“They were looking up at those guys on the semi-trailer.”
“Yeah, well that’s because they chased them up there. No one chased us up here, they don’t even know we’re in this house. So they’d have no reason to look up. Plus, all I’m gonna do is shine a light, not shoot my gun or make any loud noise or anything.”
That was all reasonable and shit, but I really had no clue as to the behavior of those fuckers - I wasn’t lying, though, just guessing. There actually was a very good chance that some random zombie might see a glint out of the corner of its eye and try to locate it, bringing others with. But it was a chance I was willing to take, if it would get Gus out of his funk. Ding!
“Okay, if you’re really worried about it, just wait here a minute. I’ll be right back. Just don’t stand in the window. Just in case I’m wrong about the looking up thing.”
“Okay.”
I left him in the room and went back downstairs, with a memory from the Army bouncing around in my head. When I was in the Army, out in the field or really anywhere we didn’t want people (the enemy) to know where we were at night, we practiced a thing called “noise and light discipline” - a concept I about broke in the bedroom.
What it is, basically, is that at night, so the enemy doesn’t see you and shoot you, you do certain things to make sure you are “invisible”: tape off anything that may make noise, like anything steel on your clothing or equipment that may “clack” on your weapon or anything else; make sure your flashlight isn’t flopping around, banging on shit; wear camouflage to break up the planes of your face, and to make your face less reflective; to use hand signals, or when you absolutely have to speak, whisper; keep a low silhouette, so you won’t stand out from being back-lit and get your fuckin’ head shot off; use the handset on the radio only, on a low volume; never use a white-lens flashlight; and if you have to use a flashlight, make sure you got a muthafuckin’ red lens in that bitch.
There are a slew of other things you don’t want to do, but the red-lens one was the one that was on my mind as I made my way to the kitchen. While the zombies may have seen the white lens on my flashlight, there was no fuckin’ way they would’ve seen the light with a red lens on it. Only thing was, was that I didn’t have a fuckin’ red lens, which is why I was in the kitchen, looking through the drawers for a red marker. Figured I could color the lens on my flashlight red. I had just given up, after going through every drawer twice, when I spotted a dry-erase board on the fridge - that had a red marker velcroed to it. Bingo! I grabbed that fucker and ran back upstairs, coloring as I went.
“Okay, we’re good to go now, Gus. Got me a red lens on this bee-otch, see,” I said as I shined it in his face.
“But I can hardly see it. It’s so dark.”
“Yeah, but you can, right? That’s the point, to make the light harder to see, but so that it still provides illumination. Now there really is no way those fuckin’ meat-puppets will see this shit. Not fuckin’ possible. But if someone from across the way is looking out their windows, they will see it, fo sho. Let’s just hope they are. Now point the motherfucker out.”
I could not fucking believe it. We were so fucking close it was disgusting. His place was practically right across the fuckin’ street, just one goddamn house over. If I had known, if I had had a better bearing on my surroundings, I could’ve dragged his ass in the opposite direction, and we would’ve been cool. But I panicked, and not really knowing where I was at, ran in the other opposite direction. So fucking stupid! But, there was nothing I could’ve done about it, we were where we were. It was just another obstacle in a day chocked full of them. Back to the plan I went.
Originally, I had planned on shining the light in short bursts, but with the lens colored red, I just kept the fucker turned on, and held it in one position with it pointing towards Gus’s sliding door window. Every now and then I moved it from side to side, so that if anyone was seeing it, they would know that someone was holding it, and it wasn’t an alarm clock or some other shit.
Fuckin’ hours went by, at least three, with no goddamn response from across the street or anywhere else, for that matter. Gus had given up his post next to me earlier on, believing all was lost, and had laid down in the bed, to a shallow, fitful sleep. I was getting pretty fuckin’ tired myself, as the rigors of the day were wearing on me. I had just turned my head, to see where I was gonna bed down at, when, from Gus’s home, a bright light shined right at me. And was extinguished right away.
It happened so fast, I wasn’t sure if I had really seen it. I wasn’t facing the window, and I was so exhausted when I saw it, that I thought I was imagining things. I’ve been known to see things in the past, thanks to a severe lack of sleep and extreme paranoia, and was worried that I had gone and done it again.
But I was wide fuckin’ awake, then, as I focused on the sliding door again, waving my flashlight rapidly from side to side, willing the elusive light to flash one more fucking time. Just one, so I could wake Gus up. The adrenaline was pumping through my system so fast, it was like I had just smoked crack, cocaine, and P.C.P. at the same time. I needed that fucking light to shine again. Fucking needed it, like a junkie needs his fix. Or like I needed my next beer.
And then it did, just as quickly as the first time - there and gone - but it was definitely there, it had definitely happened, and I was not seeing things. Fuck yeah!
I went to the bed, and gently shook Gus awake, hoping that he wouldn’t wake up screaming and shit, ‘cause that would’ve alerted the zombies outside to our presence, which was something I really didn’t want, especially then. Thankfully, he was a quiet waker. He opened his eyes very slowly, and looked around the room like he didn’t know where he was at.
“Oh… god… it wasn’t a nightmare. I was really hoping it was. Just leave me alone, Dave, and let me sleep. Okay? I just want to sleep.”
“Fuck that shit, dude, I got something to show ya. I think you’ll like it.”
“What, a street full of zombies? Been there, done that. Just leave me alone.”
“Okay, I’ll just say it then …they’re over there Gus! They shined a light back at me!”
I swear, I had never seen anybody move that fast before in my entire life. He was like the fuckin’ Flash. He was a blur, he moved so fast to the window
“Where? When? Why the fuck didn’t you wake me up?”
“I did, fucker, just now, so cool your jets. And don’t talk so fuckin’ loud. What are you trying to do, wake the dead? Hah! Get it? Wake the dead? Huh? Right?”
“Yeah, real fucking funny, Dave. Just quit it with the jokes and show me, okay?”
“Yeah, okay, Gloomy Gus. Just trying to cheer ya up a little, that’s all. Jeez! Okay, here I go, I’ll just wave mine back and forth here. It may take a minute, but let’s see…….”
I had the light waving for not even three seconds when someone over there shined their light back, just as quickly as before. To say Gus was happy would be an understatement. He was so excited he yanked open the window, and almost yelled to them across the street. I said almost, ‘cause before he could go squawking and get the attention of all the zombies, of which there were still tons and tons of them out there, I grabbed his ass and pulled him away from the window, with my right hand clamped over his near-deadly mouth.
I threw us both to the floor, ‘cause I wasn’t sure if the noise he made when he opened the window was heard from the zombies down below - I didn’t want us to be seen, even though it wasn’t very loud at all. But noise carries far at night, so ya never know. Once Gus quit struggling with me, and agreed that he wouldn’t yell and get us ripped to shreds, I took my hand off his mouth.
“Dave ……they’re alive.”
“Told ya so, dickhead.”
Right after I said that, there came a scraping and clunking on one of the doors downstairs. We got noticed.
17
We rushed down the stairs as fast and as quiet as we could, our weapons at the ready (I had my .22 an
d Gus had his scatter-gun), all traces of sleep gone - we were both wide awake, alert to anything and everything.
It didn’t sound like a lot of zombies were trying to get in. Actually, it only sounded like one, which was ideal. Plus, it didn’t really sound like it was even trying to get in at all. What it sounded like, was that all it was doing was sliding around on the door, after maybe just stumbling up from the street - kinda like the ones that were in the hallway at my apartment earlier. No real definite course of action, just a crazy coincidence. At least I was hoping, ‘cause if one started hammering on the door in a frenzy, the others would follow. And then we’d be doing the same thing somewhere else.
The sound was coming from the back door of the house that was located in the laundry room - which was another good thing, ‘cause the flow of zombies was primarily out front in the street. There were only a handful out back, in the yards and shit, and they were scattered over a wide area.
We crab-walked to the door, and took up positions to either side, where we crouched and listened to see if the zombie was gonna leave or try and get in. Neither of us wanted to look through the door’s window to see what was going on out there, so we just waited, vigilantly, for the zombie to hopefully get tired of doing whatever it was doing and walk off.
About ten minutes into our guard, the doorknob started turning. The door was locked, thankfully, but the lock was an obvious piece of shit, one of those where even a little kid could lean against the door and it would pop. Fuckin’ shitty home security. But it was a pretty nice neighborhood, so the owners of the house (who were probably out there in the street, wandering aimlessly in the night) probably didn’t think they’d ever need more.
It was plainly obvious that the fuckin’ zombie was gonna bust through the door into the house - ‘cause the doorknob had made its full revolution with the latch in the open position, and there was pressure being put on the door - so I signaled to Gus to be ready for some action. He quietly propped his shotgun against the dryer and reached up and grabbed a little ball-peen hammer that was on a shelf above the dryer. Good eyes, I didn’t even see that mofo up there. I set my .22 up on top of the washer, and waited for the entry of our new friend.
The lock finally gave out and the door burst open. The zombie lunged into the laundry room and made a movement, at least it looked like it to me (but how the fuck could it have been), to close the door behind it. But before it could, I grabbed it and slammed it face-first into the floor, yanked both its arms and secured them behind its back, and placed my right knee in the center of its back, immobilizing it. As soon as we were out of the way, Gus quickly closed the door behind us and slid the dryer in front of it. I saw that the backyard was free of zombies before I grabbed the one that came in there, so I figured that meant we wouldn’t have any unwanted company, and could go upstairs and get some sleep after Gus caved the zombies fuckin’ head in.
Gus was about to do just that, with the hammer raised to the heavens to strike a killing blow, when the zombie quietly spoke.
“Jesus, don’t kill me, please! I’m just looking for a place to hide!”
For a second there, I about grabbed the hammer from Gus (who had lowered it to his side, realizing that the zombie wasn’t a zombie, but a survivor like us) and turned the “zombies” head to pulp, ‘cause I was freaked out at the prospect of talking zombies - if they could talk, they could plan, and then we’d all be fucked. But I quickly realized that shit was nonsense - talking zombies, hah! What a fuckin’ joke! - and pulled myself together, got off the guys back and helped him into the kitchen, where I sat him in a chair.
Gus and I went back into the laundry room and dragged the washer and put it in front of the dryer (just in case), retrieved our weapons, and went back to the kitchen to the waiting dude.
He looked pretty fuckin’ bad, the dude did (not that we really looked good ourselves, as we were still covered in blood and gore from head to toe). He hadn’t been saturated in blood like we had, but he was still pretty fuckin’ bloody, and it looked like he had also been crawling through a mud-pit or something, ‘cause he had mud caked all over his body where there wasn’t blood, and all over his face and hands. His clothes looked like he had been attacked by a jungle cat, all torn to shreds, and he was missing his left shoe - his exposed foot was caked in mud and blood. And the dude smelled very bad, like he was rotten or something.
“You okay?” I asked him when we got back in the kitchen. “I mean, I didn’t hurt you too bad when I threw you down, did I?”
“No, I’m alright, I’m okay. It’s no worse than what I’ve been through so far today, trust me. No… I’m doing fine, just fine, now.” He stopped talking and held his head in his hands for a few minutes before speaking again. He looked beat. “Tell you what, I am damn sure glad to see that there are other survivors out there, I thought I might’ve been the only one. I’ve been on my feet all day, and I haven’t seen a single living person until you guys. Well, at least ones that weren’t getting eaten, that is.”
“Yeah, same with us,” Gus said, “but we have seen survivors today. Quite a few of them. As a matter of fact, my girlfriend and brother are right across the street in my apartment. That’s where we were headed before we had to hide in here.”
“That’s amazing,” the guy said, clearly happy to hear that there were more than just us out there. “I am so glad that those you care about have made it, really. I……. I watched my wife and kids get ripped to shreds from our roof……. it’s something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. So, I am glad that you still have someone after all of this. Very glad.”
“Well… to be completely honest, I don’t know exactly who is over there, just that somebody is. I hope they are both there, though.”
“So do I. You know, I bet that they’re both over there, just fine. Just fine.”
“Thank you. So…what do we call you?”
“Oh, jeez, where are my manners? My name is Clark, Clark Anderson. Pleased to meet you.”
As he was introducing himself to Gus, he held his hand out to shake hands. Our new friend Clark had a bite on the inside of his right wrist. I kept my mouth shut, but I took my rifles safety off.
“Nice to meet you, Clark,” said Gus, as they shook hands. He didn’t see the bite. Just as well, I thought, ‘cause there was something I wanted to find out, and I wouldn’t’ve been able to if Gus knew about it. “I’m Gus Higgins, and this is Dave Rogers.” I nodded from across the way.
I know it was rude to have not shaken his hand, and I could tell that Clark was put upon by my refusal, but I wanted to keep my distance, since I knew that he was gonna turn, sometime in the future.
You see, I wanted to study the Clarkster, to see how long it took for someone to turn, and once they did, exactly what it was that they were: alive or dead. There was no chance in fucking hell that I would’ve been able to do it out in the world, outside; but in the house, I had myself a nice little sterile-ish environment, where I could hopefully control the outcome of things - just as long as Gus went along with it.
There was no real reason that I wanted to do it, I was just curious - I wanted to know if I was right, earlier in the day, when I thought the zombies were alive. Not that it really mattered, ‘cause they were still a fuckin’ threat and still died the same way - by the brain being destroyed - but I figured it would be nice to know.
“Tell ya what, I am parched. Do you guys want anything to drink?” I asked them both, as I walked to the fridge and unplugged it (didn’t want that light being seen from outside, no sir). “Hopefully there’s some reebs up in this shit. Okay, we gots beer, o.j., …looks like some sweet tea, and milk. What’ll it be, boys?”
After handing Gus his beer and pouring Clark a glass of tea in a glass I got from the cupboard, Gus and I sat down at the table with Clark. I sat across from him, rifle by my side, beer in my hand. Aaaaaaaaaaaah.
Since I had no fuckin’ clue as to how long it took somebody to turn into a zombie, I figured a little ch
it-chat was in order - figured I’d ask Clark his story, ‘cause he may have known something we didn’t. Plus, I was really impressed that someone could’ve made it that long unarmed and alone, bit or not.
“So, Clark, we really have no clue about what’s going on outside, besides the fact that people are getting eaten by zombies. Could you maybe tell us anything that you might’ve heard or seen… maybe on the T.V. or radio?”
“Well, let me think…. I’ve been on the run since nine this morning, you know… Or is it yesterday morning now? Doesn’t matter. Okay… yes, I did see something on the news before I stepped out for the paper. The reporter was talking about some attacks up in Chicago, where the newscast was coming from, and where the first incident of this chaos reportedly occurred. She looked very worried. I remember she said that a number of people had been attacking doctors and nurses in a number of the hospitals there, biting them and such, of course, in a type of fugue, or semi-unconsciousness. As to the reason why, all she said was that the CDC, who was conducting an investigation into it, said that their ‘sickness’ - the reason why they were acting violently, a ‘sickness’ - was caused by an unknown virus. Not really much else was said, just more repetition of the same. Shortly after, as my wife, kids, and I were walking to our van to take the kids to school, we were able to see what the news lady was speaking of first-hand, when a large group of what looked like vagabonds came and attacked us. They obviously were not vagabonds. I was …forced… to leave my family behind, and had to climb up the satellite dish tower to the roof to escape. We have many trees and had to place the dish atop a tower for better reception. I almost decided to not get satellite television, but my wife talked me into it. Funny, if she hadn’t, I would have been eaten as well.”
At that, he broke down in quiet, yet powerful sobs, and cried. Gus and I left him sitting at the table, and went into the living room and sat on the couch. I thought, now that we were alone, that it was time to tell Gus what I had seen and what I had planned to do about it, ‘cause I was a little worried that he would try and stop me once I did start, and that the little bit of time spent trying to tell him what was going on and what I wanted to do would be all the time that Clark needed to turn into a zombie and kill one of us. Or both.
Just Another Day Page 7