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

by Anthony Renfro

  Chapter 2: Joe's Story

  The afternoon sky hung dark and grey, and a soft snow had replaced the sleet that had been falling for most of the day, as Joe Carter fired a couple of shots into the crowd of zombies who were shambling after him. He saw one of them go down hard; and, even though he had missed the head shot on this zombie, its rotten left leg had no problem separating itself from its body when the bullet passed through it. The creature fell over with a thump, and seconds later started to crawl, instincts set so strong to feed that it had to keep going no matter what. The rest of the zombies were unfazed, and were still moving towards him, so he had to find shelter, quick. He saw a street, turned left down it, and ran past two large posts with black gargoyles sitting on top them. They had fake red ruby eyes set deep into the eye sockets, and they watched Joe as he ran by.

  About half down this street, Joe turned to check on his pursuer’s progress. The zombies converged, and started to shamble down this single-lane asphalt road, which Joe realized was once a private drive. He looked to his left and right, pine trees dotted either side of this driveway, covered in a heavy white coating from this late December winter storm. He turned forward and eyeballed his destination.

  The house he was moving towards stood all alone at the very end of this driveway. It was silent and dark, empty and fortress strong, at least three stories tall with an attic and basement (the kind of attic and basement where there was always something going bump in the night). It was Victorian in design with a wrap-around porch, circle driveway complete with fountain, and a three car garage. Two cars sat outside of this house, one a Porsche SUV, the other some kind of Range Rover. Several bodies lay on the ground close to these cars, partially eaten and frozen. Joe ignored the bodies as he moved up the porch steps, and turned his shoulder towards the front door. He hit the door hard, but it didn’t budge. Instead, the thick wood, rich man’s wood, held its ground, and planted him firmly on his butt. He looked around the porch, two windows on either side of him, shuttered up tight, impossible to penetrate. The zombies reached the circle part of the driveway and started coming towards him, some going left, some going right. They might have been dumb slow creatures, but when they horded together like this they were almost impossible to beat.

  Joe got up and fired a few shots at them. A couple of heads exploded, but the rest of the zombies kept coming. He now had a decision to make–race through them, kill what he could in hand to hand combat, pray he didn’t get bitten, or find some way to get into this house even if that meant breaking a part of his body to do it.

  A zombie shambled up onto the porch–an elderly woman with cat eye glasses, rotting from head to toe. Joe shot her right through the eye, shattering the glasses, and sending her sprawling back into the other zombies. This delayed their progress for a moment, as they had to find a way around the dead granny now laying across the porch steps.

  Joe decided it was time to find a way inside and that hand to hand combat wouldn’t work against this massive horde of zombies. He took off towards the back, but somehow managed to trip over one of the expensive chairs on the porch. This sent him sprawling into the swing, which he fell into, and then off of. He lay on his back for a moment, as the swing moved wildly above him. He put his hand up to stop it, just as he heard a thump on the porch. He looked past his feet and he saw a couple of zombies heading in his direction–one a policeman in uniform with one eye gone, badge still on his chest, and the other a young woman dressed like a cheerleader. She had one arm missing, and her leg had been nastily chewed on.

  He shot them both in the head, got up, and headed for the back of the house. He was moving fast when he saw the window which led into a mud room. This window had no shutter covering it, so he closed his eyes, shielded his face, and dove through. The window was strong, again rich people with rich windows lived here, but it did what it was supposed to. It broke into a thousand jagged pieces, as Joe flew through it like a stunt man in a Hollywood movie. He slammed into the floor hard, and rolled to a stop against the wall with a loud thud. Shards of glass and what was left of the window rained down on him, as he covered himself again. When he was sure the last bit of debris had fallen and that he wasn’t cut or bleeding, he got up onto his feet and dusted himself off.

  “That was a bad idea,” he replied to the empty room, as he walked over to the door that led into the mud room from the outside. He turned the handle, and smiled when he realized it was unlocked. He locked the door, turned around, and tried the door that led into the house. It also wasn’t locked. He made his way inside and slammed the door closed. He clicked the dead bolt, and caught his breath for a moment.

  While he stood there, he pulled a flashlight out of his backpack and studied the room he was in. It was a kitchen, a big kitchen, full of stainless steel appliances, stainless steel sinks and faucets, and granite counter tops. He walked over to the gas stove, tried it, didn’t work–this one needed electricity to make it function. He checked the cabinets and found plenty of dry food, canned stuff, pots and pans, dishes, cleaning supplies, and other kitchen items.

  Slap!

  Thump!

  He heard noises inside the mud room and turned to face it. The zombies had arrived and were now finding their way in through the open window. It sounded like slabs of beef dropping onto the floor, as they fell into the room one by one. Seconds later, they started to paw at the door that led into the kitchen.

  Joe decided he better get on with the exploration of the house, because he wasn’t sure how much time he really had. Something momentarily stopped him, caused him to freeze in mid-movement. He turned towards the sound. It was a rattle of silverware in one of the drawers, like someone was shuffling through them trying to find the right one to use for their meal.

  He walked over to this drawer, opened it, and shined the light down. In the gloom of the room, he could see everything was in place, and as it should be. He closed the drawer (soft close), stepped out of the kitchen, and into a hallway.

  He paused again when he heard the silverware rattle.

  It was a bit louder this time.

  “Happy thoughts Joe, happy thoughts,” he replied to himself, as he tried to make his brain think that the rattle was caused by the zombies in the mud room shaking the floors of the house, and not something else. Hard to do in a place this dark and spooky, but he managed to do it as he went back to his exploration.

  The hallway he was in ran left and right. It wasn’t as far down to the end of the hall on the left, so he went in that direction. He found a half bath and a door leading out to the garage. He remembered the garage doors had been shut when he first saw them, so he opened up the door hoping to find another car.

  The garage was massive, probably bigger than most people’s homes. He walked down the small set of brick steps and stopped when he reached the concrete floor. He scanned the place with his flashlight, cutting the dark with a single yellow beam. Nothing much in this garage except for typical garage stuff, shelves full of tools, paint in pails, yard equipment, and on and on it went. However, there was one thing that did spark an interest in him. It was a car, a small sporty convertible, Maserati, very expensive.

  Joe ran his hands over its polished grey exterior and opened the car door. He slipped into the driver’s seat. With its leathered-up interior, it looked and smelled rich. He searched the car for a set of keys, but he had no luck. They weren’t there. He then looked into the mirror, towards the closed garage door directly behind this car. He thought about an escape plan–fling up the garage door, dive into the idling car, and race out of the garage before the zombie horde surrounded him. How far would he get in a car like this with the weather like it was? He wasn’t sure, but it was a solid plan.

  Joe slid out of the car and closed the door. Something caught his attention. He spun the light up to the open door that led into this garage. He felt like he was being watched, but there was nothing there. Only a dark square opening that led back into the house.

  “Shake it
off, man,” he told himself, and then that Taylor Swift song popped into his head. “Great, I’m going to have to live with that song for a while.” He smiled, and made his way back inside.

  He walked across the hall towards the half bath, and about halfway there, something stopped him for a second. He shined the light down the long hallway. He thought he saw something or someone there, but the end of the hall was empty when his light reached it. He listened in the dark, but he heard no footsteps, no noises that would tell him someone else was in this house with him.

  He shook the scary thoughts free and made his way into the half bath. As luck would have it, there was a small kerosene lamp sitting on the sink. He turned off the flashlight and put it away. He grabbed the lamp, found a way to turn it on, and then the small square room flooded with light.

  He checked himself in the mirror. His face looked haggard and worn, far removed from what a twenty-three year-old’s face should look like. His black hair was dirty, needed a washing, glasses needed cleaning. His clothes were filthy from the boots upward. Jeans, tee shirt, coat, all of it just needed to be trashed.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a good shower,” he replied, turning on the faucet out of habit.

  Nothing, of course, but there was a case of bottled water beside the sink. He grabbed one, drank some deep gulps, and then rinsed off his face with what was left. He used one of the fancy hand towels to dry himself, and then replaced his glasses. He stepped over and took a whiz in the commode, zipped up, and then leaned back against the wall.

  He thought of Becky. He wondered how she was doing out there. She was in college before all this just like him, and neither one of them knew much about surviving until they were forced into it. It was sheer luck that they were both still alive–

  “If she’s still alive,” that little voice inside his replied. That was a thought that haunted him each day. Alive or dead, he wished he knew, but in his heart he knew she was. It was just his brain that wouldn’t let him live with that answer.

  A thump pulled him out of his thoughts. It came from somewhere deep inside the house. This didn’t sound like a zombie thump. This sounded like something else, something with more of a coordinated skill. He decided it might be time to check things out, to make sure the house was safe for him to be in for just a little while. He shouldered his backpack and loaded his gun. He grabbed the kerosene lamp and stepped out of the bathroom, which was covered in a white wallpaper.

  He turned right and made his way back toward the kitchen. While he walked, he noticed the walls were filled with all kinds of family pictures. He shined his light over these images that were sitting in a cold house in dusty frames. He could trace this family through the years by looking at these photographs. It made him sad to see what this Zombie Apocalypse had destroyed, so he stopped looking and focused in on the exploration.

  He stopped when he reached a small passageway that joined two rooms. The room on his right was the kitchen; the one on his left was a large dining room. He shined the light around the dining room for a moment, big table, lots of plush chairs, chandelier in the center of the ceiling, mirror on the wall, and a large window that was currently shuttered up. He turned to leave, and that’s when he heard it. He turned around, held the light up so he could see the chandelier. It sparkled and gleamed, and it was moving. Not wildly back and forth, but enough to make it clink and rattle.

  A zombie thumped against the house causing Joe to jump. He took one last look at the chandelier, and then made his way back into the hall. He walked to the end of it and stopped. He shined the light in either direction. This new passageway went left to a front door and right into a large living room. In front of him was a large office, complete with all the necessary home office equipment.

  He walked into the living room and explored there for a moment. The walls were white like the hallway and bathroom. A ceiling fan sat silent above him. The furniture was leathery cold. The solid glass coffee table showed a healthy abundance of dust.

  Joe walked over to the wood-burning fireplace and put the kerosene lamp down. There was plenty of firewood stacked up on the floor, so he grabbed a bit and decided to kill the cold. It took him several tries; but, when he got the fire going, it gave him not only heat but light as well.

  He warmed himself for a moment or two–thoughts again raced back to Becky. Where was she right now? Was she cold, tired, all alone, with a new group? Then the big question hit him again. The one that had stalked him since they separated–was she still alive? He pushed that last question quickly away and concentrated on getting warm.

  When he was feeling thawed, he decided to raid the kitchen. He wanted to see if he could find a pot or pan that would withstand fire, maybe an old cast iron, best thing to cook with. If he could find something like that then he could have a hot meal again. How long had it been since he felt the warmth of food or tasted something that wasn’t processed with a thousand chemicals? How about a hot cup of coffee? All of it had been gone for too long now, and Joe missed it, missed it almost as much as he missed a hot shower or a warm safe bed.

  A large bang upstairs interrupted his current cooking plans.

  He looked upwards towards the direction of that sound. He would have to wait to raid the kitchen, because something was stirring, and he was almost certain it wasn’t a mouse.

  He grabbed his pistol and the kerosene lamp, started to walk towards the exit of the room. That’s when his eyes spotted something, something once hidden in darkness now revealed with the firelight. He walked over and knelt down in front of a cardboard box. Two weapons were lying on top of it. A shotgun and a pistol. Beside this box was a case of bottled water. Five bottles were missing from the 24-pack.

  He set the guns to the side, and popped open the box. Inside, he found toiletries and dry goods–enough to last him and Becky for days maybe weeks if they rationed them right. He rummaged through the box and found a pack of pop-tarts. He pulled out one of the pastries of death, and started to munch. He was about to close the box when he stumbled onto the note. He picked it up and took it over to the fireplace.

  The note read:

  If you find this, and we are nowhere to be seen, we are probably dead. Take the food, take the water, take what you can and get out! We stumbled onto this house, squatted for a bit, but then something went wrong. I decided to write this note while my buddies are trying to get the cars outside started, because I wanted to warn anyone who finds this box. Something lives in this house now, something brought up from the very depths of hell, something we managed to conjure simply by accident. Never play with Ouija Boards. We know that now, and are attempting to leave, but the zombies have us surrounded. Which one is worse, demon or zombie–I pray I never have to find that out.

  Sincerely, AW

  P.S. We think the family who once lived here is still in the Master Bedroom. We dared not open that door, but we did hear a lot of thumping coming from that room before we conjured up the demon. If you don’t leave, and try to seek shelter here, at least leave that door alone. Good Luck.

  Joe looked up from the note when he heard another bang upstairs. He walked over to the box, and dropped the note back inside. He put a pistol into his waist band, and put the other one into the box. He made sure the knife he carried was easily accessible from the pocket of his coat. He grabbed the shotgun, and checked to see if it was loaded. It was. He then walked out of the room to the foot of the carpeted stairs.

  He held the kerosene lamp up. No good. He couldn’t see all the way to the top with its light. He could only see about half of the steep stairs, the other half disappeared into the darkness beyond the reach of his light. He tried not to think about what could be lurking at the top, maybe it was looking down at him now with unseen eyes.

  Joe shivered, pushed away the cold thoughts, found his nerve, said a silent prayer, and started to climb with his pulse pounding and his body breaking out in a frozen sweat. Every noise, every thump, every bang, caused him to stop, pause, and listen;
but nothing ever came down on him from the top or up at him from below. He remained all alone while he climbed, and climbed, and climbed.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, he stopped and shined the kerosene lamp around. The wall to his left was solid and unbroken, no doors, white wallpaper, and more pictures in frames. To his right there were three doors, all standing open looking like dark toothless mouths ready to swallow him up.

  He shined his light around in the first room, which held bunk beds, kid’s furniture and toys, and posters on the wall. He walked into this room and over to the non-shuttered window. From here he could look out onto the circled area in front of the house, the fountain, and the driveway that led back out to the main road. The zombies were still shuffling about, thicker now than when they were before. He also noticed the snow had stopped falling, and it was sleeting again.

  Joe sighed, because he knew the sporty number in the garage was his only option. That car wasn’t equipped for weather like this. The vehicles sitting outside would be better for this kind of weather, but hording zombies and opened SUV doors meant those cars were a no go. For one, he didn’t have the man power to fight off the zombies in order to get to one of the vehicles; and two, the batteries inside each vehicle were probably dead, drained of their energy as they fought to keep the lights inside the vehicles burning or the headlights on.

  “They’re probably out of gas as well,” Joe thought, and sighed again. He tried not to think of Becky as he stood there, but he couldn’t help it. His thoughts drug him back to Myrtle Beach, and their quick warm weekend honeymoon.

  The closet door banged open, causing him to jump, and turn towards it. Something rushed out of the interior dark, rattling coat hangers as it moved. This something brushed past him ending his rambling train of thought. It was cold whatever this something was. Then the door to the room slammed closed, and the thing that had come out of the closet let out a sinister laugh.