by J. Walker
The walls were strong but they wouldn’t be strong enough to hold up against hundreds or even thousands. We had to learn how to protect ourselves against them. If they were allowed to pile up against the wall, we wouldn’t last long at all. Our location was secluded but apparently it wasn’t secluded enough if this group of people had found us.
“It’ll be easy with this one.” He added, motioning to the missing lower jaw.
I approached guardedly and forced myself to breathe normally; hoping the tremors of fear would subside. My heart raced and I fought the urge to vomit. The zombie was so close I could almost taste the decay of its putrefying flesh. The vacant eyes seemed to look right through me, as though recognizing my fear.
It reached out for me with its arm but I quickly pushed it aside. At the same time I raised the knife in my right hand and plunged it deep into its eye. The zombie fell to the ground with a thud and the blade withdrew from the ruined socket with a sickening, wet squelching sound.
Quickly turning away from the new group, I ran to the ditch on the other side of the dirt road and threw up. I realized the gore coated knife was still clenched tightly in my right hand and wiped the blade off on the grass. I sat back on my haunches and shook my head with embarrassment before I rejoined them.
“I’m sorry.” I said weakly, already well-armed with the knowledge that this moment would haunt me for a very long time, lingering long after I’d taken down many more.
It would remain with me, even after I’d become completely desensitized to the notion of killing what was already dead.
Sam gave me a small smile and the boys looked at the ground.
“It’s okay. It’s never easy the first time. You never forget your first zombie kill.” He replied in a knowing manner.
The boys moved the corpse to same place as the others. We would figure out the following day how we were going to deal with the corpses. Quietly and gratefully, we retreated with haste behind the safety of the walls.
Chapter Ten
The arrival of the new group caused a stir of excitement in the compound. Everyone behind its walls was eager to hear firsthand accounts from the outlands. Although we’d heard stories and reports from various news sources until they eventually died away, we knew nothing of what was really happening.
We were anxious to hear their stories and we welcomed them eagerly. Desperate and lonely, we ached for the company of anyone besides each other. It gave us hope that escape from the heavily infested cities was possible. It meant there was still a chance that Marcus and John might be out there, somewhere, trying to find their way back to us.
The day after their appearance, we learned more about Sam and his young companions. Sam, his wife and their sons, Charlie and Ben, fled from city of Chatham as the outbreak spread beyond the border city. They set out like everyone else, desperate to escape and desperate to survive. The carnage they bore witness to on the 401 was difficult for him to describe.
Traffic had come to a complete standstill. Evacuees eventually started to abandon their vehicles and travel on foot, heavily laden with backpacks full of supplies. Others chose to wait and those that were left stranded on the highway had no way of knowing what was coming behind them. It began as a slow and manageable trickle of zombies but eventually a tsunami of undead was upon unfortunate refugees.
It was during the first large wave of infected bearing down the highway that Sam lost his wife and the two boys, their mother. Everything had happened so quickly and the horde was so large, there was nothing they could do to save her. She was literally torn from his arms. Screaming for Sam to save himself and their boys, her voice was eventually lost in the vicious attack. Yet her sacrifice had given them a brief window of time in which to escape.
Eventually they met up with other survivors of the 401 massacre. They stayed off the major roadways and kept to the country roads. The random group did not stop for long in any one location. Fear kept them on the move, hunting and gathering supplies wherever they could find them. They had no destiny in mind but their goal was unspoken and mutual; to stay alive.
Only a week or so had passed since they found the two children, who were siblings. The group had come across an abandoned school bus on a country road about ten kilometers from here. The two children had survived an unknown period of time, alone on the school bus.
They learned from the oldest, a boy of six, that they’d come from a small town not far from where they were found. Their parents had taken the bus from a school parking lot and filled it up with supplies. They planned to find a place up north and wait out the epidemic. The bus had broken down and their parents went back to the town to find replacement parts but they never returned.
Sam and his group did not take long to come to an almost unanimous vote to take the children with them. Only one member of the group dissented and eventually went his own way out of frustration. Sam knew the children would slow them down but he couldn’t leave them behind.
The group eventually settled in a small farmhouse not far from here. It was located on the next concession, on the other side of the conservation area across from our property. They were only there a short time before a large horde of twenty or more zombies found them. Sam, his sons and the two children survived the attack but the other members of their group lost their lives.
Within a week of their arrival we began to see zombie activity outside the walls. They wandered by in groups no larger than ten and usually in quite manageable numbers of three to five. Every competent body inside the compound was needed to guard the wall. We began to keep shifts of two every day to monitor the main gate and one of us would also maintain visual contact on the video feeds at night. It was a tiresome and monotonous chore but much needed for the safety of the compound.
Not everyone was eager to be involved but Sam’s group had proved how necessary it was. The wall needed constant supervision and we needed to know how put down a zombie permanently. Sam and his sons had been out there since the beginning and soon taught us everything we needed to know about eliminating them.
The corpses couldn’t be allowed to fester and pile up outside the wall either. Concerned that the rotting carcasses might pose a health hazard, we needed to haul them away from the compound. We decided to use the run down old farmhouse Sam and his group had been staying at. It was close enough to access quickly but far enough away to not pose any health related concerns. Using an old excavator, Sam dug a large pit for the corpses and the remains were cremated.
Hiding behind the high walls of our country refuge was a luxury we could no longer afford. These new responsibilities involved leaving the safety of the compound. It was a daunting task that required a strong demeanor and the decision was initially met with resistance. All of this meant serious training with the weapons and Sam was willing to accept that responsibility.
Ashley and Sarah proved to be the most difficult to persuade but when Charlie and Ben offered to train them, they quickly changed their minds. I had my doubts but Sam assured me that his sons were fairly experienced with various weapons.
“That’s not my concern.” I told Sam one day, while I was on the wall for guard duty.
He grinned slowly. “Okay, okay, I see where you’re coming from and I’ll talk to them about it.”
He walked away laughing and shaking his head.
“It isn’t funny!” I called out to him from my perch on the scaffold. “Dude, it’s the zombie apocalypse. The last thing I want are grandchildren!”
His laughter stopped abruptly and he returned a serious gaze to mine.
“Neither do I, I’ll talk to the boys.”
“Thank you.” I replied.
As the training sessions began, I started to notice a closeness growing between Bree and Sam. I tried to remain indifferent but I was envious of their intimacy as it continued to evolve. I wasn’t attracted to Sam, we had become collaborators in ensuring operations in the compound went smoothly but that was all.
He was knowledgea
ble about most of the equipment on the farm and all three of them were highly experienced with various weapons as well as eradicating the zombie threat. We needed Sam and his sons. Without question, they had taken on more than their fair share of the responsibilities.
As I watched the two of them together, it was a daily reminder that a part of me was missing. I woke every morning to a terrible emptiness inside. I missed Marcus; I missed curling up next to his warm body in the early morning hours, the way we used to before the outbreak, before we knew it was coming. Every morning I awakened with the same emptiness, missing his easy smile, his quick laughter, the way he would stroke my hair when we kissed.
Even the twins had stopped asking if Daddy was coming home. His memory was beginning to slip from their minds because of their youth. His image quickly becoming nothing more than a clouded memory and a photograph on the mantle. It broke my heart but the emotion reminded me that I was still alive. If there was still room inside my soul for grief, then there was room for other things.
I’d long since given up hope that Marcus was alive. In my darkest hours I forced myself to remember each line of his face, each strand of hair, the warmth of his hand on a cold winter’s night. I could not allow his loss to be for nothing. His life, like so many others, had to be worth something.
I would do everything in my power to keep the compound safe and thriving. I silently vowed to keep these people alive, no matter what the cost. I forced myself to believe that there would always be something worth living for. We had hope, even when all else had fled in fear.
We were a small, thriving but overtaxed community with rarely a moment of rest. It was a small blessing to always be busy doing work on the farmstead. It gave us no time to reflect on the severity of the outbreak and the enormity of its reach. An idle moment may cause our thoughts to drift, becoming lost in the devastating truth of the world we now lived in and the threats we faced every day.
In our darkest hours, we still held onto a slim vestige of faith in our government. There had to be leadership in place somewhere, working hard to find a cure or a vaccine. At the very least, there had to be an authoritative power working on a way to put an end to the undead plague that was obliterating humanity. If all else had truly failed, the military must still be active. If we hadn’t given up, if there were other survivors who hadn’t given up, then surely our government and military had survived as well. They couldn’t just leave us out here in the wasteland that had become the world, struggling to endure the wrath of a vengeful God.
Chapter Eleven
“Go fish.” I said to Bree, taking a long drag off a nice fat joint. “And why the hell would you bring canned green beans to eat? Seriously, who brings green beans to an apocalypse?”
There were occasions when our mood was lighthearted and lately we’d been feeling less tension as we settled into the comfort of our routines. I was grateful for John’s crop of marijuana plants growing behind the barn but I drew the line at canned green beans. I didn’t care that the world had come to a sudden and violent end. Canned green beans were disgusting and I did not want to eat them. Bree glared at me and scooped a large forkful right out of the can. She purposely chewed them loudly in order to further irritate me.
“I love green beans and you suck.” She replied after she’d finished swallowing a mouthful of beans.
We’d been on watch since dawn and the day was proceeding quite slowly. It was approaching noon and there had been no activity outside the wall. The sun was high and the temperature was steadily rising. The summer was proving to be a hot one.
We hadn’t seen many thunderstorms but there had been enough rain to keep our fields of precious fresh fruits and vegetables growing. Our resilient group of survivors had already starting canning and preserving.
Amy was quite skilled in the area of food preservation and canning. With Amber and Sarah at her side, carefully learning the trade, we would have a bountiful supply of canned vegetables and preserved fruits to get us through to the next growing season. With even greater luck, the greenhouses would be a successful endeavor as well. Everyone hoped that it would be enough to keep a steady flow of fresh fruit and vegetables throughout the winter months.
“It’s your turn.” I said, stifling a yawn.
“Do you have any eights?” Bree asked, reaching for the joint in my hand.
“I do!” I grinned.
“Then hand them over lady. And I win!”
I tossed the cards in my hand onto the patio table Sam had brought up to the scaffold. He and Mike had also brought up some chairs and a wide patio umbrella to keep the area shaded.
“Do we have any other games?” I asked Bree.
“Not any grown up games. Just kids card games, Uno, Crazy Eights, stuff like that.”
I rolled my eyes and groaned. In our thorough planning, we gave consideration to every form of entertainment and education for the children but had neglected our own. Go Fish, Monster High Uno and Crazy Eights was as good as it was going to get. There had to be a deck of normal cards and a cribbage set somewhere. I was determined to find it.
“Did you bring the portable DVD player?” I asked.
“I did!”
“Cool, what movie?”
She searched through her small bag. “Oh!” She exclaimed, with a giggle. “Dawn of the Dead.” We both laughed.
“Well,” I began slowly. “Is it the original or the remake? Can’t beat the original you know.”
“It’s the remake.” Bree answered with a frown.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I hate those movies where the zombies run and thank God, these ones don’t or I would have opted from the beginning.”
Again we laughed. It was the kind of laughter that made your belly ache and your ribs hurt. I suddenly realized how long it had been since the last time I’d laughed that way. I’d missed it.
As quickly as it had begun, our laughter faded and we sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the sound of the birds singing in the forest. It was a peaceful moment in which we could lose ourselves and forget everything else, however short lived it was.
“I don’t know.” Bree sighed sadly and a look of nostalgia crossed her face.
“We’re gonna get through this. We’re gonna make it. Fuck those goddamn zombies.”
She snorted and made a face. “No thanks!”
“Gross.” I replied, rolling my eyes the same way Ashley did. “Speaking of fucking, how’s things with Sam?”
That brought a smile to her face. “It’s good.” She replied with a slight flush.
“How good is good?” I winked.
“Um, not yet.”
“Well, don’t take it personally. Remember, the guy lost his wife. She was killed right in front of him and I’m pretty sure that isn’t something you get over very easily.”
We sat quiet and reflective for a few moments longer, looking across the dirt road to the dark forest on the other side. Each of us lost in our own thoughts, silently grieving the simple things we’d lost, when suddenly, our pensive mood was broken by the sudden assault of the dead’s distinct aroma. Their scent often preceded their arrival but for some reason this attack on our olfactory senses was far stronger than usual.
“Better check it out.” Bree sighed and stood up, focusing her binoculars up and down the dirt road.
I stood to do the same but I could only see one lone zombie lurching down the road. “This is weird.” I said to Bree. “How can the stench of one zombie be so strong? I’m going out. Cover me.”
“Be careful and will do.”
I climbed down from the scaffolding. “Let me know when it’s close.” I called up to her.
“You got it.”
I waited at the gate for what seemed like an eternity. Finally Bree hollered down to me. “He’s here.”
I keyed the access pad and opened the gate wide enough to slip through. I slid the gate behind me to an almost closed position, keeping it open an inch or so for a quick
escape. One zombie wasn’t a concern but the overpowering stink was out of the ordinary and my instinct warned me to be on the alert.
I approached the shambling creature cautiously as always. It was facing away from me but I could see from its clothing that it was probably male. Again, this was one that had suffered grievous injuries.
Its garments hung in tatters, gore stained and blackened by the filth of its travels. Its hands, or what remained of them, resembled skeletal claws. The flesh had been stripped clean or it had simply rotted and fallen away. It didn’t matter, the stench made me gag.
I stopped thinking of them as people a long time ago. These things were nothing more than an agent for the virus. This new world did not allow us to indulge in a melancholy remembrance of what had been lost. It changed us, it hardened us and it made us killers. Whether it was a deer in the conservation area, a chicken or a rabbit from the barn, this was our new reality. We simply did what needed to be done and no longer questioned the ethics of it.
The creature caught my scent and shuffled around to face me. I suddenly froze, realizing that this was not just another meandering corpse. It was John. Or rather, what was left of John. I barely recognized what remained of his features but the tattoo he had on his right arm glared at me like a neon sign.
One eye hung shriveled and blackened on the ruins of his half eaten cheek. The other eye was the same blind, milky whiteness that was the zombies’ unforgettable and distinctive trademark. His hands and his remaining fingers were simply ragged, white and skeletal, the flesh having been picked clean. His arm swung wide to assault me but I sidestepped quickly and kicked his arm away from me. My knife was in hand but I hesitated.
This wasn’t just another zombie. It was John. My breath hitched in my chest and I let out a pained sob. My eyes stung with unshed tears.