100 Days of Death

by Ellingsen, Ray

  Everything seemed ok. I picked up the propane box and struggled with it all the way up the driveway. My knee protested with every step.

  I set the box down in front of the garage, exhausted from my efforts. I unlocked my back door and let Chloe out. She raced around the back yard first before settling in to do her business. I watched her for a minute and then unlocked the garage and lifted the large wooden door up on its hinges. Just as the bottom edge of the door was level with my head I heard Chloe emit a low growl.

  Suddenly something big slammed into me from behind. As I was propelled forward, my head smashed into the bottom edge of the garage door and reversed the direction of my momentum. I lost my grip on the door and as I hit the ground on my back, the door came crashing down on me and my attacker.

  I struggled and tried to push away from whatever had tackled me. As it crawled its way on top of me I kicked at the bottom of the garage door and it opened partially. Something snapped its teeth dangerously close to my face. Its foul breath was overwhelming.

  My attacker’s hands clawed at me and grabbed at my clothing and gear. I elbowed it in the side of the head and found its throat with my right hand. I pushed the thing up and away from me and bucked my hips. As heavy as it was, I still knocked the thing off balance. It landed next to me.

  I rolled away and came to my knees. My hand found the grip of my carbine and I brought it up between us as it rose to its knees and lunged at me. The end of the barrel of my M&P slammed into its chest, stopping its forward motion. I yanked the trigger four times in quick succession but was only rewarded with one muffled whap sound. The thing slapped the barrel away and reached for me. I tucked my chin and lunged forward myself, hands extended.

  Both of my hands caught the creature around the throat and I pushed upwards, coming off my knees and back up onto my feet. The undead thing rose with me, clawing at me and snapping its teeth. It leaned forward, pushing against my grip.

  Instead of resisting, I pulled the thing toward me and sidestepped. The creature shot past me as I released my grip on its throat. It sailed forward and lost its balance, slamming head first into the side of my work bench. It hit the ground, momentarily stunned.

  Out of my peripheral vision I saw Chloe come up under the partially opened garage door and lunge for the thing on the ground, growling the whole way. She bite into the creatures shoulder and started shaking it violently.

  “OUT, NOW!” I screamed at her.

  I stepped forward to intercept her but slipped on something slick on the concrete floor and went crashing back to the ground, landing on my right hip. My carbine, still tethered to me, flipped up and slammed into the side of my head. The commotion startled Chloe and she scampered back under the garage door.

  My attacker was already getting back to its feet. I drew my 1911 out of its tactical holster on my left hip and aimed at what I hoped was the thing’s head. I couldn’t be sure because it was dark in the garage and my vision was blurred from my head being pummeled with my own gun.

  The distance from my target was only two and a half feet when I fired. I saw the blinding muzzle flash just before I squeezed my eyes shut. The roar of the discharging weapon was deafening in the close confines of the garage.

  Even over the gunshot though, I could hear what sounded like a watermelon hitting concrete. I blew my breath out, simultaneously rolling toward the garage door. I could feel the heavy mist of blood and brain matter as it permeated the air and covered me. I continued to roll until I was out onto my driveway.

  It was now pouring down rain. With my eyes still shut I put my face to the sky, letting the rain soak it. I dropped my .45 and vigorously washed my face and eyes. I blew my nose hard with what little air I had left in my lungs. I stumbled over to the wet lawn and rubbed my face in the grass.

  I could feel Chloe pawing at me, concerned. I ignored her and got to my feet, staggering over to where I thought the garden hose was. I found it and blindly pulled myself along it to the faucet. I cranked the faucet on, found the end of the hose and washed my eyes, nose and mouth out, almost choking as I inhaled a mouthful of water into my lungs.

  I opened my eyes. It was almost dark out. The first thing I noticed was that my hands were pink stained with blood. I wasn’t sure who’s blood it was. Chloe was in front of me whimpering. I brought up my carbine, still on its single point sling, and put it up to my shoulder, trying to look everywhere at once.

  It was then that I remembered my carbine had only fired once and stopped working. I looked down to see that the magazine was missing from its well. I drew out another magazine and slammed it home. I chambered a round, aimed into the ground and tapped the trigger twice. The weapon whapped twice and two rounds tore into the dirt. Chloe jumped at the sound.

  I brought the weapon back on line. My body started shivering. It was either because of the adrenaline or the fact that I was soaking wet, I couldn’t be sure which. I still wasn’t even sure what had just happened.

  I knew I had seriously screwed up. I walked back to the garage and threw the garage door open all the way. On the garage floor was a body lying face down. The entire back of its head was missing. I put a toe into its mid-section and lifted, turning it over.

  I was shocked. It was Dale, my next door neighbor. I never got along with that asshole even when he was alive. I guess I now knew who had eaten Margie. As I stared down at him I lapsed into a coughing fit from all the water I inhaled. The rain began pouring down in sheets. A flash of lightning lit up the sky. Thunder rumbled slowly in its wake.

  As soon as my coughing subsided, I brought my weapon up again and scanned the area carefully. I didn’t plan on getting caught with my pants down twice. The back door to my kitchen was closed, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Chloe and I cleared the house room by room, dripping water everywhere. I left the dog inside when I went back out into the pouring rain. It was dark out so I switched on the Surefire light attached to the side rail on my weapon.

  I slowly made my way around the entire perimeter of my house, checking every nook and cranny. I even looked up in the trees. I checked the garage once more and then dragged Dale’s fat carcass out into the driveway before securing the garage door. I stood on my driveway breathing heavily, soaked to the bone. My head hurt and my knee was throbbing.

  I sniffed. It looked like my cold was coming back for round 2. Lightning flashed again, and in the momentary strobe I caught sight of something sitting drenched and forlorn on the driveway…Of course, it was the f---ing box containing the propane kit.

  DAY(S) 16, 17

  I haven’t had much chance to keep up with this journal for the past couple days, as I have been busy dealing with my new houseguest.

  I guess I should bring things up to speed.

  After my encounter with Dale out in the garage the other night I went into the house to check out how much damage I had done to myself.

  During the fight I managed to lacerate the side of my head, dislocate my right pinky finger (I didn’t even know about that until I took off my shirt and caught it in the material, bending it even worse), screw up my knee even more, and acquire an assortment of cuts and bruises.

  I cleaned and reset everything, showered (not much water pressure, but at least it was hot) and sat down at the table with a bowl of steaming soup. I was on the couch reading through Paul Miller’s Boom and at some point fell asleep.

  The next thing I remembered was waking up to the sound of Chloe’s low growl. It was a little after 3am and still pouring down rain. I was completely disoriented, but had the presence of mind to shut the dog up. I grabbed her scruff and reached for my 1911 pistol. It took me a minute to realize what she was growling at. Over the sound of rain on my roof I could hear someone shaking my front gate. At first I thought it might be the wind, but the sound was too consistent.

  My adrenaline went into overdrive when I heard someone outside call my name. I fro
ze for a minute, unsure of what to do. Chloe had no reservations. She pulled against my grip, eager to chew up and crap out whoever was outside. I moved toward the front door at a crouch, Chloe pulling me along the whole way.

  At the front door I switched out my Colt for the 870 Shotgun leaning up against the wall. I yanked at Chloe’s scruff and sternly told her “NO!”

  She got the drift and backed off, but continued growling. I made sure a round was chambered and flipped on the tactical light clamped under the barrel (I now have tactical lights affixed to most of my weapons, courtesy of my trip to the Do It Center).

  I stepped to the side of the door and eased it open. I let the barrel of the shotgun lead the way out on to the porch. The 120-lumen cone of light from my shotgun pierced the darkness through the rain and played across my fence line to the wrought iron gate at the end of my walkway. There on the other side stood my intruder. He put his hands up to his face to protect himself from the light and said my name again.

  I almost jerked the trigger reflexively from the jolt of recognition. Short, stocky, the shock of unruly black hair sprouting out of his head like a Chia pet - Holy crap! - it was Albert. I lowered the light and went out into the rain to open the gate. As he stepped into my yard I got my first good look at him. He had lost weight. His clothes were torn and bloody and hung off him like rags. He carried a splintered, wooden Louisville Slugger.

  He staggered up my walk a few steps and stood there pathetically while I turned and closed the gate, securing it. From behind me I heard Chloe growl again. My hair stood on end and I spun around, bringing my weapon up on Albert and expecting the worst. Albert hadn’t moved, except to flinch when my light hit him again.

  “Please don’t shoot me, man!” he wailed.

  I don’t know what set Chloe off. She knows Albert and has never acted that way around him. “Lose the bat!” I snapped.

  Albert dropped the slugger like it was on fire. I ordered him to look at me, my light shining in his eyes. He told me he couldn’t see, so I lowered the light to his chest. Albert blinked at me from behind his foggy, rain-covered coke-bottle glasses. He quickly removed them and owl blinked again. His eyes were normal.

  “Strip.” I told him. It wasn’t a request.

  Albert started to protest, telling me he was freezing. The look on my face shut him up and he complied.

  As Albert stood naked in my yard I played the light across his body looking for bite marks or any other signs of infection. Finally, I lowered the light. I shined it on Chloe, a little pissed that she had cried wolf. She wagged her tail hesitantly, a guilty expression on her face.

  Albert stood there in the pouring rain, naked except for his shoes, with his hands up like he was being robbed. I sighed. I told him to leave his clothes and brought him inside. Once I secured the door I had Albert wait in the front room while I went to the bathroom and got him a beach towel. I looked away discretely as he dried off.

  I could hardly believe he was here. I was so overwhelmed with emotion I almost hugged him. I smiled at the thought that only a couple days ago a reasonably attractive naked woman wanted to hug me and I was repulsed, yet I was considering hugging my naked, chubby, male Filipino friend. I need to seriously reevaluate my psyche.

  I got Albert a sweatshirt, socks, and bottoms with an elastic waist. There was no way he’d fit into anything else I owned. I heated up the left over soup for Albert and watched him over the table as he wolfed down his meal, slurping loudly. We stayed up until 7:30am talking. Finally, I noticed his eyes getting droopy.

  “Is it OK if I crash in your spare room?” Albert asked.

  Without waiting for an answer, he got up and shuffled toward the hallway. I followed after him, debating how to broach the subject of sleeping arrangements. I wasn’t sure I was ready to let anyone stay in my aunt’s room yet, and I was damn sure I wasn’t ready to invade her sanctuary. Besides, the bed in her room was a hospital bed.

  I guess Albert assumed I had taken my aunt’s room because he walked up to my room and stopped at my door. Albert looked back at me.

  “Thanks for taking me in, man. I’ll never forget it.” he said.

  His gratitude left me speechless. He opened the door to my room and looked around. “Actually, that’s my roo….” I started to say.

  Albert interrupted me, saying, “Cool Christmas lights. Bed’s kind of a mess though.” He walked in and shut the door.

  I stood in the hall for a minute, finally saying to myself, “Actually, that’s my room…”

  After Albert retired to my room I hung his wet towel and washed the dishes. I noticed that the water pressure had increased. I have no idea what to make of that. It was still rainy and overcast, but nothing like the night before. I was too wired to sleep so I decided to update my inventory list. Watching Albert eat made me realize that my three-month food supply probably wouldn’t last a month with him around (he finished off his soup then went through a can of chili, a sandwich, and a box of Oreos).

  I would have to have a talk with him about rationing, but after hearing what he had been through in the last sixteen days I didn’t have the heart to say anything to him yet.

  Frankly, I was pretty impressed that Albert had managed to survive until now. He had never struck me as particularly resourceful. The last time I had seen him was when I told him to take a patrol car to go find his sister.

  When he left the security office that day (it feels like a lifetime ago), Albert had driven out to Canoga Park. When he got there, apparently there was a riot in full progress. When the looters saw Albert’s patrol car they threw rocks at it and surrounded him, forcing him to either stop the vehicle or run them down. Of course Albert made the mistake of stopping.

  They pulled him out of his car and proceeded to rough him up until Albert drew his sidearm and, according to him, attempted to “fire a shot in the air to disperse them.” What wound up happening was that someone tried to grab the gun from him and Albert accidently shot two of his assailant’s fingers off. That evidently worked just as well.

  The crowd dispersed long enough for Albert to get away, unfortunately, not with his vehicle. Someone had driven off with it while Albert was showing off his marksmanship skills. Albert wound up walking over two miles to his mother’s house.

  He told me that when he got there no one was home. His little sister’s cell phone went straight to voice mail. Albert stayed at his mother’s house for six days waiting, but his family never returned.

  By then, the Infected were everywhere. Over a hundred of Them surrounded his mother’s house, trapping him inside. I think Albert figured out that he was probably never going to see his sister again. He couldn’t stay where he was for much longer because it was only a matter of time before they would break in by sheer weight of numbers.

  Albert’s escape plan was actually pretty creative. I guess the distance between Albert’s mother’s house and the next-door neighbor’s house was pretty narrow. He went up to his mother’s attic and pulled out several-eight foot long attic floorboards. He staggered them to form two sixteen-foot beams and nailed them together with shorter cross pieces to form a crude ladder like bridge. He then spanned the makeshift bridge from the ledge of the attic window to the neighboring roof.

  He went downstairs and made as much noise as he could to rile them up. When they started tearing through the front door, Albert went upstairs, shutting every door he could between him and his pursuers. He went out the attic window and across the bridge to the neighbor’s roof.

  A pack of Them, still outside, saw him and tried to get to him but were stopped by the fence separating the two houses.

  Albert went across the neighboring roof and down the other side to get away. He spent the next six days in an apartment building he came across. The building was full of infected people, but according to Albert, they didn’t know how to use the elevator, which gave Albert an advantage in ge
tting around them.

  He somehow managed to corral all the infected tenants on the top floor into the stairwells and down into the parking garage, where he trapped them. He said there were two remaining tenants on that floor who were not infected, but one of them never came out of his apartment the entire time he was there.

  The other tenant, a “saucy little Latino number” (Albert’s words, not mine), named Cindy, let Albert stay with her. Although Albert wouldn’t admit it, I’m pretty sure he was shacking up with her. For six days they went from apartment to apartment on that floor living off of whatever food they found.

  Twice during his stay there he had encounters with plague victims and both times he was able to get away and lock them into holding areas. He knew his stay was over when the power to the entire complex finally went out.

  He escaped that night and spent the next four days walking across the San Fernando Valley, avoiding hordes of Infected to get to my house in North Hollywood. I don’t know the details of his four day journey yet, but I’m curious as hell how he survived. When I asked him about Cindy, he avoided answering me. I didn’t pursue it.

  I asked him why he didn’t try to find a car and drive instead of walking the whole way. He told me he couldn’t bring himself to steal a car from someone who might need it. When I asked him why he decided to come find me, he hesitated, but then told me it was because I was the only friend he had. Albert had finished his story by saying that if he hadn’t found me he didn’t know what he would have done.

  Even though I’m now sleeping on my couch, I’m really glad he’s here.

  At 12 noon I turned on the TV to watch Gerald Ritchie’s broadcast. I had asked Albert if he had watched Ritchie’s broadcast and he mentioned that Cindy had watched it every day. He wasn’t interested though, because the news just depressed him.

  After the usual updates on the most dangerous areas of the city, Gerald attempted to approach a military unit guarding the Pasadena Evacuation Center for an interview. When he identified himself the soldiers opened fire on him and his camera crew. Even while he was retreating with bullets kicking up all around him, Gerald continued to give a blow by blow report, not even concerned that people were trying to kill him.