We quickly introduced ourselves to the two new members.
“I'm Heather. This is Chris.”
Me: “Welcome to summer survival camp.”
My attempts at humor sometimes didn’t land right. It wouldn’t matter at that point.
Tague came rushing in with a very clear, dire look on his face.
“They’re coming.”
Entry 22 – Night of the Walking Dead[21]
The night was a long and quiet one. The mass of zombies that had come over the hill south of the interstate exits must have heard the gunshots, while the ones in the more direct line of sound at the exit appear to have heard nothing. Over that hill, over a hundred dead came walking, stumbling towards the sounds that they had heard. Perhaps only one had heard anything and started walking, but had created the exodus from the interstate. Meanwhile, Tague had found a point from within the fire station where he could see the interstate on ramps, and he mentioned how there was a significant gap created from the zombies pulled off by the gunfire, but that it was immediately filled in.
Twenty minutes later, the flow stopped and the roads were clear. This time though, there was another mass of zombies simply lingering around the area between the house and the fire station. They had not been able to see us, but had focused their attention in the area the sounds had come from. It would be extremely risky to attempt to move out with so many in such clear sight. Added on top of that, our two new members apparently hadn’t eaten much in the past few weeks, and were quite weak. So we decided to crash at the fire station that night, remain as quiet as possible, and hope that the zombies had wandered off. If they hadn’t, we would just attempt to slip out the back, and slink down along the ditch and cross over the interstate, which we hoped would remain empty.
Heather and Chris, brother and sister, were from somewhere just outside of Jacksonville, Florida. They had been on the run from almost the very first day, when their parents were attacked and killed by zombies, as Chris put it, in fireman suits. Heather was home from college, waiting to go back for her last semester that was restarting soon after the comet was destroyed, and had just pulled into the driveway to witness her parents being torn apart by the zombie firemen. She had managed to get her brother and escape while the zombies were busy eating, and had gotten in the car and begun driving. They witnessed attacks up and down the streets they were trying desperately to get out of. They tried getting on the interstate to go north. Their thought had been to go to Fort Benning, where Heather’s boyfriend was stationed.
That’s as far as they got. Heather seemed unwilling to talk about how they got from there to southern Charlotte. Judging by their look, the grime, the leanness to their bodies and the sense of defeat in their eyes, I can only imagine that it hadn’t been easy. I can easily admit to feeling quite guilty when I saw them. It had been one thing to hear the stories of the group I rescued in Hendersonville. They had mostly been lucky in their own ways and had survived in Charlotte, at least for some time. I, on the other hand, had been beyond lucky, and was living out the end of the world in the lap of luxury. I felt it now more than ever, my duty to bring these people back to the house and at least let them rest in ease, until they decided what they wanted to do.
That night turned out to be a very long night. While most of the zombies wandered around in randomness between the fire station and the house, some of them would wander near enough that we could hear their grunts or moans through the walls of the fire station, especially in the garage area and its thinner sheet metal walls. We refused to speak a word all night, and only half of us slept at one time, just to make sure no one snored or talked in their sleep. Tague spent the entire night in his little lookout; a small attic like compartment above the fire station garage. From there he had a good open and clear view in every direction, except back into Charlotte. He had a radio with him up there, while the other one was with us below, but we never had to use it. Nor did we want to.
We ate our meals cold. The night was cold. I remember being awake when the sun finally started to come up.
Tague came back down to let us know that most of them had wandered much closer to the house during the night, and that if we slipped out the back and behind the building, that we should be able to get away cleanly and without drawing the attention of the dead. We ate our food cold again that morning, not that it mattered to Heather and Chris, who already looked like they had slept off the flu. We had let them sleep undisturbed through the night, and there was a clear excitement in their eyes when we told them we were getting far away from Charlotte.
Out the backdoor we went, hauling as many guns and ammo as we could, along with what little gear we had left. I remember looking at my food stocks and thinking I’d either have to raid a few homes again, or that we’d need to be back home in two, maybe three days tops. We dropped back into a wooded area and made our way, as silently as possible, towards the interstate, which still looked clear. As we got to the exit, someone, I can’t remember who, made the suggestion we try to find a working car among the many strewn out about. Evan and I both shook our heads no.
On our drive here, one of the subjects of discussion that had come up had been the one of using vehicles. Obviously, I favored being on foot, but there were clear times when long distance travel required the use of a car. But the best way to find a car that would work was always in a former residence. The odds of finding the keys and there still being gas in the vehicle were far higher than out in the streets. Most of the keys there would have wandered off in the pockets of the now zombified owners, or would be lying in the pockets of the dead owner somewhere. Searching inside the house also kept us out of sight, while searching outside was just asking for trouble.
I took one look in both the north and south directions of the interstate, and there was not a single zombie in sight, except for one that was locked, or simply stuck, since I don’t think they open locks on cars, inside of a car a good ways down. I had almost missed seeing it, until I saw the movement inside. Compared to the entire silence and stillness of everything else within sight, I spotted it quickly.
After the interstate overpass, it was only a few miles to the park. We were able to avoid one small mass of zombies, maybe two dozen of them, slowly walking down one of the streets in the same direction as we were going. We simply went down another street, with Evan scouting ahead to make sure we weren’t running into any more groups, or to be sure that the group we had just seen hadn’t seen us, heard us, or randomly turned in our direction. These alternate or detour streets took us to the park as well, and once we got to the wooded area of the park, we doubled our speed, almost running, to make sure that we didn’t have any followers into the park. We arrived at the truck without any further incident.
Evan and Tague offered to ride in the back with the equipment since we were now a bit more packed. I offered them a few jugs of water and one of the radios. The plan was that if we did run into any zombies that slowed us down, they were to lay down as far as possible into the truck bed to avoid any zombie limbs that might tear off one of theirs. Evan insisted on loading up some of the rifles in the back with him. Since we had found that stash at the fire station, Evan had been carrying himself with a bit more, I can only say confidence, or cockiness. One, the other, or both, might be useful, or it might kill him. Hopefully the former.
We had planned on taking the same way back to Hendersonville when someone, I think it was Lucy, pointed out the obvious.
“You live in Hendersonville?”
Me: “No, the house isn’t there.”
Lucy: “Then why are we not just going straight there?”
The obvious being stated, as I drove, Aaron and Lucy took out my maps to attempt to plan a more direct way of reaching my house. I didn’t tell them directly where it was, as I still planned on leaving the truck parked somewhere in lower altitudes and hiking up to the top. It just felt safer to me, even if we would have to haul more things than I was used to.
We managed
to find a route back through South Carolina, and we decided to try to make it to a park, the park we’re at now, for the evening. We would still have to try to get more fuel for the truck, and that might involve a few stops at gas stations to first, see if any of them had diesel pumps, and second, to see if they even had any diesel in the tanks to begin with.
We decided initially to get into Spartanburg, in South Carolina. It was a fairly large enough town on this side of the state. But as we began to talk about entering the city, we quickly remembered the bad experience in Charlotte. It had left a bad taste in our mouths, even if it had allowed us to keep our limbs. So instead of going into Spartanburg, we would cut across the north of it heading west, and hit up as many gas stations as we could along the smaller suburban areas. Even if we didn’t find any diesel, the truck could get us to the park and if push came to shove, or walk, we could either find another vehicle, or simply hike the rest of the way.
The other issue was food. There were now eight of us in the group, and the stores each of us individually had would go very quickly if we had to walk. So the secondary plan was to raid the gas stations for any kind of calories. I told them not to worry about healthy choices, as all we needed were calories to get us up to the house. I could have probably made my stuff last an extra day, but, it would be a stretch. If we were going to leave the truck down at the valley and hike up, everyone would need to be well fed, and have the calories to go up a mountain.
The first couple of gas stations we ran across did not have diesel pumps, so we made quick checks on any food at the gas stations. It was generally quite minimal. Most of what still remained was beyond the point of consumption. Our best finds were usually in stocking rooms that might have been ignored or forgotten by the general raiding populace. Cans of sardines from the first gas station and cans of Vienna sausages from the third station, along with a few bags of chips (those things can last forever) were our main finds. I wouldn’t consider our findings the equivalent to eating at a five star restaurant, but it was protein and carbs, perfect to keep us going.
We still weren’t finding diesel, though. We would, on occasion, find a pump, but we either couldn’t get to the tanks, or the tanks were empty. We did hit everything good and bad at the last station we found. Obviously it was the last because we did find diesel in the underground tanks. While Aaron and I were pumping diesel out of the tanks and into the truck, Lucy, Tague and Heather had gone into the store to check for food again. In a few minutes, we heard a scream. I told Aaron to go and I’d keep pumping. Evan, who had been sitting on the back of the truck on guard, stood up quickly and was about to jump off when I yelled at him to stay. I needed to focus on getting the fuel in the truck, and didn’t need anything jumping me while I was busy.
Aaron told me later that the three that were raiding the gas shop had run across one of its former attendants, a zombie on a wheelchair. Yes, a disabled zombie. Apparently, the former man named Gart (it was on his name tag still), was severely disabled and had to actually be strapped into the wheelchair. When he had died, his zombie counterpart had remained thus strapped, but without the knowledge of moving about on his wheels. He was harmless, as harmless as a zombie who you can keep your distance from, and Aaron was about to shoot it in the head when they all heard gunshots coming from outside.
The scream had called out some lurkers.
The biggest reason I hated travelling at night or dusk wasn’t because the zombies had any kind of built in advantage in the dark. They weren’t evil, they didn’t thrive in darkness. No, it’s that living humans have a built in disadvantage in the dark. Our eyes suck and are generally more tired when it’s dark. When Evan had regained his composure after I had told him to stay there, he didn’t take his eyes off of the gas station. I had been focused on pumping the fuel into the truck, when we both heard the moaning at the same time. I nearly dropped the pump and spun around, while Evan quickly brought up his rifle to a male zombie with only one arm about six feet from Evan. Instinctively, Evan fired two shots, one that hit it in the head. Our surprise ended, we realized with horror that it hadn’t been alone. Behind it, and coming eerily out of what had at one time been a field of some sort across the street, were many more zombies.
“Hurry!”
I can’t remember if it was Evan or I that shouted that, but I think we both did. Evan quickly went to work, firing single shots from the bed of the truck out across the street. He would wait until a zombie had crossed the street, so that he could see it the clearest, and usually within two shots would take it down. He had killed four of them before I realized I hadn’t stopped pumping the fuel. Evan’s calmness in the situation must have calmed me as well. Of the eight that had come stumbling out of the field, Evan had taken down every single one. Having used up the ammunition in his first rifle, he had dropped it and just continued on with another he had back with him.
At that time, Aaron and the rest came bolting out of the gas station with the food they had found. Tague threw some bags into the back of the truck, and quickly jumped in behind. Aaron took one look at me and asked me why I was still pumping. I quickly unattached the tubes to the pump, wrapped up the tube around the pump, and threw it in the back of the truck as well. As Heather was getting into the truck, I could hear Chris inside of the truck asking many questions when I heard Lucy yell, “MORE!”
Evan spun around, still riding high with the confidence he had just gained from killing the first group of zombies, only to see at least twenty more zombies pouring out of the same field and start walking over towards us. I ran around to the driver’s side and jumped in, started the truck and pulled it around quickly, hoping I hadn’t just thrown Evan off the back. A quick check in the rear view mirror showed me I hadn’t. Later on that evening, when we had reached the park, he told me about that moment:
“I had been scared shitless when I turned and seen that zomb just standing there so close to me. There’s no way I shoulda used two shots on one that close. But when they came walking across the street from the field, it was like a turkey shoot. I just kept linin’ them up and gunnin’ em down. I felt so badass, man. But then when everyone was gettin’ in the truck, and I turn, thinkin’ I'm gonna be all Rambo on them, and I saw how many there were, I dun think I pissed myself. Don’t tell anyone though. I like being the badass with the gun.”
We had managed to pump enough fuel to get us to where we wanted to, but we hadn’t really found any decent amount of food, other than the cans of sardines and Vienna sausages. That would have to do, unless we found something else.
We took Highway 276 that went up over the top and through the middle of a designated park area, which to most was just a section of wilderness (my idea of a park). Near the top it got near, if not over, that magical thirty five hundred feet that made me feel so much safer. Granted, this was one of the more popular camping and hiking places in South Carolina, but, I had a feeling most people weren’t taking their time to hike and camp as zombies took over the world. Despite that, we were driving a noise making truck to the top. Once we had reached the top, we pulled over in a scenic sighting area and made our camp for the night. We let Heather and Chris sleep in the truck, maybe to add a sense of security for them.
Right before coming back to the section of trees that I had tied my hammock to, the rest of the group and I had been in a conversation about a few different subjects.
“Is this really what we’re eating? And cold?”
“Do you think we need to have a watch tonight?”
“Are Heather and Chris going to be ok? They’ve barely spoken since we found them.”
“How far is it to the house? Will it be safe?”
“What are we going to do now?”
“If we’re all dead already, why keep going?”
That last one was, of course, what had been plaguing humanity’s mind ever since the zombies began rising and eliminating that said humanity. I don’t think I had ever clearly given that much thought, mostly because of where I h
ad been. I had watched the rise of the dead in complete safety, and had not been out in the real dead world when all the TV and radio stations went dead. I had not seen the amount of death that I am sure the rest of the people here had, and therefore, had not really allowed an overwhelming sense of defeat enter my psyche. That being said, I could see how Aaron, Evan and the others felt defeated, tired and hopeless.
At the same time, the whole idea of doom and gloom was already, in an ironic kind of way, a part of my life and background. I can’t really put time into that now, but my father made his living with doom and gloom, and therefore, it had always been around me as a kid growing up. It had been his expertise in everything going wrong that had allowed me to survive and even thrive in a world where most human beings were attempting to kill the other. So maybe I had become desensitized to it all, whether that was a good thing or not. I preferred to keep life going as it had in the past, up until the very moment when it was not. At that point, it probably wouldn’t matter too much to me as an individual.
As to the other topics of conversation we had that pitch black night, I can really only remember the gist of the words spoken. I do know that once I get back to the house, I’ll pick up a little recording device I know my dad has, so that I can record the conversations I think hold merit to this journal. I think the exact wording is quite critical to these conversations, especially when Evan talks like the redneck he thinks he should be, or Dawn talks with her articulated Midwestern voice.
This, then, is what was talked about:
The food sucked. And yes, it was cold because I had no fuel left. I don’t think I've ever had anything as nasty as a cold sardine. At least the sausage I was able to swallow without gagging. I did mention that my house had some stores of frozen meat that I'm sure we could break out to celebrate a different sort of homecoming. That seemed to peak their interest.
Deadfall: Survivors Page 10
