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

by Anthony Renfro

  “Good,” Double replied. “That’ll help.”

  “What’re you thinking?” Trouble asked, knowing that look in her sister’s eyes.

  “I’m going to help Fred. You guys make sure I make it.”

  Trouble eye balled the zombies shuffling about, and then turned back to her sister. “Are you sure?”

  “Just aim for the head, and I’ll be okay,” Double replied, loading up on weapons.

  “I don’t think you should do this.”

  Double looked at her sister. “We’ve been through worse. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but – ”

  “Don’t worry,” Double replied, hugging her sister.

  “I know I can’t argue you out of it. Watch your back, okay?”

  “Sure thing,” Double replied, as she made her way over to the hole in the roof. She climbed down the ladder and disappeared into the room below.

  “Will she be okay?” Joy asked.

  “Yeah, she should be. We’ve both been through a lot worse,” Trouble replied as she stepped up to the edge of the building, and scanned the ground below. She aimed, and started shooting at anything that wasn’t human.

  Joy watched Trouble for a moment, drew in a breath, exhaled, and then scanned the ground below. She aimed, focused, and fired at a female zombie shuffling along with most of her torso ripped open. Joy missed the head of the zombie, but managed to hit the zombie in the neck. Rotten skin, decaying bone and cartilage shattered, as the head blew off the body. The headless zombie walked forward for a moment or two, spouting blood like a geyser, before finally tumbling to the ground.

  “Good shot,” Trouble replied.

  “Thanks,” Joy replied, smiling with pride.

  Trouble turned back to her task, aiming and firing at another zombie, as her sister exited the building and started to run, stab, and shoot her way towards Fred.

  +

  Fred climbed into the passenger seat, and when he looked out the window he saw two zombies shambling towards him. He pulled up his gun, and gripped the door handle, ready to step out of the vehicle with his gun blazing.

  Two quick shots rang out, and as Fred watched, the skulls on each zombie exploded, showering the truck in blood and chunks of rotten brain matter.

  Fred opened the door, gun drawn, and when he stepped outside he saw Double walking towards him. “What’re you doing down here?” He asked.

  “Getting you out of a jam, thank you very much,” she replied.

  “I appreciate it, but I had it handled.”

  “You sure about that?”

  He grunted, hating to admit she was right. “Since you’re here. Would you mind checking out Guard Tower 1 and 2? I’ll check out 3 and 4.”

  “Okay. I’ll make my way on over.”

  “Hey, Double, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks. You saved my ass.”

  “Anytime,” she replied, and ran off towards Guard Tower 1, shooting at several zombies lurking nearby.

  Fred watched the undead creature’s heads explode, and then made his way towards Guard Tower 3.

  +

  Mike sat on the floor with his back to the white wall, head down, gun laying between his legs. He had tears streaming from his eyes, as he thought of Benny, of taking his life, of taking everything from the man, and then his thoughts went back to his family. To the day of the Apocalypse when a routine trip back home after work led to one of his grandest nightmares. Two kids and a wife, and a house full of zombies. If he had only been home two minutes earlier, a minute even, they might still be alive. He heard the three gun shots in his head again, the ones that ended his family’s early zombie life. He saw himself after, broken, beaten, defeated, wanting to let the zombies have him, and then he saw himself fighting, surviving, enduring, making it happen each and every day. All of that had led up to this, taking a human life for the very first time. He didn’t mind killing zombies, because he thought he was doing that person a favor. Saving their soul so they weren’t trapped in endless damnation, but Benny was more than he could bear. The man may have been slipping off into the zombie world when he shot him, but Benny still had breath in his lungs when he pulled the trigger, he could still see and know that his life was about to end.

  Mike picked up the gun, closed his eyes, and placed the barrel against his head. That’s when he felt a cold hand caress his cheek. He opened his eyes, and turned to face the thing that had disturbed his suicide attempt. It was the ghost of his wife, floating and shimmering, covered in a golden white light from head to toe.

  “You still have good to do,” she replied, cold breath upon his skin.

  “I can’t go on. This world is too broken. The decisions too hard. I’m tired of making them. I want to be with you guys again.”

  “You have to go on, Mike.”

  “Why? Haven’t I endured enough?”

  “Because they need to pay. All of them need to pay for what they’ve done. They can’t be allowed to continue on. What’s the next community they invade? Who is the next family to suffer? Who is the next child to be an orphan because of them?”

  “I can’t be that guy anymore, and I can’t take a human life again.”

  “You have to and you will, because you’re a survivor. You know how to make this world work for you, and these people in the community trust in you. Don’t forget that. They need you as much as you need them. I love you,” she replied, shimmering into nothingness.

  Mike reached into the cold spot, and tried to feel her for just a second more. “I love you too,” he replied, sitting there, collecting himself, putting the gun and suicide thoughts away.

  When he felt like moving again, he got to his feet and started searching the house for weapons. He found a loaded pistol (with extra bullets in the drawer) laying on top of the bedside table next to a large leather bound bible. He picked up the bible, and flipped through its soft pages. He read a few passages, a few spots Benny had marked as favorites, and then put the bible away. He wasn’t a man built much on faith, but he found the passages comforting to read. He grabbed a small bag lying on the floor, put the bible inside it along with the extra bullets for the pistol. He checked the closet, and found a loaded double barrel shotgun with no extra shells. He grabbed it along with the bag and made his way to the front door. He paused when he reached it, and listened for a moment with his ear pressed against the wood.

  Shuffling.

  He put the pistol on the small table that held a few pictures and never to be used again keys, he readied the double barrel shotgun, and opened the door. A zombie stumbled towards him and he quickly blasted its head off. Another one was walking slowly down the street, starting to turn towards the house. Mike aimed and blew its head off as well. He tossed the shotgun onto the couch, picked up the pistol, slung the bag over his shoulder, and made his way outside.

  He stopped and stood on the porch for moment, breathed in fresh air. He looked up and down the street. The zombies were much thinner now, but strong enough in numbers that a swarm was still possible. He could hear the gun shots in the distance (which he had been hearing while inside Benny’s house). He could tell they were coming from the Refugee Center, and a few other spots around the neighborhood.

  He got his feet moving and made his way down to the street. What he saw as he walked, sickened him. He’d been unable to see the carnage before because he had been in a hurry to get to Benny’s house, but now that the herd was thinner and his task complete, he was able to survey the damage up close and personal. He shook his head, as he looked at the homes broken into, the dead bodies on the lawn, whole families slaughtered side by side, neighbors, friends, executed or torn apart by the zombie horde. It was nightmare inducing carnage, and it was almost more than he could bear as he made his way back to the Refugee Center killing any zombie (threat or not) that he saw.

  +

  Double stopped, aimed, and two quick shots later had two zombies lying dead on the ground in front of her. She looked aroun
d, no other zombies in sight. Most of them had already fallen or were in the process of becoming extinct inside this now closed off neighborhood.

  She looked up to Guard Tower Number 2, which was designed like the other 3. A rope ladder led all the way up to a small platform, and on the bottom of this platform was a square door that popped up when pushed on. Double holstered her gun, eye balled the distance, and made the tough climb to the door underneath the platform. She paused, hanging multiple feet above the ground, and took out her knife. She pushed up on the door, expecting to be attacked, but nothing reached down for her. Feeling it was safe, she pushed the door all the way up and let it fall with a bang onto the wooden floor. She glanced down at the ground, and then climbed onto the platform.

  She stood there a moment, and looked at the building where the guard on duty would sit or stand in order to keep watch. It was a small building, four pieces of salvaged plywood pieced together with unskilled hands, and a make shift roof of the same material along with strips of roofing shingles nailed crudely into place to keep out the elements. There was one window set into the front of the building, but she couldn’t see into it from where she stood. The window (salvaged from one of the unused homes in the neighborhood) looked out on the world beyond the walls. There were no other windows in the walls of the small square space.

  She gripped her knife tight, as she stepped up to the door (also salvaged from a local home), and gripped the handle. She turned it, click, and then pushed it open. Nothing rushed out at her, but there was a body sitting in the chair, slumped over and dead, nearly decapitated when his throat was slit from ear to ear. There was blood everywhere, and the guard, like the other she had checked, had a bullet right between the eyes.

  “Assholes will kill, but they won’t let them turn. Makes no sense,” she replied as she stepped out of the booth, and looked over at Guard Tower 4.

  Fred gave her the double thumbs up when he saw her, which she thought meant both Towers were clean. He then pointed to the Refugee Center, and started his descent down the ladder.

  She took one more glance around, breathed in the fresh air, and then started her descent as well.

  +

  At the Refugee Center, Mike paused at the door and looked up at the roof. He let out a soft whistle that wouldn’t attract attention. Joy looked down over the edge.

  “How are you guys?”

  “We’re hanging in.”

  “Need anything?”

  “Kids are thirsty, cranky, and tired. The sun’s starting to get to us up here.”

  Mike looked from her to the area around him. He saw no zombies lurking about. “It looks good on ground level,” he replied, turning and looking up at her.

  “What’re you thinking?”

  “I want to do a few things in the room, and then you can bring the kids down. We’ll park them under the big Oak.”

  “Do you think it’s safe?” Joy asked.

  “Should be. Couple minutes. Okay?”

  “Sure Mike, just hurry.”

  “Will do,” he replied, and made his way into the Refugee Center. He paused inside the door and looked around. The body had to go first, so he walked over to her and gripped her ankles. He pulled what was left of her into the lone bedroom (which used to be a conference room), and placed her on the floor, covering her with a soiled blanket. He closed the door, and made his way over to the bunker hidden underneath the floor. He climbed down, and hoisted up a case of bottled water and a few bags of beef jerky. The supplies weren’t grand, but at least he had stock piled enough to help out today.

  Finished, Mike walked over to the ladder and whistled upwards. Joy popped her head down. “Start bringing them down, and try to keep them moving forward so they don’t have a chance to look around too much.”

  “Got it,” Joy replied, popping back out of view.

  Mike walked over to the door, and listened for movement outside (hard to do with so many little feet making noise above). He heard nothing, so he opened the door and stood there on guard duty. A few minutes later, Joy appeared in the room, and one by one the kids started coming down the ladder after her. She walked them in a line (little heads looking around terrified) towards the door. When they reached the door, Mike handed each one of them a bottle of water, and told them to go to the big Oak. Trouble was taking up the caboose, and when her boots hit the floor Mike was surprised to see her running solo. She and her sister were rarely seen apart.

  “Where’s Double?” Mike asked.

  “She went to help Fred.”

  “Is he in trouble?”

  “Sort of, but they got it under control,” she replied, and then gulped down some water.

  “Good.” Mike handed her the bags of beef jerky. “I’m going to go door to door and check on survivors. I hope I’ll be able to find some of their parents. I’m not sure what to do about the ones who are now orphans.”

  “I bet Joy would take them in for a bit. She loves kids.”

  “That’s a lot to ask of her.”

  “We’ll talk. I’m sure she will,” Trouble replied, making her way towards the outside, not wanting to leave Joy alone for too long. She paused when she reached the door. “Glad you made it back safe.”

  “Me too,” he replied.

  “How’s Benny?”

  Mike shook his head.

  “What happened?”

  “What didn’t happen today? Go on now, take care of those kids, and tell Double and Fred when they return to come find me. Three is better for searching than one.”

  “Sure thing, Mike,” she replied, and made her exit.

  Mike readied his weapons, grabbed a bottle of water for himself, and then started his hunt for survivors and the parents of the kids now resting in the shade of the Oak.

  Chapter 2: Redemption

  A zombie shuffled down the street underneath a gigantic yellow full moon. He was dressed in an apron, a former fry cook still carrying a spatula in his hand. He shambled along down the road, solo, unaware of the cool night air or the peaceful sound of crickets ushering autumn into the world. A silent bullet suddenly and violently took the top part of his head off, sending the undead creature tumbling and bleeding to the ground. He rested there, unmoving, spatula still gripped tight in his hand.

  “How are things up there?”

  Mike hit the button on his Walkie Talkie. “All good, Fred. You?”

  “Nothing on this side. How does the gate look?”

  “Holding tight,” Mike replied, as he looked down from the platform of Guard Tower 1 to the makeshift gate they had made earlier that day. The gate now consisted of his SUV and truck along with a gigantic piece of metal that not only covered the hole, but it stretched several feet beyond it on each side.

  “Amazing we found almost all the parents for those kids. How do you think Joy is going to handle being a mom of four now?”

  “She’s going to be great,” Mike replied.

  “It’s going to be tough on them and her.”

  “Yep,” Mike replied, as his eyes caught something in the distance. It looked like multiple yellow lights coming towards them. “Might be trouble brewing.”

  “See something?”

  “Not only see, but hear. Sounds like big bikes coming this way,” Mike replied, as the sound of loud motorcycle engines filled up the night.

  “I hear it too. I’m on my way.”

  “See you soon,” Mike replied, as he readied his rifle with the scope on it.

  The bikes stopped before reaching the neighborhood, engines turned off, kick stands deployed. The riders dismounted, and concealed the bikes behind a couple of cars. Feeling their machines were hidden, the riders made their way down the road towards Mike’s community. When they reached the new gate, Mike could see that the three riders were all dressed alike in jeans, thick zipped up jackets, boots, and red devil masks with big horns on top of them. They studied the gate, pushed and banged on it, but it didn’t budge. Frustrated and angry, they stood there together deba
ting their next move.

  Mike aimed his rifle, and put his right eye on the scope. Night Vision technology gave him a clear head shot, he started to squeeze the trigger, but paused before taking the shot. He thought of Benny, his final breath, the taking of his life. He wasn’t sure he could do it again, but then he thought of Donna Marie, Donny, Betsy, the orphaned kids and their tears, and all the other lives these guys had taken. He knew what he had to do, even if he wasn’t sure he could live with the results.

  The gun blasted silently and one head exploded.

  The other two Satanists looked up to where the silent shot had come from, as their friend’s dead body hit the ground with a loud thud. They started to reach for their pistols when another silent bullet took out another one of them with a clean exploding head shot.

  The one remaining Satanist seemed confused, not sure if he should run or flee, as his hand rested on the top of the gun handle. He looked at his two dead friends lying there, and then he looked up in time to see a large shape sailing towards him from out of the sky. The Satanist braced for impact, as Mike landed on top of him. Both men tumbled to the ground with a loud thump. Mike rolled over unharmed, but the Satanist broke a leg, an arm, and several ribs.

  Mike quickly got up and straddled the Satanist, pinning him to the ground so he couldn’t get up and run away. He stared the Satanist in the eyes, spitting these words into them. “Tell me where you came from?”

  The Satanist laughed, and spit up blood. Mike couldn’t see it, but the guy was smiling inside the mask.

  “Tell me now!” Mike screamed, ready to destroy this guy with his bare hands.

  “Route 9. They will enjoy you because you’re delicious. I can smell your sweetness.”

  “Where on Route 9?” Mike asked, ignoring the insane chatter.

  “So sweet, trick or treat. They’re going to love every inch of you,” The Satanist replied, and laughed again, a cold, cruel, evil, laugh.

  This laugh sent Mike into a rage where he lost all sense of control, all sense of right or wrong, all sense of everything good he had ever done in this world, and when Fred finally reached Mike, finally stopped the punches, the Satanist had his entire head bashed in. There was nothing left but a bloody pile of crushed bones and brain matter.