The Undead Chronicles (Book 1): Home and Back Again

by O'Brian, Patrick J.

  Everyone in the group, including Sutton, looked in shock at the cabin briefly before their attention fell to the unavoidable carnage in the lake, entirely out of place in the otherwise natural setting. Not even a hundred yards away from the shore, with its front end submerged below the surface of the water like a Styrofoam airplane thrown and lodged halfway into the sand by a child, a jetliner looked more like a museum piece on display than a tragic accident. Metzger recognized the logo on the gigantic passenger jet, figuring this happened soon after the world transformed.

  He found it odd that the nose of the jet, buried underwater, presumably in sand and silt, didn’t succumb to the weight of the jet, allowing for the remainder of the aircraft to fall to a horizontal position. Even then the aircraft likely would have stuck out of the water in part, keeping it visible. Damage to the jet was easily visible with stress fractures, a few parts of the metal singed by flames, and the rear access hatch open as though some passengers survived and made their way to land.

  Metzger took a step forward, finding Sutton completely stunned, his plans of meeting up with his two sons completely shattered and lying in ruins.

  “They wouldn’t have gotten here yet,” Metzger said calmly to the man.

  “And now they have nothing to come to,” Sutton said in an unusually tranquil manner.

  Making matters worse, the group spotted the undead floating along the water in various spots. A few were close to land, and another three were stumbling towards the arriving vehicles and the noise they made during their approach. They all appeared as though they were dressed for business, meaning they once occupied seats in the jet. Metzger wondered if the front hatch was somehow opened, or the windshields of the jet shattered, allowing any unbuckled undead to float out of the aircraft to wherever the current took them.

  He briefly questioned how they died, and why they turned, but didn’t have time to search for answers as he reached into the truck, drawing his short sword. All three zombies remained at various distances, so Metzger held up a foreboding hand to the others before stepping forward. He sliced the skulls of the first two in half before moving toward the third undead, a businessman wearing the remains of a shredded sport coat and blue tie atop a heavily soiled white shirt. Before Metzger could use his sword, however, a shot rang out and the zombie crumbled to the ground only a few feet from him.

  Before he even turned around, he knew Sutton had used whatever firearm he drew from his side. Though he understood the man’s frustration and utter sadness at finding his safe haven destroyed, Metzger couldn’t bear much more of Sutton putting everyone else in danger. His loose cannon actions had gotten him severely injured, and twice now he had thoughtlessly put everyone else behind him in the pecking order.

  Saying nothing, Metzger shot him an angry stare as though to ask Sutton if he was through being irresponsible. Instead of pursuing an angered path that would simply waste time and keep them in danger longer, he approached Sutton.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I need to check the cabin,” Sutton said gravely, indicating he might not like the end result.

  Every member of the group stepped forward, prepared to help with the search, and to gain a closer look at the spectacle dangerously close to the shore. A small wooden pier in the water was a short walk down a slight hill from the cabin’s remains. No boat was secured to the pier, but several boat wrecks were now visible in the water to either side of the jet, as though people were foolhardy enough to attempt boarding the aircraft, or collided with it during the blackness of night.

  Metzger followed Sutton up to the cabin’s front landing, stopping short of entering. The man walked inside, beginning to search the rubble for any surviving items, or human remains. Metzger stepped toward the pier, wondering if the water was contaminated, if the fish were safe to eat, and what goodies remained aboard the plane. He wasn’t about to chance a swim, or look for a boat, because more pressing matters awaited him further south.

  A few zombies near the pier clumsily attempted to drag themselves ashore, but their lack of motor skills kept them from climbing while downgraded brainpower prevented them from discovering an alternative route. They grumbled and growled upon seeing living people on the shore, and Metzger simply stared back at their yellowed eyes, wondering how they arrived in rural Virginia beyond the obvious conclusion.

  One jet in the lake didn’t explain so many undead wandering through the woods, and the private campgrounds certainly wouldn’t have attracted so many living or dead. He hated to imagine a conspiracy, but perhaps the plane was rigged with the same toxins that blew up within numerous factories and infected people. Some might have survived the initial wave, gotten sick, and turned later on, but many other explanations existed.

  When a few straggler undead emerged from the woods, Jillian and Vazquez dealt with them quietly while Sutton finished conducting his search of the ruins. He walked to the edge with an unsettled, perplexed expression, looking to the front landing before locking eyes with Metzger.

  “No remains,” he reported evenly.

  “That’s good,” Metzger said. “Morbid, but good.”

  Sutton looked to both sides as though he were lost. Not lost in a directional sense, but rather in life, as though he didn’t know where to go from here.

  He stared out to the lake, eyeballing the downed jet as though the same questions Metzger silently asked finally entered his mind. Still weakened from the beating and the likely concussion that accompanied it, Sutton shook his head, trying to regroup. It appeared to take every ounce of strength for him to stand, much less walk around and carry out a search.

  “You shouldn’t be up,” Metzger said with concern.

  “What should I be doing?”

  “You should be making assurances that your boys can find you.”

  Sutton looked at him with a furrowed eyebrow.

  “Staying here doesn’t solve a thing,” Metzger said. “Leave them a note here, and one at the entrance, letting them know you’ve headed to the Navy base in Norfolk with a group of good people.”

  “You’re making some assumptions, aren’t you?”

  “That you’ll make the trip to Norfolk?”

  “No, that I consider you good people,” Sutton said, letting a grin slip. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass.”

  “I know exactly what you’re going through. And while I’d like for you to come with us, I don’t want you doing crazy shit that’s going to endanger the rest of us.”

  Sutton appeared torn about the decisions before him, and his recent mistakes.

  “I should wait for the boys here,” he finally said.

  “Sleeping in a burned out hull of a cabin, fighting off the undead on an hourly basis, and hoping your boys make it here in one piece? If they can make it here, Colby, they can make it to the base. And don’t give me your bullshit about not trusting the government. We’re running out of options.”

  Openly pondering his immediate future, Sutton looked at the box truck before his eyes shifted to the destruction surrounding him. Wisps of smoke occasionally plumed upward from the cabin’s remains, indicating the fire may have been more recent than the aircraft’s plummet from the sky. Survivors could have set fire to the place for warmth, or to distract the undead while they made an escape into the woods. It seemed highly unlikely Sutton’s sons ever made it to the camp, and if they had, they likely weren’t coming back.

  “I hate to break up this little lover’s quarrel,” Gracine said as she approached them with Buster at her side, “but we need to make a decision before every maggot farm in the water decides to come visit us.”

  Sutton smirked.

  “She keeps stealing my nicknames for them.”

  All three stood silently a moment until Metzger spoke again.

  “Look, when we get to Norfolk we can hide your truck before proceeding to the base. The way things sound, we may not be staying there long anyway. My brother said something about soldiers getting deploy
ed for missions inland.” Sutton formed a face that indicated he was about to say something against the men and women in uniform, but Metzger held up a foreboding finger. “Before you say they’re being issued flamethrowers to light up women and newborns, let me assure you my brother isn’t that kind of person, and he isn’t going to continue to work for the government if they ask him to harm innocents.”

  “Can you guarantee he’ll tell you the truth, no matter what his superiors tell him to say?”

  “I’m confident Bryce would never lie to me, and he’s not going to put any of us in danger. If he feels the government has lost its way, he’ll come with us and we can leave the base in our rearview.”

  Sutton pondered the situation momentarily, and the remainder of the group joined them around the vehicles. Buster remained on the edge of their uneven circle, watchful with all of his senses for the undead.

  “Okay,” Sutton agreed. “But we need to make a few signs in case my boys make it here.”

  “Deal,” Metzger said with a nod.

  ***

  Before leaving, the group placed several signs comprised of paint and wood planks or poster boards outside of the cabin, and at the camp entrance. They addressed both sons by first name, telling them the camp wasn’t safe and to head to the Norfolk military base. It was agreed that few random people would come across the signs in such an obscure location, so the group members didn’t feel in danger of being followed.

  Metzger couldn’t get the image of the downed aircraft out of his mind, even as the vehicles returned to the highway. He wanted to make better time, though he suspected the closer they got to the military installation, the worse the traffic would be. Many people trusted first responders and the military when things turned bad, but a base was still a secure facility, unable to take in civilians.

  Soldiers surely put their own families first, and bases weren’t equipped to handle additional people when food and supplies were delivered almost daily before the world fell apart. The military ran like clockwork under normal conditions because deliveries were scheduled and arrived in timely fashion, orders were given and carried out, and soldiers trusted that they were protecting something greater than themselves. With communications mostly wiped out, vehicles gridlocking traffic virtually everywhere, and a majority of the world’s population wiped out, who knew how well the hierarchy of the military branches held together?

  “Do you think his sons are dead?” Jillian asked once they were on the highway for about ten minutes.

  Metzger followed the box truck, which barely navigated around a few stopped vehicles, close to tipping over into the center median that was more like a trench.

  “It’s quite possible,” Metzger answered. “I know from experience that traveling across state lines isn’t easy. There’s danger around every corner.”

  “If they learned anything from him about guns and survival, I’d say they have a chance.”

  “Agreed. And if we don’t find a sign of them soon, we might lose Colby. He’s not going to stick with us if he thinks there’s a chance to find them back at the camp.”

  Metzger continued driving as the highway’s roadblocks thinned in number and the vehicles were able to make better time. Congestion always seemed worst around towns, cities, and exits. The undead were more evenly spread out, as they were virtually always mobile, shuffling from one location to the next in search of living prey.

  Thinking they were making good time, Metzger had just grown accustomed to keeping a fairly decent clip of speed once they passed a slightly clustered exit. He took a few seconds to glance out his side window, catching a most peculiar sight along the opposite side of the highway. Glancing back to the road for just a second, he found the box truck’s brakes being tapped and the truck coming to a very sudden stop as Gracine or Sutton had obviously noticed the strange occurrence as well.

  “What is it?” Jillian asked as the truck behind them nearly collided with their rear bumper.

  As what could only be termed a herd of staggering undead made their way in the same direction the group was heading, a lone individual stood in the middle of the pack, staring directly at the three vehicles. Paying no mind to the hazardous undead around him, he stood with his arms at his side, making no secret that he was observing their actions while standing perfectly still. Stranger yet, the undead passed him without giving him a second thought, occasionally blocking their view of him and vice versa. Jillian leaned forward for a better look, locked onto the same bizarre phenomenon that had the rest of the group questioning how such a thing was possible.

  Something about the man looked odd, and the distance made it difficult to tell exactly what, but Metzger thought it looked as though the man was wearing a Halloween mask depicting an old man’s wrinkled face. He squinted, trying to make out details when a horrible realization reached his mind.

  “Holy fuck,” he muttered. “That’s no mask.”

  Twenty-Three

  Metzger stepped from the vehicle around the same time as everyone else in the group. They all wanted a closer look at the stoic stranger standing across the median in the center of the opposite highway. Upon closer examination it appeared as though the man not only wore a mask consisting of flesh, but it might have been adhered to his neck and arms. He wore dark pants of some kind and a shirt that might have been white or an eggshell color at one time, but stains had taken their toll. Metzger noticed stains along his clothing that looked like blood, along with a few lighter flaky patches that might have also been flesh attached to the cloth. Strangely enough, chunks of animal fur and raw pelts appeared fastened to the clothing as well.

  It wasn’t until Vazquez started to take a step forward that the stranger finally turned and walked casually in the opposite direction.

  Still the undead paid him no mind, even though he didn’t walk or act anything like they did.

  “Well that was fucking weird,” Sutton commented.

  “Agreed,” Gracine said, still staring across the highway as though she entertained thoughts of following him to discern his immunity to the undead.

  “Was he wearing a mask?” Luke inquired to no one in particular, keeping Samantha beside him.

  “I don’t think that was a mask,” Metzger answered. “It looked like real human skin.”

  “Is that a thing?” Sutton asked with a surprised look through his injured face.

  Seldom did he register surprise with the group, often trying to play it cool during even the most hairy of situations.

  “I’m saying if you’re willing to skin the undead, maybe you can blend in,” Gracine answered with a shrug. “But what the fuck was with the animal parts?”

  “You noticed that, too?” Sutton asked. “I guess dead is dead to them, no matter what it comes from.”

  Although his experience was limited between deceased humans that didn’t reanimate and dead creatures, Metzger recalled the smells being similar. He wondered if the undead simply used instinct to differentiate between mobile beings with the odor or without it.

  With the undead across the highway, and some closer to them beginning to take notice, the group silently decided to jump into their vehicles and continue their journey, knowing they were drawing close to their destination. In the previous norm, they might have reached the military base within a few hours, but there were times where they literally had to move vehicles out of their way, or syphon fuel before continuing south.

  Metzger began to feel the monotony of the trip, repeating the same actions over and over again. Only the vision of seeing the military base, albeit surrounded by the undead, and finding his brother propelled him forward. They had only gotten a few miles behind them when the skies turned gloomy, and then ominous. Before the group could even slow down or take evasive actions, the sky cut loose with hard rain and hail the size of peas. Metzger could barely see ten feet in front of him, even with the headlights turned on, so he felt thankful when Gracine found a section along the side of the road for everyone to pull over.<
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  Seconds later the winds began howling and Metzger noticed one undead straggler navigating a few nearby vehicles, succumbing to the gale forces and falling face first onto the concrete. It struggled to regain its footing with the combination of rain, hail, and wind gusts pinning it to the ground. Without the benefit of weather apps, or any kind of weather predication, he wondered if a tornado might be heading their way. Some form of shelter sounded appropriate, but he hadn’t seen many buildings near the highway for quite a few miles.

  “Have you seen any good leads where we might find shelter?” he asked Jillian.

  “Getting worried about this weather?”

  “A little.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  She thought a few seconds, looking in the side mirror as though it might offer something to jog her memory.

  “There were signs for some church up ahead that made it sound like it was right off the road. It looked like kind of a big deal.”

  Metzger pulled out from their parking spot, stopping beside the box truck. Jillian rolled down her window so he could speak directly to Gracine.

  “There’s a church a little up the road,” he said. “I don’t like the look of this weather.”

  “What are you worried about?” Sutton inquired from the passenger’s seat.

  “The vehicles are going to get damaged, or we’re going to be in the middle of a tornado. It can’t be far off the road.”

  Both Gracine and Sutton looked at him as though he was acting paranoid, but Luke had already pulled up behind the truck, ready to follow the convoy again.

  “If it’s not close by, we’ll just pull over again,” Metzger assured them, drawing a shrug from Gracine.

  “Fine.”

  Metzger pulled forward, noticing a stronger surge in the wind that shook every tree around them, tossing debris across the highway like tumbleweeds. A few items the wind often failed to move, like a small cooking pot, and tea kettle, bounced atop the pavement until they struck the truck. Feeling somewhat justified in his decision, Metzger pressed onward, looking for any sign of shelter, or an exit that immediately led to safety.