As Tommy began to unzip the bag, he had the gleeful look of a proud father giving a caesarian section to his own wife, allowing her to give birth to the largest litter ever known to man. I couldn’t even begin to list all of the various assault rifles and weaponry that Tommy displayed and unpacked, but I can tell you that I was never more proud to call him friend at that moment. Due to our difference in age, I would have also offered to adopt him – if he wasn’t an adult already.
“We’re going over to Greg’s.” Tommy said with a smile and a raise of his eyebrows.
“Greg’s dead Tommy,” I said somberly thinking that he was so far gone that he forgot blowing Greg and his memories all over my front lawn.
“No, you stupid boot, I know he’s fucking dead. Well, he was dead, then I made him permanently dead remember? We’re going over to his house to finish the job.”
“Job?” I asked, honestly and thoroughly confused as Greg was a divorced bachelor living alone and couldn’t think of what could be left behind at his house.
“Remember the condition Greg was in? Did you see his mangled foot?”
Tommy could tell I understood what he was saying as my jaw about hit the floor, my eyes must have widened the size of dinner plates and I dropped a few shades of white to grey.
“We have to take care of Butch. Most likely he’s who was gnawing at Greg. We can’t have him running around loose and we can’t risk him infecting anyone else.”
Butch was Greg’s dog. Actually, Butch was more like Greg’s horse. You see, when you are technically a dog, but could wear a saddle accommodating a full size adult for a ride around the block that would make you a horse. A pony is smaller. You see, Butch was a Great Dane. This was going to suck…big time.
Chapter 9
Thankfully Tommy didn’t take his full arsenal, choosing instead to bring only his shotgun over the fine assortment of assault weapons. I grabbed my tomahawks and got the look from Tommy that equated to “Are you fucking kidding me?” before I opted to take one of my .40cal Glocks. The look Tommy gave me for choosing a hand gun wasn’t much different from that of my first choosing the tomahawks. I got the feeling that anything short of carrying a Gatling gun wasn’t going to gain his approval.
We discussed how we were going to approach Greg’s house as we were leaving. I wasn’t comfortable with the distance we would have to walk and be exposed to more possible threats, and suggested driving the car. My thought was that this would get us to and from quickly, while giving us a measure of reduced exposure and shielding from anything trying to attack us on foot.
Tommy dismissed the plan immediately, saying that it would leave us trapped in the vehicle if there were multiple attackers and we wouldn’t be able to return home without becoming the pied piper of death if we had to retreat. He suggested that we move on foot, using what little cover was available, moving slowly and methodically as to not attract attention. In a moment of compromise, I told him that I was going to bring the spare set of keys I had anyway. In the event that we had to retreat any threats while on foot, I would rather return to the car and lead them away from the area rather than back to my front door. Tommy reluctantly agreed.
After making sure that our weapons were topped off and we had spare ammunition with us, we did a quick recon from the front door and traversed out onto the porch. Once outside, the skies were still absent of any aircraft, but the resonating sound of gunfire could be heard in the distance. It was like dusk during the month leading up to the 4 of July. Those evenings when it wasn’t quite dark out, but people couldn’t resist the urge to light off their fireworks. There was an ominous sense that things weren’t going well everywhere at once, and that things were going to hell even more rapidly around us.
The plan set forth by Tommy to move on foot was working well, as we were moving at a snail’s pace. Crouched, scanning and weapons at the ready, we made our way slowly next door. The only flaw in Tommy’s plan was his suggestion of using cover. There simply wasn’t any. We were completely exposed. The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I felt like a deer feeding in an overabundant bait pile during bow hunting season. While the deer may be completely oblivious to a tree stand predator taking aim from above, we were all too aware of the eyes that may be locking onto our movement and looking to hunt us down like prey.
It was fall and cool outside, with a mild breeze kicking up the fallen leaves. It had been somewhat humid outside, with some recent rains, so at least we weren’t crunching through a path of dried leaves announcing our travels. I focused on the fact that while Tommy had discounted the zombies being attracted by odor and described their heightened sense of sight, he never discounted their ability to tune into their prey by way of sound. I was not about to break the relative silence in order to quiz him on the issue however.
We made it to the front porch of Greg’s house and the front door was wide open. There was a front decorative steel door with a screened in storm door. The steel door was open, but the storm door was closed. The screen on the door looked more like a zippered mosquito net that someone had left open. It was completely torn from top to bottom. I tried the handle on the storm door, but it was locked from the inside. I’m sure Tommy shared my thoughts of whether something had shredded the screen going in – or was it coming out? Either way, we came this far and needed to finish the job.
I turned to Tommy to coordinate our entry. He was had his shotgun poised at the entrance, but he was examining something on the ground at his feet. It was then that I had noticed something that would have been more readily apparent had I not been more focused on trying not to become something’s meal and scanning at eye level during our approach.
Coming from inside the home, through the threshold, and onto the porch was a trail. It was a trail of blood that included small bits of flesh and bone every few feet. It looked as though something had been killed recently and dragged off. I looked at Tommy and gave him a gentle push on the shoulder to get his attention. I was hoping that he wasn’t going to be so startled as to punch a new orifice into my sternum.
Tommy looked up at me, brushed past me, and leaned into the foyer. He grabbed the handle of the steel door and quietly pulled it closed. I knew what Tommy was thinking, and it was now clear what the bloody imprint was. Greg had dragged his mangled stump of a foot out of the house and through the screen to get at me. The staggered bits of flesh and bone were where his appendage struck as he lumbered out for his stroll, looking to get a meal. By closing up the front door, Tommy had just altered the plan. The house was now sealed, and there was no point in trying to put a hellhound out of his misery in a domain he had a clear advantage in protecting. I nodded to Tommy in agreement, both of us knowing that this was the best course of action. The threat was contained; there was no need for heroics. Little did we know that this would have been something best dealt with now, and not later.
We turned our attention at returning back to the house. I had taken one step off the porch, a few paces behind Tommy, when the shot rang out. About mid-block to the south from where we were at was an older man in the middle of the street. Although he was walking backwards, with his back towards us, I refer to him as older due to the fact that you could make out the gray hair with a distinct shining bald spot on the top of his head. He was wearing a long sleeve flannel shirt tucked into grey dress pants. If the hair didn’t give him away, his fashion sense betrayed him miserably.
He appeared to have a handgun of some sort and had just dropped one of three pursuers. He continued to walk backwards toward us, but appeared to be struggling with catching his breath. Or maybe it was shock from what he had just done to the crumpled body that lay in front of him. Either way, he appeared oblivious to the fact that his first pursuer may be down, but the other two were now flanking him.
We were too far away for Tommy to be effective with his shotgun, and I was going to be just as helpful with my sidearm at this distance. All I could do is let out a yell of warning to this poor soul.
&nb
sp; “Look out!” Tommy and I both yelled in unison as we began a full sprint towards the man and his attackers. Unfortunately all this did was bring his attention to us, as he swung around quickly to see where the commotion we created was coming from. As he turned to face us, it was clear that this man was older than even I had assumed. In retrospect, I don’t think he ever heard what we had actually said. The grimace on his face as he saw us revealed that he had probably lived a long and honest hard working life. He was probably living in retirement on a meager fixed income, which probably now seemed like a lottery landfall compared to the horrors now facing him in the basic fight for survival.
We ran with all the speed we could muster to close the gap on the distance between us, which now felt like miles. It was reminiscent of the dreams where you run down a hallway that keeps extending. The combination of adrenaline and tunnel vision distorted that distance, making what we saw next appear to happen as if it was viewed through a telescope.
The grimace on the man’s face turned to a smile as he saw us, but abruptly changed to a solemn stare as he struggled to understand what we were trying to communicate to him. In the blink of an eye, both of the zombies were on him with all of the force of two race dogs catching a rabbit. The two zombies colliding together from opposite sides of the man as all three figures dropped and slid on the pavement from the impact. As we continued forward we saw the man being torn to shreds by inhuman teeth. The zombies were relentless in their frenzy to feed.
One of the zombies appeared to be a middle aged man, with a gaping wound in his neck that left a blood trail and stain down his white designer dress shirt. The other man appeared to be the same age and was wearing only a pair of yellow boxers and a blue bath robe. My sick sense of survival humor made me wonder if he was an obsessed U of M fan. If that was true, Tommy was a State fan and this zombie was surely going to be on the receiving end of a game crushing loss in this end game.
In our futile attempts to save the man, or more likely in our angered reaction to approaching a battle we had already lost, we began firing. My first shot rang out and skipped off of the pavement and struck the robe wearing death dealer in the hip. Any living person would have been reeling in pain from that fragmented impact, but the only reaction from my target was a glance up as he tore the flesh off of the man’s bicep with his mouth. As he glanced upwards to see where this nuisance was coming from, I could see a large piece of flesh hanging from his gaping mouth. My next shot was well placed in the middle of his forehead, shattering his skull and splashing grey brain matter onto the pavement behind him. His body dropped with a sickening thud, all while still holding the fleshy snack in his clenched jaws.
Tommy approached the last zombie, which was bent over the old man and biting into his throat. The man appeared already dead at this point, as there was little arterial spouting and he never let out a scream. I could only hope he was knocked unconscious and had hit his head on the roadway before the feasting began. Tommy’s boomstick roared twice, as he placed two close range headshots in both of them. Three headless corpses now littered the street, that was once reserved for cars passing by and the occasional street hockey games with the neighborhood youths.
No sooner was the last shot fired when we gathered together back to back and scanned the area. We weren’t taking the chance that our activity hadn’t drawn the attention of more zombies and I wasn’t very comfortable about being out here in the open. I was longing to hightail it back home and check on Kate when we heard the scream. It came from a backyard right near us, and whoever needed help wasn’t going to be around long enough to ask twice.
Chapter 10
Tommy and I ran towards the direction of the scream and as we entered the backyard from where we were reasonably sure it had originated, we saw a young girl in a tree swinging a compound bow at two zombies that were desperately grabbing at her. It appeared that the one was almost successful as it was clutching a multi-colored laced shoe in its hand as it clawed away at the tree. The shoe obviously belonged to the girl, who was now screaming frantically as she made eye contact with us.
The zombies were so intent on feasting on the young girl, that they paid no attention to Tommy coming up from behind them. I didn’t want to risk a sloppy shot with my Glock for fear of a stray shot striking the girl, and Tommy seemed as though he was keeping track of his kills and was going for a higher kill count than me. This wasn’t a game and I didn’t care what the score was – all I knew is that there weren’t any respawns available. Tommy dispatched both zombies with two swift shots, obliterating their heads from behind. Fragments of brain matter, skull fragments and remnants of hair clung to the tree trunk like dirt on a mud flap.
Tommy and I took pause to check our surroundings of any more potential threats. We were amazed at what we saw. There was a small trail of bodies leading back to the house and all of them had arrows impaled into their skulls. It appeared that our new found friend had some quite impressive archery skills. I made quick work of recovering her shoe and arrows, handing them over to her once Tommy had helped her down from the tree. I felt obligated to proceed with the pleasantries of introductions before making haste back home. The poor girl was all of about 12 years old with long straight brown hair, big brown eyes, and the fashion sense of Punky Brewster.
“I’m Griff, and this is my friend Tommy. What’s your name sweetheart?” I asked.
“Claire. My name’s Claire. Where’s my papa?”
“Your ‘papa’?” I asked, fearing I already knew the answer to that question.
“Yeah, my grandpa. I live with him and he was trying to lead the crazy people away while I hid. They started coming after me and wouldn’t stop. I heard him shooting. Papa told me to use my bow if I needed to, and I did, but I didn’t mean to, and…” Claire began sobbing.
I held Claire her as she cried and explained that her grandfather had been killed by the crazy people. Claire cried began harder and I felt a deep regret of being so callously honest with her. The way things were going, it was clear there wasn’t much time for nurturing and consolation. The grim reality was that we needed to get this discussion over with, and back to safety, as quickly as possible.
“But he’s all I had left…” she released with a whimper.
“Then you need to come with us, Claire. We need to go, and we need to go right now.” I said sternly.
I looked over to Tommy and he nodded in agreement. I shrugged my shoulders and gave a non-verbal nod with my head while consoling Claire that there was no way we would be able to return the way we came. I was not about to back track the same path for fear we had attracted more attention with our actions, and I was damned sure I wasn’t going to expose Claire to what was left of her grandfather out front.
Luckily, we were able to make it through the back yards. Outside of a few fences that we had to make it over, the return home was much less eventful and felt much less exposed than travelling across the front yards. We made it to my front door step and it appeared that we didn’t have any unexpected guests following us home. At least something went smoothly today.
Tommy advised that he wanted to return home and that we would meet up later. I reminded Tommy of the arsenal he left on my kitchen table.
“That shit? That’s for you.”
“Tommy, the kid.” I motioned to Claire with my head. Tommy needed to curb his cussing anyway. I figured this was a good enough excuse as any to get him there.
“Oh, sorry. You keep that stuff. I brought it over for you anyway. I got my stash at home. I’ll call you in a bit.” Tommy then turned on a dime and began the short journey home.
I stood there on the front porch with Claire for a moment. I wasn’t sure if I was more horrified by all of the killing I had seen today, and the fact that I was now considered prey; or that the small armament of weapons in my kitchen were nothing more than a zombie apocalypse house warming gift from Tommy. I mean really, who lives like that? Obviously Tommy does and I was very thankful for it.
I no sooner had ushered Claire in the front door and closed it behind me when I was summoned. Any married man knows exactly what summons I am referring to. The one where your first, middle and last name are used when addressing you – ensuring that you understand both the serious nature of what is about to be discussed and that whatever is was you did to cause the summons is about to result in significant emotional trauma. Kate made it very clear, with her emphasis on using a few select cuss words in her request, that my presence was requested in the kitchen.
Knowing that if I ran out of the home my fate wouldn’t be much better, and (potentially) more physically painful, I wrapped my arm around Claire’s shoulder and began towards the kitchen. I didn’t get my first step completed when Claire stopped dead in her tracks.
“Come on Claire, I would like you to meet my wife, Kate.”
“You have got to be kidding me. I’m not going in there. I don’t even know her and whatever she has in mind to talk to you about, I don’t think that I was invited.”
“That’s because she doesn’t know you yet. I need you to come with me so that I can introduce you.”
“You need me so that she doesn’t kill you, don’t you?”
Smart kid, I thought. Which led me to do something that shames me to this day – I used Claire as a human shield as I entered the kitchen from the front room. I was very careful to make sure that Claire was the first thing that Kate saw as we entered the room.
“Oh, you poor dear! What on earth happened? Why is she here, Griff?” asked Kate as she focused on Claire as we entered the room. Now that Kate was no longer referring to me by three names and her tone changed significantly, I knew this was my opening to explain what had happened while she was resting.
Zombie Reign (Book 1): Death in Detroit Page 4