The Undead Chronicles_Book 1_Home and Back Again

by Patrick J. O'Brian

  “I’m no psychopath, and I’m hoping to meet up with family and ditch the loner tag soon enough.”

  Albert chuckled.

  “Well, you shouldn’t have to-”

  Before the older man finished his sentence, both were startled by the sound of a loud truck roaring just up the street from them. Sucking in a deep breath to listen intently, Metzger felt certain it was growing closer, and in a hurry.

  “The lights!” he warned Albert in a hushed, frantic whisper, thinking of the few candles they still had burning inside.

  To survivors, any artificial lighting indicated living people huddled within a house, and he suspected this truck was somehow tied in with the highway incident from earlier.

  Metzger followed Albert inside, peering out the window closest to the door through a slit in the closed blinds. He quietly shut the door beside him, tracking the truck’s movements through the window, finding a single street lamp outside that refused to shut down, making it difficult to follow the headlights. The sound of the truck’s loud engine and lack of proper exhaust drew closer, and suddenly the lights went off, causing Metzger’s heart to skip a beat. He felt positive this truck was looking specifically for survivors or places to raid. He wanted to believe that these people outside had nothing to do with Albert and Luke, but didn’t dare rule anything out just yet. For all he knew this could be a stage in an even larger, more elaborate trap.

  He turned around, finding no one behind him.

  Although he couldn’t see the two men or the girl, Metzger heard voices in one of the nearby rooms. For some reason Albert hadn’t snuffed any of the candles within the house, probably because Luke caught his ear first. It sounded as though the two were arguing about something, and Metzger knew that any delays jeopardized all of them if the people inside the truck were aiming to cause trouble.

  “We need to make this house dark,” he said as he stepped into the next doorway, startling both men. “Do either of you know who these people are?”

  “No,” Albert said, quickly brushing past him and darting up the stairs.

  “Has anyone come around here like this before?” Metzger pressed, following him.

  Albert stepped into the first bedroom and blew out a candle before answering.

  “Not before we stopped to pick you up.”

  The tone in the man’s voice seemed to imply he wasn’t entirely trusting of his guest.

  Both stopped in their tracks as they heard the truck brake loudly almost directly in front of the house.

  “You’re not equipped to fend off multiple attackers,” Metzger noted. “Especially with a child in the house.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Albert retorted, picking up the pace as he headed for the second bedroom and cut off the oil supply to a small lantern, darkening it immediately.

  Metzger made his way toward a window that faced out front, wanting an overhead look at the person or people who had the audacity to travel at night and seek out supplies from the living. He saw a burly man in the driver’s seat, and the person beside him seemed to be aiming some kind of device in a semicircular pattern. As Albert assumed the other side of the window, Metzger stared at the device, initially thinking it might be some sort of tracker, or camera, still functional despite most technological devices proving useless as power dwindled.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” Metzger muttered, finally realizing what the man in the front passenger’s seat was holding. “They’ve got a thermal camera.”

  Numbers of trips with school kids to fire stations provided Metzger with the ability to distinguish what a thermal camera looked like and how it worked. These thugs were likely looking for heat signatures from people or recently used vehicles.

  He looked to Albert.

  “Where did you park your truck?”

  “We leave it on the street because we don’t have anywhere to hide it.”

  Metzger groaned, closing his eyes momentarily. He knew these people couldn’t possibly prove friendly, and he suspected they were members of the group that tried to take his head off earlier in the night with a chain.

  “I need my weapons,” Metzger said sternly.

  “You can’t fight them,” Albert insisted, turning back after a glimpse out the window. “I saw at least four.”

  Metzger counted four as well, now that the men were all exiting the truck and beginning to explore the area. All four appeared armed with pistols or rifles, each of them wearing dark clothing to conceal them in the impending darkness. They didn’t move like police officers or former military personnel, nor did their garb look anything like uniforms. Perhaps they were just stragglers who found one another over time, not possessing much experience with tactics or firearms.

  He looked to Albert, finding apprehension in the man’s face like he dared not take an extra step beyond freeing his guest from handcuffs.

  “Your best case scenario is I can distract these guys away from you, and keep them from finding your girl. The worst case is that I’m with these guys and it becomes a five-on-three situation for you. But I think you already know that’s not the case.”

  Albert looked out the window to the four men now scouring the area, then back to his guest with a poker face.

  “Time is ticking away,” Metzger pressed.

  “Fine,” Albert said, walking briskly to the stairs with his guest close behind.

  They descended the stairs before heading into a family room with several custom book shelves built into the walls, a large wooden desk, and a gun safe in one corner. Metzger was actually surprised when Albert bypassed the safe entirely for a hallway that was hidden in plain sight, painted in such a way that the naked eye couldn’t even tell it led to another room until only a few feet away.

  Following Albert inside, Metzger found the man grabbing a few pistols for himself, along with a shotgun, simply nodding toward a small pile of weaponry that Metzger recognized immediately. He took up the pack that held his two swords, getting his arms through the straps with practiced ease. The weight of the .357 felt good as he strapped the gun belt around his waist, taking up a survival knife immediately after that. He wasn’t sure he wanted the burden of a rifle while trying to sneak around outside, but after spying the MP5 he often kept in the Harley’s saddlebags, he decided a strapped weapon he could throw around his shoulder wasn’t too cumbersome.

  “You’re leaving the rest?” Albert asked with a hint of surprise.

  “I plan on coming back,” Metzger said, speaking the truth. “If that’s okay with you.”

  Running off into the night was one of the most reckless and rash things any sane person could do, and he couldn’t remember the last time he slept a full, restful night without fear of being ripped apart by the undead, or freezing to death in the gradually cooling overnights.

  “If you can get rid of them, we’ll be in your debt,” Albert admitted. “And if not…”

  He racked the slide on the semi-automatic pistol he had just picked up to indicate he wouldn’t go down without a fight if any of the four men dared enter the house.

  Metzger gave an understanding nod, knowing there wasn’t any time to waste.

  “How can I get out of here unseen?”

  “This way,” Albert said, leading him to the back of the house.

  A few sounds reached their ears from outside the front door, causing Metzger to believe the four men were battling some of the undead that heard the ruckus.

  Albert showed him to a well-secured backdoor that featured several brackets with wood laid across them and a metal panic bar that forked directly beneath the doorknob. Albert pulled away the panic bar and Metzger assisted him with removing the timber nestled in the brackets, which allowed them to open the backdoor. He gave his weapons one last check as Albert pulled the door open.

  “You didn’t unload them, did you?” Metzger asked, drawing a thin smile from the older man.

  “You’re good to go.”

  “Wish me luck,” Metzger said before stepping into the
darkness and cold outside, wishing he’d asked where his jacket went while gathering his other belongings.

  It might have provided protection against the cold and against bites from anything that wasn’t warm-blooded.

  Because the house wasn’t very bright inside, Metzger required very little time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness outside. His hearing felt incredibly acute as well because he heard zombies, the four men, and their running truck simultaneously. Unfortunately he found himself surrounded by the wooden fence that encompassed the house and the property. Getting on the other side of the fence wasn’t going to be easy because numerous objects like trash cans and vehicles were placed against the rails to act as secondary barricades.

  “Great,” Metzger muttered, heading straight to the back end where a gate might normally be found.

  He walked less than twenty paces to find the gate completely blocked by a smart car that might be easy to move if he possessed the means to start it. Instead of searching for alternatives, he decided to climb the vehicle to jump the fence. After scaling the vehicle’s small hood, he peered over the fence to find a safe landing awaiting him, free of booby-traps and anything with teeth. Grabbing hold of the top, he propelled his body over with ease, completely lacking the style of a gymnast.

  Metzger immediately headed for the narrow space between the fence and the house next door to find a vantage point to see how the four men were faring against what few undead populated the neighborhood. As quickly and quietly as he could manage, Metzger tiptoed along the side yard until he reached the end of the gap near the front of the house. All noise except for the running truck motor had ceased since he jumped the fence, so he cautiously peered over the junk lined up near the end of the makeshift alley, hoping to find the four men giving up their search and moving onward.

  Instead he discovered they were splitting up and beginning to search each nearby yard, including the house Metzger exited less than a minute ago. Keeping himself hidden from view, Metzger decided not to act unless one of the men barged into the Victorian house. It remained unclear what drew these strangers to the neighborhood, or exactly what they expected to find. He had a feeling the four belonged to the group that attacked him earlier, which meant they would receive no quarter in any kind of skirmish.

  Because he focused so intently on the four armed men, Metzger forgot to check behind him. Less than two feet separated the wooden fence from the neighboring house, so when he heard the low growl of a zombie behind him, Metzger quickly turned around, accidentally kicking a few aluminum cans on the ground. Immediately cursing under his breath, he saw the undead straggler about ten feet away, but the bigger threat came from the attention he drew.

  “Hey!” he heard the nearest man yell to his group as he began walking from the porch of a nearby house toward Metzger’s location.

  About to enter the fight of his life, Metzger checked the MP5 to ensure it was ready to fire and set to fully automatic. He took a deep breath, hunkered down behind the trash heap, and waited to see which form of potential death would reach him first.

  Three

  Hidden from view where the four men had exited the truck, Metzger listened for the one gun-toting man to draw closer as he watched the growling undead walker stumble toward him in the starlit space between two houses. Feeling certain he was about to get bitten, shot, or both, he heard footsteps draw closer by the second, only able to monitor the zombie. If he dared peek over the piled trash that blocked any direct view into the street, he placed himself in the line of fire. Considering the single gunman had called for his friends, Metzger had no idea whether the man was alone or drawing three friends to his side.

  He hadn’t heard any other voices, but that didn’t mean they weren’t using some kind of sign language to encircle him.

  Hearing footsteps on the other side of the trash wall, Metzger was forced to focus on the female zombie drawing closer to him. Tattered remains of a blouse with blood and dirt stains barely clung to her torso and a bite mark was evident in her neck. A lot of people were caught off-guard those first few days, falling victim to what everyone initially believed was a sickness sweeping through their cities. He imagined this woman came home to a husband or child already turned from a death state, assaulted before she comprehended the danger.

  Metzger knew none of the undead possessed very much strength in their arms and legs. Their power came from herding together, and in their teeth, which snapped shut with quickness and ferocity seen only in wild predators. He wondered if their other senses were dulled, or might fade over time. The fact that their brains still operated on some rudimentary level gave him the impression it might be years before the danger truly dissipated.

  Hoping he didn’t get shot for his efforts, Metzger dared reach toward the zombie, grabbing some of its clothing near the waistline before pulling it near him. Keeping low in a seated position, he was able to use momentum to yank the zombie toward the opening behind him. The armed man reached the opening at just the right moment, receiving a zombie attack for his curiosity as the undead creature immediately snapped at his throat, finding the mark. His howls filled the air, and although Metzger couldn’t see the attack very well, he heard the sound of skin splitting as the zombie fed on the tissue and blood like a child slurping a juice box. The screams lasted only a few seconds, and by then Metzger was halfway down the narrow walkway between the two houses, knowing full well the sound would attract trouble in the form of the remaining three men and more undead.

  Sounds of noisy eating, like a family dog scarfing down moist food, continued to reach his ears as he neared safety.

  Needing to know how the remaining men would respond, he found a fairly safe spot near the end of the grassy path. Turning around, he watched the zombie fall over the makeshift garbage barrier to finish devouring its victim. He hoped the men might believe their colleague was careless, falling victim to a random zombie while he scoured the area. Somehow he doubted such luck was on his side, but it only took a few seconds for the three men to emerge and convene on the area. From his position, Metzger was able to hear virtually everything around him, so he caught what few words they spoke.

  “Fuck,” the first muttered, standing in the center with a scowl.

  “He got careless,” the man on the left stated as the zombie continued to feed on the fourth man without another care in the world.

  His brown hair was slicked back in a disheveled ponytail, and Metzger judged him as the muscle, maybe even a decent shot, but someone who followed orders. Perhaps he wanted to be accepted as an intellectual contributor to the group, but his forensic analysis of this particular situation wasn’t accurate.

  “Like hell he did,” the man on the right growled. “Mike knew better than that.”

  Metzger sensed this man was the brains behind the operation, whatever their membership and mission statement might be. Slender, strong, and well-spoken, this man seemed to have a handle on their situation, even with danger surrounding them.

  “What now?” the center man asked.

  “We keep looking. Those pricks came this way after stealing our shit.”

  With no visible empathy for his fallen comrade, the same man removed a knife from its sheath on his belt and stabbed the distracted zombie in the head, downing it permanently while not giving away his location to living or dead alike.

  Feeling utterly bewildered, Metzger wondered what he missed during his state of unconsciousness on the highway. He knew his hosts picked him up from what seemed to be certain death along the road, but how on earth had they found time to steal anything from anyone?

  “Those sons-of-bitches loot our stash and expect us to take it?” one of them grumbled aloud.

  To Metzger the three men seemed furious, though consistently so and not simply pissed off about this one particular incident. He wondered if his new hosts had indeed invaded someone else’s stash or perhaps another party was guilty. Of course no one else could have retrieved loot and happened to return to this
particular area he surmised, shaking his head. Albert didn’t seem like the type to mastermind the theft of someone else’s goods, particularly with a partner who waffled about virtually everything, and a young girl to protect.

  Something didn’t add up.

  He watched as the three men returned to their original plan of splitting up and searching for whatever they sought. For some reason they had left the thermal imaging camera in their truck, probably because they found a vehicle with a warm engine just down the street. For a fleeting second as he watched all three walk in different directions at the end of the narrow walkway, Metzger considered leaving the property altogether. Getting into a turf war over supplies wasn’t part of his plan, and he no longer felt confident his hosts were trustworthy people.

  At this point he dared tiptoe to the end of the path once again, stopping to view the remains of the fourth man and the zombie that ripped his neck and internal organs apart. Blood and intestines rested next to both bodies, and it occurred to Metzger that the trio hadn’t stabbed their buddy in the head. If he was going by movie and television lore, considering this man had been bitten by an infected zombie, he was due to turn into one sooner or later.

  Personally, Metzger hadn’t witnessed this notion being proven or disproven in the month since the world as he knew it ended. Of course he hadn’t been around other people long enough to experience much of anything.

  Although it was an unnecessary risk, he decided to leave the body behind and see what happened. His eyes followed the directions the three remaining men took, noticing one of them had headed to the right, directly toward the front gate of Albert’s house. Giving a glance in each direction, Metzger made certain no one spotted him before stepping over the two bodies and moving toward the porch under the cover of darkness. No street lights worked directly overhead, moonlight was currently obscured by clouds, and the truck the four men drove in was pointed in the opposite direction.

  He wasn’t certain if Albert might have taken steps to defend the house or not, so he decided not to jump the fence and walk up to the residence. Stepping past a window might cause a startled reaction that sent buckshot his way through a front window.