by Amber White
Sully put his hand on my arm, trying to calm me. “Where did you learn all this from?” He asked.
“My dad, where else?” I said, shrugging. My heart broke a little at the word.
“Well, why don’t we leave the tree limbs outside for now and focus on what’s in here.” He said.
“Whatever.” I said, shrugging again. “We need to get the truck packed with supplies so it’s ready when we bug out. Heavy items that can’t be quickly grabbed and transported go in now. Some of the guns and ammo stay in here, along with half the food and all our clothes in case we have to leave on foot. Everything needs to be packed and ready as quickly as possible.”
Sully and Billie nodded, rising to pack their bags while I entered the kitchen, grabbing the spare knapsack from under the sink and began shoving MREs and water bottles into it. I rolled whatever bottles and packages I couldn’t fit into the bag inside a large sheet of the freezer paper we used to wrap deer meat into, securing the package with packing twine.
When my friends came back into the room, their bags slung over their shoulders, I indicated they should drop them next to the couch, and called Sully over.
“Could you please get the canteens down from that cupboard?” I asked, pointing to a shelf above my reach.
He took them down and helped me fill them, passing one each to the twins, setting the other on top of his bag.
“I’ll need help with the reloading equipment. It’s heavy.” I said.
Dean joined us reluctantly, grabbing one of the presses and lugged it out to the truck. Sully grabbed another, following behind Dean closely. After handing Billie a stack of boxes filled with shells and bullet heads, I grabbed the box of gunpowder, carefully loading it into the lock box in the truck bed and scurried back inside to grab the scales.
When it was time to sort through the gun cabinet and decide which ones I would keep on me, I took the key out of my pocket, by breath catching, tears welling up in my eyes. It was such a simple thing, a small key that fit easily into the palm of my hand, but it was the last thing my father gave me. ‘Just in case,’ he said.
If I had known this was going to happen, known that my parents were going to die, I would have made them come with us. I would have… I stopped and took a deep breath, wiping the tears that once again streamed down my face. Resting my head against the cold metal of the safe, I closed my eyes and tried to steady myself. I had to be strong for myself and my friends. It’s what my father would have wanted. After a few moments, I opened the safe and assessed the weapons and ammunition stored within.
The safe was mostly full of rifles and shotguns, four semi-automatic pistols nestled at the bottom, and on the top shelf there were ten boxes of ammo for each gun. I said a silent prayer at our luck- these were the best guns we had for hunting and even the pistols could bring down a mountain lion, so crazed humans wouldn’t be much of a problem.
The Winchester .338 Magnum would definitely be staying with me, as would the .45 Colt pistol. I picked out a few other rifles and shotguns at random, setting them and their ammo aside before handing the twins the remaining boxes to be set in the cab, while Sully and I carried the other guns outside and placed them carefully behind and under the seats, all within easy reach should we need them. Outside, everything was deathly quiet. There were no crickets, no owls, and no coyotes. Our movement was the only sound we could hear. The eerie stillness made my flesh crawl. It was simply too unnatural.
“Make sure you’re wearing something warm, that you can run in, and won’t make a lot of noise.” I told my friends when we were back inside.
They nodded and as Dean and Sully pulled on lightweight jackets, Billie and I went to our room to change from our tank tops and shorts into pants and long sleeved shirts. I was just about to go back into the living room, when I spotted my mother’s knitting in the chair by the dresser. I had walked past it many times, but hadn’t noticed it until now. It was a blanket she had started when I was little, teaching me to knit on it, the pair of us making a few inches progress every time we had come up here. It lay nearly finished across the seat, the cables and seed stitch standing out beautifully in the light. I decided to scoop it up and carry it with me into the living room to work on it while standing watch, grateful for the handwork it would give me, no matter how sentimental.
After double checking that all the windows and curtains were securely shut and that only the necessary lights were on, I settled into a chair, the loaded Winchester leaning against the wall within arms’ reach, the pistol in its holster across my shoulder. The blanket was heavy; a welcome weight in my lap as I worked the stitches, my hands busy while I listened intently for any hint of life outside. My friends sat around me nervously, too afraid to go to sleep.
Chapter 5
I awoke early the next morning, curled into the chair. Billie and Dean were asleep on the couch, holding onto each other for dear life, and Sully sat alone in his chair, curled up just as I was, his arms wrapped around himself. I slid to my feet as quietly as I could and popped my back, sore from staying in the confined space for so long.
They would still be asleep for another hour or two, so I grabbed the rifle and slunk quietly through each room, looking out of every window, making sure the perimeter was clear. After making the rounds twice, I settled back into my chair and started knitting again. The yarn flowed smoothly, hypnotically, through my fingers, allowing me to momentarily forget my worries. Around me, I could hear the wind pick up a bit, the soft whisper of air through the trees, just another familiar sound to comfort me. That was, until I heard it- a subtle scratching noise coming from over by the front door. At first I thought it was just my imagination, but then I heard it again, louder this time- a long, low scratch like someone dragging a blade or sharp stick across wood. My heart leapt. I was at once afraid, my shaking fingers tightening their grip around the knitting needles. It scratched again, the terrifying sound grating on my soul.
Somehow, I managed to pick up the rifle and stand on quivering legs, flipping the safety off and gliding forward, my eyes glued to the door. I parted the curtain an infinitesimal amount, searching for movement. Nothing.I tip-toed to the kitchen window, this time allotting myself a better look.Still nothing. I heard the sound again, this time preceded by a soft thump. I reached for the door, my heart sprinting faster and faster, threatening to leap from my chest and scurry into a dark corner.
With one sweaty palm still clutching the gun, I pulled the door open, revealing…nothing. I scanned left and right, the gun barrel matching pace with my eyes. I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. When I heard the sound yet again, this time above me, I jumped. Whatever was making that noise was on the roof. Cautiously, I stepped forward, turning around and backing up the last foot from under the eave, the rifle trained on the spot the scratching came from. I half expected some knife wielding maniac to be sitting there, or at least some apparently evil animal intent on scaring the crap out of me. Instead, it was only a sagging, broken tree branch scratching against the house in the wind. I laughed at myself, amazed I had let myself get so worked up about such a mundane sound. I walked quietly back inside, closing the door silently behind me before treading softly to the far window, using the binoculars to scan the road below for signs of life.
Cars clogged the road, leaving few gaps big enough for our truck to pass through. Some of the vehicles had doors left open; several had shattered windows and windshields. I could detect no movement. All of the cars were at a stand-still. At this angle, I couldn’t see inside any of them, but it didn’t look like anyone was on the road at all. If it came to it, we could push cars out of the way to clear a path. It might take a while to get to open road if too many people had tried to leave and left their cars unattended, but we had to make it out and get as far away from our hometown as possible. I sighed and leaned against the wall.
It was time to start planning our escape; see how much money we had together and what supplies we needed. Worst case scenario,
we would stay on the fringes of the cities and towns we passed, camping in secluded places. Until I could trust my friends’ aim, I couldn’t take them into high risk areas.
“Jo?” I heard Dean whisper behind me.
When I didn’t answer, he joined me.
“Listen, I was a jerk yesterday and I’m sorry. I was upset…” He said.
“I know. I don’t blame you. I want to see my parents too; make sure they’re ok but it’s just not safe.” I interrupted.
“I know.” He said softly.
“We’ll leave tonight,and get as far away from here as possible.”
“So soon?”Billie whispered from her seat behind me.
“The road is full of cars, but I haven’t seen any people. It will be better if we leave before any of the infected find their way here.”
I stood watch most of the day, scanning the woods and the road for people. Around dinner time, everyone else was checking for any forgotten items before we packed the last of our belongings into the truck. It was so quiet. We would have been joking around, trying to ease the tension, but our humor was all but gone until we finally broke.
“What in the name of all that is holy are you doing with that pair of pants?” Sully yelled from the door to his bedroom, his eyes wide with shock.
I rushed over, wondering what on earth anyone could possibly be doing to make him say that. Billie remained where she was, certain she didn’t want to see what her twin was up to.
I reached Sully’s side and peered in. There was Dean, frozen in place with an equally shocked expression, holding a pair of half-folded jeans.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Don’t you see? He’s folding a pair of jeans! It’s the invasion of the body snatchers!” Sully said, his look of astonishment disappearing, replaced with a wide grin.
We burst into laughter and Dean balled up the jeans, throwing them at us with a chortle, making us laugh harder. I laughed so hard I cried, unable to draw a substantial breath. After several long minutes, I caught myself on the doorframe and slowed my breathing enough to return to my post, shaking my head.
I threw back the curtains, welcoming the sunlight, and instantly regretted it.
Chapter 6
Crouched at the tree line was a man in his mid-twenties. He was dirty, disheveled; the skin visible on his face and arms under the grime was sallow. He didn’t seem to notice me staring at him. At first I thought he had been hurt, he was covered in so much blood, but then I noticed he held a dead squirrel in his red stained hands. He was eating it, ripping at the flesh with his teeth, the gore oozing down his chin. I eased the curtain closed again, careful not to make any sudden movements to draw his attention away from his snack.
“Guys,” I whispered. “Guys!”
“Hmm?”Billie said.
“Don’t make any noise.” I said, still whispering.
“Why not?” Sully asked, his voice low.
“Because someone is outside, eating a raw squirrel.”
My friends froze, instantly horrified.
“You’re kidding, right?” Dean asked.
I shook my head.
Billie walked silently to me and opened the curtain a sliver to peep out.
“Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick.” She whispered, letting the curtain fall back in place.
“What are we going to do?” Sully asked.
“We’ll wait him out. Maybe he’ll leave soon.” I said. “Until then, just keep quiet and don’t move the curtains.”
I peeked out again and saw that he was almost finished with his squirrel. I prayed silently that he would ignore us and move on.
Gripping the rifle tightly in both hands, I slid down the wall, keeping my back flat against the wood. I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on the sounds drifting in from the forest. I could just hear him tearing through the soft flesh of the eviscerated animal. He was going at it with a fervor, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Something small fell into the leaves and dirt; then he moved closer. He grunted and panted heavily as he stalked forward, sniffing at the window when he was close enough, his hand scraping along the outer wall as he moved. I chanced a look outside from the bottom corner of the curtain.
His blank eyes remained straight forward as his head bobbed around; his mouth was covered in fur and gore. He slapped his palm against the glass, his fingernails scratching loudly. If I didn’t know better, I would have said he was already dead. His skin held no color; I winced when I noticed his wrist was broken, the bone jutting out at a sickening angle.
He moved slowly, edging his way around the cabin toward the front. My eyes snapped to the door.
“Shit.” I said under my breath.
I waved my arm to catch Billie’s attention since she was closest to it.
“Lock the door!” I mouthed at her.
She nodded, terrified and moved silently to her right, securing the deadbolt with a soft click; then retreating to hide behind the couch, her whole body shivering.
We followed the progression of the man around the walls, his scratching and grunting marking his position. He finally reached the porch, his shuffling footsteps loud and clear as he approached the door. He paused a moment, then the door handle jiggled. He was trying to get in. The handled jiggled again, more fiercely this time and he pounded against the door. The man grunted and groaned, but never spoke.
When he couldn’t force his way in through the door, he moved over to the window, scratching at it with both hands. He paused again. I could see his outline through the thin curtain. He seemed to be considering what to do next when he tapped his fist against the glass, almost like he was knocking. Tap. Tap-tap.Tap-tap-tap. And then he slammed his fist against the window, the shattered glass falling to the floor with a sharp clinking sound. Though his hand was covered in jagged shards, he didn’t bleed. Billie let out a small scream before clamping her hand over her mouth while Dean and Sully gasped and I jumped, my mouth shut tight.
The man’s hand retreated and slammed through the glass again, sending more glass shards falling to the floor. Drawing up my courage, I crossed the room, the rifle pointed at the window, my every breath rattling softly as it escaped my lips. He pulled his hand back, looking at me through the hole.
“Leave now, or I’ll shoot.” I said, my voice stronger than I felt.
He growled and forced both hands forward, reaching for me.
“This is your last warning!” I said.
He swiped at me again.
The gun roared, the bullet finding its mark in his chest, sending him staggering backward until he tripped on his own feet. Throwing the door open, I stood a few feet from him, trying to see if he had survived. His chest was heaving, the bullet hole oozing thick, dark blood. More blood spattered the wall and window in small droplets. He was still alive. He turned his head to me, his blank, dead eyes staring in my direction as he swiped at my leg.
I backed up a step. He followed, rolling to his stomach to swipe at me again. He seemed unaffected by the wound.
“Stop or I will fire again.” I said.
Lifting himself on one arm, he gazed up at me, reaching for my thigh with his free arm.
I kicked his chin, sending his head back with a nasty crunch. He reached forward again, his fingers scraping my boot. I stomped on his hand; he didn’t make a sound.
“I don’t want to have to hurt you any more than I have.” I told him.
He stopped for a moment, seemingly watching my legs, when he clamped onto my ankle and pulled sharply.
I fell with a loud thump, the gun fell from my grasp and slid across the porch a few feet away as my foot was pulled out from under me. Panicked, I kicked at him again, desperate to free myself. He pulled me closer to him, shockingly strong for someone with so much damage to his body. I didn’t know what he was trying to do, but I knew I had to get away.
Rolling to my stomach, I crawled forward, reaching for the butt of the rifle. He yanked me back again and I kick
ed blindly at him, my foot connecting with something soft. Though his grip never loosened, I managed to scramble forward and grasped the rifle firmly, swinging it around and firing straight at his face.
Chapter 7
Blood sprayed against my body while chunks of brain and skull flew from the back of his head, slapping wetly against the wood and his limp form.
Shaking his hand from my ankle, I crab-walked back against the outer wall, utterly revolted and vibrating in fear.
I couldn’t believe what I had just done. I killed someone. I wanted to scream but something inside me told me not to. It told me to clean myself off and leave- hop in the truck and go. It didn’t matter where I went, as long as it was as far away from this spot and people like him as I possibly could. I could faintly hear footsteps rushing to me from inside the cabin as my friends rushed to my side.
“Jo? Jo!” Someone said, their voice far away.
Someone pulled the rifle from my fingers while two pairs of hands clasped my arms and pulled me up and inside.
“Oh my God, look at her!” One of them said.
“Are you hurt?” Someone asked.
I couldn’t answer.
“Let’s get her cleaned up.” Someone else said. It was like listening to people talking while under water. A rushing sound was blocking out all but the loudest of voices.
I could feel myself standing at the kitchen sink, someone gently cleaning the blood off of me while the other two held me up.
When they finished, one of the two holding me up picked me up, cradling me in their arms as they took me out to the truck, keeping my face pointed away from the body lying just outside the door. Whoever it was stayed with me as the others moved around, packing the last of our belongings into the truck and we took off, driving in silence down the old path to the road a few miles away.
“Jo?” Someone asked. It sounded like Sully but I couldn’t be sure.
“I killed him.” I whimpered. “That guy…I killed him.”
“He was attacking you. You didn’t have a choice.” Dean said.
