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

by Anthony Renfro

  Joe swung the lamp around, shotgun pointed forward, ready to fire on the intruder, but the room as well as the hallway beyond the closed door were silent. He tried to collect himself, as he stood there. It was hard to do with his heart pounding like a jackhammer.

  When he was calm, he walked over to the bedroom door and thought about the story of Gideon in the bible. That was a story he always went back to when he felt the impossible odds stacked against him. He reached down for the handle, and didn’t hesitate. He turned it, held it for a moment, quick breath, and then flung the door open so hard that a couple of pictures fell off the wall. There was nothing in front of him but the empty hallway now crawling with night’s oncoming darkness.

  He bit his lip, leaned out, and set the lamp down on the hallway floor. He jumped back into the room, before anything could reach out of the dim dark and grab him. He let the lamp stand there a minute and give off some light. He heard the zombies shuffling about outside, the tink tink tink of sleet on the glass, the fire cracking and popping below, as he steadied his nerves and gripped the shotgun with both hands.

  “Would a shotgun kill a demon?” Joe for some stupid reason, asked himself. He tried not to think of the answer, but he knew that the answer was no. However, it gave him comfort to be armed, so he kept the gun pointed forward as he stepped out into the hallway, trigger finger itching to fire on the first sign of movement.

  There was nothing there.

  Nothing at all.

  He spun around a couple of times, standing in the spotlight of the kerosene lamp. He was all alone, and whatever had come out of that closet was gone.

  He lifted up the kerosene lamp with the barrel of the gun, let it dangle off the end, as he checked out the next two rooms.

  One was another kid’s room that he spent only moments looking around in, and the next a bathroom. The shower curtain was closed, pulled tight.

  He sighed, and crept over to it.

  “All right Joe. One, Two, Three, Go,” he replied, and yanked it open. Nothing was there but expensive tile, shampoo, soap, and a soap dish. He let his pulse calm a bit before stepping back out into the hall. When he reached the end of the hall, he stopped at the edge of another hallway.

  Bam!

  Went the bathroom door.

  Bam!

  Went one bedroom door.

  Bam!

  Went the other bedroom door.

  The sound of the slamming doors echoed around the open house for a moment followed by more laughter, evil sinister laughter, as Joe dropped the gun, and planted himself against the wall, knocking a few pictures free. He could feel icy sweat run down his back, as goose bumps rose up on his arms.

  He closed his eyes, found his calm, and pulled his body off the wall. He picked up the lamp and the gun, and stepped out into the unexplored hallway. He spun the light left and right, eyes darting about the place, ready to shoot on a moment’s notice; but there was nothing there to shoot. He was all alone.

  Joe decided to go left where there was only one open door to check. He leaned into this room and saw that it was a library. There were shelves full of books, a couple of tables filled with books (some open and some closed), reading chairs, and dead reading lights. He could also see a spiral staircase that wound its way up to dark dingy shadows. He didn’t know what was up there, but he really didn’t care to know. Probably just a kooky reading area on a metal platform.

  He turned around and walked in the other direction. First door he came upon was a large closet that was large enough to hide an army. He stepped into this closet and looked around. It was a typical closet with typical closet stuff, hanging clothes and coats, bed sheets, towels, stored holiday decorations–most of it Christmas based, and on and on it went.

  Joe made his way back out into the hallway. He walked down to the last door on this level which was closed tight. He leaned against the wood, rich man’s wood, and tried not to think about the note or its warning about the Master Bedroom. He heard nothing shuffling in the room, so he drew in a breath, reached down, and turned the handle.

  He pushed the door open, and it creaked inward, slowly, until it banged into the wall.

  “Hello,” he asked, not sure why he did it. There was, of course, no answer.

  He inched into the room, gun pointed forward, lamp dangling from the end of the barrel. He saw no shufflers, no activity of any kind. The room was empty except for typical bedroom material, which in this house was in the form of a gigantic king-sized bed that could hold five to six adults laying side by side, a place to sit and read by the window, dressers for clothes, nightstands, a huge TV, and not one, but two doors. One open, and one closed. He eyeballed the closed door for a moment, which he assumed was a large walk in closet.

  Did he hear something moving in there?

  He thought he did.

  “Best to leave that one alone,” he told himself, and then made his way over to the open door. He shined his light around inside the room this door was attached to. It was a gigantic Master Bathroom filled with three sinks, a rain shower (no curtain, solid glass, thank goodness), a gigantic spa tub, rich looking floors, mirrors, faucets, and commode.

  He stepped out of the bathroom a second later, and stood in the Master Bedroom for a moment listening to the tink, tink, tink sound of the sleet on the unshuttered window. He looked over at that closed door, and this time he was sure he heard something moving behind it. Joe ignored it, even though it was hard to do, and rummaged around the room for a moment. He found no keys to the car in the garage, but he did find a lot of expensive clothes and jewelry. One piece of jewelry, he thought, would fit Becky perfectly. It was not only her size, but the style she liked. He slipped it into his pants pocket, and started to leave. That’s when the closed door flung open, and that sinister evil laugh blasted into the room. It permeated the darkness, as Joe turned in time to see not one, but four zombies shuffle out of the closet.

  He aimed the shotgun, as the bedroom door slammed closed. That sinister laugh erupted again, but Joe ignored it as he fired. The shotgun let out a blast of sound, and lit up the room for a moment in red light. The kerosene lamp on the end of the barrel swung wildly back and forth, dancing light all over the room in crazy patterns, as one zombie head exploded. It was the tallest of the bunch, probably the dad.

  Joe aimed for the head of another walking corpse.

  Something grabbed the shotgun, and then this something ripped the gun out of Joe’s hands, and flung it across the room. The kerosene lamp dangling off the end of the barrel, flew off as well. Thankfully, it didn’t break when it hit the carpet and rolled to a stop against the wall. While it lay on its side, it cast weird angles and patches of light across the room.

  Joe pulled out his pistol, and popped two more zombies in the head–red flashes of light, perfect aim each time, heads splattered and exploded.

  Now, there was only one zombie left.

  He aimed, ready to send this room back to safety, and that’s when the demon pulled his aim away. The zombie went in for the fatal bite with Joe’s arm now exposed, stretched out and held tight by the invisible force.

  Joe thought quickly, and it saved his life.

  He balled his left hand into a fist, and punched the zombie as hard as he could with it. The zombie, the smallest of them all, was knocked sideways with a sickening crack. Its jawbone hung askew and disjointed, as the zombie found its center of balance, and went on the attack again.

  Joe shook the demon free, and aimed.

  The demon put a vice grip on his right arm, but he held his aim.

  Veins bulged.

  Muscles tightened.

  Joe kept his aim strong, as the demon tried with all its might to expose Joe’s arm again, an arm that felt like a thousand hot needles were being pushed into his skin all at once.

  Joe wasn’t about to give in this time.

  He fired.

  The zombie’s head popped like an exploding watermelon, and it fell over dead.

  The
demon vanished.

  Once the room was silent, Joe grabbed the light and checked himself over. No bites, nothing, but his right arm was sore and it had a big bruise on it. He grabbed the shotgun, and made his way ever so carefully down to the living room. He stopped in front of the half-burnt fire, and let it warm him for a moment.

  When he was feeling warm and calm, he grabbed his backpack and took out his bible. He read a few passages, and soothed his rattled nerves. He may not have been the best at being a Christian, but he tried to keep his faith strong, because in a world like this you needed it just to get you through each difficult day. When he was finished reading, he listened for the demon, but he didn’t hear it. All he could hear was the tink, tink, tink sound of the sleet, and an occasional thump coming from the mud room. The zombies trapped in there hadn’t found a way into the house, and it sounded like they hadn’t found a way out either.

  Joe packed away his bible, and got his feet moving. He made sure all three weapons were loaded, and then took the box of supplies and the case of water down to the car. He packed up the car, grabbed the shotgun and lamp, and then made his way back into the house. It was time to look for the car keys, which he hoped were downstairs somewhere, because they weren’t upstairs. He was sure of that.

  Joe made his way into the kitchen, figuring it would be the best place to start his search. He put the lamp and gun on the counter, and turned the lamp up to full power. The fire popped and creaked in the fireplace beyond, as he stood in the kitchen for a moment, and asked himself, where would keys be if they were indeed in here?

  He walked over to a drawer and opened it up. It was mostly cooking utensils, rich looking, powerfully built, clean and polished, but not good for starting a car.

  Bang!

  Something crashed above his head.

  Joe, on instinct, ducked out of the way, and looked down at his feet. He saw part of a broken coffee cup lying there. He picked up a piece of it, stood up, and looked at it a moment. He turned around to see where it might have come from, and that’s when he saw a cabinet door standing open with ten to fifteen more coffee cups sitting on a shelf, like missiles ready to launch.

  One of the cups lifted up, and while he watched, mesmerized as if in a trance, it came flying at his head. He managed to duck out of the way as another one lifted up into the air.

  The demon wasn’t finished with him yet.

  Joe knew now that he had to be quick, so he started flinging open drawers, and rummaging through them as fast as he could. Through the kitchen he went, frantically searching for the keys, dodging coffee cup debris.

  When the demon threw the last coffee cup, it moved onto the coffee pot, then to the dishes, the silverware. Whatever it could make into a weapon, it did.

  Joe did his best to dodge and weave through every weapon launched. He took a few hard hits on the back, a couple of nasty shots to the head (one that actually produced momentary stars), but through it all he stayed true to his course and was rewarded for his efforts when he ripped open a drawer and found the keys. He saw the Maserati symbol on the key chain, so he knew it was them. He snatched up the keys and took off for the garage, grabbing the gun and lantern as he went.

  The demon flung the microwave at him, and it barely missed Joe’s head. That machine crashed into a glass cabinet, and destroyed itself along with tons of fancy china.

  Joe could hear the racket behind him as he opened the door that led into the garage, and hurried down the steps. He made his way over to the car, and for some reason the demon didn’t follow. He was thankful for that.

  “Okay, Joe, here we go. Let’s hope she still has gas,” he replied, as he climbed in and pushed the key into the ignition.

  He turned the key, the car sputtered, and came to life.

  He turned on the headlights, and they lit up the room.

  He let the car idle for a moment, and the sports car purred like a pedigree kitten. It was anxious to be driven.

  He climbed out and walked over to the metal garage door, pistol in hand. He thought of Gideon again, and how he had defeated an entire army with just 300 men. It gave him hope, and it gave him power. One more second, just a quick breath, hand on the garage door handle, ready to lift–he paused, something occurred to him.

  He walked over and rummaged around near the lawnmower. He found a small red gas can, which was still full. He took the lawnmower and the gas can over to the garage door that was furthest away from the idling car. He searched himself, but he had no matches.

  He walked over to the car and searched the box of supplies, no luck.

  He sighed, cussed under his breath, because he knew he had to make one quick trip into the house to retrieve the matches by the fireplace.

  He raced into the living room so fast that he almost tripped over the couch, but he didn’t. This trip would have sent him sprawling into the glass coffee table. Who knows what kind of damage that would have done?

  He grabbed the box of matches, and paused when he heard a door open. It was the door that led into the house from the mud room.

  That evil sinister laugh again followed by thumping and bumping moving into the kitchen, stepping on broken debris.

  Joe watched in horror as the zombies started shuffling into the living room, blocking his exit.

  He had no gun on him, but he had his knife and he had the matches. He took out his knife, and stabbed one of the zombies in the head when it came at him. He then fought the zombies until he reached the hall, but he couldn’t move forward. He backed into the office, and got cornered. He flung things at them, but it was no use. They were packing in tight.

  Joe knifed a couple more zombies in the head, and then lit a match. The zombies backed up from it, as he tossed the match into the hair of a former male dressed in a dirty business suit. Its head lit up like a makeshift torch, and Joe raced up to it, pushing it forward like a burning battering ram. The other zombies, startled by this fire, scattered, as Joe pushed the dirty business suit zombie backwards down the hall with its teeth gnashing at him.

  When Joe reached the door that led into the garage, he shoved the zombie into the back wall. He lit another match, and tossed it onto the zombie, who caught fire and started to burn. He smiled when he saw the wall catch, and the flames race up to the roof.

  Joe made his way down the steps, and raced over to the lawnmower. He doused it in gasoline, and tossed the can away. He flung up the garage door, and the zombies outside noticed him instantly.

  Joe struck a match.

  “Come and get some,” he replied, and dropped it.

  The lawnmower exploded with fire and started to burn. He pushed it out into the cold, as far as he dared to venture. The zombies retreated, of course.

  He slip-slided back into the garage, ran over and flung up the garage door behind the car, jumped into the machine, slammed the car door closed, and threw the gear shift into reverse as flaming zombies started to come out of the interior of the house.

  The tires left black marks on the concrete floor as the car sailed backwards. Joe knew he was moving too fast for the weather conditions, but when he realized this it was too late. He was now a passenger in the car he was driving.

  The car slid sideways for a bit, collecting zombies that couldn’t get out of its way. Joe could see their miserable rotten faces smashed into the glass, jaws still moving, trying to get at his precious flesh. Then the car came to a sudden stop when it collected so many zombies they stopped the car’s sideways progress.

  Joe was shoved into the passenger seat, and as he lay on his side, he heard a crack. He looked up, and saw the glass on the passenger window starting to fracture. He gathered himself, slipped back into the driver’s seat, as the window caved in.

  One zombie managed to crawl about halfway in (a creature that looked to be in its early twenties when it was born into the zombie world, female, probably just a day-to-day office worker).

  Joe kept his cool as he threw the car into first gear, but the wheels started spin
ning. The car wasn’t moving forward.

  “Come on! Come on!” Joe screamed at the machine, as the woman zombie grabbed his arm. He shook her free, just as the wheels caught and the car rocketed forward.

  The zombies started to fall away, all but that one who was about half way in and half way out. She grabbed his arm again, and started to go in for the fatal bite.

  Joe took his left hand off the wheel, and let the car drive forward without his guidance. He shook his right arm free again, and the zombie tipped forward into the seat. This gave him enough time to grab his knife, and lift the zombie up by its hair. They were eye-to-eye for a moment, and then Joe shoved the knife into and out of the zombie’s skull. He gave her a push, and the creature fell off. He looked back to the front of the car, and he was heading straight for a tree. He turned the wheel to avoid a head on collision, which worked, but the car started sliding sideways. Again, he was a passenger in the car, as the machine slid until it made hard contact with the tree, shaking loose frozen debris from the lifeless limbs above.

  The car sputtered and died.

  Joe could see the zombies shuffling towards him as he tried to get the car started, and then he looked into the garage. Zombies on fire where now coming out of the house, and heading in his direction.

  Joe kept trying to start the car, and it kept sputtering, not wanting to start.

  “Please, please, please,” he replied, as the engine caught.

  He pushed the car into first gear, and zoomed forward up the driveway, leaving the zombies, and the haunted house behind.

  At the end of the driveway, he turned towards downtown Raleigh, as the lawnmower exploded in the distance. The house was now burning inside and out. It wouldn’t be long before it was embers.

  Chapter 3: Conclusion

  Becky woke up hours later, and noticed that the day had drifted into the night.

  She checked her watch.

  It read 10 P.M.

  She couldn’t believe she had slept for so long, but it had been a tough day. If anyone deserved to sleep like this, she did.