The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days

by O'Brian, Patrick J.

  Metzger walked along one of the cars, turning to see if Nestler could skirt past the current opening between vehicles. Both vehicles were able to follow, so Metzger turned to his brother as they continued walking.

  “They’re easy to deal with in situations like this when they’re spread out, or alone. It’s when you start making noise, like gunfire, when they’re congested, that it becomes an issue. You realize it’s suicide if we do this kind of thing inside city limits, right?”

  His words indicated the convoy couldn’t simply hop out of the Humvees once dozens, hundreds, or thousands of zombies surrounded them.

  “Will traffic be this much of an issue once we’re in the city?” Bryce asked.

  “Not so much. Most people were trying to leave, but those who couldn’t were stranded there, and it’s not pretty.”

  During the movement of the second batch of cars, Metzger wasn’t quick enough to keep the gunner from shooting an incoming zombie in the skull. Everyone looked at the man, who simply shrugged as though his hand was forced, even though the walking corpse posed no immediate threat from nearly five car lengths away.

  Metzger caught a glimpse of the man’s nameplate this time, seeing the sergeant was named Wheeler. He didn’t particularly show emotion over putting down a zombie, but the echo traveled for miles over the otherwise quiet region. Although Metzger didn’t know exactly why, zombies tended to know exactly where loud noises originated. Perhaps because their second coming left them with only rudimentary senses, the undead possessed heightened abilities in sight, smell, and hearing, but Metzger lacked the scientific skills to narrow down the possibilities.

  After a few seconds everyone simply moved along, testing more vehicles before moving them accordingly.

  “What did the government say about all of this?” Metzger asked his brother, referring to the apocalypse.

  “I wasn’t privy to a lot of things, but the little bit I was around the brass, they indicated they were working on solutions. It sounds like the government managed to save a lot of top scientists, along with our nation’s leaders.”

  Metzger wasn’t convinced politicians proved very useful in the current world, either in their old jobs or dispatching zombies. He said nothing, allowing his brother to elaborate further.

  “I know they plan to aggressively attack the problem,” Bryce continued. “If we’re able to eliminate the undead, and keep anyone else from getting sick, they think we have a chance of restoring the infrastructure before everything is lost.”

  Excusing himself momentarily, Metzger cut through another zombie skull before the assailant reached anyone else. Simply beheading them didn’t kill them because the head of a zombie continued to function, even when detached from the body. He didn’t like leaving potential hazards lying around, so he usually finished the job with one precise cut.

  Returning to his brother, he helped the group move the last of the clutter aside for the Humvees, taking notice that their straightforward objective hit a snag. Emerging from the nearby woods, and from between vehicles, a dozen or so undead likely heard the running motors and gunfire, stumbling forward in search of prey.

  “We need to get through this quickly,” Bryce announced before Metzger could basically utter the same words.

  Everyone jogged forward to the next batch of vehicles, virtually ignoring the undead for the time being. Metzger felt thankful the gunner in the second Humvee hadn’t developed an itchy trigger finger and started laying waste to the undead threat. Rapid gunfire would assuredly draw more trouble their way, and as they drew closer to Buffalo, the group needed to remain quiet. While noise attracted the undead, it also caught the attention of survivors who would seek aid or attempt to steal what the group possessed.

  Such a move likely wouldn’t end well for any would-be thieves when they faced down nine men trained by the government and one man who defied the odds by surviving. Metzger approached a beige car, about to tap on the driver’s side window when a zombie reached from beneath the vehicle, grabbing his ankle. Immediately upset that he didn’t observe his approach more carefully, he yanked his leg back, dragging the female corpse out from beneath the car because she refused to let go. Her jaws were already poised to take a large chomp from his leg, and Metzger didn’t have his sword in position, so he used his other foot to punt her in the side of the head, knocking her grip loose. She tumbled a few feet away, and he ended her suffering by putting the blade through the side of her skull as everyone took time from their duties to watch him ignore his own advice about approaching vehicles.

  Now he shrugged in turn, tapping on the window to find the car clear of any passengers before opening the door. Able to start the car, he drove it to one side, emerging to find some of the undead drawing dangerously close to the group. While the military moved more of the vehicles, he went to work, cutting through skulls with practiced efficiency, wishing he’d eaten more than just a protein bar on the flight. Because of his movements, most of the undead drew toward him, and as a precaution, he climbed into the bed of a truck, giving him a great vantage point. The clumsy fingers and clouded minds of the undead didn’t allow for them to grasp objects and pull themselves upward immediately. Like toddlers, they learned how to use their motor skills whenever the need arose.

  Most of the time, they simply stood on the ground and swiped at whatever object caught their attention.

  Careful not to stick any limbs out too far, Metzger either stabbed or sliced with the sword, dispatching the group rather easily. From the corner of his eye, he saw the military men deal with the few remaining undead once they finished moving the vehicles out of the way. Trying out their knives for the first time, each of them appeared a bit apprehensive about stepping in so close for the kill. Part of dealing with zombies up close, in Metzger’s estimation, was being forced to see the shred of their former humanity staring at you with cold, pale eyes.

  Everyone quickly filed into the Humvee, anxious to reach Buffalo’s official town limits and the Hemingway Factory.

  Nestler led the way, weaving through parked cars, occasionally finding clear patches along the interstate where he took the Humvee up to normal speeds before finding more packs of stranded vehicles. Metzger recalled many of the local landmarks from his travels in and out of the Buffalo area.

  “Are we better off staying on the interstate as long as possible, or getting into town?” Bryce asked him once they saw signs for exits ahead.

  “I didn’t see much of the city during my time there, but from what I’ve seen, local streets are much better.”

  “If you’ve got an exit in mind, just tell me,” Nestler said from the driver’s seat.

  Looking out the window, Metzger saw a sign that caught his attention, and a large building not far from the exit they were quickly approaching.

  “We need to go there,” he said, pointing out the building to the second-lieutenant.

  Taking a look at the old structure, and the sign looming above it, Nestler shook his head incredulously.

  “Boom Town Fireworks?” he questioned aloud. “We don’t have time to deviate from our mission.”

  “If we don’t make it back alive, the mission is for nothing,” Metzger stated. “Believe me, it’s a worthwhile stop.”

  Nestler looked to Bryce, as though asking for a second opinion.

  “If he thinks we need fireworks, I’m inclined to believe him,” Bryce said. “If it’s as bad as Dan thinks, we’re going to need a distraction.”

  Taking the exit, Nestler went down to a dead stoplight, making the appropriate turn as the second Humvee reluctantly followed him. All of the mechanical arms at each of the toll exits were long since shattered by vehicles that no longer adhered to the laws of man.

  “Right in and right out,” Nestler said as he glanced back at Metzger. “This is a big risk for something we can probably handle ourselves.”

  Metzger didn
’t agree, but he held his tongue on the subject.

  “If it makes you feel better, I can run in there and grab what we need myself,” he said instead.

  “I’m not putting a civilian at risk, especially one related to my tour guide.”

  “This should only take a minute,” Metzger said, though he didn’t consider himself an expert on fireworks, or which types produced the effect he sought.

  Nestler navigated around a few vehicles, pulling to a stop within a vacant parking lot beside the rather large fireworks warehouse. It occurred to Metzger that Independence Day occurred a full two months before the apocalypse, but he suspected the store hadn’t put a clearance sale on its inventory. With a building dedicated to selling one thing, and signage that indicated people could pull off and purchase fireworks, the owners surely sold their product all year round.

  Scooping up his handheld radio, Nestler informed the driver of the other Humvee that the group was heading inside for a look around. Wheeler and Bryant didn’t seem to have an opinion about the detour one way or the other as everyone climbed out from the armored vehicle. Everyone from the second Humvee also jumped out, likely anxious to stretch their legs, and as they studied the perimeter of the building, an unusual noise broke the otherwise quiet surroundings.

  Metzger barely distinguished the sound as the siren of a police squad car before a black and white Dodge Charger drove in their direction at a high rate of speed. Blue and red lights spun within the lightbar atop the cruiser, and its brakes were easily audible as it screeched to a stop at the edge of the parking lot, as though trying to prevent the military vehicles from leaving.

  “What the fuck?” Nestler asked, stating each word slowly and clearly, his eyes focused on the bizarre and unexpected sight before the group.

  Three

  Jillian Varitek felt an impending sense of danger to her group, caused by one of its members. She understood protecting what one possessed, because food, water, and weapons, were important in the new world. In some ways they served as currency, because most people couldn’t forge weapons or grow food on their own. Much of the generation that relied on their computers, phones, and tablets didn’t survive past the first week, and those who did were left in a hell on earth.

  After crossing several bridges and departing the greater Hampton Roads area where Naval Station Norfolk didn’t welcome them, the group stopped to swap vehicles momentarily. Upon discovering a newer van, like those used on trips by churches and schools, they left their two trucks roadside because the vehicles ran low on fuel. The white van comfortably held four of them, and their gear, while Gracine Tucker and Colby Sutton planned to ride in the box truck that Sutton monitored like precious cargo at all times.

  “That’s some bullshit that the Navy base wouldn’t take us in,” Gracine muttered while she helped transfer items from the two trucks to the van.

  A black woman somewhere near middle age by Jillian’s estimation, the group found her with Sutton when they crash landed their Cessna plane in Virginia several days earlier. The newly larger group traveled to a camp where Sutton hoped to find his two sons at their family camping spot. Undead ruled the area, and Sutton found no signs of his sons having visited the property, so he wanted to double back.

  Currently, Sutton walked with his dog, Buster, along the road while they both searched for somewhere to relieve themselves.

  “So, you and him,” Jillian said, her eyes shifting toward the dog owner, questioning if Gracine and Sutton shared bedroom relations.

  “Oh, hell no,” Gracine answered firmly. “We just met a few days before we met y’all, like I said. The dog treats me a hell of a lot better than he does.”

  Gracine moved a box of food from one of the trucks to the van, addressing Jillian again once she knew everyone else took items from the other truck, too far away to hear their conversation.

  “You and the school teacher guy seemed to hit it off,” she noted, speaking of Metzger, who had just left the group in Norfolk to join his brother. “I know you didn’t let him go without a farewell present.”

  Jillian blushed, figuring everyone knew because one of their group members made it known to her and Metzger that their attempts to make love quietly failed utterly. She decided Gracine hadn’t found time to speak with Vazquez, the one who heard them, so she remained mum about the topic.

  “You go, girl,” Gracine said with a knowing nod, picking up another box.

  Jillian took up her personal backpack, along with a notebook and pen from the front seat of the truck she’d been riding in since departing Norfolk.

  “What do you do with that?”

  “I keep a journal of sorts about what we see each day,” Jillian answered.

  “Why bother?”

  “I was a history major. How do I know if anyone else is recording history these days?”

  “You don’t, because it doesn’t matter.”

  “You honestly think we’ll never get back to a normal civilization?”

  “If we do, the government spooks will spin whatever version of history they want us to know, just like always.”

  “You’re a very pessimistic person, Gracine.”

  “I’m a realist, girlfriend. If we were smack dab in the middle of something important, I’d say write away, but we ain’t.”

  “Are you kidding? Dan just left us to visit a military base. One of ours could be witnessing the heart of the problem right now.”

  Gracine’s look softened, as though bad news resided on the tip of her tongue.

  “I hate to tell you this, but we probably ain’t gonna see your man again. He’ll get cozy and soft inside those walls, and he won’t want to slum it out here with us common folk.”

  Jillian said nothing, believing for some reason she would see Metzger again. She didn’t possess a crush, or some naïve love for him, but she wanted to reconnect with him at some point. The man appeared torn when forced to choose between his group and entering the military installation without them. If not for the allure of seeing his last, close living relative, Metzger might have turned his back and stuck with them.

  Within a few minutes everyone convened beside the van, which Vazquez had already started to ensure it functioned before they transferred all of their belongings. Buster squeezed within their circle, walking from person to person until they each scratched his head or neck. He often sniffed the air for any signs of the undead, and several times over, proved his worth by detecting the foul creatures before any of the living saw or heard them.

  “What’s the plan?” Luke Johnson asked, standing beside his adopted daughter who became his responsibility early in the apocalypse.

  “I need to backtrack to my cabin to see if my boys got there,” Sutton said.

  “And after that?” Vazquez asked. “The rest of us have people we want to find, too.”

  His statement rang true for Jillian. Her sister died at the hands of the people who turned the school into a work prison, but the remainder of her family wasn’t incredibly far from Naval Station Norfolk. She also knew Vazquez’s sister worked in Washington, D.C., but he held out little hope for her survival in his own words.

  After seeing what Metzger and several others endured, she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to know the fate of her family. Not knowing left an image of them surviving and enduring in her mind, providing a glimmer of hope. Seeing them as walking corpses, gnashing their teeth while stumbling towards her, might leave her too devastated to carry on with her life.

  “I need to know if my family is alive,” she spoke her decision before losing the courage to see for herself.

  Sutton looked at her with curiosity, possibly not knowing or remembering about her family ties in Virginia.

  “We can do both,” he said.

  “Where is your family?” Gracine asked for the sake of everyone else, so the group could make a collective decisio
n.

  “South Hill.”

  “That’s a few days from here if the roads suck,” Sutton stated.

  “We just came from your campsite,” Gracine said evenly. “We should give your boys a few more days before we head back there.”

  Jillian noticed she often talked in such a way to the man who claimed to have saved her from soldiers who were about to accost her. Metzger relayed the story to her in confidence after Sutton told him, but she and Gracine never discussed any details related to the event. Gracine, feisty in her own right, wasn’t afraid to speak up to Sutton, or lay down the law when necessary. It seemed as though she gave him chances to do the right thing, and if he didn’t, she brought out her claws like a feral cat.

  “We can try it,” Sutton conceded, “but if the roads are blocked for miles, I’m turning back.”

  Jillian seriously doubted the smaller highways would prove difficult, and Sutton simply needed to say something to save face. By far the most experienced with firearms and tactical techniques, he knew the group needed him, and when he didn’t put his own needs first, Sutton wasn’t entirely unpleasant to be around.

  Almost directly west of Norfolk, South Hill was a small town of less than five-thousand before the world fell apart. Jillian never cared much for the quaint little village until she left for college. She soon discovered the hustle and bustle of cities was overrated, and while some of her friends loved urban life, she wasn’t completely sold.

  Everyone appeared ready to leave Norfolk and its bitter aftertaste in their rearview mirrors when a humming, almost buzzing kind of noise pierced the air. At first, Jillian thought some sort of bug might have flown close to her ear, but the sound didn’t single out one particular eardrum. The entire group looked to the air at once, curious what creature or device hovered nearby, but Sutton drew a scowl, already suspecting what stalked them.

  “Drone,” he muttered, making a move toward the box truck.

  He returned within a few seconds, carrying a sniper rifle, holding it down along his waistline while he listened for the machine’s location. It appeared just above a trailer detached from the semi that once pulled it, already looted with its doors open, like some alien spacecraft studying its human prey. About half the size of a conventional car, the drone wasn’t especially good at masking its presence. Equipped with cameras and accessories that let the cameras see in complete darkness and various other scenarios, it needed to travel quickly while carrying bulky equipment. Jillian felt certain it belonged to the military, because no citizen was going to waste time flying a large drone along an otherwise deserted interstate.