by J. L. Bourne
John and I were constantly scanning the aisles for ghouls. Just as I rounded the corner from sporting goods, I was pulled off my feet by a female corpse. I hit the ground hard and felt a tug at my ankle. I felt a hard pinch as the thing tried to bite me through the heel of my combat boots. I gave her a hard kick to the nose and heard the cartilage snap as I hit home. I got up and stepped back, checking my heel for wounds. Thank goodness for Altama boots. She didnt get up, as her back had been broken by a large shelf that had fallen on her probably weeks before. She snarled at me. John took aim I signaled him not to shoot. I walked up to her and brought my heel down on her temple as hard as I could. She was no longer a factor.
We made it to the front and just as I thought, a welcoming committee was there to greet us. I stood and counted thirty of them. John climbed through the window over the drivers seat and I did the same and sat driver. I started the ignition and rolled up my window. We would have been in a pickle if we hadnt wedged the H2 inches from the open door to the store. As we pulled out into the parking lot, I lost all care and just mowed them over. John was busy pulling the stickers and tags off his new Remington.
It was time to find shelter, as the sun was starting to get low. We got on the service road along I-35 north and started to look for a spot to stay. I recommended to John that we find a semi-safe spot and just sleep in the Hummer. He agreed and joked, The motel six isnt exactly open anyway.
I kept driving, until we reached a small town called Kyle just south of Austin. There was a sign that read; Kyle, Texas Welcome Home. That was when I noticed the spot. There was a large hay field with a fence around it and no sign of any of those things shambling around. I pulled into the drive and picked up the t-handle that held the gate in place. Motioned John to switch seats and pull through so I could secure the gate again. We pulled the Hummer in between four round bails of hay. The bails covered up the sides of the vehicle so that if anything approached, it would have to do so from the front or the back. John and I made sure all doors were locked, and John went to sleep. Its 2330 now, so I suppose I should do the same.
January 24th
1534 hrs
John and I awoke at 0615 this morning to the sound of a rooster crow in the distance. I started the H2 up and pulled out from between the hay. We pulled over to the gate, and looked down the road from the direction that we came. There were a lot of them in the distance. Couldnt tell if they were heading our way. Could it be possible that they heard our vehicle and were following the sound this far? I hope not.
We arrived at the outskirts of Austin, TX at 0705. The smoke was almost unbearable. Visibility was only at around a hundred yards. Every now and again when the wind would blow just right, I could catch a glimpse of the taller buildings in the distance. One of them looked like a torch, as its tip was burning brightly. To the right I could see what looked like an airport air traffic control tower. John and I took the next road to the right toward the tower.
We made it to the outer perimeter fence. It was a small private airport with a few Cessna aircraft and two small jets sitting inside open hangars. A section of the fence was destroyed so we drove right up onto the tarmac. We surveyed the area and didnt see any immediate danger. I tied off a rope to the front nose wheel of one of the Cessna 172 (picked out the best looking one) and opened the cockpit door. To my surprise, sitting in the passenger seat, I found the aircraft pilots kneeboard, flight computer and chart.
I climbed in the cockpit and yelled at John to take it slow and easy and to pull us over to the refueling station. I shut the door and concentrated on the checklist so that I could turn the aircrafts electrical system on and check the gauges for fuel or anything out of the ordinary. Every few seconds I felt the aircraft tug, as John towed the aircraft and I to the pumps. After checking the gauges, I was happy to find that both wing tanks were full, so I opened up the door, jumped out and ran ahead to tell John to flip a bitch and pull the bird back to the tower.
At the tower I used the aircraft checklist to do a walk around inspection. I didnt fancy the idea of losing my engine over a heavily infested area. I prepped the bird for flight and discussed with John our next plan of action. We took out our atlas and looked for the nearest airport to our homes back in San Antonio. I looked and looked and all I could find was the international airport in the center of the city. That was unacceptable.
John bent down and had a puzzled look on his face. He asked me if I had ever been to the Retama Park Racetrack off of I-35. He told me we passed it on our way out of town. I had never heard of it since I hadnt lived there long. John asked how much length I needed to land the plane. I went out to the cockpit and looked in the chart compartment. I couldnt find any info. Some of the smaller planes I have flown needed maybe 1,000 ft if I used beta. This bird didnt have beta controls. I had to take a guess. I would probably need 1,500 ft minimum. John said that he thought it might work.
John and I brought our weapons up and carefully approached the tower entry doors. John opened the door and I took point. The elevator was obviously out so we had to take the stairs. We shut and latched the door behind us as we quietly ascended. There were windows at the top of every flight overlooking the runway. I heard and saw nothing until we got to the top of the stairs. I saw a coagulated pool of blood sitting in front of the tower control center door.
I motioned for John to look. I walked up to the door, slowly opened it, and jumped in ready to blast. I didnt expect to see this One of the controllers had taken out four of those things and then probably out of despair had turned his pistol on himself and did the same. I opened up the doors to the observation deck and John and I threw the bodies over the side, opposite the side the aircraft was on.
John and I went back down stairs to unload the H2. We brought everything into the tower just to be careful. I locked up the Hummer and went upstairs to plan.
John expressed to me that he would not leave his dog in the basement to starve to death. I understood. John told me that he would take the H2 and meet me at the racetrack and then we would both go to the house in the H2 together. I would have to fly the bird and land safely at the track. I had many hours in military aircraft, but never in a Cessna. It was going to be risky, but necessary.
I calculated that it would only take me around 35 minutes to do the startup checklist get airborne and be over the track. This meant that in order to conserve fuel, John was going to have to leave before I did. It was a two-hour trip for him. I showed John my calculations and he agreed it would be best he leave first.
2243 hrs
Dark outside. Only fires can be seen in the distance. Found some airport departure/approach plates for this airstrip. It was a good thing too. Because of the documents, I found out that there is a water tower two hundred feet high off the departure end of the runway. I would never have seen it in time with all the smoke. Now at least I know what general direction to fly when I get off the ground. Its time for sleep now.
January 25th
0700 hrs
It was time to fly the coop, literally. John and I went outside this morning and looked down at the base of the tower. Apparently we had made too much noise. There were ten of them walking around the tower, bumping into it, making metal tapping sounds. I distracted them as John threw the non-breakable supplies to the ground so that we would not have to make multiple trips. John came over to me and handed me his .22. I told him I would take care of them while he consolidated the supplies. Visibility was still only around 100 yards.
I shot the creatures and quickly helped John with the last of the supplies. We made it down the stairs without incident. I took what I needed for the flight, i.e. my guns, some food and water, and left John with the rest. I asked John if he were sure. He said yes. I told him I would meet him at the track at 0930 hours. Last night we took a portable radio from the tower, so John could reach me on 121.5 when we needed to talk. It was the aviation distress frequency. Doubt anyone would mind.
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br /> John got in the Hummer and drove off. I got in the aircraft, and locked the doors, and started checking everything I could for the wait. All the smoke in the air and poor visibility must be fucking their senses up. I figured that those gunshots would have attracted more. I am getting scared, and am leaving now
0812 hrs
Im in the air now. The aircraft is trimmed up (so I can go hands free) and I am headed back to the track. Decided to do a little recon mission since I was in the air so early. This plane is relatively easy to fly. I thought it would be more trouble than this. After taking off, I decided to head toward the base and see if the walls were still intact. I remembered the VOR frequency, dialed it in to the navigation aid and followed the needle. My heart sank as I descended through the clouds at 2,000 feet.
I flew right over the base, as low as I could and saw the horror. Every building was either on fire, or destroyed Looked like an air strike. That might explain what happened to Austin, TX. I pulled the aircraft around into a shallow fifteen-degree angle of bank and headed toward the gate. The gate was totally destroyed, and through the smoke, I could see thousands of walking dead dominating the landscape inside the base. I then brought the bird on general course to make rendezvous the track.
2350
I am home.
Dont feel like writing.
The dead are the lucky ones.
Hindsight is 20/20
January 26th
Yesterday was a hard day. I made it to the track with plenty of fuel to spare. The fence was intact and there were no creatures present. Looked like I was going to have enough room to land, but noticed that the track was uneven and it looked like about a ten-degree grade. I was going to have to show some good aileron control to keep both wheels solid when I landed.
I came over the northern end of the track at 85 knots. Pulled back power, flared, touched the back two wheels eased the elevator control and brought the nose down. Pulled power back to idle, and let her roll to a stop (no breaks, since the track was dirt). Looked down at my kneeboard and flipped the pages to the engine shutdown checklist, I shut her down after I taxied her to a less visible spot on the back end of the track.
Now came the waiting game. It was 0930 when I set down. I didnt see the H2 anywhere, and it would be difficult to miss a canary yellow H2 even at two miles visibility. If John came, he would see the bird, and know I was near. I decided to try and find something to cover the plane up with so it would be less noticeable to anyone living or dead. This was a racetrack, so I was sure there is some type of tarp somewhere. I took my rifle and headed for the maintenance area. Outside the chain link fence of the track, there were numerous undead walking around. Some of them were rapping on the fence, angry at their inability to walk through it. I know that if enough of them came, they would do just that.
I approached the maintenance area with caution. I stood in front of the steel door and listened I could hear the sound of banging metal. Sounded like someone was using a hammer on the floor inside My philosophy has always been stealth over confrontation. I walked around the building looking for windows. I found one in the rear, about eight feet off the ground. The only problem was that there was a corpse shambling about on the opposite side of the fence. It couldnt get to me, but I concluded that it would make a lot of noise if it saw me. Window was a no go. I quietly hugged the wall back to the door.
The sound had stopped. This was really fucking with my head. I couldnt take it anymore so I eased the door open and looked inside. It was dark, except for the spear of light shining in through the window that I had seen. I could smell rotting flesh.
I shut the door again. My instincts told me, fuck the plane cover; its not that important. For some reason I ignored that completely logical thought process. I took out my LED light and tightened it on the light mount of my rifle. I switched the light on and opened the door again. Put the muzzle of my weapon in so that I could light up the dark garage. The smell was almost unbearable.
The source of the noise became immediately apparent. A dead mechanic, crushed by a hydraulic lift was lying there on his back, reanimated, and banging a torque wrench on the ground. A low grunt came from his badly mutilated body as he tried to look up at me. He was reaching for me. It was then, all in the span of a second that the following happened:
I saw the bite marks of the flesh that had been torn away on his face and neck. I knew that he didnt do it to himself, and deduced that there was another dead fucking corpse in the room. Last but not least, the door flew open and I was tackled by one of them (best guess, the same one that had the mechanic for lunch).
The only thing that was keeping this stink ridden shit ball from biting my nose off was the fact that I had my weapon wedged between us. I pushed it off, and it (couldnt tell male or female) grabbed my wrist. I gave it a nice rifle butt to the head and it fell back. I immediately got to my feet and popped a round in its miserable head. I wanted to just fucking mow it in half, but the reasonable half of me kicked in and I told myself not to waste the ammunition.
The door to the garage was shut, and it was going to fucking stay that way. I could hear the sound of fists on the door, and I knew that there were more inside. I went back on the side of the garage where I saw some oil drums and rolled one of them back around to the front, to put in the doorway and prevent whatever was behind that door from opening it and ruining my day.
No more exploring. I carefully started walking back toward the plane. I noticed that I had gathered an entourage of fans on the other side of the fence. I guess they enjoyed my little execution. They were gnashing their teeth on the metal wire and groaning and beating on the chain link fence. Watching this motley crew of gray evil made me very uneasy.
About that time, I heard a vehicle approaching. I hid behind one of the concession stands and watched. The ugly yellow confirmed my suspicions. It was John. I ran up to the gate to let him in. It was locked.
Reluctantly, I pulled the carbine up to fire, aiming for the part that touched the chain and not the actual lock Three rounds and the lock fell off the chain. I was thinking to myself that shooting locks only worked in movies as I yanked the chain off and pulled the gate open. John came screaming through. I quickly shut the gate, wrapped the chain back around the gate and ran over to the aircraft. I remembered seeing a c-clamp in the cockpit clamped to a headset. I quickly unscrewed it and ran back toward the gate. There were a few of them already within a rock throw. I put the c-clamp through both ends of the chain and tightened it down. Wouldnt stop a living person, but I doubt these miserable shells of human beings could figure it out.
I walked back over to the plane where John was parked. I looked at him. His cheek was bleeding. I asked him what happened. He told me that he had to make a stop to siphon some gas and ended up having to shoot three of those dead people. He killed the first one and on the second shot, he missed and the round ricocheted off a concrete embankment, hitting him in the cheek. He killed the last one and got the fuck out of there. Luckily he was finishing up the siphoning when this happened.
When I first saw him, I thought he had been bitten or scratched and my only friend in the world was going to be one of them.
I told John that I probably had about two hours worth of fuel left, (roughly 190 nautical miles at max cruise speed of 95 knots).
The plane was ready to fly. John and I decided it best to leave the plane and head home to figure things out from there. We were only maybe a twenty-minute drive from home. I collected my things out of the plane and put them in the Hummer. We were going to have to distract those things if were going to get back out the way John drove in.
I walked over to the gate, and got their attention. I used myself as bait (they were on the other side of the fence) and lured them to follow me while John got ready to make the escape in the Hummer. They followed me to the other end of the fence. This gave me two hundred yards to sprint back, open the gate, get in, drive through, get out and shut the gate back
. No problem. It went exactly like that. John and I drove toward our home, dodging, surviving.
This was becoming second nature. John took a back street when we got to my neighborhood, and parked the vehicle in an empty building lot. We took our weapons, and essentials, and made like shadows back to Johns. We avoided being seen by few of those things along the way. We jumped Johns wall, and he rushed in to check on his dog, and I secured the rest of the house. His dog came running upstairs, jumping up on John and licking his face. I told John that since I had power we should use my house as a base. After all, if were going to die, might as well be together. Its funny how attitudes change.
Today, we spent moving Johns gear over here, one trip at a time, avoiding being seen. I had a feeling we would be taking to the air sometime in the nearer future.
January 27th
1713 hrs
Im glad John is an engineer. He thought of a way to make an alarm device that could save us in a pinch. We thought of it today when we had to go out and quietly put down one of them that was beating loudly on my back gate. I killed it with an ice pick taped to a metal pipe with duct tape. It was then that John asked me what I thought of his plan. He wanted to wire a battery-powered radio to the mailbox of a house two doors down. He said that he had quite a bit of wire in his basement and that it would work. We slipped over to his house to gather some supplies and the wire. His basement was full of Annabelle dung.