The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 1): Awakening

by J. D. Demers

  The backyard had a large wooden swing set in the corner. The screened in patio ran the length of the back of the house. A stone table with a built in grill ran across a third of the patio. There were two sets of French doors. I guessed that one went into the master bedroom. The other had a door cocked part way open, allowing me to see into a dining area.

  I cautiously approached the open door and peered inside. I cringed at the smell of rotting flesh. I hadn’t gotten used to it yet. My house still carried the odor, but the one at this house was stronger.

  I looked around the dining area, which opened into the living room. I could see the doorway to the kitchen not far off. Along the floor, I saw a trail of blood. It was dried red blood, not the blackish goo the zombies leaked. The odor of decay was pretty strong, so I stopped and listened. I thought I heard something, but it must have been coming from somewhere deeper in the house.

  Against my better judgment, and even though my mind was screaming that continuing was a mistake, I went in. Do you remember when I said I had to be smart and not make stupid mistakes? Yeah, that was one of those times. Like that time when you yell at the idiot on the TV for walking down the dark alley alone.

  I made my way toward the kitchen. After all, that’s what I was there for. I could hear bumps and small moans coming from the other side of the house. I thought that must have been where the bedrooms were. I was sure whatever was in there couldn’t hear me because the house was so large.

  I rounded the doorway and saw what I had smelled earlier. Just like John’s house, these people had a dog. I thought it looked like a German Shepherd, but it was so bloody and mangled, I couldn’t be sure.

  The canine must have given a tough fight. The dog’s blood was everywhere, but there was also zombie goo to match. The dog’s teeth had chunks of rotten flesh stuck to them, and there were three human fingers scattered across the floor.

  “Good for you, pup,” I whispered out loud.

  I heard a bump. Not in the kitchen, but elsewhere in the house. The moaning seemed to get a little louder. Not like it was coming closer, but like it was a getting little more desperate. It was time to leave. I didn’t want to face off against one of those things in here or draw attention to the house with a gunshot.

  On my way out, I saw the hallway that led to the bedrooms. There was a trail of black slime that led into it. That must have been where the zombie went. I was halfway out the door when I heard another noise. It was quiet, but distinctive. It sounded like a whine. Whatever it was, it wasn’t coming from the zombie. Whenever it made noise, the zombie moaned louder.

  I had a sudden image of a child hiding under a bed, whimpering.

  Holy shit, I thought. I was conflicted. I didn’t know if I could leave a kid to his death. I watched the man at the intersection get eaten alive and did nothing. Sarah died ten feet from me, and all I did was watch in horror. Could I leave here and have this on my conscience too? Going farther in was a mistake. Mistakes meant death.

  A little voice in my head was saying, Leave now! You can’t save the world. Hell, you can barely take care of yourself. After all, I did tell myself a few days ago that I would have to change if I were to survive.

  That’s when another familiar voice interrupted.

  Yeah, you have changed, son. The old you would have already left with your tail between your legs. It was the voice of my dad. It was the same voice that had spoken to me a few days ago. I knew he wasn’t there, but he was whispering to my conscience. If he were here, he would not have even hesitated.

  “Damn it!” was all I could manage to say as I turned and went toward the hallway. I had my gun in my left hand because I was hoping I could just stab the piece of shit in the head without making a sound. I drew the K-bar with my right, ready to plunge it into that thing’s skull when I found it.

  As I rounded the corner, I could hear that the moaning was coming from the half open door at the end of the hallway. I heard the whimpering again. I continued down, being sure to stay silent.

  There was enough ambient light to make out a line of pictures and plaques in the hallway. Besides a few family pictures of a man, woman and two kids, I saw a half dozen photos of a police officer and a dog. There was no doubt that the dog in the kitchen matched the canine with the cop. One of them was an award picture that said “Sage’s Retirement”. I wasn’t sure if the former K9 officer lived in this house, but I put together that the late German Shepherd was a K9 police dog.

  I saw a pair of legs kicking on the floor just inside the room at the end of the hall. I peaked in and saw that a giant hutch had been knocked over, pinning a zombie to the floor.

  This wasn’t a bedroom at all, but an office. Badges and awards lined the walls showing that this was either a former or current Palm Bay Police Officer, undoubtedly the owner or handler of Sage, the dead Shepherd in the kitchen. There were trophies with small statues mimicking the duo fighting crime or standing proudly.

  The zombie trapped underneath the hutch was probably the woman in the pictures I had seen in the hallway. I didn’t yet know for sure because the head was out of sight on the other side of the fallen furniture.

  I squeezed past the hutch and got a look at the face. It was her, the lady in the pictures. I couldn’t tell if she changed from a bite or from the initial outbreak, because she was mangled. I knew why too. Her dog had shredded her face and parts of her arms. I clearly saw four fingers missing. I figured the mutilated dog in the other room had swallowed one because the other three were still lying on the kitchen floor.

  Both of her arms were outstretched, reaching toward the desk on the other side of the room. I couldn’t see underneath the desk, but heard something scurry from that direction as I banged my shin on the side of the hutch.

  I cursed, which drew the attention of the zombie at my feet. She was trying to grab my leg, but the hutch made it awkward for her to reach in my direction. I rubbed my shin, and cursed again. There was no need to waste a bullet on her, but I could use this opportunity to learn something.

  I holstered my gun, eyeing the desk to see if whoever was hiding was going to come out. I didn’t see any movement and whoever had made the noise was now silent.

  I grabbed my K-bar with both hands and drove it down toward its skull. Well, I hit her skull at any rate. It deflected off the side and nearly went into my foot. The grinding of the blade on the skull sounded like I was dragging it across concrete. I quivered at the sound.

  “Jesus,” I said aloud.

  The human skull is tougher than Hollywood makes it out to be. It probably didn’t help that my aim was off, which caused it to glance off the side. A slice of skin came down with the blade, but it didn’t seem to hurt her at all.

  I tried again, this time making sure I was aiming at the flat part of the back of her skull. It drove deep, almost to the hilt. But she didn’t die. Instead, she writhed around like she was having convulsions.

  I took a step back, horrified. At first I thought it was feeling pain, but that wasn’t it. It was more like a seizure. I yanked the blade out, and drove it down again. The shaking didn’t stop, so instead of pulling it out, I twisted and wiggled it ferociously around like a blender. She finally stopped and slumped over, motionless.

  I took a deep breath. That was harder and a lot more taxing than I had anticipated. I retrieved my knife and wiped it on the sleeve of her shirt. Blackish red blood oozed out of her mouth. I also noticed her throat had been ripped open by the dog in the kitchen. The canine knew to go for the throat. The poor dog just didn’t know that it wouldn’t make a difference with a zombie.

  I heard movement again over near the desk. I readied my knife, just in case. Moving slowly, I approached and dipped low so I could see underneath. Four furry legs were pacing back and forth.

  “Are you kidding me?” I said aloud.

  The head of a German Shepherd poked out from around the desk. He wasn’t fully grown, but still pretty big at around seventy or so pounds. I wondered if it had
been Sage’s puppy. My family had dogs growing up, but they were always little rat dogs that annoyed the hell out of me. My mother said they gave our family character. They upgraded in their retirement and adopted a Golden Retriever that my dad would take hunting with him.

  I had a problem. Dogs barked. Dogs made noise. I couldn’t take him with me. Well, he probably wouldn’t come with me to begin with. From what I’d heard, shepherds were only loyal to one person, and he already had a master, though the master was probably dead.

  Things made sense to me now. Sage was the mother of this dog and had died protecting her puppy. I knew German Shepherds, let alone a police trained canine, could be vicious. The shepherd really did a number on her former owner. But when you can’t cause pain to the walking dead, it’s just a matter of time before the zombie will win.

  As much as I didn’t want to get bitten by this dog, or take it with me, my conscience told me I couldn’t leave him here to die of starvation either. He already looked weak. Probably hadn’t had water in a few days. I could at least leave the back door and gate open outside. Then he would have a fighting chance.

  “Alright pup, come on. Let’s get you out of here.” He seemed to respond by tilting his head. He wasn’t aggressive, which made me happy. I decided if it started to bark I would leave it behind.

  I backed up out of the room and he slowly followed me. He hesitated at the body of the zombie on the floor, gave a sniff, and then continued toward me. I decided that if he was going to come, good, but if not, screw him. I turned around and walked to the kitchen to check out the pantry.

  I hit pay dirt. There were two bags of beef jerky, along with a loaf of bread that hadn’t started to mold yet. There were also fourteen cans of random food and a case of water bottles. I think they had just gone shopping before the world went to hell, because the bread was still soft. I loaded it all up, along with a jar of peanut butter, and moved to the fridge. I only opened it for a second and the smell hit me. With no power, things went bad a lot quicker. I shut the fridge door, and decided it wasn’t worth it. I couldn’t carry much more anyway.

  The puppy had followed me and was sniffing around his dead mother’s carcass. A soft whine was coming from him. I didn’t think of it when I was at John’s house, but dogs didn’t change into zombies. Neither of his dogs nor this one was moving, and both had been dead over a day. That was good news. The idea of crazy zombie dogs was not that appealing.

  On the side of one of the cabinets was a picture of the dead shepherd with a litter of puppies around it. The date read just under a year ago. They must have given up all the pups but this one.

  At the bottom of the pantry there was a large bag of dog food. I read the price tag and realized these people only bought the best for their pups. The beef jerky was probably for them. I opened the bag and scooped some of the dog food onto the floor. The shepherd came over and dove in, eating the small pile in seconds.

  “Must be hungry,” I said to him. I threw down another pile, larger than the one before. I turned around and started going through the cabinets, searching for a bowl. Finding one, I filled it with water from one of the water bottles and set it next to the nearly finished new pile of food. He started lapping it up before it even reached the floor.

  “What’s your name, boy?” I asked as I started to pet him on the back of the neck. He flinched, but allowed me to stroke his mane. I reached down and looked at his dog tag. “Boomer,” I said. I thought that was a neat name.

  He seemed to respond to it and panted for a second, then continued to drink. I kneeled down and told him it was going to be alright and that he was free. When he finished the water, he turned to me and licked my face. At first, I was thought he was attacking me. He wasn’t fully grown yet, but a seventy pound dog was still pretty damn intimidating when it jumps up on you. After a few seconds, I pushed him down.

  “Alright, let’s get you out of here.” He followed me out of the back door and to the gate of the privacy fence. I did my checks before I left and didn’t see anything moving around.

  I walked out of the gate with Boomer on my heels.

  “Go on, boy, get going,” I told him. I really didn’t want a dog around. Instead of leaving, though, he just sat there and anxiously looked up at me.

  “Damn dog, get out of here,” I said a little louder. He ignored my command. I sighed in frustration and tossed a piece of beef jerky out into his yard. He excitedly ran after it and I briskly rounded the fence and out of Boomer’s sight.

  I heard him approaching from behind me and cursed. Then the stupid dog actually galloped in front of me, looking back every few seconds to make sure he was still going in the right direction. I shook my head in irritation, but wasn’t sure there was much I could do. I moved along the side of the house trying to stay as concealed as possible. I didn’t see any zombies lurking around.

  Boomer stopped at the edge of the house on the end of my street, and looked back at me. His ears were perked as he kept looking at the corner of the house. He started to back away. I don’t know why, but it felt like he was talking to me. Without even looking, he was saying something bad is around this corner.

  I walked past him and he lightly grabbed my pant leg and tugged backwards. He whined. It was barely audible, but I could still hear it. He was warning me. I guess Boomer was smarter than I was. Maybe it was the police training that was passed down to the pup.

  Ignoring him, I peered around the corner and saw a corpse lying next to the house under the shade of the roof. But he wasn’t lying there doing nothing. He was munching on a bush. He would bite near the base of a branch and scrape his teeth along the length while taking all the leaves in his mouth. I could hear the crunching of the thick bushy leaves as he chomped and chewed on them. Half the bush had been stripped. That was different.

  I was intrigued at what the zombie was doing, but I also had a sense of urgency to get back to my house. The longer I stayed outside, the more risk I was putting on myself.

  The zombie, however, was in my way. If I were to try and go around him, he would follow me for sure. I didn’t see any other zombies on my street, so I decided to take the easy way out.

  After quickly plugging my ears, I took out my gun and slowly leveled it at his head. It was hard because I was using my left hand, too scared to expose my full body. When I was sure that I had the zombie in my sights, I pulled the trigger. Thankfully, the blast from my Glock was not nearly as bad as when I had shot the gun indoors without ear protection.

  My shot was true and hit him near the temple. He slumped over, collapsing into the half eaten bush. I didn’t waste any time and bolted toward the street and to the safety of my home. I didn’t know, nor care, if Boomer was behind me.

  Halfway across the street, I saw them. Six of the walking dead were coming out from around houses, alerted by the gunshot. Running directly to my house would undoubtedly draw them to my doorstep. I decided to run around my neighbor’s house, which thankfully did not have a fence.

  I noticed Boomer was now hot on my heels. The zombies were moving slowly, but I was not going to slow down and give them the chance to catch up. I rounded the house, sprinted across my neighbor’s back yard and moved to my fence. I tossed my backpack into my yard and holstering my gun before I hopped over.

  By the time I was in my yard, Boomer had jumped on the outside of my fence. He whined when he couldn’t get over.

  I grabbed my bag and harshly whispered, “Go on…get outta here!” He ignored me and jumped on the fence again. I started to leave but the groans caught my attention. They were getting close to rounding my neighbor’s house and Boomer wasn’t leaving.

  “Damn it dog!” I cursed. I went back and helped him over.

  We both ran toward the patio and I decided not to open the back door because they would have definitely seen it. I slumped down, just in time, next to our patio table and watched as they rounded the corner of the house. They were looking around, and spreading in all directions. I figured th
ey just go to the last place they see you. They looked lost and confused.

  Surprisingly, Boomer was lying next to me as quiet as the dead. We both stayed there for a half an hour until they either lost interest or the sun became too much for them. They finally left, seeking refuge somewhere else.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but I had just rescued my new best friend.

  Chapter 7

  Time for an Adventure

  April 3nd Morning

  Boomer and I bonded over the next couple of days. I had moved my mattress out into the living room earlier so that I could sleep in the middle of the house. Boomer slept next to me each night, and alerted me every time a zombie made its way too close to the house. He didn’t bark, but gave a slight whine and a nudge me with his cold, wet nose.

  If any zombie would come near the window or door during the day, Boomer would move to that location and give me a sign, alerting me to the danger. First, his body would freeze up like a statue, ears perked, head cocked to one side, and then he would prowl over to me and give me the same warning he would at night, wet nose and all.

  The day after I found him, I made my way back to John’s house and retrieved all of his dog food and his doggy treats. Boomer became my only living friend. I guess listening to my conscience wasn’t such a bad thing, even if it came in the form of my father’s voice.

  I took it easy the next few days in order to continue to let my shoulder heal, stayed quiet, and whispered conversations with Boomer. It wasn’t easy to do. I got bored pretty fast without electricity. I started reading some of Dave’s books to pass the time. One of them was a book about survival. It was written by some ex-Special Forces guy, and had a lot of good information. In the book there were tips on how to survive in the wilderness. It contained information on how to keep dry, stay hydrated, start a fire, find edible plants, etc. Half the book I just skimmed over. I wasn’t in the wilderness, so I didn’t see much need for it. I put the book into my bug out bag. If I ever did have to beat feet and leave the city, then it might be useful.