We decided that Alison and I would leave in the morning and take the CB with us. We programmed one of the walkie-talkies to channel 14 and have a backup channel to go to if we hear anyone else on that channel. If all goes well, we may stop at a grocery store to forage for any canned goods we can find.
We have what we estimate to be almost five weeks of food and three weeks of water for all of us. The water storage tank in the motor home gave me the idea to check the neighborhood for bottled water. I seem to remember a Sparkletts truck stopping on my street all the time before the plague, but I can’t remember which house. I don’t know what kind of existence this is for us, but for now we are safe.
DAY 27
We decided to take the truck this morning and left my yard through my new “gate” in the back fence.It worked perfectly until I went to close it from the outside.
I rigged a cross bar on the inside to keep the gate in place, but didn’t think about how to use it from the outside to get back in. I went back into my yard, secured the gate, and climbed back over again. Alison tried as hard as she could to not to smile at my stupidity, but failed miserably. I’ll figure it out later.
We arrived in Sylmar around 6:45 a.m. and parked several blocks from the wrecking yard. It was dangerous to walk so far, but it was quieter. We found a ladder attached to the back wall of a tile store and went up onto the roof. What we saw shocked me.
Most of the trailers and buildings on the east side of the biker compound were burned to the ground. The entire section of the fence between the two spots I placed the explosives was gone. Two huge craters marked where the bombs had detonated. Burnt corpses as well as unburned bodies were scattered all about. A dozen motorcycles lay in twisted heaps. One van was on its side. The rest of the vehicles were gone. The place was abandoned.
We left in silence. Once we got back to the truck, I checked the CB radio, surfing through the channels slowly. When we got the unit, it had been set to channel 9 so that’s the frequency we listened to most. As we sat in the parked truck listening to silence, I noticed that Alison was trembling.
I didn’t know what to say to her so I suggested that we head back. Before I could start the engine, Alison put her face in her hands and began to sob. I sat there like an idiot, not knowing how to comfort her.
“When they caught me, I convinced them that the reason I was at the hospital was because I was HIV positive.” she said suddenly. “It didn’t stop them though. I guess I should be grateful that they at least used condoms when they…” her voice trailed off.
She continued, telling me that Rozalyn had it much worse and that she had been there a week longer. They had found Roz and two of her friends in a mall. They killed one of them when she tried to escape and the other didn’t survive a particularly brutal rape. Roz thought she might be pregnant. She is only fifteen years old.
Grace had arrived a week after Alison. Nothing had happened to her yet but there was one dirt bag that was just getting his courage up. He had just disappeared two days before we rescued them. I suspect that was probably Lou, the dickhead I shot by the dumpsters.
Apparently, Grace didn’t talk about her parents or even ask for them. Alison thinks Grace’s parents may have been abusive. Grace would need some serious therapy someday. Won’t we all.
As she talked it out, Alison composed herself. I finally figured out that I should say something reassuring, and was just about to when the CB came to life.
A gravelly voice with a backwoods twang came over the air. “Goddamnit! We’ve been on this damn roof all f---ing night. We’re coming down to get some f---ing chow an’ sleep. This shit’s a waste o’ time.”
There was a long pause and another voice came back. “You stay put or I’ll put my boot up your ass.”
The first voice came back, this time a little more whiney. “At least send up some f---ing chow.” There was no response to this.
Alison and I stared at each other in silence. It was time to go. Coming here had been a bad idea. I started the truck and as quietly as possible, eased down the alley we were parked in.
Thankfully, Albert had patched the muffler up. We had gone about two blocks when the first voice, the lookout, came back on the air.
“Hey, hey, hey! There’s a f---ing white truck two blocks away heading south down Bradley.” he said, excitedly.
We had been spotted. I gunned the engine.
The second voice came on and said, “I got Boone on it. He’ll catch up an’ follow them until we get the crew after them.”
I stopped listening. Alison turned white but didn’t say anything. There was no way in hell I was going to let her get caught by them again. We passed dozens of undead but we were going too fast for them to be any threat to us. My biggest concern was the bikers. When we had gone about a mile and a half, I turned into a residential neighborhood just north of Burbank and slowed down.
I was just thinking that we had shaken them when I heard the roar of a chopper behind us. I caught sight of a biker in my rear view just as I was turning a corner. I sped up and tried to lose him but he stayed with us, trailing a block away. I was starting to get a little scared until I glanced at Alison. Her hands were shaking but she stared straight ahead with her jaw set firmly.
I think I may have fallen in love with her in that moment. Whatever it was, something inside of me snapped. I gunned the engine and screeched around a corner. Dozens of undead appeared from nowhere and gave chase. I outdistanced them and my biker tail for a moment and took advantage of it.
I slammed the brakes just past a narrow driveway between two houses and popped the truck in reverse. I backed into the driveway and hid between the two buildings. I heard the chopper round the corner up the block.
Just as it was coming even with the driveway, I hit the gas, rocketing out into the street. I slammed into the biker, hitting him broadside. I jammed the brakes and watched the biker sail fifteen feet across the street, the chopper sliding after him. The bike was stopped by the curb and the rider slammed into the trunk of a Magnolia tree, bending around it awkwardly on impact.
I kicked open the door and stalked toward him. In my peripheral vision I saw a dozen undead just rounding the corner and racing up the street, still a hundred yards off. I stopped near the wrecked motorcycle. The smell of gas fumes was overpowering. The biker moaned in pain, still alive.
I drew my 1911 handgun and fired two rounds into his face from ten feet away.
The shots made my ears ring. I jogged back to the truck, jumped in, and put it in gear, speeding away from the crowd of pursuing creatures. I didn’t look back.
I turned northeast and headed toward Hansen Dam golf course. When we got there, I went through the main entrance and right up onto the course, finally stopping amongst some trees and up against a hill.
Adrenaline was still pumping through me. I could smell the gunpowder from my fired weapon and Alison’s fear (maybe it was mine). We sat there in silence for ten minutes. It was overcast and peaceful. I could hear birds in the trees. There were no undead in sight.
Suddenly, the radio came to life again. It was whoever was in charge. He kept asking Boone where he was. I was pretty sure Boone wouldn’t be getting back to him. We listened as a half dozen more voices came over the air, reporting from different locations. Nobody had any idea where Boone or the white truck was.
Some hillbilly came on and asked, “You think these peckerheads is the same ones that stole from us and wrecked our place?”
The guy in charge told the hillbilly to shut up and keep the chatter down.
We parked there on the golf course for almost seven hours. We didn’t talk much for the first few hours as we listened intently to the CB. We had a couple of close calls and at one point heard several choppers roar up Glenoaks Boulevard. not too far away from us.
We heard one group as they were attacked by a pack of Infected. They report
ed that one of their guys got killed in the exchange.
By 3:40 p.m. the search had died down. The guy in charge (his name is Wayne) finally recalled all of his guys. After about thirty minutes of radio silence we began to relax. The radio came to life so suddenly we both jumped. Someone had depressed the send button but didn’t say anything for a long moment.
Wayne’s voice was low and dangerous. “If you sorry f---ers are listening right now, know this. We are going to find you, and you are going to f---ing pay. You better believe it!”
We listened to Wayne breath heavily into his mic. Finally the transmission clicked off. I don’t know about Alison, but I nearly pissed myself. I definitely do not ever want to meet this guy.
We took the long way home, traveling down into Glendale, cutting across the 2 freeway and then into Hollywood, going up over Outpost, down Mulholland and finally back into North Hollywood and home. During the trip, we saw hundreds of undead. We had a few close calls but managed to avoid them for the most part.
We got back into my yard (after I climbed over the fence and opened the gate for Alison) at 7:45 p.m. We were both exhausted. Albert was furious and owl blinked what looked like Morse code at me through his coke bottle glasses to let me know his displeasure. He calmed down after we told him about Wayne.
It is 1 a.m. as I write this, and even though I am wrecked from everything that happened today, I still can’t sleep. Albert said that he, Grace, and Roz had a quiet day, but when I took Chloe out to pee, I noticed another undead corpse lying in the middle of the street. I will have to ask Albert about it in the morning. I know this is ridiculous to say, but I have been thinking about Alison a lot. I don’t know what that means…
I’m probably just lonely now that my stupid dog is in sleeping with the girls.
DAY 28
I have been making great efforts to stay in shape since this all started, by doing push-ups, sit- ups, pull-ups, etc… I shouldn’t bother. Hauling undead corpses to our dumping spot all the time is all the exercise I need. As we wheeled Albert’s latest victim down the street, he told me what had happened. Apparently, Roz had broken the ear buds to my iPod and decided to play music on the docking station instead.
Albert managed to shut it off, but not before a local infected person had heard it. The creature wandered around in front of the house sniffing the air for almost an hour. Grace started to get scared so Albert dispatched it with his 10/22.
I noticed that the thing had over a dozen holes in its chest, legs, and neck, and only two holes in its head (if you count piercing its ear with a .22 bullet one of the holes). Albert flipped me off when I complemented him on his marksmanship.
With the way Albert shoots, having over 2,600 rounds of ammunition doesn’t seem like all that much anymore.
When we got back, and after a much needed shower, I dug through my junk drawer and found the ear buds to my iPhone. I walked into the girl’s room and saw my docking station sitting on the dresser. Roz was sitting on the bed with Grace, braiding her hair. I tossed the ear buds to Roz and picked up the docking station.
“I need to borrow this.” I said.
Roz glared at me but didn’t say anything. Grace showed off her braids to me, oblivious.
I went out to the garage, put the docking station in my vise and started cranking the handle. Albert was working on the generator and looked up at me. He pointed to the docking station being squeezed by metal jaws and said, “You should be careful with that, you could…”
The docking station shattered. “Oh.” Albert said.
I spent most of the morning finishing my gate project. Alison approached me and asked if I would teach her how to shoot. We spent almost an hour going over the basics. I explained the difference between semi autos and revolvers, calibers and ballistics.
She seemed pretty interested (she was probably just being polite). I took her out and let her practice with the pellet pistol. She is naturally a pretty good shot. After lunch we graduated to my M&P rifle.
She was surprised that it was so quiet. When I explained the principals of sound suppression to her, she asked if she could help me build my next silencer. Not quite a first date, but what the hell. I had been planning to silence my .45 ever since I got a longer barrel for it (from the .45 long slide pistol I took off of Lou the biker).
While we were in the back yard, I caught a whiff of the rotting undead corpses down the street in the empty pool. I can hear the crows cawing incessantly even from a block away. I went to talk to Albert about what we needed to do.
As dangerous as the prospect is, we are going to burn the bodies late this evening. I would rather do it during the day but the smoke would be too visible then. I’m not looking forward to attracting anyone to our neighborhood after our run in with Wayne’s goons yesterday.
Although I have the materials to make Thermite (an incredibly hot substance that will burn through steel) I don’t think I have enough. We are going to use six gallons of gas as our primer instead. I hate to waste it but it is the only way to ignite the bodies.
Albert and I are going to get some sleep this afternoon so we will be alert for what we have to do tonight.
DAY 29
I know what I’m about to write is a bold statement considering all I’ve been through in the last month, but last night was the worst night of my life.
We left the house around 10:30pm, loaded with a full 6 gallon gas can, flares, rake handles, and everything else we needed, and quietly made our way down the street. Even the freezing cold weather did nothing to lessen the stench emanating from our makeshift burial pit. Albert went into the garage next to the pool and came out a minute later with another can of gas. He whispered that it was sitting next to a lawn mower. This gave us 11 gallons total, more than enough to do the job.
We began pouring from opposite sides, doing our best to spread it over all the bodies. I was trying not to gag at the combination of gas fumes and decomposition. A pack of rats made a mass exodus to the shallow end and crawled over each other to get out. When we had emptied the cans we started for the corner of the house. We wanted to get a safe distance before tossing a flare into the hole.
I had just pulled off the striker cap and was about to ignite the flare when I heard the sounds of rushing footsteps from around the front of the house.
We retreated around the pool to the seven foot high cinderblock wall at the back of the yard. Albert scrambled up a woodpile and straddled the wall.
I turned to see five undead race around the pool toward us. One of them slipped and fell in the deep end, saving us the trouble. Albert and I opened fire on the rest, putting down two of them. One of the two remaining slammed into the woodpile, trying to claw its way up toward Albert. In my peripheral vision I saw movement and instinctively put up my right forearm to defend myself.
Something slammed into me and I staggered into the wall. I felt a sharp pain as an infected man bit into my forearm. I yelled out in anguish and shock. The creature grabbed my arm with its hands and tried to bite deeper. I pulled my arm back and pushed at the thing’s forehead with my free hand, trying to pry it off.
It held on like a pitbull, thrashing its head and yanking at my arm. I kicked the creature’s knee backwards, breaking it. It had no effect on the undead monster. My fear waned and was replaced by anger.
I took a step back and turned, pulling the thing over my hip and slamming it to the concrete. It let go and tried to rise, but its knee gave out and it flopped to the ground. It looked at me with milky eyes and bared its broken, yellowed teeth at me. I roared in pure fury and stomped its head into the pavement. It twitched and went still.
All I could think of was that I’d been bitten! I turned to see four more of Them rounding the corner of the house.
I screamed at them and drew my .45. I barely remember the details. I was enraged as I fired at them. Each muzzle flash lit up the yard in a s
trobe of light. Every shot was a boom of thunder.
I was the God of Vengeance. It only took one round each to put them down. I fired three rounds into the face of the creature that had bitten me.
My forearm throbbed. In a panic I tried to pull up the sleeve of my leather jacket to see the damage. My clothing was too bulky and I couldn’t pull it up far enough. I am not prone to cussing but right then I began screaming the worst obscenities imaginable. I released my weapon sling and flung my carbine to the ground.
I unzipped my jacket so fast I almost ripped out the zipper. I tore off the coat and tossed it away. I pulled on my hoodie sleeve but the cuff was too tight. I snarled at it and struggled with my sweatshirt, spinning around in an effort to pull it over my head. It came off twisted up in my arm. I yanked at the material and then trapped a loose corner of it under my foot and pulled.
I grabbed the cuff of my long sleeved thermal and shoved it up passed my forearm. It was too dark to see. I roared the F word as loud as I could and reached into my pocket for my spare flashlight. I punched the button and the blinding LED bulb lit up my arm. I stared uncomprehending for a moment.
I rubbed my forearm where it burned. Nothing! The thing’s teeth had not penetrated my jacket. My heart slammed into my chest. I looked up at Albert, still straddled on the wall. His eyes were as big as dinner plates. He shook his head at me in shock.
Over the ringing in my ears I could hear more running feet coming. I gathered up my discarded clothes and looked down at my carbine, feeling a wave of shame. I gently picked up my abused weapon and then leapt onto the woodpile, almost pushing Albert off the wall as I vaulted to the other side. We crouched down and heard what must have been a dozen or more undead rush around the pool. They moaned and wailed, looking for us.
I grabbed the flare Albert was clutching to his chest and popped off the striker cap. I scraped the tip against the cap and the flare burst to life. I lobbed the flaming stick over the wall, pretty sure I wouldn’t miss something as big as a swimming pool. The loud whump sound followed by a flash of light let me know I had hit the mark. We felt the heat curl over the wall at us. The creatures moaned even louder.
100 Days of Death Page 12