Surviving the Day

by Matt Hart

  “Uh... not here, I left her in the car,” said the man. Richard chuckled.

  “What a fool,” he thought.

  “Okay,” he said, standing and switching on his light. “We're just customers too,” he said. “There's no one in here, but someone killed a person back here, so you probably don't want to go there.” Richard figured being honest was the best way to get the guy's trust. “I was going to camp out somewhere in here myself, wait until first light. I just finished getting a few supplies,” he added.

  “Oh thank goodness,” said the man, lowering his hands and flashlight. “I'm Ben,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Richard. Let's go get your friend and get you setup with supplies,” he said. He walked to the front of the store and pushed open the doors, then looked back at the man. Ben seemed to be indecisive, but finally shook his head and walked to the front of the store.

  “It's okay Sue,” he called out into the parking lot. “They're friendly and we can get what we need.” A car door opened, but no overhead light came on. A person stepped out, and Richard pulled out a tactical flashlight and directed it toward the figure. He chuckled as the light framed a beautiful young woman. She looked a bit disheveled.

  “Nothing like she's going to look,” thought Richard.

  She came up and put her hand in Ben's, then stood slightly behind him. “Thank you, sir,” she said. Richard smiled, then turned and led them inside.

  “Camping gear is this way,” he said, walking to his left. He suddenly turned and punched the man in the stomach, then grabbed the woman's hand. She screamed and tried to free herself. The man on the floor squirmed and tried to rise up, and Richard kicked him in the gut.

  “Jeffrey! Lock the front doors! It's party time!” The man on the floor groaned loudly, so Richard kicked him again. The woman was still screaming. “I suggest you quiet down before I put a slug through your sweetie's head,” he said to her. She sobbed and trembled, but stopped screaming. “That's better,” he said as Jeffrey walked up.

  “Tie him,” said Richard. Ben moaned again as Jeffrey grabbed him. “And gag him,” he added. He pulled the woman toward the back of the store. “Grab some sleeping bags when you come,” he told Jeffrey. He got behind the gun counter and threw the woman to the floor.

  “Listen up sweetheart,” he told her, “This store no longer accepts cash or credit.” He chuckled. “But that's okay, because you have exactly what we want for payment.” He reached down and tore at her shirt. She screamed and pulled it back over her. “None of that now, or Ben gets a third corn chute. You be nice and pay for your supplies, and you can go. Does that sound fair?”

  She looked up but didn't meet his eyes. Richard slapped her, hard.

  “I said, does that sound fair?”

  She sobbed and nodded. Jeffrey walked up and threw the bags down on the floor. Richard handed his shotgun to Jeffrey and unbuttoned his shirt. He didn’t notice his partner’s frightened face. “You keep a look out,” he told him. “I'll let you know when it's your turn.” He chuckled and reached for the girl.

  “I definitely didn’t sign on for this,” thought Jeffrey.

  Chapter 14

  —————

  Erin

  Stompy Joe led the way down Redneck Row, and I followed him, keeping a watch on the houses to the right. It was getting late, and I really wanted to get to the boat before dark. I didn't know what I'd do if we were caught out in the open after dark.

  Probably go on an old fashioned freak out.

  I saw movement in a window and stopped, whistling at Joe to get his attention. He walked back to me and looked toward the same house I was watching. “Someone in that house,” I told him. “Go check it out.”

  He gave me a thumbs-up and walked quickly toward the house. I did a slow turn, checking in all directions. I didn't see anything close by, but there was a creature coming out of a window at a house down the road.

  Actually, I realized that was Joe's house. So the horde might be finished going through the house, which meant they'd be coming this way soon. I looked back to check on Joe, and he was standing to the side of the door and tapping on it. He looked at me and raised his hand up high then down quickly.

  Another one of his freaking hand signals.

  Perhaps he should have taught me that one BEFORE going to the door.

  Maybe it meant get down? I looked around for something to get behind, because I sure wasn't going to lie down in the street. I ran toward the house, a little past it, and put a big tree between Joe and me. I peeked around the tree and Joe gave me a thumbs-up.

  I must have guessed right.

  I had a decent view of Joe's Zombie Crib, and I could see others piling out. They were shambling this way, so I guess they saw me run to the tree.

  Freakin' zombies! I've had enough of them for one day.

  I looked back at Joe. The door was open just a little bit and I could see him talking to someone. He looked at me and held up his hand in a “stop” sorta way, so I stayed put. I pointed at the approaching zombies. He looked back and saw them, said something to the person inside then ran off the porch to me.

  Well, ran would be a bit generous. He huffed over to me.

  Yeah, that's a good word, huffed.

  “What's the scoop, Huffy Joe?” I asked him.

  “Some lady,” he said. “I told her to stay out of sight of the zombies, but I don't know if she believed me or not. I told her about my house, and there was food and stuff.” He shrugged. “I don't know, maybe too early for folks. They'll realize they're up shi...” Joe paused and cleared his throat. “Up the creek without a paddle pretty soon.”

  “Well, let's get going. Your housewarming party is changing over to a block party.” Joe looked back.

  “Aww, damn,” he said, heading away from the tree toward the intersection, moving at a slow jog. He clanked and rattled as he moved. “I sound like a freight train,” he said. “We need to stop and fix our packs for noise discipline at some point.”

  “Yeah, and I need to take a powder break,” I said, “But it ain't gonna be anytime soon, so move it Clanky Joe!” He laughed and huffed as he jogged. We stayed near the middle of the street, and the intersection came up quickly. Joe turned right and I followed, glancing back at our zombie entourage. I figured there were at least a dozen of the creatures, with more on the way, all in a line that started at Joe's front window. Joe looked back as well before the house on the corner took away the vantage.

  “They're going to follow us all the way, aren't they?” he asked.

  “If they see us they will,” I said. “I don't plan on stopping and hiding in a garage, though.” Joe nodded in agreement. I looked at the houses coming up on the next street. “Take a right here,” I told him. Joe turned right at the intersection, and we headed parallel to the ocean yet again.

  Another delay, but maybe worth it.

  I studied the second house as we neared it. Wouldn't do. The third house might work. “Wait here,” I told Joe. I ran quickly to the third house and tapped the front door with my shotgun, then stood to the side the way I'd seen Joe do it. “Anybody home?” I called, then tapped again, harder. I listened at the door and looked back at Joe. He stood in the middle of the street, turning slow circles as he looked in every direction. I heard a thud in the house, nothing for a few seconds, then a pounding on the door.

  Zombie.

  “Joe,” I called, “let's go!” He gave me a thumbs up and trotted over to me.

  “What's the plan, Ninja Girl?”

  I smiled. “Lure the zombies into a net that'll hold 'em while we escape,” I said. “Go stand on the sidewalk and make like zombie bait.”

  He looked at me funny, then walked away from the house and started turning circles again. He caught me looking and started acting like a monkey, pointing at his head and saying, “Brains! Come and get 'em!”

  “Yeah!” I called to him. “Half price, since they’re past their expiration date!” He stuck his tongu
e out and continued acting like a nut. I went to the side of the house toward a big fence.

  It was why I picked this place. I opened the gate and stepped back in case there was a backyard zombie-que going on, but it seemed empty. I walked in and the gate closed behind me.

  That's no good, I thought. I continued into the backyard. It was fully fenced in. Perfect. And it even had a pool. How nice for the zombies I intended to lure here. I heard the sound of glass breaking, and a zombie came out of the house. Maybe the one that had been at the front door. I raised the shotgun and waited for it to get a little closer, then fired, blowing its face in half. I released a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.

  Why did they have to look so normal? Why couldn't they be all dark-eyed and ghoulish? They just looked normal unless they'd been chewed on.

  Or had their hands cut off.

  Another one came out of the house. It was a little girl. She had curly red hair and was wearing a bright green sundress. She moaned and clacked her perfect little teeth, reaching for me. I aimed at her through eyes filled with tears and fired again.

  “Erin! You alright?” Joe called.

  “Yeah!” I yelled, choking back a sob. I stared at the crumpled figure on the ground and counted to myself.

  “The zombie parade has reached this intersection and they're coming my way!” Joe’s shout broke into my thoughts. I ran over to the gate, opened it and walked through. I turned to shoot off its hinges, but had a better idea.

  “Get over here Monkey Joe and tear open this gate!” I called to him. “We want to lure them all back here,” I added as he jogged over. Joe looked at the gate, motioned me to step back, then put up a foot and planted a boot right below the top hinge. It cracked. He did it again and the hinge broke off the door. He kicked the door next to the center hinge and broke it with one blow. Next, he opened the teetering gate, grabbed the top and wrenched it off the last hinge. He threw it to the ground and grinned at me.

  “Ook ook,” he said. We both looked back at the zombies. They were thirty yards or so away.

  “Let's roll,” I told him, leading the way around the pool and up to the back of the fence. “Lift me up,” I said. Joe reached for me, hesitated, then picked me up by the waist and lifted me to the top of the wooden picket fence. I didn't cringe at his touch.

  Not even a little bit.

  “How's it look?” he asked.

  “Looks clear,” I answered. He lifted me the rest of the way and I put a hand on the fence. “Let go!” I said. He dropped me and I pushed lightly off the fence with my feet, then dropped to the ground.

  “Head's up!” I looked up to see the bag of ammo flying over the fence. Just when I thought I'd be crushed by bullets instead of shot by them, the bag's strap caught on the top of the fence and it banged against the side.

  “You jackass!” I yelled. “You scared the crap outta me!”

  “Well,” said Joe, peeking over the top and dropping his backpack on the ground, “I guess you won't need that powder break after all, then.” He handed his rifle to me.

  I had half a mind to see if it would penetrate his thick skull.

  He heaved himself up on the fence, and it creaked alarmingly. Joe struggled and hefted a leg over, then his cargo pocket snagged on the top. I laughed out loud. He worked it loose and managed to get the other leg over. Then his vest got caught. I heard a “splash” from the other side of the fence—a zombie falling into the pool. Joe cursed and pulled at his vest, trying to lift it up and unstick the webbing. He finally popped free and fell right on his butt, practically shaking the ground with the impact.

  I was shaking with laughter by now. “Oh my God that was the funniest thing I've ever seen!” Tears were streaming down my face. “I'd get a million hits if I had that on video!”

  Joe grumbled and stood up. He checked his vest, put on his backpack, then opened the bag. He rummaged around and came out with a strap. “Here!” he said, tossing it to me. He zipped up the bag and threw it over his shoulder.

  I looked at the strap, still giggling and unsure what it was. “For your shotgun,” he said.

  “Oh,” I said with a laugh. I clipped it onto the shotgun and slung it over my shoulder. “It's too short,” I told him, showing that I couldn't properly raise the gun.

  “Clip both ends to the same point on the gun,” he told me. I did that and could easily swing it up.

  “Thanks Clumsy Joe,” I said with a laugh. “How's the Zombie Pool Party going?” Joe leaned over the fence then jerked his head back as a pair of hands reached up for him. I heard a moan, then a bunch of others start up as well.

  “It's going great,” he said, backing away from the fence. “They're having a lovely time.”

  “Good, that should keep them occupied and out of our hair, and hopefully anyone else's, at least for a while.”

  I walked to the gate and opened it carefully, listening for noises and waiting for hands to appear, clawing through to get me.

  None appeared. Time to move out.

  Chapter 15

  —————

  Interlude: Washington, D.C.

  Beneath the White House

  “If it wasn't the Chinese and it wasn't the Russians and it wasn't Iran or North Korea, then who the hell sent the EMP?!?” The President looked around the conference table. “And how the hell did it knock out our backup power? We're supposed to be hardened against that, right?”

  “Yes sir,” answered a bedecked older man, resplendent in a White Navy uniform and sporting an impressive white beard. All he needed was fifty pounds and a red suit and he'd have kids lining up to sit on his lap to ask for toys. “All the bunker systems run independent of the local grid and are caged and grounded against electromagnetic interference.”

  “Well it sure didn't work, did it?” asked the President, disgusted. He looked around the table again, but no one answered the rhetorical question. “At least I got some exercise on all those bloody stairs,” he said. “Admiral, any word on the status of the Navy?” he asked the bearded man.

  “No sir, communications are out, apparently affected by the EMP as well. I've ordered a network of spotlight relays put up from here to Anacostia, and I've sent runners to locate working vehicles. Even our hardened Humvees were knocked out.”

  “So we could be under invasion, nukes or biological weapons could be dropping on our citizens right now, and we wouldn't know it?”

  “Sir,” interrupted a man dressed in an impeccable suit, “We don't know if the rest of the nation was affected. It's possible that this is local to the Eastern seaboard.”

  “Not damn likely, Allen,” said the President. “I think something would have gotten to us by now if it was.”

  “What I don't understand,” said the Admiral, “is why we haven't heard from any subs. We have patrollers off the coast equipped with the Flying Fish.” A couple of the people around the table looked a question at him. “The Flying Fish,” he explained, “is our newest sub-launched drone, similar to a Predator. It can be expelled in a missile tube. It rises to the surface, the tube splits and a launch platform rises up. The Fish takes off with rocket assist and has nearly the same range as a Predator.”

  “So why does it surprise you?” asked Allen.

  “Because an EMP can't affect a submarine that’s submerged,” answered the Admiral. “It can't—the science just doesn't work. The effect changes when it hits a conductor like salt water, and the hull is a natural Faraday cage. So when the submarine loses all communications, it's supposed to launch the Flying Fish, re-establish comms by using it as a relay, or remote pilot to the nearest Navy facility and await local communications. It's been six hours since the event—plenty of time for a Fish to show up.”

  “But we haven't even heard from any of the teams we've sent out,” protested a young-looking woman. A tiny headset flopped around next to her ear. “I haven't heard from any of my teams! Not even the ones stationed above!”

  “Maybe we should run wires and tin
cans,” said the President. “I assume soup cans aren't subject to EMP effects?” No one laughed, but one man standing in the corner nodded his head and gestured at the young woman. She walked over and he whispered to her.

  “That might actually work, Mr. President,” she said.

  “Soup cans?!” asked the President, incredulously, turning to the Secret Service agents. The woman gestured to the young man.

  “Not exactly, Mr. President,” the man replied. “We might have some field telephones somewhere in storage. They work without any electronics, called 'sound-powered'. The EE dash eight was in use up until the seventies.”

  “Right,” said the President. “What's your name?”