Carefully, the chaos was observed. At the usually busy intersection a yellow blinking stoplight was on the fritz. To the left, fire trucks and police cars were appearing abandoned, still parked at the burnt down store. No officer’s or firemen remained. Center the road, to Mark’s dismay, many crashed, stalled vehicles with no drivers around to exchange information was taking up space. Dazed, a moment of rest was needed. Looking for signs of life, strangely there was no one. Just when he thought he was alone, from the bushes a man in a business suit appeared—wielding an axe. Around at the driver-side-door—the stranger quickly jerked the handle. Mark laid down on the gas and took a right as the crazed man gave chase in what appeared to be a failed carjacking.
Mark’s heart was now pounding—especially having realized that zombies weren’t all that there was to fear. It now seemed that almost anyone could act out irrationally, giving his trip home an almost every man for himself kind of feel.
Further down the unusually empty stretch of road— another set of wrecked and abandoned vehicles could be seen.
The brakes grinded at one point, just enough to keep good distance till a judgment could be made of how to proceed. Having stopped in wait, with a car speeding down behind him and then one screeching towards him in the other lane, it was decided to hurry around the wreckage. Easing around the debris in the road, the speeding car from his rear had caught up, riding his bumper—flashing its lights and honking its horn. Approaching Gatlinburg, cars exiting the tourist packed town became quite consistent. Pursued by a crazed driver and proceeded by lines of scared, panic-stricken motorists fleeing the town in the other lane, his only concern now was getting turned around. Could Gatlinburg now be a deathtrap?
Mark felt a bump against the back end of his newly acquired 4WD. In an instant Mark tapped his brakes—causing the advancing motorist to slightly lose control of his vehicle. Each vehicle exiting town soon turned to gridlock. Turning around wasn’t much of an option. In a constant struggle to keep his vehicle under control as the crazed driver began to bump and brush up against it, a decision was made. Nearing a small wooded area of mountain land near the outskirts of town, having turned on his hazard lights, Mark began slowing down, trying to get the crazed motorist behind him to come to a non-physical stop. From the rearview mirror, the vehicle behind him could be seen gearing up in preparation to ram him. Having stopped, and after gathering his things, Mark exited the vehicle—out to the safety of many roadside trees nearby.
“Get back here!” a loud, rough voice cried out.
Mark stood in the shadowed cover of the light brownish, red, orange, and yellow colored shade trees, looking back at the tattoo-covered man with a shaved head. The man was now brandishing a switchblade as he stood beside his stalled car.
Mark felt no need to take any chance. The man’s intentions were pretty clear. On foot, many stalled vehicles could now be seen from off in the woods, and on both sides of the road. Atop a steep, grass covered hill, the fact that town was forged between that of two mountains was evident. With vast, lush wilderness all around, the sight was kind of relaxing. As he took off through the woods, staying close to the roads’ edge, but hid from all the madness, town was coming up. Hidden within the trees, upset motorists could be seen, all of whom were stalled and unable to leave as numerous traffic accidents continued to block the road out of town.
The distance home seemed too great. Without a vehicle there was no telling how long it would take to arrive back at his house. The stress was immense as the buildup of emotion was finally starting to get to him. Questions of whether or not he would ever see his dad and brother again were looming heavily. Questions of whether or not Stephanie was okay seemed to make the walk back into town that much more difficult. Just a little over a week prior Mark was a normal college student, working his way through school. Now he was alone, trekking through the woods, miles from home without a vehicle, and on top of all that the infected were dying off and coming back to life.
A lot had changed in only a week. And things were only getting worse. Each step, Mark battled uncertainty, and the non-wavering feeling that his dad was now a missing person who quite possibly should be presumed dead. Mark’s co-workers were now dead, resurrected zombies. The sight was terrifying. In dealing with mental anguish, and suffering through the physical pain of a badly bruised shoulder, after having gathered his thoughts, the first sign of buildings were spotted. Given a sense of urgency, cars could be heard laying down on their horns. To the experienced individual, adept at staying out of trouble, the noise was not a good sign of things to come. The zombie outbreak was now in full swing.
Approaching the entrance into town, and from the bushes, a wood post sign could be seen. Following the direction of a big sign carved atop a wooden Black Bear statue, it stated, “Welcome to Gatlinburg, enjoy your stay.”
A bank near possibly tainted water was covered with big limestone rocks and led directly down into the creek itself. Over the bridge or under; either option was feared unsafe. Sounds of madness continued to echo. From the tree line, over near green shrubbery, a trail led to a downed oak lying across from one side of the bank to the next.
Mark walked carefully across the slick tree—jumping off prematurely onto the dry bank with only a few more steps to go. There was no place to hide. Rocks of all shapes and sizes made it difficult to walk. Mark quickly made his way underneath the small wooden bridge to hide. Cars continued to honk their horns. Commotion above Mark’s location drew little relief even as peaceful as the underneath of the shady old bridge could have been as a cool breeze began blowing with the sound of the creek rushing past. The sounds of cars honking immediately turned to screams of terror and panic. Peeking from underneath the bottom of the old wooden bridge, each stalled motorist was now trapped with nowhere to go as a vicious horde of killer, blood-covered zombies of all shapes and sizes made their way down the street. Hiding behind a bush, just out of sight near an old antique’s shop, it was figured angry motorists continuing to lay down on their horns, seemingly added to the approaching horde. Many panic-stricken motorists with nowhere to turn began ramming one another, attempting to turn around. More and more zombies arrived over near the bridge. They began relentlessly smashing and pounding atop the many stalled, obnoxiously honking vehicles.
Clutter and debris quickly began to litter the street. Busted up vehicles, having crashed into fences and signs did all that they could to get away—to no avail. Toppled trashcans only added to the mess. Desperate to get away, anyone trapped in their car began exiting. Attempting to flee on foot with bloodthirsty, killer zombies around was a bad idea. The numbers were just too great. The area of town was too small. The growing zombie numbers quickly overwhelmed. Anyone fleeing was instantly backed into a corner; anyone too slow to get away was immediately slaughtered. All Mark could do was watch in horror.
As the horde of zombies pounced on the unfortunate pedestrians, from behind the bushes, Mark stepped hurriedly out into the open. Hungry, unoccupied zombies immediately noticed. Mark lifted his handgun and shot an approaching zombie precisely in the head, watching briefly till it dropped to the concrete. Nearing a winery, a couple of hideous, blood-soaked zombies opposite the sidewalk crossed slowly, but anxiously between a row of empty and abandoned vehicles, giving chase. Out of sight, zombies frantically searched Mark’s last spotted area for fresh kill. Mark took a deep breath—using the multitudes of abandoned vehicles to hide behind, ducking down as he ran for his life.
Through the streets, the smell of caramel apples and funnel cake somehow remained fresh in the air coming from a set of nearby bakeries. Amongst the devastation, a handful of shops were appearing boarded up. At an intersection, many signs displaying the words soda, popcorn, fun, and games that once could hardly go unnoticed was drown out due to the many apparent dangers in the area. Continuing down the street near an old-style country candy shop, from out on the sidewalk actual patrons could be seen inside gathered against the glass watching in terror of
what was taking place.
With nowhere to turn, a little further on up a young voice cried out. “Hey, hurry! This way!”
Down a dim hall near a small set of stairs stood a teenage boy, younger than Mark. “Quickly! We have to get the door closed,” said the young stranger, fearfully. “Holy cow.”
The door slammed shut, just as Mark stepped in and began to catch his breath. The candle lit room revealed the office of what appeared to be some sort of oddities and unexplained mysteries museum. “Thanks, I thought I was a goner for sure,” Mark said, still gasping for air.
“No problem! Are you some sort of doctor?” the young man asked.
Mark looked around at all of the strange artifacts hanging on the walls. “Oh, my scrubs. No, I’m actually just a nurse’s assistant, but I’ve been in school for over two years to become a nurse.”
“My mom was a nurse. She’s actually some kind of zombie creature now. She got bit… then eventually attacked and killed my dad, who was the curator here. I ended up having to put them both down after we all ended up getting held up in here. By the way I’m James… James Rogers.”
“Nice to meet you, James. I believe you just about saved my life just now. I’m Mark Smith by the way. You’re doing well to have just seen your family pass. I fear my father Mike might have died,” Mark said sadly, sitting his duffle bag down.
“Yeah, well I’ve already made my peace. I’ve placed them in a set of really old 10th century caskets that we had on display. Then I said my goodbyes. The hardest part was after my mom had come back to life and killed my dad… I had to put them both down. So, I went to the museum’s showcase and got out our old set of 14th century vampire hunting tools, used by Van Helsing’s apprentice himself. Once they tried to attack me—well I rammed stakes through their skulls—knowing that they were actually zombies and not vampires,” James said, struggling for more to say.
Mark looked around troubled. “You did what you had to do. I’m just glad that you knew that they were zombies. Because, zombies are real—and they’re gathered right outside that door waiting on us to make a mistake.”
“Yep.”
“Are you going to show me around?” Mark asked, placing his pistol into the waistband of his scrubs.
“Ha! Follow me!” James said, giving a quick chuckle.
The next room of the large three story building filled with strange objects, rare finds, and oddities from all around the world was sort of unsettling, but somehow welcoming. Mark remembered paying almost fifteen dollars once before to come in and tour the museum. A lot of the items were antique, strange antiques, items tagged with neat little stories of how they were discovered and what they were used for. Entering into the main lobby rested the world’s tiniest pistol, a single fire weapon that could only kill a man given a shot through the ear canal. Outside the dim flicker of candle light sat the hand of a supposed Yeti, also an ancient Egyptian mummy caught Mark’s eye.
“Have you given any thought about how to get out of here?” Mark asked, looking around at the old-style weaponry hanging on the wall.
“I’m not going anywhere. Besides the Army will come in and clean things up,” James said.
“I understand. But, I have to go. What do you plan on doing once you run out of food and water?” Mark asked, a little concerned as he walked over to the weapons case before taking an old-century Samurai sword from off the shelf.
James looked around the room, weighing his options. “Be careful with that! It’s sharp. I got a whole soda and vending machine rigged up, don’t even take quarters, but your right it want last long. I might be able to swing next door to Mr. Ling’s restaurant.”
“That might be kind of difficult getting over there… didn’t you see what was gathering? We need to get somewhere safe—with lots of food and clean water,” Mark explained, admiring the beauty of the sharp sword while testing its weight.
“I just don’t know. I don’t know if I should leave. And I really don’t want to. Besides… my parents.”
Mark could tell by James’s voice that he was upset. “Well, it’s up to you if you want to come. If I can I’ll come back to check on you if things don’t get any better, cause I just don’t feel like this place is safe. I need to get back to my family,” Mark said, peeking out the window at the growing number of blood-drenched zombies roaming out front of the museum.
“That’s cool.”
“Can I hold on to this?” Mark asked, politely, continuing to practice using the sword, almost enthralled with its beauty and design.
“If you plan on bringing it back sometime,” James insisted.
Mark took the katana sword’s holster, placing it around his neck and over his still badly bruised shoulder, dropping it down across his back.
James looked around the museum. “Go on, take what you need. I got what I want,” he said, pointing over to a rare, first production, lever rifle hanging back behind the counter near the register. Mark nodded as he went and picked up a rare, 1950’s, Remington, gut hook knife with holster before kneeling down to secure it around his thigh. Mark felt obliged, walking around the museum display case. “How about these? Mark asked. “Beautifully crafted; custom grips.”
The two revolvers were old-west style Colt .45 revolvers. Legend had it, they supposedly had once been used by an outlaw in the James gang. Putting on the belt, then fastening the buckle—Mark quickly crossed his arms at the wrist—drawing both pistols as if he was in a quick draw contest with himself in the mirror.
Besides the six-shooters and samurai sword, an old pump action shotgun was removed from off of the shelf. Shell castings were collected. “I believe a change of clothing is in order,” Mark said. “I’m tired of these scrubs. Do you have anything I can change into? A pair of blue jeans and a long sleeve shirt… a suit of armor perhaps?”
Outside the museum, outside the window overlooking town, it was evident that the gathering number of zombies had grown. The undead were almost trampling one another to get a better look at the museum’s exterior door.
“I know a way out!” James said. “Follow me to the basement.”
Following, Mark held the flashlight steadily, descending down the stairwell.
“This building use to be attached to the one next door. All of those things saw you come in here. If we can get these two walls down, we’ll be able to enter into the Japanese restaurant next door. That will be awesome for both of us,” James said as he pulled out a sledgehammer from inside a large toolbox kept underneath the stairwell.
“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Mark said, shinning the flashlight around the room.
“Well this building and the one next door were originally owned by the same person and this use to just be a hall over to the next building. I believe they call it a partition-wall or something like that.”
Mark watched as James took the sledgehammer over to the thick brick wall, just before raring back with all his strength—hitting it solidly in the middle portion with enough force that it began to crack and crumble into pieces. As Mark continued to shine the light he stood by resting his hurt shoulder—watching as the wall now was almost completely demolished. Examining the long dark tunnel—the smell of mildew emanating was revolting. James followed Mark into the tunnel, shining the light all the way to the halls dead-end.
The two led by the flashlight began stepping over filthy mud puddles and dodging drops of water falling from the dark tunnels ceiling.
“Ah!” James screamed. The sight of a large rat running across his foot startled him.
Mark pulled out his pistol, unsure as to what to expect on the other side of the tunnel. Easing their way through the small, jagged opening into the next room, they began to build up the courage to look further on into the seemingly empty chamber.
“Follow me,” Mark said.
“Well, you should have enough food,” Mark said, shining the flashlight around into the basement of Mr. Lings Japanese restaurant. With no apparent danger, the two continued to
look around outside of the restaurant’s freezer. The two passed on the opportunity to look inside as they searched for the stairwell up to the kitchen.
“Clack!” The two heard a noise from somewhere over by the grill.
Shining the flashlight around the dark kitchen, James became sacred. “Who’s there?”
“Quiet!” Mark whispered.
Mark slowly walked towards the sound of the noise, entering down a narrow, darkened hall, shining his light towards the intersection of doors used as some sort of office area. Walking up carefully, they shined the light into the first room. As soon as the office became illuminated, an ominous figure arose as it had been huddled over and devouring a corpse. The gruesome zombie charged down the short hall, just as the pair backed swiftly away into the kitchen.
With only minimal light from the flashlight, Mark waited till the zombie got close enough that he couldn’t miss, assuring a kill shot. Aimed directly at the zombie, the shot hit the undead monster clean in the head as it was only a few feet away from the gun. James walked around to one side of the kitchen counter, getting comfortable as the attack had got him shaken.
“That’s Mr. Ling… his wife’s in the other room,” James said, peering down at the corpse.
“Did you know them?” Mark asked. “Yep! Their food was awesome. And they were real good friends with my parents.”
Mark bowed his head for a moment. “Once we find out more about this virus, maybe someone will be able to find a cure.”
The two began to further search the restaurant for dangers. After a few misidentifications and scares, no one else was found as Mr. Ling and his wife were the only two in the building. All doors and exits were locked and secured. The building was not just only a nice Japanese style restaurant, but had also been home to the Ling’s. The 3rd floor was where the restaurant owners lived and would retire of a night.
Way of the Undead Page 9