by Edward Crae
“That might work,” Dan agreed. “Let’s do it.”
They climbed down the ladder, each of them drawing their buck knives. The three live horses shuffled in their stalls, heightening the sounds of the feral beasts outside. Dan and Drew each took a stall, kneeling down next to its dead occupant. Dan swallowed hard as he contemplated what to cut off. He had never slaughtered anything before, not even a deer. He didn’t hunt; the guns he had were his dad’s.
“What do we use?” he called.
Drew peeked through the horizontal slats. “Maybe cut the front legs off at the knee,” he said, “or try peeling off a couple flaps of skin.”
Outside, the coyotes began slamming into the sides of the stable; nearly shaking the whole structure with each impact. Their growls and ghostly yipping were increasing, and Dan’s hands began to shake as he put his knife to the horse’s knee.
It’s not a horse, he thought. It’s just a big chicken.
Carefully, he began slicing through the horse’s knee. It was surprisingly easy to cut through the tendons and muscle. It really was like slaughtering a chicken. But the smell was awful. It was a smell that only appeared when he began cutting.
“Try not to get any blood on you,” he said to Drew. “We might get infected that way.”
“That rules out cutting off flaps of skin.”
Dan finally got through the leg, and tossed it aside, going for the next one. The slamming continued, this time jostling the beam that kept the doors closed. Thankfully, they opened outward.
“Alright,” Drew said. “Got it.”
“I got the front two legs,” Dan said.
They exited the stalls, tossing their bait on the floor near the door. Drew made it a point to swing one of the severed limbs at the floor to splash blood around, and then tossed it down with the others. They then opened the remaining three stalls to let the horses out. Though two of them happily emerged, the third was reluctant, and stayed near the back of his stall.
Dan eyed the horse with pity. “This one’s really old,” he said.
“How can you tell?”
“Look at its eyes,” Dan said. “They’re all dull and bloodshot. His body is in pretty bad shape, too. There’s no way he can make it.”
Drew reached out to pat the horse’s nose. The timid creature curled its lips, nodding its head and making sucking sounds on Drew’s forearm. It was shaking and swaying back and forth in terror.
“Poor old guy,” Drew said. “You’re right. But we can’t just leave him like this.”
“Oh fuck,” Dan sighed. “I’ll do it.”
Drew nodded, patting the horse once more before turning to round up the other two. He led them toward the door as Dan leveled his shotgun at the old horse’s head. The old guy lowered his eyes as if he knew what was going on. Timidly, it backed into its stall, apparently awaiting its fate. Dan swallowed as a lump rose in his throat. He hated to kill the poor thing, but a gunshot to the head was better than being ripped apart by coyotes.
Right?
“Sorry, fella,” he said. “Ride off to that stable in the sky.”
He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. He heard a sharp whinny from the other horses, and then a heavy thump as the old horse fell to the floor. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the horse was still. He avoided looking at it head.
“Done,” he whispered.
“Look, man,” Drew said, mounting a horse. “That beam is pretty rotten. I’m surprised it held up. We could shoot it and then spur the horses hard. They should be able to bust through.”
Dan mounted his horse. “Right. This is going to be difficult, though, without saddles.”
“That’s okay,” Drew replied.
Dan rode up next to him, and the two took deep breaths as they prepared. Dan patted his horse’s mane, his heart pounding as the slamming outside became more fierce and frequent.
“Ready?” Drew asked, levelling his shotgun at the beam.
Dan Nodded, pointing his shotgun as well.
“On fire,” Drew said. “Ready… aim… fire!”
They pulled their triggers in unison, and the beam blasted apart at the center. Dan kicked his legs, urging the horse forward. The two of them shot toward the doors, and both of their horses leaped at them in a front kick motion, slamming them open, and knocking several coyotes to the ground. Dan held on to the horse’s mane, gripping it in a death hold as they rode out.
Behind them, the coyotes gave chase, yipping and howling as they bore down. Dan dropped a horse leg, turning back to see what the feral beasts would do. They ignored it.
“Fuck!” he said. “They don’t like dead meat, apparently.”
“What!?” Drew exclaimed. “They’re fucking coyotes. That’s what they eat.”
Dan threw the other severed leg, turning to aim his shotgun at the pursuing coyotes. He had never shot from horseback, but with buckshot, he was confident he might hit something. With one hand gripping the horse’s mane, he pulled the trigger. His arm was jarred by the shot, and he nearly lost his balance. The horse whinnied, leaping into the air and landing roughly.
The shotgun tumbled to the ground.
“Shit!” Dan shouted, wrapping his arms around the horse’s neck.
Drew rode closer to him, drawing his Glock and turning to aim behind them. The coyotes were closing in, fearlessly chasing them down as they approached the rushing creek. Drew fired, and a yelp erupted from behind them. Dan looked back, seeing one coyote tumble and flip as its body went limp.
“Good shot!” Dan said. “Why didn’t that happen when you shot the big one?”
Drew fired again, missing.
Dan turned ahead. The creek was getting closer. He knew that once they reached it, the horses would be slowed as they waded through the rushing water.
“Damn it!” he said, hearing Drew fire another shot. Another yelp sounded. “Hold on!”
The horses leaped as far as they could, splashing into the center of the creek. Drew’s horse skidded through the water, throwing him forward. He landed with a splash, turning over in the water and standing to wade across. Dan was lurched as his horse slowed, and he heard the growling leap of a coyote behind him. The horse howled in pain as the beast’s claws tore into its hide, but then snorted in anger, kicking its back legs. The coyote yelped as its skull was crushed and it was thrown back across the creek.
Drew fired again and again with one hand, while dragging his horse to its feet with the other. “Come on!” he shouted.
Dan’s horse galloped forward to the other side, shaking its head as it stepped onto the bank. Drew mounted his horse again, tossing Dan his shotgun. Dan caught it, turning his horse so he could fire with both hands. Shots fired ceaselessly as the two of them unloaded on their attackers. They took turns reloading while the other shot.
Soon, the coyotes gave up, the remaining four fleeing back into the woods. Dan laid the shotgun across the horse’s neck, turning back to look at its wound. It didn’t look bad, and obviously it no longer bothered the horse. But he wondered if it would fester or cause the horse to become infected with whatever the hell fell from the sky.
“Jesus,” Drew said, breathless. “That was intense.”
Dan nodded, patting his horse’s head. “These guys did good,” he said. “I might have shit my pants, but they stayed pretty solid.”
He turned, wordlessly leading the horse back to the house. Drew followed close behind. Though the rain had picked up again, they rode easy, neither of them really caring.
“Well,” Drew said. “That was a bad idea.”
Chapter Nine
The two men huddled in front of the fireplace that burned steadily in the kitchen. The horses had been secured in the garage, with plenty of hay to keep them busy. Tomorrow, they would venture into town to find horse feed, and more hay. There was a farm store in Martinsville, and other places around the area where they could gather more.
In the upcoming days, they would need the horses to get
places the truck wouldn’t take them.
Drew sipped a glass of scotch, eating cold chili from a can. Dan thought it was humorous, as the power was still on and he could have used the microwave. Dan drank a warm beer, smoked a cigarette, and stared into the fire. Both were quiet and lost in thought.
Dan’s thoughts went to survival. Eventually, the power grid would go down, and with winter coming, the prospect of chopping wood for the fireplace was an unwelcome possibility. The propane tank would eventually run dry, too, and the portable heaters would be worthless. Their only option would be stealing the small tanks from the local gas stations.
If they hadn’t been wiped out already.
“I wonder what’s going on in Bloomington,” Drew said.
Dan shook his head. “Chaos,” he offered. “But the only way to find out for sure would be to go there, or see if the local news is still up and running. I imagine they’re all down by now.”
“It’s still only been a couple days…”
Dan killed his beer—Jerry’s beer—and then remembered the pills he had gotten from him the day the shit hit the fan. Jerry had given him two other pills he had never tried before. He thought of giving one to Drew and popping one himself, but if what Jerry said was true, they might be better used for their actual purpose.
He would save them.
Drew packed his one-hitter, wordlessly taking a small toke. Dan smelled the familiar aroma, thinking back at Jerry as he smoked the joint he had rolled. Maybe Jerry was still alive, and could give them the scoop on what was going on in B-town.
Dan got up, retrieving his cell phone from the coffee table. It was almost dead. He typed out a text to Jerry, wondering if it was even worth it.
You still ok broth?
Stupid autocorrect.
He set the phone down, pursing his lips and nodding pointlessly at Drew.
“What?” Drew said.
“Sent Jerry a text.”
“Who’s Jerry?”
“That loser in Bloomington,” Dan said. “With the fat, ugly wife.”
Drew chuckled. “Oh yeah, Jabba the Butt.”
Dan laughed humorlessly, staring at his phone. There was very little chance Jerry was still alive. The dude was sick as hell the last time he saw him, and his wife was even worse. He was probably stumbling around town; puking and attacking people or getting his brains blown out by National Guard troops.
The phone dinged.
Surprised, Dan picked it up.
N d bsmnt. All fkd upp mayn. Jerry couldn’t spell worth a shit, so didn’t even try.
Dan typed out: Did you get better or worse?
Another delay. Drew watched patiently, and Dan read him Jerry’s initial response.
“If he got sick,” Drew said. “How the hell is he still alive?”
Dan shook his head. “Maybe he just had the flu or something. Coincidence?”
The phone dinged.
I thnk was jst th pilz. Tk 2 mny. Tracy ded tho.
“Tracy’s dead,” Dan said. Drew didn’t care.
Dan typed out: Sorry, man. Is the town on lockdown?
The response was quicker this time.
Fkd man. Army bn blwn shit up.
“They’re ‘blowing shit up’ there,” Dan said with air quotes.
“What the fuck?”
Dan typed out: Can you get out?
They waited for a few minutes. No response.
“Well,” Dan said, setting the phone on the hearth. “If he can get out, I guess he can come here.”
“Woohoo,” Drew said, flatly. “Three losers.”
Dan chuckled. Drew was right. None of them had any real skills. Though things were alright for the moment, if the shit hit the fan, they would certainly be fucked. Though Dan had learned a few things from his dad before he died and left him the house, he hadn’t really paid attention. He had guns he had no clue how to clean, equipment in the garage for power outages he had no idea how to use, and a serious drug and alcohol problem.
“Jesus,” he said. “We’re fucked.”
Drew nodded. “YouTube?”
“What about it?”
Drew sipped his scotch again. “When I had to replace some plumbing in my house, I used it to watch how-to videos. I also looked up websites with diagrams and such, and printed them out.”
“That’s a good idea,” Dan said. “Maybe we should put together some kind of apocalypse compendium of basic shit. How to build stuff, how to gut and clean animals. Shit like that.”
Drew smiled “Apocalypse compendium,” he repeated. “I like that.”
The phone dinged.
Army shoot ppl on d strt. Cnt get out.
Dan furrowed his brow. “He says the Army’s been shooting people on the street.”
“Why the fuck would they do that?”
Dan shook his head. “I don’t think they would. They let me pass when I came home.”
“They weren’t wearing camos in Martinsville,” Drew said.
“What do you mean?”
“They were dressed in black there,” Drew said. “And their vehicles were black, too.”
Dan winced. “Did you see any National Guard logos?”
Drew thought for a moment. “No,” he said. “Just some weird symbol that looked like a flat-pointed triangle.”
Dan had never seen that symbol before. It wasn’t anything the actual military—National Guard or not—would use.
“Military contractors?” Dan offered.
Drew nodded. “Probably,” he said. “Military rejects with itchy trigger fingers.”
“Fuck.”
Dan typed out: What do the military guys look like?
Another delay, but not as long as last time.
Blk unifrms. Drvn arnd lkn 4 ppl 2 shoot. Kld my nbr erler. Wr here n my house. I hid in bsmnt.
“Black uniforms,” Dan relayed. “Just shooting everybody they see.”
Drew was silent.
“This is fucked up, man,” Dan said. “It sounds like Uncle Sam is using contractors to wipe out the population.”
“Easier to control that way,” Drew said.
“I wonder if this shit was planned.”
Drew snorted. “I doubt the government could build a comet.”
“Let’s see if we can find any news,” Dan said, getting up to turn on the TV.
The satellite was dead, so no world news. He switched to the antenna, hoping at least one local station was still working. Nothing but church programs.
“Damn it,” he cursed.
“Internet,” Drew said.
Dan pulled his laptop from its case, booting it up and hoping he was still getting an internet signal. Thankfully, the little WiFi symbol was at three bars. He was leaching a signal from Steve, who was dead, so who cares?
“Where should I go?”
“Try the local station’s website,” Drew said.
Dan typed in the address and pressed enter. After a few minutes, the website loaded, and a single video dominated the screen. There was nothing else on the page; not even the station’s logo. Dan clicked the play button. An older man appeared on the screen. He was the station manager. Dan couldn’t remember his name, but he had seen him around a few times. He looked into the camera; morose and monotone when he spoke.
“Hello. This is Martin Patterson, station manager. I regret to inform you that the news station is down, and we are no longer broadcasting. Our technicians and webmasters have reorganized the website and secured our DNS servers to bring you this message and provide links for you to obtain information as it develops.”
Martin paused as he gathered his thoughts.
“Though the television networks have been commandeered and are no longer allowed to broadcast, the internet, which is operated offshore, is available and maintained by those former hacktivists we all know and love. They have supplied us with access to relay information over the internet.
We will now show you the situation around the world via live feeds and
uploaded videos. Please be patient, and do not panic. Know that you are not alone, and that those of us who are still loyal to each other, and the worldwide communities, will keep everyone as informed and safe as we possibly can.
The feed we are about to show you is very disturbing. It was uploaded by a citizen in New York City, where the infected have almost tripled in number. At least three fourths of the population has been either infected or killed. Please take note that the military personnel you are about to see are not, I repeat, not US troops. If you see these soldiers in your area, do not approach them or expect them to take you to safety.”
Dan looked at Drew, and they both raised their brows. “I knew it,” Dan said.
The video continued with a cell phone view from the window of a third or fourth story apartment building. Though the picture was shaky, and went in and out of focus, the scene was clear. Mass hordes of infected swarmed the streets; climbing buildings, tearing out doors and windows, and dragging the bodies of screaming survivors into crowds of hungry infected.
The person taking the video narrated with a shaky voice. He had a Mexican accent, and was probably an immigrant who came to New York to seek a new life. He was terrified and on the verge of breaking down.
“They’re everywhere. They just keep multiplying, and the government is doing nothing. The troops are killing everyone in sight, even the survivors. Everybody is locked in their apartments with no food or water. All the power and utilities are out. We have to scrounge for food, and desperate people are killing each other to get it.”
A black, armored vehicle appeared around the corner of one block. Its mounted guns were blazing, mowing through the infected like grass. Heavily armored soldiers walked beside it, using strange guns to take down individuals that attempted to swarm them. The camera panned to the apartment building across the street, where a few other survivors were looking out with their own cameras.
The soldiers spotted them, raising their guns to fire at them.
“Jesus Christ!” the narrator cried, pulling his phone back into his apartment. “They’re just killing everyone! Es el fin del mundo!”