by Will Lemen
"We should have taken the time to gather more intelligence; we should have looked out the front window. From now on we've got to be much more careful; we've got to think things through a little more." Only this time thinking, "we, meaning me!"
With that said, we began to formulate a new plan.
"We're going to forget about filling that third gas can, we'll take it with us, but from the looks of things, we're going to have enough problems just getting the boat out," I said, my heart still racing from the shock of the near fatal encounter we had just experienced.
“Jacob, go see what your mother is doing, we need everybody out here."
“Okay dad, I'll tell her,” Jacob said, as he hurried back into the house.
“Billy, crank up the trailer hitch about a foot, once the garage door is opened again, we don't want to be out in the open any longer than we have to be," I said. “And check the tire pressure on the trailer; we can't afford to have a flat tire on the way to the river. I'm going to oil those squeaky wheels on the door, no point in announcing we're coming out.”
Billy was eighteen when this all started, a typical teenage boy, cars, girls, and texting was his main concern, but fishing was still high on his list of things to do. Therefore, I tasked him with gathering up all of the fishing equipment that we might need on our journey.
"And put your fishing stuff in the boat, we don't want to forget that," I said, knowing that he would make sure that we had all the fishing gear we would need to help us survive in this new apocalyptic world.
"I'm going in and see what’s taking your mother so long; she’s probably packing way too much stuff,” I said, as I glanced into the boat, and quickly realized how little room for supplies there was.
“What’s going on in here Gin?” I asked, trying to sound confident that everything was going to be fine.
“We're packing things, like you said to,” she answered, speaking with a hint of sarcasm.
"I said grab a few things we might have missed, not pack the whole house!"
Looking at me sheepishly, she said, "I know, but everywhere I look, I see something we missed."
“All right," I said. "But some of that stuff we don't need and don't have room for, like all those pillows."
"We're going to need pillows! How are we supposed to sleep without pillows?"
"Okay, we'll take as much as we can, but remember, the boat is only fifteen feet long. I guess we can always throw something overboard if we need more room,” I murmured as I turned away.
Now the sarcasm in her voice was more pronounced.
“Okay honey," she said.
“This is going to be more fun than I thought,” I muttered as I walked into the kitchen to gather some more food for our journey.
I made a point of not telling Gin about our close encounter with the zombies on the driveway. The sound of Jacob shooting them blended in with the gun fire we were hearing all over the neighborhood, so that didn't get her attention. She seemed to have put the encounter with our neighbors Jon and Julie behind her for now, so I saw no reason to upset her all over again. After all, she would find out soon enough how difficult and dangerous this excursion was going to be.
Jacob was already in the kitchen grabbing food off the pantry shelves, and as I joined him I suggested.
“Get the canned food Jake. It’s heavier, but the canned vegetables have water in them, and we're going to need all the water we can get,” I told him.
I hurried to grab the last few cans of green beans off the shelf and added.
"Get those jars of peanut butter too; they don't need to be refrigerated."
"Come on Gin, bring what you've got, and let's go!" I yelled with a sense of urgency.
Rounding the corner and dragging two full suitcases Gin announced.
"Here I come, and by the way, where’s my camouflage suit?” She asked.
“Probably in one of those suit cases,” I replied.
“Very funny,” she said, not at all amused.
“We’ll get you some later, at some sporting goods store or someplace,” I said, thinking that it shouldn’t be too hard to find camouflage clothing somewhere, hell now days even department stores sell it. At least they did before the outbreak, now of course they'll be giving it away.
We made our way back into the garage, toting the last of our possessions that we would be taking with us.
That's when the reality of the situation hit all of us. There was a calm silence, because we all knew that once we left, we would never be coming back to this place.
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THE MORPHADITE
Normally I would have installed the gas tanks back into the boat when I returned from filling them at the gas station. However, as fate would have it (probably knowing of the impending apocalypse), I got distracted with another of life's little emergencies at the time, and left the full fuel tanks on the floor of the garage to be loaded at a later date. That later date of course, just happened to be in the middle of an apocalyptic outbreak of the undead, with life and death balanced precariously on our timely departure from this zombie-infested locality.
“Billy let’s get these tanks in the boat, hook’em up, but don't open the vent cap,” I said, again trying to implant a sense of urgency that was desperately needed. “We've got to get moving, we want to be on the river before dark. Jump in the boat and I'll hand them to you."
With only two hours left until sundown, we weren't remotely ready to leave for the river.
“We don't have much room so let’s pack these supplies as tight as we can,” I stated, again with authority. “Guns and ammo go in last; we have to be able to get to them fast when we need too! We've only got two sleeping bags, put them in front, and tie them to the bow cleats."
"I'll put the rest of the food up in the front compartments,” Jacob said, as he stashed several cans into the front hold of the boat.
It took us another half an hour to fill the boat to capacity with our supplies and weapons, and still leave enough room for ourselves.
As I stepped up on the side of the trailer and handed Jacob the last box of ammo, I asked. “Are all of the magazines loaded?"
"Yes, all of them are fully loaded," Billy answered, nodding his head.
"Well, that's it then," I said. "We need to hurry, we don't have a whole lot of time before it gets dark, and if we have to fight our way to the river, we don't want to have to do it in the dark."
"Well, are we ready to go?" Gin asked.
"Not quite yet," I answered, motioning to Jacob. "Go in the house and look out the front window and see if you can see how many eaters if any, are in the driveway, and be careful, take a gun with you, remember, we only have a drop cloth for a back door now."
"Okay," Jacob said, picking up the same carbine he had used earlier as he headed into the house.
"Do you think there might be some of those things in the driveway?" Gin asked, unaware of our earlier experience trying to fill the gas can.
I knew there were zombies on the other side of the garage door, but I didn't want to alarm her anymore than she already was, so I said. "Well it can't hurt to check."
"Right, it can't hurt to check," she agreed.
We had been working rather somberly, but that mood was broken quickly a few minute later when we heard three gunshots coming from inside the house.
Before we had a chance to react, Jacob came bursting back into the garage.
"I just shot three of them on the patio, I heard them growling on my way back from checking the driveway."
"Are you all right?" Gin asked.
Smiling Jacob replied. "Yes, I'm okay mom, but we have three more dead neighbors. I mean really dead neighbors."
"Jon and Julie's smell must have attracted them. What did the driveway look like, any eaters?" I asked.
Looking confused, not knowing that I was trying to spare his mother any more grief by not telling her about our previous failed attempt to get to the van, Jacob answered cautiously.
"Yes, there's lots of them, twenty-five, maybe thirty, they’re all over the place, in the driveway, in the yard, the street, the neighbor's yards, everywhere."
With nightfall closing in on us, I now felt an overwhelming sense of desperation. We had to come up with a workable plan, and fast.
"So, if we were to break out the front window, could we get a clean shot at most of them?" I asked.
Nodding his head Jacob answered.
"I think so?"
"So if one of us was to shoot from the front window, and one of us shot from the garage, between the two, they could cover the one's hooking up the trailer to the van?"
"I'll shoot from the garage," Billy said quickly.
"I guess that leaves me at the front window," Jacob said.
"Then your mother and I will hook up the trailer," I added.
Shrugging her shoulders and stating categorically.
"I don't know how to do that!" Gin said, scowling as she informed us.
"All you have to do is just back up the van a few feet, and I'll do the rest," I said, hoping to convince her. "You can back up the van can't you?"
"Yes, I know how to back up the van; you just put it in reverse and stomp on the gas pedal, right?" she said, in her all too familiar sarcastic tone.
After our disastrous attempt to fill the gas can earlier, which I felt was my fault, I wanted to do my best to make sure that everyone knew what to do, and how to do it this time.
"All right!" I said ignoring my wife's feeble attempt at sarcastic humor. "Here's the plan. Jacob, you'll go to the front window, break it out, and leave as many shards in the frame as you can, since you won’t be going out that way it might afford you a little more protection, remember Julie’s hand? Then shoot as many eaters as you can see, and hopefully the sound of your shots will draw the ones on the driveway toward you. We'll wait a couple of minutes for them to migrate to the front window, then Billy you'll open the garage door, and we'll shoot any stragglers. Gin, when it's clear, you make a run for the van and back it up to the trailer. Once the trailer is hitched, we'll yell for Jacob and hold off any eaters that might have turned back toward us while he makes his way back here. Then we all jump in the van and get the hell out of Dodge. Any questions?"
Jacob piped up, "Nope!"
"Are you sure you want me to back up the van?" Gin asked.
I looked at her nodding my head, which gave her a visual affirmative answer to her question, and said.
"We don't have a choice, I might need Billy to help with the trailer, and he can't do that and drive at the same time. Don't worry, you'll do fine."
Not sounding very confident Gin replied, "All right, I'll do it, give me the keys."
"Okay then, here's the keys, let's do this thing," I said, as I handed Gin the keys to the van.
Jacob turned and began to walk into the house.
"We'll wait two minutes after we here your first shot," I said. "Give us a minute or two, and then listen for your name, when you hear it, get back here as fast as you can. And watch your back. Get me?" I barked.
"I get you dad," Jacob barked back.
We barely heard the glass breaking as Jacob thrust the butt stock of his rifle through the front window. But we heard very clearly the repeated blasts of that same rifle, as he began to eliminate the threats in front of our house.
"One minute," I said as I looked up from my watch.
Now Gin's adrenalin was starting to course through her veins as she screamed, "I counted seventeen shots!"
Worried that the zombies would hear her yelling, and might not follow the sound of Jacob's gunfire, I whispered back.
"Not so loud, he's trying to draw them off."
"Seventeen shots, how many bullets does that gun hold?" Gin asked, whispering this time.
"It uses Glock magazines, and the one in his gun is for the Glock eighteen, and it holds thirty-three rounds fully loaded."
Looking very concerned Gin asked. "Was his fully loaded?"
"Billy told me earlier that all the magazines were fully loaded, right Billy?"
"Right dad, all of them are, or at least they were before he started shooting."
"Anyway, knowing Jacob and his attention to detail, my answer would have to be yes even if Billy didn't concur," I told her.
I really hoped that I was right, and that Jacob had loaded his magazines to their full capacity.
I looked down at my watch and checked the time again.
"A few more seconds and we go!"
Billy put his hand on the garage door handle, and quietly spoke.
"He's still shooting; he's not out of ammo yet."
With a solemn look on my face, I started a slow countdown leaving three or four seconds between each number.
"Three..., two..., one..., open it!"
Billy again quickly raised the garage door.
Outside we saw dozen's of zombies, many of them were on the ground in pools of their own blood, with chunks of their brain's oozing out of their skulls.
Our plan was working. Some of the undead had bullet holes in their neck or their chest from some of Jacob's near misses, but were still walking, they were staggering a little more than normal, or should I say abnormal, but all of the zombies that were still able to move, were moving in the direction of the front window of our house.
Others were converging on our front yard, from across the street; again, all in the direction of the window from which Jacob was sniping.
"It's working," Billy said, lowering his pistol and moving toward the trailer.
Gin didn't have to be told, she sprinted to the driver's door of the van and jumped inside, and before we knew it, the engine was started and she was backing the van toward the trailer.
"A little more, more, stop," I shouted, as the hitch ball was now lined up with the trailer. The trailer was slightly high, so I began to turn the crank to lower the tongue coupler onto the hitch ball. The weight of the trailer pushed down on the back of the van as I lowered it into position.
"There, it's hooked," I said, slapping down the locking latch and quickly cranking the trailer's gear jack wheel up and out of the way.
Rising up, I said to Billy.
"Call Jacob back here now!"
Then we all realized that we weren't hearing anymore gunfire coming from the front window.
As fast as I could, I holstered my Glock pistol and I grabbed one of the AK-47's out of the boat with one hand and a seventy-five round drum magazine with the other, and as I ran back into the house, I yelled. "Something's wrong, get in the van, I'll be right back."
Entering the house I saw that the tarp that we had put up to cover the back entrance of the house had been pulled down, and was lying several feet from the kitchen, in the middle of the living room floor.
It looked as if it had been dragged from the kitchen in the direction of the front window, leaving a trail of Jon and Julie’s blood on the floor.
I quickly made my way into the living room and saw Jacob by the front window he'd been shooting out of, he was struggling with a zombie, as several other zombies tried to climb through that same window without much success.
Jacob had done what I had told him and left some large shards of glass along the window frame, and the zombies were slicing the flesh from their hands and arms all the way down to the bone, leaving big pieces of slightly greenish tinted skin drooping over the windowsill.
On the floor in front of me, was Jacob's spare magazine that he had unknowingly dropped. He had emptied his first magazine, and when he reached for the spare one that he had brought with him, it wasn’t there, and that undead killer had attacked him before he could pick it up off the floor.
I rushed across the room and struck the zombie in the side of the head with the metal reinforced wooden butt stock of my rifle. It tumbled off to the side of the couch and landed face first on the floor next to the wall.
Although the stock on the rifle had a metal butt plate on it, the zombie was only te
mporarily stunned, and almost immediately began to stand up. Sticking the barrel of my rifle to the back of the assaulting zombie's head, I pulled the trigger and blew a gaping hole in the back of its skull, and at the same time the exit wound my bullet made was even bigger, which caused most of the zombie's face to be splattered all over the living room wall.
"Are you all right?" I asked, quickly scanning Jacob up and down looking for any wounds he might have suffered.
"I'm fine dad," he said, not really looking the part.
Just then, I heard a noise behind me and saw Jacob lift his rifle and scream.
"Look out!"
He pulled the trigger, and we both cringed as his carbine spit out a deafening click.
During his struggle with the zombie, he'd forgotten that he'd run his gun empty.
I swung around and saw a rather large blood stained male zombie staggering toward me, and closing the gap between him and me rather quickly.
Having no time to acquire a proper sight picture, or even enough time to raise the muzzle of my rifle slightly, I fired from the hip, as Jacob had done in the garage during our failed attempt to fill the gas can.
Putting the first bullet just below the mutant's belt buckle, this slowed the zombie's momentum a little, as the 7.62mm full metal jacketed round drilled through its innards and crashed into the back of its pelvic bone.
I pulled the trigger several more times in rapid secession, and watched my bullets slam into the zombie's body.
As the muzzle climbed a small amount with each shot, my bullets impacted the living corpse from its crotch to its eyeballs before it collapsed onto the floor just inches from me.
The power of the AK-47 shot at point blank range, not only slowed the oncoming undead cannibal somewhat, but it also ravaged its body to the point that pieces of its spine and intestines were hanging out the back of its torn and blood soaked shirt.
I looked down at the gory mess that was in a pile at my feet, and I thought to myself, "I stitched up this subhuman, Chinese Gangland style!"