The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 1): Awakening

by J. D. Demers

  I’m not sure why, but I cleaned up the mess in Dave’s room and in the hallway. Even though it was daylight out, it was still hard to see. I opened my bedroom door as well as the curtains to flood the hallway with more light. There was more blood than I thought. His bed still smelled horrible, but I think at this point I was over the smell.

  The spring-cleaning helped me push aside the thought that I was going to be dead soon, or rather a walking corpse. It also helped drive away the churning in my stomach and the pressure on my chest. It didn’t help the throbbing in my shoulder, but I would have rather have that pain than feeling like I was going to explode.

  While cleaning, I looked in Dave’s closet. I knew he had a lot of gear in there, but I was still amazed at how much he had. His set of golf clubs was shoved in the corner of his closet. He and I tried to take up that sport when we first got home from the military. That only lasted a week, though. I also saw a box of Meals Ready to Eat. Just the sight of the MREs made me feel nauseous. I lived on those for long periods of time while I served in the military. I remember vowing never to eat them again.

  There was a flimsy gun safe where I knew he had two AR15’s, along with two more handguns. I’m sure there was ammunition in there too, but I saw no reason to check it out. I had his 9mm, and I knew he had back-up ammo in his nightstand.

  I saw what he called his bug out bag opposite of his golf clubs. There was supposed to be everything you needed to survive for three days in it. He talked about that regularly and was always excited when he added something to it.

  There was more equipment, but I started to get depressed again. Nothing in that closet could save Dave or me. Dave’s body was in the backyard rotting away and his killer, me, was going through his things. It made me sick.

  I went back into the living room and slumped down onto the couch. I was tired. Too much adrenaline had pumped through my body over the last hour. I’m pretty sure every emotion possible passed through me.

  I thought about Trinity. She was home alone while my parents were at the hospital. They were so far away. That thought didn’t help either. My mother had probably turned into one of those things lumbering around outside and my father along with her. Everyone I knew had probably changed into a zombie. Hell, I thought I was going to change into one.

  My head had started to ache, which only added to my misery. I positioned myself on the couch so that my shoulder was as comfortable as possible. Thoughts of family and friends helped guide my exhausted body as I drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  The Change that Never Came

  March 20th Evening

  The aching in my shoulder woke me a few hours later. I must have moved my arm, which sent a sharp pain across and down my shoulder. I looked around the house. It was getting darker. I could still see some light outside, but it was definitely late afternoon. The car alarm, however, was silent.

  I groggily got up and, like an idiot, stretched. I winced as pain surged from the bite on my shoulder. I cradled my left arm while cursing my stupidity. The smell of death still lingered, but it was better than before when Dave’s body was still in the house. The mild headache that I had before my nap had now become a raging migraine. I also started to sniffle again, just like I did when I was sick earlier that week. I hypothesized that this was how it was going to start out. Like Dave and the others, I would get sicker and sicker, until I finally died and became one of the walking dead.

  A noise from outside grabbed my attention. It was coming from across the street.

  Peering out the front window, I saw John’s wife crawling out of their bay window. I never knew his wife’s name, though I waved or said “hi” a hundred times. What was left of the glass on the windowsill broke as she stumbled over the edge and gouged her arms and legs.

  The sun was going down, but there was still plenty of ambient light for me to get a good look at her. Even at this distance, I could see where someone had ripped into her neck and arm. There was dried blood all over her shirt, and her left sleeve was completely ripped away. The bones on her arm were visible through the torn flesh. Her complexion matched the rest of the zombies I had seen earlier. Her pale face was rigid, and shown eerily in the light of the setting sun. She stumbled around, barely balancing herself, while looking in all directions. I even thought I saw her sniffing, like a dog or some other wild beast out for a hunt. Looking back, I think the smell of Dave’s corpse probably hid my scent.

  She started moving around and even through the window I could hear her croaking moan. More movement caught my eye. The light was fading, but I couldn’t miss John coming from around our neighbor’s house. He seemed to eye his wife for a moment, and then moved down the road. Other figures were moving too, and I heard more moans. Not hundreds or anything like that, but at least five or ten of these creatures were nearby. It was probably just the neighbors that were stuck in their homes when everyone started dying and turning into these… things.

  I saw a few more moving down our road. They still seemed to be a bit off balance, but they moved with a purpose and they moved faster than any of the other ones I had seen earlier that day. They were not jogging or running, but they definitely had more speed than what John had when he came at me. Even he was moving faster now, still dragging about half the intestines he had dropped earlier. His wife stopped in the middle of the road, reached down and grabbed John’s left over guts that were smeared on the pavement. She stuffed them hungrily in her mouth, and then continued on her way with the others.

  He must have killed his wife. Now she was one of them. I guessed it was just a matter of time for me.

  I stepped back from the window and looked around the house. It would be dark outside soon, and I didn’t have any light. Did I even want light? Would it attract those beasts? I had just napped for probably five or six hours, and the idea of spending all night awake, in the dark, with ghouls running around outside was a bit disconcerting. I was coughing a little now too. The infection seemed to be spreading. I’m sure the noise wouldn’t help me stay hidden either.

  I could have put a bullet in my head and skipped the pain of turning. Who was I kidding though, I couldn’t kill myself. A part of me believed I was just being a hypochondriac. Maybe because he didn’t kill me, I wouldn’t turn. After all, it was clear John had killed his wife. All the zombies I saw with chunks missing from their bodies were killed before they turned. Maybe that’s why half the day had passed and I still wasn’t a walking flesh eater.

  The truth was, I was scared and I was just coming up with excuses so I wouldn’t eat a bullet. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always thought suicide was a coward’s way out, but this was different. I mean, the fact that I knew that when I turned into a zombie I would attack survivors and turn them should have been enough to make me man up and end it all. But I was a coward. I would rather wait it out and have every last breath, just so I could live a little longer. I was such a selfish bastard. But my selfishness is what ended up bringing me here today, I guess. How ironic.

  I decided to spend my first and last night in this new horrible world curled up on the couch. I covered myself in every blanket I could find in order to stay warm as the chills started hitting me from the infection. The blankets also helped reduce the noise of my coughing and wheezing. I could feel a fever coming, which only intensified my migraine.

  The sounds of gunfire were more frequent as night came. I could hear screams off in the distance as well. But none of the noise outside overshadowed the unnatural moan of the thousands of the dead from the city. It was a horrible chorus of death without rhyme or rhythm.

  Even with the long nap I took earlier, I still managed to fall asleep rather early. It must have been the illness. I thought it would be my last slumber before my eternal unrest.

  The acrid smoke was thick. There were only a few feet of visibility through the gray and black smog. Screams of pain could be heard all around me. Someone to my left yelled for a medic. I heard a familiar cry for help somew
here in front of me.

  “Christian! Help me,” he shrieked. I hesitated, scared. An unknown force started moving me toward the call. I tried to stop, but was driven forward anyway. I couldn’t see anything. The smoke was hurting my eyes and smelled of gunpowder and burning rubber. I kept moving, though I tried to fight it.

  I tripped, landing face first in the dirt. I didn’t want to see why I tripped, but I was somehow forced to turn and look. There was a bloody hand, connected to an arm, connected to the torso of a body. The legs and midsection had been violently blown away. Blood and intestines spilled out at the bottom, forming a mushy pool.

  The head turned toward me. I couldn’t breathe. It was Dave, screaming for my help.

  “Help me, Christian!” he exasperated. “Help…”

  I tried to move away, but then I realized I didn’t trip. His hand was painfully gripping my ankle. Dave’s head reared back as he groaned, and when his face came back into view, it was gaunt, pale, and angry. I saw a bullet hole under his jaw, and the flap of skull on the other side was dangling. In my hand was his 9mm, the barrel already smoking, yet no shot was fired.

  Dave wasn’t dead though, or even dead twice. He was pulling on my leg, dragging his body closer to mine. I shot him again and again, until the gun was empty, but he still kept coming. He hauled himself up my body, dragging his guts all over me. He held me down with both of his arms as his face hovered over mine, dripping black blood on me from his gaping maw.

  “Dave!” I screamed at him. “I tried! I can’t help you!”

  He eerily smiled, and croaked, “But I can help you!” Then he plunged down, tearing into my shoulder with his teeth.

  I woke up, gasping for air. I was tangled up, covered, and in the dark. I writhed around trying to escape and shrieked as my shoulder erupted into pain. I finally ripped the three layers of blankets off of me. At first, I thought that nightmare, along with all the other hell I just went through, was a dream. But remembering the pain in my shoulder and how it happened, snapped me back to reality.

  When the last of the blankets were pushed away, I saw light streaming through the living room window onto the couch. It wasn’t the bright sun illumination that normally shown in at sunrise, but dull and grey ominous light. I slowly got off the couch, careful not to agitate my shoulder again. My muscles ached as I stood.

  My fever must have broken while I slept because I had sweated profusely overnight. I was soaked, as were the blankets and the couch. I still felt a little groggy, but not like when I fell asleep the night before. Could it be that I fought it off? Or maybe he never infected me? The questions poured in. I thought that maybe I had to die when I was bitten in order to change.

  I moved over to the curtain to peer outside. I decided to be stealthy about it by moving the corner of the drape to get a look. This was when I started to get smarter. I was alive and intended to stay that way.

  The sky was overcast, blocking out the sun. You never knew when it was going to rain in Florida. I never knew if a storm was going to blow in, or when the sun was going to shine. These clouds looked like they were here to stay for a while though, not just some hit and run afternoon shower. They produced a light drizzle, but that could change any minute in the Sunshine State.

  Standing in my front yard near the road was a man with his back to me. I didn’t recognize him, which made me feel a little better. It’s always harder when you know the victim. He was in pajama bottoms and was shirtless. Claw marks racked his back, and part of his left shoulder and neck had been torn and ripped apart. The rain mixed with the black blood from his wounds, diluting it as it streaked down his body. He leaned to one side and had his head cocked half way in the air as if listening for something, even though his left ear had been ripped most of the way off. His jaw was locked open in a crooked gape, as if yawning.

  A thought occurred to me. Maybe he heard me cry out in pain when I woke up and wrenched my shoulder. He walked by, heard me, and then stopped. Since he hadn’t heard anything else, maybe he was waiting for another clue to where the noise was coming from.

  Of course, at the time, I had no facts on what senses these monsters had. I didn’t even know if the things could hear. I did know that if you were bitten and died, you turned. At least, I was pretty sure of that. I saw enough gnawed on walking dead to support that claim. I thought that maybe if you cleaned the wound well enough, the infection wouldn’t set in. Who knows, but I was still alive, and that’s what mattered.

  I looked around the house. I had to see what I had that would help me stay alive long enough to either find a surviving part of civilization, or enable me to wait it out till they found me. I mean, at the time, I still thought the government would get its act together and save all of us.

  I decided it was time to put some of that great Army training to use. No, not fighting skills. I was below par when it came to that. But what I did know was how to keep inventory and how to organize what I had. Being a supply clerk had some benefits.

  First order of business was food and water. The military made us carry water on our person most of the time. That was because dehydration was the most common injury for soldiers. Sometimes people don’t even know they are dehydrated until it’s too late. I didn’t really remember how much water someone should drink in a day, but I did remember that you could die if you went three or more days without it.

  I had a full case of water bottles I bought from Walmart in the pantry, and a partial case in the fridge. I knew there were some in there, but I decided against opening it just yet. Food would not stay cool in there much longer, especially after being on day two without power.

  Thinking of water made me remember how badly I smelled, which in turn made me think of taking a shower. I checked the kitchen faucet, and saw that the water was still running. I filled up every container I could, which probably amounted to about forty extra gallons. The last thing I filled full of water was the bathtub. Before I did, though, I took a much needed shower. I didn’t know the next time I would have one, and the water in the heater was still pretty warm. I made it quick, and then cleaned the tub to fill it. Let me tell you, that shower made a world of difference that day. It also reminded me to change my bandages on my shoulder.

  I may not have been turning into a zombie just yet, but it would really suck to die of infection after surviving a bite. Anyway, after I filled everything from all of our cups and bowls to two emptied storage bins, I added a few drops of bleach to each. I wasn’t sure how much I should add, but I knew it would help keep bacteria away. Then I secured all of the containers in my room. That took me a couple of hours.

  After I finished gathering up water, I went to check on food. We didn’t have much. About ten cans of random vegetables, two cans of beef stew, and an opened case of chicken flavored noodles. A half-eaten bag of chips was left too, but I ate that as I finished working. We were college boys, after all. The MRE’s in Dave’s room would last about a week as well. All in all, including what I thought was in the fridge, I figured if I skimped, I had about two weeks’ worth of food. That wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either.

  I decided to hit the fridge for food first, eat whatever was going to spoil, then move on to the canned food. I wanted to save the MRE’s for last. Not just because I hated them, but because they were supposed to last longer than anything else I had. If I had to, I could stretch them to one MRE a day and stay fairly healthy. It would suck and I would hate going hungry, but I felt like I suddenly had a second chance at life. Thinking I was going to die the night before really made me appreciate still being alive.

  The chips did little to curb my hunger pains. After all, I hadn’t eaten in a day. Yesterday was just too crazy to think about food. But now I was famished. Finally I went to the fridge. I lucked out. There was some ham and bread in it and I made myself three sandwiches, eating every last crumb. The freezer was empty, except for a pound of ground beef. I knew I’d have to cook that up soon, but we didn’t have a grill and the stove didn’
t work. I would have to figure that one out later.

  I shut the freezer and hoped the ground beef would stay good for a little while longer. Other than that, our fridge was pretty bare. I drank the last of the orange juice, and loaded the rest of the water bottles inside. Those would be drunk last.

  I went into Dave’s room. I knew Dave had some vital supplies that I’d probably need. The first thing I did was look into his nightstand. He had a small flashlight, a multi-tool, and two full magazines of 9mm for his Glock.

  The flimsy doors on the gun safe were not hard to pry open once I got a hammer from the garage, but I was sure to stay quiet. There was no need for unwanted attention from whatever might be lurking in the streets. Inside the safe there were two AR-15’s and a 12 gauge shotgun. I was comfortable with the AR because it was designed after the M4 that we were issued in the military. Plus, as a supply clerk, I worked in the arms room and was schooled in minor repairs. One of his AR’s had an x4 scope and a fore-grip that could deploy into a bipod. The other had a Trijicon “red dot” site, which was much better suited for close combat. He had fourteen thirty-round magazines for the two rifles and I guessed about four thousand 5.56 rounds of ammunition.

  The shotgun was a pump with a pistol grip, and I estimated approximately fifty or so rounds of buckshot, with an equal amount of slugs. Hanging on the side were two more pistols. One was a Ruger twenty-two, and the other, a Kel-Tech PF9 9mm. Two boxes of .22 rounds at five hundred and fifty a box and ten boxes of 9mm, which would be five hundred rounds, were stacked at the top of the ammunition pile.

  “Jesus, Dave,” I whispered. “What in the hell were you afraid of?” I stopped myself before I said anything else. His fear may have been the ticket to my survival. Poor guy did all this to keep us safe while I mocked him. I was such an asshole.