Haven From Hell: Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse

by Won, Mark

  “Sorry, Mrs. Ritter. I’ll straighten out in a second.” I managed to keep shoving that grasping hand away until I hopped the curb, drove over the sidewalk, and scrapped the zombie off on a maple tree by the road. The hand it had been using to hold on to the car was still attached to the window frame. Not moving on it’s own, though, which was a relief.

  After that I straightened the minivan out and drove more responsibly, in accordance with the wishes of my elders.

  -

  There were so many cars parked up slope from the canoes, that I couldn’t even see where I had left the boards that I’d planned to park the minivan on. I didn’t feel I had the time to waste looking for them. My problem: how to get an elderly lady in need of a walker and a man with a broken ankle down a steeply wooded slope, across a stream (albeit with a rowboat), and up the other side.

  I looked at Mrs. Ritter. I looked at Mr. Willcox. I looked at my hands. Still no ideas.

  I tried, “Mrs. Ritter, would you mind if I carried you down to the river? I have a boat there.”

  “But what about Jerold?” she replied.

  I gave Mr. Willcox a calculating stare. His chest came out some, “I’ll walk.”

  “Maybe you could wait. I’ll be right back. You can lean on me on the way down,” I told him.

  “Are you sure Jerold will be safe all alone?” That from Mrs. Ritter.

  “How well do you shoot, Mr. Willcox?” I asked.

  He told me, “I’ll be fine. Just give me that shotgun and don’t dawdle.”

  “Now Jerold, don’t badger the boy. He’s doing his best.”

  “I’m not badgering him. I just don’t know what good this gun will do. I must have shot those things over a thousand times before one dropped.”

  I said, “Well, if any come while I’m gone, try shooting them in the head. I’ve had pretty good luck with that.”

  A steep slope can be tricky even when unencumbered. Must have taken ten minutes to get down to the stream without dropping Mrs. Ritter. I tried carrying her in front with my arms, like a baby. I was bushed and my leg was acting up again. To top it off all the boats were left on the other side of the darn river! I did not need another soaking in freezing cold river water. I was starting to lose my temper.

  “Mrs. Ritter, I think I need to go across to get a boat.”

  “Well, I can see that, Johnny.”

  Then I told her, “I don’t want to get my clothes wet. Could you look away, please?”

  She seemed to think that was funny. Of course, she wasn’t the one fording a freezing stream.

  My teeth were chattering by the time I got that rowboat back across to where I wanted it. For some reason the water seemed colder the second time. I got dressed and hurried back up the slope, gasping for breath. Still no sign of the enemy. Mr. Willcox was still in the minivan.

  “What the hell took you so long, boy!?” he cried. “Quit screwing around and help me out of this damn import! We ain’t got all day. They could be around any second now. Hurry up! You think I want to be sitting around...” He went on like that for awhile.

  Mr. Willcox was almost as good as his word. He tried hobbling down, leaning on me. After he fell the second time, howling like a banshee, I picked him up over my shoulder and made my own way. It was a lot easier carrying someone over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes than carrying someone like a baby, or trying to be an oversized crutch.

  By the time I had got Mr. Willcox in the rowboat by Mrs. Ritter he was glaring daggers at me. Maybe I shouldn’t have carried him, after all.

  I said to him, “So how did you bust your ankle, Mr. Willcox?”

  “My wife,” he said. “She caught me by the foot on my way up the stairs.”

  “They’re real strong, Mr. Willcox. You’re lucky to be alive. All the same, please don’t make the mistake of thinking that thing was your wife. I don’t know what it was, but it surely wasn’t her.”

  For some reason Mrs. Ritter patted my leg.

  On the way across we chatted about family and such. Who’s probably alive, who’s probably dead, who’s probably one of those things. All that sort of thing. The general consensus was that anyone still in town was a goner one way or another. Mrs. Ritter started to cry. She said she was okay, though.

  The other side of the stream was a repeat performance, except uphill. I made sure to let Mr. Willcox walk with an arm around me. It was easier going uphill. Then I towed the rowboat back to the opposite shore, just in case someone came along and needed it.

  -

  Back home I saw we had a full house. The reverend had everyone real organized, working together, gung-ho. Once I got Mrs. Ritter situated and Mr. Wilcox being looked after by Doctor Adams I took the pastor aside. I’m ashamed to say I couldn’t help myself, “I made sure to leave the rowboat on the other side of the stream just in case anyone comes along and needs to cross.” He seemed surprised and I felt like the whiny fool I’d made of myself. I apologized and went to bed even though it was still light out.

  Come morning I was starving. I was surprised to find we still had some beans left in the pantry. Once I’d eaten, the reverend came over and thanked me for helping at the church. He even apologized for taking the last boat. By then I was pretty embarrassed and glad when he changed the subject to what we should do next.

  I told him about all the newly vacant houses on our side of the river. He acknowledged that was a positive start. I told him about the seed in the big barn and how planting was coming up. He allowed how that was good long term thinking. I said we needed to get some folks feeding the animals if we wanted to keep them (every farm had some). He wondered if we could afford to feed them. I said, “I guess ‘If we can’t feed them then they’ll feed us.’” He liked that.

  With an uncomfortable look about him, he said, “What we really need, John, is someone to lead a group into town to get the rest of the supplies.”

  Well, of course that’s what needed to be done. What was he getting at? I said about as much.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask. A number of the men were wondering if you’d lead the expedition since you know as well as anyone what a farm needs. I told them there was more than enough work for you to do right here. I’m sure they can figure it all out. You shouldn’t have to go if you don’t want to, John.”

  I thought that was kindly spoken of him and I said so. Then I added, “I’m just a teenager, Reverend, so I can’t be in charge or anything. But I am going back to town. How else will we get stuff?” Assuming everything hadn’t burned to the ground.

  In walked Anna and that just brightened my whole day. The doctor was with her. I got up and said good morning. Then I took Anna’s hand and pulled her into a hug that ended up with her somehow sharing my chair, half on my lap. Smooth.

  Doctor Adams looked like he’d been up all night. He came right to the point, “Let’s see that leg, young man, Anna tells me you have quite a cut.”

  Reverend Ert interrupted, “You’re injured, John? I’ll tell the men to count you out.” He seemed relieved. I guess he thought I was just a kid.

  “That’s just foolish for lack of sense. I’m fine. I’ve been scratched worse killing chickens.” A true statement, I still have the scar, but that’s another story.

  “Don’t talk to the pastor that way, John.” Anna was right.

  “I’m sorry, Reverend, I meant no disrespect.” To the doctor, “It really is nothing, sir. How’s Mr. Willcox and Louis doing?”

  Dr. Adams replied, “Quit stalling so I can get back to them. Put Anna down and follow me.”

  With direct instructions like that there was nothing for it, I had to go along. Once back in my room I showed him my glass cuts. “It’s a miracle you didn’t bleed to death,” he told me.

  “I poured some alcohol on it when I got home, that really helped.”

  “I can see it’s not infected, but you’re not going anywhere for a week, at least.”

  That seemed unreasonable to me. “But everybody want’s
me to go...”

  “Enough! No more back talk. One week. Keep it up and I’ll make it two.”

  I was pretty sure he couldn’t do that, but in my experience it’s always better to go along, just in case. The stitches he put in me hurt worse than the cuts did in the first place.

  The up side was that I got to spend that week with Anna and me alone much of the time. Well, she had to look after her little sister, Ava, but still, mostly alone.

  Mr. Willcox’s ankle was braced and on the mend. Doctor Adams had said it was just a sprain. Mr. Willcox said the doctor was a quack, which I thought was pretty rude. Louis had come down with pneumonia but Doctor Adams had brought some medicine with him in his big black doctor bag, so Louis would be fine.

  Nobody was truly fine, of course. Everybody cried. Not me, but everybody else. Even the reverend.

  The bodies were all buried in our own little graveyard plot. Not so little anymore. Once my week was up I prayed there some.

  I tried calling everyone as much as I could. I remember that Grandma cried a lot because of what happened to Mom and Dad and Erik. She and Grandpa said they would come home if they could make it. Maybe after planting. Grandpa and Grandma Tower planned on sitting tight. That’s what most everybody else planned on doing, too. Then the phone died.

  Chapter 4: Consequences of a Wandering Mind, the Merits of Separation, and Getting Bit

  At first I wondered what I was doing there. Everybody was gathered around the big dining room table. Mr. Willcox (his ankle was much better), Mr. Herst, Mr. Bueno, Mr. Stein (Roger’s dad), Doctor Adams, Mr. Henna, Reverend Ert, Mr. Oliver, Mr. Schneider (Beth’s dad), Mr. Weber, Mr. Schmidt, Mr. Miller and Mr. Muller, Mr. Ottenbocker, Mr. Fisher, Mr. Franklin and me.

  Then it occurred to me that all those people thought I belonged at that table.

  Reverend Ert got things started with a short prayer. Then he thanked Mr. Herst and the others for going into town and plundering the general store and the quick mart. They thanked him back and Mr. Weber calculated that it should last us about a month before we ran out of food. Mr. Muller opined that the takings from all the other farmhouses should last us about two more weeks.

  I was busy staring out the window. It had started snowing just a bit. The temperature was down to 30 degrees. Unseasonably late weather.

  Mr. Herst asked, “What do you think, John?”

  Well, he did ask, “First, I think we have to go back to town and ransack the unburned houses for everything that’s left. Maybe with that and some hunting we’ll have enough food to last until harvest. We have enough gasoline for this year but it’ll all start to go bad by next. Nothing we can do about that except use it while we can. If we want to keep the pump running we’ll need more propane, the generator is just about dry. I know where we can pick some up about an hour and a half away, at Tim’s Propane. We’ll have to start rationing it, though.

  “You told me our pharmacy burned down, so while we’re out let’s stop in at the Smittburg Pharmacy. It’s on the way to the propane center. I know it’s not a great idea to go into another town, but Smittburg is pretty small. Maybe someone could draw them off, then I’ll sneak in. Doctor Adams can make a list of what we need. Probably everything. I don’t think this snow will amount to much so the sooner we get started the better.

  “I’d also feel a lot better if organized watches could be set to keep a look out for those things; some of us need to get started on a fence to slow down any that do cross the river. Maybe Mr. Ottenbocker, Mr. Weber, Mr. Schmidt, Mr. Muller and Mr. Fisher could get started on the fence. There’s wood in the woodshed and feel free to cut down any trees except the apple trees out back. Mr. Stein and Mr. Herst could take some cars and establish a patrol, if they want to. I’d really prefer for you, Doctor, to watch over the patients and guard this house.

  “Mr. Franklin, I’d like to thank you for pitching in and taking so many folks into your home. If it’s not to much of a bother, maybe you could keep watch just at your place. It’s farthest back from the bridge and I’m a little worried about what might, eventually, come out of the woods from that direction.”

  “What about me?” asked Reverend Ert.

  “I’d like for you take a car, go around to all the farmhouses and see how all the womenfolk and kids are doing. Make sure the ladies feel confident about their ammunition situation. Make sure nobody’s sick. Help secure any windows or doors, or any other work they want help with. See to all the rationing if you can. I know I don’t have to say it, but don’t forget to lead some folks in prayer while you’re out and about. We could all use that.”

  They all agreed, so we broke up the moot and got to work. I went with the group that was to start emptying all the houses in town. Crossing the stream was a lot easier now that we had a system in place. Mr. Bueno had rigged up a rope and pulley so we could use the rowboat as a ferry. Once we’d climbed the bank on the other side, Mr. Willcox recommended that we all split up when we got into town, so that we could get more work done that way. So that’s what we did. I got in Mr. Herst’s minivan. I liked it’s cargo space.

  My first house was a newer single story without a basement. I wasn’t overly worried about finding any zombies. A few days ago Mr. Herst, Mr. Stein and Mr. Oliver had made a big production of leading them all out of the houses, and rounding up all the ones in the street. They drove down every street real slow while honking their horns. The zombies came crashing out the downstairs windows as fast as they could. Then Mr. Muller, Mr. Miller and Mr. Ottenbocker, riding in the back of the cars, shot them all in the head. Very systematic. The only zombies the men had left in town were in the second floor of the high school. That was one sleeping dog they all thought it best to let lie.

  I found a pantry with a few useful items and some aspirin in the medicine chest. That was about what I’d expected. On to the next house and more of the same. Then a two story house. Then another.

  The whole process was more time consuming than I’d thought. My mind turned to more interesting subjects. Such as Anna. The color of her hair, the lilt of her smile, the joy in her laugh. You see where my mind was headed when, abruptly, a shambling horror fell down a staircase I was walking past. It slammed right into me and down we went. Time seemed to slow and I had to wonder at my attacker’s appearance. It looked like meat from the refrigerator that had been sitting around too long. Smelled bad too. I desperately crab walked away from it while it flailed about with its hands, trying to get a grip. It latched onto my coat sleeve. Since I’d dropped my shotgun, I pulled it in closer and punched it in the head with my other hand. It gave the sleeve it had grabbed a powerful tug, and I felt something starting to tear at my shoulder. Then it tried to bite me through my coat while its other hand sought a firmer grip. I swung a second time, and with audible crack its temple gave way.

  I staggered up and looked down at myself. My coat sleeve was torn at the shoulder and cuff, and the chest of my coat had been all ripped out by the zombie’s teeth. I had a sore shoulder, too (but that didn’t show). If I showed up looking like this everyone would know I’d messed up. I’d be lucky if they’d let me drive the tractor. Anna would be disappointed.

  I picked up my shotgun and went upstairs. I checked every room twice, including all closets. Then I looked under the beds. No danger. Finally I took a replacement coat from the master closet. Nice fit. I hung my torn coat in it’s place and got on with the job. My mind was wonderfully focused the rest of the morning.

  Later on, around twelve-thirty, I heard a shotgun firing. Five shots real quick. Then a double barrel shotgun along with another pump shotgun. Finally Mr. Oliver opened up with his old carbine. I went charging out of the house I’d been searching and ran toward where I’d thought the shots were coming from. I was beginning to think this whole ‘let’s split up, we can get more work done that way’ idea was some kind of horrible mistake. What were we thinking?

  Around back I saw a zombie gnawing on Mr. Oliver. There were three other men all laying a
round, covered in their own blood. As soon as it saw me it jumped fifteen feet straight at me. Clearly it was another ghoul.

  I fired from the hip. It was moving so fast I didn’t have time to bring the stock up. I hit it in the neck, to little effect. I’d lent my dad’s shotgun to Mr. Bueno so all I had left was my over and under (all the rest of my dad’s hunting rifles were back home, just in case some zombies showed up there). Before I could switch from one barrel to the next it leaped again. I used the barrels as a spear and jammed it right in its gut. I didn’t think that would hurt it, but I needed to buy some time.

  It was knocked back by my blow but landed on its feet and swept my rifle aside in one motion. Its tongue elongated as it tried to lick at my face. Reflexively, I tried backing away. It leaped at me again, hitting me hard, and down we went. I dropped my gun and grabbed at its neck. It began clawing at my arms, chest, and face. With one hand still around its neck I used my free hand to grab one of its wrists. It pulled its hand in and bit me in the back of mine. That’s when I saw red. Enraged, I picked it up by its neck and leg and slammed it face down. I knelt on its back and started to drag its limbs back one by one. I broke its arms until the bones were sticking out, and was starting to do the same to its legs when I heard a deafening explosion right next to my ear. It’s head vanished in a bloody blast all over the lawn. Mr. Schneider was standing there with his smoking 12 gauge.

  “Thanks, Mr. Schneider,” I said.

  We were all torn up some. Mr. Oliver had lost a couple of fingers. Mr. Bueno had two broken arms. Mr. Willcox was unconscious and had a bruise for a face and a bite through his ear. Mr. Miller had some broken ribs and a big bleeding chunk taken out of his shoulder. Mr. Schneider and I got everybody bandaged up the best we could and then got everybody in the minivan.

  Back at home the doctor looked us all over. What a mess. Stitches all around. Bed sheets for bandages. Out of iodine. Out of hydrogen peroxide. Running low on rubbing alcohol.