Nothing happened. Why didn't she open the door? I pounded again and loudly whispered, "Sharon. Open the door, now. Please."
I had to say please. In the past, I had known girls that if you were impolite to them, they wouldn't pee on you if you were on fire. I don't want her to leave me outside for lack of a, please.
Sure enough, I heard the door get unlocked. I pushed inside with Gretel and the door closed and locked behind me.
I set the little girl down and checked her to make sure she didn’t come in contact with anything drippy. The wobbly legged little girl could barely stand with fatigue. Once checked out, I took her straight to the guest bedroom and tucked her into bed. When I stepped out of the room, I came face to face with Sharon staring at me.
"I had no idea you were good with kids."
"I'm not. I treat them like anyone else. Be polite and considerate and it usually comes back to you."
"True enough, let's get some sleep. I'll take the couch."
"What? Why?"
"It's your room. Go ahead and take the bed."
I started to blush, "Uh, I, well."
That wasn’t going well. My brain was screaming at my eloquence. I cleared my throat and tried again, "I was kinda hoping we could share the bed."
"Ah, did you now?"
The words weren’t hostile, and she had a big grin on her face. She grabbed my shoulder and kissed me sweetly for a second and pulled away while my mind just swam. What was it about kissing a girl you loved? Any thought inside my head just swirled around and disappeared. It was like they flushed the toilet of my mind. My inner self did a face palm. I honestly thought the words 'toilet of my mind.' That had to be a sign of the apocalypse. Back to Sharon.
"So, is that a yes?" I hoped.
"No. Before you brought the little girl in, it was a possibility. But I don't want a little girl wandering around and catching us in the same bed. Oh, and it would just be to sleep. Don't get any grand ideas. I love you but I don't think we have been seeing each other long enough for that."
Damn it. Just because I know she is right, doesn’t mean that I’m not disappointed in that result.
"What? No, I would never think of taking advantage of you. Come on, what do you take me for," I lied with a straight face. OK, that was another thing I had to ask forgiveness for.
Shaking the longing out of my voice, "look, take my room. There is only one doorway in and the window has security bars on it. I think it is one of the safest rooms in the house. You will be way more comfortable there. Besides, I have slept plenty of times on the sofa when I stayed up too late playing on my X-box. Just take the room. I'll sleep out here."
She eventually agreed, and we went to sleep. Damn, it.
Chapter 6: Supplies
The morning sun broke through the opening I left in the glass sliding door. I didn’t have near enough sleep, but I was awake. Stumbling towards the kitchen, I looked for breakfast opportunities. We had plenty of cereal. Dad had a milk allergy so there was no milk but plenty of Almond Squeezings. I know isn’t the name, but milk comes from mammals, damn it and not some nut. I will not call it milk no matter what. My mind wandered to the possibilities lost last night as I put together why a mammal is called a mammal and where milk comes from. I was pouring cereal into a bowl and shaking my head when my bedroom door opened and out popped Sharon wearing one of my t-shirts. She looked fantastic.
I, however, was dressed in the same clothes as last night. I stunk of deer pee and needed a shower. The best greeting I could manage was, "Morning."
She smiled at me and it felt like my heart stopped for a moment. Then the other door opened and a scared little girl poked her head out.
"Hey, Gretel. What cereal do you like? Bran flakes or the Captain?" As if there was even an option. Bran flakes suck. Dad only eats them because his doctor told him to. That is a last resort food for me. I'll eat what I find in a drainage ditch before I crack open bran flakes.
Her face went from scared to excited, "Cap'm Crunchy! Cap'm Crunchy!"
Both Sharon and I turned to the boarded up glass sliding door. Gretel was being too loud. We were talking above a whisper but Gretel was full volume, little girl.
"Gretel, we need to speak softly so the bad things will not hear us," said Sharon as she knelt down to the little girl.
"Oh, sorry."
With that perfunctory apology over, she made straight for the bar stool and climbed up into the chair. I handed her the bowl of cereal and a spoon.
"I only have this Almond stuff. No real milk. Is that OK or do you want it dry?"
"No milk. I like mushmellows." So she was fine.
The way she pronounced marshmallows made me smile. I could choke down dry cereal. Heck, before taking the SAT's, I had cereal with coffee. Oh, coffee.
"Sharon, do you want coffee?"
"Yes, please. And I will have a bowl of what she is having."
"Coming up."
I had to make do for my own breakfast all the time. Dad taught me to cook basics. His view was that every man needed to know how to fend for themselves. Life is too precious to have to eat microwaved food. So, I learned to cook. I sucked at it so I stuck to cereal and coffee. Soon, Sharon had her cereal, and I poured the rest of the box into my bowl. Bummer, we were out of good cereal. Tomorrow, I would have to cook something. I grimaced internally. No need to give them any inkling of my inability to cook when we could get eaten today and the point would be moot.
The coffee took another five minutes to brew. We didn’t have one of those fancy single-cup makers. I had to deal with Dad's coffee pot he had since college. Turns out great coffee but just takes forever. I poured two cups and drank mine black before I remembered my manners. Don't judge me, I was still sleepy.
"Oh, Sharon, do you want cream or sugar?"
She smiled at me again, "Sugar please."
My Dad's old Def Leppard album ran through my head with 'pour some sugar on me.' I needed a cold shower. The fact was I must be used to the thought that there are zombies in the world and now I'm back to trying to get laid while trying to be a gentleman. I must be insane.
Rumaging through the cabinets, I found the sugar bowl and checked it. Still good for a bit and handed it to her with a spoon. But it made me think about supplies again.
"We still need to get new supplies. I think I need to go back over there again today. We know we are low on some stuff. Anything we can do to make our stay last longer here would be great. Sharon, would you mind watching Gretel while I head over? I will see if I can get her some clothes or something too. I doubt that she wants to wear the same pair of PJs for the rest of whenever."
To this, Gretel pushed out her lower lip and planted her hands on her hips, "I like My Little Pony."
"Of course you do and they are cool but you need to have them washed now and then right? Do you want me seeing you naked while they get washed?"
I raised my eyebrows while scowling with that last sentence to add weight to it.
The thought scandalized the girl, "No. That would be bad. Don't do that."
"OK, I will find you some clothes then."
Gretel thought then nodded in agreement.
Sharon was just trying not to laugh.
This was feeling like normal life. Sharon and I showed Gretel around the house. She had a glass of water and went to the bathroom. I had to say a prayer of thanks I rescued a potty trained child and not a younger one. Then I got ready to go. I would shower when I got back. I was starting to reek.
We did our usual, and I got by the door and checked through the peep hole. Things were looking good so far. I opened the door and ran out. Sharon shut it behind me and locked it.
The landscape hadn’t changed. The dead zombie was still laying there. I took a moment to pull it by its feet away from the basement entrance. The clothes looked familiar in the daylight. Then it hit me. Holy crap, this was my English teacher. He was an asshole. I amended that thought with, but no one deserves to die like that.
After moving Mr. Davis, I looked around again. No visible zombies. I sprinkled some of my Tinks on me again and set out. The yard was empty. No idea why but they moved on after I made it home. I honestly thought after shooting my English teacher last night, there would be many more. Something nagged at me that this might not be good news. Anyway, I reached the ditch. No zombies there. A quick hop over it and I was back in Mrs. Jensen's backyard once more. Nothing was moving. Only the corpses of the zombies.
At some point, these bodies will cause problems. We needed to deal with that. Maybe burn them? No idea. I moved to the house. I tried to peer in each window as I moved around the house. There was the wrecked car again. There were no moving zombies. Honestly, where were all of them? Did something happen last night that drew them away?
I circled the house. As I walked up to the Oldsmobile, I saw a form in the passenger seat. It was Gretel's mother in full zombie glory. She was seat belted in and struggling to get at me. The windows were up, so I wasn’t worried. There was a very unpleasant odor of rot coming from the vehicle. I guess trapping a zombie in a locked car with the windows up wasn’t the best way to dispose of bodies. There was an empty car seat in the back. How on earth did that little girl get out of the car and into the basement?
I moved to the front door. It was partially open. I pushed it open with the bat and looked inside. The house a wreck. An overturned TV dominated the front room. The tube on the older set had shattered when it fell face first on the ground. A recliner that faced the television set was turned sideways. There was a shelf under the window with nick-knacks that had been knocked down. The large and blood-stained family Bible lay in the middle of the floor. I pushed my way further into the room. The right-hand side of the room had her dining room table and four chairs. The house wasn't much. The design was a 'shotgun shack' that was deeper than it was wide. The front room was both living room and dining room. Behind it was an open kitchen. The gas burner was still going. This place was lucky it hadn’t burned to the ground.
The smell that emanated from the crashed Oldsmobile was in the house as well. I’m hoping that the face mask as protecting me somewhat. Pressing in further, I turned to look behind the door. Fortunately, there was nothing. Well, there was this ceramic tile she brought back from a trip to Israel in the 1970s that said 'Shalom Y'all.' It cracked me up every time. I turned to face the rest of the house. A thin central hallway led down to a master bedroom at the end and a small bedroom on the right and a bathroom on the left.
The counter for the kitchen blocked my view of the floor. I leaned over the counter. There he was. Mrs. Jensen's worthless son. He looked worse for wear. Never a handsome man, the zombie version was even worse. Something had beat the crap out of it. The flesh was torn off of its forehead. The left arm was broken, and it just sat there stinking. It didn’t even look up.
I figure he drove the car with a zombie bit wife and his daughter strapped in the back seat. Knowing nothing of what to do, he went home to his mommy. His wife turned while driving and bit him repeatedly, thus the wrecked car. He got out of the car, left the wife and took Gretel inside. Either Mrs. Jensen or this loser had the sense to put her in the basement and lock her up. Then the loser turned and attacked Mrs. Jensen who whipped his ass with the family Bible. The thought would have made me laugh if I wasn’t staring at a zombie on the ground. Hefting my bat, I made sure I wouldn’t hit the ceiling and brought it down from over the counter and whacked him in the head. I got a good meaty thunk out of the blow. I was now sure he was permanently out of it. To make sure, I moved around and grabbed his legs and dragged it. Nothing. Hell, Maybe Mrs. Jensen had dispatched him with the Bible. Somewhere along the way, she got bit and turned herself. That was a shame. She was good people.
I left the dead zombie, that is an oxymoron, in the living room near the TV. I then moved further into the house. The bathroom door was open. There was blood in the sink and some half opened bandages. On the floor, there was more blood. This is where Mrs. Jensen turned. I popped open the medicine cabinet and found loads of medicines. I did not know what they were for so I left them alone. It was something I would have to think about going forward. Some base antibiotics would be useful.
I pushed back the shower curtain and found nothing there.
Turning around, I headed back into the hallway. The side bedroom was closed. The master bedroom was open. I held the pistol up and moved in to clear the room. I kicked the door all the way open. The bedroom had the back door to the house and entry way to the screened in porch. Silly design, in my humble opinion, but it wasn’t my house. The bed sat unmade as if it happened after she had gone to bed. There was a chest of drawers and a small closet in the room. But the most noticeable feature was the Emo kid that was chewing on an arm.
Yep, some kid dressed head to toe in black with jet black hair and pasty white face with black eyeliner was eating an arm. The kid was definitely a zombie. The zombie had a dumb ass haircut too where the barber went all gung-ho on one side to shave it and left the rest too long so it fell on its face. Half of what it was eating was its own hair. I shot it. Bang. Emo zombie dropped. I searched for the source of the arm. There it was. A young girl that was also all Emo. Missing an arm and thankfully lying face down. Bang. Putting one in the back of the head just made good sense in this new nightmare world. Damn, that shooting a person in the back of the head was good sense just scared me for what I was becoming. Well, I guess that is a survivor.
I peered on the other side of the bed and under the bed and in the closet. The Emo twins probably were OK before they entered. Just looking for a place to hide this out. Now they were just another rotting corpse. One last room to go. I moved back out into the hallway. The front door was still open. That was a dumb move on my part. I needed to get supplies and get out of here.
I was getting ready to turn the knob when the radio crackled, "Uh, Daniel. You OK?" Sharon's voice sounded very quiet and afraid.
"Yeah, I'm good. What's up?"
"There are people outside. They have guns. They are looking at your truck. I don't think you locked it. They opened it."
"Ok. Stay quiet as possible. Hide but keep your gun loaded. If they break into the house, shoot. Shoot first, shoot fast and shoot often. I gave you the good Ruger twenty-five round magazines for that rifle. With two of those, you should keep them occupied until I can help you. One more room and I’m out of here."
"Hurry. They don’t look like they are trying to help."
I leaned the bat against the wall and opened the door. There slumped against the wall was a huge man. Or was a huge man. This zombie had to weigh at least three hundred and fifty pounds. Dressed in farmer's overalls, it had a nasty looking beard and the neck of a beer bottle jutting from the front pocket of his overalls. He too was a neighbor. The one we didn’t like. The police had suspected Zeke Kettlerigde of growing dope and cooking meth. He has managed to not get caught, but he was always bad news.
So dumbstruck, I asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"
As a response, it stood. As I raised the pistol a loud noise came from the front room. I turned my head and three zombies just walked into the house. One tripped over the legs of the loser son. That was the noise I heard.
"Great gobs of goose crap!" through my panic I thought, what did I say?
I yanked the door closed on Zeke the zombie and backed up into the bedroom. I hopped up onto the bed. I didn’t want to step on the Emo twins. Shit, I left the baseball bat against the wall. With a two handed grip, I fired the first shot. Bang. The lead zombie's head snapped back, but it kept walking. There was a gouge in the top of his forehead. The twenty-two caliber rounds out of a pistol weren’t able to penetrate the skull when it hits on an angle. I decided that I needed more firepower. I dropped the pistol and swung my rifle around and brought it up. Nothing. The trigger was dead.
"Fuckin' safety!" I shouted before setting the rifle from safe to fire I tried again.
The first zombie was now
a foot from the bedroom door. BANG. The report of the five point five six millimeter round was definitely louder in a closed room than the pistol was. But the results were far more satisfying. The bullet tore a nice round hole into the center of the zombie's forehead and dropped it. As I adjusted my sight picture, the door to the guest bedroom popped open. I guess Zeke the zombie just walked into the thing. That much weight can tear straight through a cheap hollow panel door. The door knocked over my target. It exposed the third of the group as Zeke wasn’t yet all the way through the door yet. BANG. Oh, my hearing was doomed. I hit too low on the far zombie. The bullet tore through the middle of the nose, but it was enough for a permanent kill.
Now it was Zeke's turn. Zeke was a crazy man in life. His personality had changed little in unlife. Is that even a word, unlife? Part of it had to do with his military service. Supposedly, he served in Gulf War One. Some said the man was wounded in the head. Some said he was captured by the Iraqi's and tortured. Others thought he never went into the military. Anyway, it was time to finish Zeke's story, and I fired. BANG.
Did I see sparks come off his head through the scope? I lowered the rifle to look over the top of the scope. Through the two inch gash carved into his skin and hair on his head, there was a gleam of metal. The zombie had a metal plate in its head. Not good. By the time I had the rifle back up, Zeke was blocking the doorway. I had trouble finding him in my sight. My breath had fogged the reticle. I panicked. I hate to admit that but that is all I can say it was. My finger spasmed on the trigger. My hearing was so bad I couldn’t hear individual shots. When the rifle clicked after the last round fired, I looked over the rifle and Zeke was missing. The last of the zombies was on its knees and wavering back and forth for a second before pitching over sideways. I stepped to the end of the bed. There lay Zeke. His face was missing. I must have hit him with at least twenty rounds.
Hunting Season: A Zombie Survival Story Page 6