Survivors

by Dave Willmarth

  With that mission accomplished, he re-secured the gas can to Bertha’s rear door and climbed back into the passenger seat. Retrieving a road flare from the dash in front of him, he popped the ignition end before tossing it out the window and onto the gas-soaked corpse.

  Shari hit the accelerator as soon as she saw him throw the flare, which was a good thing; there was a tremendous whoomph! as the gas caught and the ape’s body was engulfed in flames. Mace didn’t look back to watch it burn as Shari sped away.

  He did, however, keep an eye on the side mirror to monitor the expected smoke column. He wanted them to be far away before anyone, living or dead, noticed it.

  The bluish-black smoke roiled upward in a thick cloud, and he was suddenly glad that Shari had departed so quickly. The smoke was probably just as deadly as the blood.

  “Let’s remember to keep upwind of that smoke. We don’t know if the fire destroys the contaminated particles.”

  Her eyes widened for a moment as she took in that concept. “Shit. Hadn’t thought of that. So damn many ways to die out here. And we go and create a new one.” Her look was grim as she gripped Bertha’s steering wheel. “Alright. Where’s this armory?”

  Mace navigated for her as they took one turn, then another, and it wasn’t long before they reached the armory. “We were here a little while after the whole thing happened,” he warned her. “Grabbed a few things laying around outside, in the vehicles and such, but we never went inside the building.”

  Shari looked at the low, industrial-looking concrete bunker structure. “If they left it locked, we’re probably not getting in anyway.”

  Not anxious to try their luck inside, the two of them spent some time going through the vehicles parked in the area outside. Mace didn’t find his tank, but his eyes lit up at the sight of an APC - or armored personnel carrier - with tank treads on its rear. It looked as though it might have been a leftover from the Korean War or maybe the Vietnam era. But, like a tank, it was too big to fit in the garage.

  Seeing his disappointment, Shari offered, “Maybe we should take one of these Humvees back with us? You know, in case something happens to Bertha.”

  Mace looked at the dust-covered vehicles. “We’d have to figure out a way to clean them first. No way to know what’s stuck to them. Or inside them. But yeah, that could be good.”

  They found several more weapons in the various trucks, some just thrown in the back or left on seats as the soldiers perished during the first wave of the apocalypse. Mace was thrilled to find an M16 with a M203 grenade launcher mounted under the barrel. Recognizing it from his many hours playing first person shooters, he held it up to Shari, whispering, “We need to find a place to practice with this. And find some ammo. This would have destroyed that big bastard with one shot!”

  Shari rolled her eyes, but smiled at his enthusiasm. Six months ago, he would have been just a geekboy playing with guns. Now he was earnestly looking to find ways for them to survive.

  She rummaged around in the vehicle, coming up with a box of grenade rounds with different colored tips. “Here we go. I don’t know what the colors mean, but maybe we can look it up online if any of those sites are still working.”

  Mace pulled one of the grenades out and inspected it carefully, he said “This one has HE stamped on it. I think that’s ‘high explosive’. That’ll work!”

  “Great. Now put it away before you drop it and blow us up.” Shari ruffled his hair to lighten the impact of her scolding. Mace did as he was instructed and they carried the weapon and the crate back to Bertha.

  With no more excuse for delaying, they made their way to the front door. It appeared to be glass storefront, but they quickly discovered that it was in fact some kind of bulletproof material which merely looked like glass. And the door was, of course, securely locked. Mace was in favor of using his new grenade launcher to break in, but Shari stopped him.

  “This thing might withstand a tank blast. We don’t know. Let’s look around.”

  As it turned out, that was a very good suggestion. They circled around the building, peering into the narrow windows and attempting to see inside as they went. At the back they found a motor pool door wide open.

  Mace inspected the interior carefully. When he neither saw nor heard any sign of life, he stepped inside, Shari following immediately behind him. Drawing his shotgun, he moved further into the room. “This probably means no survivors in here. Living people wouldn’t have left the door open.”

  Shari agreed, whispering into her radio. “Let’s hope they all went out to fight, and that nothing undead is hanging out inside.”

  A growl off to their left dashed any hope of that. Both heads swiveled in the direction of the sound as they raised their weapons. There was enough sunlight coming through the doorway and the set of large skylights above that they could make out a shadow low in the corner near some stacked crates.

  Mace side-stepped slowly to his left, looking for a better angle on whatever was there, while Shari stepped back several paces to give herself some distance. She’d been holding her rifle, but quickly switched it out with a shotgun she’d had strung over her shoulder.

  The growl turned into a whine and the shadow slunk forward low to the floor. Mace, finally able to make it out, spoke into his radio. “It’s a dog. A… German shepherd. A live one.” Mace was tempted to lower his weapon. The dog was inching along in a crouch, ears laid back and tail flat on the floor. It continued to whine as it crept forward. Every emotional bone in his body wanted to reach down and pet the poor thing.

  Shari could see it now as well. “It doesn’t look contaminated. How is it still alive after all this time?” She kept her shotgun trained on the dog.

  Mace held up a hand and said “Stay.” to the German shepherd, which was now only about 10 feet from him. The dog instantly halted about ten feet away, its ears pricking up and its tail beginning to wag. He looked away briefly to turn toward Shari. “It understands me. So it can still think. I’m pretty sure it’s clean.”

  “Maybe,” Shari answered, doubt clear in her voice. “Or it’s recently contaminated.”

  Mace decided on further testing. “Sit!” he said gently to the dog. It planted its hind end and sat up on its forelegs, tail wagging furiously now. It was clear the dog was relieved to have found someone that knew the time-honored doggy-human rituals. Its mouth opened, and the long tongue flopped out to one side as it panted happily.

  “Good doggy!” Mace adopted the baby-talk tone that most folks used with pets. “You’re not a zombie, are you? Nope. You’re a good doggy. I wish I knew your name.”

  Shari decided that the canine was probably not going to bite them right now, even if it had been contaminated recently. For the next little while, at least, it should be safe enough.

  “It’s wearing a collar with a tag. Check it out, but keep your gloves on.”

  Mace happily stepped forward. The tail wagging increased dramatically, the dog straining against its instructions to sit but remaining obediently in place. It let out a small woof of joy as Mace approached.

  Bending down, he reached out a hand and rubbed the dog’s ear affectionately. The dog happily leaned into the attention, eyes closed and tongue lolling again. After a half a minute of this, Mace crouched down so that he was closer to eye level. The dog leaned forward and licked the glass of Mace’s helmet.

  Shari inhaled sharply and raised her weapon again, moving to one side for a clear shot. “Mace! Be careful, dammit.”

  Mace reached under the dog’s chin and took hold of the tag hanging there. Inspecting it through the slobber-covered faceplate of his helmet, he said, “Dakota. Your name’s Dakota?”

  The dog couldn’t stand it anymore. It jumped straight upward and spun around in a circle, barking happily at the sound of its name. The tail wagged at a rate approaching light speed. Mace laughed at the antics and Shari nearly had a heart attack. She’d seen too much death in her time outside to trust this creature, no matter how cute i
t may seem.

  Mace reached down to take hold of the collar and calm the dog. It resumed its sitting position as he made soothing sounds, patting its head. “Where did you come from, buddy? How have you stayed alive? What have you been eating? Is this your home?”

  At the sound of the word ‘home’ the dog whined and stopped wagging its tail. Then it barked once and took off towards the back of the room. It shot through another open door and disappeared as another bark echoed back toward Mace and Shari.

  Mace looked at Shari, who shrugged. “Guess we might as well follow it. Don’t think it would have run in there barking if there were creatures inside.”

  Mace jogged back to the door they’d come in and pulled it shut, then they proceeded to follow the dog through the door at the back end of the room - which opened into a long hallway with several doors on each side. He sighed. They were going to have to clear the rooms as they went.

  One at a time, Mace and Shari crept through each doorway, scanning the room before stepping fully inside and checking behind desks, under tables, and inside closets. It took nearly half an hour to check the ten rooms they had to pass in order to reach the end of the hall, and by then the dog had returned, tail wagging, to see what they were up to. He seemed confused by their insistence on checking everywhere in every room, but after watching them for a few minutes, he apparently decided to help, sticking his nose into every nook and cranny and looking to them for approval.

  Mace played along. “Good Dakota! That’s right, boy! Find the monsters!”

  At the end of the hall, the path turned left and opened into a large, open space. Another garage, though this one was darker, with no skylights. Both humans pulled out flashlights and scanned the room.

  There were several vehicles parked along either side in neat rows, but Dakota led them straight past them and through another door to the right. This hallway was shorter. On the right was a door leading to a large cafeteria, and to the left was a couple of offices. Straight ahead was another door that read “Barracks”.

  The dog went directly to the door at the end and paused, whining.

  “Is that where home is?” Mace asked. Dakota barked once, wagging his tail.

  Quickly closing the cafeteria door, they proceeded to clear the two offices, and as Mace reached the Barracks door, the dog shot through ahead of him. The next hallway contained a multitude of doors along either side of its entire hundred-yard length, each leading to a room with two sets of bunk beds.

  Dakota bypassed several of the rooms, then skidded to a halt on the linoleum floor and dashed into a room on the left. Mace and Shari followed, not bothering to check the rooms they passed. They’d seen no sign of any creatures up to this point, and doubted that one had managed to come this far.

  Reaching the room Dakota had entered, they found a different layout. There was only a single bed, with a desk and a wardrobe. The door was labeled “Staff Sergeant”. In the corner a thumping sound drew their attention to Dakota, who was sitting in a large dog crate, tail thumping against the side.

  Shari grinned at Mace. “You did ask him where his home was. Smart boy, Dakota!”

  Mace stepped farther into the room and something crunched under his boot. Looking down, he saw a fifty-pound bag of dog food laying on its side under the desk. It looked mostly empty, and there were bits of dog chow scattered about.

  “Well, now we know what he’s been eating. But this much food wouldn’t last him for months. He must have had someone here with him…”

  A window on the outside wall let in sufficient sunlight for Mace and Shari to see the details of the room. Mace opened the wardrobe while Shari started to go through the desk.

  “Here,” Shari said after a few seconds. “There’s a journal. Sort of.”

  Mace joined her at the desk as Dakota watched from his travel crate. “This guy’s name was Schinhofen. Sergeant Schinhofen. He was a canine handler,” Shari read aloud as she flipped through the pages. “Says he lived ‘cuz he had been working all night on bomb detection drills with Dakota, and they slept through the initial mobilization. Most of his company bailed or were killed. Says here that there were four survivors after the first day.”

  Mace went back to searching the wardrobe as she continued to read aloud quietly. The journal talked about their food supply, and hiding inside the facility when the creatures were outside. The generator lasted over a month before they had emptied the massive gas tank - then they’d started siphoning gas from the vehicles. Two of the others had been killed by zombie creatures, one humanlike and one animal. The third had been contaminated somehow. Shari’s voice broke and tears ran down her face as the sergeant related his anguish over being forced to kill his friend.

  Dakota emerged from his crate and placed his head upon Shari’s knee as she cried over the journal. He whined quietly and nosed at her elbow, begging for attention, and she absently reached down to scratch his ears as she read. Mace caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and smiled.

  Shari’s sudden gasp immediately put Mace into a panic. Had the dog been contaminated after all? Were they both about to die?

  Shari looked over at him, now crying openly. Unable to speak, she handed him the journal. He read the handwritten words on the last two pages.

  I got scratched by something this morning when I let Dakota out. Had to happen eventually. I’m contaminated and it feels like I don’t have much time. I can’t bear to kill Dakota, so I’m going to leave the door open. There’s enough dog food for him for a few months and I’ll leave the MREs where he can get to them. He loves to tear open the packets anyway. Especially the peanut butter. And about half the tubs are still filled with clean water. It’s all I can do for him. Stupid mutt. Don’t know how he lasted this long.

  I spoke to Griff on the radio a few minutes ago. Told him what happened. It was damn hard to say goodbye. And to tell him that he might be the last man on earth now.

  I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Except maybe someday somebody will find it. I’m gonna get in one of the Humvees and drive far enough that Dakota won’t find me. Then I’m ending things the way a soldier should.

  That was it. There was nothing more. Mace supposed there wasn’t really anything else to say. He looked at Shari, now hugging the dog, who seemed happy for the attention but confused by the crying. She lifted her head and sniffled. “I know, it’s stupid. I didn’t even know him. But it’s so…”

  “Yeah. I know.” Mace looked at the date on the final journal entry. Three days ago. They’d missed another survivor by just three days. He didn’t know whether to be angry or sad or to just not care anymore.

  “He mentioned this guy Griff who he talked to on the radio. Maybe we can find him?” Mace ventured, hoping to brighten Shari’s mood a little. “Did you see a radio anywhere?”

  Shari shook her head. She still wasn’t ready to speak. Mace set the journal down, only just then realizing that if the sergeant had been writing in it after being scratched, it might be contaminated. He resisted the urge to wipe his gloves on something. After all, it wouldn’t help.

  “Come on, let’s look for it.” He moved toward the door, then paused to wait for Shari to rise, which she eventually did with a long, ragged sigh. She stopped on her way past Mace and hugged him tightly for a solid minute. He could feel her crying, but just let it happen.

  When she finally let go of him, she gave him a soft kiss and stepped out into the hall. Dakota stood by his crate, looking from Mace to Shari and back, as if seeking instructions. “Come on, boy. Stay with us,” Shari whispered, and the dog shot forward into the hall, taking up a position next to her right leg and keeping pace with her as she walked.

  As they reached the cafeteria she said, “We didn’t really check the garage. Might be a radio in there. Or in some of the trucks. Lots of them should have hard-wired radios with antennas on the roof.”

  Moving back through the corridors and into the garage, they did indeed find a desk with a large radio se
tup on it. The tech was reasonably new, and it didn’t take Mace long to get it turned on. He didn’t adjust the channel, figuring that the sergeant would have left it set to the channel used by the only person he had left to talk with.

  He keyed the mic. “Hello? Uhhh… Griff? Are you out there? Is anyone out there?” He released the transmit button on the handset and waited. After twenty seconds of nothing but static, he repeated himself. “Anybody out there? Anybody alive?”

  A moment later a man’s voice came practically growled through the speakers. “Aye, I’m here. Who’s this? And how d’ya know me name? Are ya one o’ them ministry cockwombles? Checkin’ ta see if I remained at me post? Well, I’m right fickin’ here, ain’t I?”

  Mace didn’t know what a cockwomble was, but he assumed it wasn’t good. “I’m, uhm, my name is Mace. I’m in a National Guard armory. Got your name from Sergeant Schinhofen-”

  “Danny! Dannyboy’s alive?” the voice on the radio became excited. “How? He said he were…”

  Mace had trouble speaking. “We found his journal. He’s not here. His last entry said he was going to drive out and… end things.”

  “Yah. He told me the same.” Griff’s voice was solemn. “Good lad, Danny. Funny, if a bit odd. Reminded me o’one of me mates.”

  There was a pause. “You said ‘we.’ There’s more than one o’ you?”

  Shari answered first. “Two of us. I’m Shari. Three of us if you count Dakota.” She smiled as she petted the dog’s head, and Dakota woofed in agreement, wagging his tail.

  The voice on the radio chuckled. “Glad ta’ hear the pooch is still alive. Danny loved that mutt. Ye’ll take good care of him, yeah?”

  Mace hesitated. “We need to make sure he’s not contaminated first. But yeah, assuming he’s okay, we have a safe place. Where are you?”