Aliens Versus Zombies

by Mark Terence Chapman

  “Thanks,” the driver said, “but we was hopin’ for some fresh food. You got any? Fresh veggies, some meat, maybe?”

  “No. Sorry. Just canned stuff. That’s all we have. Help yourself to what’s in the grocery store. It’s the same stuff we have.”

  “Well, now, that’s not very friendly, like. Why don’t you invite us in and we can have a nice, friendly meal together?”

  “I’d rather not. Sorry. Why don’t you get your food from the store and move along. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “We don’t want no trouble neither. We just want to sit a spell and get to know you, have supper together, that sorta thing. Ya got any women in there?”

  “I’m not gonna ask you again. Move along. I’m armed and not afraid to use it.”

  “Hey, that’s just plain unfriendly. We asked politely. Maybe we shouldn’t be so polite. Whaddaya say, boys? Should we stop being polite?”

  “That does it.” The sound of a pump-action shotgun being primed was audible to Geoff, even across the street. “I’m giving you until the count of five to turn and leave my property. One…two…”

  “Oh? You like it rough? So do we, and there’s eight of us. How many guns you got?”

  Geoff threw open the front door and stepped out, aiming his gun at the back of the leader’s head from across the street. “More than y’all do.”

  Two others stepped out onto the porch beside Geoff, rifles and shotguns leveled at the intruders; ten others did the same from four houses on both sides of the street.

  The four men turned toward the voice coming from behind them. “Whoa! Now hold on there. There’s no cause to go gettin’ huffy. We was jus’ leavin’. Boys?” He gestured and the group walked back toward the trucks.

  He appeared to whisper something to the others, but when they reached the street, they got into their trucks and drove off with a squeal of tires, but without the exuberant gunfire of before.

  Each of the occupied houses on the street had a walkie-talkie so they could talk to one another. When the trucks were first heard heading their way, Geoff had alerted everyone else. Now he gave the all-clear signal.

  “Stand down,” he said. “It looks like they’re leavin’. But don’t drop your guards, in case they come back.”

  * * * *

  The two trucks rolled to a stop in front of the big house on the corner. The men got out with nary a sound and tiptoed up to the side window. Although the night was moonless, a candle burned within. A window was open slightly. The first man handed his rifle to the one behind him, and slid the window up slowly, hoping to prevent a squeak from alerting anyone within. The window opened and he climbed in. The second man gave him his gun back and handed over his own. He then climbed through, and retrieved his gun. The next two repeated the process, and so on until all eight stood in the living room.

  The leader whispered. “Split up into pairs. Look for anything usable. If anyone gets in your way, kill them.”

  “But, John,” another whispered back, “I don’ wanna kill anyone. Let’s jus’ get the stuff and leave.”

  “You’ll do what I tell ya! These pissants ain’t gonna wave guns in our faces and get away with it. Ya gotta be strong!”

  They shut their eyes in pain from the blinding light.

  “If you ladies are done gossiping, I suggest you drop your guns and put your hands up.” Chick Daniels flipped on the overhead lights and the three others with high-powered flashlights turned them off. “You have to be a special kind of stupid to invade the home of people you know have weapons.”

  When the intruders opened their eyes, it was to see eight guns pointed at their heads, both front and back. They froze.

  “Now wait a minute—” the leader began.

  “I said, drop your guns. You have until the count of three, and then we drop you. One…”

  “Let’s talk about this.”

  “Two.”

  The leader simultaneously dropped to one knee and raised his rifle. Instantly, four shots peppered his chest, spraying blood all over the paisley wallpaper and hardwood floor. The other seven froze in the act of either raising or lowering their weapons.

  “Stupid, but predictable. Three.”

  The rest of the intruders dropped their rifles like they were white hot and raised their hands.

  “It was his idea, honest! We didn’t wanna do it, but he said we had to.”

  “Really.” Geoff was one of those pointing a gun at them. “The way I see it, you seven have two choices. One, you can join us and become productive members of our community, pullin’ your own weight and helpin’ us build somethin’ here instead of destroyin’ what’s left of the world. Or, two, y’all can die where you stand. Yore choice. I’ll give you five seconds to decide.

  It took only one second for all to blurt out “I’ll join!”

  “Good. Now, we’ll hold onto your weapons until we’re sure y’all ain’t a danger to others. And each of you will be assigned a shadow to help you assimilate—and to keep an eye on you. If you step out of line, even a little, there’s a pack of hungry Zoms tied up out back that we’d be happy to feed you to. Got it?”

  It was a little white lie, but the intruders didn’t know that, and it sure got their attention, judging by the pale faces and nervous swallows.

  They all nodded their agreement.

  “Good. Y’all can start your civic duties by cleanin’ up this mess, while we find you a place to sleep. Oh, and if y’all decide you’d rather leave than stay, we won’t stop you. This ain’t a prison. But I hope y’all’ll give us a few days to grow on you. Wouldn’t y’all rather be part of a community, protectin’ one another, rather than living hand-to-mouth like animals? Think about it.”

  * * * *

  Two of the seven decided that they’d rather take their chances on the road than try to fit in. They weren’t the fitting-in types. They were given one of the pickups and their weapons. But the other five made an effort and became valued members of the community over the course of the next few months. They weren’t bad people, merely men driven to extremes by circumstance. But now their circumstances had changed.

  Soon, the leaves began to fall and the nights turned chilly. Then the second winter of the apocalypse set in. This time, however, the survivors of the plague weren’t huddled over pitiful little fires in an abandoned warehouse, or gas station, struggling to avoid frostbite and rampaging Zoms. This time, they had comfy beds to sleep in, fireplaces and central heating for warmth, and the protection of a growing community. Things were looking up.

  Although snow was infrequent in this part of the country, some days and weeks were quite frigid. This drove survivors south from more northern areas. As a result, the community grew by another nine members, seeking food, warmth, and protection.

  The original name of the town was Westhaven, population 10,341. The new residents, now numbering forty-eight, renamed it simply Haven because that’s what it had proven to be for them.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The winter wasn’t especially hard, but with the growing population, even the two grocery stores began to run low on many items. More time had to be spent both hunting game and hunting for other sources of food. The horses were too slow for the hours-long foraging trips to other nearby communities. The community had to make use of the SUVs and the remaining pickup truck more and more. It was tricky finding gas stations with power, but there was one in Haven and one in a neighboring town 18 miles away. The gas wouldn’t last forever, but there was enough for now. The horses were mainly used for in-town travel and hunting in the woods.

  The community knew it was risky and could draw the unwelcome attention of the aliens. It couldn’t be helped. They needed the supplies. Consequently, they used the vehicles almost daily, running off in every direction.

  * * * *

  Battle Commander FronCar, fresh in from the command ship, stomped his feet in a vain attempt to remove the mud caking his boots. He’d have to see about paving the are
a of the park used as a landing area. It hadn’t been an issue earlier in the year, when the ground had been hard-packed from heavy use. But that had changed, due to all the rain.

  Snow was an unfamiliar experience to the Drahtch, occurring only in the sparsely populated highlands of their home world. But the almost daily rain storms this time of year were becoming all too familiar, along with the mud. Frigid temperatures and freezing rain were not things he relished getting used to in their new home. But that’s what happened when you settled on a new world. You took what you got.

  Perhaps they should have set up the command center closer to the indigene’s airport, to make use of that open area. It wasn’t worth moving everything to the opposite end of the city at this point. In a few months they would move to their permanent home in the new city, with its modern landing facility.

  “Status?” he asked of the CommTech inside.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary to report,” was the reply. “Regular flights are on schedule. The indigene infestation inside the city is minimal. The extermination sorties outside the city continue, with only minimal injuries on our side. A few bites and cuts, but nothing serious. We’re continuing to track the indie community to our east. It appears to be growing, but we’ve detected nothing to suggest any military presence. They seem to simply be trying to survive.”

  FronCar nodded. “Excellent. We can always take care of them later.”

  “Sir, if you don’t mind my asking, how is the progress coming on the new city? I’ll be happy when we can move there and out of these primitive living conditions. I don’t know how the indies stood it.”

  FronCar looked for a diplomatic way to phrase his answer. “What has been completed is of excellent quality. The Viceroy is taking meticulous care to ensure that everything is perfect. He wants the city to be a ‘shining example of Drahtch progress and prowess’, as he put it. This is making the progress go more slowly than I would prefer. He wants to wait until it is completed before moving anyone in, so he can have a big unveiling.” He shrugged. “The city is his domain, not mine. I’m merely in charge of security, it seems.”

  * * * *

  Some virus variants make humans sick and others don’t. In many cases, humans develop immunities to the older forms. Sometimes, however, the new ones are just different enough that we’re vulnerable. This is why there are new strains of flu nearly every year; some are mild, some deadly.

  When the Tibetan Hemorrhagic Fever virus first appeared, it spread like wildfire from person to person, until everyone, everywhere was infected. Those who survived either turned into Zoms or were naturally immune. All were carriers of the virus.

  The virus had no intelligence, no understanding of what it had done. Therefore, it had no reason to stop recombining, mutating, and multiplying.

  When Dr. ZemBleth unknowingly used the Tibetan virus as the vector for Drahtch DNA in his quest to create a weaponized hyperallergy, the virus had no understanding of this either. As a result, it had no reason to stop recombining, mutating, and multiplying.

  * * * *

  On a beautiful, unseasonably warm day in late February, Daniels led Chrissy by the hand down a path in the woods, carrying a large wicker basket.

  “What’s the big mystery, Chick?”

  “It’s something Jesse and I discovered a few days ago while hunting. I wanted you to see it.”

  “What is it? Lost Incan gold? Atlantis?”

  He laughed. “Nothing that grand, but I thought you’d like it.”

  They reached the banks of the river. He pointed. “It’s down this way. Not much farther.”

  They walked along the river for a few more minutes, still hand in hand. Most of the deciduous trees were still bare, but a few were beginning to bud. The frequent evergreens added color in the bright sunshine filtering through the tree cover. The shallow river splashed over rocks as it rushed along the channel, heading for the distant sea. A fish momentarily breached the surface, perhaps chasing something, or being chased.

  “How much long— Oh.”

  Chrissy suddenly became of the cave ahead at the bend in the river. That’s where the path they were on led. It wasn’t especially large, perhaps the size of a small room, but plenty high enough for people to stand in. It sat eight to ten feet above the water level, as the river took a dive over a small waterfall.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “I knew you’d like it. This is sandstone, pretty soft and porous. I figure the river dug out the cave over thousands or millions of years, until the stone beneath the river wore away and the river itself dropped. Now the cave is nice and dry—perfect for a picnic.”

  They reached the mouth of the cave. It offered a perfect view of the waterfall.

  “I can tell this place was a popular teen hangout,” Chrissy observed with a wry twist of her lips. Littered around the cave were empty wine bottles, beer cans, food wrappers, and used condoms.

  “Maybe so, but this could be our place now. Somewhere to go to get away from it all for a few hours.”

  Daniels opened the basket and removed a blanket, which he spread out. Then he removed some wrapped sandwiches and a wine bottle. Chrissy put a hand on his to stop him.

  “I’m hungry, but not for food.”

  He grinned and put the sandwiches back and slid the basket to the side. The sandwiches could wait.

  * * * *

  “I found another bag of horse feed under here, Sarge.” Jesse heaved the two sacks of chicken feed out of the way to get to it. Then stopped to wipe the sweat off his face with his shirtsleeve. “Whew! I swear these things get heavier every month.”

  He and Daniels were digging through the warehouse attached to Armitage Feed and Supply. They hoped to find something useful that might not have been inside the store. Much of the animal feed in the warehouse had gotten wet from a leaky roof and was now moldy and useless. What hadn’t gotten wet had mostly been raided by rodents.

  “Know what you mean,” Daniels said with a grin. Then he affected a cranky old man’s voice. “When I was a young whippersnapper, horse feed only cost a nickel, and I could lift two sacks with one hand, dagnabbit!”

  Jesse laughed. “Hey, I’m not that old yet.”

  “Soon enough.”

  Jesse hoisted the still-dry fifty-pound bag of feed onto one shoulder and picked up his jacket with his free hand. Daniels, wearing his jacket, carried both rifles. They walked back into the store proper, where all the display items were kept and headed for the front door.

  Out of nowhere, a body hurled itself at Daniels, knocking him into a display case holding garden tools. A split second later, Jesse was pounced on by another Zom.

  Both men wrestled on the floor with their attackers, hampered by the narrowness of the aisles and the debris falling from the display they’d disturbed and onto the men and attackers alike. The Zoms went for their throats. Both men had their hands full holding off the attackers. There was no way to free a hand to go for a knife. It was strictly hand-to-hand-and-teeth.

  The Zom attacking Daniels couldn’t reach his throat. He did the next best thing, going for the shoulder instead. As he bit hard, Daniels attempted to head-butt the Zom. Daniels had no leverage and did no damage.

  Jesse managed to get a hand on his Zom’s throat to hold the other’s head back away from his. He squeezed as hard as he could. He wasn’t strong enough to strangle the creature one-handed, but he could constrict the flow of blood. After a minute, the Zom’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed onto Jesse. Jesse shoved it off and went to help Daniels.

  He reached for his knife. It was missing from its thigh sheath. He scanned the floor where he and the Zom had been wrestling. The knife was nowhere to be seen. He had to do something—fast.

  He saw a shovel in the display behind him and grabbed it. He swung it as hard as he could in the tight confines of the aisle at the Zom’s head. It collided with a clang and the Zom dropped like a rock.

  Jesse dropped to his knees beside hi
m, panting.

  “Whew! That was fun. You okay?”

  “Not sure. Let me check.” Daniels sat up and pulled the jacket back far enough to expose his shoulder. “The shirt’s not torn, so he didn’t bite through to the skin. It hurts like a son of a bitch, though.”

  “You’ll have a hell of a bruise by tomorrow, I’ll bet.”

  “Probabl— Look out!”

  Jesse started to turn. The Zom he’d left unconscious dove at him. A tremendous roar made Jesse’s ears ring. The Zom fell dead, blood oozing from the hole in his head.

  Jesse wiped the spatter from his face and turned back to Daniels, who lowered his pistol.

  “Thanks,” Jesse said, “I guess that makes us even.”

  Daniels flashed a crooked smile. “Even? Who knows after all these months?”

  Both men stood and reclaimed the things they had dropped in the fight.

  Then the Zom that had attacked Daniels stirred.

  “Looks like you only hit a triple, instead of a home run.”

  “I can fix that,” Jesse replied.” He dropped the feed sack again and pulled his pistol.

  “Wait. I have an idea.”

  * * * *

  “Hey, come see what we found!” Jesse grinned from ear to ear as he stuck his head in through the front door of the mansion. “Come on, hurry!” He waved Chrissy, Moose, Amanda, Jay, and the others outside.

  On the front lawn stood Daniels and a man—an unfamiliar man, with his hands tied behind his back. A length of rope anchored him to the horn of Buck’s saddle to his right. Another length of rope tied him to Mabel’s saddle horn to his left. Between the horse and the pony, the ropes kept the man effectively prisoned in the center. A short length of rope connected his ankles to keep him from running. He was gagged, and a trickle of blood ran down his forehead, along his cheek and into the gag. His eyes searched here and there for an exit. But he didn’t appear frightened.