Saving Jebediah; Another True Story from the Zombie Apocalypse

by Doug Ward

respected his wishes. Sometimes, I thought he was another Ted Kaczynski. But, whether he was another Unabomber or just a bit off of his skull, he was my uncle and I was going to make sure he was ok.

  I pulled my once again fully loaded handgun out and, sighing, said, "Thanks for everything, guys. If it weren't for you..." I left the last part off.

  They all said their farewells and wished me luck. I turned and began following the overgrown trail to the cabin. With a last look over my shoulder, I watched the truck slowly head down the road, a small trail of dust marking their progress.

  I felt truly alone. Scared. The only thing keeping me from breaking back to the road to flag them back down was my loyalty to my uncle.

  His cabin was about a mile off the road. Nightfall was still about two hours off, so I had plenty of time to walk to his shack. My boots crunched on the few bare spots in his seldom-used driveway.

  I had walked only a short while when I heard a strange sound. My hand tightened on my gun as I followed the noise into the woods to the right of the trail. It was a strange noise, a low moaning with a creaking intermixed. As I got closer, I felt my pulse quicken. Cold sweat was trickling down my back. The woods were dense, so I had to weave my way between the trees in my search for the source of the sound.

  All at once, the branches above me erupted. Leaves rained down on me as I swiveled the weapon up. Hands, pawing at me, nearly knocked the gun from my hand. I could feel the cold, dead fingers slip past mine as the zombie, hanging upside down, tried to grab my outstretched hands. I fell to the ground and scrambled away as more branches began to violently shake with their own undead occupants.

  I quickly realized that they were trapped in snares. From my vantage point at the base of a tree, I assessed the situation. There were three zombies in all, swinging upside down in separate snares. I had to chuckle. My uncle had company and he was more prepared than I was. This was probably where the rumors had come from.

  I rose and walked about, looking at the spectacle while the undead in the trees continued to thrash about, reaching futilely for my living flesh. As I was wondering what I should do, I felt a sharp tug at my ankle, harshly jerking me into the air amid the zombies.

  "Crap!" I yelled as I careened wildly back and forth. Cold hands snatched at me as I spun and swung in ever decreasing circles. When the spinning slowed, I found that I was out of reach of the other snare victims, but they continued their mindless pawing.

  "Stupid, stupid, stupid," I repeated as the full weight of my situation bore down upon me. My hoodie gathered about my chest. The extra bullets, I knew, were a loss, scattered about the forest floor.

  As the blood began to pulse in my head, I knew I had precious little time to escape this trap. Just as I was reaching for my pocketknife, I heard something snap in the tree to my left. I looked down, only to see that one of the zombies had fallen to the ground and was limping into position below me. As it greedily reached upward, I noticed it had no foot. It must have torn free, but the lack of a foot didn't seem to deter it at all. Luckily, I still clutched my Glock in my right hand. I extended it as far as I dared and, while slowly spinning, put a slug straight down through its upturned skull.

  The zombie crumpled to the ground and I waited a moment to be sure it stayed down. Satisfied, I carefully fished my pocketknife out and opened it. Knowing I couldn't keep the gun in my hand, I tried to secure it in my waistband. It worked for about three seconds. I watched in horror as the weapon slowly dropped onto the chest of the fallen zombie below.

  Now, I remember telling you that us backwoods people were strong and that I had good military training, but I still couldn't pull myself up to cut the rope. I tried to climb up my pant legs with my knife in my mouth like a pirate, but it was doomed to fail. My only hope was to swing back and forth and, maybe, grab a branch. As I swung, I quickly understood my folly. I lacked control.

  One of the still struggling zombies managed to grab my hooded sweatshirt and quickly reeled me in. I acted on pure instinct. I screamed, loud and hard, through my gritted teeth.

  My left hand shot out and grabbed the undead by the throat in order to keep it from biting me. My right snatched the knife from my mouth. We careened to and fro in a cloud of brown leaves as I plunged the blade into the side of its head.

  I was about to release the foul beast when it dawned on me. I could climb up the horror and, maybe, gain my freedom. I retched as I climbed up its greasy pants, feeling morbid joy when I was able to grab the rope. As I continued to scale the hemp rope, I noticed that I had gained some slack in it.

  Using my free foot, I was able to slip the loosened noose off of my foot. The full weight of my body swung into the body of the now still corpse with a wet smack. I knew I was too high up to just drop to the ground. I didn't want to risk injury, so I decided to climb as far down the zombie as possible before risking the drop. The smell was horrendous, it's clothing leaving a slimy coating on my hands and making it hard to keep my hold on the fabric.

  That's when it happened. I fell. My right ankle exploded in pain as I rolled on the ground. Cursing my luck, I grabbed the offending limb and grunted in agony. Leaves clinging to my clothes, I hurriedly exposed the injured area and saw with relief that it wasn't broken. Sprained. It was just my luck. It could have been worse, though, so I took a quick appraisal of my situation and found I was relatively safe for the moment. The zombie above was still, but the other continued its empty attempts to somehow get to me. Sitting there, I composed myself for a moment and it dawned on me that the zombie above might draw others. I needed to somehow get to my uncle's cabin, and any creatures investigating the ruckus overhead might delay me. I snatched my gun from the fallen zombie's chest and abandoned any attempt to recover the lost bullets or the pocketknife. Jeb was more of a survival nut than I was, so I was sure he would have plenty of weapons and ammo.

  I thought I should kill the remaining undead. It would be one less in the world. But, I quickly dismissed the idea. I only had a ten round clip, minus the round I had fired earlier. That left me with nine rounds, and I wasn't sure what I would still run into.

  It took some time, but I found a suitable fallen limb to make a crutch. Wrapping my hoodie around the "V" where it branched, I was comfortable while walking but a little cold. The sun would be going down soon, so I needed to get moving. I decided against returning to the trail and opted to go straight through the woods to Jeb's place.

  I was very careful as I hobbled on my way, not wanting to repeat my last folly. As I neared the cabin, I heard a familiar moaning. Grimacing, I continued on. In my present state, I really didn't need any more adventures. But, as I hobbled onward, the sounds got louder. Carefully, I moved forward as the woods blocked out much of the remaining light.

  I was almost at the edge of the trap when I realized what was in front of me. A hidden pit yawned in my path. I reeled backward, staggering to avoid falling. Pain erupted as I forgot the makeshift crutch in order to maintain my footing.

  After the pain subsided, I crept to a safe distance and looked in. The bottom of the pit was covered with wooden stakes. Two zombies were inside. One, staked through its torso, struggled for me but was held fast by the stake. The other walked awkwardly toward the side I was on.

  It moaned and reached but couldn't reach the top. If it hadn't been for these undead blundering into the pit, it would have been me down there. Once again, I pondered shooting the pathetic creatures; but, knowing I had to conserve my ammunition, I made a mental note to come back when I had healed and had more bullets.

  I carefully hobbled around the trap, skirting it by a wide margin. My armpit was starting to get irritated by the strain of supporting my weight, but I didn't have the time to look for a better fit. It was getting hard to see. I did my best to avoid any other traps, but it was more by sheer luck rather than any skill. I was becoming desperate. Exhaustion was
making me take dumb chances.

  Finally, I hit the edge of the clearing. My uncle had cleared a hundred yards around the cabin so there would be no obstacles in his firing line. The only thing inside the clearing was the outhouse, which was about fifty feet to my left, almost on the tree line.

  Jeb's place was a one room shack. Windows on all sides were small but provided a great view of all angles of approach. The waning sunlight was a little stronger here than in the woods, so I could still see fairly well. But, what I saw made my heart sink.

  Three zombies were weakly beating at the door. The windows were shuttered. As I stood there, I saw no lights escaping even the smallest cracks. Uncle Jeb was up tight in there, but it was up to me to clear the zombies trying to get in.

  Any idea of leading them away would be purely foolish. Even though I was probably faster than they were, it would probably lead me into more trouble. I decided that the best way would be a frontal approach. If I came in firing, maybe Jeb would help out from his side.

  As I took my first steps into the clearing, I felt an adrenaline rush. My progress was steady and they hadn't noticed me. Then, my crutch went into a small hole and I banged my foot off the ground. The sudden jolt of pain