“He told me to tell you ‘blueberry pancakes.’ What is that supposed to mean?” Buffey said, very puzzled with Joe’s fruity breakfast reference.
“Mother of God. He said those exact words?” Chris said as his jaw dropped and eyes widened. He knew what that meant. He and Joe had come up with that particular phrase in the event of a major, major, incident. One that generally involved getting guns and ammo ready. Joe using that certain, distinguished phrase had to mean that some kind of apocalyptic, end-of-the-world scenario was going to play out and that the hoarding of supplies was necessitated. They had come up with it after an all-nighter of watching cheesy B-movie zombie flicks and decided that if something like what happened in those movies they, unlike the underpaid and overly dramatic actors, would initiate “Operation Blueberry Pancake.” It was a silly enough reference that if one of them had said it to the other then it meant the shit had already hit the fan and it was time to hole up and wait for the end of the world. This was that time. This was Operation Blueberry Pancake.
Chris snapped his eyes back to Buffey. “We need to go to town. Now.”
“I can’t leave Rickey here; he’s not even awake yet. You go to town and get what we need, but be careful. Ashleigh said that one of the helicopters that were flyin’ one of the people out made a hard landing at Mountain Empire Airport, and three other ones have crashed too. I will stay here and see what I can find out about what else is going on.”
“Okay I will get what we need, do you have any gas cans because I’m gonna need all you got. Start filling up the bathtubs with water and start filling up any jugs you have with water,” Chris said as he hastily put his boots on.
“Alright, anything else?” Buffey said nervously.
“Yeah get all of the tools you have in the tool shed out. Axes and chainsaws particularly but anything will do. Anything that you can use as a weapon, get it. Shovels too.”
“Well as far as weapons go we got that semi-auto .22 and three or four boxes of ammo and those two machetes that Joe uses to clear the brush with. Will those do?”
“Yeah, definitely get them ready but get the water first. If the power goes out then the pump for the well goes out and we will be shit outta luck. I will get gas and as much canned food as I can get in the truck. We gonna need a ton of stuff if we are gonna hole up here” Chris said as he walked out of the house and towards the tool shed, but not before grabbing his .45 in the holster. He had one clip of 13 rounds in it and one extra mag that the holster held. Anything more than that, I’m screwed anyway, he thought. He did not like leaving Buffey and Rickey unprotected, but right now, he had to get to town before people realized what could be going on. He went to the shed and got out four (5) gallon gas cans and put them in the back of his truck. His heart was racing as he nervously fumbled with his keys trying to get the door unlocked. Calm down and do what you need to do first; you can fall apart later, he thought. With that, he finally managed to get the door unlocked and climbed in the truck. He was running through the list of what he needed to get before he even got to the end of the driveway. Gasoline, matches, bottled water, canned food, and some bleach were at the top of the list. If he could manage to get some more twelve-gauge shells from the gas station across from the grocery store he would too. He made the turn at the end of the driveway and headed down the road towards Rural Retreat.
Before he could even get a half-mile away from the house, he began to notice that there were many more cars on the road at this time of morning than usual. It was barely 7 A.M. and there were already people out on their relatively quiet road. Chris immediately recognized that the word was getting out and people were going to start hoarding food, water, and other supplies. He did not know what information people had been receiving. Whether people had heard that zombies were coming or that there was just a natural disaster that would signal a jump in gas and other commodities was irrelevant. People had come to their own conclusions about what was going on when 9/11 happened and had not bothered to pay attention to the facts of the matter. Mass panic had caused gas to soar to over four dollars a gallon that day and stores had sold out of bottled water in a matter of an hour or two, even in the small community of Rural Retreat.
As Chris neared the outskirts of town, he noticed that it looked like half the town was either on the road or in the stores. Cars lined up at the gas pumps like it was the last water in the Sahara. As he drove by the gas station, a fight broke out between two men that looked like they were trying to get to the diesel pump to fill up their gas-guzzling turbo farm trucks. Two women that looked like their significant others were fighting each other as well, pulling hair, and yanking one another around. The children of the individuals were crying and trying to pull their parents away from the brawl, which the parents were oblivious to.
Damn, it’s already that bad? Chris thought. He shook his head and drove past; there was no sense in being beaten over a couple gallons of gas. He slowly made his way past the station and across the railroad tracks toward the center of town. Chris approached the next gas station, the one nearest the grocery store, and stopped. There was a pump open, thankfully, as he pulled up. Chris pulled up to the lone empty pump, got out of the truck and took stock of the gas station. Almost all of the people that were there were doing the same thing as Chris, filling up gas cans and vehicles. He got the containers out of the back of his truck, set them down and began to fill the cans up. He looked around and noticed that an older man was staring at him between the pumps. The old man had a “USMC Veteran” hat on and Chris noticed a U.S. Marines sticker on the window. Chris opened his mouth to speak to the man when he beat him to the punch.
“You know what’s goin’ on don’t ya? Gonna get worse ‘fore it gets better.”
“Yeah it seems like everybody has got the memo that the world is coming to an end,” Chris said, chuckling.
“I dunno if I’d go that far,” said the old man, cracking a smile himself. “It is gonna be bad though. I got a friend that stayed in Korea after the war. Sent me an email and he said that the mines an’ whatnot explodin’ happened in Russia, India, and China, too.”
Chris’ smile faded, “Jesus.”
“Aw don’t sweat it son,” the old vet said, waving a dismissive hand. “Same thing happened when the Twin Towers come down. Ev’body thought that every plane in the sky was a damned flyin’ bomb. People’ll come to find out it was just some weird freak o’ nature.” If you only knew what I knew old-timer, Chris thought.
Chris finished filling the containers and moved the nozzle into his truck. As he was filling up, he heard several sirens approaching. An armada of fire trucks and ambulances were moving with a purpose, apparently dispatched to the crashed helicopter at the airport. As they screamed past, Chris could see the expressions on the faces of the firefighters and his fellow EMT’s. They were looks of sheer panic and disbelief. When they passed, he could see the parking lot at the grocery store as well. The local store was packed to the gills, but Chris knew that he had to get to the store regardless. He finished filling up the truck, put the pump back on the hook, and went inside to pay. As soon as he opened the door and walked inside the store, he heard it. Wild theories were abounding as to what all of the morning’s happenings meant.
“I heard it was a big ass terrorist attack. They gettin’ us back for killin’ Osama!” said one man.
“Naw it’s all that global warmin’ bullshit Al Gore goes on ‘bout,” said another.
“You ignorant rednecks, it is Mother Earth crying out for all of the horrible things that have been done to her. You can thank those fascists that were responsible for the Gulf oil spill. It is their fault they are polluting our air and our water,” said a skinny, middle-aged woman that looked like she was from the nudist camp down the road in Sugar Grove.
Chris ignored the ramblings of the gas station patrons and kept to himself. As he approached the counter, he noticed the same expression on the face of the clerk at the gas station as he had seen in the faces
of the emergency responders a few minutes earlier. It was of panic and disbelief. The attendant seemed to be talking to herself when he noticed the wireless device in her ear; she was on a cellphone. He could not make out exactly what she was saying but it was something to the effect of; “They was dead? That’s not possible right?”
Chris knew immediately he had little time to finish what he had come to town to accomplish. He opened his wallet, pulled out, and laid down a $100 bill on the counter and told the clerk to keep the change. He hastily made a beeline for the door and ran outside to his truck. As he neared the white sport-utility truck, he heard more sirens; this time coming from different directions. Chris got in his truck and saw three county deputies roaring past, headed toward the airport. Why the hell are they so far behind? He thought. Shaking his head, he maneuvered his way through the other cars in the lot and headed toward the grocery store just down the street. How much longer do we have? He wondered.
* * *
Buffey was doing well. She had managed to fill both the bathtubs in her small singlewide home and was filling up some old sports drink jugs that Joe had brought from doing a standby at the high school football games. The sound, however, had awakened her and Joe’s son, Rickey, and he was beginning to ask questions that Buffey could not honestly answer. He wanted to know where daddy was and why mommy was running him a bath in the morning. He always took a bath the night before school, not the morning of. Buffey told him that there was no school today because of a big accident and that he could go back in his room and play his Xbox all day if he wanted to. Rickey was ecstatic, he did get to play his video games quite a bit, but mommy had never told him that he could play all day long. He bounded off to his room and Buffey held back tears. She would have to tell him exactly what was going on soon, but at least she had a temporary stopgap to keep him from asking too many questions just yet. Rickey had seen zombies, death, and destruction in his games, but Buffey and Joe had always made sure that he knew the difference between what was real and what was make-believe. Now, Buffey thought, he will have to tell me what the difference is.
She finished filling up the last of the containers and set them aside. She had both tubs full and two (5) gallon sports drink containers filled to the brim. She remembered that Chris had also told her to go to the tool shed and get anything that could be used as a weapon. She quickly went to her bedroom, put her shoes on, and made her way towards the door.
Buffey made it to the shed and began to take stock of what she had available. She and Joe had two chainsaws, one axe, and three shovels. She checked the fuel on the two chainsaws and both were still full. She picked them up first, one in each hand, and made her way back to the house. She knew that she would have to come back for the axe and the three shovels in a minute but Chris had said to get these first. Buffey made it back in the house and heard the phone ringing. She set down the two saws by the front door and went to answer the phone. The caller ID said that it was her friend Ashleigh calling from her cellphone. Buffey answered the phone and immediately heard radio chatter from Ashleigh’s hand-held squad radio. Ashleigh was relatively new at EMS compared to Buffey, Joe, and Chris, but she had a love for the job that was insatiable. Not only did she have a full-time EMS job, but also she still volunteered at her local rescue squad in Austinville, about 25 miles from where Joe and Buffey lived.
“Hey Ash!” Buffey said quickly. “Where are you?”
“I’m gettin’ off at exit 60, headed to your place. Are you...” Ashleigh trailed off. In the background, even through the phone, Buffey could hear screams in the radio and something about the bodies coming back to life. “Oh my God, Buffey did you hear that?”
“Yeah I did and I already know about it, Chris is in town getting supplies. Try to meet up with him at the grocery store and then hurry back here. We don’t have much time now,” Buffey said as calmly as she could.
“You already knew about it and you didn’t call me?” Ashleigh said, raising her voice. She then took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I will meet up with Chris, and we will be there soon.”
“I know how it sounds but I have to protect Rickey.” Buffey said.
“I understand Buffey, I’m sorry. Ashleigh said in an apologetic tone. “Is this really happening? The dead coming back to life, like zombies?”
“I’m afraid so, but at least Joe and Chris have a wealth of knowledge on the subject so we will be okay. Meet up with Chris at the store, then get here fast,” Buffey repeated and hung up.
* * *
Chris waited in line impatiently. He had managed to get in the store and get roughly three-quarters of what he needed, minus the bottled water. He had only managed to get one case of it after the rest of the denizens of the store had a run on the dwindling supply. He now stood in line with the rest of the essentials that he would need in his cart. The canned foods were surprisingly easy to come by as most of the people in the store were buying up all of the bread, milk, eggs, and other perishable items in lieu of buying dry goods and canned items. Chris figured that he had got over a hundred dollars’ worth in cans alone, enough food to hole up for quite a while. While he was waiting his turn in line, his cellphone chimed in. It was a text message from Ashleigh, it read:
U NEED TO LEAVE SOON. MEET ME AT UR TRUCK WHEN U GET DONE. ON MY WAY 2 U IN RR.
Ashleigh was in Rural Retreat? Chris wondered. Maybe she had some more information from the way her message read. She sounded desperate though, as if she knew what was really going on. As Chris was pondering the message and its meaning, he could have sworn that he heard a gunshot. The clerk that was ringing up his stash also perked up as if she had heard the shot as well and began to work faster. She nervously fumbled at the items in the cart as she rang them up. She had nearly finished and most of the items were bagged and in a separate cart when he heard the screams coming from outside.
Chris heard the screams and quickly looked toward the door. Ashleigh was leading the group of people that were running haphazardly into the store. The sound of unintelligible words and frightened gibberish soon filled the store as Ashleigh saw Chris and motioned to him.
“LET’S GO, NOW!”
Chris did not think twice, grabbed the bags, and threw them into a cart. He grabbed the handle of the shopping cart and started for the door when he heard two, then three more shots ring out. Both shots sounded like they were less than a hundred yards away, but between the shouts and screams of the panicked customers, it was hard to tell. Chris jumped after the third shot, and he knew that time was short. He quickly wheeled the buggy around to the bed of the truck and began to throw the contents of the cart into the bed of the truck.
“Come on Ash! Let’s get this shit and get the hell outta here!” Ashleigh was dumbfounded at what she saw, and Chris did not see anything at all. She noticed, as several figures were appearing from up the road and through the open area near the store. The land off to the side, cleared last summer to make way for new stores, was now slowly becoming a walking graveyard.
“OH MY GOD CHRIS! LOOK!”
Chris spun around to see the shambling figures coming through the end of the new stores area, moving slowly but with a purpose. The collective moan of the undead that were approaching him made an irritated shiver ran up his spine. There were at least two dozen that Chris could make out coming through the field beside the store and another dozen or so making their way up the road and onto the parking lot.
“Ash, you get the stuff in the bed of the truck! I’ll cover you!” Chris barked at Ashleigh as he reached in the truck and got out his XD 45 out. He clipped the holster to his hip and was shaking so bad he could not get the thumb release undone. Chris took a deep breath, unlatched the button, and pulled the .45 from its holster. He racked the slide, chambered the first round, and took aim at the nearest target as Ashleigh furiously loaded the supplies. Chris took aim and fired twice, missing the nearest zombie both times. Damn, should have sighted in before now. No time like the present, Chris thought. He adjust
ed his aim for the third shot and hit the nearest zombie, less than 20 yards away now, directly in the head. The zombie’s skull split open from the .45 hollow point and exploded brain matter out of the back of its head like sick, gray gelatin. The zombie fell to the ground in a pile.
Ashleigh finished loading the supplies and shoved the shopping cart violently towards another zombie that was approaching much faster than the one that Chris had just shot. The cart clipped the ghoul and it stumbled to one side and continued its pursuit. Chris heard the shopping cart being flung and spun around and took aim at the next zombie as it hastily made its way toward them. He was dressed in black and yellow bunker gear and Chris noticed that he was one of Rural Retreat’s firefighters. He fired two shots again, this time both hit true as the undead firefighter’s head exploded from the dum-dum rounds that tore through it.
“ZOMBIE KILLERS MOTHERFUCKER!” Chris gleefully exclaimed, then turned toward Ashleigh. “LET’S GO, NOW!” Ashleigh obeyed and got into the passenger’s side of the truck, leaving her car for the undead. Chris holstered his .45, got in the truck, started it, and threw it into reverse. Spinning tires as he left the parking lot, Chris turned onto the main road and accelerated quickly.
“Were those fucking zombies?” Ashleigh screamed as they made their way down the road.
“Yeah, lots of ‘em too. Looks like the buried ones move slower than the ones that have just been turned, too” Chris replied, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the undead that were approaching, numbering somewhere around 50 now, some moving much faster than others. “Looks like 28 Days Later with a little dab of Romero,” Chris excitedly proclaimed and sped back towards home. He, Ashleigh, and Buffey had a heap of work to do.
Six Feet From Hell: Books 1 - 3 Page 4
