machete and rummaged through the smashed display cases and the cabinets behind them until he found a few boxes of bullets. He couldn’t figure out which bullets fit that pistol, or where they went, but he knew, somehow, that the bullets went in the gun and that the gun didn’t work without them.

  He spent the next ten minutes fumbling with the gun until he found the magazine release. Then he retrieved the magazine from the floor. He spent more minutes fumbling with various sizes of bullets until he found one that fit. He kept filling the magazine until it was full. After more fumbling, he managed to reinsert the magazine into the grip of the pistol.

  Pleased with himself, he pointed the gun at the window and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He tried again, and still nothing happened. It took several minutes of additional poking, prodding, and pulling on things until he pulled back the slide. This time, when he pulled the trigger, he was treated to a resounding roar that startled everyone else and made them jump.

  Grinning, he put the rest of the bullets in his pillowcase.


  Amanda started to cry. “Uncle Jay, you scared me! I told you guns were bad.”

  Still grinning, he responded, “Need.”

  * * * *

  By early afternoon, Daniels and Mabel reached the church. As he had hoped, it was on the outskirts of a small town. They plodded along, looking for anywhere that might sell food, sporting goods, or farm equipment.

  It didn’t take long to reach downtown, such as it was. There was another church, a small sheriff’s office, a few restaurants, and a tire store. Not much else—except for bodies. He saw at least a dozen dead Zoms sprawled here and there. That was disquieting. What had happened to them? It was a mystery, but one he didn’t have time to worry about.

  There had to be a grocery store somewhere. He kept looking. He was almost to the other side of town before he spotted Kate’s Market. As usual, it had been looted and much of the wares were gone. But, just as typically, there were plenty of items left behind. It didn’t take long to find diapers. Apparently they weren’t at the top of most looters’ loot lists. He also found plenty of powdered baby formula and bottles, even a rattle. Abby was taken care of.

  He put as much as would fit inside one of the burlap grain sacks he’d brought with him for this purpose.

  There were only four bags of sugar left, but dozens of cartons of salt. He took it all, plus bottles of spices. He then filled up on the other items on his shopping list: soap, deodorant, shampoo, and so on. They could come back later for food and other needed items.

  It took only half an hour to find everything.

  “That was easy. One-stop shopping!”

  The harder items to find would be ammo, and horse tack for Buck.

  Or so he thought.

  As it happened, Armitage Feed and Farm Supply was only three blocks over from Kate’s Market. He tied Mabel to a shopping cart left out front in the parking lot.

  While sorting through the ammo case for birdshot, buckshot, and slug cartridges, for both 12-gauge and 20-gauge shotguns, he heard something, but what?

  Turning with his pistol at the ready, he watched for signs of movement as he strained his ears for any indication of approaching danger.

  A minute passed, and then another. He was just about to dismiss the sound as a squirrel chasing a nut. Then he heard it again: a scuffing or dragging sound.

  He turned toward the sound and pointed his pistol in that direction, waiting. At least it didn’t sound like a pack of Zoms.

  A head peeked around the corner of a shelf full of deer feed. Daniels almost fired before he recognized it.

  “Hey, boy, how are you doing?”

  A small dog that appeared to be mostly beagle with a basset hound’s ears, wagged its tail and whimpered. He approached slowly, cautiously, hopping on one hind foot and keeping the other one in the air. The dog came around the counter toward Daniels.

  “Oh, got hurt, did you?”

  There was fresh blood on the injured leg. Daniels put down his gun and knelt to stroke the dog and the dog licked his hand.

  “That’s a good boy. How have you managed to survive all this time by yourself? Or was someone taking care of you until recently?”

  The dog looked up with big, sad, puppy eyes and kept wagging his tail as Daniels rubbed his head and ears.

  “Well, don’t you worry, I’ll take you with me and we’ll get you all fixed up. I think I’ll call you Hiram.”

  When Daniels attempted to pick up Hiram, the dog whined and snapped at the man’s hand.

  Daniels pulled his hand back quickly. “Okay, okay. I guess you’ll have to follow me. But I don’t know how I’m gonna get you home. There’s no way you can walk that far on three legs.”

  A whinny from out front, followed by the crash of metal, caused Daniels to grab his pistol and run for the door. Sixty yards away, in the middle of the parking lot, Mabel reared up and attempted to defend herself from five Zoms coming at her from different directions. Daniels ran past the overturned cart.

  “Hey! Over here! Leave her alone!”

  He fired a shot into the air, hoping to distract the Zoms long enough for Mabel to escape. But they wouldn’t be dissuaded. He ran toward them, firing as he ran. He didn’t really expect to hit them while running, not without risk to Mabel. But he hoped the combination of the noise and the sight of him approaching would be enough of a distraction. Again, he was disappointed. They were bound and determined to take down the bigger prey.

  Daniels finally stopped, ten yards from the nearest one. He took careful aim and put two rounds in the chest of the Zom farthest from Mabel. It fell. This time, the others—finally recognizing the threat—turned and charged at him.

  Uh-oh. Maybe I should have thought this out better.

  He put a shot into the face of the second Zom. Stepping backwards to buy himself an extra second or two, he put rounds into the third and fourth Zoms. Then the fifth one was on him. It knocked the gun out of his hand and went for his throat.

  Daniels grabbed the Zom by the wrists. He fought to keep the other away, but the furious intensity of the creature gave him insane strength. With both hands occupied, Daniels had no way to reach the knife in its thigh sheath. The beast kept forcing Daniels back, back, back.

  His heel caught on something. He fell, with the Zom on top of him.

  With no leverage, and the weight of the Zom bearing down on him, Daniels was in trouble. The Zom’s teeth got closer and closer to his throat. There was no way to hold him off forever. Three inches, two, one inch.

  And then…snarling, ripping, and a screech from the Zom.

  Hiram had sunk his teeth into the creature’s calf. His little body pulled backward with all his might. The Zom reared back and reached for the dog. There was a wet, crunching sound. The Zom dove forward onto Daniels. Expecting the teeth to go for his throat again, Daniels tensed. It took a moment to realize the creature was no longer fighting him.

  He pushed the Zom to the side. The back of its head was caved in. Behind it stood Mabel, with one bloody fore hoof.

  Daniels fell back onto the ground in relief.

  “Wow. Saved by a pony and a puppy. Who’da thunk it?” He laughed in nearly hysterical relief. Then he petted Hiram. “Is that who hurt you, boy?”

  He also spent a minute stroking Mabel’s flank. “Thank you, too, girl.”

  Daniels stood and returned to the store. He collected the ammo he came for. Hiram barked. Daniels tensed. More Zoms?

  He pulled his pistol and turned toward the front door. He saw nothing and heard nothing.

  Hiram barked again. Daniels looked in his direction. The dog barked a third time.

  Daniels smiled. “Oh, are you hungry, boy?” Hiram faced a shelf full of dry dog food.

  “Okay, I’ll get you a nice big bag of food.” He did so and stowed it in a burlap sack tied to Mabel’s saddle horn.

  “Now, what about tack for Buck?

  Saddles were large items, and typically custom-made. The store had no inventory. However a display model hung in the front window, along with a bridle and a stack of colorful horse pads. He stuffed the bridle and several pads into another burlap sack. The saddle itself was much too big to go in a sack. And it was too heavy for poor little Mabel to carry along with all the other goods—and Daniels, too.

  Because the place also catered to hunters, they carried binoculars, camo gear, and scent neutralizer. All would come in handy. He loaded up on those, too. Then he searched for some sort of wagon that he could pull behind him. He found a garden yard cart and took that outside. He could ride Mable and tow the wagon behind her with some rope, but he didn’t think that would work very well. The wagon would probably flip over if it hit a stick or something and he didn’t feel like getting up and down from the horse all the time. He finally decided to secure the new saddle atop the old one and walk alongside Mabel, pulling the wagon by hand.

  Finally, it was time to figure out how to get Hiram home. The dog stood there on three legs, looking up at the much taller human, and w
agged his tail.

  “I hate to do this to you, but I don’t see any other way.”

  He took his last burlap sack and scooped up Hiram before he could resist. The pooch howled and whimpered and struggled inside the bag, but couldn’t escape. After a minute, he calmed down, but kept whimpering.

  Daniels placed the bag in the high-sided cart, along with a few small items for which he lacked another grain sack. Then he opened it and looked down at Hiram. “You doing okay, boy?”

  Hiram’s tail whacked repeatedly against the inside of the bag.

  “Good boy. We’re going home now. The corpsman should be able to fix you up good as new when we get back.”

  He stroked Hiram’s head and then turned Mabel back onto the road.

  “We’ll have to take the road all the way back. There’s no way we can get through the woods with the wagon. That means we won’t get back until after dark, but, hey, whaddaya gonna do, right?”

  * * * *

  Jay held out an arm to halt those behind him. Suzi held Amanda’s hand, and Joanie brought up the rear. Jay had a pistol in his hand, and a machete tucked into his belt. Joanie was armed with a machete. Suzi had her hands full with Amanda and two pillowcases. The others carried their own pillowcases in their free hands.

  The foursome stood in the shadow of a store awning overhanging a recessed entryway. Nothing moved on either end of the street. After a minute of watching, Jay started forward. The adults ran across the street, with Suzi carrying Amanda.

  They continued in like fashion for another three blocks, hopscotching from doorway to doorway and across streets, until they were only a block from the last street before the town petered out.

  They reached the final corner. Across the street were a string of warehouses. Beyond that, open countryside. And beyond that, with any luck, was a new home for them.

  Taking great care to ensure there was no one else in the area, Jay finally led them across the street, between two warehouses. They emerged behind the buildings and stopped.