America Undead: Out of the Darkness & Into the Dark

by David Smith

  Dad grabbed my arm, yanked me out of my thoughts and motioned for me to hurry and follow. As we ran down the back slope of the mound there was a stray walking at the edge of the woods. It noticed us and quickly began shuffling in our direction.

  It was wearing a tattered and sun-faded button up long-sleeve shirt and jeans covered in blood stains. The outfit hung loosely on its skeletal frame. The thinning hair was matted with dried blood and stuck up revealing its scalp which was so thin you could see the white of its skull protruding at the temples. I took a knee and raised my rifle to aim and Dad shoved me. I looked up and he shook his head and motioned for me to follow. He didn't want me to shoot it, I guessed because it would draw the attention of the rest and, like he had said before, no reason to waste a bullet on one as long as you can outrun it.

  As we crossed the gravel road in a jog, ducked through a hole in the fence and entered the woods, the one that had noticed us followed. I kept looking over my shoulder as we pushed through the overgrown trail to see him still following. I didn't know if he was actually getting closer or if it was my imagination but either way it made me move faster and I kept trying to push past Dad who was keeping a quick but, not quick enough for me, pace.

  "Slow down!" He whispered forcefully. "Don't tire yourself out, we've got a long way to go."

  I trusted that he knew just how fast we needed to run but fear was getting the better of me, especially now that I couldn’t see the thing following us anymore when I looked over my shoulder. We pushed through the woods for about thirty minutes, through small clearings and dense thickets, through shallow swamps and ankle-deep streams before finally crossing the first road. It was an old red gravel road that went down hill to the right and was badly washed out on one side with deep washes running across it from left to right every few hundred feet. Trees had grown up in various places making it resemble more of a broken trail than a road, the only evidence being the relative smallness of the trees and what was left of the ditches.

  We crossed it into the thick woods again and continued on for another thirty minutes before Dad stopped. He raised his hand up and gave the signal for quiet. I stood perfectly still, trying to catch my breath as quietly as possible, and listened to the woods for any sound of movement. There was nothing but the sound of the trees moving in the gentle breeze but listening was hard with the blood pumping in my ears.

  "Okay," Dad whispered. "Get your shotgun out and sling that rifle."

  We each brought plenty of fire power. He was carrying an M-4 he had found somewhere years ago and about 10 magazines of ammo, 30 rounds in each. I had a Remington 700P and a Mossberg 12guage pump, sawed off. I was wearing a backpack so full of rounds for each that by this point my shoulders and neck were killing me. The biggest problem was that although Dad could reload in two seconds or less, I only had one magazine for the Remington. It would have to be reloaded by hand if it ran out as would the shotgun.

  "Not being a wimp..." I declared, "just curious, but why am I carrying the heavy guns and you get the M-4?"

  He actually broke a grin. For the first time I felt as if we bonded. "It takes a lot of experience to take one out with the M4. That 700 is a larger caliber, softer bullet, makes a bigger hole, takes out more brain through the hole. Plus, you've got younger eyes for the real long shots and I imagine you'll be able to hit where you're aiming. And the shotgun, I want you to have the close range knock down power if we get in a bind."

  Was that pride, compassion and respect all in one sentence? I had never seen this side of the old man, didn't know how to explain it and I still don't. I just knew, I was ready to kill together!

  "Stay on my heels, stay quiet and do just as I say and we'll be home for dinner." He said then moved on through the woods northward. After seeing nothing but trees for about three hours we came to a neighborhood of sorts. The sky had cleared now and it was getting hot, which I only really noticed when we stepped out into the street and stopped, Dad scanning around; head turning slowly, eyes jumping from one point of interest to the next.

  The sunshine had weight to it, or was it just the air? I had felt dampness in the bunker, even a mugginess when it got a little warm in the hottest part of summer, but nothing like this. Sweat rolled down every part of me, dripping off even my earlobes.

  "Put that pack down for a minute and drink some water." Dad said. "We're almost there."

  The neighborhood was really just one narrow road; old gray asphalt full of poorly patched potholes, cracks running across the width of it and grass growing up through them. The houses were mostly mobile homes covered in mold and mildew, a few of them pushed off the blocks by overgrown vegetation and leaning to one side or the other. There was one cedar sided cabin type with industrial machine junk in the yard and two other brick houses of a modestly large size that looked newer and out of place. All the yards were so grown up with grass and other things that had taken root over the years that the houses were almost hidden.

  Just as I took my second gulp of water Dad said quietly but sternly, "Pick it up. Let's move."

  A small herd must've gathered on the trail behind us, picking up our scent along the way. They poured out from a field through a hole in a barbed wire fence we had crossed through moments earlier. We took off down the street just as they noticed us and started to chase. We easily kept our distance from them, running down the road then around a curve and back into the woods before they caught sight of us again.

  We walked slowly and silently for another ten minutes when I noticed a water tower up ahead through the trees, rust lines dripping down from the seams, red against white like it was bleeding. Continuing on a little further, I could see the top edge of a gray stone building then an awful smell of death hit me in the face so thick that I almost gagged instantly.

  "That's good. If we can smell them then they can't smell us." Dad whispered, covering his nose with his sleeve. "There must be a lot of them though." He said then changed direction, moving towards the water tower.

  We reached the edge of the wood line and I heard his M4 click from safe to semi-auto. There were two of them between us and the gate of the water tower fence and three more had wandered inside it. Dad gave me a nod and we stepped out of the woods, moving quickly towards the gate. Dad held his weapon up, looking down the sights. Before they could move he popped three rounds through the head of the first and two through the second without ever missing a step. Blackened blood sprayed from the exit wound with each shot then they fell limply to the ground. The three inside the fence quickly turned and scurried toward the gate. His rifle jammed and I threw the shotgun up and took a shot as the first two entered the threshold of the gate. I was only a few feet away which kept the spread tight enough that it blew half the head off the first one and made the rotten face of the second one into mush.

  I pumped the shotgun again but I had moved too fast ended up close enough to the last one for her to make a lunge at me, mouth open wide. I yanked the trigger from the hip, blowing her back and almost cutting her frail, decomposed body in two. We ran on past her as she lay there, skinny arms trying to drag the dead weight of her non-functional legs and lower torso. We reached the ladder and already I could hear the sound of a hundred shuffling and plodding feet on the eroded asphalt.

  "Go!" Dad yelled as I slung the shotgun over my unoccupied shoulder and ascended the ladder. As he followed, he explained the plan. "We need to thin them out a little or we won't make it across this parking lot."

  I climbed all the way to the top, got on the catwalk and turned around. Once again, I saw further than I ever thought was possible. I could see what I thought was the entire town. The building we were behind was as big as a football field and had a flat roof with rows of skylights, many of them busted out with trees growing up through them. In front of the building was an empty parking lot at least twice as big as the building itself. I could barely make out yellow lines that had long since faded away. Stalks of grass and weeds sprung up through a multitude of cracks a
nd potholes.

  There were some twenty or more dead walking toward us through the parking lot from around the building and another fifty or more lying motionless strewn across it. They were at varying degrees of decomposition and vultures and crows sat fearlessly picking every last bit of flesh from their bones. It appeared that Dad had done this before.

  Beyond the parking lot there were two highways intersecting, one passing over the other with a dilapidated concrete bridge. The one coming from the east crossed under and continued west through town, smaller buildings lined up down it until it faded out of sight; fast food restaurants, gas stations, office buildings.

  In the fading distance I could make out movement in the streets and between the buildings. I looked through the rifle scope and could see several dead, scattered down the boulevard and quickly shuffling in our direction.

  "What do you see?" Dad asked.

  "Dead things...coming in our direction for the next half-mile or more."

  "Okay, don't worry about those just yet. Take out as many as you can hit without wasting bullets. Just let them come into range. Don't worry about any that are on our side of the building either, I'll get those as they come up the ladder."

  I took aim and started taking them out. I could hit them consistently in the head clear across the other side of the building over the roof until they made it behind the safety of the wall. But they had to come around the corner and when they did I took them out that way. I killed 15 with less than 25 shots before Dad started shooting.

  "I'll take these, concentrate on the ones in town before they can gather into the parking lot."

  After about ten minutes and another 75 rounds I couldn't find any more targets close enough to hit and Dad said it was time to go. We climbed down the ladder, my backpack feeling a lot lighter, and hit the ground running. Among the bodies lying broken and splattered at the bottom of the ladder I noticed the one that had chased us into the woods back at the bunker.

  I told Dad and he explained that once they start chasing someone, they keep going in the last direction they saw them until they catch up or you kill them. As we ran around the building there was one standing at the automatic sliding door on the north side. It was scratching weakly at the plywood that had been fixed across it with its back to us, wearing a dark blue windbreaker with big yellow letters on the back, NYPD. There was also a utility belt around its waist, complete with a pistol, a few extra clips and a tazer. It had very little skin left on its head and in the reflection in the door I could see it had no eyes, nose, lips, or ears; just dark holes and yellowed teeth. It was little more than a skeleton, far more decomposed than any I had ever seen.

  "You missed one." Dad said.

  "He must have been standing here out of sight the whole time."

  It didn't chase us though. Just stood there scratching the glass with the bones that protruded from its fingertips.

  "Why isn't it chasing us?"

  "That thing has walked here all the way from New York. It was probably one of the first ones. Probably can't hear or see us."

  Just then, it stopped scratching and lifted its head slightly. It then turned and started slowly toward us, dragging its feet only a few inches with every step. We could have had a picnic before it covered the twenty feet and got close enough to pose a threat.

  It startled me when Dad shot it in the head, a bit of dried up bone popping out the back of its head. It fell stiffly, kind of bounced off the concrete, little pieces of dried up flesh jarring off of it like a piece of dried up wood. "I thought you said not to shoot unless they posed a threat?"

  "Or unless they have something you need."

  Dad crouched over it, worked the belt from around its waist and handed it to me. He took the rifle from me and slung it across his shoulder, leaving me with the shotgun and the 9mm in the belt then we moved on toward town. "Did you already get everything out of that store?" I asked him.

  "No, but we don't go in there." He said as he hurried away. "Made a deal with somebody a long time ago to let them have that place. They don't come out and we don't go in."

  "I didn't know there were any others."

  "Talk less, walk more." He ordered.

  We walked, but quickly. Passing through the parking lot scattered with dead bodies, I could see in more detail now how many had been killed here through the years. Their bones were strewn across the parking lot and hid in every tall patch of grass that grew from between the cracks in the asphalt. Some were intact but most were scattered and mixed with the bones of others, probably relocated by dogs or other small scavengers. Pieces of material from the old clothes hung from some of them and littered the ground, dry-rotted, torn and blown by the wind.

  The actual number of bodies that had come to rest here could only be determined by counting the skulls and we didn't have time for that. At the far end of the lot, past a few cars whose paint had faded and windows were glazed over with years of dirt, there was a small gas station. Immediately past the curb was a marsh with high grass standing four feet out of the water. We crossed it, the water up to our knees at the deepest point then made it out onto the highway and started walking into town.

  The trip was uneventful for the most part, and quiet. We walked right down the middle of the highway until it ended next to an old fast food joint then turned right. I was pleased but also worried that we hadn't seen any dead till now, except for the bones that were in the ditches and in the middle of the road. They were mostly lying face down and most of them were missing one appendage or more. On the ground beneath, and partially hanging from, every skeleton was what was left of their clothes, mostly destroyed by the sun and weather.

  Walking through downtown, with the buildings pushed so close together, there was less of a breeze and the sun beat down on us from directly above. I kept catching a whiff now and then of something dead.

  Following Dad, I really didn't know where we were going or how far and I was afraid to ask because I knew we had to be as quiet as possible in this closed in environment to keep from drawing any unwanted attention from anything that could be hiding around the corners or behind or inside the darkened storefronts. Most of the windows were broken out whether they had been boarded up or not but I could still only see a few feet inside because of the glare out in the middle of the street.

  We crossed a long two lane bridge over a thickly wooded creek bottom, passed several businesses and finally, reached another major intersection with the burned wreckage of several cars. Just as Mom had said, there was the Cadillac, the four-wheel drive and the others. There was a gas station on the right and a large chain pharmacy store on the left. Across the four lane highway ahead of us was a burger joint on the left and a large parking lot on the right. Some two-hundred feet off the road was a grocery store/strip mall sitting at an angle so that it faced the intersection.

  Dad walked to the right, with his M4 drawn up to his shoulder, towards the gas station's broken windows. Standing behind him in the parking lot and looking into the store, I could only see the first couple of aisles and the checkout counter. Inside was so dark that I couldn't make out the distance to the back wall. We entered through one of the windows and as my eyes adjusted I could see that the back wall of the store was only about twenty feet from the front door, not a very big store. We checked the aisles looking for dead and found none. So intent on securing the area, we didn't even notice that there was nothing on the shelves until we had checked even the walk in cooler in back. It was when Dad walked out of the cooler that he noticed everything was gone.

  He grabbed a box off the shelf and threw it down, then two more before sweeping the entire shelf clean with his arm sending empty boxes flying. "Someone's been here. This place was full a month ago." He said holding back anger.

  There was a crash at the front door and I turned to see a two dead men crawling over each other through one of the broken windows, one inside the door and too many to count outside. They came clumsily but fast. Dad instinctively started
pushing over the shelves and racks to create an obstacle, "Shoot them!" He yelled.

  I threw the shotgun up and started firing, aiming for their heads. Their heads exploded out the back, catching the full load at such a short distance, and they fell fast, but the six shells were gone too quickly. Dad started firing as I tried to reload with fumbling fingers.

  "Use the pistol!" He shouted as it was taking him two, sometimes three shots to take them down with the M4.

  I fired the three shots I had gotten loaded into the shotgun then threw it down then drew the pistol and began firing. It worked better than the M4, but not as good as the shotgun and the mob of the dead kept getting closer, stepping and crawling over each other like a wave.

  One fell right at my feet and grabbed my ankle before dad put the barrel to the back of his head and got him. The back splatter hit my hand and Dad grabbed me by the shirt and yanked me back.

  "Get in the cooler..." He fired a long burst into the crowd. "and wipe that shit off!" He yelled and we scrambled back and around the corner, me wiping my hand on my pants.

  There were several stacks of soda bottles still in the cooler, never having been opened and as the door closed behind us I shoved one of the shorter stacks in front of it. I grabbed a couple more cases as the cooler door was being pulled open and Dad popped off a couple of rounds, dropping the intruder. As I put the last case on top of the stack, another one opened the door again and almost pushed it over onto us. Dad caught it and pushed back against it, several dead and rotting hands reaching around the stack. Holding it with his back, he reloaded the M4 and switched it to three round burst. He held it out around the stack and started firing blindly. While Dad kept them pushed back, I kept stacking cases of sodas and beer until I had a wall built that they couldn't push over.

  "What now?" I asked.

  Dad looked out through the sliding racks and through the glass doors at all the dead still filling into the store. They were packed tightly into the little hallway leading to the cooler door and those coming in were piling up behind them. They were compressing themselves into the store like fans on the front few rows of a rock concert, all trying to be the first at the door.