Nuclear Undead (Book 1): Wake the Dead

by McConnell, N. J.

  I nodded. “Our phones are down, too. There’s a lot that we need to catch you up on, Nicole.”

  After going back to the house to clean the remaining blood off, we watched a few more news reports. It seemed as if the world had gone mad. I tried to contact my son again, but the calls still weren’t going through, so the girls and I loaded up the truck with a few clothes and some supplies that we might need if we weren’t able to make it back anytime soon, then after putting out extra food and water for the animals and releasing the ones that were pinned up, we headed over to our son’s house. David lives in the sticks close to Edmond and his place would be much easier to defend than ours if things get worse. It’s a new place with a basement that runs the length of the place and is in a secluded area. If you didn’t already know the house was there, you’d probably miss it. Hopefully, that also applies to zombies.

  We brought Nicole with us since there’s no use in her going home right now with all this going on. Her folks live out of state, so we are her family right now and we agree that we’d be better off sticking together. We had no idea that the drive would take so long. There were cars piled up all over the sides of the highway and parked askew. Only the back roads are reasonably clear, so we did our best to stay away from town. It took us more than an hour to travel what normally takes about twenty minutes.

  When we finally got to David’s place, it was almost noon, but even though the clouds had moved away and the sun was shining in the clear blue sky, it felt nippy outside. The door to the house was standing open and there was no movement or sounds that we could hear.

  “Ladies, I need you to stay here where it’s safe.” I ordered with a serious voice. “Honk the horn if you see anybody and if I’m not back in five minutes, leave without me and go back to the farm.” They started to argue with me and shook their heads, but we have to be realistic.

  I tried to reassure them. “If you go back to the farm, I’ll meet you back there. I promise. Just take the supplies from the truck and go stay down in the root cellar until I get there. You’ll be fine.”

  They still weren’t content with that explanation, but I’d already jumped out of the truck and shut the door leaving them alone with the dog, so it was useless to argue. I know that there is a chance that I might not make it back and so do they, but I’m not going to come right out and tell them. Even so, I have to check on my son and his family.

  His house was a sturdy two story built with a combination of rock and brick. It sat back off the road a bit and was surrounded by trees for privacy. “Son? You hear me?” I yelled. There was no answer, but I could hear something shuffling around inside.

  I gradually mounted the steps onto the porch with my eyes moving continually to scan for dangers that might be lurking around the corners. My heart leaped for joy and I almost sat my gun down to hug my son who was standing in the shadows beyond the door, but at the last second I realized that something wasn’t quite right.

  “David? You okay?” I asked him as I noticed the blood stains smeared along his clothing and face. “Where are Monica and the boys?”

  He didn’t answer me, but stood there shuffling from foot to foot and moaning. When I started to step inside of the house, he reached out and tried grab me. It was then that I saw that his eyes were lifeless and his skin had turned the same shade of blue gray we saw in the news clips on television.

  “No! Oh, God, no!” I cried out as my only son walked towards me with a look of rage on his face. I was in shock and almost allowed him to bite me before I finally wiped away the tears running down my face, raised the gun and pulled the trigger to put my little boy out of his misery. I wanted to sit down on the floor and cry like a baby right then. I wanted to forget that this day had ever begun, but I had to find out what happened to my daughter-in-law and grandchildren. Even though it was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do, I pushed the pain to the side and trudged on.

  I found them a few minutes later, but it was too late to make a difference. They were either dead or already in a state of undead, so I raised the Mossberg once again. Never will I will forget this day or the torment of being forced to kill the people that I love. I realize they were already dead, but they still moved and looked almost alive. I couldn’t help but question if there was some way to bring them back. Of course, I knew there wasn’t and ultimately their deaths were messy with brain matter spilling out the back destroying what was left of the faces that would forever be engraved in my memory. This is too much to bear.

  A man shouldn’t outlive his children and he definitely shouldn’t be forced to kill them. I can’t even take the time to bury my loved ones decently because my whole focus right now is on protecting those two women out in the truck who are depending on me. I may have been too late for my son and his family, but I’m not going to let Virginia and Nicole down. I’ll die protecting them if I have to.

  We couldn’t stay where we were, so after talking it over, we decided to head to town and get us one of those big RVs that look like buses, stock it up with whatever supplies we can find and head out until we can find a safe enough place to sit this thing out. Lucky for us, we met up with Dan along the way.

  Chapter Seven

  Guests for Dinner

  “Some of the greatest survivors have been women. Look at the courage so many women have shown after surviving earthquakes in the rubble for days on end.”

  Bear Grylls

  My muscles are achy this morning as I made my way slowly out of bed. I didn’t sleep much during the night and that just made things worse. At least it wasn’t a succession of nightmares waking me up during the night. I just couldn’t seem to find a position to lay in that didn’t hurt. I have some physical problems that I don’t like to think about because if I do, that will mean they’re real and I’m just not ready to accept that yet. I’ve also come to the realization that I’d been down here way too long and am starting to develop cabin fever.

  After feeding Coco and letting her do her morning thing, I turned on the faucet in the bath and slid into the water in hopes that the increase in blood flow would relieve some of the pain and achiness. After laying in the water long enough for it to begin cooling down, I stepped out and dressed in a comfortable pair of black jeans and a hot pink t-shirt, then swallowed a couple of ibuprofen dry before ambling off to the kitchen to cook breakfast and sample some caffeine in a cup. I deliberated about it a great deal while soaking in the tub and decided that it was time to commit myself to getting back into shape. If I was going to be able to defend myself and Coco, I have to make this a priority.

  I’m a few inches over five feet tall and am not certain how well I’ll hold my own in a fight with a trained attacker that’s a foot taller than me, but if push comes to shove, I intend to defend myself and in the process, do as much damage to the enemy as possible. Years of working behind a desk has left me profoundly out of shape. That’s true. Protecting myself against a serious attack when it comes will be impossible unless I get motivated and start back into the military style training that my Dad taught me.

  I spent the rest of the day trying to remember and practice the military fitness routines from years ago. To keep injuries to a minimum, I started slowly and then worked in more reps to build up endurance and strength, but other than resting to eat and rehydrate, didn’t stop until I had reached my ultimate limit for the day. A positive side effect of working out is that I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow that night and woke with more energy than I’ve had in a long while.

  Coco enjoyed it, too because according to dog logic, it’s playtime. She lay on the floor by my side chewing on her toy while watching me perform sit-ups and pushups. In between, we cuddled and wrestled around like pack mates. My growl is much more fierce than hers, by the way.

  The next morning, after getting breakfast and my bath out of the way, I was reading some information on the computer when I heard one of my makeshift alarms being set off - alarm meaning the noise of silverware rattl
ing like wind chimes. It was coming from the main floor of the house and was followed by the sound of furniture sliding across the hardwood. Adrenalin instantly rushed through my blood stream forcing me to make the fight or flight decision for survival. With my heart pounding away in my chest, I grabbed the loaded 9 mm lying on the table next to me, hastily pulled my shoes on and put Coco in the body carrier that I had fashioned in case we had to make a fast exit.

  The bug out bag was ready and leaning next to the door that exited into the main portion of the house. If I’m able to leave, I’ll just grab the bag, then try to get away without running into anything that could harm us. It’s obviously easier said than done with only one door, but the only other exits were the basement windows and they were too small for me to fit through. Even if I’m able to somehow able to make it through, what will be on the other side when I emerge? I’d rather fight on my feet than be lying on the ground surrounded by the undead.

  I pet Coco to keep her quiet and placed her in the carrier, then held my gun and tiptoed quietly up the basement stairs to squint through the peep hole, but didn’t spot any movement. The peep hole is one of those with a wide view, but keeping the lights off in the house with the windows blocked made it almost black inside the house and it was extremely difficult to see anything that wasn’t moving. This is something that I should have thought about before. A motion detector light would come in really handy right now.

  After a few moments of standing there straining to see anything, my forehead was beginning to perspire. I dabbed the dampness off with the sleeve of my blouse, blinked a couple of times to clear my vision, then readjusted my sight. After a couple of tense moments with nothing happening, a face moved out of the blackness and stared directly towards me. Startled, I instantly pulled back and almost lost my balance, barely catching myself on the railing in time to keep from tumbling backwards down the steps. I’m grateful that no one was able to see that. It would have been embarrassing to say the least.

  There was no zombie or crazed gang member standing at the door ready to break in and kill me. Instead, my father was standing on the other side patiently waiting for me to let him in. I immediately swung the door open and threw my arms around his neck to give him a big hug. I was so deeply relieved to see him here that I didn’t notice the dirty clothes, his unshaved face or that he was alone. Dad gently patted my back as I soaked his shoulder with my tears. I’m not sure how he did it with me clinging to him like static on cloth, but he managed to push the door closed behind us and turn the locks back in place. I didn’t notice any of it at the time. I was too caught up in the unexpected appearance of my knight in shining armor. I had forgotten that he had a key to the house. I obviously wasn’t thinking clearly lately.

  After we reached the bottom of the steps and entered the living area, he placed his hands on my shoulders and holding me away from him gazed back and forth into my eyes with concern. “You okay Pumpkin?”

  I couldn’t seem to choke the words out to reply and just sniffled and shook my head yes. Why is it easier to be tough when you’re alone, but when someone you care about asks how you are, you fall apart? I’ve never understood that. It was the same when I was a kid. I would be tough and never complain when a bully picked on me or I felt sick, but if someone was extra nice to me, I’d start crying. You’d think that a woman my age would have gotten over it by now, but I haven’t. There’s just something special about being in the company of a person who loves you completely and who you can depend on to not only understand what you’re going through, but will make certain that you’re going to be all right.

  “Mind if I sit down?” said Dad as we walked together toward the sofa.

  “Of course, Dad.” I answered, feeling embarrassed at being such a bad hostess. I gulped in a deep breath to gain control of myself and glanced over at my father. It was obvious that he’d been through hell since the last time we saw each other. There were shadows playing under his eyes and his normally flawless appearance was marred by a combination of dirt and something that looked like blood. He was in bad need of a shave and his hair lay disheveled and oily against his scalp. How could I have not noticed this before? What dangers did he face on his way here?

  “Are you hungry, Dad?” I asked after noticing that he also seemed a few pounds thinner. “I can whip up something for you to eat.”

  He said yes and I began preparing dinner, but before it was finished, Dad was asleep on the sofa. As I worked to cook something special for him, I watched his even breathing and wondered what he had been through since the madness began. Dad is certainly no wimp. He’s fought in combat situations and death is nothing new to him. Something truly horrible must have taken place to affect him like this.

  I kept wondering where my mother and sister are at right now, but didn’t dare wake him to ask. Are they waiting safely in the bunker at their home while he travelled here to get me? How long did it take for him to make the trip? It looked like he hadn’t bathed or slept in days. There was much that I wanted to know, but now wasn’t the time. Dad needed his rest. There would be an opportunity for questions later. When he was ready, he’d tell me what I needed to learn. Until then, I’d see to his needs and help him recover from whatever he had been through. The most important thing is that he’s safe and here with me now. Everything is going to be okay.

  I’m not alone anymore.

  When I pulled a bubbling hot casserole out of the oven, the door shut louder than I expected, almost making me jump and drop the food. I turned around in time to see Dad sit up quickly, clutching the gun that had been resting near his hand, ready to defend himself if needed.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad,” I apologized profusely. “Didn’t mean to wake you up like that.”

  He scanned the room in a daze, then excused himself and stumbled towards the bathroom. Usually, Dad wakes up quickly and is totally cognizant regardless of how much sleep he’s had, but it’s obvious that he’s exhausted. I left him to his devices, instead using the time to place the dishes full of food on the kitchen table and pulled two chairs out for us to sit on. When alone, I normally eat sitting on the sofa or in the recliner, but Dad has always been more formal than I in that respect.

  “Would you rather drink a beer with your food or do you want something else?” I called out towards the door to the bathroom. Not too loud, of course. It’s daytime, but we still have to be careful.

  “Anything you have is fine.” Dad said as he opened the door and stood in the opening drying his hands on a guest towel. He’s generally a very clean person who taught us at a young age to never sit down to dinner without washing our hands thoroughly. Sometimes I think that’s why I’m now a germophobe. We learned about bacteria and how germs are spread when we were young. It didn’t faze Ashley, but I locked the information away and ran with it.

  I have a difficult time eating out in restaurants because I can’t help knowing that the menus are full of microorganisms and so are the tables where we eat. I know how dirty some people can be and that there have been tests run in restaurants that showed things like fecal matter on the menus and furnishings. Knowing that people have sipped from the same glass that I was now holding in my hand or ate off of the same dishes would keep me from eating out at all unless I caved under pressure from friends, but then I’d spend the next week checking my temperature or throat to make sure I hadn’t caught anything.

  Nobody’s perfect and germs have always been my kryptonite. Even so, I’d give almost anything to be able to eat out at a restaurant right now. That’s no longer likely in our new zombified world. It might not ever be possible again. Funny how you don’t appreciate the dollar menu at the drive thru or an all-you-can-eat buffet until they’re gone. I’d love to call out and have a pizza delivered right now. It’s not that I’m not eating good food. I am. It’s just that when you are in the habit of having things at your fingertip whenever you want them and then they aren’t available anymore, you feel a void.

  I placed a cold bottl
e of beer in front of Dad and we sat there digging into the hot food. The meal was made better by the yeast rolls I baked yesterday when I was bored and craving some comfort food to remind me of a time when things were normal. I learned the recipe from my grandmother and it was perfect. Dad likes to eat the rolls warm with butter melting inside or with a slice of tomato inside like Granny used to do it. Right then it occurred to me that other than the supermarket, I have no idea where yeast comes from. How am I going to bake bread when there’s no more yeast to find? I know this is silly, but this is the moment that I accepted that my life would never be the same again.

  We finished eating and I scraped off the dishes before putting the leftover food away in the refrigerator to be warmed up for later. We were taught in our home to never be wasteful. If there was any food left, we’d reheat it until it was gone or put some in the freezer for days when we didn’t feel like cooking or were in a rush. Some people give leftovers and scraps to their pets, but onions, garlic and other people foods are extremely dangerous for dogs. I love Coco too much to play roulette with her health.

  When everything was cleaned up, Dad placed his hand gently on my back and guided me back into the living area. He had been quieter than normal throughout the meal and I could tell something was off, but I assumed that he needed his space and like I said, he’s obviously exhausted. Okay, that’s not entirely true. I had a feeling that he had bad news to give me and I was trying to avoid hearing it. This whole zombie infestation is enough to make a normal person go insane.

  I know it seems that it would be easy to forget about the things going on outside while hiding down here in relative comfort and safety, but it’s always in my thoughts. I know without a doubt that at least some of my friends and coworkers are either dead or dying and I have no way to contact or check on them. That is the most frustrating thing of all. The inability to keep people safe or speak to them and make sure they are still alive. It’s not like we could call 911 even if the phones were working. We are all on our own now.