She was going to repay the favor. Raised as she was on a farm, she had respect for animals and her dad had taught her to be kind to them. But he had also showed her how to hunt and explained that sometimes you had to put an animal down. As she pulled the gun to her shoulder she remembered how she cried her eyes out when her dad had put down a calf that had been born defective. It was the merciful thing for him to do.
Now, Amanda was going to be merciful to the bulldog.
Her first shot dropped the Sheppard. It was a clean kill through front of the dog’s neck and out the back. The dog didn’t even utter a final yelp as it fell to the pavement.
The three remaining dogs stopped fighting at the sound of the gun for just a brief second. One of the mongrels ran off, another nipped at the bulldog’s hindquarters causing him to re-enter the fight. The big white and grey Husky looked directly at Amanda and charged with all his speed. His gait ate up five yards with every gallop. Amanda ejected the spent round and chambered a second as quick as she could.
The dog was three leaps away when she pulled the gun onto target and she loosed a second round. She must have hit the breadbasket because the dog yelped and was thrown off his gait. Amanda chambered another round and put him out of his misery.
The American Bulldog had the last mongrel, what looked to be a mix between Black Lab and Irish Setter, in a death grip with its jaws. Amanda watched in sadness and fear as the mongrel was killed by the black and white spotted bulldog. She should leave but something held her there. She watched the bulldog. It dropped and backed away from his kill and looked at it and straight at her.
* * *
Six of the zombies went immediately to the mound where Danny had buried the bodies of the brigands who’d attacked the farm. They dug into the dirt with bare hands until they got to the bodies.
When they got to the corpses, they started rending rotted flesh from bone like hungry jackals.
Two others headed for the burial spot of Rusty, Mike and Boomer.
It was difficult in the early morning darkness for the defenders to pick a target, even with the advanced scopes, but once their eyes adjusted to the dark they opened fire.
There were six zombies by the house and three men from the farm had high-powered rifles.
It should have been a turkey shoot.
It wasn’t. The men were shooting 7.62 military rounds and hitting their targets more often than not, but the zombies didn’t go down. The zombies were never still enough to get a good shot. Danny hit one in the thigh with his Dragonov and instead of falling to the ground in agony, it looked up at his position it ran at him, still chewing on the body part from one of the dead men. The beast covered 50 yards, half the distance to Danny, in less than 10 seconds. Danny put two more rounds into the beast, but it was stopped only when Cleve took the thing’s spine out from the side with a round from his DSR-1 rifle.
Jerry, whose position was 250 yards from the zombies had a little better luck. He was shooting from the prone position with a bipod on his H&K PSG1. He had four five-round magazines and was picking his targets.
His first shot hit low taking most of the leg off a zombie. The beast fell, but got back up, looked in his direction and started running in a low loping gallop using his hands to propel itself at a ground-eating pace.
It took the rest of the magazine, but eventually Jerry got the shot which took the top of its head off. He switched magazines and killed his second zombie with a lucky perfect shot through its temple with the third round. The big 7.62 round entered as a small hole and exited with the left side of the zombie’s head.
The zombie didn’t die straight away like a regular man would have, but turned toward Jerry, dragging it’s right foot and moved about 10 feet before having the good sense to die.
Jerry, Danny and Cleve fired another 35 or 40 round before finally killing the other three zombies. Even head shots were not always a guaranteed kill. One of the zombies got within 15 yards of Cleve’s position with half its grey matter hanging out of its head. Only when Danny blew its leg completely off at the hip did the zombie go down.
Buff killed the two zombies that had gone for Rusty’s grave with two shots. The first shot, from less than 100 yards, blew through the beast’s chest taking its entire spine out. It dropped.
His second shot at the remaining zombie took everything above the neck off in a fine spray. There was three minutes of silence before Jerry heard Kellie in his ear. “There’s no movement anywhere Jerry. I think we got them all.
Jerry relaxed. The zombies had scared the hell out of everyone. There was no need for coffee as the adrenalin was still pumping through everyone as they gathered for an early breakfast.
When everyone got together in the control room with the Padre, they discussed how they could change things so they weren’t caught unprepared like this again. Some of the things they would improve on were no more burying bodies on the property. “They must have smelled the bodies we buried,” Jerry told them. “Either we burn the bodies like we did before or bury them elsewhere, far away.
“Also, bright lights that can be turned on and aimed should be installed if we can find some, maybe from that stadium where the PA system was found.” Everyone agreed that the lights would have helped against the zombies, but the speed with which they tore through the gate was of more concern.
The gate had been heavy duty chain link with welded hinges, 3/8th’s-inch chain and heavy duty lock and the zombies tore through it like it was a snow fence at a college kegger. It hardly slowed the beasts down.
Tony said he could electrify a wire around the perimeter if they could get some more of the same type batteries they used for the electrical grid for the shelter and motorhomes. “I’ll draw power from the second paddle wheel generator to keep the batteries charged.
“Maybe a chain link fence won’t stop zombies, but 15,000 volts at 20 amps will shut their ass down. I’ll start on that tomorrow.” Jerry nodded to Tony and told him to take anyone he needed to make sure it was finished as soon as possible, then turned to Buff. “Buff, you got two kills with two shots and it took us more than 30 rounds to kill six. How?”
“I used that rifle the brigand used to knock out the SWAT truck. It’s an M-107 .50 caliber rifle with armor piercing rounds. It still had two rounds so I thought I’d give it a try. It kicks like an ex-wife, but it blew the shit out of those zombies,” Buff said with a small chuckle.
“Tia mentioned Ft. McClellan earlier and I didn’t give it much thought because last I knew it was a training base, but if I remember right, they used to repair heavy equipment near there, didn’t they?” he asked, directing his question to Tia.
Tia’s husband, an Army major, had died on the base and she spoke up after thinking about it for a moment. “You know, I do remember my husband saying something about the Anniston Army Depot. It must be near the base.”
“I think we ought to visit the place,” Buff said, favoring Tia with a smile, “and see what we can find by way of military weapons.” Jerry nodded in agreement.
Tony, who had returned to his motorhome, interrupted the conversation over the walkie-talkie. “Jerry, you better get over here. Keith from the Smith Compound is on the radio and he’s got quite a story.”
* * *
The dog was a killer, as Amanda had just witnessed, and it was just feet from her. It was bleeding from a new injury to its muzzle and limping from a bite on its back leg. She wondered if it would attack her next so she slowly chambered the fourth of five rounds in the gun, just in case.
With the round loaded, she let the barrel drop a little. The bulldog looked at her then back at the dog it had just killed, then back at her.
It sat down.
“Good dog,” was all Amanda could think of saying to the dog. He wagged his tail.
“Good dog,” she said again, this time with more feeling. The dog wagged his tail even harder.
“Who’s a good boy,” she said sweetly, lowering the barrel of her weapon a litt
le more. The bulldog stood up and started walking toward her, tail wagging side to side so hard, she thought it might fly off the dog’s butt. Its entire hind quarters seemed to wag and his ears were perked up.
As a farm girl, Amanda could read a dog that was happy. The bulldog was happy. Keeping the gun ready, she held out her hand, palm up and the dog came to within a few feet of her and sat down again. It leaned forward hesitantly, first sniffing her hand, then licking her palm.
Amanda slowly kneeled down and the dog didn’t move. She looked it his eyes and his tail wagging started all over again.
“Who’s a good boy?” was all she could think to ask again. The dog seemed to know he was the good boy and licked her outstretched palm again. She petted his head and the dog closed its eyes in joy as she scratched the places his paws didn’t reach.
“Do you have a name, boy?” she had already checked and the dog had no collar. She continued to pet him as she looked at his injuries. They had already started clotting and were superficial at worst. He’d obviously been in much worse fights and survived without medical treatment, so she decided the best thing to do was to do nothing and let the wounds heal themselves.
She petted and scratched the big dog for a few minutes. She wondered if he’d follow her so she walked back to the truck and opened the back. She pulled out her mess kit which was still in her ruck sack. She put it on the ground and poured a bottle of water into the lid. The dog drank it quickly and looked up at her as if asking for more.
She pulled out on of two 5-gallon water bottles and kept pouring until the big dog’s thirst was quenched. She had no food for him, but the gas-n-go across the street might have something so she walked over to the store. The dog followed her, walking on her left, just like he’d been trained by someone.
He sniffed the air and the ground and was always searching around him.
The windows of the gas station were broken just like the boutique she’d been in. She could see inside and near the door there were 20-pound bags of dog food, just like she’d hoped to find. There were four different types, but three of them had been infested or broken into by some other animal. She reached through the door and unlocked it. The dog growled and barked a single bark. Some wildlife that had already encroached on this find scampered back into the darkness, far from the door.
Amanda pushed the four top bags off the first stack. Rats ran from the bags. Two of the bottom three bags were still in pretty good shape. She could see no place the rats had gotten into them and they hadn’t drawn moisture from the floor.
She took them over to where her mess kit was still on the ground and nipped off a corner of one bag. She poured the dish full. The dog ate with gusto. Within a minute, she had to pour more. Then she did it a third time.
Amanda scratched the dog’s head as he ate. “I’ll be right back, boy,” she said to him as she poured him a fourth bowl of food. “You need a bigger bowl or we’ll be doing this for the next hour.” He looked up at her. “Stay.” She ordered him, wondering if he would understand. He sat down and stuck his big nose into his food.
She sat the bag of dog food down and walked back to the gas station. She was able to get three more good bags of food, having already decided the dog was going to stay with her. There were no dog bowls, but there were empty 5-gallon water bottles, so grabbed two and used her knife to cut the bottom six inches off. The bottoms were easily big enough for the dog. She also picked up two more five-gallon water bottles that were full and put them in the back of the truck with the food. She was now feeding two.
She went back for a last load of comfort food for herself. Much of it had already been gotten into, but she found some potato chips and candy that hadn’t been touched. She could see the wall coolers covered with mold so didn’t even open them.
As she was walking out, she looked at the counter and saw four GPS units under the glass. She didn’t know if GPS still worked, but she’d give it a try. She went behind the counter and the key was still in the lock. She opened the door and pulled out the four units. They didn’t look like display models so she took them all. She also grabbed chargers that were on a display rack.
Back at the truck the dog was finished eating his fill. He saw her coming and stood up, but didn’t run over to her until she said “come here, boy.” He then romped over to her, still favoring his back leg. She pet him on the head and asked him if he wanted to go for a ride.
He did.
She closed up the back of the truck and opened the driver’s door. The big dog jumped in and sat in the driver’s seat. “Get over you big lug. I’m driving.” The dog looked at her and didn’t move until she pushed him. He then moved into the passenger’s seat and Amanda got in, rolled the dog’s window down a couple of inches and started the truck.
She plugged the GPS charger into the power port of the truck and plugged into the Garmin Nuvi. The unit powered on and after a few moments showed her position on the screen. It looked accurate so she put her destination into the unit. The default voice was a man and she changed it to a woman’s voice. She didn’t know why, but it sounded better to her. When it spoke for the first time, the dog growled then licked the unit. It must not have tasted good because he went back to looking around and sniffing out the window.
Amanda’s next stop would be her mom’s place. The GPS told her the drive should take about 12 minutes from her present location.
As she drove away from the boutique, she had to drive around the dead dogs. They were three more bodies in her wake. First had been the ones at Ft. Wainwright, then Spec. 4 Johnson and her friend Shep who was killed in Canada. Now it was three dogs. Her gut told her she was not to blame for what happened, but the fact remained the dead were dead.
As she drove, she petted the dog in the passenger seat. It had started panting a little and drool was dripping onto the floor. Having the dog with her made her feel better, and right now, as she was driving through the suburbs, following the directions given to her from the GPS, she needed his friendship.
She saw bodies that were in advanced decomposition along the roads. Houses were burned to the ground and cars and trucks wrecked. Small animals scurried at the sound of her truck.
“I guess I should call you something besides ‘dog,’” she said to him. “I think I’ll call you Chopper.”
The dog looked at her and licked its muzzle. “You like that name, Chopper?” she asked him, scratching behind his ears. His tail thumped against the seat. She didn’t know if it was the scratching or the name, but “Chopper” seemed to like the name well enough.
She talked to the dog to familiarize him with her voice until she heard “You have reached your destination,” from the GPS. Amanda pulled to the side of the residential street. The house in which her mom and step-dad lived was still standing. It hadn’t been consumed by fire like many of the others. She got out of the truck and was followed by Chopper.
The yard was overgrown and debris scattered about. Houses on the entire block were the same. She walked around the house to see if it had been broken into, but the windows and doors were all locked. She could easily break in and find out for sure, but she could tell, there was no one alive in this area.
Chopper stayed by her side and nuzzled her hand as she stood on the front porch. Amanda knocked and knew she wouldn’t get an answer. But she had to knock. She heard something, but it was only a small animal scurrying from under the porch. Chopper started to chase it, but Amanda said “Chopper, no!” and the dog stopped. He looked at her, then at the animal that was getting away, then back to Amanda. He stayed with her.
Amanda walked around the house one more time, double checking every door and window. All were locked. One window, on the back side, had the blinds not all the way down. Cupping her hands, she peered through into the darkness inside.
Amanda could see two bodies in the master bedroom. One was in the bed, the other slumped in a chair beside the bed, holding the hand of the one in the bed. They had gone together.
&
nbsp; “There’s no one here, Chopper. Let’s go,” she said to the dog, who was sniffing the trail of the rabbit that had been frightened out from under the porch. “Have you ever been to Alabama?”
Amanda and Chopper got back in the HUMVEE and drove the rest of the day. She stopped every two or three hours to re-fuel when it was convenient. She passed off ramps, looking to see if there were any other vehicles, but she didn’t see any.
Amanda thought a lot about her mom. She tried to remember all the good times she and her mom had experienced together and smiled at the memories.
Mom often made her famous banana pancakes for breakfast on weekends. She was always ready to read to Little Amanda when the girl had a bad dream. Mom was always the one to pamper Amanda when her knee was skinned or her hair wouldn’t stay in position.
Mom was a good person who didn’t deserve the end that came to her. Amanda could only hope the end came peacefully for her mom and what she saw through the window, her husband holding her hand was the best she could hope for. Tears welled up but a swift hand wiped them from her face before they could fall. It was an unfair world, but Amanda wasn’t going to let it get the better of her. She was alive and she’d keep trying to stay alive.
During every stop, Chopper would climb out with her and run around, sniffing everything and marking his territory. Twice at one stop, he froze in place and growled. The short hair on the back of his neck stood up and he would pace in place, watching a building, but not going anywhere near it.
Amanda would call out, but no one ever came to her calls. She figured it must be some animal that got his hackles up.
The Rocky Mountains fell behind her that first day out from Spokane. She had hopes for seeing someone else on the highways, but it was void of live people. There were still bodies in the wrecked cars she saw.
Darkness fell just about the time she pulled into the outskirts of Bozeman Montana. They had a few more mountain passes to drive through the next day, but tonight she was going to find someplace other to sleep than in the HUMVEE again.
Hell Revisited (Hell happened) Page 13