Survivors

by Dave Willmarth

  An hour later Griff had packed up his few personal possessions, his remaining food, and several weapons. He’d done the best he could with body armor, donning a full set of fatigues with the pants tucked into his combat boots. He wore a leather jacket, then a nylon windbreaker over top of it, and thick work gloves covered his hands.

  On his head he wore a standard combat helmet and the work goggles he used for welding, and had torn strips of blanket wrapped around his face and neck as a scarf. Not ideal, but it covered nearly everything. He’d considered wearing an old gas mask he’d found in a trunk, but decided it would limit his vision too much. And really, he only planned to be outside for a few minutes at a time.

  With his rucksack on his back, he hefted his weapons – a shotgun, two rifles and a long, sharp stick made from a closet rod – and headed upstairs. He had a full canteen of water on his belt next to an old .45 in its holster. If he stretched it, the water would last him two days. He needed to find more supplies before then.

  He’d used the bunker’s outdoor cameras to gauge the distance to the nearest vehicles. Two of the three sat open, their drivers having either abandoned them or been ripped free. But the third still stood secure, doors closed, if a little dusty.

  Shari had warned him to be wary of even the dust. He shook his head, heart pounding.

  “How could me world have become such a deadly place?” he murmured to himself. Reaching the outer door, he raised a hand to the big red button that would release the locks.

  He paused, finding himself unable to push it. Stepping closer to the door, he set his ear against it, listening for any sound of movement outside.

  After a moment, he chuckled. “It be two feet o’ solid steel ye daft monkey. Ye’ll not be hearin’ anything through that monster. Just get on with it!”

  He stepped back and slammed the button with authority, girding his loins as the hydraulics within the wall withdrew the lock bolts and unsealed the pressurized door. With a final hissing pop, it separated slightly from its frame and a thin line of sunlight peeked through.

  Griff took hold of the massive handle and pulled. Though the door weighed a few tons, it was almost perfectly balanced and still well oiled. With a solid tug and a small grunt of effort he was able to swing the door inward far enough for him to exit with the pack on his back.

  He stepped out carefully, sure that the noise from the door would have attracted unwanted attention. His head on a swivel, he checked left, right, even above him in case a creature of some sort was waiting to drop on his head.

  After a solid minute of hearing and seeing nothing but the trees rustling in the wind across the cleared open space, he moved toward the vehicle. The keys had been on a hook inside, with the number on a tag matching the number painted on the Jeep’s bumper.

  When he reached the driver’s door, he produced a rag from his pocket. Using the rag to carefully and thoroughly wipe off the dust around the door handle, he then tossed it away onto the ground. He used the key to unlock the door, then tossed his gear into the passenger’s seat. Climbing in, he started the Jeep, a prayer on his lips.

  “Please start, please start, baby. Be a good lass and start right up for daddy.”

  His heart sank as he turned the key and the engine spluttered for a moment before dying. Letting his hand drop, he sat back in the seat.

  “Okay, so the battery is still good. That’s a start. She’s been sittin’ here alone for months. O’course she’s gonna need a little convincing.”

  He patted the steering wheel gently and spoke softly to the Jeep. “Give us a bit o’ love now, darlin’. I’ll take ye on a nice trip. We’ll see the sights. It’ll be a grand old time, it will!”

  Satisfied with his plea, he reached up and turned the key. The engine spluttered again, but sounded better this time. When it died, he waited just a moment, then turned the key again. This time, the Jeep’s engine rumbled to life!

  Griff was instantly terrified. After months of silence and the dire warnings Shari had given him, the engine seemed to roar! The sound rolled across the open field surrounding the bunker, echoing off every surface and causing Griff to break out in a cold sweat.

  He threw the Jeep in gear and began to make his way out of the complex. Having been stationed at the base for a while, he knew the nearby towns fairly well. Mace and Shari had suggested hitting a large supermarket for supplies, so that was his first mission.

  The closest he knew of was about ten kilometers away. The streets were slow going, as the entire area was exactly what one would expect of a post-apocalyptic war zone. Crumbling buildings, burned out or abandoned cars blocking the roads…

  The contamination had spread through Europe first, with almost no warning. The military forces of the various nations had tried to respond and contain, but the spread had been much too fast. Nobody had had any time to form a comprehensive plan, so individual units had just responded as best they could. And the best option seemed to be to kill everything in hopes of stopping the spread.

  Bombs were dropped, cities were nuked. Smaller towns were knocked down with artillery fire and scorched with napalm. It didn’t matter whether the inhabitants were infected or not. This was a fire break. An attempt to draw a line and let the zombiepocalypse burn itself out. But of course it all failed.

  Tears streamed down Griff’s face as he made his way through the town. He was sad, and afraid, and hopeful all at the same time. More emotion than he was used to dealing with. He thought of his family who’d lived not so far from here. Gone now. Just like everyone else.

  As he left the town, the roads improved. There hadn’t been much time to evacuate and few people had made it this far. Fewer people meant fewer targets for the military, so the burned-out cars became sparse.

  He checked the fuel indicator, which showed three quarters of a tank. At the slow speeds he was moving, that should be more than enough to get him to Newport. He found he could pick up a little speed, which made him feel better.

  He began to relax, and actually reached for the radio before remembering that nobody was transmitting anymore.

  He noticed an old-school CD sticking out of the console. He hadn’t seen a CD player in decades. Pushing at the disc, he watched it slide into the player, which began to make shuffling noises. A moment later, the oh-so-familiar sound of church bells tolling, followed by iconic guitar riffs, made him grin. He didn’t need to look at the disc to know who this was. AC/DC were legendary. He sang along as the lyrics began.

  “I’m a rolling thunder, a pouring rain.

  I’m comin’ on like a hurricane

  My lightning’s flashing across the sky

  You’re only young, but you’re gonna die!”

  The lyrics made him pause for a moment as he realized what he was singing. But he shook it off and began to bang his head in rhythm with the music as he unclenched his gut and released some of the fear he’d been holding in.

  Which was probably why he was surprised when something large smashed into the left side of the Jeep, causing it to veer hard to the right and tilt up on its two right wheels for a second before slamming back down onto the road. Griff barely managed to regain control of the Jeep as it bounced a few times and the engine revved up as the tires spun.

  With a squeal, they regained their traction and the Jeep lurched forward. Which was a good thing, as the massive bear-like zombie creature that had attacked him was shaking off the impact and coming for him again.

  Griff screamed in terror and punched the accelerator. He ignored the sound of the back left tire scraping against part of the Jeep’s body where the bear had caved it in. Or the wind whistling through the cracked windows. His attention was one hundred percent focused on his rear-view mirror as he watched a four-meter-tall monster lumber after him, its mouth open and showing fangs long enough to puncture straight through his chest. It roared, drowning out the music and making the vehicle shiver.

  Griff’s scream ended and he began to pant as the Jeep eventually gaine
d ground and started to leave the unnaturally fast monster behind. He nearly crashed straight into an abandoned car in front of him as he stared at the rear-view nonstop. The beast didn’t seem to be slowing down, and a few moments later it simply shouldered aside the car Griff had almost hit.

  Griff kept the Jeep moving as fast as he could, zigging and zagging around obstacles and gaining ground. Eventually he couldn’t see it anymore, which didn’t make him feel any better. He hoped it had given up.

  The rubbing sound from the back tire became more insistent, so he took a chance and stopped to check it. The plastic guard above the tire had been crumpled and was rubbing against the rubber of the tire. He was tempted to try and adjust it by hand, but the contaminated creature had left some neon blue blood on the impact zone, and who knew what other kinds of contaminated particles. He wasn’t about to risk touching it.

  Grabbing a tire iron from the back of the Jeep he quickly beat at the plastic until it caved in enough that it wasn’t touching the tire. Tossing the now-contaminated tool onto the ground, he gave a quick check down the road and could see the beast still coming. It spotted him as well, and let out another roar. It also seemed to pick up speed as it grew closer.

  Griff hopped back into the driver’s seat and kicked the Jeep into gear. Speeding along once again, he tried to calm himself and think clearly.

  “It’ll get tired eventually. Right? Unless, do dead things even get tired? Shite!”

  The road ahead was completely blocked by a pile-up, so he slowed slightly and went off-road. The Jeep easily handling the descent into the roadside gully and then the climb back out after he’d cleared the wreckage.

  “Can this thing track me? If I go to the new place, will it follow?” Griff remembered reading somewhere that a bear’s sense of smell was something like three hundred times better than a human’s.

  Not wanting to risk having that massive monster show up at his door, he took a right at the next intersection, hoping that the piled wreckage would keep the bear from seeing his change of direction. He followed that road for a ways before he noticed a shallow creek running beneath an upcoming bridge.

  Going off-road again, he drove carefully into the creek. The water was about half the height of the Jeep’s tires. Turning upstream, he crept along the creek bed. Occasionally, a tire would sink into a hole or the frame would scrape on a boulder he couldn’t see under the water, but he continued carefully up the creek in the general direction of Newport for about four kilometers.

  Spotting an area of gently-sloped bank ahead, he turned out of the creek and drove up the bank into a field. From there, it was a short drive to a nearby road, and he headed toward his new home, praying that he’d shaken the massive zombie bear. Or that something else would catch its interest between here and there.

  As the adrenaline rush subsided, Griff felt exhausted. In nearly any other circumstance he would have pulled over and rested. Drunk some water, eaten something, and taken deep breaths until his body leveled out. Maybe even taken a nap. But not today. He needed to get to his destination. Then he could sleep as long as he wanted.

  Using a paper map and passing road signs, he figured out his exact location. Making a turn onto a main road, he continued toward Newport. With the bear still on his mind and plenty of fuel in the tank, he took some detours to try to further slow the bear in case it was still able to track him. He also prayed for rain that could wash his scent off the streets.

  He took a long, looping detour to the southeast before coming up into Newport from the south. Still following his map, he zigged and zagged through the city. The facility he was looking for was on the north side in what turned out to be a sort of business district that transitioned into suburbs. Just a half kilometer from the building, he found a Tesco store.

  Moving slowly as he steered around obstacles and impact craters, it took him a few minutes to reach the store. He cruised around the block once, checking for any sign of movement or recent habitation.

  Finding none, he pulled around the back and drove right up onto the ramp leading to the loading dock. The roll-up door was closed, as was the human-sized door next to it. He took that as a good sign. Saying a little prayer, he tried the door handle. It was unlocked!

  Turning on a forehead-mounted light he’d fastened to his helmet, he stepped inside with shotgun raised. In his haste to check the room, he’d stepped too far and the door slammed shut behind him, nearly causing him to piss himself. The sound echoed through the large space.

  To his left was a small block of offices, presumably those of the store manager, receiving, accounting, etc. Straight ahead was a short hall with plastic strips hanging in front of double swinging doors that led out to the main part of the store. And to his right were dozens of rows of wide metal shelves that reached five meters in height.

  Cold sweat running down his back, he waited and listened. The smell was unpleasant, rotting perishables that had gone bad after the power went out. He breathed through his mouth to try and mitigate the odor.

  After a solid minute, he moved toward the doors to the main store. He had no intention of going out there; the entire front was glass, and anything outside could spot him. So, he grabbed a nearby crowbar and slid it through the double door handles. That should keep anything out there from sneaking up on him while he shopped.

  Moving slowly, he checked each aisle of the warehouse, shotgun raised and finger planted just above the trigger. Mace and Shari had warned him about not making noise, but if it came to shooting or dying, he’d bloody well shoot.

  After a tense five minutes, he was reasonably sure he was alone. He’d made more noise than he liked as he shuffled around, and any zombie creatures would likely have heard him.

  Slinging the shotgun over his shoulder, he walked back to the entrance. There were a few shopping carts filled with assorted items and he dumped one out in the corner, pushing the empty cart toward the shelves.

  Half an hour later he’d filled two carts with beef jerky, canned meats, soups, pasta, jars of fruit, and baking supplies like pancake mix, flour, sugar, salt, etc. His mum had taught him to cook as a young lad. He’d complained at the time, much more interested in being outside playing footie. Now he sent up a silent blessing for her.

  He had a pallet of bottled water, some wine and a case of Guinness. The entire rear compartment of his vehicle as well as the back seat were filled with food and drink. He’d also found some first aid supplies. And he’d stocked up on rubber cleaning gloves and plastic bags.

  Satisfied that he had at least a couple months’ worth of food, he closed the loading dock door and climbed back into the Jeep. Once again he cringed when the engine started. He weaved his way through the town, still nervously checking every alley and side street, every open doorway he passed. Sure that a horde of undead would be around the next corner.

  When he spotted the building that was to be his new home, he wasn’t impressed. It was mostly glass and only three stories tall, with a parking garage to one side.

  He turned right a block before the building and made a circle around it, looking for any signs of life or recent habitation.

  After making a complete circuit of the neighborhood, he approached the garage. There was a roll-up door with a card-sensor station about ten feet in front of it. There was also a push button one could use to call the security office. Not having a card, Griff pushed the button.

  “Ehrmm…hallo?” he ventured.

  He was surprised to hear Morgan Freeman’s voice respond to him. “Hello. What is your name?”

  “Errr… I’m Griff. Ye must be Peabody?”

  “Yes, admin Griff. I am Peabody. Nice to meet you. You may access the garage. The lobby entrance is on the lower level.”

  Even as the voice spoke, the massive metal door began to rise. The amount of noise it made caused Griff to shudder and reflexively check over his shoulder for the bearzombiemonster thing.

  As soon as the door was high enough to the clear the Jeep, he dr
ove forward and down the sloping drive to the lower level. There were only a few other vehicles in the garage, and none near the door that led inside the building. Griff parked near the door, so close that the vehicle might keep something the size of a charging bear from reaching the door. Grabbing just his rucksack and weapons, he approached the door.

  He was feeling a little taken aback by the AI. Mace had told him about Peabody, though not about the voice. And he was surprised by the admin title. Though he supposed it made sense.

  “I’m here, Peabody.” He spoke to a camera mounted above the door, making a small, awkward waving motion with his hand. The door lock clicked and he grabbed the handle.

  As he stepped through the door, Peabody said, “My cameras have detected no unauthorized movement in the facility since I was brought online here. That was approximately twelve hours ago.”

  “Er, unauthorized? Has there been authorized movement?” Griff was being flippant with the AI, but when Peabody answered he became concerned.

  “There has. Two others are currently in residence at this facility. Mace has asked me to inform you now, so that you have time to prepare yourself. He has requested that I pass on the following message: ‘Hey Griff. Turns out there were a couple folks alive in the building when Peabody made his connection to the facility’s AI. We’ve spoken to them and they seem okay. But keep a weapon handy until you’re satisfied.’”

  Griff leaned against the wall for a moment. This day had hit him with a lot of surprises, seemingly one right after the other. He was still coming down from the adrenaline high of his trip from the bunker, and now his heart was hammering again. He hadn’t seen other people in months. A few short days ago he was halfway sure he was the last man on earth.

  “Ehm, Peabody. Can ye tell me about the other people here?”

  “Certainly, admin Griff. Two adults. One male, Evan, age thirty-four. One female, Lisa, age twenty-two. Would you like their dimensions and approximate weights? I’m afraid I will have to estimate based on visual observations.”