by J. D. Demers
If I knew then what I know now, I would have never went into that hardware store. Boomer warned me before we took one step through the door. I just didn’t know what he was trying to tell me.
We drove home without incident. Boomer seemed happy to be in the car, sitting in the front seat and hanging his head out of the window. Yes, I had the window down, but I figured with my car moving over twenty miles an hour, we were pretty safe.
I was pissed at myself for leaving my car running. I was in there for two hours. That was gas I would need to go somewhere else. I had thought about getting a better car. I would always criticize people on TV or in the movies for driving around in piece of crap vehicles after some sort of apocalypse. I mean, it’s the end of the world. You have a million cars out there to choose from. Sounds good, right? Except that actually getting a new car wasn’t exactly easy. I mean, you had to get the keys. That meant if it’s in someone’s house, you need to get into the house and look for the keys. The house could be crawling with hungry zombies. Was it worth it for a new car?
Of course looking back now, it would have been worth it, but back then I wasn’t so confident in my abilities. Hell, I just killed my first zombie. I didn’t count Dave or the one by the bush. I shot both in the head. The one under the hutch didn’t count either because it couldn’t even hurt me. This was the first one I confronted man to man… or man to zombie I guess. Maybe if I had others with me, doing crazy stuff like that would be a little easier. I did have Boomer, though. We made a good team back there getting the car out of the clutches of that zombie. I was pretty proud of myself at the time.
We pulled into my driveway about a half an hour before the clouds made it over us. On my second trip from my car to the house, I saw two zombies shambling their way in my direction. They saw me so I knew that they would beat on the house until they found a way in, and would probably attract more in the process. I felt a little braver at this point. I handled the last one easy enough. I got the large sledgehammer and called Boomer to my side.
Boomer went to work again. He helped me separate the two, pulling a female one off to one side of the street. She had been infected from another zombie. Parts of her chest were ripped open, and her left leg had been shredded. That slowed her down, too. I was more confident that zombies could not operate normally if they didn’t have the muscle structure to move them along. Not sure what that meant, but it was something I could probably use.
The guy that came at me was covered in black goo. He looked like he had gotten in a fight with a plate glass window and lost. Shards of glass were poking out of random areas, and I could see half of his skull.
Before he could grab me, I jabbed him in the face with the head of the hammer. That really didn’t slow him down much, but it took him a second to get his balance again. I was afraid of swinging for the zombie’s head and missing. If I did missed, he could be on me in seconds while I recovered from the heavy hammer swipe. So instead, I swung for his leg, and hit him with the wood part of the hammer behind his knee. He fell to the ground. I heaved the sledge over my head, and brought it down. It crashed through his skull and hit asphalt. The vibration from hitting the hard pavement nearly shook the hammer out of my hand.
My hands were still pulsating as I moved behind the female, who was still stumbling around after Boomer. This time I was able to calculate my swing with more confidence. I swung at her head and hit the back of her skull, which caused her to twirl around and fall to the ground. I finished her off with another plunge of the hammer.
My hands actually hurt from smacking the asphalt with the sledge twice. I made a note to wrap the handle in duct tape, hoping that would reduce the stinging vibration.
I was pretty proud of myself as I finished gathering my things and went into the house. I had learned some valuable things that day. Sledgehammers were the choice weapon when going into melee with zombies. Flashlights were tools to be worn, not carried and I was not the only human left alive. I knew there were other survivors out there, but actually speaking to one, albeit an asshole, was still exhilarating.
The clouds quickly covered the sun. A slow drizzle, followed by a downpour, started outside. I enjoyed the heavy rain because it meant the dead were off hiding somewhere.
Boomer and I ate well that afternoon. I fed him five pieces of jerky for the great job he did that day and heated up two cans of beef stew on my small propane stove.
I decided to kill time by going through my stuff and organizing it. I would have to be ready to move when I cleared the house down the road, so I started packing everything I thought I was going to need. I had a lot more gear than I thought. I estimated that it would take me three or four trips in my car to move it all down to my new house.
Of course, I was getting ahead of myself. I still hadn’t even gotten into the house yet. But no matter what the new home was like, it was better and safer than where I was currently living.
I was in the kitchen putting my canned goods into a plastic storage container when my stomach constricted and I froze, dropping a can of peas on the floor. Boomer was snarling at something in the living room.
I quickly looked over the counter and saw my dog backing up from the windowsill in a crouched stance. His chest was rumbling with a deep growl and the hair on his neck was standing on end all the way down his spine.
Chapter 9
Scab
April 3rd Late Afternoon
Boomer continued to back up from the window. His growl was low, but vicious. Something was outside. At first I thought that maybe a zombie picked the overhang of my roof as a good place to get out of the rain, but something was different about the way Boomer was acting. However, I didn’t dwell on that at the time.
I was afraid if we made too much noise and attracted its attention, it could bust through the window. After my prior two melee engagements, I finally felt pretty confident about taking on a zombie. I wasn’t entirely worried about being rushed by a gang of zombies, either. I was sure that with the heavy rain, most would be taking cover and out of sight.
I walked over to the window and petted Boomer to calm him down. I moved the curtain aside and saw a thin female standing in the rain behind my car. But something was off about her. She was hunched over as she walked, almost as if she was trying to prowl around the rear. She wasn’t shambling around like every zombie I had seen up to that point.
She was intensely studying the vehicle. Her left hand slid across the trunk, feeling the texture of the paint. Her brown hair was soaked and matted to her face while slivers of her pale complexion could be seen underneath. I also heard a scratching sound through the pitter-patter of the rain, like something metal was being dragged across the concrete driveway.
Her gaze slowly lifted toward my bay window, and I could see one eye through her disheveled hair. Her gaze locked onto mine and sent a hair rising shiver down my spine. Her eerie glare temporarily paralyzed me. To say she gave me the willies would be a severe understatement.
Her right hand came up clutching a spade. It wasn’t a normal shovel, but had a long and thin blade like the ones used to dig narrow holes or ditches. Even with the rain beating against it I could see dried blood and flesh matted on the metal.
She whipped her head up, flinging her hair behind her. I recognized her. It was the girl from the top of the hardware store. But her face wasn’t dirty or camouflaged as I’d suspected earlier. There were gouges and scrapes along her cheeks and forehead. Some were scabbed over, but still bled. The blood, red blood, was diluted from the rain and streamed down her face and dirty nightgown. The clothing was torn and smudged with blood and grime.
She was close enough for me to see the whites of her eyes. The same purplish tracers that plagued the undead streaked around her irises. Even her skin had a strange completion. Not the same as the rotting skin of a zombie, but tinted with strange purple-blue veins etched around what visible skin I could see.
Holding my breath, I quickly shut the curtain. I ran over and grabb
ed my gun belt and hurriedly put it on. Then I grabbed the large sledgehammer and moved back to the window.
Boomer was still there, growling. His strange behavior caused my terror to increase tenfold. He never acted this way when a zombie was near. The canine sensed something bad about that woman. Hell, I sensed something bad about her. She wasn’t a zombie, of that I was sure. But something inside me also told me she wasn’t quite human either. Besides, zombies didn’t carry weapons. At least, I didn’t think they did. My heart was beating so hard in my throat I thought it was going to choke me.
I peeked back out, one hand on my holster and the other gripped the neck of the sledgehammer. She wasn’t there anymore. I looked from side to side, straining to see as much of my yard as I could without actually putting my face to the glass. I didn’t see her anywhere in front of the house. Not knowing where the strange woman was sent me into a panic.
I backed up with Boomer close behind. He continuously sniffed the air with his ears perked as high as they would go. He knew something wasn’t right, too.
Boomer’s head jerked and tilted to one side a half of a second before I heard foot falls above me. She was on the roof. The thumping quieted some, almost like she knew she was making too much noise. It was impossible to track where she was, even though I could hear her movement over the rain beating on the shingles.
Then the thumping stopped all together. I looked down at Boomer to see if he could give me a sign as to where this crazy lady had gone. He looked as confused as I did. His head cocked to the side and he let out a soft whimper as if he was shrugging his shoulders in confusion. That made me even more nervous. He didn’t seem to be the brave pooch that had helped me slay three zombies earlier that day.
SMASH!
Something hit the bay window and broken glass crashed to the floor behind the curtains. Instinctively, I stepped backwards, away from the living room. I spun around and headed for the back door.
“Come on, boy!” I called to Boomer, no longer caring how loud I was. The house was pretty dark with the overcast sky outside and I needed light. I also felt pretty damn restricted indoors.
Boomer followed me onto the patio. Thumps echoed from the ceiling as we made our way out the back door. I scanned the back yard and didn’t see anything. We left the cover of the back porch and continued into the grass. Dave and Sarah’s bodies were still out there rotting away under the blanket, but the rain masked much of the smell.
I made it probably five feet from the patio when I heard Boomer let out a ferocious howl. It was the first time he had ever barked like that, and I realized then why people used German Shepherds for guard dogs. I spun around.
She was running across the roof in our direction, shovel held in both hands. I then realized that I was the rabbit that was just scared out of its hole.
She was in mid-run when she leaped from the rooftop, bringing the shovel down over her head like a Viking. I barely lifted the sledgehammer in time, holding it on both ends. It deflected the blow, but the force of her attack knocked me on my back and smacked the wind out of me. My shoulder, still not fully healed, burst into pain.
I heard a crack as she landed. Her ankle had broken on impact and was slightly twisted. It didn’t seem to bother her one bit though.
The next second seemed like an eternity. She was standing over me, holding the long spade with both hands like a spear. Her face was twisted in a snarling smile, and she was grunting and growling at me like she was some sort of ape. She lifted it high and then thrust it down at my chest. There was no way I was bringing the heavy sledgehammer up in time to stop her. Hell, I could barely catch my breath. I thought I was as good as dead.
I heard a loud snarl to my right, and then Boomer jumped at her, tearing into her arm with his large teeth. She whirled around, letting go of the shovel with one hand. Boomer jumped at her again and she snatched him by his neck and hurled him fifteen feet into the chain link fence. A painful wail from the canine echoed through the air as he flopped on the ground.
I was finally able to catch my breath with the couple of seconds Boomer had given me. I swung the hammer while I was still on my back. There wasn’t a lot of force to it, but the weight of the sledge was enough that when it hit the back of her leg, she buckled and dropped to a knee. Her face didn’t reveal pain and she seemed more annoyed at the setback than hurt.
I rolled away from her and was barely able to stand before she had recovered and was on me again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Boomer struggling to get up, whimpering in pain. Then the shovel came in, stabbing at my chest. I parried with the sledgehammer, and partially deflected the blow. Instead of driving into my chest, it cut deep into my forearm. The pain was agonizing. This bitch was strong.
She swung the oversized trowel at me like a bat. Again, I tried to parry, only to have the sledge knocked completely from my hands. I hopelessly fumbled for my gun while she drove the spade in for the killing blow.
SWOOSH!
Something zipped passed me. I wasn’t sure how close it was, but it probably took a few hairs off of my neck. It smacked the crazed woman in the shoulder, spinning her tiny frame around and knocking her face-first into the grass. By that time I had finally retrieved my gun from its holster.
I turned around to see a familiar figure just outside my fence. He was holding the strange gun with the oil filter on the end of it.
“Move your ass, Supply!” It was Fish. He was just outside my chain-link fence near the side of the house. He was tactically walking in my direction and jerked his head to the side to emphasize the seriousness of me getting out of the line of fire.
I sidestepped in compliance. I quickly turned back around, only to see the woman back on her feet. She was nursing her blown-out shoulder. She looked at me, snarled, and then eyed Fish coming up behind me. He had just skillfully hopped the fence, his gun still trained on her the whole time. He didn’t have to tell me to move again. I dove to the side, furthering the gap of space between her and Fish.
He shot again, but this time she was moving. Even with her wound and broken ankle, she was fast. She bolted toward the rear of my yard. Fish’s shot missed her and hit my neighbor’s house.
By that time, I had my gun trained on her. I fired off two shots as she leaped completely over the fence in the back of my yard. One of the bullets hit her right in the left butt cheek as she landed on the other side. She fell to the ground, but quickly rolled up to her feet and ran around the house, dodging one more shot from Fish’s gun.
My ears rang from the gunshots and I shook from the adrenaline. Fish walked towards me, still pointing it in the direction she had run.
“You alright, kid?” he asked, looking at my left forearm.
I looked down. Blood was pouring from the wound, and I started to feel lightheaded.
“I don’t know,” I said, cringing, “she got me with that shovel.”
“I saw. Tourniquet your arm,” he commanded as he fastened his handgun to his leg. “Don’t take your time! I’m not dragging your ass inside if you pass out.” He took his rifle off of his back and moved to the back of my yard, scanning the houses behind mine.
I grabbed my knife and cut away a strip of my shirt. I knew how to apply a tourniquet. All soldiers were taught basic first aid. I tied it tightly just above my bicep until it hurt. That’s what they would tell us to do in training.
“Boomer,” I whispered, breathing out slowly. My best friend had managed to get to his feet, but was moving slowly. He came over to me and started to lick my neck, and then he moved down to the gash on my arm. I think he knew I was in pain, just like I could see the pain across his furry face.
Fish came back, shouldering his rifle. He hefted me up by my shirt and started moving toward the patio. “Let’s go,” he ordered. “You can make out with your mutt later.”
We went back into the house and he sat me down on the couch. “Stay there,” was all he said before he bolted out the back door again, only to return five minutes later
with a couple of duffle bags.
“How’s your arm?” he asked gruffly, dropping his bags in the living room.
I showed it to him. “Hurts like a mother,” I said.
“Going to have to clean it before it can be stitched. You have antibiotics?”
“Yeah, some,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’ll get them,”
I went and got my first aid kit, a container of water, and a bottle of peroxide. I hoped he knew how to give stitches because I was clueless.
We sat at the kitchen table while he cleaned my wound and started sewing me up. I guess he had some medical gear of his own. He took his floppy hat off, and I saw his head was shaven bald. He looked a little funny with a white head and a painted face.
Boomer had moved to the base of my chair. He was walking slowly and deliberately, as if it hurt to move.
“What was that thing?” I asked, my teeth chattering as he inserted the strange hook. He wasn’t gentle.
“What do you mean?” he replied, an honest look of confusion on his face. “A scab, kid. Didn’t you know that?”
“No,” I replied. “I don’t know much of anything. I haven’t heard from or seen anyone in a couple of weeks.”
“You haven’t even listened to the radio?” he asked.
“I-,” I hesitated, “I don’t have one.” I was a little embarrassed when I said it. It never occurred to me to take a radio from one of the houses I broke into. But realizing it at that point didn’t make a difference, except that I felt pretty stupid.
The odd look he gave me told me that he was thinking the same thing.
“Well, radios are useless now,” he informed me. “Haven’t heard anything in a few days.”
I winced as he stuck the hook into me again. “So what’s a scab?” I finally asked after I suppressed the pain.