Saving Jebediah; Another True Story from the Zombie Apocalypse

by Doug Ward

made me wince. That was enough. Two of the zombies broke from the door at a run. They were fast. Really fast.

  They were still kind of far away, but I was scared, so I leveled my gun and slowly, as I released a breath, fired. I missed. Repositioning my angle, I shot again, striking it in the shoulder. The running corpse spun wildly, hitting the ground. I acquired the next target. This time, it was close enough for a clean headshot.

  It was a lucky shot, but I wasn't going to argue. The zombie I had hit in the shoulder earlier popped back up and renewed its sprint toward me. I took two more controlled shots as it closed on me. Four shots left I reminded myself.

  The sprinter was about twenty-five feet from me as I squeezed off three more. Sweat running down my forehead, I felt panic rise as I prepared my final shot. The zombie disappeared. I dropped my aim lower and waited for it to reappear. Nothing. Fearing an assault from the woods, I hobbled forward. Another hidden pit gapped in front of me. The zombie had fallen in while running at full stride and hit the opposite side, snapping its neck.

  Throwing caution to the wind, I went straight for the cabin. Hopping with the crutch caused waves of pain, but I had to get to the safety of the shack. I met the last zombie halfway across the clearing. I raised my weapon level with its bobbing head and muttered, "Did I shoot 9 shots, or 10. In all this excitement, I... Oh, forget it!" I shot it nearly point blank, dead center in the head. I didn't even watch it fall completely to the ground.

  At the cabin, my heart sank. The door was securely locked. I called out for uncle Jeb to open up, but even after I clearly identified myself, the entrance remained secured. I wondered what had happened to Jeb. Had he left? Was he Ok? I knew I couldn't remain outside the shack much longer. I could see several forms shuffling out of the tree line, probably drawn by the noise of the gunshots.

  I needed to get inside and it needed to be fast. I couldn't see any of the fast-moving types, but that didn't mean there weren't any around.

  I checked all of the windows, but they were all shuttered and barred from the inside. Immediately abandoning any idea of breaking down the door, I set to work on one of the windows. Although Jebediah had built his home to be a bunker, at 84 years old, maintenance hadn't been performed in a long time. The window frame felt spongy with rot and possibly some recent termite damage.

  Tearing at the decay, I quickly had the corner of the shutter free and was able, with a few well-placed blows of my handgun's grip, to bash the whole shutter inside. It clattered to the floor releasing the other half of the porthole. I once again called out for my uncle. After a few seconds with no answer, I lunged through the small opening, leaving my crutch outside.

  My midsection folded as my weight suspended from the sill. The cabin was pitch black. Any moonlight filtering from around me was immediately swallowed by the absolute blackness inside. Swiveling my hips, I gained enough leverage to fall inside. There was a thump as my body flopped to the floor, but no other noise followed. It smelled of wood smoke, mildew, and a hint of something else, rotting meat.

  I thought my gun was empty, but I swiveled it around anyway. The now-revealed moonlight cast very little light through the tiny opening. I was nearly blind.

  I fumbled for my lighter, feeling a wave of relief as I found its shape in my front right pocket. I snaked my fingers inside and produced the object. Two hasty flicks later and I was rewarded with a dull, warm glow. The flame was not bright, but it illuminated the small, one room shack. I nearly dropped the lighter when my eyes fell on the object of my quest. My uncle, Jebediah, sat in his bentwood rocking chair. His corpse remained perfectly still. One hand rested on a bottle in his lap, while the other clutched his chest.

  A tear drew a wet line down my cheek as the realization of my uncle's plight struck me. Here, I had been surrounded by death for nearly a day and now it hit home. I reached out and touched his wrist. It was cold, stiff, and definitely dead. My uncle had probably succumbed to a heart attack, but why he hadn't turned, I had no answer. I was merely relieved. If I needed to fight my uncle off or even had seen him walking about undead, it would have devastated me. This felt natural. Right. The way it should be in a world gone mad.

  Moaning from outside brought me back to the moment. Thumb burning from the heat of the flame, I swung back toward the window to find a pair of hands reaching in. Using a table leg, I hoisted my way up to my feet again. I spied a group of candles on the table and lit them with my now overheated lighter. Then, I began hastily searching through the room for weapons. Increased moaning at the window made me hop faster as I went for the closet near his bed.

  I dug through his clothes. In the back of the closet, I uncovered three rifles and two pistols, all of various calibers. On the top shelf, he had tons of ammunition for the weapons. I quickly discarded the .22 caliber rifle and pistol, but I tossed his 9mm six-shooter on the table along with two speed loaders.

  The moaning took on a choral tone as more undead were gathering at the diminutive opening. I could hear their hands tearing out chunks of the rotted window frame. As I hobbled near the window, I could see their gray forms as the moonlight robbed them of their natural colors. They redoubled their efforts as I came into view. At this distance, I dispatched them using only four shots for the three of them. Hopping closer, I spied three more emerging from the trees. Two were the fast type.

  I returned to the rifles and inspected them closer. They were all junk, corrosion rendering them unsafe to handle. Examining the pistols, I found both to be functional but in need of serious care. As I used one of the speed loaders to replace the spent cartridges in the revolver, I could hear the swift approach of the quicker zombies and knew my time was short. I whirled toward the open portal and fired as one half-dove, half-toppled through the yawning window. Blood spattered the inside sill as it fell partially inside. Black blood trickled into an ever-growing pool under its still body.

  The other hit the wall at full tilt. Rotted chunks of the deteriorating wall rained in small arcs across the wood plank floor. I could feel the whole cabin shake under its assault. I planted my feet as best I could while aiming at the spot I believed my attacker would break through. Hand shaking, my palms felt slippery as I waited for the inevitable.

  It felt like hours, my ankle throbbing in protest of the small amount of weight that I allowed it. Suddenly, the wall burst apart. I got off one wild shot as the gruesome beast was upon me. We collapsed back against the table, shattering it beneath our weight, the gun skittering off somewhere into the shadows on the floor.

  Somehow, I was able to grab both of the monster's shoulders. It, in turn, grabbed mine and attempted to pull me within range of its snapping mouth. The stench of its breath assaulted me, and I could feel the slimy coating of its gore-stained shirt.

  I was on my back. I needed to get on top and subdue the zombie, so in a practiced wrestling move, I dropped my left arm while shifting my right side up. At the same time, I arched my back, throwing the off-balance creature to the left and rolling on top of the struggling beast. The maneuver was swift but took a lot of energy.

  My strength was rapidly waning. I knew I couldn't keep this up indefinitely, yet my opponent could. I also had the problem of its slower-moving companion. He would be showing up soon.

  Just as I was losing hope, I heard a low boom. My heart quickened as I expected to feel the third one bite down upon my back. Then, I noticed lights dancing through the newly exposed portion of the shack. The roar of a Chevy engine drew my attention as my hopes were raised, but my excitement turned to panic as my hand slid off the slimy left shoulder of the creature. Lurching backward and to my right, I narrowly avoided its mouth as it flew upwards, now free.

  I was on the bottom again, my burning muscles trembling under the relentless assault. I maintained my hold on its right shoulder as my left grasped the first thing it found. I had its wrist. The moment I realized t
his, I knew it was all over. The zombie moaned triumphantly and began its unobstructed decent upon my exposed neck just as a blast roared through the small building.

  Blood and gore splattered across my upper body and face as the struggling zombie dropped directly on top of me. Arms and hands flying, I pushed the disgusting bulk from me. I backpeddled away from it, not trusting that it was truly over. Vomit flew from my mouth, back arching as I emptied my stomach on the plank floor. Acid burned my lungs as my body competed for air between eruptions.

  When I had settled, I looked at the opening and, framed in the headlights of the vehicle, saw Bo. Shotgun resting its tip on the ground, he looked every bit the hero from an action movie. Chest heaving with ragged breaths, I couldn't say anything. I just stared, gasping.

  "Come on, Talbot," he said, sounding like a drill Sergeant. "Do I have to pull yer butt outta the fire all day? Get on yer feet. All these gun shots are drawing them like a dinner bell."

  I breathlessly asked, "How?"

  "Bout an hour down the road, we got ambushed by a gang of those zombies. We lost Jim there. It was about then that we decided we couldn't leave ya to these pieces of crap!" Bo emphasized the statement by kicking