“Shhhh Please stop! You can’t be doing this! PLEASE SHUT UP!!”
The dog seemed to understand and stopped barking but continued to growl.
“Ok, I’m going to go but I’ll leave the door open so if you want to come out you can.”
She left the bathroom knowing she had to figure out a way to block the deaders from getting up to her level. “FIRE!” she could set a fire at the top of the stairs to block them from coming up. The rails were metal and the stairs were concrete so she hoped she wouldn’t set the whole place on fire. She ran to the landing to see if they were coming, a couple had made it to the first landing but they looked confused on what to do next, Ceara wasn’t going to count on luck, she ran back into the first apartment and grabbed anything paper. She grabbed anything that was small and could burn easy. Whoever lived there loved wicker baskets and Ceara loved them for it. She grabbed four baskets stuffing them full off old newspaper and magazines.
Going back to the landing she set them all in a row and pull out her matches, she caught each basket’s content on fire. She had to be careful; there was a danger of getting the fire to high and it catching the overhang on fire. The wicker was catching but burning faster than she thought, running into one of the other apartments and grabbed some clothes; that would get it going hot then she could throw some chairs or something on it to keep it going. When she got back she saw the deaders coming, “SHIT!” She knew they could kick through the small fire; she tossed several shirts on the building fire and flames shot up. She needed more but what?
Ceara went into the second apartment on the left and found a bag full of charcoal on the balcony that would come in handy later. The planter shelves beside the grill would get her fire going just about right, or she hoped. She broke it apart taking it back to the small fire that was already going down. The deaders were making their way up, she had to work fast. Ceara didn’t want them being able to push the fire throw the rails but she hadn’t thought of that before making it, so the only choice she had was to keep it big enough to make them stay far enough away…
As she stared into the fire the memory of that first week faded, this was now and she couldn’t dwell on the past…. she had to leave the safety of the apartment and she knew it. The last of the wood would be gone tomorrow so her safe haven would be gone too. She went in her apartment to gather up what she would be taking with her, what was left or her life. There was only one place to go and that was to her mom and Dad’s she had to be sure; good or bad but she couldn’t live with herself if they needed her help and she just left them.
Dog had joined her in the bedroom, she hadn’t given him a real name yet but he seemed ok with Dog. She knelt down petting him, “I’m leaving tomorrow night, you can go with or stay here, but those things will come so you be ready to run.”
Dog just looked at her, Ceara had been happy when Dog had come out of the apartment’s bathroom and kept her company but he barked at the deaders every time she climbed down balcony for supplies, letting them know just where she was. But thanks to him she had known that she could kill them if she had too.
Ceara got her backpack all packed then threw another piece of wood on the fire, all done she curled up on the couch with Dog to fall asleep. This would be the last night she would be able to sleep even remotely soundly so she better make the best of it………
The next morning came too soon, Ceara was up well before dawn fearing the deaders would know the fire was out and come for her. She looked at dog as he paced in front of the patio door.
“Look, we got off to a rough start with you wanting to chew my face off, but we got this thing now; I watch out for you and you rip the throat out of any of them that get close to me, OK?”
The big German Shepard’s ears twitched and he cocked his head. “Yeah I know, you don’t understand a damn thing I’m saying, but I’m hoping you will when the time comes.”
She grabbed her backpack stuffed with what few supplies she had left. She slung it over one shoulder and pushed her arm though the other strap, she wanted both hands free just in case she needed them. Ceara picked up the butcher knife off the coffee table and went to the dog, kneeling down. “So here’s the deal, I can’t go out the balcony because you can’t make the jump; so we have to go out the front door and down the stairs. There’s deaders are out there, so we got to move fast and no barking, you got me? I know you don’t like them, hell I don’t either but if you bark they will come after us.”
She had thought about muzzling him to keep him quite but the thought of him not being able to defend himself wiped the thought away.
Ceara pulled the keys off the bar and went to the door, “OK, you coming?”
The dog sat by the patio door just watching her. “OK, suit yourself.”
She went out the door leaving it open just in case he followed. Halfway down the first landing she could see her car, if she got to it she would be ok to get out. The deaders were fewer now but still wandering around, they hadn’t noticed her so she made her way down the next flight. All thoughts were on the next move, nothing more. Getting halfway down the last flight a piecing bark cut through the air, then another and another. All the deaders turned to see what made the noise, “FUCK! Fucking dog!”
She bolted down the rest of the stairs, running to her nineteen ninety-two Toyota Tercel. It was a piece of shit but right now it looked like a Lamborghini. Ceara made it to the front of the car when a deader stepped out from the side of the Jeep Cherokee parked right beside hers. She slid to a stop holding up the knife, “Get away, please get away!”
Waving it wildly at the man, but he kept coming. Looking over her shoulder Ceara saw two more coming and even more behind them. “Focus Ceara! You have one right in front of you, let’s deal with it first.”
She darted between her car and the Ford Focus yanking on the passenger door, it was locked. Fumbling with the keys Ceara finally found the right one but it was too late. She ran across the parking lot trying to decide what to do, she saw a pretty jet black mustang and it was new. All new cars were coming with alarms or at least she hoped they were. She ran to the car and started hitting it, nothing happen… when she tried the door she no longer heard dog barking all she could hear was the alarm blaring out it’s high then low siren. She rolled under the next car, crawled under three more. Ceara came out from under the last car a good twenty feet from the Mustang and the deaders were crowding around it.
Taking off as fast as she could she had gotten to her car, yanking open the door and jumped in. The engine roared to life but just as Ceara was throwing it into reverse she saw them…. the deaders were going after Dog. “NO!”
The dog stood on the first floor landing still barking. They would get him in seconds, Ceara started screaming, and then climbed over to the passenger side door unlocking it, making sure she had the closest way back in. Standing by the front of the car she began slamming the handle of the knife on the hood, “HEY.. HEY over here!!! Come get me you fucking deaders!!!”
They turned but seemed confused on which way to go. She crawled through the car and started honking the horn. That mixed with the alarm seemed to make up their minds, they came for her. Throwing the car in reverse she began backing up slowly drawing them closer. Ceara watched in the review mirror to make sure nothing besides deaders would be hit. She had a large crowd by the time she stopped; sliding it into drive she floored it and plowed through several deaders. The front of her apartment was now clear, Ceara jumped out, “COME ON DOG!!!”
She never saw the deader behind her; he grabbed her by the shirt yanking her to him. Ceara jerked away tearing her shirt but now he grabbed her by the hair pulling her to him again. She heard the growl before she saw Dog leap, any doubts she had that he would know what to do were gone in seconds. The deader lay with his throat ripped out and Dog was still taking bites. Ceara got to her feet shaky but was able to get back in the driver’s seat, “Come on Dog…. NOW DAMN IT!”
Dog looked up from his kill then
jumped into the car with Ceara. Dog was big and getting him to the passenger seat over the stick shift was a chore, but they were both in and doors were closed. Ceara reached over to lock Dog’s door then locked hers, she didn’t know if the deaders knew how to open doors but she didn’t want to find out. She moved the stick into reverse again and backed out of the parking lot, this time when she put it into first she headed out of the apartments. They were out, and they were safe… for now. She ruffled Dogs head, “Boy you are a pain in the ass, and didn’t I say no barking? Well if we are partners I guess you need a name better than dog. I know.. PRINCE!”
Dog cocked his head, Ceara laughed, “You know like prince charming saving the day and you did that, right?”
Dog lay on the seat as if hating the name. “Fine, how about Maximus, I love the movie Gladiator and you were sure my gladiator today”
Maximus barked in approval, or what Ceara took as approval and Dog became Maximus.
It was thirty minutes later they were able to get through the few neighborhoods and get to two-seventy west, Ceara sat idle on the bridge looking out at the highway. The westbound out of town was a cluster of cars, there were even a couple that were still ramming into other cars. She wondered if the drivers were just crazy trying to get out or deaders that didn’t know how to take off a safety belt. The eastbound was better, didn’t look like many were trying to get into town.
Ceara flipped a U-turn and headed down the off ramp; she stopped looking at the Do Not Enter signs, and then drove on. She thought it was funny that even now she had paid attention to the signs, just ingrained she guessed. Another hour edging her way through cars she started seeing the signs for Highway fifty-five, soon they were cruising at a decent speed and by the time they reached Pirani Road Ceara could open it up to eighty.
The house they pulled up to was a white colonial two story with a wraparound porch. Ceara watched as the porch swing swung in the breeze. About five years ago Mom had gotten Dad to paint the shutters all black, she said it looked like an Ansel Adams painting, it didn’t.
The house had been in the family for over a hundred years, all the land was theirs too. Dad had sold part of it off, but the closest neighbor was still two miles away. Ceara got out and Maximus maneuvered across the driver’s seat to get out too. He shook off and sat looking at her, “I know it’s small but it’s great on gas.”
Ceara climbed the steps to the house and Maximus took off chasing the horses, Ceara called after him, “Don’t go too far!”
She walked into the house calling for her mom and Dad but was greeted by silence, the TV was the only noise and that was nothing but static, she wondered if they still had power or if Dad had hooked up the generator. Ceara went in the kitchen and knew something was wrong, on the counter sat a loaf of mold bread, maggots and flies covered meat of some kind and what Ceara thought was lettuce and tomato but it was so rotten it was hard to tell. Covering her nose she opened the back door and the window over the sink. Ceara grabbed the cutting board off the hook on the wall and pushed all the contents of the counter into the trash.
Calling out again for her parents, although she knew there would be no answer. She made her way down the hall passing pictures of her life hanging lopsided on the nails, a few scattered on the floor. She put her hand on the master bedroom door knob but part of her didn’t want to open it. Faintly she wondered how the smell of the kitchen made it all the way back here. She opened the door and the sight made her wretch all over the carpet. In the bed laid her mother half eaten and decayed, “Momma” it came out in a faint whisper. Ceara slid down the door frame crying, a hand settled on her shoulder causing Ceara to jump and spin….”Daddy?”
Chapter 3 - Alden:
Alden Godfrey had spent his entire life in the army. Entering at the ripe age of seventeen in 1974, he had worked his way all the way through the enlisted ranks to retire as a First Sergeant. He had seen his share of war, having done the majority of his time with Special Forces. Alden had been around the world, he had been in Libya to target the camps in the 1978 bombing of Momar Gaddafi, pulled dignitaries out of Zimbabwe during the changing of governments. His team was one of the first on the ground in Grenada. His final battles were in Iraq first in 1990 and again in 2003, but after he reached 31 years he had had enough.
Buying a few acres in northern Arkansas he had built himself a nice log cabin. His neighbors were far and few between, as he liked to say. He kept his place in the beginning cutting down only a few trees, pulling the stumps to give him a small yard. He had the usual toys a man of his background would have, Harley Davidson motorcycle, Polaris four wheeler, a nice Dodge Ram pickup and of course an old used Army Hummer that he used to drive down to the lake a few miles away.
But those were the old days, now with the virus shit was loose, Alden had cut back almost 50 yards of trees leaving stumps about three feet tall. He used the smaller sticks as pugi spikes. When it all broke loose he had run down to Ft Polk, Louisiana to get what supplies he could. He knew a lot of the officers and old enlisted men there.
When he got there it surprised him that the whole post seemed deserted. The gates had been broken down and looters had taken anything that wasn’t nailed down. Alden drove through the rubble in his truck and headed towards the old part of the post. A row of old metal Quonset huts lined a street. The signs on the front read simply Latrine supplies. Alden pulled up and smiled as he saw that these buildings had been left pretty much alone.
Getting out of the truck he grabbed a crowbar out of the back. Walking up to the second door, he broke the lock with one quick pull. Opening the door he pulled his old Colt 45 out and moved in slowly. Walking slowly through the room he worked his way around stacks of old army crates till he got to the back where he found what he was looking for.
The crates were labeled with a series of numbers and letters with the words ‘Latrine cleaning supplies’. As he read he pulled certain crates down based on the letters and numbers in the middle of the whole line. 16-m, 4-dc-c, law714, 60 mach 7. He began to open them finding exactly what he knew would be there. M16’s, C4 explosives, Claymore, hand grenades, M60 machine gun, and plenty of ammo to go with it.
Locating a cart he loaded up what he could carry in the truck and began to place it in the bed keeping one eye and both ears wide open. Taking out a claymore he walked back to the hut. Using a piece of wire he placed it in the corner along with a small block of C-4. Opening the door he wrapped the wire around the door handle then threaded it back out and under the siding of the building making it tight on the trigger of the claymore. “There anyone tries to get back in gets a straight ticket to the man upstairs.”
He drove over to the motor pool and found the drums of gasoline he knew would be there. Climbing on a forklift he had three loaded when he realized he’d made a big mistake. Deadhead soldiers, as he called them, came wandering out of the buildings and headed straight for him. Climbing down he figured he had enough gas or at least it will have to last. He moved towards the truck with his pistol in hand. His first shot hit the deadhead right between the eyes. The second was a stroke of luck; it hit one deadhead on the left side then ricocheted off and hit the deadhead behind him.
Alden started up the truck and drove a few yards away from the fuel. Reaching down into a bag he pulled a grenade out pulled the pin and tossed it backwards out of the truck. Alden started laughing as a deadhead picked it up and began to put it in his mouth, flooring the gas petal as he watched the rear-view mirror. The explosion and the resulting ones after that let him know two things, one was that deadhead was gone, and two; so was the gasoline he left behind.
Alden drove all night stopping to syphon gas from other vehicles that were stranded either on the roadside, or at times just sitting in the middle of the road. He found the best ones were the small hybrids as the battery power for them was long lasting and all he had to do was disconnect the fuel line to the motor; slip in a hose and turn the key. The electric fuel pump did the rest.
Alden arrived home as the sun came up; he drove through his homemade gate and got out to reset the trip wires. Alden had booby trapped his whole place with spikes made from the trees he had cut down. Most of the traps would just pin a deadhead to another tree then he could go out and cut their heads off with either a sword or a machete or his combat survival knife. The survival knife was usually the preferred, black with a 14 inch blade and hollow handle wrapped with a nylon boot lace.
As he went inside his dog Tonto met him. Tonto was half Doberman and half red chow; he had the length, height. and short hair of his father, a Red Doberman, but the body mass and head of his mother, a Red Chow. Alden reached down and petted him, “Damn boy I bet your bladder is about to bust, here ya go.”
He opened the door and Tonto ran outside, Alden stood guard as Tonto did his business then came back in.
Alden went to the kitchen and made him some coffee with his small Sterno stove, then took his cup back to the front room. He sat looking out the window; he knew he would have to move on soon. He had weapons now and fuel. The only thing he was lacking was food. Looking down at a map of the central United States he started to talk to Tonto, “Well boy, we know Little Rock, Memphis and St Louis are gone. We knew that from the news reports we heard a couple weeks ago. Those city folks simply turned into deadheads or turned on each other. We could head back south but I figure that’s where everyone else who ain’t been affected will go and I don’t want no part of that. No bud, I think we’ll move a little north, get out of these mountains and head into southern Missouri. Maybe setup a hundred miles south of Ft Leonard Wood. We could make some runs up there and scavenge what we need.”
Tonto looked at Alden then laid his head on his paws. Alden looked down, “Yeah buddy maybe your right. Let’s just get some sleep.” Taking a sip he leaned back and put his feet up on the table. Within minutes he was fast asleep.
Surviving Day By Day (Book 1): So it Begins Page 3