“Doesn’t bother me,” said Mary. “Can I have a gun? Lizzy has our only one, and she won’t share.”
“You are too young for that,” stated Julie.
I waved her off. “We’ll see about getting you all armed soon enough, other than the munchkins. Is there at least one gun in each car now?”
Simon turned out to have a revolver, a crappy .38 that was nowhere near as nice as mine, but it was functional. Cherie had nothing. Lizzy did have a large automatic, but not much ammo. I wasn’t inclined to share with people I didn’t know, which meant Briana and I were going to have to take responsibility for defending the others in the meantime. I realize that was selfish and a bit foolish, not to mention dangerous, but I wasn’t sure about them yet. I didn’t outright distrust any of the newcomers, but I was still determined to be careful.
Another revelation came when Lois sat down beside Lizzy and gave her a hug, then a kiss. That sorted out the nature of their relationship. Julie looked like she was going to have a stroke. Simon was a bit disgusted but not much more. Their kids didn’t seem to get it, which was just as well. Cherie and Briana couldn’t care less. As to me, well, I felt no attraction to either woman so there was no sense of informal rejection or disappointment, and while it wasn’t my thing, nor did it appeal to me, I was more concerned with how they could contribute to keeping me and Briana alive than what they did when alone, or in front of others in this case. And, yes, definitely yes, I did wonder how much they would be willing to do in front of others. Shame on me.
“You three will be riding with Cherie until we get more transportation. Tell me that you don’t want to go back into town for anything. If you have to, medicine or something you can’t live without, we’ll try it. Still, it looked like there were a whole lot of zombies in those streets.”
“Not a chance,” said Lizzy. “I got Lois. I got Mary. I’m good. And it’s crawling with the bastards.”
“Nothing compared to Omaha,” said Simon softly.
I could only imagine, but I’d press him for details later.
“We’re going to the Nebraska National Forest,” said Briana.
“Why there?” asked Mary. She seemed genuinely curious.
“Isolated, good natural resources, basically a potential place to stay long term,” she answered, “but we have some alternatives.”
“The plan,” I added, “is to get established and stocked up before winter. Then to plant crops come spring.”
“Farming?” asked Lizzy incredulously. “All this going on, and you want to farm?”
“If we don’t start farming, how long until we starve?” I replied.
“Well… I guess we’ll have to produce our own food at some point.”
“My thoughts exactly. Anyway, you all check your stuff, make lists, rest a bit, whatever you want. I’m going to see if I can’t shoot some rabbits or something for dinner. Briana, keep an eye out, will you?”
“Stay in sight,” she advised.
“I plan on it.”
I got the .22 and started walking across the field toward a thicket. Off in the distance I spotted a deer, but it bounded away. I needed a bigger rifle. The .22 was great for small game, but with so many people it would be better to have something more substantial, necessary even.
Interlude – Briana’s Story
It took nearly two weeks, but Briana finally told me the story of what happened to her during those early morning hours when a quarter of the world suddenly died. The tale was related as we sat in the Jeep, just prior to turning in for the night. I think she was feeling uneasy about those who’d joined us and what this might mean for our relationship, or maybe she was just ready to talk about it.
“Mom! No!”
The screams of her younger brother woke Briana from a sound sleep. She looked about the dark room at first, confused and uncertain of what she’d heard. Then a second cry poured from the room down the hall, and she frantically threw the covers back and rushed out, only to catch her bare foot on the door frame.
“Damn!” she hissed, falling to the floor and instinctively grasping her toes in both hands. The pain was sharp and intense.
The noise suddenly ceased.
“Mark?” she called, using the door for support as she pulled herself back on her feet. Only silence greeted her. “You okay?”
Briana slowly limped to his room and reached inside to flip the light switch. Her brother was lying on the bed, sheets tangled about his waist and legs. Mark’s throat was torn open, low, almost at the collarbone. Blood had sprayed forth, initially, coating the walls and furniture a sickly crimson. Now it oozed from the wound, staining his bare chest, running across his skin to pool against the bed sheets. There was so much of it. She couldn’t stop herself. Briana screamed.
There was movement to the side, and she whirled.
“Mom?”
The thing that had been her mother was facing away from her, slowly pacing in the corner. Then it turned, briefly setting eyes covered with a thick gray mucus on a daughter no longer recognized. There was blood all over her nightgown, and Briana couldn’t help but notice she was chewing. Nor did it take more than a heartbeat to realize what was in her mouth.
“What happened?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Mom?”
Some portion of Briana’s mind was desperately trying to deny the reality of the situation, to not believe the obvious. Her mother couldn’t have done this. She never, never would have killed her own son.
“You have to tell me. Mom? Answer me!”
The zombie just continued the slow pacing, pausing only once to swallow.
Briana lightly touched her brother’s arm, one of the few spots not soiled by his blood. “Mark?”
He was warm. He felt normal, but he was completely still, eyes staring at nothing, unblinking. Briana began to cry, the tears rolling down her face, and she reached for the telephone to dial 911. She got a busy signal. Then her mother drifted closer, and Briana instinctively jerked away, unintentionally yanking the phone from the wall.
“Shit!”
Her mother ignored her completely, and Briana returned to her own bedroom, still limping heavily. There was a telephone on her nightstand as well, but this time she received an all circuits are busy message. Briana tried again and again and again, alternating between crying and cursing as she was unable to get through.
There was a sound from the other room.
“Mom?” she called, taking a quick look.
Her little brother shambled into the hall.
“You’re alive!” It seemed impossible, and she’d been so sure, but now… “I thought you had… I’m so sorry. Mark?”
Spotting her, he immediately closed the distance, moving awkwardly, arms outstretched and mouth open.
“Say something Mark,” ordered Briana, as she hastily stepped back.
He made no response, and in a full blown panic Briana slammed the door shut before he could reach her. He immediately began to pound on it with his fists.
“Stop it!”
The knob started to turn. Quickly, Briana flipped the lock. It rattled and shook. Then the pounding resumed.
“Mark? Can you hear me? Say something.”
She tried the phone one more time, but again nothing. This couldn’t be happening. What was going on? The hammering increased. It took her a few minutes to realize her mother had joined Mark. Both were trying to get her. The paint near the hinges began to flake. It was a standard interior door designed for privacy, not security.
Looking around, Briana’s gaze settled upon her dresser. It was four feet wide, five high. She tried to move it, but it was simply too heavy. The door cracked. Screaming in frustration she knocked the television that sat atop it to the floor – it sparked and sizzled for a few seconds – and began pulling out the drawers, dumping them to the side. Briana tried again. It was difficult, and the short, stubby legs were snagging on the carpet, but she managed to move it the few feet necessary. Pushing its back against the
door and wall on either side, she stopped to take a few deep breaths.
The pounding never ceased, and after a few minutes the door frame unexpectedly gave way. The door swung in and bounced against the dresser shaking it. Her heart racing, Briana tried to put the drawers back in, to add as much weight as she could. The first went in. The second. The third drawer, full of jeans and shorts, got stuck. She couldn’t get the rails in place. It wasn’t going in!
“Stop it!” she shrieked, addressing her family, thinking, knowing, that pleading was useless. Something horrible had happened, was happening. “Please,” she sobbed.
The drawer finally slid in. The others were added. She put the television back on top. It was an old one and weighed at least twenty pounds. The door still flew inward an inch with each push, only to hit the dresser. It wasn’t enough. They were going to get through. Briana grabbed her nightstand and pushed it against the dresser, then her small desk and the chair that went with it. All kept rattling. There was nothing else to use. Wait, the bed. She shoved it over, but the positioning was bad. Sweating, Briana pulled back the nightstand and desk to make room. The dresser rattled harder than ever, and she hurriedly got the bed in place. The nightstand was piled atop it, along with the desk, along with the books she had, and anything heavy that was in her closet, even her shoes were added to the growing barricade. Finally, when there was nothing else, Briana collapsed, sitting on the dirty carpet, her back to the wall, wearing only an old nightshirt.
* * *
For hours she sat and stared at the door. The rattling never ceased. The pounding never stopped. As the sun rose she saw the wood was riddled with cracks, caused by their relentless strikes. It was slowly falling apart. That finally broke the stupor, and Briana forced herself to her feet. She tried the phone again, but the line was dead. She looked for her purse and her own cell but remembered she’d left them on the kitchen table the night before.
The power went out, and she screamed yet again. Struggling to get herself under control, Briana gingerly approached the dresser. The upper drawers had begun sliding out. Carefully, she pushed them back in place, one by one. Hesitating, she grabbed some clean underwear and shucked her nightshirt. Getting dressed, she tried to think of something else she could do. She had to make it bigger, more secure. By the time noon rolled around, everything in the room was piled against the door, extra bed sheets, school folders, her scrapbooks, framed photos hanging on the wall.
Briana found she had to pee, and the bathroom was down the hall. Disgusted and shaking – her tears had largely dried up by that point – the seventeen year old relieved herself in the closet, using an old sock to wipe. Tossing it in the corner, she closed the door in a futile attempt to mask the stench.
* * *
The remainder of the day passed with Briana listening to the endless blows. The stuff she added seemed to help though, especially the blankets that were shoved between the cracked door and the dresser. They provided enough padding that the wood didn’t seem to be deteriorating as quickly as before. Looking back on it, Briana realized she had been incredibly lucky that the door hadn’t simply shattered.
The night was no better. Unable to sleep, Briana continued to sit on the floor, staring through the darkness at the door. She prayed it would end. She hoped her mother and brother would stop, that they would go away and leave her alone. Briana didn’t want to die like this, and she was absolutely certain they would kill her, just like her mother had killed Mark. Her mother had killed her own son. She really had. The horror of it was overwhelming. Briana couldn’t deal with this, but she was unable to think of anything else, unable to distract herself. Her mind was zeroed in on the terror waiting in the hallway a few feet away, and time seemed to slow.
* * *
That dreadful night eventually ended, and the morning light showed the zombies were making progress. It wouldn’t be much longer. The makeshift barricade was coming apart, and the door itself was all but destroyed. They were going to break through. They were going to get her. Briana couldn’t think of anything else to do, save run.
Lacking any other options, the teenager unlatched the window. She struggled with the screen for a minute but managed to get it off. Then she perched on the sill, breathing hard as she prepared herself. The house was a split level construction, and the fall was over seven feet. Yet, there was grass beneath her. It should be okay. Closing her eyes, she slid off and rolled when she collided with the ground.
It was quiet outside, save for a few birds chirping, and she hurried to the garden hose. A trickle of water came out, warm and tepid, but she drank it down greedily. Then the flow ended. Briana wanted more, needed more. Mumbling to herself, she tried the other outdoor faucet, but it was the same. So much for that.
Walking to the fence, she cautiously peeked over the top. There were more of them, these things, shambling about in the street. Their eyes had that same grayish look as her mother and Mark. They must have the same… sickness? Briana had no idea what was happening, but it was bad.
Through the open window, she heard the door to her bedroom finally give way and the dresser tumble to the side with a crash. Deciding the monsters in the street were preferable to the alternative, Briana clambered over the fence and ran.
Chapter IV
The joys of being surrounded by so many women. I am, of course, referring to the fact that it took forever and then some to get going the next morning. I was ready in short order, so was Simon, but the ladies took their sweet time getting cleaned and changed. Even Briana was lagging. I think it was the influence of the others, particularly Cherie who did her best to look absolutely lovely. She clearly did not consider an ongoing disaster sufficient reason to be without perfect hair or makeup. Briana had taken one look and resumed her own preparations.
But eventually we got going, traveling north on US-83. The road was clear and driving easy until we reached Scott City. The place was crawling with zombies, and the highway, most unfortunately, went through the center of town. They’d surround us if we took that route. Worse, using binoculars I could see numerous obstructions, mostly multi-car pileups. Getting around those would be difficult and time consuming, even if the dead weren’t present in large numbers. I didn’t want to risk it.
“Just like Garden City,” observed Lizzy.
“It was like that when you ran out to find us?” asked Briana.
“Not quite as many,” she admitted. “I don’t think we’d have made it through mobs like that. Must be the entire population over there, and then some.”
“We’re not going through, are we?” asked Julie. Her lip was quivering.
“Not a chance,” I replied. “We’ll go around using the agricultural roads. Got the atlas Briana?”
“Right here.” She opened and set it on the hood of my Jeep.
“Big grid of them.” I pointed where I wanted to go. “We’ll take this, going around the town, then back to the highway. We intended to do the same at Garden City, but Stan and the convoy took a closer route, which was clear enough, so we did the same.”
“I used to use them a whole lot myself,” commented Lizzy, “great for racing.”
“Why don’t you tell them the results of that?” chimed in Mary.
Lizzy shot her a dirty look. “There were no results.”
The petite blonde laughed. “She had her license revoked.”
Julie began to glare, silently adding this to her litany of reasons to dislike the woman.
“I haven’t been on any of these in years, officially, since I’m not supposed to drive, technically.” She grimaced. “But I say pass to the west. Those are in better shape and were used less by the farmers. Tractors and combines tear up the pavement pretty fast.”
“West it is,” I said. “I’ll take the lead, and I’ll go slow. If there’s a problem honk.”
“Not too much,” added Briana. “Don’t want to attract the zombies more than we have to.”
“Yeah, good point. Change that to wave o
r something if you can. Passengers try to keep an eye on the other cars, at least till we get back on the highway.”
* * *
The advice sounded good at the time. As it was, it didn’t matter. We were even with the town, although some massive corn fields separated us from Scott City, when I saw the Bransons’ SUV swerve to the side, nearly lose control despite traveling at under twenty miles an hour, and come to a sudden stop in the middle of the road.
“What happened?” asked Briana.
“Don’t know.” I put the Jeep in reverse and began backing up. Cherie pulled up beside them, and Lizzy hopped out of the little Toyota. “A flat, I think.”
It turned out to be a blown tire, the left front one, and it had popped while sliding into a pothole, bad luck all around. Fortunately, Simon managed to keep control and didn’t roll the SUV. On the down side, Julie was in a bad state and had both her children crying as she went on about how the zombies were coming for them.
Enough!” I shouted. “Everyone, quiet down.”
They did so in short order, and I was suddenly grateful that I was the tallest, most imposing person in our group, not that I ever considered myself intimidating. But even if my appearance wasn’t the reason, it was nice to have the whole lot of them shut up.
“Do you have a spare?”
Simon nodded. “In the back, under a panel.”
I glanced at their vehicle. Like me, they’d stuffed the rear with all sorts of things which would have to be moved in order to reach the spare tire.
“Kids, don’t wander off. Mary, look after them, will you?”
“Sure thing Jacob.”
“Okay, here’s the plan. Simon and Julie will empty the back so they can get to the spare. Simon will change the tire, while Julie puts everything back, including the rim for the blown one in case we need it for something. Lizzy, go a bit that way and keep an eye out.” I pointed north. “Briana, you go the other way. If you see any zombies, let me know. Don’t shoot unless you have to. I don’t want to attract more of them.”
Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Sanctuary Page 11