Surviving the Zombie Nightmare (Book 1): The Zombie Outbreak

by Daniel White

  The old neighborhood never changed. Some complained that everyone moved and such as that, but not in Eric’s neighborhood. All of the families were around the same age and most still lived in the same house they had lived in for a generation. You would think they made some secret pact. But Eric knew what his dad would say, “There’s no reason to make a pact son. You make a home and you live in it. End of story.”

  He was within sight of the house now and pulled his car onto the edge of the grass. Nothing strange caught his attention until he was on the front porch. Only then did he notice that the door was cracked open just a little. There was no sign of a break in, but his parents never left the door hanging open even a crack. It gave Eric a little bit of an uneasy feeling. He learned long ago to trust those gut instincts, so when he entered, it was slowly and carefully. The door creaked as he opened it. Inside was strangely quiet. The only light, other than that coming from the kitchen, was the flicker of a TV screen in the back den area. He wanted to call out to his family, but something told him not to. Something was wrong here and it gave him a sickening feeling. If someone had broken in and hurt his family, they would pay dearly.

  Seeing nothing out of place in the front living area, he edged around the corner into the kitchen. The oven was still on but nothing was cooking. He began to think that maybe everyone was just strangely quiet. He thought he was being over protective again and everything was probably fine. His mom would walk into the kitchen any moment and give him a great big hug. It was still one of the things that put the biggest smile on his face.

  Then he saw something that changed everything: blood.

  Blood was pooled on the floor on the other side of the island. “Shit!” Eric hissed through clenched teeth. Whoever had been attacked there was dead. His mind wouldn’t allow him to think that it was his mother. A diamond resolve to find out what was going on urged him onward. He snatched a large knife out of the drawer and quietly proceeded into the hallway. Tracks from the pool of blood suggested that the victim was dragged into another room. Eric was barely into the hallway when his heart shattered.

  “Mom, no,” he said weakly and dropped the knife. Tears rolled from his eyes as he looked at the horrific damage done to his mother. She looked like she had been mauled by a bear. Her chest was carved out, seemingly by some kind of weapon. Her eyes were blank but there was a pain in them that Eric would see every day for the rest of his life. He leaned in and closed her eyes with his hand and covered her wound with the remnants of her clothing. Eric pounded his fist on the floor. Being quiet was out of the question now as he screamed. “No! I hope you’re still here, whoever you are! I’m going to rip your fucking head off and feed it to you! Nobody hurts my family! No one does this and gets away with it!”

  The sound of the wind returned his scorn with a loud gust through an open window. Eric gathered himself, and remembered that there were other members of his family that were supposed to be home today. His Dad, of course, should be here and his brother Tony was supposed to have arrived last night.

  “Dad, Tony, are you guys here? Say something or just make a noise if you hear me! It’s Eric! Hello!” No answer came and panic began to set in. He had always been taught that hopelessness was the enemy of any fighter, and yet hopelessness had begun to set in. Louder he screamed, “Dad, can you hear me? Dad! Come on!”

  Still no answer came as he arrived at the back den where the TV was still on. A big part of him didn’t even want to look for fear of what he would see. But no one else seemed to be around and this was his family. If he didn’t avenge them, no one would. Eric noted that the sound was muted. His dad would always mute the TV if someone walked into the room to speak to him. Everything except the Super Bowl can be muted, he would say, On Super Bowl Sunday the people get muted. He walked around the corner and saw the back of his dad’s head resting on the chair he always sat in. He was facing away from Eric. Was it possible someone had knocked him out while they attacked Mom? Several ways this could have happened and his Dad left sitting in his chair ran through Eric’s mind. A voice in the back of his head was screaming to him that his dad would die first in the event of any attack, from anywhere or anyone. So why his dad would still be in the chair with his mom brutally killed? His conscious mind refused to even try to answer the question.

  He walked slowly around towards the chair, “Dad?” softly he called again, “Dad, it’s me Eric. Can you hear me?” Still no movement or answer of any kind was forthcoming from his father. Eric walked the hardest three steps he would ever have to walk. When he finally reached the third step forward he looked again at his dad.

  “No… Dad! Dad, no!” The tears started again but this time it was along with a guttural rage. Who could have gotten to his dad first and killed him like this? His face was unrecognizable. There were many deep cuts and claw marks and someone had actually poked his eyes out, and that was the least of the damage. It was hard to look at through the tears streaming down his face but Eric forced himself to keep looking. This was the image he would remember. This and the blank painful stare of his mother. He turned his head to vomit the remainder of his lunch. The tears slowly dried up as he built a dangerous level of anger and rage to a crescendo that he couldn’t wait to unleash on the person that did this.

  Suddenly he heard the first sound that he had heard since walking in that wasn’t him. He nearly jumped out of his skin as a man stood in the doorway staring at him with vacuous eyes. Shock poured over Eric in undulating quantities as his subconscious and emotions made the quick link between the beast like man in the doorway and what had happened here. Tear ducts that he thought would be dry forever began to leak once again, and he stared at the animalistic, yet all too familiar features of the man that had killed his mother and father; the only man that could have killed them like this.

  “Tony?”

  CHAPTER 3

  (present day)

  Man sharpens man, as steel sharpens steel. Even you can’t stand alone the entire time son.

  As his dad’s words ran through his head, Eric was sharpening the tip of one of his new weapons. This old warehouse had proven a treasure trove of sharp metal items that were great for building make-shift weapons. He had to look hard but what else did he have to do? He damn sure wasn’t going home for dinner any time soon. As he stalked around the empty warehouse, he almost wanted some of those God-forsaken zombies to come in here. It might be nice if they chose to wait until he finished making weapons, but really, who cared at this point? Along the way he bent and picked up tools that looked useful. Grabbing a steel rod made him think of the group of zombies he had escaped to get here. A few more made him glad he kept the other one because he was pretty sure he could create some awesome weapons with these additions. Wooden handles of several things, from axes to floor mops, made the trip as well. Finally he grabbed the old tools he had seen to finish his work and headed back to the office area.

  “Hi ya, pooch,” he said to the still following dog. “You still aren’t shooing I see. Maybe you can hang around after all.” Eric patted the large black dog on the side admiring the strength he still had in his body. The fact that such evidence, when placed alongside his collar proved he wasn’t a stray, but formerly a well taken care of animal was troubling. He wondered what kind of things the dog had seen happen to his family. Another few pets on the head, and Eric sat down in his favorite spot. “Maybe it’ll be nice to have another mammal that isn’t trying to eat me hanging around, eh?” The dog wagged his tail and barked lightly as if whispering. “What’s your name anyway?” Eric pulled the dog in closer and looked at the tag. “Bartholomew? What kind of name is that? Surely they didn’t call you that. How about Bart? Can I call you Bart?” Bartholomew came up licking and showing affection for Eric. Smiling he said, “Well, well, Bart it is then.” He noticed that this conversation with a dog was the closest he had come to smiling since seeing his old family home. “Close, but no cigar, my friend,” he said to Bart, “I don’t think my face turns
that way anymore.” Quiet set in as Bart rested nearby while Eric sharpened and crafted his implements of death.

  He looked at Bart again and would swear the dog looked sad. “Probably had to take care of things with your people the way I had to with mine, huh?” Bart’s big brown eyes looked at him curiously. Thoughts of what Bart possibly saw with his family just brought back what he had seen with his. Mom, Dad and then Tony; fucking Tony! Anger quickly built up inside and he threw the sharpened wooden handle across the room. It soared through the air until it buried itself in the drywall. Formerly a broken ax handle, likely from a fire-safety cabinet, it now was a sharp wooden stake about two inches in diameter. It was the perfect size for quick and easy handling, and Eric had used some old sand paper and other wood working tools to sharpen it down to a point. It wound up being near perfect weight for throwing as well.

  That was a good start. Sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, Eric’s dropped his head into his hands. He ran his hands through his short, but thick, brown hair. A little longer than average military length was his style of choice, but he had a feeling it would be growing longer for a while to come. It might be difficult to negotiate a few minutes of downtime with the zombies so that Gloria could give him the number three. He thought of Gloria and her large beautiful tits that would occasionally brush his arm when she trimmed his sideburns.

  A heavy sigh left his lips. Every thought of what used to be, of things that were normal yesterday, made him hurt. Thinking of his family at one time made him cry. It still would if it were not for seeing Tony’s face in the doorway. The fact that he had just seen his parents brutally murdered bodies and yet his still alive brother was the most shocking thing he would ever see, pretty much told the story. It made him wish he had more than three of those wooden stakes. Certainly he would have no problem finding the inspiration to use them. Despite the fact that the damn things were trying to kill everyone and everything within sight, it really pissed him off that they had destroyed everything he ever knew. Within a few hours his entire world was destroyed and he knew it would never be made right again.

  So he would fight.

  Bart growled as the crash of a shattering window echoed through the warehouse. Eric was on his feet quickly and peeking over the foreman’s windowsill that at one time probably looked out towards factory workers hard at their jobs. Now it looked upon a group of about a dozen humanoid looking things walking towards him. They weren’t like any zombie movies he had ever seen. They looked human for the most part, just more feral. But he could examine their bodies after they were dead. If it had been a large horde like he ran from, there would be no choice. He would have to run. But it wasn’t. He was only outnumbered twelve to one. In his current state of mind those sounded like fair odds.

  Eric didn’t dare wait for them to get to him. It was fairly easy to sprint out the side office door and climb the still mostly solid ladder up to the office ceiling. It was still under the large warehouse ceiling but was the top of the office area, roughly ten feet off of the ground. The zombies didn’t see him yet. They were incredibly ferocious and fast, but at least they weren’t very smart. It didn’t seem they would be planning ambushes any time soon. That gave him the advantage, because he loved ambushes.

  Despite his training and his natural calming confidence in his abilities, Eric’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Sure he had a plan, and he had six weapons up here ready to use. They were like a small ocean of violence coming his way. The tide wasn’t fast but it was coming as sure as the sun set. If he wasn’t ready for them, or if they were just too powerful, he would die here today. Part of him knew that was even likely. Still he didn’t care. He died the moment his confrontation at his family home ended. However long his body continued to walk around, Eric would always be a dead shell of what he at one time was. Now he was a survivor and a vindicator.

  He would fight until there was no fight left. Admittedly, he loved fighting.

  They were within throwing distance now, probably about fifteen meters away. They were all in a one deep line facing him from the horizon. That would be better if he had a rifle. He did not though and that made it harder. Still he was up for a challenge, even if it killed him.

  His hands both closed around carved wooden stakes. Tightly his fingers clinched around the make-shift handles and quickly he hopped to his feet in a crouching position. A split second later they were each headed for the two centermost zombies. They stakes caught them both in critical areas and they went down like sacks of potatoes, writhing in pain on the floor. Eric was pleased with that outcome but knew the worst was yet to come. But at least he had a plan. Not only was it a plan but it was a good one. Simply put, ‘Stay alive’ about summed it up. He made sure he had a tight grip on the two metal poles that would serve as his dual weapons for the coming battle. Then in one swift move, he leaped up off of his rigid stomach, and sprang forward off of the ceiling. It was a ten foot drop so he had to plan his landing just right. After a single forward summersault, he touched his feet to the concrete floor just before rolling forward with his stored momentum. The quickly thought of plan would have him coming up into a fighting stance just feet in front of them. There was only one problem with that part of the plan.

  It didn’t work.

  When he rolled to a fighting stance ready to strike at any walking dead he saw first, he saw nothing but the far wall. He yelled as two cold clammy hands clasped around his throat. Panic set in and he pounded blindly over his head trying to dislodge the undead attacker. The first couple of shots didn’t do much, so he struck harder and then elbowed behind him. The strike to his back fared better, but still dealt little damage since he had zero momentum to work with. Luckily the elbow worked much better and the slimy zombie stumbled backwards. Knowing that the others would be on him soon, Eric turned and violently swung the right side bar. It was powerful enough to cut through the skin on his face and send him three feet to one side. That was three down and way too many left to go. Three of them came on him in an instant. The only thing Eric could think to do was execute a backwards roll to buy some space. By the time he landed they had surged forward and were almost on him again. His ability coupled with desperation allowed him to spring back, forward flipping as they surged by underneath. When they turned as a brainless group he extended one metal pole forward, jamming the two outermost zombies in the chest. It was just enough to shove them backwards but it had the desired effect and gave him space to deal with the center one. He quickly jerked his foot upward in a straight kick to the chin, shattering teeth. The zombie was only deterred for a moment, but it was long enough for Eric to flip the right steel pole to his left hand and snatch the last remaining wooden stake from his recently made weapon sheath on his back. When he was attacked again, the wooden stake easily drove directly through his attacker’s heart.

  The other two left no time for gloating, however as they were charging in with near super-human speed. Thinking quickly, Eric grabbed both steel rods in a double fisted grip and lashed them across the first zombie’s face, and then the second with the same swing. They were perfectly stunned and both received a metal pole into the chest for their trouble. One fell quickly while the other tried to hang onto his legs like a dying animal. A vicious knee to his chin finished him off. Eric took a second to catch his breath and it nearly cost him his life. It felt like the entire remaining number of zombies plowed into his back like a wrecking ball. As he was easily lifted off of the ground and carried several feet, he realized it had to be at least a few of them. What nearly killed him was the landing. The literal pile of attackers slammed his body down onto the floor. He hit hard and awkwardly on top of one of the very first two he killed with wooden stakes. One of those wooden stakes came inches from digging through his chest. It was a close call, but there wasn’t even the smallest chance to be glad that he was still fighting.

  The pile was so thick that he couldn’t see the lights at the top of the warehouse. One of
his steel poles had been knocked from his grasp during the trip to the ground and the other was pinned to his side along with his left arm. Mobility was nearly impossible, and he began to bring quick knees up as hard as he could. It didn’t do much to hurt them but just the struggle gave them pause. Pause wouldn’t be enough for long though, and Eric knew it. He was in a bad situation and could feel death looming. The two directly on top of him were close enough for him to smell their sewage like breath. It was so terrible that he thought that alone might kill him. He had to fight the urge to vomit. Their eyes were rolled back and unfocused. As sickening as it was, he sure didn’t want it to be the last thing he saw on this earth. Along with the knees he began to add head strikes as well. He used both together to try and leverage his left arm and the only remaining weapon he had, away from its pinned and useless position.

  The one closest to him had a crushed nose that was bleeding on him, yet was still coming for him maddeningly. Luckily, it did seem to at the very least effect his aim. That allowed him to focus on the other one near the left side. Still he had so little moving space that he couldn’t quite get anything significant accomplished. If only there weren’t so many of them, maybe he’d have a chance. Suddenly as if by a miracle the weight got lighter. It wasn’t much, but lucky enough it was on the left side. He didn’t know what happened but it was a Godsend either way.

  He finally was able to get the left arm and steel pole free and instantly began wildly cracking zombies over the head. It couldn’t have come at a better time either, as he was starting to feel cuts and scratches all over him as his adrenaline surge wore off. He only hoped that whatever made these people into zombies wasn’t a communicable disease. He kept them from his vital organs and face as he methodically worked over the slowly lightening pile.