American Revenant: Hometown Exodus

by Davis IV, John L.

  Before anyone could offer an opinion a voice spoke up from across the room. “What about church bells?”

  Trish Tanner blushed as all eyes turned to look at her. “I was kind of going with this guy for a bit and I would sit and watch him play this zombie game all the time. I know, real romantic right? Well this one part a bunch of people were using church bells to draw zombies, “Walkers” were what they were called in the game, away from one place to another. So, yeah, church bells.”

  Trish sat back down with the other children, attempting to engage her little brother. Everyone at the tables realized that the children weren’t just staying quiet, they were listening in.

  “I thought most churches had switched over to electronic bells, played over a loud-speaker,” Jimmy stated.

  “I’m fairly certain that the First Presbyterian Church on North 6th street still has a bell,” Gordy offered. “I think it might work, even if just long enough to get us on the river. It’s worth trying, but someone will have to go ring it.”

  “Dad, I can handle that. We agree on a time when you will leave here. I’ll start ringing the bell like crazy at the same time. The downtown area and the riverfront should be completely clear by the time you get there. I will continue ringing the bell for about twenty minutes. You guys get the boats loaded and on the river. I’ll wait a little while then head to the marina; someone waits just offshore for me. It should be just that easy.”

  Before Gordy could say anything Jan caught his eye and gave him a tiny nod.

  “Ok, Dean, sounds like it would work to me. After this is done I say we flesh it out a little more, make sure everyone knows the plans of ingress and egress. You also need to make sure you are carrying at least a sidearm and a day-kit, just in case.”

  Gordy glanced at his wife, and she gave him another small nod. As much as he hated the thought of sending his son out there, he loved the boy who was not a boy. They were all in this together, and in all honesty, Dean was more suited to this mission than any of them. A third degree black-belt in Karate, a marathon runner, and an educator, Dean was far more capable than most.

  “So,” Mike began, “do we have seaworthy watercraft or are we all going to be doing the backstroke up and down the Mississippi?”

  Rick looked around at his team, as if asking their blessing to be the spokesman. When none of the others said anything he cleared his throat. “Well, everyone saw the loaded bags we came back with. We found a bunch of useful stuff. Several bags of charcoal, oil lanterns and oil, some canned foods, a Henry survival rifle, just a bunch of various stuff that we didn’t want to leave behind. What we don’t have is a pontoon boat.”

  Rick waited for a moment to let the groans and complaints die off.

  “We have three, as well as a couple of jon-boats,” He said with a grin.

  The family sat around the table for several hours discussing the boats, and all the options they had available to them. A meal was prepared and enjoyed by all, followed by more discussion. By the end of the evening the group as a whole had decided on an overall plan for getting on the river and away from town.

  Over the next couple of days, two groups would work to get the boats down to the river using the two old pickups they had including the one that Hendry and his partner had left behind. Each group would be a three person team. Two people would handle the boat work, while the third would act as lookout for potential threats.

  A third group would take out an old box truck Jimmy had owned for years and try to salvage anything they could that would be of value to overall group survival. This group would also consist of three people, two for the heavy lifting, one standing guard over the whole process.

  No one sat idle over these days. Anyone at the school packed up all the supplies they had as tightly as possible. Every square inch was used in every bag and box they had available. Nothing was to be left behind. Cases of MRE’s and canned goods were stacked at the doors. Bottled water, weapons and ammunition were boxed or bagged in backpacks and duffle bags. 72-hour bags were put together for every member. These were to be carried at all times. Every possession these people owned ended up in a massive pile by the front doors, where they would move it to the trucks.

  The three trucks would each be divided between the three pontoon boats and two jon-boats. Each boat would carry some of every item, so that if something were to go wrong, not all of any one thing would be lost.

  7

  On the morning of what would be their last day at the school Jack, Gordy and Jimmy were going out for one final scavenge. They had gathered as many supplies as they could safely get to, but Gordy wanted one last run.

  As they drove away from the school, watching in their side mirrors for anything that may be following them Gordy said, “Ok guys, here’s the deal. I wanted this last run for one reason. I want to go check on Capp. If anyone could survive this shit, either on sheer cantankerousness or superior firepower it would be Harlan Capp.”

  Jimmy had only met Capp once, a couple of years ago. Jack only knew him from hearing Gordy mention him on occasion. From what he could gather, Harlan Capp was more of a “gun guy” than any three people that Gordy could name. Historian and collector, he had amassed a huge collection of both historic and modern firearms.

  Gordy drove the back streets, heading for Harlan’s small, comfortable home on 36th Street. Dead people where everywhere. Some walked around, turning to follow the sound of the box truck, though most simply lay there, lucky enough to have actually stayed dead.

  Neither Gordy, nor any from his group had even the most remote idea what had caused the dead to return to ravenous life. He had thought often about it. Had the EMP somehow caused a mutation of the virus? Had it been designed this way? A negative reaction to an attempted cure? He had no idea. He did know that if you were bitten, you would ‘zombie out’ just like in the movies.

  It was that thought, the idea of dying and coming back as a mindless murder machine, a ravenous devouring beast whose only purpose was to consume, that filled his days. He could often feel that thought trying to bloom into something else, something akin to fear. Not fear for himself, but for those he cared deeply for, the people he loved. What would they do without him? Even worse, what would they do if they had to kill him? He pushed back against these thoughts and fears mightily, but could not escape them entirely. He was a father, a husband, a brother, and a friend. He wondered if any of the others felt the same.

  “Hey Gordy, you still in there, man?”

  “Eh? Oh, yeah, Jack. Just woolgathering a bit.”

  “No problem, I wonder the same thing sometimes.”

  “Wonder what?”

  “Are we all infected with this zombie shit? Are we all just gonna wake up one day as psycho biting nutbags?”

  “I’ve wondered that myself,” Jimmy offered.

  “Yeah, me too. Either way, it’s not happening today, not if I can…Jesus.”

  The other men looked out the window to see what had pulled Gordy up short. Half a block away sat a small white house on a large lot. The grass was knee high in places, but they could still see the bodies sprawled everywhere.

  As far as they could tell without an accurate count, there had to be twenty or thirty bodies scattered around the little white house. It was difficult to tell what had been dead before and what had died after reaching their final resting place. Many of the dead bodies had been killed by a headshot, this was obvious. Still other bodies were riddled with bullet holes. There had to have been a massive fire fight here at one time just recently, as some of the dead had just begun to decompose. Others looked as if they had been rotting for some time.

  “What the fuck happened here?”

  “I’m wondering the same thing Jimmy.” Gordy stepped over a body, noticing that it still had a pistol in its dead fist. “Some of these things were dead before they ever got here, though it looks like there are a few that came in armed. What the hell?”

  The three men moved warily towards the front d
oor, sidestepping the decaying corpses when they could. Once, Jimmy laid his hand on Gordy’s shoulder, stopping him before he could put his foot down in a bear trap that was partially hidden by the tall grass.

  “Ha! Harlan’s work, I guarantee it. Thanks Jimmy. Be careful guys, there may be a few more, Harlan Capp was never one to do things half-assed.”

  Moving forward they watched not only the house but the surrounding area closely. They made it to the front door without any problems, not letting down their guard even as they stepped through the broken in front door.

  “Harlan, you in there? Capp, it’s Gordy, you still alive?” Gordy sharply rapped the butt of the crossbow here carried on the half-hanging door. Stepping further into the small, destroyed, living room he could hear a noise coming from the kitchen, something like a plastic grocery bag in the wind.

  “Capp, that you? It’s Gordy, here with a couple friends. You ok?”

  A few quick and cautious steps took the men into the kitchen. Gordy’s heart dropped into his stomach at the sight of his old, dear friend pinned beneath two dead zombies. A large kitchen knife protruded from the temple of the topmost zombie. It looked as if Harlan Capp had driven the knife through the skulls of both creatures after they had fallen on him. Though it hadn’t been fast enough to spare him the huge bite the bottom zombie had taken out of his upper chest. They could see the bloody white of Capp’s collar bone clearly.

  “Fuck! Fucking bastard gut-sucking…,” Gordy stammered, stumbling over words, unable to express the rage and fear and disgust boiling in him.

  He looked down into his friends face, snapping teeth, vacant eyes. Harlan’s right arm had gotten caught under the single kitchen chair he always kept at the little table. A plastic grocery sack had snagged on the wrist, creating a wispy rasping noisy every time Harlan’s hand would move.

  Jack laid his hand on Gordy’s shoulder, reminding him that he had friends here and now.

  “Gordy, I’m so sorry man. We can’t stay here, just asking for trouble if we hang out too long.”

  “Jimmy’s right, Gordy. I feel horrible for you and for your friend, but we need to go. Do you want me to…”

  “No, I’ll handle this.” Gordy’s voice was barely a whisper. “Give me just a second, please.”

  Jimmy and Jack stepped back into the living room, watching both the front door and short hall leading to a bathroom and bedroom.

  Gordy withdrew the Extreme Ratio Suppressor dagger from his boot, whispered a quite goodbye to his friend, and closed his eyes for a moment. “Like a Band-Aid. Like the most horrible fucking Band-Aid ever,” He said, mostly to himself, and quickly plunged the narrow dagger deep into Harlan Capp’s temple.

  He did not waste time kneeling beside his dead friend. Harlan had plenty of company in death. It was time to go. Gordy met his friends in the living room, and made for the front door without saying a word. Jimmy and Jack were right behind him, which is why they all bumped together when Gordy stopped right on the threshold.

  “Wait.”

  “Gordy, we have got to get out of here.”

  “I know Jack,” Gordy said stepping back and grabbing the nearly unhinged door. He pushed it into place as much as he could; hoping that if it wouldn’t keep anything out it would at least act as an early warning system.

  “Jimmy, you’ve only been here the one time, and Jack never, so you guys wouldn’t have noticed. Either of you see any guns?”

  Both men looked around the room, not sure what Gordy was getting at.

  “Harlan had guns everywhere, old and new guns both. Those two racks over there and that glass front cabinet were always full. I would say that the guns in Capp’s bedroom are probably gone also. Hell, I’d bet good money, if money was still good, that he had one in the bathroom too.”

  Gordy took off into the back rooms, just to prove himself correct. There wasn’t a single gun in any room in the house.

  “I think whatever happened here was some sort of setup so someone could get at Capp’s guns. Stupid as it may sound, I’d lay good odds that’s what happened.”

  “What’s that got to do with us getting the fuck out of here, Gordy?” Jack was beginning to get nervous, having stayed in one unsecured spot for so long.

  “Capp showed me something years ago, he said it was just a little hidey-hole to stash some of his more valuable possessions. As far as I know I was the only person other than Harlan himself to know about it. Follow me”

  Out of habit the men moved as quietly as possible, following Gordy to a small sunlit back porch. “Help me move this,” Gordy had begun to pull out a small sofa that had its back to the inner wall of the porch.

  With the sofa moved, they looked down at a small metal pull ring inset into the floor. It had been well concealed beneath the furniture. Gordy pulled up the ring, the floor giving up a small section that acted as a trap door.

  Jimmy turned on the small flashlight he kept on hand, shining it down a small staircase. “Little hidey-hole, huh?”

  Gordy took the flashlight from Jimmy and went down into the room. The other two men waited, and watching at the top of the steps, until they heard Gordy say, “Holy shit, Capp!”

  “Gordy, what’s down there, man?”

  “Come on down here, it’s cramped, but we can all fit, just barely. You’ll have to stoop, really low ceiling”

  Jack and Jimmy joined Gordy in the cramped hidey-hole Harlan Capp had created. The room was six foot to a side, with a five foot ceiling. The walls were cinderblock with metal shelving bolted along each wall from floor to ceiling. The floor was simple wooden planks laid over dirt.

  Every shelf was filled to capacity, some bowing under the weight of the guns and ammunition.

  “Oh. Holy shit.”

  “That, Jimmy, is an understatement,” Gordy said with a grin.

  “Barrett .50cal, Accuracy International L115A3, FN P90, no make that two FN P90’s. I had no clue he had all this. There must be fifteen different guns in here and maybe ten cans of ammo for each.” Gordy touched everything as he went by it, constantly bumping into the other two men.

  “Can we get all of this out of here?” Jimmy asked.

  “Can we? Hell I say we can’t leave anything behind. Even the few cases of MRE’s and bottled water go. It’s going to take us a while to pack everything out and load it in the truck. Let’s get started.”

  “Hang on Gordy; let’s bring the truck right up to the back door. We haven’t seen much in the way of the Creeping Dead out here, we might be able to just bring it right out of here, straight into the truck and be gone in less than an hour.”

  Gordy looked at Jimmy, who just shrugged his shoulders then back to Jack. “Fuck it, let’s do it.”

  Gordy drove, while Jimmy and Jack walked in front of the truck, moving bodies and bear traps when necessary. The few minutes it took to move the truck were tense, and they all felt a sense of relief when Gordy cut the engine.

  “Uh, Gordy, with your back why don’t you climb up on top and stand guard. Jimmy and I will get this stuff moved as fast as we can.”

  “Screw that, Jack. I’ll stay in the truck, let Jimmy hand it up to you, you set it in and I’ll organize it. Three of us working on this will make it go a lot faster. With the truck backed right up to the door nothing can get right in at us, and we have the front blocked up.”

  Three eager men went at the task full of tension and vigor. In just under an hour they had the truck loaded with everything from Harlan’s stash.

  Climbing over the piles of guns and salvaged supplies in the back of the truck, all three men pushed into the cab through a tiny sliding door. Jimmy glanced up through the windshield as they were taking a moment to get comfortable in the cramped space.

  “Company,” was all he said.

  Nine creepers stood about fifteen feet from the front of the truck. Gordy ground the key, giving the gas pedal a couple of taps. The truck didn’t start.

  “Oh, horseshit, this kind of moronic crap only ha
ppens in the damn movies.”

  “To be fair, Gordy, zombies only happened in movies until a few weeks ago.”

  “Not helping, Jimmy.” Gordy spared a moment to glare at him out of the corner of his eye.

  The zombies turned toward the noise of the grinding starter. The entire pack moved as one, moving directly at the truck in their shambling gait.

  “Hey, I think that’s Ron Miller and his wife Gail.” Jack leaned forward and pointed out the window at the pack of zombie creepers.

  “Yeah, it is,” Gordy said, giving the key another turn. The weary old box truck roared to life, sputtering briefly.

  “Let’s head home, boys.” Jamming the shift into first, Gordy released the clutch and gave the truck enough gas to make it over the body of Gail, Ron Miller’s wife.

  Back out on the street they noticed many more dead than they had seen coming in.

  “Looks like we brought the party out.”Jimmy noticed a distant look in in Gordy’s eye.

  “You ok, Gordy?”

  “Will be. Can’t say that running over someone I used to know, face eating zombie or not, makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.”

  “Just think, ‘Hey, they owed me money’, that might help.”

  Gordy chuckled, “Jimmy, you’re kind of a dick, you know that.”

  Jack sat smiling for a moment, enjoying the banter of his good friends. Despite the world ravaging sickness, and the world ending EMP, and even the world eating zombies at least these people were a constant. Protecting each other was everything, because survival was everything. And they kept alive, through it all, what made them human. The world may have become unreal, a place of death and fear, but these people refused to give up their reality. The reality of who they are and the very real existence they struggled so hard to sustain. Good friends were always great to have, but they certainly made the end of the world a little more tolerable.