Savannah's Only Zombie (Short Story): A New Death-CJ's Story

by Josh Vasquez

  I heard screams from my left. They sounded like they were coming from Ms. P’s house. I looked at Mom and then back at the screams. I had to do something.

  “Mom, I’m going to check on Ms. P. Lock the doors and stay here.”

  She mumbled something, but acknowledged me as the doors locked shut.

  I pulled the .22 from around my shoulder and ran towards Ms. P’s house. My gun was loaded and semi-automatic. For every time I pulled the trigger, one bullet would leave the gun. I’d practiced with this gun many times. Dad always seemed to be impressed with my shooting, saying, “I was one of the quickest learners he’s ever met.”

  But no amount of target practice prepared me for what I saw when I entered her house.

  She was on the floor, struggling to fight off two zombies. One was fumbling with her bathrobe, struggling to find some flesh to bite into. The other had just sunken its teeth into her arm and was chewing on a wad of meat.

  This was the closest I had been to them. They smelled so bad, like rotten garbage. The smell was bad, but how they looked was what gave me problems. They weren’t all decayed and gnarly like you see in the movies or in video games. No, they were just grey, their skin ashen and colorless. Their pupils were a pitch black void, absent of any color. And worst of all, they were recognizable.

  The one dining on arm meat was Mr. Zach, a friend of my Dad, who also at one time served in Ranger Battalion. He’d often come over and hang out with Dad. They’d grill hamburgers out by the garage and talk over glasses of cold sweet tea.

  The other was a man who I usually see jogging through our neighborhood every morning. He always wore these ridiculously short shorts, that were smaller than anything a grown man should wear. Shorts he was wearing right now.

  I knew these people.

  I lined up a shot on Mr. Zach first. With his head in my iron sights, I winced as I pulled the trigger. I knew it had to be done, but hated doing it. My aim was accurate; the .22 caliber bullet hitting him directly in the eye socket. I watched as his head rattled back and forth before he dropped solid to the ground. The .22 must of had enough punch to enter his head, but lacked enough to exit. I’m sure his brains were now a scrambled mess.

  The other zombie seemed unfazed by my killing of his friend; he had finally found skin and had torn a large chunk from Ms. P’s neck. I fired another shot, hitting it in the back of the head. Its lifeless body slumped over hers. I went over and pulled its heavy deadweight off of her.

  I kneeled down next to her, noticing her robe was slightly open. I did my best to look away out of respect and closed her robe. She looked up at me, green eyes wide in shock. She had lost a lot of blood; her skin flushed of color. I felt so bad for her; I knew there was nothing I could have done.

  “CJ… Thank…”

  That was all she could get out before she exhaled for the last time.

  I stood up and left her there. I knew that she would most likely come back as a zombie, but I couldn’t find the strength to make sure she didn’t. I steadied myself on the door frame as I walked back outside. The tears came from nowhere and started to flow freely from my eyes.

  No! Stop it! I fussed at myself. There’s no time for that now!

  I pulled myself together and made my way back over to our car. Mom was still there, but Dad and Hailey were not. I’d been gone several minutes now; they should have been here.

  Oh no…

  I checked on Mom real quick and ran back into the house. I passed the kitchen quickly and was going to race upstairs, but was greeted by my father and sister at the bottom of the steps.

  He had Hailey on his right hip; she was clinging tightly to Opie. Dad didn’t seem to be bothered by all the extra weight he was carrying.

  “CJ! What are you doing in here? Where is your mother?” He asked quickly.

  “She’s safe in the car. I came in to check on you. What took so long?”

  He looked at Hailey, who smiled sheepishly.

  “Your sister had her earbuds in and couldn’t hear us yelling for her,” he said, somewhat annoyed but I could tell he was also relieved. So was I.

  I laughed, but I decided not to tell him just yet about Ms. P. He’ll find out soon enough I’m sure. I was surprised he hadn’t already read it on my face.

  There was a crash against our front door.

  We froze.

  Another thud and Dad set Hailey down, despite her scrambling to stay in his arms. She lost Opie in the process, but unlike his canine companion, he stayed put underneath his mistress. Dad unholstered his sidearm again.

  “CJ,” he whispered. “Get your sister to the car. I’ll cover you.”

  I nodded hesitantly, but grabbed my sister by the arm as a final thud landed against the front door and two zombies crashed into our living room. My Dad opened fire, hitting the first one right in the forehead, but I looked back and saw that four more were now entering the front door. I heard more gunshots behind me.

  We ran for the car. I heard screaming from in front of me that sent shivers down my spine. It was my mother. A zombie was clawing at her window, trying to get in to devour her. I motioned for Hailey to stay behind me. I took her whimper as an, “okay.”

  I pulled my rifle up and zeroed in on the zombie’s head. The bullet entered in the left temple, dropping the zombie like a rag doll. I picked up Opie off the ground and looked at Hailey.

  “Go get in your seat.”

  She nodded and went to the other side of the vehicle. I opened Mom’s door and handed her Opie. She seemed to relax and went back into her absent-minded state. Dad was coming from the back door, covered in thick, dark red blood. I watched his eyes go wide and everything slowed down again.

  I remember hearing my sister scream and watched as she was pulled away from her door. She was in the middle of climbing into her seat when something grabbed her ankle. The upper torso of a zombie crawled out from underneath our car and snagged her. Dad exploded.

  He sprinted towards Hailey. When he got there, more living dead were stumbling towards the fresh blood dripping from my sister’s ankle. My Dad used up all his ammo inside the house, so he resorted to pistol-whipping the crawler on the ground. He smashed the butt end of his pistol into the zombie’s skull, over and over, collapsing bone with metal. There was a sickening crunch and sloshing of brain matter that made my stomach twist for the hundredth time today.

  Realizing I froze while watching my father in action, I snapped out of it and ran to Dad’s aid. He was now fighting off the three approaching zombies barehanded. I had never seen him like this. He was lost in a bloodlust or rage. He tackled the closest one to the ground and proceeded to bash its head into the concrete. He didn’t stop until his hands were red in a bloody pulp.

  The others weren’t bothered by this at all; their arms stretched out towards him, teeth snapping. They continually jawed. I got to a place where I could fire, but as I put a head in my sights, my Dad got in the way. I pulled my finger off the trigger.

  “Dad! Move!” I yelled.

  He turned his head and looked at me, his stare of hatred softened. As I raised my rifle again, he grabbed the zombie and held it still. I fired, spraying my father in wet brain mist. I reset my sights and dropped the final one.

  Dad scrambled over to where Hailey was lying. He was now covered in blood and organs; the sight of him was disturbing. As she began to settle into a state of shock, he pulled Hailey up into his arms. Tears were streaming hot down my face.

  No, no, no…

  My mother was turned in her seat; her eyes locked on the scene. She was no longer emotionless, but tears freely fell from her face. She seemed to try and get out of her seatbelt, but it was almost as if she lacked the strength to get out of the car. Dad’s heavy breathing and tears pulled me back my sister and him.

  “No, no, not my little girl. Lord, not my little girl…”

  My heart broke. It broke for Hailey. It broke for Dad. The bite kills you, I knew this for a fact. My sister was dying. And the
re is absolutely nothing we can do for her. Her small face turned pale, as she whimpered in her Daddy’s arms.

  After several minutes of labored breathing and small, helpless whimpers, she was gone.

  Just like that.

  My little sister was gone. I knew immediately she was in a better place, not just wishful thinking, but I knew it to be true. It still hurt though. There was a pain deep inside of me that I had never felt before. I’d give anything to have her annoy and bother me again. To hear her giggle again.

  More zombies were approaching. And quick. I looked at Dad who was still clenching my sister’s body close to his. Her little head resting against his blood-stained chest.

  “Dad…”

  Nothing.

  “Dad, we have to go. More are coming.”

  He looked up and looked around. There were more zombies in the area and they were all beginning to take notice of us on the driveway. Dad head hung low again.

  “C’mon Dad, we have to go!” I yelled, a fire now burning within my own chest.

  He nodded slowly and stood. I watched as he went to put her into the backseat of the car. Into her seat.

  “Dad! We can’t take her with us! What if she comes back as one of them?”

  The slap came out of nowhere.

  My right cheek burned from the back-handed strike, but I held back the tears. It stung like crap, but I knew he didn’t mean it. He didn’t. He’d never hit me before now. This was a fluke. This was not like him. It was the grief.

  I knew it immediately because he began sobbing again.

  “I’m so sorry Son! I’m so sorry…”

  He reached out and pulled me in tight. He smelled of death. I let him hug me for a few seconds, before pulling away. The smell was too intense up close.

  “Dad…”

  He understood my plea.

  He reached back into the car and pulled my sister’s lifeless body from the backseat. Her light blonde hair blew gently in the small breeze. Dad took her back inside. I watched as he laid her down in the pantry and closed the door. He came back out, put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

  “Let’s go Son. Let’s go,” his voice still uneven.

  We got into our SUV, pulled out the driveway and sped away from our house. I watched as it grew smaller and smaller behind us. Until finally, we weaved through our neighborhood, losing sight of my house for the last time.

  My Dad white-knuckled the steering wheel tight, as he sped out of the neighborhood. His eyes focused on swerving around debris, wreckage, and the occasional zombie. He looked exhausted. His eyes were heavy and his breathing long and deep.

  My Mom sat holding Opie tight to her chest, back to staring at something in the far-off distance. Something that never moved, that never changed. I was afraid that she was gone for good, unable to cope with what just happened.

  We rode in silence for a long time.

  III. Sorrow

  It has been three days since we left our house.

  Three days since we lost my sister.

  Three days since the dead started walking.

  We made it to the cabin without any other problems. I think we were able to make it out of the city before anyone else was able to. Our ride was a quiet one. I don’t think anyone spoke a single word. It was horrible. The only thing you would hear was the sniffles of crying.

  When we reached the cabin, G-Dad, G-Mom and Aunt Laura were all there. They had made it there safely too and were on the front porch waiting for us. The relived looks on their faces were quickly extinguished as we got out of the Explorer. Noticing that Hailey was absent and the looks on our faces was enough for them to realize what had happened.

  Everyone reacted differently despite that it was all the driven by the same emotion: Sorrow.

  Aunt Laura put one hand over her mouth and rested the other on her stomach. She sat back down in her rocking chair and wept quietly.

  G-Mom, with growing tears in her eyes, walked up to Dad and slapped him in the face. He never flinched as she began to sob and yell at him for losing her granddaughter. I knew the things she said were out of grief, not legitimate anger. I think that Dad knew that too, because once she lost steam after a minute or two, he wrapped his arm’s around her and she hugged him back just as tight.

  G-Dad went to Mom and held her as he cried.

  Now, in the safety of her father’s arm, my mother finally broke down.

  I don’t remember how long we stood outside, but it seemed to stretch on forever. When we did finally go in, I remember Aunt Laura pulling me aside and giving me the biggest hug. She tried her best to smile.

  “Have you heard from Uncle Josh yet?” I asked.

  “No. Not yet,” her smile slowly fading.

  I nodded and wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have asked that.

  ***

  I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall.

  We’d be at church right now.

  But today, we would not be. The past few days slid by without much talking. I wouldn’t be surprised if the adults were completely unaware of what day it was. They all walked around like, well, like zombies.

  At least there haven’t been any out here.

  The last time I saw one was at our house. I tried not to think about the dead too much, to try my best to pretend things were normal, but I knew that wasn’t safe and that I should always be on my guard. Someone had to be.

  I passed some of the time by cleaning the guns, which I’m glad Dad finally got around to teaching me how to do. There really wasn’t too much to it, just make sure you put everything back the way you found it. The rifles and shotgun were not too hard to clean. Dad’s pistol on the other hand…

  Well, let’s just say it took a little elbow-grease to get the hardened brain matter crust out of the crevices.

  But now, I was all out of guns to clean and it was still quiet. The old farmhouse that we called “the cabin” was roomy and the silence seemed to echo. It was here when G-Dad inherited the property and it took several summers of hard work to get it up and going. Some of the most fun days of my childhood were when the four of us men came up here to work on the old house. There was no air-conditioning, electricity or beds for that matter. We camped out in the living room in sleeping bags and ate off of Dad’s little gas-powered grill.

  I have to get out of here.

  “I’m going to go outside for a bit,” I announced, not sure if anybody was listening.

  I grabbed G-Dad’s .270 rifle from the gun rack near the door and made my way outside.

  It was sunny and pleasant. I noticed that the air had cooled down drastically from the hot temperatures of last week.

  I guess we will get Fall after all.

  I walked in the direction of my tree stand, the leaves and pine straw crunching underneath my feet. I didn’t really have intentions of hunting; I just needed to get out of the house. I figured being fifteen feet off the ground should be a safe place to hide for awhile. It wasn’t too far from the cabin, so I should be able to hear if anything goes down there. Or maybe I’ll hear Uncle Josh pull up.

  I was actually surprised he hadn’t already shown up yet. I still won’t give up on him yet. I knew that Aunt Laura still believed he was going to make it, despite the doubts that G-Mom had about his survival.

  “I’m just trying to be a realist,” she had said, in one of the few times there was speaking.

  “Well, don’t. I don’t need to hear that, so keep that crap to yourself,” Aunt Laura had responded, returning the room to its former silence.

  I think Aunt Laura’s hanging on to the possibility of her husband returning was what was keeping her going.

  He’ll be here, I told myself. He probably just got hung up somewhere. And he probably went home first and then he’ll see the note that we’re out here and he’ll come. I know he will.

  When I reached the stand, I climbed the cold steel ladder up to my seat. The seat was also cold; I gritted my teeth as I sat down. Looking out over the plot
of land situated in front of me, I took in the smell of the woods and the sight of Georgia pines and oaks. In the small field, wild flowers grew. A feeder sat in the middle, waiting to be filled with corn.

  As I settled into my spot, my mind began to wander and I thought about the property we sat on. Its defenses would have to be beefed up some, in order to protect us from the dead if they do come out here. Which I’m sure they will, in time.

  There is a perimeter fence, but it’s only made out of wooden posts and a few boards. We’d have to make it stronger, maybe taller too. There are plenty of trees around, so gathering wood wouldn’t be a problem, but I don’t know if we have the tools for it. We usually brought them out with us when we came to do work.

  Only one road led into the property too. There was a metal swing gate with a chain and combination lock, but if you really wanted to, you could get around it on foot. Since zombies don’t drive cars, we’ll have to look into that as well.

  I heard a noise to my right. It sounded like twigs breaking. I readied the rifle and pushed the safety into the off position.

  After a few Moments, I relaxed and sat back in my seat.

  Must of have been the wind or something. There’s nothing there.

  And that was when I heard the grunting.

  It was the familiar sound of a feral hog. I steadied the rifle again and squinted into the woods, trying to find its dark shape. The sound came from my right, but from where I was sitting, my vision was blocked by the trees and the brush.

  I decided to climb down and go check it out. The thought of having wild hog for dinner suddenly made me feel alive and excited for the first time in days.

  Bacon. Yes, there will be bacon.

  But when my feet hit the ground, the noises turned from grunting to squealing. And then from squealing to a high-pitched shrieking. I ran into the woods in the direction of the pig’s screaming. When I finally reached it, I saw why the pig was crying out.

  It was being attacked by the living dead.

  Three zombies had the hog surrounded; one of them was on top of its flailing body. Its short, stubby legs tried to frantically get away, but it was unable to move under the zombie’s dead weight. I watched as it sunk its decayed, yellowing teeth into the sow’s flesh. The zombie didn’t seem bothered by the coarse, black hair; it just continued to bite down, over and over again.