Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Family & Friends - Book 1 (Zombie Apocalypse Z Series)

by J. D. Chambliss

  Carl had always been one to speak his mind, a fact that Virginia always had a hard time accepting in her house. Mark recalled a three year period in which Carl had not even been allowed to approach the driveway. The children, even Mark had been told that Uncle Carl was 'on vacation'. It could have been the alcohol, or it could have been his abrasive personality, but despite all of that, Mark was glad his uncle was here.

  “Holy shit Carl,” Frank said. “Could you be a bit nicer?”

  “I'm thinkin' he's right,” Mark interrupted. “He knows more about this than we do--”

  “Could you not talk about shooting us in front of the girls?” Frank interrupted Mark, staring directly at Carl.

  “Look, they don't know what this...this thing IS. Word on the radio is that we're lookin' at the zombie apocalypse. We have one chance to fight this thing off, so let's get out there and keep your family safe.” Carl practically spat the words, filling the usually clean living room with the smell of whiskey and day old tobacco.

  “Virginia, get the girls to the cellar; hide there ‘til one of us says otherwise.” As Frank said this, he pushed a long pistol into her hand. It was a Colt 1911 – a weapon he'd insisted she practice with many times in the past. “If one of us comes back different, you don't hesitate. You heard Carl, shoot between the eyes and nowhere else.”

  Virginia numbly took the pistol and ushered the girls down the basement.

  “Okay, now listen up,” Carl said, looking mostly toward his brother. “There's three of us, and that's nowhere nears what we need to keep this entire farm in one piece if you know what I'm getting at. We protect this house, and this house alone. Forget the livestock, forget the barn, and forget the damn silo. Now we'll need to draw straws to decide who’s going to protect which side --”

  “I'll take the front,” Mark said.

  “I'll take the back,” Frank added.

  “Okay, fine, I'll protect the sides if'n they need protecting.”

  “Mark,” Frank said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. “From what Carl tells me, these are people you might know, people you've grown up with. If they've been turned, then they aren't anyone you know, not anymore. You shoot, and you keep shooting until your family's safe.”

  “Dad,” Mark said. “My generation has been prepared for this day, trust me.”

  Frank shot a confused look at his son but decided that this wasn't the time to pursue it. He turned back to Carl.

  “Let's get this done.”

  ***

  Jack raised his M4 and fired at yet another...thing. So far, they seemed to be spread out, but quite frankly, he had no idea where he was supposed to be going, and had no idea where to obtain extra ammunition. He'd fired off maybe eight rounds out of the sixty he'd been given, and a good portion of that had been spent figuring out just how to take the creatures down.

  Who were they? Where had they come from? Why did they look like soldiers? He briefly considered that this might be some elaborate prank by his battery commander to test his reflexes and situational awareness, but this was far too elaborate. Of course, it would make sense, given the amount of preparation he and every other private in basic training had been given for the inevitable zombie apocalypse.

  Up until now, it had been a fantasy created by the media, but could it actually be happening? If it were any other day, he might have shaken the thought off. He recalled an old news report that stated people had been taking bath salts and went on murderous rampages as a result, and many had called this the first 'zombie apocalypse. Bath salts, however, were drugs, and drugs were supposed to cause problems of this nature. He tried to dismiss the notion that the entire base had started using bath salts and ducked in between what appeared to be the space between two residential buildings. As soon as he took cover behind a trash can, he heard the familiar shuffling of footsteps against gravel and pavement. It was another one.

  Bearing in mind that he was the proud owner of 52 rounds on a base housing thousands, he decided to sit tight and wait for it to pass. His watch, the last time he'd dared to push the light button, had told him it was roughly 2:35 in the morning. If he couldn't get off-base by then, he might get lucky and run into some asshat who'd managed to sleep through the entire event. Unfortunately, the growing number of creatures was eventually going to make that impossible. He had to get off the base, and it was going to be now or never.

  He continued to crouch beside the trash can as the feet shuffled past the small space. Only when he could no longer hear the shuffling did he dare to poke his head above the side of the can. The alley was clear on both sides, but there were no familiar landmarks to be seen. Since arriving at the reception battalion and shipping across the tracks to basic training, the cadre had intentionally kept them in the dark. Apparently it was easier to train a group of soldiers, if they had no idea where they were.

  As he exited the alley, weapon held front, a gentle breeze assaulted the landscape of Fort Sill, bringing with it the foulest scent that had ever crossed Jack's path. He didn't know it at the time, but it was in fact the smell of rotting flesh.

  ***

  “It is right here,” Jill said, indicating a blue panel at the base of the rear wall of the shower room.

  “I don't understand,” Ross said. “Why is there a trap door here?”

  “It's not a trap door,” Jill said, slightly annoyed. “It's a poorly thought out maintenance hatch. The real question here is why you didn't know about it. You go to school here, right?”

  “Do I look like I use the showers?” Ross demanded. “Now, how do we get in there, it's locked.”

  “The coach keeps a spare key, and we go in there like once week.”

  “You and the coach go in there for what?”

  “Er...I meant I go in there.”

  Ross stared at her, hard.

  “Okay look, do you know how hard it is to get a volleyball scholarship? I'd do anything to get out of this hell hole after graduation...and away from...him” She whispered the word 'him' and gave a quick glance to the body behind them on the bench.

  “Well, now you don't have to do 'anything' do you?” Ross scowled.

  “You jealous?” She asked, almost playfully.

  “Let's find the damn keys,” Ross said.

  “No need, I have a copy,” She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a single, shiny key, which she slid into the lock. As soon as she did, the trap door slid open, revealing to Ross that it was no more than a thin piece of metal. It wouldn't have stood up to a full on assault, but in the current situation, making noise would have been a horrible idea.

  They crawled through the door, which was no more than two feet tall, and emerged into an open space. Ross had actually been expecting a tunnel, but it seemed that there was plenty of standing room on the other side. It was no larger than a closet, and on the other side was another small entrance, though this one was not protected by a locking door. Ross heard a click behind him. He turned his head to see Jill closing the metal door behind her, sliding the locking mechanism in place by hand. She couldn't go back for the key, but Ross figured he could safely assume zombies couldn't work keys.

  “To be honest,” Jill said. “I don't need lessons in morality from the guy who was going to shoot up the school.”

  “Wait--” Ross said.

  “I don't care,” She said. “What you do is your business, and my boyfriend was an asshole. Keep in mind though, if this zombie thing hadn't happened, you'd be in handcuffs right now.”

  He couldn't argue with her logic, so instead he followed her through the next door, crawling on hands and knees. The space behind this door did not open to a taller area. The atmosphere changed quite a bit actually. The ceiling was about three feet above his head while he was crawling, and all around him seemed to be walls of metal. He reached out with his right hand and felt the wall. It was some kind of tubing, the entire wall was composed of metal tubes, set vertical and smashed together. Further inspection showed that the tubes w
ere actually set at an angle. What the hell was this?

  “Chairs,” Jill whispered. “We're under the stage in the gym. They store chairs under here. The metal folding chairs, you know? They're on racks...the racks with the wheels.”

  “I can't see a freaking thing under here!” Ross hissed. It was true. The underside of the stage wasn't lit at all, and it seemed that no one had turned the lights in the gym on today. That was odd, to say the least.

  “Well, keep your hand on my ass, I can get us through here,” Jill said.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I'm just kidding, if you touch my ass I'll dismember you. Twice.”

  From what Ross had remembered of Jill, she was typically a very quiet individual. Though she was the girlfriend of the school jock, she'd never made any real appearances, and kept her head down. Maybe that was at the bidding of her boyfriend. Maybe this was her...off her leash.

  They were both incredibly quiet, though Ross was able to listen to the sound of her jeans dragging against the concrete. They rounded a corner, which Ross assumed was the end of the first set of chairs, and then continued on a straight path, though in the opposite direction this time. Ross noted how long even a short distance could take to traverse if you were forced to do it on your knees, and continued to think on this until Jill said: “We're here.” He completely missed that cue however, and managed to plow headfirst into her backside.

  “What did I say about touching my ass?” She hissed.

  “Sorry,” He muttered.

  “Okay, we're sitting at the front of the stage. In front of me is a door. I have to push it forward, then slide it. They don't oil this shit, so when I slide it, it's going to make some noise. Kind of a squeaky noise. I'm only going to open it up far enough for the two of us to get out, and then we're going to make a run for it.”

  “Run where?” Ross asked.

  “Run where? Where the hell do you think? Across the gym, through the door on either side of the bleachers, and then to the outside door. We get across the parking lot...and then you're on your own, got it?

  He couldn't see her face in the darkened space, but he could hear the tone in her voice. At that moment he decided to simply listen to her. He could shoot her here and kill her, but then her body would be in front of him, and he would have no way to get out from under the stage. He simply stood by while Jill pushed the door outward, which resulted in a horrifying 'clank' that had to resound through the entire gym. As she pulled the door to the left, it began to emit an infernal creaking sound that filled the large, unpadded room. Ross clamped his hands to his ears, as the sound reverberated through his entire body and caused him to squint his eyes.

  “I've got it,” Jill said.

  It took a moment, but Ross realized that the noise had in fact stopped.

  “Hey,” He said, receiving no answer. “Jill?”

  He moved forward, reaching about in the darkness, attempting to find her. What he found however, was her backside, again.

  “One more time, I swear,” Her voice seemed to be far away, and Ross quickly realized that she was attempting to crawl through the opening, and she had, in fact, opened it only far enough to accommodate the two of them. The next time he felt the air in front of him, she was gone, and he could only assume that she'd made it through.

  “I'm through,” Her voice confirmed for him.

  He moved forward on hands and knees, only to collide headfirst with the wall in front of him.

  “Little to the left,” Jill said.

  Ross moved further to the left and tried moving forward again. This time he was in fact moving through a doorway – he could feel the air pressure changing as he crossed through the opening, and became aware of a difference in the floor texture. As he pushed his body further through the opening he became stuck. The door wasn't opened wide enough.

  “One sec,” Jill said as she pulled the door open a bit further.

  Ross pulled himself the rest of the way through the opening, emerging into what he could only assume was the actual gym.

  “I still can't see anything,” Ross muttered as he stood upright.

  “The lights are out in the main hallway; that's a little odd.”

  The pair stood up, though they still couldn't see each other through the thick veil of darkness that seemed to have enveloped the whole of the gymnasium. Without saying a word, they began to walk in the same direction. Ross couldn't see her, but he could most certainly hear her footsteps, and was able to follow her directly to the door at the back of the gym. He had walked through this gym more than a few times, and he never remembered the journey being quite this long. Part of him was afraid that he might trip over something. It could be a wrestling mat or a forgotten basketball. Before today, this would have been a minor thing, but he was now considering the repercussions of injuring himself without access to a physician. What was once a simple flesh wound before, could now become infected and lead to a painful death. Which antibiotic was he supposed to use on flesh wounds again? What if he sustained an internal injury? As these things ran through his head, he managed to trip over the bleachers, banking his head on one of the wooden seats.

  “Dammit!” He nearly screamed, but managed to quiet himself just in time. Even in the darkness he could feel Jill glaring at him.

  “Ever use your legs before, dumbass?” She hissed angrily.

  Ross righted himself and walked toward Jill's voice. She could apparently see far better than he was able, as she simply grabbed him by the arm and dragged him toward the door. Next to the bleachers, Ross recalled that there was actually a small hallway, but the walls were spaced far apart, and there was really nothing to grab onto. Of course, he could search for something at the risk of running into the wall, much like he had done with the bleacher, but he instead opted to continue forward, arms out, ready to meet the wooden door. He found it, but it wouldn't open. That's right, he thought. It was one of those push bar doors. The kind that were designed to open on impact. A great door design normally, but now it could potentially be a death sentence. They might be dealing with the undead, but it was a sure bet that they could still hear, and these doors were notorious for being loud.

  Jill was already on top of it. She pushed the bar inward just enough to emit a shrill squeaking of metal against metal, and then a click as the door released. It opened, revealing a dimly lit corridor, prompting the pair to stop and listen. Nothing. It was completely silent. Ross made a run for it, knowing that the exterior door was simply down the hallway and to the left. In moments they would be outside, and this nightmare would be over. As he passed through the door, he collided with Jill who apparently had the exact same idea. The collision sent both sprawling into the corridor with a hushed 'oof'. Jill would have pummeled him then and there if it had not been for that familiar shuffling of feet and groaning around the next corner. Worse yet, it was coming from the direction of the exterior door.

  “You hear--” Ross started to say, but stopped when he saw the faint outline of Jill nodding.

  They both scrambled to their feet and looked to the end of the hallway. On the walls were blatant reminders of a time long past. Bulletin boards were filled with prom night reminders and team recruitment posters. The phrase “Go Warriors” could be seen every few feet whether they came in the form of stickers on student lockers, or poorly constructed paper banners. Directly within their view was the main office, which for some reason had been set into the hallway. The light from the main door around the corner seeped through, allowing them to see not only each other, but the hoard of slow moving creatures. Something was different, much different.

  The 'zombie' of Mr. Davis that Ross had seen was a relatively intact human being other than the eyes and the drooling. These zombies had changed completely. Their faces were dark, almost bruised, and there were multiple bulging veins visible beneath the skin. Unlike the Mr. Davis abomination, there was no mistaking these creatures for living beings.

  For the first time since the event be
gan, Ross felt fear. It had been his intention to kill several people in the school, certainly, but this was beyond anything that he could have conceived of. Though his parents had successfully beaten most of the emotions from his body over the years, he still recognized that these were, at least once, people. They were normal teenagers (unlike him), and they had lives and families. Most importantly, Ross realized that this could have happened to him just as easily. Why hadn't it happened to him? What had he and Jill been spared? A quick glance at Jill told him that her thoughts were along the same line. He instinctively began to raise his revolver, but Jill placed her hand on his wrists, pushing the gun back toward the floor.

  “It's no use,” She said flatly. “Save the bullets. There's a door down the other way, we'll take it.”

  Ross didn't even bother to ask her where the door in question would lead. It honestly didn't matter at this point. They turned toward the opposite direction and plunged themselves down yet another darkened hallway, toward the sounds of the dead, hoping for the best.

  ***

  Mark wiped the sweat from his eyes and looked forward once again. They were still coming! Not hundreds of them, but enough to be a minor, terrifying nuisance. Shot after shot rang out from his modified AR-15 but it simply wasn't enough. He watched yet another round tear through the skull of a former neighbor. This time he was almost certain he'd killed his ninth grade biology teacher. He stopped firing for a moment to listen for other gunshots.

  He heard a shot from the other side of the house, his uncle was still alive, though he wasn't certain how much that mattered to him at the moment. He continued to listen...where was that second shot? He turned his attention back to the rifle, which was resting in his hands stop a wooden supply box his father had built by hand several years before. Because he assumed no one would be shooting back, he'd determined this box to be an outstanding place to take cover. Atop the box, he'd set a few extra magazines and had spent the past half hour or possibly more firing at what he could only surmise were the undead. He stared down the iron sights once more, squeezing the trigger and eliminating another 'walker' that dared to cross in front of him.