by Clark, W. E.
“Daddy! Why didn’t you help me, Daddy? I needed you, Daddy. Where were you?”
As she speaks I can see her teeth stained with the blood of others that she has inflicted the same fate upon. Blood slowly drips from the corners of her mouth streaming down her face and forming a pool at her feet. I place my hands over my face and begin to sob. Hot, salty tears burn into my skin. I feel a hand on my shoulder that startles me and Charlie whispers into my ear.
“It’s okay. You kept quiet. They didn’t come for you.”
I look up from my hands at Charlie and he is one of those creatures. He tightens his grip on my shoulder and shows his teeth and lunges at my exposed neck.
I am jolted awake at this point, usually sweating and full of fear. The same nightmare over and over again. I will never find relief from the guilt of my cowardice. I realize that their deaths and blood are on my hands. If only Charlie and I had done more in the beginning. We weren’t prepared for what we were up against.
That first morning Charlie and I sat at my front window for a long time. We both said very little. What could we say? I did get Charlie to talk about what happened before he arrived at my house. Charlie’s apartment complex is roughly about a half a mile from my house. He was woken from a dead sleep a little after midnight by loud bangs and then screams.
He was still groggy from waking up when he opened his front door into the hallway of his building. He said it looked like a third world slaughter house; only, they slaughtered humans instead of animals. Blood, body parts, and other “gross” items littered the hallway. Two police officers entered the hallway from the stairwell, guns drawn. He recognized one of the cops and grabbed his attention. According to Charlie, the officer never broke eye contact down the hallway and told him to grab any guns that he had and either fortify his front door or leave right now. He strongly recommended that Charlie leave. “Grab your shit and get the fuck outta here!” was the exact quote if Charlie is to be believed.
He grabbed his .22 pistol that he kept by his bed, a box of shells, and he was on his way. When he got into the stairwell, he heard the cops yell at someone and then heard gunfire. When he reached the parking lot of his building, it was overrun. The zombies, yeah that is what they are, had totally blocked any route to his truck. So, in his slippers, pajamas, armed with a .22 pistol and about a half of a box of shells, he ran to my house.
It was a fairly uneventful trip until he got to my street and saw the mob outside. He worked his way into one of my neighbors’ backyard and made his way towards my house. After climbing a few fences and going through a couple of different backyards, he ended up at my back door. So we sat at my kitchen table on a Tuesday morning, drinking Irish Coffees while our little town crumbled around us.
We both knew it would only be a matter of time before they noticed us. They seemed to be drawn by sound and were simply a disorganized “pack” until they saw someone to attack. We decided to make a run to my car in the driveway and try to get as far away from here as possible. I had two hunting rifles and a 12-gauge shotgun that we brought with us, along with Charlie’s .22. The plan was to try and sneak as quietly as possible to the car and then haul ass once we got in. Charlie would have to clear that path with the shotgun if things went south. I would be right behind him to unlock the car doors and get us the hell out of there. We had no idea where we were going. We just knew we needed to get out of there.
Charlie and I exited the front door and tried to get to the car unnoticed. As we stepped off the front porch, Charlie brushed up against a wind chime. He tried to grab it before it made too much noise, but that only made it worse. We were now the center of attention. The moans began and Charlie started blasting away at the closest zombies with the shotgun. As we got closer to the car, Charlie got a little wild with his shots and shot out the driver’s side tires. He turned around and kind of shrugged his shoulders.
“What are we going to do?” I asked Charlie.
No answer as he fired another round out of the shotgun.
“Charlie! What are we going to do?” I yelled.
To his credit, Charlie was quick on his feet. “Your neighbor, Vivian. We’ll take her car!”
I remembered that she had dropped her keys and never really had a chance to pick them back up.
“Follow me!” Charlie yelled.
We both sprinted through my side yard and ended up in Vivian’s driveway. Charlie told me he would hold them off while I found the keys. I would have rather held them off. When I turned the corner of the car, I immediately doubled over and threw up. Vivian was lying beside the car, half eaten and trying to drag her nearly defeated body towards me. Every time she moved, a blackish pus-like substance stained the concrete behind her. I doubled over and vomited again. I saw the keys behind Vivian and went around her to grab them. I unlocked the car—a Honda Fit--started the engine as Charlie jumped in, and we were on our way.
It didn’t take long for us to figure out that rest of the town was no better off than we were. No place was untouched. As we passed Washington Park, we saw a mother running with a young infant. I stopped the car and Charlie jumped out, yelling for her to run and jump in. When she was about twenty feet from the car, she was tackled by a zombie. She tried to shield the infant from the attack, but a second zombie approached and ripped the infant from her arms.
Charlie yelled and started firing the shotgun as the infant was nearly ripped in half from a ferocious bite. I will never forget that image. It looked like a monster from a horror movie with a toy doll broken in half with blood everywhere. The monster’s head exploded from a shotgun blast by Charlie. I yelled at Charlie to get back in the car. He jumped back in and I slammed the car into drive.
After about half a block, Charlie looked over at me with tears streaming down his face. “That thing killed that baby! Ripped him right in half. Henry, I am sorry. I can’t do this.”
I turned to look at him as he placed the .22 to his temple and pulled the trigger. Before I could even scream, it was over. I slammed on the brakes and the car ground to a skidding halt while Charlie slumped against the passenger window. I sat there for a few minutes in complete shock.
I was alone.
I was startled by a soft rap on the window. I looked up and saw an old man talking, but realized that I couldn’t hear him because my ears were still ringing from Charlie’s gunshot in the car. He kept looking nervously down the street and was becoming more animated. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw what was causing his anxiety. The street was thick with those things and they were heading our way.
I jumped out of the car, and the old man motioned for me to follow him. We went inside the retirement complex that I had apparently stopped in front of. Once we got inside and shut the door, the smell hit me. I scanned the room, and it was a house of horrors. The power was out and the only light entered the room came from the upper windows. It gave the room an eerie orange-yellow tint. I contemplated running back outside and joining Charlie. Bodies were everywhere. Some had heads, some didn’t. Blood and bodily fluids coated the walls. Whatever had happened here ended in a complete bloodbath. I felt myself losing focus, and the room began to spin. So much pain and suffering. So many dead people. The old man grabbed my shoulder.
“This way, son,” he said in a gentle voice.
His voice and mannerisms had a soothing quality to them and I followed him down a darkened hallway. We went up the staircase and ended up on the top floor in an executive office overlooking the street. When we entered the room we were greeted by two women, one older and one younger.
The old man closed the large wooden door to the office and extended his hand to meet mine. “Hi, I’m Hal. This is my wife Kate and our daughter Shawna.”
I shook his hand and spoke. “My name is Henry. Nice to meet y’all. Wish it were under better circumstances.”
I asked Hal about downstairs and if there were any more people in the building. Shawna spoke up. She was in her early thirties and, even covered in
grime and blood, was very attractive with bright blue eyes. She was visiting her parents last night when the alarm went off in the building and all the residents were told to go to their rooms and not open the door for anyone. They all sat in her parents’ condo not sure what was happening. They started hearing screams and then gunshots. A lot of gunshots.
Her parent’s condo overlooked the courtyard and they watched as heavily armed soldiers swarmed down below. They heard a lot of automatic gunfire and moaning, from what they assumed were people that had been shot. They watched a group of residents from the building tackle an orderly and rip him apart. Eventually, they figured out that the moaning was not coming from the wounded that were shot but people walking around.
They left the condo and headed up to the office that we were in because they thought it was safer. They thought the soldiers were there to save everyone, but it turned into a mass extermination. They killed everyone in the building. They only survived by hiding behind boxes in the medical supply room on this floor. They were still up in the office when they saw me slam on the brakes in the middle of the road.
The three of them asked me my story and I gave them the Cliff Notes version. I told them about Charlie arriving at my back door this morning and our escape from my neighborhood. I left out the part about the zombie and the infant. I told them about Charlie and why I stopped so abruptly. Tears came easily as I told them about Charlie. If only he had made it to the building with me.
One minute more, Charlie. You couldn’t hold on for one more minute? Instead I am here, alone.
We took a few minutes to assess the situation as we overlooked the street from the large window in the executive office. A large crowd was gathering at the front door to the complex. They looked pissed and…well…dead. The front door was solid and would hold out for a while but wouldn’t last forever. The crowd downstairs was growing larger by the minute.
Being that this was a full-service retirement facility, we had plenty of food, water, and medical supplies. The downside to that was that we didn’t have any real weapons. I had left the hunting rifles in the car in my hurried escape earlier and they didn’t allow the residents of the building to own guns; although I was sure that some of them did. The problem would be finding them. Our immediate problem was the gathering mass of people at the front door. Hal and I went downstairs to try and fortify the front door as best we could while Shawna and his wife started to look for anything that could be useful as a weapon.
Once we got downstairs, we placed two heavy couches and a large wooden desk in front of the door. It would hold for now, but I wasn’t sure for how long. The crowd outside continued to multiply in size. We went back upstairs to check on Kate and Shawna’s progress. They’d found an axe and a set of custom golf clubs hidden in one of the utility closets. It was apparent to all of us that we were in real trouble.
The next week was actually uneventful. We played cards, checked all the residents’ old rooms for supplies, and basically just passed the time. We moved two beds up into the office and I slept on the couch. We all felt that the office afforded the most security if the front door gave out.
The crowd downstairs was only getting larger. We started brainstorming for a way to try and thin it out a bit. Eventually we decided on dropping heavy items from the roof. It worked well enough in the beginning, but by the second day, it seemed to only be attracting more of them. We slowly realized that no one was coming to rescue us. There were no planes, no cars on the street, and no sounds of gunfire in the distance. Only the moans from the undead.
Shawna found an old AM/FM radio that was battery powered. We scanned both bands and only found static. I was sure that we would at least find a station that was running a pre-recorded Emergency Broadcasting Message. It was disheartening to say the least. We all just waited. It was unspoken that we were just waiting to die.
One morning I woke up to the sounds yelling and screaming on the street. I hurried to the front window and yelled for the others to wake up. It was then that I realized that I was alone. I scanned the street and saw Hal, Kate, and Shawna cornered by the mob and trying to fight their way to the other side of the street where Shawna’s car had been parked. I wish I could say that I saw them make it. I wish I could say that they died peacefully and didn’t suffer. They died horrible painful deaths. I still hear their cries ringing in my ears when I try to sleep at night. I watched as they were ripped limb from limb by the hungry mob below. Hal never let go of Kate’s hand even as they were both mutilated and torn apart. They never even made it to the curb. They didn’t leave a note or anything, but I am sure that they just wanted this to be over. They had survived as a family and they died as a family. That is something I guess.
I spent the next few hours in a daze. The mob still gathered at the front door and only increased in numbers. I started trying to thin them out again by dropping bricks and office furniture (that I lugged to the roof alone now) on them. If anything, my actions had the reverse effect. More and more just keep showing up.
I have been keeping track of the days with an office calendar, and today is the two-week mark since they all left me. I haven’t spoken to or seen another living person since that day. The mob at the front door still grows larger. Sleep has not been easy, and I can feel my sanity slipping away. I am exhausted, tired, and just want this to be over. As far as I know, no place is safe or immune from these creatures.
This is going to be my last and only entry in this journal. I am going to leave the relative safety of this building in the morning, and I will not be coming back. I am going to go as far north as I can. If anyone else is still alive, they would have headed north. I know in my heart that this is a suicide mission. There is no one else. I have come to peace with the fact that I am going to die alone. At least it will be over. The only hope I have is that I can die quickly. I will not become one of those things.
If anyone reads this, hold on to your loved ones. They truly are your only source of happiness in this world. To my ex-wife and daughter, I love you. I am sorry that I could not protect you. I will carry that guilt with me for however long I have left to roam this planet. I will always love you more than you will ever know.
If there is an afterlife, I hope Charlie has a shot of whiskey ready for me; I am going to need it.
Kenny
Kenny squinted through the Arizona heat at the house number. It was hard for him to grasp that anyone would willingly choose to live in such heat. He smirked at the memory of the same line that anyone from the desert would repeat, as if it was a mantra drilled into their collective heads, when he would ask about the heat.
“It’s a dry heat, Kenny.”
As he adjusted his black leather jacket and felt the sweat roll down his body, soaking his undershirt, Kenny just shook his head.
Dry heat my ass.
It was hot, real hot, and he wanted to get this over with. He wanted to keep his promise to his mother, and most of all, he wanted closure. He stared at the house through the steam rising off the black asphalt. The home had seen better days. The cracked and weather baked numbers read “4831” on the old, rusted metal mailbox. This was the place.
The feeling of finally being at this place, and the enormity of the moment, threatened to overtake his emotions. He took off his Chicago Cubs baseball hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He glanced at the hat in his hand he looked at the big red C. The logo, once bright and vibrant, had been dulled and faded on his long journey from San Francisco to 4831 Shane Drive, Kingman, Arizona.
For the first time, he noticed the white, salt-stained ring around the sides and back of the hat. He smiled at the rough usage that the hat had received. Kenny rubbed his face and felt the rough, three-week beard growth, letting out an audible sigh. He lamented not being able to take a hot shower or shave.
He looked at the hat once more before placing it back on his head. The memories poured to the forefront of his mind.
Joey and Brennan had come into the market and
handed him the hat. Brennan was always so confident every March that this was the year his beloved Cubs would finally break the curse and win the World Series. Joey was always quite sure that the opposite would happen and the Cubs would lose in the most gut-wrenching way possible. Of course, by the middle of June in most years, reality set in; the Cubs seemed to be destined to be lovable losers forever. Still, it was the enthusiasm every March that always amazed Kenny.
The effect the Cubs and springtime had on Brennan every year was a miraculous thing to behold. He was always so full of hope and promise. It really was infectious. Brennan swore, just like every year, that this March was different from all the previous ones that had him so full of hope. Kenny just sort of went along with it as he dutifully wore the hat that Brennan had just given him. Brennan wanted Kenny to have the hat before the season so that he couldn’t be called a bandwagoner once the Cubs won it all.
Baseball seemed trivial now, but he was sure that, somewhere, Brennan was still hoping for a season this year. If he was alive. The thought was sobering to Kenny, but he knew that Brennan had to be alive.
He laughed to himself and smiled. Brennan had been right about one thing, though. This March had been different. The dead rose up…and then the end of the world happened.
Kenny sucked in a hard breath and removed an old, faded envelope from his front pocket and chewed over the return address. The smile that he was sporting from memories of his friends transformed into a scowl. He knew this was the place and didn’t want to delay the inevitable. He hurriedly shoved the envelope back into his pocket and started towards the front door.
Kenny wanted to get this over with quickly; fulfilling his last promise to his dying mother before his emotions could get the best of him. Halfway up the driveway, Kenny paused and then froze in place. The front door was wide open and a big red ‘X’ encased in a circle had been painted on the door. He knew what it meant; the army or FEMA or whoever thought they were in charge now had been by here and found no one living or brought back from the dead inside. The hot wind whipped at his face and stung his eyes as he peered up and down the desolate street.
