by Edward Crae
Or maybe not.
The storm door opened outward.
Shit, he thought. He went back out to the garage, bundling a few of the decking scraps and some more studs. He screwed the decking in front of the door horizontally, bracing them with the leftover studs. He left about an inch between them to see out of—and poke his .308 or shotgun through. When he was finished, he stepped back to admire his work.
“Nice,” he said. Behind him, the cat purred. “What do you think, kitty?”
The cat sniffed the air, meowed, and went back into the house.
“Pffft!” Dan snorted.
It looked good; tight and secure. Who cares how pretty it was?
Suddenly, his cell phone rang. It was one in the morning; who the hell would be calling?
“Hello?” he said.
“Dude!” It was Drew; his friend in Martinsville.
“What’s up, Drew?”
“What the fuck is going on man? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Shit is crazy here. I just now got free. The National Guard is all over the place. They’ve been detaining people left and right. I snuck away about an hour ago and I’m just outside town. I can’t get home.”
“Do you have your car?”
“Nope. I’m screwed. All the sickies are running around attacking people. I got pulled over on my way to Indy, and they took me to the flea market where they’re based.”
“They made the flea market into a base?”
“Yep. They’ve got all the normal people holed up there. There’s probably five hundred or so in the same building. They’ve got the windows all boarded up and there’s machine guns everywhere. What the hell is happening?”
“Not sure, buddy,” Dan replied, shaking his head—though he didn’t know why. “I’m working on boarding up my house right now. Any way you can make it out?”
Drew sighed as he thought for a minute. “I might be able to steal a car or something.”
“Try getting a pickup. We might need it to haul some materials here. I don’t think anyone will come around, but I need more shit to block the windows and stuff. You got a gun?”
“Not on me. I don’t usually carry, but I guess I should have today.”
“Where were you going in Indy?”
“My dad’s house. He’s out in the county. I thought maybe I could go there, but he’s not answering his phone. He’s probably dead or in some detainee camp.”
“Alright. Find a truck. If you can’t, call me back and I’ll pick you up somewhere south of town.”
“Cool. I’ll give it a shot. Later.”
Dan stuffed the phone in his pocket and went back into the house. There were more materials in the garage, and he had plenty of windows and doors to board up. He would work until Drew arrived, and then the two of them would continue. The problem was, he had little food, and there would come a time when they would have to venture out into the world to find more. The shit had already hit the fan, he realized, and the hunt would be dangerous; not only because of the loonies, but because of the military and those who were also on the hunt.
There were no rules anymore. No one was safe.
Chapter Four
With his MP3 player on shuffle, Dan piled his living room with scraps of wood and began the arduous task of boarding up his windows and doors. There were few windows around the house that were less than five feet off the ground, meaning they would be difficult to enter, but he boarded them up anyway—at least halfway. The sliding glass door was more of a problem. There were no scraps, studs, or enough OSB to cover them completely so he had to saw away some studs from the garage.
Another problem was the pump house. He would have no water once the power went out, so his only option was to bring in the old water heater and fill it up just in case. That was a pain in the ass in itself. He dragged it in, found some spare hose from the garage, and hooked it up to the cold water line right next to the working water heater. He now had a water reservoir. Just to be safe, he gathered all of the empty milk jugs he could find, six of them in all, and filled them, too.
Thank god he hadn’t taken them to the recycling center. Sometimes being a lazy asshole paid off.
It was three in the morning and still no Drew.
He went out onto the deck where the grill was, staring at the railings around the covered area. How could he secure the space enough to make it safe? The grill would be needed to cook on, but couldn’t be brought inside. The fumes would be deadly.
He suddenly remembered that Dennis, his nearest neighbor other than Steve, had concertina wire separating his property from the state forest. He had gotten tired of amateur hunters chasing wounded deer onto his property and just leaving them there after cutting off the largest chunks of meat. The wire was illegal, of course, but Dennis didn’t give a shit.
He wondered if Dennis was still alive.
As he turned to go back into the house, he heard the crunching sound of gravel on the road in the distance. Someone was driving in his direction, slowly and carefully. He wondered if it was Drew. He slid the glass door closed and perched himself at the front window, watching for the vehicle to appear. Eventually the rumbling sound of an idling engine began to grow louder and louder as the vehicle turned the last corner.
It was a pickup; lights off and creeping along like a stalking tiger. There looked to be a driver, and two people in the bed. The tires were huge, and the entire thing was ridiculously high off the ground. There was no way Drew would ever drive something like this; end of the world or not.
Dan carefully lifted his .308 to the gap under the boards and waited.
The truck slowed down in front of his house. The two guys in the bed stood, crouching down to peer into the shadows on either side; one toward Steve’s house, the other toward his. The driver poked his head out the window, apparently whispering orders to the other two. They hopped out, and each one approached the house they were facing, shotguns in hand.
Dan released the safety on his rifle, aiming at the shadowy figure that snuck onto his property. He didn’t know exactly what he was going to do, but should he have to shoot the guy, he was ready. The man stopped at the edge of his property looking around at his house, not moving other than that. The other guy slowly made his way up to Steve’s house, disappearing into the darkness.
The driver just sat there with the truck idling.
Dan’s heart was beating like a double bass drum; pounding in his ears in a very unsteady rhythm. His intruder had noticed the dim lighting inside and was whispering to the driver. The driver waved his hand, as if to say “fuckin’ go!” and the intruder turned back, looking directly into the window.
Dan’s finger itched to pull the trigger. He had never shot anyone before—other than Steve—but was not above it. Hell, he had already killed two people in town for all he knew. One more in his own yard wouldn’t make a difference, would it?
But the sound of a gunshot would start a shootout, he imagined. Though he was probably safe behind the boards, he shouldn’t risk it. He would have to protect his house some other way.
Samurai swords?
He did have a daisho in his bedroom. The blades were sharp, and he knew how to use them. He was no samurai or ninja, but he knew the basic techniques. An ax wouldn’t do. There was no way he could swing it fast enough the disable the guy before he got shot.
He set his rifle down, and quickly crept into his bedroom to retrieve the tanto; the short knife-like blade. He unsheathed it, making sure it was sharp, and quietly slid open the glass door to the deck. He shuffled down the stairs, going left around the south side of the house. He would sneak to the corner and listen, just a few yards behind the truck. He hoped the intruder would come that way.
Where the fuck was Drew!?
He squatted at the corner, craning his neck to hear the two men talking in harsh whispers.
“Just go,” the driver said.
“The lights are on inside,” the intruder replied
.
“Who gives a fuck? Just go in, kill the owners, and take their shit.”
Kill the owners. My ass, Dan thought.
Less than twenty four hours, and people were already willing to kill each other for unspecified shit. How did it come to this?
The intruder came into view. He was a shifty guy, gripping the shotgun like some street thug. He was about thirty, with long, greasy hair, a shit ton of stubble, and close set eyes that reminded Dan of some hillbilly from a slasher flick. Keeping still, Dan waited for the guy to turn the corner. He gripped the tanto tightly, his heart pounding even harder than it was before. He was going to have to kill the guy quietly, maybe grabbing his face from behind and cutting his throat.
That was the plan, anyway.
As the man passed him, Dan stood; staying crouched in the shadows. He formulated his plan carefully, taking into account that his victim might pull the trigger if he grabbed him. He would have to finish him off before he even knew what was happening.
Yeah, right. Dan was not a ninja, nor a seasoned killer of any kind. He was just a loser with no job who lived in a shithole in rural Indiana.
But this was his turf, and he wasn’t about to give it up.
He pounced on his victim, grabbing the barrel of the shotgun from behind with one hand, and the guy’s mouth with the other. The man struggled as Dan forced the barrel of the shotgun into the ground. It discharged, sending a shrapnel cloud of dirt as the muffled blast blew a crater into the mud. Dan pulled the man back, falling to the ground and wrapping his forearm around the man’s throat. He squeezed, gripping the man’s torso with his legs.
There he was; lying on the ground on his back with another man flailing on top of him as he struggled for breath. It was probably a strange sight, but Dan didn’t care. He was defending his home at all costs, and nobody would ever convince him that his method was anything but effective—especially when he heard the cracking sound of the man’s neck snapping.
Dan let loose his breath as the man fell still. He rolled him off, grabbing the shotgun and leaning it against the house. He quickly removed the dead man’s jacket and hat, putting them on to disguise himself. He took one last look at the corpse, feeling a lump of bile rise in his throat.
No time for puking, he reasoned. Time to clean house.
Dan grabbed the shotgun, stuffing the tanto in his belt, and walked around the front of the house with his head lowered. He hoped the driver would think he was his buddy. He did.
“What’s up?” the guy asked.
Dan shrugged, walking up to the door with his head still lowered.
“The doors locked?”
Dan raised his head, grinning. “Nope,” he said, bashing the butt of the shotgun into the guy’s face.
He heard—and felt—the splintering of teeth. The driver groaned as he clutched his face. Dan dropped the shotgun and reached in to grab his hair, pulling him to the window. He wrapped his arm around the guy’s neck, squeezing as hard as he could as desperate hands felt around for the horn. Dan pulled back, dragging the guy out the window far enough to let him flop to the ground outside. He continued to squeeze, gritting his teeth and feeling his heart pound until the struggling stopped.
Dan let go, breathless, sitting on the street.
Jesus fucking Christ! Four people in one day, and still one to go.
Dan stood, opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. He would wait for the last guy to return—which wouldn’t take long since Dan had already robbed Steve’s house and blew his fucked up brains out. Sure enough, it was only a few minutes before the last guy appeared from the shadows. He was empty handed other than his shotgun.
Dan lowered his head as the guy approached the passenger side. He gripped the trigger of the shotgun with his right hand as it lay across the passenger seat. The man came to the window, breathless and seemingly freaked out.
“Somebody got here before we did,” he said, looking around.
Dan raised the shotgun. “Yeah,” he said. “That would be me.”
BAM!
He saw the man’s eyes widen as he pulled the trigger. Then, his body disappeared as it was thrown back. Dan heard the clanking of the man’s shotgun hit the ground. He breathed deep, sitting still as his heart beat furiously. He took slow breaths, calming himself enough the slide over and looked out the window. The last man lay there on the ground; a huge hole blown open in his chest.
“This is my house,” he hissed.
Behind him, he heard a strange whining sound coming down the road. It was like an electric chainsaw, or maybe a weed whacker. He sat still, gripping the shotgun, and waited. Soon, the whining grew louder and a moped came rolling down the street. Its rider was short, with a stubbly head, glasses, and a military field jacket—a ridiculous sight if he ever saw one.
Fucking Drew.
Dan exited the truck, walking to the back with the shotgun propped over his shoulder. Drew pulled up, revving the engine as he smiled his toothy smile.
“Dude!” Drew exclaimed, looking at the corpse that lay in the street. “Is that guy dead?”
Dan nodded. “Yep,” he said. “All three of ‘em.”
Drew stood up, letting the moped fall to the street. “Jesus, man. Did you kill them?”
Dan laughed. “No, they just died. That guy on the ground had an alien that burst through his chest.”
“Ha ha ha,” Drew laughed.
“What the hell took you so long?”
Drew shook his head. “You see what I’m driving, right?” he said. “These fucking things only go thirty. It was all I could find that I could get started. Surprisingly enough, nobody left their keys in their car.”
“You’ve seen The Terminator a billion times,” Dan said. “You didn’t learn how to hot-wire a car from that?”
Drew shrugged, grinning.
“Alright,” Dan said. “Let’s get these guys into Steve’s house and park this truck in the garage.”
“Where is Steve?”
“He’s dead,” Dan said. “I blew his brains out earlier today.”
Drew shook his head, taking in the whole situation with a strange indifference. “Hardcore, man. Fucking hardcore.”
Chapter Five
After sleeping for a few hours, the two awoke in the late morning. All was quiet, and only the sound of the wind outside could be heard. Dan peeked through the gap in the boarded window, seeing that it was foggy outside and it had rained a bit while they slept.
Drew snored on the floor, wrapped in a blanket with his head resting on a couch pillow. He still had his boots on, and Dan chuckled as he saw them poking out from the end of his little cocoon.
“Hey,” Dan said as he nudged Drew with his foot. “Dude, wake up.”
Drew snorted, rolling to his back and stretching. “Aw, fuck,” he exclaimed. “Is it tomorrow already? Time to wake and bake?”
Dan suddenly realized he had not gotten shit-faced the night before. He had slept mostly sober. But the morning had brought muscle aches. It had been quite a long time since he had done so much physical activity.
“You want some Vicodin or something?” he asked.
Drew sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Nah. I could use a screwdriver, though.”
Dan laughed. “Kitchen cabinet above the microwave,” he said. “There’s OJ in the fridge.”
Drew hopped up to make his drink, and Dan sat on the couch fumbling through his pills.
“What’s the plan today, chief?” Drew asked.
“We need to get supplies,” Dan replied. “Steve didn’t have any food. I don’t think he ever cooked. His stove was as clean as Mother Theresa’s asshole.”
Drew made a gagging noise. “That’s sick, dude.”
“I think maybe Dennis or that weird lady down the street may have some shit we need.”
“What if they’re still kickin’?” Drew reminded him.
“Well… then we ask.”
Drew pointed toward the sliding glass door to th
e deck as he reentered the living room. “We should secure that first,” he said. “Temporarily, at least, before we set up the area out there.”
Dan nodded. “Yeah. There are more boards in the mudroom.”
Drew switched on the TV, hoping it still worked. The familiar face of… whatsherface appeared, spewing her idiotic theories about the state of affairs.
“I hate that bitch,” Drew said. “Such a stupid liberal twat. She’ll probably blame this on the Libertarians or the Republicans.”
“Well,” Dan said. “If she was a Republican, she would blame it on the sinful ways of Liberals and atheists.”
“And Libertarians.”
Dan chuckled.
“… just worry about these roving bands of gun-toting extremists who are going to use this disaster as an excuse to take over the country. We don’t need guns, we need some common sense and camaraderie.”
“Oh my fuckin’ god,” Drew said. “What an idiot. What are we supposed to use, then?”
“Squirt guns filled with hippie juice.”
“Diane, you’re lumping normal, everyday people in with opportunistic criminals. It’s those people who are going to survive, and will protect others who don’t have the skills or tools needed to survive themselves.”
“Preach it, brutha!” Drew said.
“There is no need for survival instincts in the modern age. People can gather in quarantined areas and receive all the help and protection they need. That is how the human race survived in the first place.”
“Pttttt!”
“The human race survived throughout history by banding together and maintaining their own safety. There were no quarantined areas in prehistory. We survived the chaos of the world through brute force, hunting, and working together; not by relying on some power-hungry communist government that supplied them with everything they needed.”