by GJ Zukow
That's when I started packing up my backpack and a large duffle bag full of whatever I thought I would need if I had to flee. I tossed clothes, family pictures, food and whatever, including this journal into the bags.
When I was done packing I returned to the window and nervously watched the soldiers. When I saw what they were doing then I started practicing aiming my rifle at them, concentrating mainly on the brazen murderer.
As the blood covered murderer was dismembering his victim, the others started dragging looted Bar-B-Q equipment to the side of the APC and another shouted happily as he hauled a stash of beer from one of the houses.
Just as I was about to try my luck at shooting them before they had their evil little party one of the soldiers came out of the back of the APC and started screaming at the others. The argument ended with three of the soldiers giving him a nasty beating. They took his rifle and sidearm from him and when he got up he went directly into the nearest house. As the others laughed at the beaten and bruised soldier, who they assumed went into the house to pout and lick his wounds, the roughed up soldier put a different plan into action.
I watched and waited, deciding I would have a better chance to execute the murderers after they had gotten drunk and were sedated by the meal they were soon to eat. I had seen the effect the eating of human flesh had on the infected after watching my sister Lucy. They would be slow and almost numbed. It would be easier by far to start trying to kill the monsters later than if I started then.
In a few minutes there came the sound of an engine revving followed by the sound of screeching tires. All of the soldiers looked up in the direction of the noise.
In an instant a newer model Lexus roared into view (I recognized the car, the neighbor it had belonged to was really proud of it and had kept it meticulously clean and polished), driving straight towards those that had pounded on him.
One of the maddened soldiers couldn't run away quick enough and got hit. I could see both of his legs snap at the knees as his body and face hit the hood of the car, then the body bounced onto the windshield, spidering it before it flew like a rag doll over the car.
The remaining soldiers opened fire on the driver, spraying a hail of bullets into him. They continued to fire, stopping to reload, even as the car slowly rolled to a stop in someone's front yard. When the car came to a stop one of the group opened the driver door and unloaded a fresh clip into the obviously dead driver.
Good I thought, I only have five of them left to kill.
By the time the parasite crazed soldiers were finished with their hideous meal and were drunk and sleepy, nighttime was soon approaching.
I slid the window open a crack, not wanting to shoot through the window. The murderer, the one I wanted to kill the most was standing, smoking and drinking, laughing with one of his crew. One of the group was almost sleeping at his post manning the fifty caliber mounted on the APC. The rest except for the murderer and a buddy of his were somewhere inside the APC, probably sleeping. Through my binoculars I could see he was sweating like the pig that he was. I watched happily as he stripped off his body armor. This was the best time to take my shot and I did.
I was aiming for his head but my aim was off. The bullet hit him in the upper left part of his chest and he went down screaming. I tried to shoot his buddy too, but missed as he dodged into the APC. In no time the sleepy soldier manning the machine gun came awake and not knowing where the shot actually came from, just started spraying the houses randomly up and down the street. I guess the guy I missed told him the area I was in because he started firing at my house and the houses on either side.
Bullets were literally tearing the house apart and it seemed a miracle that I didn't get hit. I crouched and hid by the back door, getting ready to grab my stuff and run. It seemed like forever but after almost ten minutes the gunfire slackened and stopped.
I heard the front door to the house next to me getting busted in then, quickly followed by the sound of a grenade going off. I grabbed my stuff then and went into the bushes at the back of the house along the fence.
I heard someone shout "Burn them all."
Then there came the sounds of more breaking glass as they threw Molotov's into every house on the street, including mine.
I jumped the fence into the neighbor's yard behind us and managed to take one last good shot as they burned my house. One of the soldiers had made the mistake of stopping and taking up a position between my house and my burning neighbor's house, facing away from me. The soldier was close and my aim was true. His head exploded like a ripe melon. At least I got two of them. They will be dead soon anyways. Even if I didn't start the shooting, I know they would have continued their house to house search and would have soon found me anyways. Better to fight them when I had the best chance for survival than for them to sneak in my house at night and capture me.
Now I'm blocks away, hiding inside an empty house a friend of mine used to live in. I knew the place was empty before I broke in so I wouldn't have to worry about being eaten by a zed. The bank had foreclosed on the house and evicted them right before the animal madness had begun.
This place may be empty but it's not secure. I'm going to have to find someplace better to hole up in until the dead lay back down like their supposed to. I hope it's soon.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
How can I explain the sheer scope of the horror I have witnessed in the last few days?
The empty house I had found refuge in was bare. No furnishings, no food, no running water and no electricity.
I hadn't taken much food with me when I ran from the crazed soldiers. In all reality, there wasn't much I could take with me. Our cupboards weren't well stocked to begin with and most of what we did have required a stove. That night in the abandoned house, the only thing I ate was a single can of tomato soup. I didn't have anything to add to it so I ate it straight from the can. It didn't taste very good at all but I made myself finish the whole can before I tried to find a safe place to lie down for the night.
There were no curtains on the windows and any passerby, whether they be dead or alive, could look right in and see me. That was too great a risk so I made the bathroom floor my sleeping area. There was a window above the bathtub but it was small and opaque, anyone looking in would have to be an eight foot tall giant with x-ray eyes.
As night fell the weather dropped and a cold, light rain started to fall. It brought with it a dampness and a chill. I had failed to pack a sleeping bag or any kind of blanket so I improvised by wearing three layers of clothes.
I cracked the bathroom window an inch, not to let in fresh air but because I wanted to be able to hear better what was happening outside. With the bathroom door closed, and locked, I lay there trying to sleep, trying to figure out I should do next until I did fall asleep. Needless to say I didn't sleep well and when I did, I had unnerving dreams of my mother's and sister's ghosts.
It was well into the middle of the restless night when I noticed the occasional, unmistakable flashes of light from what could only be a lighter. It seemed to be coming from the house next door and when I listened I could hear the familiar sound of a little round striker sparking a flint.
I remember thinking to myself, "What kind of madness is this?", as the distinctive scent of someone smoking crack cocaine drifted in through the window. Not that I've ever smoked that garbage myself but the best place to find and buy drugs is at your local High School.
I crept up to the bathroom window and nervously glanced through the small opening. There was someone incredulously smoking the crap right next door. I could see the light from the lighter flash and burn for a few seconds at a time. A shoddily hung blanket haphazardly covered the window right across from me. It was foolhardy to say the least. There were gaps in the makeshift curtain and I could almost see the person as he struck the lighter. I saw the curtains move in the small breeze and realized whoever it was had the window full open, leaving me to wonder if I had taken shelter next to a crack
house. I hadn't noticed it before, but now, I saw the yard was overgrown with weeds and miscellaneous junk was scattered arbitrarily around the property. The house's paint was peeling and most of the gutters were either clogged or hanging from the roof. It was obvious to anyone who knew what to look for that this was a drug house.
I wasn't the only one who had noticed the brief flashes of light. The street lights silhouetted the halting gait of what could only be the undead. At first there was only one who was drawn to the sight, maybe out of some kind of curiosity, I don't know what alerts them.
That's when a loud, haggard and rasping coughing fit echoed in the otherwise silent night.
In a heartbeat every one of the walking dead turned and started to converge on the house next door. I ducked down and listened alertly. The zeds are quiet. They don't moan or mutter for "Brains" as they do in those cheap movies. In reality they are almost silent, the only sound they make is the sound of their shuffling walk as they drag their feet through the grass or along the pavement. The falling rain, as light as it was, almost covered the noise of their approach. My senses were fully aware and quickly there came the sound of multiple pairs of feet dragging and thudding through the grass.
More flickering light, then another round of coughing. Every zombie in the immediate vicinity was converging on the house next door. The undead started banging relentlessly on the near dilapidated structure next door. They were pummeling and clawing with necrotic hands, attempting to get inside and slacken their unquenchable hunger.
I heard the crack-head next door swear profusely as the horde shattered the windows and ripped apart the ragged screen to the room he was in.
The deafening sound of a large caliber handgun boomed out, punching huge holes in not only the zeds he was aiming at, but also the house I was hiding in. It was all I could do to huddle in the cold bathtub, hoping no bullets had my name on them. Six shots were fired in quick succession, followed by what could only be the sound of the weapon's hammer clacking uselessly on already fired shells.
"Mother-fuckers get out! Get out! God damn you!", he hoarsely screamed.
Then came the distinctive sound of something solid smashing into a skull amidst the sound of more windows breaking. The undead had found fresh meat and the gunshots served only to call more of them to the soon to be served meal.
I risked taking a peek through the window then. A mass of the parasite controlled monsters had completely surrounded the house next door. The space between the houses was filled with the hungering horrors. Thank all the Gods that the fiends attentions were focused on their prey next door, none had noticed me. I watched the horde as it poured in through the busted windows, mindless of the sharp shards of glass as it ripped open huge tears in their unfeeling, rotting flesh.
As the hungering dead flooded the house I heard the neighbor's back door slam open as the occupant tried to make a run for it. He didn't get very far, even though he was swinging an aluminum bat, there were just too many of them. I watched, transfixed by the terrible sight, as the undead dragged him down and mercilessly bit huge pieces of flesh from his body.
Just before the man disappeared from view under the mob of ghouls we made eye contact. He saw me and looked straight into my soul before he vanished, screaming, down the gullets of things that should not be. I still see his pain filled eyes. It is something I will remember for the rest of my life, however long or short that is. I will not die like that. Before that happens I will save a last bullet for myself rather than be eaten alive by the murderous living dead.
I could hear the zombies eating. They were ripping and tearing at the man's flesh, greedily feasting. With those hideous sounds in my ears I gathered up my things as quietly as a mouse and fled out a window on the side of the house opposite the massacre. It was clear of zeds on this side, away from the neighbors house, all of the fiends were busy. It would have been suicide to stay there any longer. There were too many of the abominations. Too many, too close.
I got more than a block away before I started to come across more of the undead. I took refuge in another house, finding one that was unlocked so I wouldn't have to risk making noise by breaking in. I thanked whatever God or Gods that were watching over me, for the hundredth time that night, upon finding it empty.
I tried to sleep but couldn't. Not after what had happened. I looted what little food there was and in the morning found a set of car keys.
I had no desire to stay in a house with large picture windows. What I wanted to find was a castle with a nice big moat filled with alligators. I would settle for a solid building with boarded up windows, or preferably, no windows.
I couldn't carry everything I had for very long and decided to "borrow" the mini-van in the attached garage. I decided to scout the area for a suitable place to hole up in until the dead die their final death. I truly have no idea how long that will be. Surely it can't be too long. Even though the flesh of their unwilling hosts is dead, the parasites themselves are alive. They still have to be subject to the same needs for food and water as everything else, right?
I loaded up the vehicle and drove. I ran down and over a handful of the unliving things when I could.
The risen dead include young and old alike. From nightmarish babies in diapers crawling on all fours to elderly senior citizens hobbling, hunched over and unsteady. They wore the bloodied and tattered clothes they died in, some were dressed in nothing at all.
They shambled and staggered around singly, but that was actually rare. More and more the zeds seemed to gather together in groups, like some frightful mass of ants. Just like army ants, one or two are a nuisance, a group of them is a deadly threat.
Sometimes I had to turn around and find another way around a herd of the undead, I encountered them milling about certain houses and buildings or around blood and gore smeared spots on the ground.
Sometimes I had to back track around road blocks or accident scenes.
Sometimes I was able to drive over lawns or through parking lots. For the most part I think it would actually be faster to get around on foot, if one could stay clear of the ravenous atrocities that is.
I did stop for a fully loaded, snub-nosed, gun black, thirty-eight "Saturday night special" revolver laying all by its lonesome in the middle of the street. The Gods put it in my path for a reason, I figured. I stuck it in my back pocket and almost forgot about it.
I had seen a couple of possible places to hide when I realized how close I actually was to the Winter Park Hospital. The desire to try and find out what happened to my mother came into me then, I found it impossible to ignore the urge. Unfortunately the closer I got, the denser the number of the undead became. There are only a few ways to get to the hospital and every time I got close I drew more and more unwanted attention to myself. Finally, depressingly, I had to abandon my quest to get to the hospital, there were just too many of them. Some part of me clung to the idea my mother was hiding somewhere in the hospital and I had to go and save her. I had to push that thought down and bury it deep. If she was alive still she would have tried to at least call me. I still have my cell phone and still all her cell phone does is ring and go to voice mail, which is almost full by now. Besides, nobody lived for long after catching the Scarlet. I knew in my head she had joined the unholy army of the dead, I had to convince my heart to abandon any hope to find her alive.
After doing nothing more than getting the attention of a large number of zeds, who eagerly lurched and swayed as fast as they could towards my vehicle, I returned to my search for a place to hide.
I came to another road block, this one with an up-armored Humvee in the center. Dead (truly dead) bodies littered the area. I was trying to negotiate a way around it, grimacing as I drove over rotting corpses when I saw a lone figure come up from the interior of the M114. The marine's face was a deep scarlet, his eyes black as the void and he checked the bolt on the mounted machine gun, ensuring a round was chambered. I saw him check to ensure the safety was off as he swiveled tow
ards me. I punched the gas as hard as I could and ducked as far down as I could while still being able to see where I was going.
The machine gun spit fire and slugs at me. The bullets were hitting the back end of the minivan and were quickly punching holes up to the driver's seat. I didn't escape because I drove well or the minivan was fast. I didn't escape because the frenzied marine was a poor shot. I escaped because the minivan's rear wheels slipped and slid on a corpse's rotted guts and sticky-slick half congealed blood. The Minivan went into a skid and the arc of bullets went right past me, but not by much. I over corrected and almost lost control, fishtailing from side to side at high speed. I went around a semi, its bulk shielding me, finally escaping the deadly encounter.
I survived without a scratch, the minivan didn't. Within a mile smoke and steam started billowing from the engine.
Fate, the Gods, or destiny had decided where I ended up. As the vehicle started to die, a suitable building came into view. It was a strip club of all things. It would serve well though, solid masonry brick building with no windows and a heavy set of doors. It was set apart from the surrounding neighborhood and commercial buildings, with access to the freeway nearby and a noticeable lack of the undead.