by Todd Sprague
In the distance, back the way they’d come, a few running Zeds could be seen heading for them. Beyond that, a larger crowd of undead shambled more slowly in their direction.
“I think the fresher ones are the ones running,” Roger said to John.
“I think you’re right. Maybe rigor mortis slows them down or something,” John said. “Let’s get this gate open and get inside before they get here.”
Roy climbed up onto the hood of the truck and began scaling the fence. He climbed over the top and let himself down the other side. He entered the guard shack. A few moments later, the gate rolled to the side, and Morgan drove the pickup through. As soon as it reached the other side, Roy closed the gate.
As Roy climbed back up into the truck, the first of the running Zeds reached the gate. It clawed ineffectually at the gate, moaning in frustration. Bloody jaws bit the metal of the gate, but did not get through. More Zeds began to arrive, and soon a small crowd of them bit and clawed at the gate and surrounding fence.
“Let’s get this over with. I don’t want any of them figuring out how to climb while we’re in here.” John said, pounding on the roof of the pickup.
Morgan drove the pickup right up to the loading dock. A trailer stood in the bay next to them, doors open, with a Volvo tractor attached to it.
“Looks like this one had just arrived, or was just getting ready to leave. Keys are still in it!” Roger yelled, opening the driver’s side door of the big Volvo.
The group, with the exception of Morgan, who stood guard outside, entered the warehouse. As they walked over to the open truck, a Zed in a blue coverall ran from the back of the empty trailer right at them, moaning so loudly it sounded like a roar. John raised his MP5 and shot three times. The creature stumbled to the ground, but lurched back to its feet. Harold raised his rifle and put a bullet right between its eyes. Roy screamed.
“Goddamn it!” Roy yelled as the Zed flopped to the floor. “I pissed myself!”
Roger laughed as Roy walked past him, one shoe squishing wetly with each step.
The trailer lay empty, a forklift parked right in front of the bay. The group walked through the warehouse, looking for other undead. Two more Zeds wearing coveralls were found in the back, along with the remains of several other workers. Both Zeds were put down with several shots each. The men stood looking at the remains.
“How come those guys aren’t zombies too?” Roy asked, pointing to the other bodies.
“Zeds...we’re calling them Zeds, little Pee Pee.” Roger said to Roy.
“Look at the bodies. They all have head wounds. Bites through the skulls. Looks like they can’t turn if the brain gets messed up first.” John pointed out. “Alright, place looks clear. Let’s get what we came for and get out of here.”
They went back to the truck and got the forklift running. The next hour was spent selecting what food items they wanted and pointing them out to Harold who was following them around in the fork lift. They selected pallets of oatmeal, rice, canned vegetables, canned meat, pasta, cooking oil, and other things. Harold picked up each pallet and loaded them into the trailer. As he was loading a pallet of pickles and olives into the truck, Morgan came running in.
“The fence is buckling!” He shouted. “We need to move.”
Though the truck was only three quarters full, they decided to go. As Roger pulled the truck out, John ran in to the loading dock office. He grabbed several walkie talkies and a charging stand from the office and ran out to the truck. The fence was just toppling to the ground as John joined the others at the trucks. Zeds began pouring through the breach, running straight for the group.
John threw a walkie talkie to Roger.
“Roy, go with Roger. Follow us to exit four!” John yelled, squeezing into the cab of the pickup truck with Harold and Morgan. “Gun it! Go right through them!” he yelled.
Morgan pointed the pickup right at the oncoming Zeds. He slammed into the first of the creatures, causing it to burst like a meat filled balloon. Roger followed them, more slowly but just as powerfully. They smashed through the crowd of Zeds, running them down like wheat before a scythe. Blood covered the pickup truck from front to back. The big tractor trailer behind mopped up any stragglers. John watched the back of the pickup truck, his MP5 trained out the sliding rear window, but nothing made it that far. Stacks of rifles bounced around in back, crates and boxes of ammunition spilling all over the bed floor.
Finally they were through the throng of undead, making their way toward the highway. The few Zeds still mobile tried to follow them but were quickly left behind as the trucks turned onto the Interstate.
The walkie talkie in John’s shirt pocket crackled to life. “Where we headed?” Roger’s voice, though crackly, rang out in the little truck cab.
“State garage off exit 4.”
The radio was silent for several minutes. Finally, Roger came back on the radio. “Hot damn, John! Now you’re thinking!”
* * *
Forty minutes later, John sat in the cab of a big orange dump truck with the words “Highway Department” stenciled on the door, a huge V-shaped snow plow attached to the front. It had taken them almost a half hour to attach the snow plow, but they’d finally managed it. John drove the big dump truck with Morgan and Harold following him in the pickup truck. Roger brought up the rear of the little caravan driving the Volvo tractor trailer.
They cruised along Interstate 91 at nearly 50 miles an hour. They left the Interstate at exit 2 and drove through West Brattleboro, John using the snow plow as a battering ram, pushing stalled or crashed cars out of the way, slowing only as much as necessary. Roger kept him updated about any Zeds following them, but they maintained a high enough speed that any Zeds were left behind.
When they were less than half a mile from the pass through the ledges, John thought he heard gunfire. The big dump truck was so loud, however, that he couldn’t be sure. As he rounded the bend and the pass came in to sight, he slammed on the brakes. The tires squealed as the lumbering dump truck slowed, then stopped. Morgan and Roger both brought their vehicles to screeching halts as well.
Up ahead, John saw about a dozen Zeds all clamoring at a metal shipping container sitting across the road, plus half a dozen more headless on the ground. Standing on top of the container, two women fired guns down into the crowd. A Zed dropped, its head split wide open. John recognized Sara as one of the women but couldn’t yet tell who the other was. Sara began waving frantically to John.
John couldn’t see any way for them to get the trucks through without first killing the Zeds, so he pulled the dump truck closer to the barrier. He grabbed his MP5 and climbed out onto the side of the truck, through the driver’s side window, and up onto the roof. From his safe vantage point, he moved the selector on the MP5 to single fire and began shooting at the Zeds. Between his careful shooting, Sara’s point blank fire, and the other woman’s more random shooting, the crowd of undead began to thin.
“Is that Alison’s friend?” Harold asked, coming up to the side of the dump truck. He fired his 30-30, and another Zed fell.
“Her girlfriend, Dad. Marta. And yeah, that’s her,” John yelled down to his father. “Get up here.”
Harold slung his rifle over his shoulder and began to climb up the side of the truck. John reached his left hand down without looking, his right hand keeping his submachine gun trained on the four Zeds remaining at the barricade.
“Aaah!” Harold yelled out. John looked down, just as a female Zed in a dirty, ragged sundress ripped a bloody chunk of flesh from Harold’s left leg with her teeth. John brought his MP5 around and shot the woman in the face. He pulled the trigger again and again, the woman’s head becoming a bloody pulp before she finally fell. Harold hung there, screaming in agony. Roy ran up and stared in shock at Harold.
“Help Sara. Kill those fucking monsters!” John yelled, pulling his father up onto the roof. He pressed his hand over his father’s wound as he laid him down on the roof of the truck.
Between Roy, Sara, and Marta, the four remaining Zeds quickly fell. Sara and Marta disappeared down a ladder on the other side of the barricade.
John kept pressure on the wound, but blood spurted out between his hands faster than he could hold it in.
“Dammit, son. I didn’t see her. She must have been a straggler in the woods.” Harold said, clenching his teeth against the pain.
“It’s okay, Dad. It’s just a flesh wound. I’ve got first aid supplies back at the cabin.”
Harold pulled John’s hand away from his leg, letting the blood flow freely across the roof of the dump truck.
“Forget it, John. The news said bites are one hundred percent fatal. I’m not coming back as one of those...things.” Harold spat the last word out as if it tasted bad.
“We don’t know that for sure, dad. Just hold on,” John said. The barricade began to move aside, the sound of a tractor growling behind it.
Harold looked at John grimly. “Tell your mother I won’t be home for dinner. She knows the rest.” He pulled the .357 from his waistband. “It was good enough for Dan, it’s good enough for me.”
John reached for the pistol but Harold was quicker. He clamped his lips down on the barrel and pulled the trigger.
* * *
John drove the dump truck through the barricade, followed by the pickup and the tractor trailer. Sara pushed the shipping container back into place with the orange Kubota tractor. Harold’s body lay in the passenger seat, covered by John’s shirt.
They parked the vehicles in the driveway, with the tractor trailer half on the lawn of Harold and June’s house.
John’s mother was waiting for them, along with most of the other members of the Mason clan. Wordlessly, John got out and walked to the passenger side. He opened the door and lifted his father’s body out of the seat. Gently, he laid his father down on his lawn.
June came and stood beside John. They hugged, June crying silently. Sara drove the orange tractor into the driveway, parked it, and ran over to John.
“Oh god,” she said, hugging John and June at the same time. “John,” she whispered, tears starting to spring from her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Long minutes passed. Family members came and hugged June, while Sara held her husband. Some relatives spoke words of comfort, though no one really listened. Finally, John looked up from his father’s body.
“Sara, why were you and Marta out there on the barricade alone?”
Sara looked over at Douglas. “Because Doug told everybody that the barricade was enough, that nothing could get through.” She was still crying a little bit. Her sadness and anger towards Douglas made her words come out slower than normal as she remembered the scene. “Patrick and Kurt were up at the other barricade, putting that one into place. When I asked for people to go watch the barricade, Doug told them they didn’t have to listen to me, that I was just a stupid girl. Marta called him an asshole and came with me.
We thought they were going to climb up and get us. I tried to get Marta to go for help but she wouldn’t leave me. John, I was so scared.” Her voice broke off as her crying resumed.
John looked across the crowd of family members. Douglas stood on the other side, on the very edge of the crowd. He noticed John’s gaze and paled. John stormed over to him, shoving people out of the way. He grabbed his cousin by the front of his shirt and pulled him close.
Douglas resisted, slapping at John’s hands. “Get your fucking hands off me!” He yelled.
John punched him square in the face. Still holding him up, he punched him again. Everyone grew quiet, staring.
“Never. Again. Doug.” John said, punctuating each word with a punch. He dragged the barely conscious man over to Harold’s body. He shoved Douglas down to the ground, and pulled the shirt off his father’s face. Douglas stared into the dead man’s eyes, at the tragic mess that had been John’s father. “This is your fault.”
“Wha...what? No, I didn’t...” Douglas stammered, trying to back away from the body.
“You left them to fight alone! This could have been them too. My fucking wife, Doug. It could have been all of us.”
Douglas slumped to the ground, defeated. “I’m sorry,” he began repeating over and over.
* * *
They buried Harold later that night, after they’d had a simple service. A bonfire was lit, and people gathered around the grave. All except for Douglas, who manned the barricade by himself, a radio next to him with instructions to call for help at the first sign of Zed activity. John placed a simple wooden marker at the head of the grave, behind Harold’s house. He looked around. I wonder how many more we’ll have to put here before this is over, he thought grimly.
John and Sara sat up with June until she fell asleep. She looked as if she’d aged a decade in one day, Sara told John later. He agreed with her.
Finally they walked back to their little cabin. Princess woke up from her nap on the porch as they arrived. She woofed happily at them as they ruffled her fur.
John took Sara into his arms as they stood on the porch, listening to the crickets chirping in grass. “You did good today, Sara. Real good. I am so proud of you. You know that, right? That what Doug said isn’t true, about you being a stupid girl?”
Sara kissed her husband’s bearded chin. “Of course I know, John, You’re not so bad yourself, big guy,” she said, smiling up at him.
That night before bed, John went down to the cabin’s basement. He pulled a dusty cover off from a little table. A short wave radio sat on the table. The radio was plugged into the wall, though a small car battery sat ready next to the table, on the floor.
John switched the radio on, tured the dial to a certain frequency, and spoke. It took several tries, but finally, someone answered. John picked up a pencil and began writing on a little notepad.
He listened to every voice, strangers all, as they spoke, seeking help, advice, or just another living soul to talk to. Important bits of news made it to John’s notepad.
Soldiers seen at Cheyenne. Groups of survivors in Omaha, Chattanooga, Reno, Houston, a few other places. Isolated individuals in some places as well. Alaska safe. Europe and Africa gone. Men in camouflage seen executing the living as well as the dead.
John frowned at this last bit of information, but did not respond. Not yet, he thought to himself.
He shared the news of other groups of survivors with Sara as they lay in bed, but said nothing about the camouflaged men. He frowned, wondering why Jcon14 hadn’t answered his calls.
That night, the nightmares were of his father.
Chapter 8
September 24, 2010
Brattleboro, Vermont.
John woke to the sounds of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen. The smell of coffee and frying bacon permeated the air and brought a smile to his face. He swung his feet out of bed and stood up, pulling on his shorts and stepping into his slippers. He headed out to the kitchen and found Sara putting plates of bacon and eggs on the table. Sneaking up behind her he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.
Sara giggled. “I heard you coming. You don’t exactly exude stealth, you know.”
“What are you talking about, I’m a friggin’ ninja!” John exclaimed indignantly.
“Okay dear. Whatever you say.” She rolled her eyes and poured steaming hot coffee into two cups. They sat down at the table, ate their breakfast and talked about the past day’s events. John avoided the subject of his father as much as he could, and Sara didn’t press the issue. When they were finished, Sara picked up the dirty plates and carried them to the little sink. As she began washing them, she turned back to John.
“What are you going to do today, hon?”
“Well, we got a lot of supplies yesterday, we’ll need to take an inventory and see about the best way to store them. Nothing in that truck needs to be refrigerated, but it shouldn’t be left out to bake in the sun either,” John sipped at his coffee. “Also, we managed to get quite a few guns that I�
��d like to see divvied up, and then everyone should practice a little. We have enough ammo to spare a little for training.”
“That sounds good. I’d like to plan something for tonight, if you think everyone would go for it.”
“Oh? What did you have in mind?” John raised his eyebrows as he smiled at Sara.
“I thought we could have a big party and use up some of the fresh food and the stuff that needs to be refrigerated before we lose the electricity. I think people need it. Yesterday was bad, and not just because of your dad. I could use some distraction to take my mind off of things, John.”
He nodded to her. “I know. I didn’t help anything by going off on Doug like that. He’s an asshole, but he’s family, and right now, that’s all we have. And I am trying not to hold a grudge against everyone who listened to him yesterday. We’re going to have to learn from yesterday, and then put it behind us.”
“Speaking of family, when can we go get Mom, Dad, and Jose?” Sara faced away from John, trying not to let him see the tears forming in her eyes.
John frowned. “I will take Morgan or Truck out the day after tomorrow and see if we can get to them. I don’t know what the border will be like, but we’ll try. We’ll take the dump truck.”
Sara tried not to show her disappointment, but John came over and hugged her anyway. “I know, Sara. I’m sorry we left them. If I’d known how fast things would go to hell, I wouldn’t have left without them.”
“John, you know my dad wouldn’t have come, he’s too stubborn. But now... maybe.”
They finished their coffee in silence, thinking about the day ahead.
John and Sara dressed and were just walking out the door together when Princess started barking. She raced out of the house and past them, barking and growling worse than she ever had before. The couple took off at a run, trying to catch up with her. She ran out into the driveway, and behind Patrick Mason’s house. Sara managed to get around the house first, with John right behind her. As they rounded the corner, they saw Princess facing off against a Zed. The creature was missing its left arm and part of its face, but didn’t seem to be bothered by the damage as it advanced on Princess. Pine needles were matted into the bloody face and shoulder.