Notes from a Necrophobe

by T. C. Armstrong

  They came with a swagger in their step. They were unbelievably brash, bold, and cold. They tried the easy way first—standing on the front lawn and calling out: “Let us in! We won’t damage your property and we’ll leave you with enough food to get by till the next government drop off!”

  “Go away!” I shouted back. “I have snipers throughout the house ready to take you out! You’re outgunned!”

  This only made them convulse on the lawn in fits of laughter. Whatever. It was worth a shot.

  “You’re a lone woman with one gun and a bunch of frightened kids! Don’t make this harder than it has to be!”

  “I’ve got a big dog!” This they can’t deny. Naked has a deep bark and has been liberally using it the past twenty minutes.

  “Fine, we’ll shoot the dog, then you.”

  My stomach turned cold and went into free-fall. “Good luck getting past the booby traps!” was all I could think of to say back. For once I was grateful the power was out. They would find it difficult to get past the barriers and trip wires throughout the house. Maybe even difficult enough to give up and move on.

  Jesse’s trembling voice came out from under the bed behind me. “Mom, what if they get in?”

  Houston’s voice was deep and reassuring. “If those fat slobs manage to take our barriers apart and untangle themselves from all the wires, they’ll have to get through the upstairs wall. And if they manage to put a hole in that, we’ll pick ‘em off as they come through the only way they can get in, one by one.”

  So now we sit at the window, watching, praying that they decide we’re too much trouble to be worth messing with; and while we wait KC points out another concern: “These guys are making a lot of noise. They’re out in the open. It’s dark. Why haven’t the infected dead come for them?”

  She’s right. Suddenly I realize there’s something different. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out the change—for the first time in weeks our rotting squatters have gone quiet. Where did they go? Why did they go? It doesn’t make sense. There haven’t been live humans walking around in the open like this for some time. I assumed the Infected would be decomposed enough to make them desperate to move on to fresh hosts.

  Houston answers my question for me: “It’s an ambush. They don’t want to take on a hillbilly with a gun, so they’ll wait until they can get close enough to bite. They’ll take advantage of the distraction…”

  “And we’re the distraction,” KC finishes.

  “Fine,” I say. “We’ll be the distraction. Right now we need to avoid the more dangerous threat of the living. Let’s just sit tight and wait for these guys to be turned into the kind of stumbling zombies that are unable to get past our doors and windows.” It’s a tough fate, but I’m finding it hard to feel sorry for them.

  “Then can I shoot them? You said you would start teaching me target practice.” KC says, trying her luck.

  “When I said target practice I meant for you to practice on objects like tree trunks and street signs, not live targets!”

  “They won’t be live targets for long,” KC says solemnly.

  I ignore her comment and look out the window to update the situation. The shouter is conferring with his thugs. One of them trots out to the truck and returns with something far more frightening than a gun: a can of gasoline and a lighter.

  “I’m not in the mood for traps” their leader shouts up at me. “Just throw down enough water and food to make us happy, or we set your place on fire!”

  “Give me a second. Let me think!” I yell back.

  He doesn’t give me that second. One of his companions starts to pour a line of gasoline from the leader to our front door before I can say another word. “I’m running out of patience! You have till the count of ten! Ten…”

  “Mom, we can spare a little food and water till we get help.”

  “Nine…”

  “Yeah, we’ll go out on the roof after they’re gone and set off one of the flares.”

  “Eight…”

  “Will anyone come? Homeland Security knew about our infestation, they said it would be about three days, but it’s been over two weeks!”

  “Seven…”

  “Mom, this is different. When they talked to us we were uncomfortable, but secure. Now our lives are in real danger.”

  “Six…”

  “Let’s give them a week’s worth. I don’t see how much more they can fit in that truck.”

  “Five…”

  “OK, agreed. But realize this, if we set off a flare and no one comes, we’re going to have to ration ourselves. We only have five flares.”

  “Four…”

  “…and after that, we’ll have to become looters ourselves.”

  “Three…”

  “Where are the zombies?”

  “Two…”

  “Yeah, where’s a zombie when you need one?!”

  “One.”

  I thrust my head out of the window and shout, “All right! Take it!”

  It hurts to let go of precious food. It hurts even more to let go of the water. And most of all it hurts to see it snatched up by these heartless pigs. But if it makes them go away…

  “That’s not enough!”

  “What? Are you crazy? We barely have enough for ourselves! I’m not going to watch my children starve because of you!”

  Then Jesse pops her head out of another window and pounds the final nail in our coffin: “You can’t have any more food—you’re all fat and you need to go on a diet!”

  The men turn the air blue with their language. Then they proceed to splash gasoline all over the yard and up the walls of the house.

  I turn to the children and quietly say, “Get your kits kids. We’re leaving.”

  KC

  I don’t think they meant to set the house on fire. I think they just wanted to up the threat level to get what they wanted. They couldn’t know that we no longer cared about what they did, that we were on our way out anyway. They couldn’t know that was why we didn’t react. When we didn’t respond, they tried to get our attention by flicking the lighter on and holding it over the gasoline.

  No, I don’t think they really meant to burn a woman and her children alive in their home over some Twinkies. But it’s hard to hold on to a lighter when a zombie suddenly bites you.

  JESSE

  I can’t believe they did it. I can’t believe they set our house on fire. What did we ever do to them? What good is our food and water if it’s all burned up? And why are they screaming like a bunch of babies? We’re the ones in a burning building!

  I didn’t notice the heat at first, but I did notice the smoke. It’s really, really hard to see through smoke. It’s also really hard to breathe that stuff, but Mom wouldn’t let us go outside till we had our boots and raincoats on. We even had to put our hoods up and our kitchen gloves on. I don’t get it, we’re in a burning building and Mom’s worried about rain? She must be going crazy.

  HOUSTON

  This air is hurting my lungs. Mom would say that’s due to the smoke and carrying a seventy-two-hour kit while clad head-to-toe in thick plastic. That would make sense, but my labored breathing feels different to that. This hot hand clutching my chest feels like something else. It feels like fear.

  We run to Jesse’s room and raise the window. Naked dives right through it and skids to the edge of the roof, but she digs her claws in and stops just before she goes over the edge. Crazy dog. Can’t say I blame her—every one of her animal instincts would tell her to get out of a burning building ASAP. I stick my head out to make sure she’s okay. The smell of charcoal and burnt flesh almost obscures the stench of death…almost. I’m not breathing in the smoke anymore, so why is my chest so tight? Why does my throat feel like it’s closing up? Why is there a buzz in my head? This is all making me feel lightheaded and woozy.

  It’s difficult to move in bulky boots, and even more difficult to squeeze my tall frame with a Eurotrash-sized backpack through a window, but somehow I m
ake it on to the roof just under Jesse’s window. That should have been far enough because we were originally going to fire a flare and wait for help. I fire the flare before anyone else joins me on the roof, but the plan’s changed. There’s no way we’re going to hang around and wait to be picked up now, not while sitting on a house on fire. We’re going to have to go with Plan B. Problem is, Plan B doesn’t exist…we’re making this up as we go.

  I was hoping for a breath of fresh air, but instead I’m met with a blistering breeze. I think of the stuff that’s burning below us—all the plastics, the varnished furniture and floors, the carpet—our modern comforts are so laced with toxic chemicals it’s turned this house into the world’s most poisonous bong.

  The others join me one by one, eyes slitted against the smoke. We do our best to see through a haze that makes our eyes ache and our lungs burn. Where are the dead? Are they out front, feasting on our tormentors? All of them? I should have been reassured that we couldn’t see anything, that maybe we would have a chance to jump down and sneak around the chaos on the other side, but my gut tells me that would be too easy. And what exactly would we be sneaking away to?

  “Mom!” I rasp, “Where are we going to go once we get down?”

  She points over to the balcony now shrouded in darkness. “We’ll go to the Rasmussens.’ We’ll climb down the tree that touches our balcony and run the ten feet over to their tree. We’ll have to scramble up that one as fast as we can. First we’ll push Jesse up, then give KC a boost, then you can go up. I’ll cover you guys and join you as soon as you’re near the top. Once we’re up there we can climb onto their roof. They must have roof access to their home, and if they don’t…well, at least their home’s not on fire. We’ll set off the rest of the flares from there and wait for help.”

  I struggle to speak with a voice hoarse from caustic fumes and acrid air. “I’m not sure the Rasmussens are home. They haven’t been answering phone calls, emails, texts, nothing. Why don’t we go over to Laura’s instead?” I want to add “And how is Naked going to climb that tree?” But I know where her priorities lie right now. Maybe I can carry Naked…all sixty pounds of her.

  “Because the looters left Laura’s place open to the undead. Just follow me to the balcony. I’ll go down our tree first and stand guard with my gun while you guys make a run for the Rasmussens’ tree. Make sure you crawl carefully, I don’t know what I’d do if…”

  “Mom!” KC interrupts. “The bushes are moving!”

  “That’s the wind sweetie, now follow me…”

  “Mom! There’s no wind!”

  She’s right. We train our flashlights on the bushes. We’re staring hard at them, trying to see what’s making them move, even though we all know what it has to be. So why can’t we see them?

  I realize why as they slowly emerge from their hiding places. No wonder we couldn’t see them. They look like they’ve been rolling around in the mud. Not just that, but they’re crawling. We’re used to looking for upright parasites, easy to see when deathly pale and stumbling around on two legs. We’re not used to looking for them soil-brown and crawling commando-style in the dirt. Some of them are not so much crawling as they are dragging their decomposing selves across the ground. I try without luck to adjust to this sight of a moving carpet of corpses. They’re like a slowly advancing flood of stench and filth and they’re steadily making their way towards us.

  “We’re faster than them! We can still make it to that tree! Follow me onto the balcony!”

  Mom slides down the short drop. We hear her hit the deck, then we hear her scream, then we hear a shot followed by another and another. “Pull me back up!” she cries out in full-fledged panic. I lay on my stomach, dangle my arms over the side of the roof, and grab her by her upstretched wrists. She walks her legs right up that brick wall and heaves herself back onto the roof in impossible time. She would have pulled me off the ledge if it wasn’t for KC holding my legs and leaning back. Oh yeah, KC and a water-heavy pack on my back that anchors me in place.

  I lie still while Mom scrambles over my back and the roof’s wood trim crackles and blows sparks around us. I gaze over to where Mom has just come from.

  Looks like the dead have not only learned the art of camouflage—they’ve learned how to climb trees.

  The last image I remember is the sight of a balcony full of cadavers with more coming up the tree behind them. I feel the heat and smell the smoke, I hear the crying and wince at the screaming, but I don’t cry and I don’t scream—I just curl into a ball and fall into a trouble-free sleep.

  JESSE

  Houston is as quiet as I am loud. I can’t help it. I can’t stop crying and I don’t care who knows it! It’s getting hotter and hotter up here. It’s getting harder and harder to see, and I don’t know where to go. Houston’s no help; he’s acting like a big baby lying all curled up on the roof like a dead pill bug.

  Mom scuttles over to the other side of the roof and looks out over Laura’s house. “Mom,” KC moans “We can’t jump that far without breaking something. We’ll bust our legs and then we’ll just be sitting ducks down there!”

  “We’re not going to jump off the side of the house; we’re going to jump onto the patio awning.”

  “Mom, it’s just fabric! There’s no way it can hold our weight!” KC wails.

  Mom changes from shaking to serious as fast as you can flip a switch. I like her better this way. I feel less afraid when Mom sounds confident. “I know that, sweetie.” She says in that soothing voice she uses when we get hurt. “But it will slow our descent so we can land on the ground safely.”

  “On the ground?” KC squeals in a high-pitched squeak. “You want us on that ground? That will get us closer to the zombies! We’re not safe down there!”

  “They’re not expecting us over there. The ground is completely still. All I see are dirt clods.” She fixes KC with a serious stare. “Are you ready?”

  KC nods reluctantly, her eyes filling up with tears. I nod enthusiastically ‘cause I’m ready to get off this roof. I feel like I’m being boiled alive up here! The smoke is stinging my eyes and making me cough. Besides, I don’t think the roof will be here much longer ‘cause I can feel heat underneath my feet, right through my shoes.

  Houston doesn’t nod. He doesn’t do anything. Mom takes one look at him, sighs, and instructs KC to gently roll him off the roof before she jumps off. “What if his weight breaks it? I can’t jump that far to the ground!” KC slaps my big brother on the cheeks and shakes him hard. “Houston, wake up! Wake up!”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you. And honey, you might as well give up on waking him—Houston has switched off.” She gently lowers herself down to the canopy. It bows way down and creaks like crazy, but it doesn’t break; it just droops low enough for Mom to slide down to the ground and hop off. The canopy bounces back into place the second she’s left it. Mom looks around and then says, “Okay, Jess, you’re next.”

  It actually looks like fun! I eagerly jump onto it. So does Naked. Whoops, too eager! I should have rolled or something ‘cause I hear a creak and then a crack followed by Naked’s yelp, and then the whole thing collapses to the ground. I would have probably bruised my butt on the patio but there’s something soft and squishy underneath the cover that breaks my fall. I hop off the cover and run to Mom.

  I look back at the porch. I’ve broken two of the legs that used to hold the canopy up, but the other parts are still attached to the house. The canopy can’t bounce back now, but that doesn’t mean it’s stopped moving. KC stares at it from above with eyes wide and shiny. Mom pulls me in front of her and raises her gun, ready to shoot. “Honey, just think of the canopy as a slide. Pull Houston with you and glide on down to me. Don’t worry about that”—she points at whatever squirms beneath the mossy canvas, “It’s trapped. It can’t hurt you yet.” KC doesn’t move. There’s a look that’s coming over her face, well, more like the lack of a look…kind of a blank stare really. She’s starting to look
like Houston.

  “KC!” Mom’s voice is so powerful and commanding it makes me jump. “Listen to me! We’re not going to lose and I’m not going to lose you. Now get down here this instant!” Mom’s scolding seems kind of inappropriate right now, but it must have got through to KC ‘cause she’s moving. It looks like she’s reacting more than obeying, but she’s still moving. She pushes Houston onto what’s left of the porch cover and he rolls down to our feet. KC follows him, sliding down with a zipping sound and landing hard as the other legs break. Whatever was under the canopy stops squirming.

  We’re together! Thank heavens we’re together! And now we’re running. Well, we’re trying to run, ‘cause it’s hard to run while dragging Houston behind us on his wobbly legs. We almost make it to the fence before we step in something. I don’t know what it is, but it snaps and squelches and has juices bubbling up like runny smelly jelly. Suddenly Mom screams out that she’s stuck in something. She starts yelling some other stuff too. She said we need to move on to Laura’s garage, that we should run and not stop because she has a gun and can shoot zombies till she gets her foot freed. Then KC screams that something’s got her foot. Houston stops moving because we’ve stopped moving. He just stands there staring out into space and rocking back and forth on his feet.

  I start to tell Mom and KC they should just step out of their boots and then they’d be free. I want to tell them that, but before I can something grabs me from below and pulls me to the ground, right down to those dirt clods Mom saw earlier. Except it’s not dirt or clods, its zombies lying down. Really, really old and dirty zombies. I feel a sharp pointy pain on my arm and look down. I hear my Mom shriek “Jesse!”

  It’s too late for me now. I’ve been bitten.