Doomsday Sheriff_Day 1_A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Adventure

by Michael James Ploof

  Perry stared at him, unmoving, his breathing heavy, eyes guilty.

  “You and your daughter need anything?” Max asked.

  Perry shook his head slowly.

  “Alright then. You take care of yourself.”

  “You too, Sheriff.”

  Max turned form the threshold and marched across the driveway, waiting for a bullet to find his back. He found that he was more worried for Piper, however, and stopped to put her down. He glanced back at the cabin and found Perry staring at him from the window. Max waved, knowing that he would never make it to the road.

  Chapter 7

  A Cabin in the Woods

  Max pulled Piper along as she thrashed about and tried unfruitfully to bite his neck. There was a ding high on top of the mask, near Piper’s forehead, and Max realized that the mask had saved her life, and perhaps Perry was a better shot than he thought. He’d been testing him when he insinuated that Perry was in the military, and the man had taken the bait and lied. Why he lied, Max had no idea. Why there was a little girl gagged in his basement, Max had no idea. All he knew was that he didn’t have time for this shit.

  The sound of a truck engine firing up told Max that his worst fears were true—Perry was hiding something, and it was enough to kill Max over.

  “That’s just fucking great,” Max said, glancing at Piper. “Can you believe our friggin’ luck?”

  “Bleghhh!” she groaned, trying to bite him.

  “Damn, baby, you’ve got some nasty-ass zombie breath.”

  “Ughhh, guh, bleh meh!” she screamed.

  “Come on, shut up for a minute,” he said, guiding her toward a large fallen tree. He pushed her down on the ground and held her there.

  “Meh bleh!” she protested.

  “Shut up!” he hissed as he ducked his head.

  A beat-up red and white Ford peeled down the driveway at breakneck speed as Perry tried to catch up with them and, presumably, run them over.

  What to do.

  Max could just hightail it through the woods and meet back up with Stefan, or he could go to the cabin and see who was in the basement.

  “Stefan, you read?” he said into the radio.

  Nothing.

  “Stefan, you there?”

  Still nothing.

  “Damn!”

  “Screhhh!” said Piper.

  “You’re right,” he said, imagining that she was giving him shit for not checking the cabin. “But if I’m going to do this, you’ve got to start cooperating.”

  She answered him by head-butting him in the face and running into the woods when he fell back.

  “Sonofabitch!” Max leapt to his feet and checked his nose. His eyes were watering something fierce, and while she hadn’t broken it, she sure had rattled his cage. He caught a glimpse of her rushing through the pines, when the tree beside him exploded with gunfire.

  Max hit the ground, his heart racing. Shrapnel from the maple tree in the form of bark and sap stung his face, and when he tried to investigate the soreness with his hand, he came back with blood and sap sticking his fingers together.

  Wherever Perry was, he had killed the truck engine. Max kept low, elbowing through the underbrush to get behind the fallen tree. The gunshot had come from the north, and so he sat back against the southern side of the log, heart racing and eyes still teary from Piper’s cheap shot.

  “Perry!”

  The man didn’t answer.

  “I know you’re scared, man. We all are. But we’ve got to work together. I’m not the enemy!”

  “Bullshit!” came the reply. The sound came from the north, or so Max thought. It was hard to tell in the woods, especially if someone knew enough to face the sky when he spoke.

  Max did just that. “Listen, man. The world’s gone to shit. We need to stick togeth—”

  Bullets hit the tree directly in front of Max, and he military-crawled ten feet to where the land dipped down into a natural trench. The earth at the top of the trench exploded with bullet fire, barely missing Max, and he growled, popping up and randomly blasting three rounds into the undergrowth.

  “Perry, I’ve had a really bad day, and you’re only making it worse!”

  He thought he heard a stifled groan of pain. Had one of his shots hit Perry? Was the man now scurrying back to the truck?

  And where the hell was Piper?

  Silence reigned in the still forest. Beyond the canopy of naked branches, the sky stared down at them, its face swollen and gray, ready to burst. A fat snowflake landed on Max’s nose, followed by a horde of the crystalline specks. In the blink of an eye, the world had become a snow globe.

  Max ran along the trench, which led back north toward the cabin. He doubted that Perry had any idea he had taken the route, but he stared at the ridgeline all the same. Gun ready and trigger finger twitching.

  Soon the trench disappeared, and the land leveled out, leaving Max out in the open. He hunched down, guessing that Perry was about fifty yards south of his location. To the north, another fifty yards away, sat the cabin.

  In the distance, the truck started back up again.

  Max ran.

  He was a big man; six feet three inches and two hundred and ten pounds, but he could dash through the forests like a doe being chased by a pack of dogs. Max was sure-footed in his big boots. His eyes scanned a landing spot for lumps and possible obstacles for but a moment, and he landed true every time, keeping to the thicker underbrush but sliding through it with ease. In the falling snow, none of the disturbance to the powder he had made would be noticeable.

  Max’s sure-footedness had served him well overseas, and now it saved his hide again. Just as he reached the cabin door, a part of the porch splintered and a shot rang out. He shut the door behind him and moved away from it, sliding back on his ass before coming up on his knees by the left side window. The truck came to a stop in the driveway and idled, and Max dared a glimpse out the window.

  Perry was just getting out of his truck.

  Max popped up and fired three shots out the window, which exploded, obscuring the view. He ducked back down, not seeing if he hit Perry. Two return gunshots told Max that Perry was still alive, and he hurriedly crawled to the window on the other side of the door, popping up with his sidearm, taking a half-second glimpse, and ducking back down again.

  There was no sign of Perry, but there had been blood on the truck door…

  Max knocked on the floor, hoping to stir whoever was down there, but there was no knock on wood in return, and no muffled moan answered him. He wanted to glance back out the window, but he had a feeling it would be a bad idea. Better to lie in wait. This was Perry’s turf, after all, and the man knew the nuances of the property better than Max. Already he was probably going for a back door.

  Max turned around, meaning to go looking for the trapdoor to the basement, and that’s when he saw a shape move past the back window. He hustled to his feet and ran for the kitchen area, ducking down behind the stove. The rest of the cabin consisted of a sitting room and a hallway, presumably leading to a bathroom and bedroom.

  And a creepy ladder that led down into darkness…

  Max knocked on the floor again, but this time he was answered by gunfire. Perry unloaded his entire clip, thirteen rounds, into the cabin. When the last shot rang out, Max waited, his ears ringing. One of the bullets must have hit a bag of flour in the cupboard, for it fell lazily, like the slowly falling snow outside.

  The shots had come from the back of the house, and Max thought the odds that Perry was reloading were fifty-fifty. So, shotgun leading the way, he rushed through the door and ran around the left side of the cabin. When he reached the corner, he said a little prayer to a god he didn’t believe in and, gun first, he shouldered around it.

  Nothing.

  There was a large propane tank, along with a discarded screen door and a motorcycle half covered in snow, but no Perry. Avoiding the windows and ducking low, Max hurried to the next corner. He whirled around it, shot
gun leading the way, but again, Perry wasn’t there. The man had been here, however. His tracks congregated by the broken window he had shot at Max through before moving around the next corner. Max wasn’t about to fall into Perry’s trap, and so he turned around and went back the way he had come. He peeked around the corner, spying the front door that he had just dashed out of.

  Nothing.

  Something suddenly fell on him from the roof, knocking his gun away and driving him to the ground. Max landed hard, having been fumbling with the shotgun rather than trying to land well. He hit the ground, and the air exploded out of his lungs. Perry was on top of him, bearing down with a knife and trying to get through Max’s flailing arms. Max grabbed ahold of the man’s wrists as Perry leaned on him, bringing the blade closer with every heartbeat. But Max couldn’t breathe, and he wouldn’t be able to hold him off for long.

  The knife came down slowly, the cold metal touching the skin just to the left of his Adam’s apple. Max was going to black out soon—he had to do something. He thought to go for his sidearm, but if he took his hand off the blade, Perry would overpower him and skewer him like a Hawaiian hog.

  Perry glared down on him with lustful eyes, and in that moment, Max knew that he was staring at the face of evil. Whoever was down there in that basement wasn’t there by choice, but Max couldn’t help them. He was fading.

  The knife broke the skin. The cold blade drew blood. Perry’s eyes narrowed; all humanity had fled from that demonic gaze.

  A sword suddenly burst through Perry’s chest. He looked down at Max with utter surprise as he dropped the knife and sat up, staring down at the blade. He jerked and spasmed as he tried to turn around and see his assailant, but he never saw Stefan standing behind him in his blood-spattered armor.

  Chapter 8

  The Girls under the Floor

  Max pushed Perry off him and struggled to catch his breath. He managed to turn and get on all fours. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his head spun. But he was alive.

  After a coughing fit that left him gagging, Max pulled himself to his feet, checking the wound on his neck. There was blood, but not a lot of it. He would live.

  Stefan stood staring down at Perry, his face blank, almost thoughtful.

  “You did what you had to do, Deputy. You saved my life.”

  Stefan looked at him, but his eyes seemed still in that moment of the strike. Max had seen that look before on men who had killed another human being. It did something to you; it changed you forever. Max still remembered the first person he ever killed. Still remembered the look on his face.

  “You’re bleeding,” said Stefan, his mouth barely moving.

  “I’ll live. You okay?”

  “Me?” said Stefan, looking down at his body, staring at his hands. “I’m not injured.”

  “I know, that’s not what I’m talkin—”

  The sound came from the basement again. Along with the muffled cries, there was a rattling sound as well.

  “Come on, help me find this trapdoor,” said Max.

  They searched the living room and the kitchen, and finally found it under the dresser in the bedroom. Max aimed his flashlight beam and sidearm at the trapdoor and nodded to Stefan, who quickly yanked the door up by the rope handle. The flashlight showed him nothing but a dirty floor about ten feet down. There were narrow steps leading down into the gloom. Stefan got on his stomach and peeked in, turning his head from side to side quickly.

  “What you see?”

  “Cages,” said Stefan. He got up and went for the stairs, but Max held him back.

  “Keep watch,” said Max, before descending down the stairs.

  The muffled cries were louder, closer, and once he ducked his head under the floor, he saw the cages, or cells, that Stefan was talking about. There were three in all, but only two held prisoners. They were both little girls of Asian descent, one no more than ten, and the other looked to be at least thirteen years old.

  Max looked them over with horror as he slowly approached. They were both gagged and tied to a chair, and they both wore new white dresses.

  “It’s alright, I’m one of the good guys,” said Max.

  The youngest girl stared wide-eyed at his gun, and he quickly holstered it. The cages were six by six, with thick bars five inches apart set on concrete slabs. A single light hung in the middle of the room, and behind the stairs was the only furnishing, a twin bed. On the other side of the room, an old VHS camera sat on a tripod.

  “Fucking scumbag,” Max hissed.

  He checked the padlocks and yelled up to Stefan. “Check that piece of shit’s body for a set of keys!”

  The girls looked up at the ceiling, where they heard Stefan’s boots creaking the floor. Fragile hope shone in the girls’ eyes, and Max nodded.

  “My partner killed him. You’re safe now.”

  The older girl seemed to understand, but the younger one just stared, her cheeks looking red and agitated from unwiped tears.

  “Got ‘em!” Stefan yelled down, and Max moved to the stairs and caught the keyring.

  There were only six keys, and Max found the right one on the third try, unlocking the older girl’s cell first. He bent under the low bars and approached slowly, hands open. “It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” He untied the cloth around her head and pulled out the wad in her mouth.

  She started speaking in a foreign language, but Max had no idea exactly which language it was.

  “Do you speak English?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “That’s alright.” Max pointed at the ceiling. “That man,” he made a mean face. “He’s dead.” Max pulled a finger across his throat and offered the girl a thumbs-up. “You’re okay. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said the girl.

  Max untied her, and the younger girl began kicking and flailing against her bonds. The older girl put her hand out, and at first Max didn’t know what she wanted. Then he noticed the keys, and his heart ached. He handed them to her, and she hurried to the younger girl’s cage. Max understood that in doing so, she was exhibiting control over her own life and that of her friend’s.

  She unlocked the cell door and hugged the younger girl, who cried into her shoulder. With the care of a mother removing a Band-Aid, she removed the gag. Max knew that the knots would be too much for the little girl, and so he carefully moved into the cage and untied her friend.

  As soon as the little girl was free, she threw herself into the older girl’s arms.

  “What’s your name?” said Max.

  They both stared at him.

  “I’m Max,” he said, pointing at himself. “Max. Who are you?” He pointed at the older girl.

  “Laing,” she said.

  “Laing. That’s a strong name,” said Max. “And her name?”

  Liang looked to the younger girl, who stared at the floor, looking petrified.

  “Hein,” said Laing.

  “Hein. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Max, and I’m going to get you out of here. Okay?”

  The little girl didn’t answer, but that was alright.

  “How we looking up there, Stefan?”

  “It’s quiet, we’re good.”

  “What about Perry? You sure he hasn’t…you know…come back to life?”

  “He’s still dead, boss.”

  Max glanced back at the girls and gestured them to the stairs. “It’s okay, follow me.”

  Liang said something to Hein. She said it low, as if telling a secret. Max climbed the stairs and waited for the girls, wanting to offer them a hand but not knowing if they were ready for such contact. They came up out of the hole warily, looking like they hadn’t seen sunlight in a long time. They squinted hard against the glare of sunlight on the snow outside. A quick glance out the window showed Max that the snow had stopped falling. The clouds had parted, and the fresh powder sparkled like diamonds.

  The girls stopped when they saw Stefan standing by the front door like a sentinel, and littl
e Hein pointed, exclaiming with amazement, “Samurai!”

  “That’s Stefan,” said Max, smiling down on Hein.

  Her face scrunched up, and she shook her head. “Samurai!”

  “Alright, yeah, he’s a samurai. Come on, let’s get you girls out of here.”

  Hein rushed over to Stefan with arms raised, and he gently lifted her up and put her on his hip. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed his plate armor. He glanced at Max, eyes pooling with tears.

  “And here we thought the monsters were the zombies.”

  Everyone looked at Perry, who lay face down in a pool of his own blood.

  “Go on and take the girls to the truck,” said Max, reaching out for Stefan’s sword. “I want to make sure this bastard never comes back.”

  Chapter 9

  Once Bitten, Twice Doomed

  After Max had cut off Perry’s head and tossed it down into the basement, far from the body, he joined Stefan and the girls in the Bronco.

  “They don’t like the divider,” said Stefan. “Must remind them of the cages.”

  Max closed the door and twisted to glance back at the girls. “It’s okay. We’re the good guys.”

  “Samurai,” said Hein, reaching for Stefan and grasping at the air.

  Stefan glanced over at Max.

  “Go ahead, sit in the back.”

  Stefan joined the girls in the back, and Max peeled out of Perry’s and hit the road. The snow had left the roads white as the forest floor, and since there were no plows out, it remained where it fell. With the new snow, Max knew he would never be able to pick up Piper’s trail. She was out there somewhere right now, handcuffed and likely freezing, and there was nothing he could do about it. Max could only hope that she found her way back into the village. He still intended to look for her, however unlikely it might be that he would come across her in the woods. He had to try. But first he needed to get the girls back to the radio station.

  Max turned on the radio to WHOR, but Alan Jones wasn’t on the air now, and neither was anyone else. He craned his head to look up at the sky, leaning over the steering wheel. There hadn’t been any planes in the sky all day, no choppers either. Had the strange meteor dust fallen across the entire planet? Had billions of people been turned into screamers? Max wondered how many people were drunk on Earth on any given night. One million? Two? Of course, the meteor shower had occurred on a Saturday, and it had been highly anticipated as the grandest celestial event of the century. Max had to assume that more people than usual had been celebrating that night.