The Mike Beem Chronicles: 6 Tales of Survival, Hope, and The Zombie Apocalypse

by Anthony Renfro

  Fred nodded, so did Jim.

  “Here we go,” Mike replied, and then turned the handle. He pushed the door open, and the cold morning light greeted their face.

  In front of them was a metal landing, black and shiny, covered in snow.

  No zombies.

  Mike stepped outside, and turned to face the stairs that led down to the ground with his gun pointed forward. He motioned for the guys to follow after him. One by one they stepped out into the cold, and onto the snowy landing.

  “So far, so good,” Mike replied, and then looked out across the back parking lot where trucks use to load and unload.

  There were no zombies out and about on this Christmas morning, at least not back here.

  “Why didn’t we come this way the first time?” Jim asked, looking around.

  “We would still have to come through the front parking lot in order to get here. I figured it was best to just come in the way we did instead of risking everything to get back here,” Mike replied, breath white in front of him.

  “Makes sense,” Fred replied.

  “If the zombies hadn’t been so packed against the glass this morning, we would have left the way we came in. That’s the one part of my plan that hasn’t worked out, but I always have a Plan B,” Mike replied.

  “Let’s quit talking and go. My feet are cold, and my body’s numb. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to get done so I get home,” Fred replied, and with his gun in front of him, he made his way down the icy, snow-covered metal stairs.

  “After you,” Jim replied, ushering Mike forward.

  Mike followed Fred, and when both men reached the ground they stopped. Jim joined them a second later.

  “Still zombie clear,” Fred replied.

  “But when we turn the corner of this building, all hell is going to break loose,” Jim replied.

  “So be it. Let’s just get to stepping,” Mike replied, and started moving forward taking the lead once again.

  The men made their way to the end of the building, turned the corner, and left the mall in the same way that they had come in, shooting and popping zombie heads, clearing a path as they ran. The going was slower this time because of the toys they were carrying in their back packs, but the men were able to keep their hands free, so that made the shooting a lot easier.

  Once they were back in the neighborhood, they split up and followed their delivery routes. They made their deliveries with a tap on the door, a drop off of the presents, and a “Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas!” for good measure. It wasn’t an easy job; and it wasn’t a lot of fun either, but they were able to make it work because they knew they needed to.

  Oh, I almost forgot.

  I didn’t mention this.

  This is the best part.

  Ready for it.

  Okay, here we go.

  Each man was wearing a Santa suit when they delivered their presents, complete with fake white beard and fake white hair. They all had stopped off at a local gas station a little more than half-way back to the neighborhood. This place was set up like the toy store with food, water, weapons, and the three Santa suits. No one was forced to wear them, but they all went along without complaint.

  I wonder what it would be like to see three, gun-toting, zombie-killing Santas running down the street popping off zombies as they made their deliveries. I am sure; it would be a sight to be seen.

  When the men finished their delivery run, they made their way back home, and their Christmas day went like this.

  Jim stripped naked, checked himself to make sure he wasn’t bitten, cleaned up, and then downed a full bottle of whiskey. After finishing the bottle, he pulled a blanket over himself and slept deep into the next day on the couch in his living room.

  Fred didn’t bother with checking himself for bites. He instead went into his living room and turned on some loud Heavy Metal Christmas music. He left the Santa suit on as he drank beer, head banged around the room, and just got wasted. At some point, he just passed out, sleeping most of the night and into the morning flat on his stomach, beers littering the living room floor.

  Mike crashed down in front of a roaring fire and fell asleep with the picture from the mantel in his hand (he left the suit on as well). The Christmas tree was splashing and sparkling all over the room as he slept the peace of a man who had just done a great task. His dreams were filled with Christmases gone by, happier times and happier days.

  December the 26th

  In the afternoon, a knock on the door woke Mike up. He went to answer it, and when he opened the door Jim was standing there holding a shoe box with Jim’s name across the top of it. Another box was lying at Jim’s feet with Mike’s name across the top of it. Mike leaned down, and picked it up.

  “Thank you notes,” Jim replied.

  “What?”

  “Somehow they gave us all thank you notes.”

  Jim and Mike went in and took a seat. They began to go through the boxes.

  “How did they do this? They didn’t have time. Did they?”

  “I guess it’s a Christmas miracle, Mike, or maybe Santa really is hanging on just like the rest of us.”

  Both men froze and looked up at the ceiling, towards the sky. They both then looked at each other. They didn’t speak, but their looks said this.

  “Did I just hear bells jingling above the house? Did I hear what sounded like a sleigh sliding off the roof?”

  It couldn’t be, they thought at the same time, and shook the impossibility away.

  The men turned back to their boxes and began to look at the notes. Most of them were scribbles, drawings, and thank yous all done by a child’s hand. It brought tears to their eyes. This was a true Christmas miracle and a Christmas that none of them would soon forget.

  THE END

  Ho, Ho, Ho, A Zombie Merry Christmas to you!

  A Zombie New Year's Eve

  Chapter 1: Becky's Story

  The city of Raleigh stood dark and lifeless behind a small single-story home where a thriving family once lived.

  Sleet was falling hard, and bouncing off the silent objects of this now-broken world.

  Three men hurried their way up the porch steps of this house, as the sun started to approach the horizon, choked out by dark grey clouds. The men looked at each other, and then one of them reached down and tested the front door handle.

  Unlocked.

  He slipped open the door to the sounds of a roaring fire, and bright light that covered the room where the woman they were chasing slept on a couch, unarmed.

  The three men had been traveling up I-40 when they saw the girl walk up one of the exit ramps, a ramp that used to lead into the busy city of Raleigh. They hadn’t seen a prize like this in a long time, so they were more than happy to track her through the city filled with some of the thickest zombie hordes they had ever seen. They had fought their way through, just like the girl on the couch, surviving on instincts and human determination.

  The man who had opened the door, turned back to his friends and gave them the okay sign, as he stepped into the warmth and out of the cold. The other two guys slithered in behind him.

  Once inside, the door now closed and locked, they eyed their sleeping prize as she slept in peaceful slumber on the couch.

  Hormones began to race, as common sense slipped from their brains and into their pants. They had worked hard to get this one this time, and they were going to enjoy her.

  “Should we do it now?” Darren Ivy asked, standing close to the couch, looking her over, almost bursting with excitement.

  “Let her wake up first,” Ted Jensen replied.

  “Why?”

  “It’s more fun that way. More sporting. You have to let her fight for it, think she has a chance,” Greg replied, warming himself by the fire.

  Darren looked down at the girl, and back to his traveling companions. “We’ll I can at least help her wake up,” he replied, and sat down beside her. The girl didn’t move or stir, exhaustion acting like a sl
eeping pill, putting her into a deep slumber, so deep that her danger instincts hadn’t gone off with the weight of the man inches from her side. Seeing that she wasn’t moving, Darren lifted her shirt above her bra, exposing soft white skin. He ran his hand over her smooth belly, as the other two guys turned to watch.

  The girl stirred a bit from the touch, but then slipped back into that coma-like sleep.

  Darren eyeballed her bra, and realized he caught a break this time. Her bra unsnapped in the front, and not the back. He looked over at the guys, who were looking at her, and then he turned back to the girl, unhooked the bra, and let her breasts fall free.

  The fire popped and cracked, warmed the small room while the three men waited for the girl to wake up, so sure exposing her twenty-two-year-old breasts would do it. No luck. She was still in that coma-like sleep.

  “Strip her down,” Greg replied, ready to see the rest of her. “That might wake her up.”

  “You think?” Darren asked, looking down at the button that held her jeans closed. “I’ll give it a shot,” he replied, and reached down to unsnap her jeans.

  Becky Carter stirred on the brown leather couch, and opened her eyes when the man unsnapped her jeans, letting the top of her underwear show. Morning had arrived, and she realized a man with a heavy black beard and crew cut was sitting on the couch beside her. He looked like he was about fifty years old.

  Their eyes locked. He smiled down at her with a “predator has caught his prey” smile.

  “Boys, she’s awake,” Darren replied, allowing her to sit up.

  Becky looked around the room, as she pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes, closed the bra, snapped up her jeans, and readjusted her shirt. The other two guys who were with the perv on the couch were decked out just like him in green camouflage, and heavy black combat boots. Becky noticed that they were all armed with all kinds of weapons. It looked like they not only knew how to survive, but they enjoyed it.

  “So, where are we going to do this?” Greg asked, the youngest and tallest of the three, skinny, long hair in a ponytail, about twenty-five years old. He had moved from the fire, and was now standing by the window keeping watch.

  “There are a few bedrooms in here. I figured any one would work,” Darren replied, looking at Becky, sexual hope in his eyes.

  Becky tried to crawl into the couch, eyes darting for exits–none to be seen. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to be anywhere, but here.

  “We haven’t checked the rooms; maybe we should before we get all crazy,” Greg replied, still eyeballing the yard and street. Zombies shuffled by, a lot of them, but none of them seemed to be interested in the four meals inside the house.

  “I think the house is clean, Greg. We haven’t seen or heard anything since we got in here,” Darren replied.

  “Greg’s right, be safer to check before we let our brains go for a bit,” Ted replied. He was the second oldest of the bunch, short and stocky, built strong. He had a pierced left ear, and a bald head.

  “You guys just keep watch. I’m sure it’s okay,” Darren replied, standing up, taking Becky’s hand, and pulling her to her feet.

  She stood up without a fight, as he looked directly at her. She met his eyes, tried to stay focused, and tried to think of Joe, who she had been dreaming about when she was woken up.

  “Now, missy, we either we do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice,” Darren replied.

  “Better do as he says, girl,” Ted replied, and smiled. “Trust me on this one.”

  Her eyes darted to Ted, back to Darren. “Just don’t hurt me, okay? You can have what you want. Free of charge,” Becky replied, terrified, but staying strong. All of this surviving had taught her how to fight, and she was sure she wasn’t going to let these guys have her without one. She just had to have a moment to game plan.

  “Not going to hurt you girl, promise.” He smiled a serpent’s smile, and led her down the small hall by her hand.

  Her weapon of choice, a very thick wooden baseball bat (splattered with dried blood), leaned against the wall next to her backpack and coat. She glanced at the bat without giving away its hiding spot, but it would do her no good right now. She had to think of something else. There was a knife in her boot, but she wouldn’t be able to get to it unless she could take her own boots off. This guy looked like the type who wouldn’t let her do that. Once they were in the room, it was his rules and not hers, she was sure of that. If she was going to make it out of here, unmolested and alive, she was going to have to think of something else besides that knife.

  Darren stopped at the first door, which was a kid’s room in the world before the zombies. He listened for a moment, heard nothing, and decided it was safe. If he hadn’t been so jacked up on hormones, he might have heard the shuffles, but he was so focused on what he was about to do with Becky that this noise just passed right by him. He was thinking with his lower regions, making him sexually stupid.

  Becky though, calm as could be, heard it. Zombies had caused her all kinds of trouble, might have even cost her the love of her life, but they were now about to save her. She was sure of that, so she started forming an escape plan in her head, running her thumb over the wedding ring on her left finger while she was thinking.

  Black Sabbath came alive in the living room. The two guys waiting their turn had found a portable stereo and a stack of CDs. They jammed while they kept watch on the house.

  Darren looked at them, back to Becky. He motioned for her to go in, as the zombies in the room thumped against the door. This thump was mixed with a loud drum beat, so Darren didn’t hear it; but Becky, keen on survival, jacked up on adrenaline, waiting on her chance to escape, did.

  “No, after you,” Becky replied, hoping he would comply as “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath” played loud in the living room.

  “Probably best you go on in first. Don’t need you running away on me.”

  “I’m not going to run away. Where would I go?” She threw him an “okay to have me the way you want me” glance, as she ran her hands over his shoulders, hoping to stroke his ego. Guys love to have their ego stroked, trust me on this one.

  “Really not sure that is a good idea.”

  “Go on in. Take your clothes off. Make sure the bed is all comfy for us,” she replied, not knowing where that kind of talk came from. It wasn’t like her at all. It was the voice of a much different woman, who was a college student before the zombies, and Ripley from the Alien series after.

  Darren (the ego thing, told you it would work) ate up every line she was selling, as he reached down and turned the door handle, unlatching it from its hold. He started to pull the door forward, enjoying the music in the living room.

  Shuffling from inside the room, drawing closer to them.

  Becky tuned out the music, trained her ears on that zombie sound, and started inching towards her back pack and weapon. While she crept forward, she kept her eyes peered on the gloomy interior of the room, as it revealed itself in the ever widening crack of the door. Inch by inch the door opened, inch by inch she moved, seconds ticked like dripping honey, sweat formed a river.

  Darren suddenly noticed how far she had moved away from him. He reached out for her, almost grabbed her shirt, and then the bedroom door opened wide. Three zombies (man, woman, teenage son–previous tenants of this house) shuffled out, pushing Darren up against the wall, knocking some pictures off of it–family portraits frozen in a happier time and place. He screamed, as the zombies started to tear apart his flesh, spraying blood, painting the walls and ceiling red.

  His friends heard this scream over the music, and in the mad rush to save Darren, Greg and Ted Jensen paid no attention to Becky, who saw her chance, and bolted for the door.

  She grabbed her gear, as she heard a gun go off behind her. She didn’t bother to turn around. She ripped open the front door, and let it go as two more shots rang out across the small house. The door slammed hard against the wall, knocking plaster free.

  Sh
e hurried out onto the porch, and down the icy sidewalk. The zombies swarmed her when she reached the street. She managed to clear a path through them with her bat, busting heads open and knocking zombies sideways. When she found an opening in the zombie horde, she slipped on her coat, and moved towards the interior of the city. Hard sleet continued to rain down from the grey skies above, as Black Sabbath’s music trailed off behind her.

  Back in the house, Ted realized their prize was gone.

  “Where’d she go?” He asked, gun still smoking in his hand, as he looked from the three dead zombies on the floor to the wide-open front door. Zombies of all shapes and sizes were filling up the living room like a mosh pit. It wouldn’t be long before they started clogging up the hall.

  A left hand reached up, and grabbed Greg’s leg before he could answer. Greg looked down at his friend sprawled out on the floor.

  Darren was currently trying to hold part of his neck together, as the blood rushed through his fingers, and spilled out onto the floor. He was also ripped open on both arms, and the torso. “Just don’t let her get away. Give her a good one for me,” Darren replied, trying to be strong and brave, as he was bleeding out.

  “We better get to stepping,” Ted replied, as he started to shoot the zombies that were now moving into the hall.

  Greg took out his pistol; and, without even thinking about it, shot Darren in the head exploding his brains and blood all over the wall. No use letting his friend walk around as a corpse. He glanced around the place with quick eyes, sharp-shooter eyes. There was a door in the kitchen that led out into the back yard. He raced for it as Ted continued to make every shot count.

  Greg reached the back door, and without hesitation kicked it open. He charged out into the icy morning with guns blazing, knocking off zombies with precision and skill. Ted joined him a second later, and they circled back to the front of the house, blasting their way through the zombies as they moved.

  They saw Becky in the distance, and followed after her. In this weather and against this army of the walking dead, they were better equipped, stronger, and faster. As long as they kept her in sight, they would catch her in no time.