Zombie Reign (Book 2): Rescue in Detroit

by Joseph Edward

  “Hello, boys,” said Mr. Nelson as he opened the door and invited us in, “so good to see you. Hurry now. We don’t want to let any unwanted guests in, do we?”

  Mr. Nelson held the door as he ushered us inside. He looked absolutely awful. He was wearing a crimson and black smoking jacket, which made him look extremely pale in contrast. He had dark circles under his eyes, his blonde hair looking wild and unkempt. He offered us a smile as we entered, holding a glass of wine in his free hand while locking the door behind us with the other.

  “Eric, right?” he asked as he extended his free hand out for a handshake, “you’re my groundskeeper, right?”

  “No, Mr. Nelson,” Eric replied, openly irritated by the insensitive Hispanic inference, “I worked for you at the warehouse.”

  “Oh, yes. My apologies,” Mr. Nelson replied with a sense of sincerity, “and you are that police officer, Max is it?”

  “Griff,” I said as I wondered why a man of his young age acted as if he had a mental impairment of a man sixty years his senior.

  “Oh yes,” he said as he took a seat, “what can I do for you? Please, sit down and make yourselves at home. Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “No thank you,” I interjected before Eric could start his beer brand inquisition.

  As Mr. Nelson took his seat, he seemed to favor his left leg. As he moved his right arm, a bloody bandage wrapped around his forearm became visible.

  “What happened here?” I asked as I looked over to Eric, confirming that he noticed the injuries as well.

  “Those damn Democrats,” he said with a sneer, “always regulating and delegating. They just can’t leave us alone! If it wasn’t for national health care, we wouldn’t be in this mess! Now look at us! Nothing left at all, nothing left at all…”

  Mr. Nelson was eccentric indeed, with a ferocious political opinion to match. If there were any ills in the world, it was always because of one side in his mind. I personally seemed to think that politicians in general were the problem – regardless of what side of the isle they occupied. None of that really mattered now anyway. That was probably the only upside to this whole mess.

  “Okay…” Eric said as he rolled his eyes at me, “but what happened outside, in the yard?”

  Mr. Nelson hesitated for a moment, as he brought up his wine glass and gulped down the remainder of his drink.

  “I was out working on the lawn, since my groundskeeper wasn’t available anymore,” he began as he looked over at Eric and the tension was rekindled, “and I wanted to maintain things the way they were. I was pruning the hedges when…what used to be my neighbors…came running up on me and attacked me.”

  He lifted his arm and outstretched his leg, in an indication of where this was leading.

  “I took them out, but not before the obvious happened. I know that I don’t have long to go, so if you don’t mind,” he stated as he outstretched his arm to me with his empty glass.

  Taking the glass from him I went to the wet bar in the room and grabbed the bottle of wine sitting on the counter. I placed the glass down and brought the bottle over to him.

  “No, no,” he said while waving me back to the counter, “even while facing death, that wouldn’t do justice to a fine Le Pin!”

  I went back over to the counter, filling up his glass and returning it to him. A smile came over his face as he asked, “What is it I can do for you?”

  Knowing how awkward this situation was didn’t make this conversation easy. Here was a man that was dying, calmly enjoying a fine wine before his departure.

  “We were wondering if you still had the Hummers and if we could borrow them.”

  “No,” he answered as we wondered if we had heard him wrong.

  “We just want to…”

  “No, you can have them. What good would it be to borrow them, eh?” he answered with a smile as he sipped his wine. “The keys are over there,” he said pointing to the foyer.

  Mr. Nelson began coughing violently, dropping his wine glass. As he tried to stand, he lurched forward and began vomiting as he fell to his knees.

  As he looked up at us, with the same sudden signs of turning Kate had displayed as she became zombified, he reached out to Eric.

  “Please,” he said pointing to his gun.

  Without hesitation, Eric removed his gun from his holster and stepped to the side of Mr. Nelson. He pulled the rear of his smoking jacket up over his head from behind and fired one round into the back of his head. His lifeless body dropped to the floor as I looked on in shock.

  “What? He said ‘please’,” Eric said as if to appease me.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? What about a goodbye, asking him if there was anything he needed, telling him thanks for his rides? Anything but that…what the fuck…”

  “Sorry, but you have to get past the old ways bro. There’s no time for pleasantries. He asked for it, he needed it, he got it. Now we have to get those vehicles and get back so we can get on with our business.”

  It was cold, but it was a stark truth that Eric was speaking of. There was no time for dramatic pauses, only swift and calculated action. People deserved better, but the way the world was working now, they weren’t going to get it. This wasn’t the movies or television where drama played out with a sense of closure. This was a harsh reality of the world we now lived in. People get put down before they turn – plain and simple.

  We collected the keys and went into the garage. Saying that it was a garage is an understatement. We went into another house that Mr. Nelson kept his cars in. That would be a more accurate description for what we found.

  It was a four car garage that housed the Hummer, H3, and two exotic cars that were a shame to leave behind. I had to argue with Eric as to why we couldn’t just “take them for a spin” around the complex before we left. Slashing their tires with my tomahawk got my point across and ended the conversation.

  “Sorry, but you have to get past the old ways bro. There’s no time for pleasantries…” I said as I loaded into the Hummer while throwing him the keys to the H3.

  I went to put the key in the ignition and it wouldn’t go. I examined the key and it appeared to be the right one. I tried over and over again to get the key to work without success.

  Eric stood outside my door laughing, dangling his keys at the window. It seemed that I had the keys to the H3 and he was holding the ones for the Hummer I was in.

  “Karma’s a bitch,” he said as he opened the door for me to exit.

  “Fine, you take the Hummer then,” I replied as we swapped keys.

  We loaded up into the vehicles and noticed that the gas gauges were on ‘full’ in both of them. Something was finally working in our favor. Both of them were top of the line, complete with running bars and crash guards. They also had navigation systems that still appeared to be working. We fired them up as Eric hit the garage door opener. The door made its way up slowly and we were greeted by the sight of a pair of bare feet followed by a view of several pairs of legs. As the door finished opening, we were greeted by several zombies that had wandered onto the driveway.

  Looking over at Eric I could tell that he and I were both thinking the same thing. It was time to test the mettle of these vehicles.

  Almost in unison, we shifted into drive and gunned the engines. The zombies didn’t have enough time to react to our presence before they were mowed down. As we drove off, the ones that hadn’t had their heads caved in were crawling after us, dragging what was left of their lower sections behind them.

  We made it back to the gate, and the area on our side was clear. On the other side, a couple of the runners had made it to the gate. They were still being held back by the barrier we had in place with the help of the SUV. We emptied out the remaining gear from the SUV into the H3 without delay. I got into the SUV and back it up slightly, forcing the runners to funnel into the v-section created in the buckled gate. I slammed it into drive and floored the engine, ramming through the gate and sending the zombie
s flying head over ass.

  Bailing from the SUV, I ran back to the H3 as Eric pulled out from the entrance. He proceeded to mow down any remaining runners that were following me, giving me the opportunity to get back to the H3 unharmed.

  Our trip back to Tommy’s went smooth. For as oversized as the Hummer was, and as apparently top heavy as the H3 seemed to be, they handled the obstacle course of avoiding the dead with better handling than the SUV. They were surprisingly durable as some unavoidable contacts were made.

  They weren’t going to fit in his garage though, but we weren’t going to be there long enough to worry about it. A quick pit stop to pick up supplies and we would be off again on our mission. Hopefully this time we would be a little more prepared. If I was learning anything quickly in all of this, it was that you could never be prepared enough.

  We made pretty good time in returning and everyone was impressed with the new vehicles we came back with. They seemed to deliver beyond my expectations. It may have been that they were overly outfitted by Mr. Nelson, but it was just the break we needed. The way that these vehicles handled mowing down the zombies made us rethink our plans.

  The silence was deafening when the inquiry came about whether or not Mr. Nelson would be joining us. As Eric and I looked at one another, our glance gave the group a clear indication that he wouldn’t be and that it wasn’t something we wanted to discuss – especially in front of Claire. Even her young age picked up on our inference of loss, as she dropped her head downwards while closing her eyes. There was no doubt that Tommy would have understood what Eric did, but I wasn’t so sure that anyone else would be as accepting.

  It was becoming painfully obvious that we couldn’t hold onto the ways or things of the past. Sure, Tommy’s truck was durable and could be modified with the right parts, but there were vehicles like these that already fit the bill. Tommy and the rest of us had to let go of the idea that fortifying the truck was the best idea. There was sure to be a plentiful supply of vehicles to choose from, as ownership was drastically declining.

  We had to take into consideration that one of the main reasons for trying to keep Tommy’s truck operational was the gas mileage. We all agreed that this wouldn’t be an issue for the short term. Scavenging supplies would suffice, but we all knew that our available resources were becoming more limited as the ranks of our group rose.

  Staying on course with my original goal of rescuing friends and family, I took out my cell phone and found that there was no longer any phone service. The power outages were widespread and the backup generators for the cell towers were no longer working. I was thankful that at least I was able to use it to rescue Jamie and Tool, but knew that it was going to be a difficult path to try to rescue anyone else.

  Did people stay put? Were they at work or at home? Did they gather together with a group as we had? Where would we even begin to look for them?

  Once again, we all gathered around the map. I explained the predicament that we were in, now that there was no way to locate the missing through communication. It was a dangerous proposition going out to rescue Jamie based on a text, but that communication line is what allowed us to execute a successful plan and stay alive.

  This sounds very cold and very callous, but we were in a fight for survival and we needed to prioritize who we would be searching for first. As they were all my friends and family, the heavy burden and decision of who would be our first target fell solely on me. It was a responsibility that I didn’t take lightly, and one that I could quite frankly do without.

  Not only was I risking the fate of my companions on any search and rescue missions, but I could possibly be sentencing my friends and family to death by delaying their rescue. I understand that it seems a bit narcissistic that I would assume people would actually need us, need me, in order to be rescued and survive. The stark reality of what happened with Jamie was still very fresh on my mind and I couldn’t help but assume that others were in the same predicament. I had to do something sooner than later.

  One of my closest cousins, Geoff, had also become a police officer and was working in one of the precincts on the west side of Detroit close to where my department was. He was a member of their Special Response Team, or SRT for short. I knew with his training and the weapons he had access to that he would be well equipped to defend himself in a time like this, and I was hopeful that he was able to have survived this far along.

  My aunt, his mother, still lived in Detroit a short distance from where Geoff worked. She was an elderly shut-in, who was cared for by his younger brother Mike. Geoff and Mike had tried everything to move their mother out of her Detroit home, after the economy collapsed and the crime rates elevated to an unthinkable level a few years ago. Mike had worked as a real estate professional and lost his job as the housing bubble burst. After losing his suburban home to foreclosure, he agreed to move in with their mother to provide the care she needed. While it was tough on the brothers, they were compassionate enough to allow her to live her last days in the only home they had ever known as a family.

  If I knew Geoff, he would have tried to evacuate his mother and Mike first. Geoff didn’t live too far from me out here along I-94, so I figured that we would try to see if they were there. If we could locate them, Geoff and Mike would add considerable defensive resources to our group.

  As we discussed a plan of rescue, going over the routes and locations on the map, it was agreed we would utilize two teams – each with their own vehicle. While it was imperative to operate in pairs (at the least), it was equally beneficial to have two vehicles along for the trip in the event something went wrong. Being stranded miles from home would be bad enough, but having an army of zombies to deal with under such circumstances made an extra transport option a requirement.

  We had been through enough today. It was time to get some grub and much needed rest before heading out again in the morning. This wasn’t going to be a trip we could rush through, hoping we had enough daylight to accomplish the mission. I wasn’t looking forward to sentry duty and longed for a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Fortunately I was in luck as tonight would be the night that Tommy had offered to switch with me. Sure, I would have to be up by 4am. At least it wouldn’t get broken up this time. Or so I thought…

  Chapter 8

  I had been so exhausted that I had little trouble falling asleep. I was deep into a dream where I was rock climbing, my hands cramping from the climb and my back aching from the strain of supporting extra weight. For some odd reason, I was carrying a child on my shoulders while I climbed. I couldn’t see the child, but I could feel the weight around my shoulders and neck. The legs were wrapped around my neck, dangling, while the heels bounced against my chest with each small gain of altitude. The child whimpered as I made my way up the steep surface. Muted cries became louder as I continued to climb.

  Suddenly, the weight began to shift backwards. The legs tightened their grip around my neck as the heels kicked furiously. It was as if they were trying to secure themselves by digging their heels into my ribcage for security. The legs began to slide away and the feet brushed my cheeks as the weight dropped off behind me and the crying stopped. As I turned my head to look, there was nothing to be found.

  As I looked back up to continue the climb, I heard a loud crash. It sounded like something that had been dropped on a glass table, or came smashing through a window. I then heard yelling, incoherent voices that echoed against the giant wall before me. The sound of a shotgun blast broke me from my dream and threw me back into reality.

  My eyes took a minute to adjust, as the room was fully lit. I felt a blast of cool air and turned to see what it was. The curtains at the picture window were billowing into the room from the outside air now rushing through a gaping hole. The curtain had been peppered with buckshot and there was broken glass all over the floor beneath the window.

  Tommy was just standing there motionless, holding his 870 shotgun on the window as if he was frozen in time.

  “Get
some plywood from the garage,” Tommy directed to no one in particular.

  As I rose up onto my feet, I saw Justin running for the garage entrance. Moments later he returned with a sheet of plywood and brought it over to the window, forcing it against the blowing curtains.

  “Nails, we need some fucking nails,” Tommy barked out as he maintained his focus on the window.

  Jamie ran out into the garage and returned with a hammer and nails. Together, Jamie and Justin placed the plywood over the hole and secured it. Eric approached with a broom and trash can to clean up the glass, but Tommy held his arm up in a motion requesting Eric hold off.

  Tommy approached the other side of the large window, still intact, and peered around the curtain as he beamed his tactical light onto the porch. He turned off the light and lowered his shotgun as he walked backwards toward us, never removing his sight from the window.

  “Not sure what the hell that was,” Tommy said, visibly shaken.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Something tried getting in through the window. I didn’t see what it was, but once I let some buckshot fly it left.”

  “Zombies?” Claire asked as she entered the room, rubbing her arms to get rid of the chill that filled the room.

  “No, couldn’t be,” Tommy replied, somewhat reassuringly, “they wouldn’t have given up and there’s no body on the porch. Well, no new body anyway. It had to be looters.”

  “Well, at least they’re scared off for now,” I added as I went over and placed a comforting arm around Claire’s shoulders.

  “I’ll have to do something about the generator,” Tommy added as he walked away.

  Part of me was thankful that it wasn’t zombies. Chances are looters would be of the same mindset as the gang members we rescued Jamie and Tool from, which meant that they wouldn’t think twice about killing us for our resources. However, it was nighttime. I would rather have a firefight with the living than be overrun with the walking dead trying to make us a midnight snack.

  Our luck was surely running out. We hadn’t had to fight off more than a small pack of zombies up to this point, and we knew that eventually we would have to face greater numbers. I sure as hell didn’t want to experience that in the dead of night. The thought of those glowing eyes bobbing up and down as they approached you in the dark made my skin crawl. It’s one thing to fight the undead behind the safety of a videogame controller, but it’s a whole new experience in real life 3-D.