Finally....as I should have expected...Stan had burst from his gutter looking excuse for a house with a crowbar in hand rushing toward the man in the center of the street. I hardly remember getting from my chair to the street...seemed so fast. Blue Hoodie had quickly pulled a large knife from his pocket as I got out the front door. I saw Jim to my right as he exited his house as well.
I yelled "STOP" as loud as I could muster. Loud enough I guess to work because Stan stopped dead in his tracks and Blue Hoodie whirled around startled in my direction.
To his surprise...I wasn't aiming my gun at him. I had it sighted directly on Stan. I motioned for Blue to step to the side a little...away from Stans reach with the crowbar.
Stan...standing there in a white shirt and blue shorts...looked absolutely stunned. He had almost looked betrayed. As if we were friends and I had his back in this situation. The man who left beer cans strewn across his lawn and spoke to no one. The man who, just moments earlier, flipped me the hell off. I told him to put down the crowbar and asked Blue to pocket his blade. Blue backed further away and respectfully sheathed the knife. Stan glared at me. At this point Jim chimed in and told Stan to calm down and put it down.
Here's to the best of my recollection:
"No," Stan said.
I leveled my pistol at him more directly and firmly. Jim, more calm this time, asked him to put it down.
"There is no need for this," I said. "There is no issue here, now put the crowbar down!"
With hesitation he chucked it down into the street. The clang echoing down our dark road.
"Just gonna let them fucking rob us, right?" he said. "That's not an issue, is it?"
"Maybe if you were fuckin' sober you could have realized the fact that no one was being fuckin' robbed!" I had replied.
Again, he stood there in a fuckin' stupor ignorant of his own ignorance.
"They went into two empty houses looking for supplies they need. No TV's or material shit...essential shit! They had no intention of bothering anyone!"
"What if we need that stuff?" he shot back.
"We have many empty homes popping up...we have more than we need....these people may not," I said. "Secondly...what's this 'we,' you mention? You mean you? Stuff you might need? Cause there is no we."
Blue stepped forward to apologize. I gestured toward his truck. These were just scared kids. Most likely needing this stuff for family and neighbors that can't make it out.
As he passed between Stan and myself, he looked at me and nodded. His eyes were soft and apologetic. As well as thankful and scared.
I'm not a good paraphraser but that's the general way the issue was discussed. After the truck pulled away and turned down a street heading to the highway, I lowered my pistol. Hadn't even realized I still had it up. First time I ever had to point it at another person...which was unnerving.
After a few choice words Stan went back into his shit-shack with a slam of the door. I then noticed Reggie was next to Jim. At first he was just wide eyed....then he smiled quickly. He was rather pleased the way that went down that night. For standing up for the little guy, as he called it, and putting that sack of shit in his place. Something we've all wanted to do for quite some time.
Kelly had come outside and stood talking with Reggie as I went and assured Anne and Rebecca that everything was alright. They watched and listened to the whole incident from their window and were pretty shaken up. It was after that night we decided it was better to start keeping shifts. We were the only ones left on our street...we heard some people on nearby streets, but we all stayed to ourselves. We were several blocks apart and didn't know one another anyway.
In the third week....infection found its way into Akron.
As things began to get worse in those early days...that's when the idea to keep a record of events occurred to me. The incident with Stan made me realize to record more accurately I needed to literally record. I found an old digital recorder in one of my filing cabinets and from then on used it, and will continue to do so, with conversations and interviews. This way I can write it all down with no details missing. All future dialogue will now be those transcripts. I'm not even fully sure why I'm keeping this record. It may not even matter. It may never be picked up and read by anyone. Someday it may just end up in some street, trampled by the dead. Lost in a fire, its ashes strewn through some fields. Washed away in a dark nights storm. Or maybe it'll end up in some small library in some settlement decades from now. Right now I think maybe I'm writing and recording just to stay busy and focused. Keeps you from flipping out a little bit.
On Tuesday of the third week tragedy struck our isolated street. I was sitting on the porch speaking with Reggie who was standing on the sidewalk at the front of my house. Anne screamed from the back of her home. I had jumped up, rushing...Reggie already well ahead of me. In the rush I didn't even think to grab the pistol. It was inside on my coffee table.
Anne had a white cat attached to her arm. It's claws and teeth were firmly hooked into the flesh of her forearm. Then it began chewing and tearing. She screamed more. A horrible scream from a sweet old lady. A devastating sight and sound. I recall the cats fur was matted with blood. Some old, now some fresh. Its eyes were glossy and veiny. The bottom half of its tail was stripped of its flesh. Bone hanging. Aside from that, it was intact. It hadn't been turned very long. It was incredibly fast with a rabid fury.
Reggie, without a second guess, grabbed the creature by the back of its neck and squeezed as hard as he could. After a moment it released its claws and frantically began trying to attack him. He managed to quickly get it to the ground with a thud and get the mass of its body under his sneaker. I went quickly forward and with disgust brought my boot down hard onto the cats skull. It was a sickening crunch. I can still still hear it when I think about it. I hopped back and took a glance down. Its skull was smashed open...some brain fragments lightly visible in the flowing blood. It was dead. Fully dead, rather.
Rebecca was knelt down beside her sister, who was sobbing, putting pressure on her bleeding forearm. We managed to help her to her feet and walk her into her house through the back screen door. She sat down at her kitchen table, her sister pulling a chair up beside her.
Reggie grabbed a rag and damped it in cold water from the sink while I tried to examine the bites and scratches. A rather large chunk of meat was missing on the top of her arm, the rest were deep claw marks. It broke my heart to see tears streaming down the womans wrinkled face. Despite the world falling apart, she was someone who remained up beat and positive. She kept us all up beat, really.
We wiped the blood from her arm, and although it pained us to do so, poured alcohol on the wounds. She yelled and actually swore. Something we never heard from her. By the time we had her patched up she was already feeling ill. We all knew what the bite meant. None of us could bring ourselves to say it, though. Anne knew too, of course.
After the aspirin kicked in she started to talk more. She told us not to fret. Not to get too upset. She said that she wasn't afraid...that she was ready and already made peace with it all.
Rebecca, sitting in a recliner in the front room, sat with her face in her hands, sobbing. Anne, to our surprise, simply said in a somber voice, "I'm an old woman....how long did I have in this new world anyway?"
Rebecca said nothing, just continued to sob. Jim was fast to say that her age meant nothing. She was with us and she'd always be protected. Anne smiled, but she disagreed with the remarks. She affirmed she wasn't being pessimistic...just being a realist. Again, she reiterated she was fine.
She began to feel worse...the fever slowly approaching. She went to her room and stated that's where she would be until the end. Rebecca went outside.
Kelly assisted Anne to her room, ever so gently, fighting back her emotions. Kelly was sensitive but was holding it together...more so for Rebecca. Others falling apart around her would only sink her further down into her abyss.
Everything on the TV was now hitting home. It finally reach
ed our city. Our street. Taken a friend. The infected were popping up all over town. Small outbreaks soon to grow rapidly. Looters were becoming much less an issue. We had a few more incidents after the young ones...these ones aggressive. But they left easily enough with a gun pointed at them...some of them had weapons as well, but in the end deemed fighting us wasn't worth it.
But now the dead were coming. Now we had to be even more watchful and vigilant. Night shifts were already routine. Jim and Kelly moved there bed over to my spare room. It was just smarter we stayed closer in one home. Reggie also moved in. He took the couch. He resisted at first, feeling he was imposing, but reconsidered once discussing the logic with him. At night, Reggie and I took the first shift. We stayed outside to make sure Anne and Rebecca were secure and safe. At 1:00am Jim and Kelly would take over. Reggie and myself would resume around 8:00, sometimes 9:00 while Jim and Kelly took a power nap before joining us after noon.
As Anne fell more ill and the fever set in, I offered to stay over there and help prepare but Rebecca absolutely refused. She was becoming angry and resentful. That was understandable. She insisted Anne was her sister, she would take care of her and didn't want anyone's help.
As much as I didn't want to bring it up...it was a sensitive issue...but it had to be said. When the fever killed her...she was going to reanimate. Once that happened she'd be far more dangerous than the cat that ultimately killed her.
I thought she may lash out at me at the sheer thought of her sister becoming that. Instead she just let out a long sigh, shaking her head and fighting tears. She told me again not to worry about it...she'd take care of that when the time came. With that, I had to press her more on how she would be able to handle it. Rebecca is elderly like her sister and would never have the strength to contend with her sister upon turning. I asked if she planned to "kill" her as soon as she died from the fever. She pondered for what seemed like a long, very long, time.
She conceded that she didn't know if she could. With an apologetic look she began to ask before I cut her off. When the time came I would do it for her. The plan for now was to keep her locked within her room. Check on her a few times an hour...and to knock before unlocking the door in case she had turned between checkups.
It was roughly 2:45am that we heard a faint crash from the quiet home next to us. Reggie and I exchanged glances and stood up...then a low scream and some thuds. Reggie and I made for the house as quickly as we could. The front door was locked, and I hurriedly kicked it in beside the knob. After the crash we heard fast approaching erratic steps from Anne's room, whose door was wide open.
It was blatantly obvious as soon as Anne rushed into the livingroom that she was dead. Her eyes searched the dimly lit room until they locked on us. She had crouched slightly before going into a sprint. Seeing "Anne" move this quickly was surreal. After a seconds hesitation I raised my pistol and fired a single shot, hitting her off center to the left in the forehead.
I almost don't remember much about the seconds that followed. I know that I dropped the gun to the floor, made my way outside, and vomited on the side of Anne's house. Jim and Kelly rushed from my house looking naturally confused and bewildered. Reggie began to explain to them in a frenzied, shaken up manner.
After some moments to collect myself I thought of Rebecca. I yelled the thought over to the others who then looked at the doorway to the house. I glanced across the street to see Stan looking out his window at us with a look of perplexity and slight apathy. Worthless motherfucker.
Then I saw his crowbar still lying in the street. I stood upright and walked out and picked it up. I knew I may need it to deal with Rebecca. Reggie and Jim had already went inside cautiously to see if she was alive, dead, or something in between that would attack.
After giving Stan a hateful glare, I turned and made my way inside and saw Reggie and Jim at Anne's bedroom doorway. Kelly sat in the livingroom in a slight shock like state.
I made my way over to the others and looked in. Rebecca was on the floor...blood still flowing from her throat. A clean bite had taken out a huge portion. Part of her esophagus was showing, pulled out from her throat. Anne, or her corpse rather, had then begun chewing on her face. Her lower lip had been torn away...bone showing from her jaw to chin. She would get up soon. I made my way between Reggie and Jim with the crowbar. Waiting for her to turn would be reckless. She was dead now. Jim grabbed my arm and took the crowbar. He said this one was his responsibility and that I shouldn't have to take it all on. After patting his shoulder in appreciation, Kelly, Reggie and I made our way outside.
After a few minutes we heard loud thudding, cracking sounds inside. A moment later Jim walked quickly out and to the side of the house to wretch as I had earlier. I think he had it worse. I simply fire a bullet. He had to be far more personal.
We closed their door and made our way to our porch when we heard some growling sounds a few blocks away. My gunshot must have attracted some infected.
We all went inside now and locked the door and closed the curtains, aside from a small opening by the frame to peer out. After fifteen minutes give or take a small pack of four infected were wandering down the street. Their movements were jerky. They eyed everything and smelled the air like animals. I guess that's what they were now.
They weren't old. By that I mean they hadn't been turned very long. We began calling the newer turned ones "Bolters." As soon as the bastards saw you, it's exactly what they did. Bolted directly at you. They are terrifying in everyway. Especially if you have to run away. They don't lose their breathe. We do. They are better to just avoid at all costs. Take the far way around, sneak past if you can. Engaging them is about as dangerous as you can imagine. The others are far easier to deal with. They're still just as dangerous, just in different ways.
After awhile they become what we call "Roamers." They just walk. Sometimes they walk too quickly for comfort but at least the fuckers aren't sprinting at you like a quarterback in his fucking prime. It's best to avoid them in large groups. Since they can't run they rely on other methods to hunt...as do all the others in worse shape. If you're not careful one can easily creep up on you. If they spot you from a distance they let out a loud growl, roar like sound. It alerts others nearby of human or animal presence. Live animals anyway. Speaking of which, that is one thing you always have to be extra cautious about; all the animals. Seeing infected animals slowly became less common. They rotted away quickly and couldn't consume enough food to slow down their decomposition.
Next, we have the "Shamblers." They are slow moving, walking in an awkward gait and almost look like drunks trying to get home after a long night at a tavern. Their danger lies in the fact that they are extremely quiet most of the time. Sluggish and lethargic. Until they spot someone...then out comes the roaring growl. We call that the "Dead Call." Bolters traveled either solo, or more often, in what seemed like small hunting packs. I suppose that's what they are. Usually between four and five of them. As they become Roamers they stay together and gather other Roamers along the way. Eventually they form some rather large hordes or swarms. Whichever term suits your fancy. Same difference.
Lastly, in their most decomposed state, we have what we call the "Stagnants." They have lost the ability to walk. They reek more than all the others as you can imagine...makes them slightly easier to detect. They are in a state of dormancy. They locate dark areas, high grass, dense woods, you name it. They instinctively know when their energy to walk is about done. Once they find said location, they sit or lie down. That's where they stay. They lie in wait for any unfortunate enough to walk too close to them without noticing. Then they lunge and latch on with their arms and bite into you. Despite their depleted energy they still manage a pretty strong grip.
If you walk near but out of their reach, then they give off a Dead Call. Aside from the Bolters, they may be the most dangerous. As long as you're aware of your surroundings and mindful, you'll do alright.
We watched the Bolters in the street for some
time before they made their way further down the street. Jim and Kelly were next up for watch...but I knew I couldn't sleep after having to shoot Anne...anymore than Jim would have been able to, so I covered Kelly and stayed up with Jim. I'm sure Reggie and Kelly got little to no sleep....but they definitely slept more than Jim and myself. We're still haunted by that night.
When the sun rose we all went out onto the porch. I remember it was a cloudless morning and the sun was painful to the eyes. From my small garage, as well as Jim and Reggie's, we gathered shovels and began the painstaking work of digging two graves behind Anne and Rebecca's house. We dug them beside their garden that they spent so much time working on. Even as the world was ending around us. None of us spoke the entire time. Only upon completion did anyone utter a word. Even though there was the occasional distant screams or gunshots echoing about...it still seemed deathly silent.
We gently wrapped Anne and Rebecca in sheets and lowered them carefully into their graves. We plucked roses from their garden and placed somberly onto their death shrouds.
We buried them. Again in total silence.
We kept our typical routine of day and night watches. We gathered canned food and water from empty homes lining our street. In each abandoned home we filled every bathtub with water for when the bottles and gallons were gone. We placed all the empty containers in Anne and Rebecca's garage.
The Dead Lands Diary (Book 1) Page 2
