ZOMBIE'S DOOM? Chronicles of Jack Doom

by Will Lemen

  Knowing what I was about to do, I almost felt sorry for my friend, as I looked into his trusting eyes.

  "It's like this; I'm looking for an old Marine Corps buddy of mine, we served overseas in the sandbox, and then again fighting eaters down in Texas.

  We were separated when a huge horde of eaters attacked us, and I've been looking for him every since.

  I ran into a guy at a gun shop in Amarillo a few weeks ago, and he told me that he'd seen a man in Oklahoma that matched the description of my buddy, and he was traveling with a blonde girl named Beth.

  When we were separated, my buddy was with a girl named Beth, so I figured it had to be my old sergeant.

  I trailed them through Oklahoma and heard that the Sarge was headed for Indiana, and well... you know the rest," I told him as convincingly as I could.

  Every good lie has a little of the truth attached to it, it adds cohesion if some of the facts are checked, and it makes it easier for the teller (liar) to remember what was said later on.

  "This Sarge must be quite a guy for you to risk going into the Badlands looking for him," Derek stated.

  "He saved my life almost as many times as I saved his," I answered, not mentioning that the next time I see him I was going to take one of those lives back. "So going into the Badlands for a person like the Sarge, well let's just say I owe him a lot, and I intend to pay my debt, every bit of it."

  "What... are... you going to do if he has joined the Caucasian's band?" Derek asked hesitantly.

  "This Caucasian can't be that bad, I know he seems to have everybody dropping dual deuces in their draws at the mention of his name, but he's not the reason that they call where he lives the Badlands! Is it?" I asked.

  "No, the fact that the region got the name Indiana Badlands doesn't have anything to do with the Caucasian, although he certainly benefits from it having that moniker, because nowadays most people associate the name with him," Derek explained.

  "If it's not the Caucasian's reputation, what is it then?" I asked him, genuinely curious.

  "When the dead began to rise and the world, or at least this part of the world went nipples up, the population of Chicago, Detroit, and Fort Wayne panicked and scattered south into northern Indiana, people from Cincinnati, Louisville, Indianapolis, and the surrounding areas south of here, headed north hearing that there was a sanctuary somewhere near Chicago.

  In a small town of about sixteen thousand, give or take a couple dozen zombies, is where five million frightened, panicked, disease ridden, and heavily armed people merged. Slammed into each other is more like it," Derek continued.

  "Anyway, between the brutality of the panicked live population, and the hunger of the undead that they left in their wake, mass-murder, and carnage on a grand scale took place throughout the northern half of Indiana."

  What was left of the armed forces cordoned off the whole region to try to contain the disease and keep the violence from spreading even more over an already steadily increasing area.

  I'm telling you Jack, they had the top half of Indiana sealed up tighter than a nun's cunt, but it was no use.

  The more the humans tried to defend themselves the more humans were killed without head trauma, and of course the result of such sloppy executions was just more of the dead coming to life and causing even more panic among the living. This continued until it was common knowledge that a bullet to the head or some other devastating impact to the brain was needed to stop the plague from advancing, and by then it was too late.

  Seeing that the horrendous slaughter was widespread and seemingly impossible to prevent or contain, in a last ditch effort to stop the unprecedented bloodbath, the military launched what was to be their last coordinated mission before it was summarily disbanded due to desertions, deaths, and turncoats (soldiers turning into zombies).

  They called in a massive air strike beginning at the circumference of the boundary of what would later be called the Badlands, and inward until they reached the epicenter of the massacre, that little town of sixteen thousand that's about 45 miles northwest of here."

  "And let me guess. In that little town is where the Caucasian has made his headquarters. Right?" I asked, already figuring that I knew the answer.

  "Right, but it gets better," Derek continued. "This is the part that you're not going to believe, because it's unbelievable, I'm not sure that I believe it myself."

  "Oh, I don't know, since this whole dead people coming to life thing came about, I've come to believe a lot of things that a couple of years ago I would have told you were completely impossible. You know like people trying to eat your brain while it's still in your head," I assured him, as I narrowly missed a mound of twitching zombie parts that someone had piled in the middle of the road. And by narrowly missing, I mean that I only ran over two of the snappers as we whizzed by at the break-neck speed (no pun intended) of 31 mph.

  "Okay, let's see if you believe this shit that I'm about to tell you," Derek asked, almost boasting. "I almost told you this back at the roadblock, but I thought you'd think I was insane."

  "Okay," I thought. "You believed the shit that I just spoon fed you about the Sarge, and you lapped it up like a kitty drinking milk. So hit me with it, it can't be much more of a fantasy than what I told you, even though I did add some truth to my lie."

  "Well, I already think you're insane," I said, sarcastically smiling. "So I'm ready, hit me with it, metaphorically speaking of course."

  "Well first of all Jack, I would like to thank you for another emotional scar from that insane comment. But as I was saying, as the bombing raid was taking place, body parts of the living and of the undead, even the totally dead were being blown all over the place.

  A few of the zombie's parts were beginning to twitch, snappers, as you call them were snapping, zombies were staggering all around lunging on folks, and people were running all over hell screaming and yelling, shooting and getting bit, and being eaten alive. You know the usual "Zombie Armageddon" type stuff.

  It was early on in the zombie invasion so there weren't a lot of maggots and flies being tossed around like there would be if it happened today."

  "Thank the Eater Gods for that," I interrupted.

  "Yes, definitely thank someone for that," Derek agreed. "So amid the flying limbs and intestines zooming through the air spewing their soon to be fermented juices all over fuck, the people that were still alive and hadn't turned into the undead, began to see dinosaurs running amuck in the crowd, and tearing the zombies limb from limb."

  "Bullshit!" I said loudly, believing every word. "Do you expect me to believe that horseshit?"

  "I told you that you wouldn't believe it!" Derek exclaimed, almost proud that he had been right, or so he thought anyway.

  "All right, finish your story of the mass optical delusion, and then I'll tell you about a giant bunny that hides eggs on one Sunday out of the year," I said, laughing in his face. "Oh, and I know another story about a fat-ass slob in a red suit that does home invasions while a herd of reindeer wait for him on the roof. One of the deer's has a red nose, probably from drinking too much."

  "Very funny Jack, I'm laughing on the inside," Derek retorted sarcastically.

  "All right, quit whining like the little girl that you are, and tell me what happened," I responded, also laughing on the inside.

  "Well like I said before, people were starting to see dinosaurs killing off the zombies, and they weren't just any prehistoric beasts, they were the worst of the worst. I mean as far as dinosaurs go.

  T-Rex's and velociraptors, no shit Jack, hundreds of them busting through the crowds of now even more panicked citizens, flinging pieces of zombies into the air and all over everybody."

  "Okay, I believe you now," I said smiling. "But there's one thing that you haven't told me."

  "What's that Jack?" Derek asked, still trying to convince me.

  "Who told you this yarn about the end of the world and all of the dinosaurs anyway?" I asked sincerely, all the while know
ing that Derek was telling me the truth.

  "I saw it, I was there Jack!

  You see, I was a corporal in the Army before it went to shit too.

  We herded the civilian stragglers into what unbeknownst to us frontline soldiers at the time, was to become the kill zone. Even though we had strict orders to shoot anyone that resisted being funneled into that area, or that tried to run away.

  We killed quite a few ourselves before the first planes came over and the bombs started falling. But like I said, we had our orders.

  First the bombs started dropping, and then the body parts started falling out of the sky with the bombs as the bodies were blown apart, then when the bombs stopped dropping, that's when the dinosaurs came," Derek insisted, as his demeanor turned solemn. "However, the dino's just attacked the zombies, ripped them to pieces but not one of them even so much as touched any of the living people, at least not that I know of. Even after some of the soldiers and civilians shot at them and I think killed one or two of them."

  "But you managed to get out alive?" I asked suspiciously. "How convenient for you."

  "Yeah, I got out alive all right, but I wasn't the only one," Derek answered, as his voice lowered. "Almost everyone that was still alive, military and civilian alike figured it was time to get the fuck out of Dodge when the T-Rex's showed up, and I didn't see any reason to be the only one sticking around to see what would happen after the gigantic animals were finished ripping the zombies to shreds."

  "Calm down dick-head," I said to Derek, as I laughed. "I had my own run in with the dinosaur population that was very similar to your account. As a matter of fact, that's how me and the Sarge got separated. T-Rex's and velociraptors came busting ass into the horde and chewing up the eaters, and we all started pissing down both legs and headed for the hills in every direction."

  I figured I could kill two birds with one stone by telling Derek about my first experiences with the dinosaurs. I could convince him that I believed him, and at the same time further add credence to my half-truth about the Sarge.

  However, I would hold back the information about my second encounter with the vicious prehistoric beasts as not to betray my true intentions for hunting down my old friend the Sarge.

  Derek looked at me, nodded his head, and after squinting his eyes slightly, he explained.

  "The reason they call it the Badlands, is because the military devastated the whole region with its air campaign and left so much destruction, so much carnage, and so many dead bodies in its wake, and then the airplanes left, they just kind of evaporated, vanished, poof, they were gone.

  Nobody stayed to clean up the mess, I certainly wasn't going to.

  The dead were everywhere, the undead were everywhere, and the dinosaurs were everywhere.

  The people that were still alive high-tailed it out of there pronto, thinking that the dinosaurs were eyeballing them for their next rampage, and knowing that the zombies were eyeballing them for their next meal.

  The raid didn't come close to killing off all of the zombies that were wreaking havoc in the zone, and even though the velociraptors and T-Rex's mutilated multitudes of the undead, and they did a pretty good job of deterring the flesh-eaters from their sole mission in life, which as you know is having us for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They just disappeared as fast as they had appeared, they vanished without a trace just like the planes, and left tens of thousands of the undead still walking around unfettered searching for their next human dining experience."

  I listened intently as Derek conveyed to me the reason that that part of Indiana was called the Badlands. Then I asked him how he acquired his vast knowledge of the zone.

  "So, if you ran like a frightened school girl with the rest of the mob, how is it that you know what took place in the zone after you left?"

  "I was born a few miles south of Indianapolis, and after I beat feet away from the killing fields and figured out that the Army and the other branches of the military had all but disbanded, I made my way south to where I grew up hoping to find my family.

  Nobody that I ever knew was still there, but being familiar with the area, and the prevailing winds blowing the stench from the massacre due east most of the time, I decided to stick around, I figured that it was as good as any place else to ride out the apocalypse," Derek explained.

  "I headed south myself," I interjected. "To a warmer climate."

  Looking a little annoyed at my interruption, Derek continued.

  "Yeah, right!

  Anyway, some time back, me and this guy I partnered up with named Todd, decided that it might be a good idea to head up north and join the Caucasian. Of course, at the time he didn't have the reputation that he has now, at least not as bad as it is now, he was just the leader of another group of survivors taking in other survivors.

  The spring rains kept the biting bastards at bay, they're scared shitless of water you know, but it turned the place into a mud pit.

  So, Todd and I decided to pack our trash and fight our way through the city and up into the Badlands. We had no idea what we were getting into.

  Stomping through the barren fields of mud, carrying five pounds of the sticky shit on each boot, made each mile seem like ten.

  I'm telling you Jack, you haven't lived until you've slid down the side of a bomb crater and landed nard-sack deep into three feet of marinated churning body parts complete with bloated heads chomping at your ass," Derek described graphically as he smiled. "I think I'm still carrying around some of that smell on me."

  "Indeed you are. Your foul stench is gagging me as we speak," I joked, as I lightly punched him on the shoulder with my fist. "So are you going to hike your skirt up and go back into the Badlands with me, or am I going to have to make the trip alone?"

  "What the fuck, I'm not going to live forever, and just sitting around waiting to die is just not my style," Derek answered, still smiling. "Besides, I couldn't live with myself knowing that I let a little sissy like you hike into the fabled and dreaded Badlands of Indiana all by yourself."

  "Okay then, wipe that shit-eating grin off your face and let's get to ransacking some of these houses, and find some supplies," I ordered, again laughing on the inside.

  ******

  Jack and Derek began rummaging through houses in search of needed supplies and ammunition for the journey into the Badlands.

  The undead population in the city of Indianapolis, was far less than in most of the cities of the same size that had been ravaged by the zombie plague (as all cities had been), due to the mass exodus north in the beginning, by the panicked people searching for the none existent sanctuary that they sought.

  That exodus also meant that there were fewer survivors inhabiting the town too. This equated to less rogue humans and hostile gangs roaming the streets taking pot shots at people, or trying to capture them for countless unsavory purposes that won't be mentioned here (remember your delicate stomach).

  With the lack of the walking undead stalking humans, and the near total absence of the living within the city limits as well (it was a miracle that Derek met up with Todd), the search for supplies was easier than normal for Jack and Derek.

  Even though during their quest, the men did cross paths with several zombies and a couple of inept humans that thought they were badasses, both hostile entities were divided equally and dispatched summarily by the boys in a classic zombie apocalypse fighting fashion.

  Limbs hewn off, intestines hacked out of the torso, at least two skulls blown clean off their stalks, you know, the usual.

  Somewhere off of Payne Road (no really), on the north side of Indy, in a quaint little house that they surveyed, Jack and Derek found a stash of ammo, guns, knives, and a plethora of hunting and camping gear.

  ******

  "Jackpot Derek, we found the mother lode," I announced to my partner. "Look at all of this stuff, guns, ammo, flashlights, all sorts of shit, this guy had way more than he could carry, probably way more than he could haul away in his vehicle t
oo."

  "Well, in any case, it was nice of him to leave the excess here for us!" Derek exclaimed, sorting through the boxes of ammunition we'd found. "With all of this shit, he was most likely a prepped, or an avid hunter, and took with him what he felt was going to be necessary and adequate to be able to survive this hell."

  I was less picky than Derek as far as the ammo was concerned.

  My guns were mostly of the 9mm variety, my Beretta and Glock pistols were both of that caliber as was my Sub 2000 folding carbine.

  My assault rifle was chambered in the traditional 5.56mm NATO round, or again, for all of you slimy civilians, the .223 Remington cartridge.

  Although there is a slight difference between the two shells (something about the headspace, it's technical, we wouldn't understand it), my M-4 can safely accommodate both bullets.

  Therefore, unlike Derek who was busy digging through the quantity of ammo for .50 cal. rounds for his S&W revolver, I collected what I needed and began to look in other areas of the house for food and water.

  However, before I left Derek prospecting for the ever-elusive hand cannon slugs he so greatly coveted, I suggested another avenue that he might consider exploring.

  "That monstrously heavy gun you're toting around is pretty cool when it comes to relieving eaters of their brains and the skulls that they are attached to, but it only holds six rounds and sounds like an artillery piece when it's fired," I reminded him. "You might want to consider taking one or two of these 9mm pistols that the previous owner so magnanimously contributed to our cause with you into the Badlands, as a matter of fact, I insist on it."

  Looking up at me while still fishing through the pile, Derek sarcastically whined.

  "But I like my revolver!"

  "Yeah, and I like my life, if you're going with me to meet the Caucasian, you're going to take more firepower with you than just that 500 Magnum cranium exploder of yours," I insisted once more.

  "Oh shit, here they are, right in front of me. Hell, if they'd been a zombie they would have bit me," Derek said giggling, as he picked up a box containing 50 of the Magnum loads.