Heartland Zombie Apocalypse (Vol. 1): Surviving The Dead

by Marty Brockschmidt

  Tyrone let Joyce stay in the room in back, until she earned enough for her own place. The club's bouncer Bronx took Joyce under his watchful eye, “You just holler out for ol Bronx if anybody gets outta line wit chou miss Joy. I'll take care of the knucklehead rights quick.”

  Never having known her own father and only having the experience of the men her mother brought home, Joyce was surprised that there were men worth trusting.

  Joyce was uncomfortable with the skimpy outfits she had to wear, but they did help get her more tips. Joyce had gotten friendly with most of the dancers and always split her tips with them.

  Rosie one of the club veterans took a motherly demeanor with Joyce, “Honey first chance you get, git yourself out of here. You got your whole life ahead of you and you can do so much better than this.”

  The opportunity to escape came in the form of a magazine add. 'Come to Nebraska, No Experience Necessary' it promised. Joyce bought a bus ticket, packed her meager belongings and four days later found herself at the offices of Lincoln Home Services.

  In many ways it was this job of lining up families for the salesman to call on that saved her during the outbreak. Lincoln Home Service promised high commissions and a per diem for food and gas. So instead of taking what was left of her savings and heading back to Tyrone's she bought a beat up used car.

  Being the new kid on the block she got the more outlying routes. While making her calls a few days ago she turned on the radio to pass the time. Hearing crazy news reports to stay in your homes and avoid strangers, especially if they looked ill, unnerved Joyce. She turned around in an attempt to get back to her tiny apartment. Still about an hour from Lincoln the motor on her car began to sputter. Joyce pressed harder on the gas pedal to keep up her speed, but even with the gas pedal matted to the floor she continued to slow down. Eventually the car slowed so much that Joyce was forced to pull over and the engined died with a final gasp.

  Joyce spent the next couple of days in the car holding to the belief that someone had to come by. Her supervisor had warned her that parts of Nebraska were largely unpopulated and to make sure she had extra food and water just in case. With her water coming down to its last Joyce was trying to convince herself to leave the car behind and strike on foot.

  “Joyce Carter get off your tail and get a move on. If you stay in this car any longer by the time someone comes all they'll find is a dried up raisin.”, Joyce told herself and began the hike towards Lincoln.

  A couple of miles down the road Joyce spotted a farmhouse from the highway and chose to go the direct route across the field. Approaching the house she called out for help.

  “Well I'll be, Frank there is a young lady out back. I thought you were keeping watch.”, his wife exclaimed.

  “I must have dozed off there sweet pea. Give an old man a break here Edith.”, Frank joked.

  Edith opened the door and called out, “Child come on in now its not safe to be out in the open these days.”

  Frank and Edith Cook welcomed Joyce into their home and filled her in and what they had been hearing. Most of which Frank got from folks he chatted with on his ham radio.

  “Now let me get this straight. You're tellin me dead people are getting back up and eating people and if you die you come back as a monster?” Joyce questioned her incredulity obvious.

  “My dear, Frank and I are what would be called down to earth. We don't go in for made up stories and tall tales.”, Edith answered seriously.

  Something in Edith's eyes caused Joyce to believe her and she spent the next several weeks with the Cook's. The farm had been in Frank's family for more than a hundred years and the couple was used to living off the land. They put up large amounts of food each fall. The hand pump on the well was still functioning and even though is stunk the outhouse in the back was still usable.

  A couple of times they caught sight of the dead coming their way, but Frank was able to put them down with his deer rifle. Joyce settled into a routine with Frank and Edith. She went out each day to pump water and bring in wood for the stove. Frank taught Joyce how to shoot his deer rifle and some maintenance on the old truck. While Edith taught her how to sew a button and patch a shirt, how to know what to pick from the garden and how to preserve the excess. It was a simple life to be sure, but Joyce connected with this couple more than she had any other human being in her entire life.

  One afternoon just like every other day Joyce went out for water, with Frank keeping a watchful eye on her from the upstairs window. Edith was busy in the kitchen preparing supper. The wood stove was nice for cooking, but the house got intolerably hot this time of year. The breeze coming in the kitchens screen door was welcome, but the company that came wasn't.

  Edith had become hard of hearing the past few years. She got by when she was facing the person speaking to her, but with her back turned she missed things.

  When the hand touched her shoulder she spoke, “Just be patient Frank, dinner will be ready soon enough. Besides aren't you watching Joyce.” Her joking turned to screams as the monster bit down.

  Frank alerted by her screams came a running. Edith's blood was so thick on the kitchen floor that when Frank's foot hit the pooled blood his feet slipped and he fell hard to the floor knocking himself unconscious.

  Joyce raced to the kitchen with the ax from the woodpile in hand. As the monster paused on its feeding on Frank she swung the ax and split its skull. With tears welling up in her eyes she delivered a blow to both Frank and Edith.

  With Frank's rifle slung over her shoulder she dragged the bodies outside. Joyce spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening digging a shallow grave for the trio. By the time she finished it was near dark. Exhausted, Joyce returned to the house. Dinner had long since burned, but Joyce had no appetite. With Frank and Edith gone the house was now too quiet, unable to sleep Joyce busied herself cleaning the kitchen. The sun was coming up by the time Joyce had removed the last speck of blood from the kitchen. The nights work had given Joyce time to think through her options.

  Joyce had grown up being by herself most of the time, but the past couple of years she had gotten used to being with people. In the weeks at the Cook's farm they had seen no other living people. Joyce did not relish spending her days alone in this house, with memories of Frank and Edith haunting her like ghosts. That morning she loaded up Frank's truck with some supplies, belted his hunting knife around her waist and placed the ax and deer rifle in the cab with her.

  Joyce had no experience with religion until she met the old couple. They had her join them in prayer over every meal and both Frank and Edith were given to quoting the bible. Joyce stopped at the grave and placed the family bible on top of it. As best as she could she asked God to take kindly to the couple. Climbing back in the truck she headed towards the highway intent on getting to Lincoln.

  Joyce halted at the top of the highway ramp. To the east was Lincoln, a city that large had to have people, it had to be the right choice. Yet the west was more open and she was likely to run into fewer monsters. Looking back towards Lincoln Joyce saw a line of military vehicles coming in her direction.

  As the line of vehicles closed on her Joyce got out and flagged them down. The vehicles stopped the man exiting the lead vehicle was a bit of a shock to Joyce. His fatigues were covered in a mixture of blood, grime and sweat and were now oversized from weeks of short rations and continuous fighting. The stubble on his chin hadn't seen a razor in days and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy from lack of sleep. Yet he stood tall as he approached Joyce and his smile was genuine.

  As he spoke his voice was hoarse from days of shouting over gunfire, “Colonel Bryan Osgood, Miss, it is certainly good to see a survivor. Are there anymore with you?”

  Joyce shook his extended hand, “Joyce Carter. I was with another couple, but we were attacked yesterday. I'm the only one left. I'm looking to find other people, I was thinking Lincoln?”

  The Colonel shook his head, “Lincoln is owned by the dead. I would not su
ggest going there. Several weeks ago I sent a large group of survivors south. I can give you directions to them.”

  “You are not going there yourself?”, asked Joyce.

  Again the Colonel shook his head, “Every time we move the dead seem to find us. I don't know if they can follow our exhaust or they feel the vibrations on the road. My grandchildren are in that group and I can't risk bringing a herd down on them.”

  Colonel Osgood used his toe to draw a line on the ground. “I'm drawing the line here. One way or another I'll make sure those kids are safe.”

  Joyce took the house key off the trucks key ring and handed it to the Colonel, “The name on the mailbox is Cook. There is still plenty of food in the house and there is a hand pump on the well. Frank and Edith were good people I'm sure they won't mind you using their house.”

  After the Colonel gave Joyce the directions to the survivor's encampment he traded her a pistol for Frank's rifle, the box of cartridges and the ax, “It sounds gruesome, but there are twelve rounds left in the pistol. If you need to use it make sure you leave the last round for yourself.”

  Frank and Edith were very nice and she owed them a lot, but with them Joyce had a routine not a life. The thought of new people kept her going for the first few hours, eventually, the lack of sleep, the monotony of the drive and the heat were catching up to Joyce. Every time she blinked, her eyes stayed shut longer and longer. More than once she would jolt upright finding herself heading off the road. Suddenly she jerked awake to find herself careening into the back of a car stopped in the road.

  Joyce slammed on the brakes, but was not able to stop the truck before slamming into the car. Joyce's head hit the door frame so hard her vision blurred and she thought for a minute she would pass out. It was nearly dark anyhow Joyce decided to spend the night in the truck and investigate her options in the light of a new day.

  The following morning Joyce got out to inspect the damage. The impact bent the bumper back into the front tire. Once again Joyce found herself stranded, “Joyce Carter you do have a knack for getting into it.”

  This time the possibility of someone coming seemed pretty small, but Joyce was used to fending for herself. The car she ran into was banged up worse than the truck, but there were a few others in sight. Hoping, one of them had keys she grabbed the pistol and double checked that the knife was at her hip.

  As she walked up to the first car she could see a body inside, “Just great driving off in a coffin”.

  When she tapped on the window the thing turned to look at her and clawed at the window trying to reach her, “Uh I'll call this one plan B”.

  Joyce walked down the road to the next car. This one was empty and by luck the keys were in it. However, it was left with the lights on and the battery was dead. Because of Frank, Joyce had learned a bit about cars. Thanks to him she could change a tire, check the fluids, and in this case swap the cars battery with the one from her truck.

  Unlike the truck, the car battery was a chore to remove, especially given that Joyce had never done this before. When she was finally ready to pull the truck battery the sun was already getting low in the sky. Joyce was so intent on pulling the trucks battery that at first she didn't see the trail of smoke and the oncoming station wagon.

  It was the tapping of the lifters on the 351 that alerted Joyce to the old Country Squire pulling up along side her. Joyce moved to the far side of the truck and pulled her pistol. The station wagon came to a stop and the driver rolled down his window.

  “Got yourself into quite a pickle there don't ya Miss? I think the patient is gone. Stick a fork in it, it's done.”, the man joked.

  Joyce annoyed with his inane joking at her expense merely replied, “mmm hmmm”.

  The man stepped out of his car and extended his hand, “Excuse my manners Miss, Zephram Nordstrom”.

  Something about the man felt wrong, Joyce stayed behind the truck and ignored the extended hand, “Joyce Carter”.

  Zephram continued to smile, “Well there you go now we're getting to know each other. Jilly step out here and say hello to this fiiine lady.”

  The way he said 'fine' sounded less like a compliment and more of a slimy appraisal. Joyce watched as a pretty young woman perhaps eighteen or nineteen climbed from the car, clutching a rag doll to her breast.

  “Hello”, Jillian Nordstrom said keeping her eyes downcast.

  “Jilly don't say a lot around new people, but wait until she gets to know ya, she'll talk your ear off. We lost Jilly's mother, Sofie, a few weeks ago to the chompers. It just her and me now.”, Zephram said quickly, but without emotion.

  In an effort to console the young woman Joyce extended her condolences,“Sorry to hear about your mother Jilly.”

  Zephram spoke for his daughter, “My wife had family down in Kansas. A big cattle ranch. Jilly and I are headed there, you're welcome to tag along if you like.”

  “I'm headed to a survivor encampment the military setup. It is just a few hours south of here”, Joyce responded.

  “Well that works, Jilly and I can take you to this camp and decide then if we move on to Kansas or ask to join them”, Zephram decided for her.

  Joyce's mother had brought home enough shady types that she recognized the breed. On the other hand Nordstrom's daughter was there and Joyce doubted he would act up to much around her and she did have her pistol and knife. Joyce had no guarantee she was going to get the other car running and even though the motor on Zephram's car sounded like a jack hammer it was running.

  Joyce nodded, “Thank you I appreciate the offer, I have some supplies in the truck I'd like to grab.”

  Every time Joyce bent over to retrieve something from the truck she could feel Zephram's eyes on her. When he did help her he always made the effort to brush against her or touch her. Joyce's creep radar was on high alert and she would be glad when they got to the camp.

  When her stuff was packed into the station wagon Zephram opened the passenger door, “Your chariot awaits.”

  “Thank you, but I think I'll ride in back and get to know Jilly.”, Joyce said brusquely and got into the back seat.

  They drove for little over an hour and then Zephram pulled over causing Joyce to demand, “What are we stopping for. We are only a couple of hours from the camp.”.

  “It will be dark soon and I don't want us to end up like you did with your truck. We'll get back on the road first thing in the morning after we get some shut eye.”, Zephram stated.

  Joyce woke the next morning to the smell of breakfast cooking.

  “Mornin sleepy head. We saved you a plate, eat up and we'll get a move on”, Zephram told Joyce.

  From the roof of the car Jilly called out, “Chompers coming Daddy.”

  Zephram quickly finished putting away the little camp stove and went to help Jilly down from the roof. Joyce was no expert on how a father should touch his daughter, but the way Zephram let his hands slide across Jilly did not in any way seem fatherly.

  “Jilly hop in. Joyce up front with me so you can navigate to the camp.”, Zephram ordered.

  Joyce made sure her pistol was at hand as she climbed into the passenger seat. She closed the door and when she turned to grab her seat belt she felt Zephram grab a handful of her hair at the back of her head and then his knife was at her throat. Joyce jammed her pistol into his ribs.

  “Back off or I'll shoot, I swear I will.”, Joyce said through clenched teeth.

  “Those things work a whole lot better with these.” replied Zephram as he held up the magazine to her pistol.

  Zephram tore the pistol from her hand and then removed her knife. He ran his free hand under her shirt and toyed with her breasts.

  “Got any thing else tucked away”, Zephram questioned as his hand slid between Joyce's legs.

  “Your not going to get away with this”, Joyce spat into his face.

  “Who is going to stop me” asked Zephram as he blew the car horn to attract the chompers, “Those two upstanding citizens there. M
aybe you should call the cops? Ooops there ain't any left.”

  Zephram pushed the knife hard enough against her throat to draw blood. “Enough of the foreplay get undressed and we'll get down to business. Jilly lay down back there and play with baby, Daddy and Miss Joyce got some business to take care of.”

  Zephram took his time. He was in no hurry. The chompers that came to the car and clawed at the windows just added to his pleasure. When finally spent he let Joyce get dressed again and they continued to the encampment.

  Emboldened by the realization that there was no longer any laws, no longer any cops, no longer anyone to tell him what to do, Zephram set out to make his own rules. In his mind within a week he would be running the show at this camp.

  Joyce numb from the experience and fearing that she was directing a rapist to the camp struggled to think of a plan. As they drove Zephram kept hammering her with questions on the Colonel that gave her directions. She tried to give him misleading answers so those at the camp would see him as a liar.