Hunting Season: A Zombie Survival Story

by Stoesen, Chris

  Rounds. Right! I grabbed a fresh magazine and changed it out with the spent one in the rifle. I put the empty in my back pocket. Then I reached down and scooped up the pistol. Needing a place to put it, I shoved it into the top pocket of my overalls. It barely fit. I jumped off of the bed and kicked open the door. No matter what, I wasn’t coming back here. I forgot my bat. Turning, I looked in the hallway. Never mind. There was no way I would touch that thing again. It was covered in nasty sticky things. I ran out of the back door. The screened in porch offered no resistance as I went through the screen and didn’t bother with the door. I ran into the ditch to get a view of my house.

  I could make out the intruders and they were staring at me. They had stopped their ransacking and had gathered at the side of my house and were looking at Mrs. Jensen's house when I burst out the back of it. The group was armed. Two had shotguns. One had a lever action rifle like a Marlin or a Winchester. Couldn’t tell yet.

  Two of them were pointing at me. None had weapons raised. I ducked down into the ditch and sighted the rifle. What the hell? I knew these guys. They all put their hands up in the air when they saw me aiming at them. I lowered my rifle and got out of the ditch. They walked towards me.

  I pulled the radio and called in, "Hey, I know these guys. Stay cool and I'll check back in with you."

  Then I turned the radio off.

  The first one to reach me had curly blonde hair. He was wearing some Abercrombie shirt and jeans. It was Billy Pearson. He was the backup quarterback for the football team. He had two other guys from the football team with him.

  "Billy, good to see you among the living. What are you doing here?"

  Billy held out a hand, and I shook it. My rifle was now slung over one shoulder. He beamed is ten thousand watt smile.

  "We are looking for food and gear. I heard there is a government camp set up near Savannah that is a safe area. We are checking houses as we go. I saw your truck here, so we came to check it out if you made it."

  Pointing with his chin, "What was going on over there?"

  I took a deep breath, "I was doing the same thing. Mrs. Jensen was among the walking dead. Well, until I shot her. Since her house was now unoccupied, I was looking for supplies. Dad didn’t have much food in the fridge. So I was seeing if she did. What she had was a house full of zombies. I killed six in there. Including that fat bastard Zeke Kettlerigde."

  "You mean the meth guy?"

  "I think so."

  "Damn, that's wild, dude. Hey, who were you talking to on that... thing?" He pointed to the radio.

  "The guy who taught me ham radio. You remember Mr. Sellers?"

  Billy just nodded his head, "Yeah, I remember him. He was a nut job. How is he still alive through all this? He is so old, man."

  Part of me wanted to defend Mr. Sellers to them. The other part was still intimidated by his status at high school. Hell, I’m not sure why. I figure most of my class is now dead or a zombie by now. Billy was a leader but by in large, he was an idiot. He had the grades to prove it too. There was no scholarship awaiting Billy. Or any of us anymore.

  "Daniel, do you want to come with us? Safety in numbers and all that."

  I shook my head, "No. I’m waiting on Dad still. That tough old man isn’t dead yet. I can feel it. Besides, I don't want to leave my home."

  All the teens standing with Billy just looked at me like I was an idiot.

  "Alright. That's cool, dude. You take care, man. Not many of us are left."

  His bunch backed off and left. I half expected them to beat me up. They hadn’t tried that since eighth grade. It wasn’t a fair fight then nor would it have been one now. But they suffered enough they never picked on me again. This time I was packing weapons they could see, and they had just heard me shoot up Mrs. Jensen's house. This time they knew, there would be no beating but someone would be dead.

  They left peacefully. I walked to my truck and checked out if they did anything to it. They stole a map of the county from my side door pocket. I left it open in case we needed a quick getaway. The map was no big deal. The center console was still locked, and they didn’t break it open. Once I checked the outside of the house, I called on the radio I was coming in. I think it was time we headed into town.

  Chapter 7: Decisions

  The three of us talked once I was back inside. We definitely needed supplies. The question was how we would gather them. Going alone didn’t seem like a bright idea. Taking everyone was also a bad idea but less bad than leaving Gretel home alone. Eventually, we decided that we would drive into town and see what we could find.

  There was a grocery store just on the far edge of town. Inside the town, there was a hardware store and a few others that may have essentials. The plan was that Sharon would drive. I would be in the passenger seat on the way there. Gretel would be in the back seat. No car seat but I doubt we would get pulled over. We would drive in and see what there was to see. If a store looked promising, I would hop out and try to get into the store. On the other hand, if things looked crazy, we would drive right out. If I was out of the vehicle and things turned for the worse, I would jump into the bed of the truck and we would race off. In the worst case, if we separated, I would go to high ground and they would take off. Well, that was the plan. Not a masterpiece but it was what we had.

  Gretel felt like a big girl being in a seat without a booster. In no time at all, she was sound asleep in the back seat. Sharon drove carefully while I worked the radio to raise Mr. Sellers.

  "Patriot, come in Patriot. Are you still out there?"

  My attempts were greeted by static. I was rather nervous as the man may shoot at passing vehicles if he didn’t know we were coming.

  "Patriot, this is Daniel. We are driving past. Please don’t shoot."

  As we drove, I could see a thin column of smoke up ahead. Well, a column of smoke that was nearby. The sky toward Atlanta was smudged gray with distant smoke. Seems that there were many things to burn during the apocalypse. The closer we got to his house, it was evident that the smoke was coming from Mr. Seller's home. When we reached his property, we found a scene from an old World War One movie where the camera pans over the battlefield to show the horrible cost of war. There were dead everywhere. In the road, in his driveway, laying across his fence and all over his yard. The old lawn chair lay on its side. His cooler was empty but there was a pile of empty beer cans near it. Mr. Sellers house was no more. It had been consumed by a fire. That fire must have burned rather quickly as there was little standing of the house.

  I cursed myself for not checking in on him more. The thing is, I felt he set that fire himself. Given the number of bodies, he may have run out off ammo. Regardless, there was nothing left here. Possibly, the zombies that were at my place were drawn back here where they met their doom at Mr. Seller's hands.

  Having no other choice, we drove over the bodies to get past. None of the dead stirred. As we drove on, we would encounter zombies from time to time. At first, I stopped and shot them with the pistol. After ten of them, we passed them by and ignored them. There were just too many. We didn't now what we would find in town. Given the fires of the first night, the whole town could have burned down.

  As we approached the town we came across a former checkpoint. Two county police vehicles barred passage on the road. They were sandwiched between some trees to the right and a store on the left. There was a car that had tried to ram them. It had crashed into the front left quarter panel of the deputy's vehicle on the left and had gone no farther. There were several bullet holes in the glass of the ramming car. Littered on our side of the barricade were dozens of spent brass cartridge casings. The police were nowhere to be found.

  There was nowhere for us to go. Sharon put the truck in reverse and started to back up. The back door of the store opened and a sheriff's deputy stepped out. He was bleeding from his left side and carried a pistol in his right hand. The officer had cloth bunched up against the wound. He held up the pistol with the barrel to
the sky and the four fingers extending straight up.

  "Sharon, roll your window down part way."

  She did, and I leaned over and yelled out, "what can I do for you officer?"

  As he limped closer to the truck, and I followed up with, "please don’t come any closer to my truck, sir."

  He acknowledged by nodding. Bending over to take a breath, "I've been shot and not bitten. This hurts like hell. I think the round broke a rib. My damn neighbor shot me, would you believe it? I knew the man for close to twenty years and that son of a bitch shot me. Can you get me the hell out of here? There are a bunch of these things in the town square. They heard your truck and will be back. I barely kept them out of the store the last time. I don't think I can do it again."

  "Sir, is there any place in town we can get supplies? We need more food and some clothes for a little girl."

  That was when Sharon decided to join in the conversation, "and what about my father? He lives in the big house off of main street, the old McDugal. The one with the big fence."

  That got the deputy to look back up. "Damn, that is your place? It's tighter than Fort Knox. Some townsfolk tried to storm it since it looked secure. He electrified those rolling doors. I think he killed a few people. When he shot down from the upper floors, they dispersed in short order. Last I saw, there were about two hundred of these things walking around your house. Things are just messed up. As to supplies, I guess you could try the grocery store. That would be the best bet. There were some rough fights going on down there over food. There are stores, but most have been picked clean. This one I have been hiding in was a furniture place. Can I please get in your truck?"

  "I hope you don't mind, but can you climb in the bed? We will get you out of here. Once we are sure, you aren’t bit, we will take care of you. Are there any more people in the town? I mean, non-zombies?"

  The deputy just laughed, "I’m under orders not to use the Z word. I haven’t heard from my captain in six hours. His checkpoint was under fire. He called up the National Guard for help. I did too, but I was told that they were busy."

  He climbed into the bed of the truck and we backed out of the checkpoint and got out of there. Gretel slept through the whole thing. She looked so very peaceful there in the backseat. Sharon nearly ran off the road when we heard the deputy fire his first shot. As we passed single walkers, he was firing his pistol at them. He was either in a ton of pain or the man was a bad shot. I didn’t see him hit anyone. There were only four shots taken. I looked back and saw his slide lock back on an empty magazine after the fourth shot. I could understand the sentiment at least. Our world had gone from mundane and ordinary to action movie concept less than seventy-two hours before. I was questioning a deputy and willing to shoot him if he was infected. We weren’t in normal times.

  Once, Sharon, had us facing the correct direction, the radio crackled with static, "Sharon, is that you?"

  The voice was of her father. Sharon kept both hands on the steering wheel and nodded to the radio. I picked up the radio set and answered.

  "Sir, please identify yourself. This is Angel Six Eight and Peaches."

  Ha, let the man stew on that bit of obfuscation. But, how did he figure out our radio frequencies?

  "Ah, yes. Good move on using call signs. I guess call me Buckley. That will work for now. I saw you at the checkpoint. Why did you take that deputy with you?"

  How the hell did he see us? Sharon and I exchanged a look of confusion. Things just got weirder whenever we talked to him. Things took a turn for the worse when we spoke. I got more vigilant. I scanned the road for hidden dangers before I spoke.

  "He's hurt and needed aid. He said he was shot and not bitten. I will verify that before helping him."

  There was silence for a few minutes before he came back on. "I guess that is a sensible precaution. Thank you for keeping my daughter alive, young man. I’m sorry that I was going to leave you out. But we are in a different world now as you well know. We can’t trust anyone."

  "So, I have learned," the sarcasm dripped from my voice. I liked him less each time I talked to him. Sharon must take after her mother.

  "Er, yes. When you get back, call me at six tonight."

  With that, there was a pop of static and then he was off the air. Sharon and I stared at each other. I was first to speak.

  "What the hell was that?"

  "Honey, I don't have a clue. He is a different man since we have been here. Something changed since he left the CDC. He is full on paranoid. Well, I can't say I blame him entirely at the moment."

  We both laughed. It was true. Life had taken an unexpected turn.

  When we reached the house, Sharon parked in the carport. I had everyone stay in the truck and I checked out the outside of the house. No one had entered. No one doing the shamble of doom was nearby. The coast looked clear. I opened the door for Sharon and Gretel.

  "Sharon, bring the first aid kit. The big one. I will check out the deputy."

  They went inside. I moved to the rear of the truck. The deputy was gasping in pain. His face was white, and he was hunched over.

  "I hate to do this to you, but can you take off your shirt? I need to see that it isn’t a bite."

  The deputy nodded, "fair enough."

  He stripped down. Under his shirt, he was wearing his vest.

  "They shot you through your vest?"

  "The bastard had a rifle. I was looking the other way. Frank was always a sorry ass shot. He was kicked out of our hunt club for letting too many deer wander off to die from his crappy shooting."

  He worked the straps of the vest and it opened and revealed the wound. It's not a bite. There was an entry wound and an exit wound. They were close to each other on his side. I could see how it glanced off one of his floating ribs.

  "No other injuries, sir?" I was damn skeptical. But his pants only had dripped blood from his side on them.

  "Nah, the zombies never came close. Just one fool who tried to run the blockage and then Frank Beemer who shot me. My partner shot at Frank and scared him off. No idea if he made it or not. Things got hairy out there."

  "When did you set up the checkpoint?"

  "It was yesterday after it was already too late. The night the CDC blew up, was when it should have been done. There were two officers sent to make a roadblock into town. We got a call from the Feds. Thought little about it. Everyone was called in on an emergency basis. We thought it was a terrorist incident. If we would have known it was this, less of us would have shown up. The guys manning the roadblock into town were reporting in when they got shot at by vehicles trying to get into town. One deputy shot the tires out of his vehicle to prevent them from being moved out of the way. Then the first horde came. We heard the screams of Gerald. He got bit and they both just ran for it. Never heard from Gerald again. The other deputy called in three hours later to quit. Haven’t seen him since either."

  I nodded along. "I was there when they were overrun. Was Gerald a huge guy?"

  The deputy almost laughed, but the pain prevented it. "Yeah. We called him piggy and fat back at the station."

  "I saw him fall. Before the horde got to him, he stood and was one of them. The other deputy told me to run, and he sprinted past me. He wasn’t slowing down for anyone. I can't say I blame him."

  The deputy's eyes widened with surprise I saw the demise of his friends and colleagues.

  Sharon arrived with the first aid kit. I opened it put on some gloves. With the gloves on, I tore open anti-biotic cream and smeared it all over the wound. Boy scouts didn’t prepare you to deal with gunshot wounds. Making a pressure bandage out of some elastic wrap and some large gauze pads, I wrapped up his ribs. I did it tight enough to put direct pressure on the wound but I was worried about the broken rib.

  "Look, I have nothing stronger than some Motrin in the house. Let's get you inside. I will try to track down a doctor."

  It took both Sharon and me to move him. We got him into the living room and laid him down on t
he sofa. I wrapped him in a blanket and got him some water and Motrin. He was asleep in minutes after taking the pills.

  Sharon looked distressed. "What are we going to do with him?"

  "What do you mean?" I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. I wouldn't let the guy die if I could help it. He wasn’t bitten. He seemed normal enough. Hell, the man held his post long past when most would have fled.

  "I mean we don't know him at all. He could be a crazy person. We don't know."

  I felt a tug at my pants leg. I nearly screamed. Gretel had snuck up on us while we were talking. We never heard her. Her little voice was confident. "I know who he is. That is Officer Jefferson. He came to my day care when Jimmy wandered away from school."

  Sharon and I both looked down at her with wide eyes.

  Chapter 8: New Beginnings

  We both knew the story of the Childer's Daycare and Academy. It was one of those major news stories for a small town that catches national attention. The daycare had a teacher that was an alcoholic. At nap time, she would get a little liquid courage to help her make it through the rest of her day. Well, one day, she had too much and passed out. The kids woke up and Jimmy Milridge got up and walked out to the playground. The other kids in his class stayed put. Jimmy ran for it. He climbed the fence and made it into the woods. The manhunt for him took ten hours. Besides the police, even two of the local Boy Scout troops formed a search party and hunted him. Of course the teacher was arrested for negligence and fired by the school. Parents of the child sued, then by other parents at the school. The end result was the closing of one of the older daycare centers in the county. It was a shame that so many people lost their jobs because of one idiot. Hell, that's part of life. One moron can mess things up for everybody else. That is probably how this whole zombie thing started was from one idiot not doing their job.

  Sharon and I both looked down at Gretel. It was one of those small world things. Before we could say another word, Gretel spotted the officer had opened his eyes. She ran to him.