Outnumbered series Box Set | Vols. 1-6

by Schobernd, Robert

  With everyone awake, a discussion of the undead menace ensued. Frances Halcom put forth an observation based on several recent trips away from our compound. "The overall number of zombies we've encountered seems to be less on each trip even though we traveled to different areas each time." She paused as if struggling through a quandary. "I don't like to bring this up because it may sound ridiculous.... In the past we've quietly come upon zombies, alone or in groups, standing starkly still as if in temporary hibernation. But several times in the last six months, I swear several slow moving zombies have fallen down and stayed down for no reason. Each time, we were driving along at high speed and didn't stop or slow, so what I saw is mainly an impression in my mind. I can't explain it, but it stays in my head and won't go away."

  Jeff and I hadn't noticed such a phenomenon, but we were curious enough to say we'd watch for the same effect. The possibility of zombies not functioning permanently on their own would be a major new development. Each of us turned our thoughts to that possibility and stayed silent for a time while watching the abandoned landscape go by.

  On this information procurement trip, our goal was to gather knowledge covering any subject related to methods of survival in the pre-industrial ages of the thirteenth to seventeenth centuries. There wasn't much to choose from as we pillaged the shelves of Parks Library at Iowa State University. At mid-morning, we departed the dark, cold, musty smell of the acclaimed hall of learning with only three small boxes of hardcover books. We weren't even sure the deteriorating volumes would reward us with the type of information we desperately required. Our procurement needed to culminate quickly because all derelict library's books were drawing moisture and would eventually rot in the humid atmosphere.

  Thus far, we'd found far more stinking zombies than useful books. Many of the undead students on campus had been infected there and still hung around waiting for their next human meal. We avoided them as much as possible because the noise of multiple gunshots simply attracted more of the disease infested beasts. It was still a mystery to all of us as to how the undead could hear, see or smell, when all the body’s faculties for those senses had rotted away. That's why our group, almost in unison, bucked the original opinion that the zombie affliction was caused by a virus. In our minds, it was most definitely an ungodly curse deliberately spawned by some dark, despicable disciple of evil. That said, we couldn't explain to a person how the zombie curse transferred among humans by drawing blood through bites or scratches. Somehow the zombie bodies exuded some ingredient that infected humans almost immediately when induced in sufficient amounts directly into the blood stream. And yet, if trace amounts of zombie body fluids were allowed to slowly seep into the human body through abrasions or under fingernails or cuticles the transition might take weeks.

  The experience of visiting a huge, complex edifice designed and previously inhabited by humans and not seeing a single one roaming the streets at any hour of the day or night always felt eerie. It was as if the world had suddenly stopped and the entire human race had fallen to the ground and turned into dust. Only in the real world, they had turned into evil, human-hunting zombies.

  Our next stop was the city's public library on Douglas Avenue. I drove off the street and parked on the brick apron close to the quartet of glass doors highlighting the main entrance. Jeff and Frances stood guard four feet behind me. They leaned against the truck as I labored to pick the lock. Martin Radcliff taught me the basic mechanics of picking; I needed practice to hone the skills to a workable level. My gloves were off, and my hands quickly chilled in the cold and blustery mid-March temperature.

  After struggling for ten minutes, I finally pulled the door open to the smartassed applause of my heckling audience. The undead had sensed our arrival, but they hadn't managed a full-scale assault. Three of the stinky smellies got close enough to be an immediate threat if they'd advanced closer. Those stumblers were put down with single head shots from my team’s military rifles. We entered the vacant building quickly before the undead milling about in the distance sensed us and massed to attack.

  Inside, we sniffed the air. It smelled musty like Parks, but it didn't cause us to make a face as we would have if rotting zombies had recently shuffled through the rooms. Light from the mid-morning sun filtered in through large floor-to-ceiling glass panes letting us glimpse the back of the first huge room. I hadn't been surprised to find the door, lock, and glass panels intact. The typical survivors sought out food, water, ammunition and clothing. Few had the time or inclination to pursue the knowledge of higher learning.

  While looking for the research section, we eliminated the newer, modern architecture addition as a prospect and climbed the stairs to the original 1920s redbrick library building. Each of us moved with quiet caution while involved in our own private thoughts. My flashlight beam brushed an overhead sign that indicated we were entering the children's section.

  Our light beams danced from book shelves to the floor and occasionally flashed across the beamed ceiling like spotlights crisscrossing a moonless sky. A space in the middle of the room contained small tables and chairs for children to sit and read. The scene of the abandoned public resource was a sad reminder of our not to distant past.

  Frances's voice echoed in the dark space, "There's a stairway ahead and to my far right. I'll see what's there. Cover me."

  A quivering, fearful voice cried out, "Stay where you are. I have a gun. If you come near me I'll shoot you. Now go back the way you came in and leave."

  "Miss," I ventured, "we're here to pick up books. We won't harm you. We don't want trouble."

  "Sure, I've heard that one before, right before I was raped by three of your kind. Now leave or I'll shoot you."

  Frances stopped twenty feet away. Our flashlight beams halted and lit the space with a dim eerie glow. "Miss, I'm Frances Halcom. I'm with Tom and Jeff. We're visiting libraries looking for information on how to survive in the future after the zombies are eradicated. We have a compound in Iowa. There are forty-seven of us there, nine are children under sixteen. I promise we are not going to harm you. There's no reason for us to do that. I'm walking to the end of the book shelves. I'll walk along the aisles until you can see me."

  "No! Don't come near me. I'll shoot, I swear to God I will!" The hidden woman practically screamed her threat at Frances.

  Frances looked at me and Jeff and rolled her eyes upward in exasperation. I waved a hand flat out in front of me and shook my head. She walked toward the aisles anyway. "Miss, I'm walking along the rows of shelves. Tell me when you can see me.”

  Frances had placed herself in great danger, and I didn't like the risk she was taking. My right hand hovered near my Glock, and my palm and fingers tightened on the butt.

  A light beam Frances threw lit the narrow walkway between two rows of books. "There you are," Frances said softly. "I'm going to lay my pistol on the floor so we can talk peacefully."

  We all heard the thunk sound her Glock made as she squatted and gently tossed it onto the multi-colored commercial carpet. I slowly moved sideways to the end of the aisle Frances stood near and motioned for Jeff to join me. In an uncomfortable move for me, I raised my hand away from my handgun to reassure the frightened woman. The woman's head was all I could see in the shadows: dirty blonde hair, thin face, prominent cheek bones, and pale skin. She looked frightened and shifted her glances between the three of us.

  The plaintive female voice whimpered, "Please leave me alone. I only came here to get books for my children. They have nothing else to entertain them, and they're sick of staying inside the house for months and months on end."

  "I understand. Is there a group you and your children live with?" Frances asked.

  "No. There's just the three of us. Please don't hurt me, my children need me."

  "I promise we won't harm you. My name is Frances, what's your name."

  The mousey blonde stepped to the center of the aisle. She was medium height and thin. Her right hand gripped a huge long-barreled,
chrome revolver pointed in our general direction. "Lindy. Lindy Caruthers. My children are Barry and Carla."

  I spoke, "Lindy, I'm Tom Jacobs. Would you and your children care to join us at our compound in Iowa? You'll be welcome there and safe. Your children could go outside and play and spend time with other kids. How old are they?"

  "Barry is twelve, and Carla is eight."

  "About half of our kids are in that age range. All nine are schooled by a certified teacher. Barry and Carla would join them in age appropriate subjects."

  "How about it?" Frances asked again in a soft, friendly tone. "Do you want to come with us?" She turned her light on Jeff and I and then onto herself before shining back to Lindy."

  Lindy's hand cannon pointed to the floor, and she sounded ten times more confident, "Yes. We would love to join you."

  "Alright," I said, "give us an hour to explore the section with historical research volumes, and then we'll follow you home and get your things and Barry and Carla."

  Lindy appeared cheerful and relieved. "We don't have much to take, so it won't take but minutes to pack. We do have a few cases of food to contribute. It's in our garage."

  Two hours later, we loaded several more boxes of books into the SUV. Without further incident, we followed Lindy two miles to her house. She was armed with two revolvers, a .38 caliber and a long-barreled .45 caliber. She claimed she knew how to use them and was a fair shot. I figured she must be a capable shot, or she and her offspring couldn't have survived so long on their own.

  The modest white clapboard house looked to be four or five rooms and stood in an older neighborhood. It sat off the street a hundred feet in a small thicket of pines.

  Lindy parked her dented and faded green Subaru wagon on gravel beside the front porch steps. I pulled to the right behind her and stopped for Jeff to get out. He went with Lindy to get the kids and help pack. Quickly, I backed down a gravel driveway to a one-car garage attached to the house by a short glassed-in breezeway. The sun still shone through intermittent clouds and a slight breeze moved the pine branches lazily.

  Frances and I stopped talking as the engine shut down. We exited the truck to get the supplies from the garage. Loud rough and tumble noises from inside the house preceded two large caliber gunshots. We looked at each other in shock and bewilderment and ran to the front of the house. Male and female screams poured out the open front door as we leaped to the porch decking. Inside the living room Jeff and Lindy were in the throes of death as their futile struggles ended a losing battle. A huge male zombie had overpowered Jeff and was ripping the back of his neck apart with its teeth. A whole-bodied female zombie lay in the middle of the room; it had been shot in the forehead. Lindy lay on her back with a male and two child zombies tearing at her body. The small zombies appeared to have been about eight and twelve. Lindy's screams subsided to feeble moans of pain and then she was silent.

  Frances and I each shot the huge male and saw it flop forward on top of Jeff. At the sound of gunshots, the other male zombie and both children diverted their full attention from Lindy to us. All three turned to the source of fresh meat with their bloody maws chomping incessantly. Our handguns blasted again and again until the three undead were prone on the floor and unmoving.

  We watched as Jeff's body began its descent into the black hole of the curse he'd been drawn into. Lindy's body twitched violently as it also transitioned to the undead menace. There was no choice but to shoot each of them.

  Softly I said, "I can't even imagine what went through Lindy's mind when she realized the children she'd risked her life for had been mutilated and dragged into the zombie world."

  Frances closed her eyes, exhaled and shook her head in silent disbelief. Tears of grief ran down her cheeks, and her posture slumped.

  I looked behind us before closing the door. In the dimly lighted room, I saw movement to our right. Natural sunlight through two curtained windows illuminated the main room but left the corners in dim shadows. I swiveled and pointed my .45 caliber Glock in that general direction. Frances came out of her horror induced trance and refocused. Something small moved on the carpet near the far corner. A medium-sized dog or a big cat maybe? And then came a groan, or a moaning sound, or maybe a crude whimper. Something deep and primal that I'd never before experienced and couldn't place. Frances turned her flashlight on as I reached for mine. I wasn't prepared for the sight that my eyes locked onto. The narrow white beam focused on a small body twelve feet away. A large baby lay on the floor. Why hadn't the zombies attacked it? We both moved toward what we'd pegged as an infant. The child was whole; no chunks of flesh were missing. It lay on its belly; the small arms and legs kicked frantically. It was naked on the forest-green carpet and caked in filth.

  We were three feet away when it flipped over onto its back. "Aawww Christ!" Frances exclaimed, "That's the ugliest damn baby I've ever seen." She looked at me in awe. I was at a loss for words. I suspected what we'd discovered, and the very idea frightened and repulsed me. I’d never turned to religion for strength, but I quietly prayed to God I was wrong.

  I turned to study the female zombie on the floor. She was full bodied, no sign of rot on her pale flesh. Several bite marks on her arms and legs looked old and dry. She'd been rather plain but not ugly, about eighteen or twenty I guessed. The ratty, simple, pink cotton dress she wore was torn and filthy. It had white buttons from the waist up the bodice. A large bloody stain had soaked the front of the fabric high on her thighs and turned brown as it dried. When she fell, she'd landed on her back; her left leg was straight, and her right leg was pointed away from the left with her knee bent and her foot almost touching her left knee. Frances followed my stare. "No. You don't think. Surely not. No, that can't have happened. . . oh, my God, Tom."

  I said, "Give me a hand, but be careful to not get fluids on you." We grabbed the bottom hem of the tattered pink dress where it lay bunched above the female's knees and carefully pulled it upward to her hips. The placenta and fetal membranes lay halfway expelled from the woman’s body. "Are you accepting the same thing I'm having to?"

  Frances dropped the pink material and straightened as she moved back several feet. "It's not possible for a zombie to give birth, is it? God almighty, tell me it's not possible. They're dead, they can't have sex and then have children. They're dead, damn it!"

  "Can't they? They're dead, but they walk and bite."

  "Maybe she was pregnant when she was attacked and transitioned? Could that be?"

  "My gut tells me no, but we'll ask Doc for his opinion."

  Frances jerked when I laid my hand on her shoulder. "Don't freak out on me. Apparently, it is possible. We've seen changes in the zombies from the rotting hulks we originally encountered to a new fast running type. Lately, we've come upon a few zombies that move fast, are more coordinated, and don't rot like the others. And they're silent when they attack. I suppose mating and birthing could be another step in the mutation or evolution taking place."

  I stepped back to the other two adult zombies and flipped them onto their backs with the toe of my heavy boot. Each looked almost normal except for the bloodshot eyes, filthy clothing and skin coupled with a complete lack of any form of personal hygiene or grooming. All three of the adult zombies had chunks of flesh missing where they had been attacked by other carnivorous zombies. The wounds looked old because the flesh had dried and cracked. But strangely, they hadn't begun to rot. I squatted between Barry and Carla. Each bore big ugly depressions where flesh had been torn away. The wounds were still red meat but had begun to dry and turn dark

  We turned back to the naked, mucus covered infant. It was on all fours, crawling toward us. Its jaws worked as it looked up. It couldn't have been more than a few hours old, but it had teeth and snarled at us as it smacked its jaws together noisily.

  "Go out to the truck, there's a digital camera in the glove box. We'll take pictures to show everyone, or they won't grasp the full gravity of what this means." Frances turned to leave. "On second thoug
ht, I'll go with you in case there are more of these quiet fast movers hanging around out there. These are another new fact of life we need to be cognizant of every minute."

  Minutes later we returned and found the baby had crawled back to the corner where we'd discovered it. We clicked off thirty-two photos before the batteries got too low to power the flash. It was time to quit because by then we had enough pictures to sicken and scare the hell of out everyone at Deliverance.

  Frances said, "I guess it's not impossible for the undead, but I swear that ugly little monster has grown several inches in the last half hour. It's already moving like a ten month old baby.

  "Well," I said, "I'll put a stop to that." The blast of my .45 caliber reverberated through the house as it ended the little monster's life cycle.

  Before leaving the house, we searched the rooms and found Lindy's small stash of ammunition. It wasn't an important find, but in the right hands it could kill several hundred zombies. We entered the kitchen and found the back door wide open. The busted wood of the frame offered evidence that the door had been forced open recently. Lindy's two children didn't have a chance against the three fast running zombies. I couldn't imagine the terror they felt as they were attacked and mutilated until they died.

  In the garage, there were thirteen cases of cereal, fruit, vegetables and canned meat we could use. We took a piece of heavy gauge plastic sheeting from a roll above the ceiling joist to wrap Jeff's body for transport back home for a deserved proper burial.