Six Feet From Hell: Books 1 - 3

by Coley, Joseph

  “Hey, look here,” Joe, pointed his light towards a set of hooks on the wall with indiscriminate keys hanging on it. Joe shined the light on the key rack as he approached it. Jamie came over to Joe’s left and examined the rack for any sign of the correct set that would get the old Ford running. Jamie thumbed through the line of metal dangling on the wall. He was getting frustrated when the grizzled voice and the rack of a shotgun changed his attention.

  “If’n ya’ll are lookin’ fer the old pickup keys, y’aint gonna find em’ there. Kep’em in my pocket n’case I had’a run outta here. Looks like ya’ll thinkin’ the same.”

  Joe and Jamie both froze in their tracks as the old man appeared into view. Dressed in a pair of Carhart’s and an old John Deere cap, he was obviously the owner of the camper-top Ford that they were after. In his hands, he clutched an old walnut stock pump-action shotgun. He looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties. A scraggly white beard completed the old farmer look that he was most adept at. He held the shotgun halfway pointed down. He did not look to shoot the strangers that had invaded his home, but was taking precautions nonetheless. Joe lowered his rifle, but kept the light on. The man stood in the dimly lit hallway sizing up his new guests. Joe raised his left hand, greeting the old timer. “I’m sorry. We were just trying to get a set of wheels to get us all home in. Your truck fit the bill, so we were tryin’ to get it started.”

  “Ya’ll was tryin’ to steal it, wasn’t ya.”

  “Yessir, but we didn’t think anyone was home,” Jamie defended. “We were comin’ in here to try and find the keys.” Jamie was visibly shaken by the situation, but kept his cool. Joe hurriedly stepped in front of Jamie. The old man raised his shotgun and met Joe with it. Joe put up his hands in surrender.

  “Look, we just want to get home” Joe said hurriedly. “I’ve got my wife and son waiting on me. They don’t know if I’m alive or dead. I have to get to them. I tell you what; we can take you with us.” The old man casually lowered his gun, pondering Joe’s offer.

  “I know I could, but I’m not ign’rant. I wanted to leave yesterd’y, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the house. I wouldn’t make it long by m’lonesome.” The old man reached into his pocket and produced the keys to the truck. He looked down at them and pondered his decision. A crackle of gunfire outside interrupted the conversation. Joe flinched as more shots rang out from outside of the house. The old man rushed past a startled Joe and Jamie and ran outside. Joe and Jamie broke their daze and darted outside.

  Andrew and Donnie had opened fire on a large group of zombies that were coming across a field adjacent to the farmhouse. Several dozen more undead were making their way down the road and behind the farmhouse as well. The zombies were moving as a group, as a flock of birds does. The lack of sunshine in the morning hours had masked some of the undead approach, and now the men were outnumbered. Joe swiftly moved behind of his friends as they unloaded on the approaching horde. The old man flanked him to the left and tried in vain to kill several of the undead that were approaching. The buckshot in his shotgun just didn’t have the reach that Joe’s assault rifle did. Andrew was also having trouble killing the approaching zombies, but for another reason. He was blindly firing in all directions, not taking the time to line up his shots. Andrew was an accomplished hunter, but was succumbing to panic as the ghouls approached.

  Joe was taking his time with his shots, carefully lining up headshots through the ACOG scope on his rifle. He was dismayed, however, that it was taking more than one round to take down the undead. He fired two and three rounds to each one of the approaching undead, maximizing his kills but minimizing his ammo. Joe emptied his first clip at several that had made their way within less than a hundred feet away from the group. He quickly dropped the clip and fed another in to the magazine well, continuing his assault of the shambling corpses that made their way ever closer.

  Jamie was also having difficulties with his shots as well. He had practiced shooting his AR at the range on several occasions, none under stress though. His rounds tore through the undead horde, severing limbs and taking out hunks of meat as he shot away. He was taking several shots to each one before remembering to aim for the head. He frantically went through nearly half his ammo before calming down enough to make accurate hits. Empty shell casings littered the ground as each man went through round after round, attempting to secure the area. The undead horde was shambling closer and closer, the men’s volley of rounds not thinning out the walking dead nearly fast enough.

  “There’s too many of ‘em! We’re not gonna make it!” Joe hollered to his friends.

  “Fuck that! We kill ‘em all!” Andrew replied as he dumped another clip into two zombies that had made their way within twenty feet behind them.

  “No dammit! Stick together!” Joe screamed. “Ah, dammit!" he exclaimed, then turned back to face the onslaught of undead.

  Andrew ran up on another group that had approached from the side of the house, screaming like a banshee as he charged towards them and swiftly hit the first one with a buttstroke of his rifle. He flailed at the second as the zombie staggered back from Andrew, almost reacting to the incoming blow. Andrew swung wildly and lost his balance. He went tumbling forward as the walker regained its stance and dove directly at Andrew lying on the ground. Andrew sprang up and spun to his right, turning face-first into the house. He saw stars as he flailed back, this time landing on his stomach as the zombie scrambled up at him from between his legs. The ghoul grabbed Andrew by the cuff of his pants as he frantically kicked at it. The zombie loosed his grip on him and Andrew jumped to his feet and emptied the rest of the clip into the zombie’s skull. Bits of skull fragments and decayed sinew showered his face and clothes. The sticky, rotted smell made him gag, and then vomit. He turned and retched up the remains of his stomach as he fumbled over his own feet and propped himself up on the side of the house.

  Joe spent the rest of his clip as he splattered a pair of zombies that were cut down by Jamie’s haphazard firing. The two were crawling - sans legs - and were surprisingly fast. Joe paused from his shooting and turned to do a quick check of their situation. He looked over to Jamie who was again changing clips. Andrew was busy retching still at the end of the house. He frantically looked about for Donnie. He had not seen him since they had ran out of the house and started targeting the walkers making their way to them. Joe’s eyes darted about the yard and surrounding area. He did not see Donnie anywhere. He sprinted over to the other side of the truck that was out of his view. He was dumbfounded at what he saw as he approached the end of the pickup. There were a set of legs lying at impossible angles near the front of the passenger’s side of the truck. Joe inched closer around the front of the truck and saw what remained of the old man. His legs had been torn from his body and were laying nearly perpendicular to one another.

  Joe cringed at the sight of the blood-soaked mess that had become of the old man. What made matters worse was the fact that the old man had the keys in the front pocket of his overalls - in the top half of his body. Joe popped up from the remains of the old man and called Jamie and Andrew over to him. There were still more than a dozen zombies nearby, but they had thinned out the group enough to regroup and come up with a new plan. Andrew wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and composed himself. He made his way over to Joe and Jamie, checking over his shoulder more than once after his run in with the crawler.

  “I can’t find what’s left of the old man, and worse, I can’t find Donnie. He was perched on the hood to steady his aim, next thing I know, he’s gone!” Joe was stressing over the possible fate of his friend when a hand grasped the leg of his pants. He automatically turned and fired towards the bottom of the pickup, as did Jamie and Andrew. A muffled scream stopped the men in their tracks as they soon realized that the voice was Donnie’s. He cried out from under the vehicle. Joe dropped to his knees and grabbed the hand of his friend to drag him out from under the truck. He heaved and pulled Donnie out to safety. Do
nnie was covered in blood that was a mixture of his own and what was left of the old man’s.

  In addition, he had been bitten. Many times.

  Donnie rolled over on his side after Joe pulled him out and vomited copious amounts of blood. “Oh God, Donnie! What happened?” Joe cried out, and knelt down to try and aid his friend.

  Donnie spat out more of the bright red-blood and coughed violently. “That old fucker didn’t cover my back! By the time I realized his ass was zombie food, they got bored and came after me. Little bastards grabbed my feet and took me down. I couldn’t move fast enough to get away. The old man only took a few seconds to turn, and then he started in on me too. I beat his ass to death with my bare hands.” Donnie held up his mangled, bleeding hands - the knuckles down to the bone in spots. He fell back limp on the ground. “Goddammit, it hurts!”

  Joe looked at his bleeding, injured friend in disbelief. He scrambled and yanked his bag off his back and began to sift through the contents looking for anything that could help Donnie. He reached into the bottom of the bag and pulled out his trauma dressings and IV supplies. Donnie put a feeble hand on Joe’s arm. Joe stopped filing through his supplies and looked at his friend. Joe’s wide-eyed stare soon melted into acceptance. Donnie shook his head at him.

  “Don’t waste that shit on me, man. You know what’s gonna happen. No sense in wasting what little stuff you got.” Donnie again rolled onto his side and vomited, retching up more crimson puke. He curled into the fetal position and began to shiver violently. Joe reached for his friend, and then pulled his hand back. He knew what he had to do and so did Donnie. Joe got to his feet and exchanged nervous glances with Andrew and Jamie. Donnie lay on the ground in immense pain as the infection ran through his body. He began to have seizure-like convulsions as the pain racked his body.

  Andrew and Jamie both took a step back as the thrashing ceased and Donnie reached into his pocket. He brought up a bloody, mangled hand. A set of blood-soaked keys dangled from his fingers. “At least it wasn’t a total waste.” He smiled through his bloodstained teeth.

  Joe knelt down and grasped the keys to their new ride with a sense of urgency. Donnie slumped back down. “Just get this over with; you got a family to go to. I will see mine in heaven.” Joe drew his pistol from his holster and pointed it at his downed friend.

  His hands trembled at the thought of putting two in the head of his comrade, but there was no time for sorrow or regret. His mind flashed back to his family. Bits and pieces of his life flashed with the muzzle flare. Joe stood dazed as the smoke drifted out of the barrel of his pistol. Killing zombies was one thing, but having to put down one of his own was another nightmare in of itself. He became lost until the sound of creeping death reminded him that the rest of the world was not going to stop because of his troubles. Jamie grabbed at Joe’s shirt feverishly and pulled him away from the remains of the corpses that littered the ground in front of them. The world stank of death and Joe as glad to get away from it. Joe and Jamie grabbed Donnie’s gear and weapon and tossed them in the back of the truck. The three men scattered into the front of the pickup that mercifully started on the first crank. Joe slammed the truck into gear and tore out of the driveway of the unfortunate man that had gave them the hope in the form of a vehicle and sped out down the road.

  The road home.

  CHAPTER 13

  Ronnie clenched his teeth in determination. Or in disgust. Or in anger. He was not sure what he was feeling at the moment, but he was positive that he had not felt it before. Nor would he want to feel it again. His mother, Buffey, looked as though she was feeling the same thing. The same mixture of anger and disgust was poring over her. They were anxious to take care of the zombies on the lawn. Armed to the teeth with grim determination, each person in the house, sans Rickey, had at least two weapons on them. They were ready to take on the undead horde that was still pounding away at the outside of the singlewide home. The relentless noise from outside made all of them on edge. They all stood around the living room exchanging glances. Without a word, they were preparing mentally for the problem that lay ahead. They had calmed down, especially Buffey from the last twenty minutes. Lori was dead. There was no bringing her back, and little time to dwell on the past for fear of not taking care of the future.

  Chris had looked out of the windows as much as he could to try to size up the opponents. There were at least thirty walkers milling around, not including a dozen or so that were beating on the side of the house. Chris was sure that they had enough ammo to do the job, but didn’t know if they would be able to take on all of the zombies without grouping them together. If they could take out eight or ten of them right out of the gate then they could take care of the rest at leisure. Sound would not be an issue, but as soon as they started on the ones in front of the house then the ones moving about in the yard would soon be attracted. The lot of them was mostly slow-moving creatures. They had been dead a long time, as evidenced by the haggard, dirt-covered look they were sporting. Men dressed in their best (and last) suits and macabre, Bride of Frankenstein-looking women made up the majority of them. Chris thought that they had taken out all of the ones from the cemetery near the dairy farm across the road. They obviously had only thinned the herd and attracted more. The shambling corpses that were now out there had taken a long time to move the two to three miles that it took to get to the house. Their slow plodding had paid off. They outnumbered the living nearly ten to one.

  Armed with a firearm and a “swingable” weapon, as Chris called it, they hatched a plan to take care of the infestation out front. It seemed easy enough; rush outside, stay on the porch and not get bit or pinned down. Keep it simple, stupid. Ronnie stood at the door, ready to open and get things started.

  “You sure this is goin’ to work as well as you think?” Ronnie said to Chris as he rested the double-barrel shotgun on his shoulder. “Seems kinda asinine.”

  “Oh yeah. The simpler, the better,” Chris replied, hand on his .45. “If we get off the porch we are gonna get swarmed under and we will have the high ground, so to speak. Military tactics 101, man.”

  “Alrighty, then. Let’s do this.”

  “I don’t think I can do this!” Ashleigh blurted out as Ronnie began to twist the handle on the door.

  Chris looked to Ashleigh. Her face told the entire story. Pale white with beads of sweat popping up on her brow did not lie. She was scared shitless. Chris walked over and reached out to take the rifle that was in her hand. Her hands were trembling as well. Chris sat the rifle down and moved closer to Ashleigh. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close to him. His lips locked with hers passionately. She melted in his grip, her trembling stopped, and the color began to come back to her face as she began to blush vigorously. Chris released her from his embrace and stood back. Ashleigh stood in a trance, her eyes still closed. He snapped her out of her daze by handing her the rifle back. Startled, she grabbed the rifle back and chambered the first round.

  “Oh, I am gonna live!” She confessed. Peals of laughter broke out from Ronnie and Buffey both. Chris had simultaneously broken the ice with Ashleigh and lightened the mood at the same time. He knew that he would have to say something later to Ashleigh about this all, but for now, he didn’t care. He had the group ready for war.

  * * *

  Joe pulled slowly down the driveway towards Andrew’s house. The absence of light during the day gave a false sense of security that it was just another afternoon cruise. They knew better. The absence of the undead was also another major concern. Amid the tension of getting to the truck, they now possessed a heightened sense of awareness for Joe and his crew. The lax feeling that they felt know was betraying them. There was still danger abound and they did not know where the undead had gone to. Frankly, they didn’t care. The twenty-mile trek that they had done in thirty minutes had yielded very little sightings of zombies. Joe had stuck with their original plan of staying on the outskirts of town and remaining on back roads had paid off. They we
re now just outside of Marion. It was by far not a large town, the population hovered around 5,000. Joe did not know how many people had actually stayed in the town after the events of the last few days, but if they were indoors, they hid well. They had no indication that there was anyone around, undead or otherwise.

  Joe had grown up in Marion, but the little bit of the town that they saw on the way to Andrew’s house had not at all looked like the town that Joe had spent most of his childhood. There were a few fires burning out of control, as was to be expected. There had been an abundance of abandoned vehicles that they dodged easily enough. Litter and other trash was scattered about on the sides of the roads, thrown out of windows of fleeing cars as they made their way to wherever their hearts had led them. Joe’s heart was leading him home. He was eager to get Andrew back to his wife as well as getting home to his own. Their plan had not exactly gone the way that they had wanted to, but they had made it nonetheless.

  Joe put the truck in park and settled back in the driver’s seat. He glanced in the rearview mirror and looked about the front yard of his friend’s humble abode. The driveway was to the right of Andrew’s house. It was a brand new modular home that did not look to be two years old. The gravel driveway that they now sat in led uphill to the home. Andrew’s new navy blue Chevy Silverado sat in the driveway. He had planned to trade in the shitty little Nissan that he had driven to work, now a moot point. A lush, green front yard sloped down as well to the single-lane road that had led them.

  After Joe was satisfied that the coast was clear he cut off the vehicle’s headlights and turned off the engine. No sense in making things complicated now, seeing as how easy it had been to get there.