six feet long and six inches deep. At six inches deep I hit the hard pan. I took a break from my work to forage for weeds and to search for crickets. After lunch I tested out the hole. Six inches isn’t very deep, but it’s immense when you’ve only had 24 inches of headroom for several days. The added height was great, but I found that the rough edges of the hardpan would make sleeping difficult.
I thought for a while about putting a layer of dirt back in the hole to smooth over the hard edges, but then notice the insulation lying around that I had pulled down earlier. They were soft, cushiony and would itch like crazy if I lay right on top of them. I pulled them into the hole anyway and used the shovel to cut off the extra length. Then I folded the thick plastic floor liner over the top of the insulation. I rolled on top the mattress and found it to be cushiony and smooth.
If a little cushion was good, then a lot would be better. I tried something different with the insulation. I pulled the plastic back again and removed the first course of insulation I had laid down. I laid the plastic into the hole. On top of that I added the original layer of insulation plus two more layers. I folded the plastic liner over the top of those layers and tucked it underneath the other side. It had become slightly higher than the crawl space floor, but when I laid on it, it sank down a few inches. It was soft and comfortable.
It was still daylight so I started digging into the exposed dirt next to my bed. I quickly reached the layer of hard pan again. Instead of stopping, I went to work chipping into the hardpan with the pick. The pick made loud whacks and thuds as I hammered against the ground. I worried that it would attract the zombies above me, but they didn’t take interest.
I kept at it for several days. I had to rest often since food was scarce again. There were fewer weeds to pick, or bugs to snatch outside of the vents. I was still fat though, so there were plenty of calories to burn, I just had to rest every ten minutes.
The piles of dirt under the crawl space entrances completely blocked then entrances, so that I felt much safer. I was no longer about the zombies discovering the entrance and pouring into the crawlspace. There was also a lot of dirt piling up at the edges and in the corners.
Every once in a while I would look outside. I was starting to worry because I hadn’t seen or heard any signs of rescue. Barry’s wife was still rotting away on my front lawn. The window of Barry’s truck had turned opaque from humidity, his body rotting keeping the inside of the locked vehicle moist. There was also a thick layer of flies buzzing inside. I had second thoughts about acquiring Barry’s truck after I was rescued.
Time passed. I was sitting comfortably in my hole chipping away at the hardpan when the pick sank into the earth instead of rebounding against the rock hard surface of the hardpan. I pulled the pick back and reached down. Instead of the sharp chips of hardpan, I felt the soft grit of a fine, moist sand.
Within an hour I had dug down more and continued to expand an opening in the hard-pan to the soft sand below. I had a shoulder width hole that had dropped another two feet down. Even though I was exhausted I continued digging until night descended and there was no more daylight to see by. Finally I finished for the night, able to could stand upright in the hole.
I crawled out of the hole and into my blankets. I immediately fell asleep.
I woke up the next morning, sore but refreshed. My newly assembled bed definitely helped. I spent the first part of the morning looking for food through the window vents. The dandelions had sent up a set of fresh buds that complimented several plump crickets, a fat grasshopper and two healthy earthworms. I pulled up a chicory weed and chewed on the root, its bitter flavor similar to a cup of coffee.
As the day grew brighter outside I returned to digging, going further down and expanding outward. The hardpan made a solid roof and I found my hole was becoming a small room. I began to think about the implications of my work, of being able to dig so quickly in the soft sand with a stable roof. If the ground was consistently soft throughout the neighborhood, I could easily move from crawlspace to crawlspace. Once underneath another home, I could sneak upstairs and scavenge for food. If I was lucky I might find some weapons and a vehicle to flee away in.
I spent the rest of the day digging my hole. When it was too dark to see that night, I slept.
In the morning I abandoned my hole. It was on the side of my house that was closest to Barry’s home. I worried that if I broke in to his home, I would find the rest of his family ambling around inside, dead like zombies, and waiting for me to foolishly pop up like Sunday dinner. I moved to the opposite side of my house and began a new hole. The time I started right next to a vent to get the maximum light for my efforts. Those neighbors on the other side had left several days before my own wife had left me. Their home was locked tight and without living people inside to draw zombies, it was probably still locked tight and relatively safe.
I spent the day drilling through the hard pan. It was at least two feet thick and took half of the morning before I finally broke through. My efforts this time focused on tunneling; only expanding the tunnel enough to give myself room to work as I went down and out. As I moved west towards the neighbor’s home, I estimated distance based on own body length. The distance between the homes was twelve feet, so I measured three lengths of my short five and a half foot length to be certain I fully crossed the gap.
It was dark outside when I had crossed the distance. Even though I had been working blind in cramped and humid conditions underground, I was certain my aim was straight and my length correct. I left the job of breaking upward through the hard pan for the next morning and returned to my bed.
The job of breaking through the hard pan proved to be exhausting and I took many breaks throughout the day. I considered myself lucky that the tunnel was pitch black, even at midday. It meant that I was already used to working by feel and kept my eyes closed while hard chips flew into my face with each strike of the pick. It took me all day, but eventually I busted though to the crawlspace above. I spent another hour expanding the hole and used the very sharp pick to slice open the plastic lining the floor above. Contrary to my expectations, the action of the swinging the pick and shovel against the hardpan created a very sharp edge on the tools, a wickedly sharp edge.
I waited until dawn broke before beginning my exploration the neighbor’s home. After passing through the pitch black tunnel I emerged into my neighbor’s crawlspace. The light was much more subdued in the new crawlspace than in my own crawlspace since the vents were still covered with insulation.
I had no idea where my neighbor’s crawlspace entrances were located since their home had a different floor plan. I began to look along the edges of the crawlspace to find the door, scooting along the floor and pushing up with the pick to probe for an opening. After a quick minute of searching I pushed up into a section that gave a little.
Carefully I probed the area to get the dimensions of the trap door and then slowly pushed upwards. There was no hurry in my actions as I sought to avoid creating an incident like I had before in my own home. I lifted the trap door up all the way up and set it against the wall. The sliver of light passing underneath the closet doors was enough that I could see clearly after the darkness of the crawlspace. I stood up and took a breath of clean and fresh air, devoid of earthen odors and the dense humidity of the crawlspace.
I pulled myself out of the hole, and then slowly opened the closet door as if I had all week to accomplish the task. The kitchen was revealed in detail as the door slowly swung open.
I stepped out of the closet with the pick held ready to strike anything that moved. Slowly I worked my way through the home making sure it was clear of the living, the dead, and the living dead. A layer of dust had settled onto all of the surfaces. From the kitchen I made my way into the living room and checked the front door. Both the latch and dead-bolt were securely locked. The blinds were closed in the living room and I took a moment to peak outside. At my ow
n home next door the amount of zombies loitering in the front yard had grown. I counted ten stumbling or swaying on my overgrown the lawn. They were only a feet away from where I stood at my neighbor’s window. I set the blinds back quietly and moved on.
I made my way to the stairs and crept up to the second floor. There was no one home. It would have been easy to assume that the neighbors would come home soon, if there hadn’t been signs of a hasty departure. Dresser drawer were pulled open and left hanging. Closet doors were left open. Frivolous and unnecessary articles of clothing were left scattered upon the beds and floor.
I made my way back downstairs and checked on the garage. Both of their cars were gone. The overhead garage door was closed. I closed the door to the garage and returned to the kitchen.
I began check the cupboards in the kitchen. They were mostly bare with the exception of spices and bottles of condiments. The fridge was better. Inside I found a wealth of ‘need to be refrigerated’ foods that were still being kept cool, thanks to the electricity still working. I began going through the tubs, bottles and boxes of cold food kept on the
Zombie Apocalypse Survivor: The Crawlspace Of Daryl Ingram Page 4
