100 Days of Death

by Ellingsen, Ray

  I felt her tiny skull collapse. She flopped to the ground, twitching several times before she went still. I felt sick in my gut. I guess I wasn’t as much of a bad ass as I thought. I racked another round, flipped the weapon over, and speed loaded another round into the tube.

  At least seven more to go, I thought. I didn’t think I would have the stomach for it. I heard numerous hungry moans coming from somewhere near the house. I stalked toward the sound, my shotgun at the ready. I stopped in front of something that looked like a raised manhole cover in the middle of the side yard. The wails were definitely coming from under the lid.

  I grabbed the handle and yanked the cover up, jumping back for safety. When nothing sprang out of the hole under the lid I cautiously eased forward. I twisted on the weapon mounted- flashlight and shined it into the darkness. There was a ladder leading down approximately fifteen feet. At the bottom was some kind of cavern, or shelter. Several undead creatures peered up and moaned, clawing and reaching for me.

  I set my jaw and fired down into them, racking and firing over and over. I reloaded and repeated the process until I could hear nothing other than the high-pitched whine in my ruined ears. I shined my light down and saw a mass of ruined, bloody flesh.

  There was no movement or sounds coming from the hole. I reloaded six more rounds and fell to my knees, suddenly exhausted.

  I heard Albert approach me but didn’t look up. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt wretched and horrified by what I had done. Something that had been pent up inside of me came rushing out and I began sobbing uncontrollably. I can’t explain it. Infected or not, I had killed a family for their food. I hated what I had become.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t help you.” Albert said simply.

  My self-loathing was short lived because we both heard a screen door slam from around the back of the house. I sniffed back my tears and got my head back in the game. An elderly woman came around the corner holding a bolt-action rifle.

  “You killed my babies!” she wailed.

  She raised her weapon and my instincts took over. I racked a round into the chamber and took aim at her torso. Just as I began squeezing the trigger, I heard a whap sound from behind me. The old woman stopped in her tracks and stared at me. There was a small black dot on her forehead. She dropped to the ground, dead.

  I turned to Albert. He lowered his carbine, his expression stoic. I sighed heavily, trying not to let my emotions resurface. Without speaking, we proceeded to clear the house. The basement was the most nerve-racking part of our job. There was a tunnel down there that led to the manhole cover and the slaughter I had initiated.

  I guess the old lady had trapped her infected family in the cellar. Who knows what she had been thinking.

  We found the family’s food stores and a weapons cache. We took everything we could, filling the back of the Rover. I’m sure we left a lot of things we could have used, but I just wanted to get away from there so we didn’t spend much time exploring. We drove back to our barn in silence. I could tell Albert wanted to talk, but I ignored him, not trusting myself to speak.

  When we got back, Albert tried to tell Marion and Jim that the family was already dead when we got there, but I stopped him and told them the truth. They listened without comment.

  Marion buried her face in Jim’s shoulder and cried quietly. Jim looked at me intently and finally nodded, acknowledging that what I did was necessary.

  The justification that my actions have allowed us to survive longer does not make me feel any better. Alison reassured me that I made the right decision, but I know she is just trying to be supportive, regardless of what she really feels. I thought that writing this all down would help me come to terms with what I did, but it hasn’t. I am disgusted with myself, yet strangely numb.

  DAY 72

  I have learned to appreciate uneventful days.

  Today we spent most of the day inventorying our supplies. With the vegetables we found in the garden, the left over deer meat, and the food and medical supplies we found at the Walkers, we have enough food to last us approximately three weeks. All things considered, that doesn’t seem like a lot.

  We are replenishing our water from the stream nearby. As for our supplies, we now have two more bolt-action rifles (chambered in .308), three .38 revolvers, another Ruger 10/22, and approximately 200 rounds of .308, 150 rounds of .38, and 400 more rounds of .22. We also scrounged two large cooking pots and a propane canister.

  I have come to terms with my actions from yesterday and have chalked up my emotional freak out to lack of sleep and stress. I’m probably suppressing something traumatizing that will blow up in my face someday, but I’ll just have to deal with it then.

  Albert apologized for about the hundredth time for not helping me dispatch the Walker family. I told him that he was there when it counted. That old lady would have probably shot me if he hadn’t gotten her first.

  He still felt terrible about it until I asked him where he was aiming when he shot her. He looked at me funny and said he didn’t understand.

  “You managed to hit her dead center of her forehead with one shot from fifty feet away.” I said.

  Albert stared at me, still confused.

  “Well, we both know you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a bazooka from five feet away, so I was just wondering how you managed to pull off a shot like that.” I finished.

  Albert glared at me for a good ten seconds and then flipped me off. I couldn’t help but laugh as he stomped away.

  Jim is doing much better and is walking around and stretching his atrophied muscles. His wound is healing nicely. He said something interesting today that I wanted to write down for future reference. I told Jim about Karl, and my plans to leave my companions with him. I knew it was a bad decision at the time, but I was being self-centered and almost ruined three people’s lives.

  Jim said, “Think about the person you respect most in the world and when you make decisions in life, you pretend that person is standing right there with you.”

  At the time, it seemed pretty profound, but now that I’ve written it down I feel like cursing Jim for his stupid advice. I mean, it’s not like I don’t already feel like crap when I make shitty choices, now I’ve got to think about what my dad would say to me about it as well?

  Grace went around to everyone today and told us that she will be turning six years old in thirteen days. I don’t even know how to respond to that. “Happy Birthday, Grace. Here’s a pet zombie for you to play with. Don’t put your fingers near its mouth.”

  Thinking about it just depresses me. I probably shouldn’t tell her that living another year in this world now is not exactly cause for celebration. I can’t even imagine what her life will be like in the future.

  DAY 73

  We have decided to go to the compound occupied by David Kester and his fellow survivors.

  Jim and Marion had been trying to get there before Jim got shot by the renegade guard unit. I am not sure how well we will be received, but Jim feels they will be hospitable enough.

  While we were packing our gear, I gave the codebook back to Jim and asked him what he planned to do with it.

  “You make a copy of the locations and codes in it?” he asked.

  I nodded. He told me that when we got to Kester’s compound, he was going to give it to the son of the man he got it from (a Colonel Beckett).

  “You don’t think the book is the rightful property of the military?” I asked, more out of curiosity than actual concern.

  “I gave a dying man my word that I would deliver that book to his kin. The politics of it all ain’t my damn problem.” he countered.

  I smiled to myself. Guys like Jim were rare.

  The compound we are going to is twelve miles northwest of us, up in the hills. I am packing this journal away in my gear and don’t know when I’ll get another chance to make
an entry, but I’ll get back to this as soon as we are settled in again…wherever that may be.

  DAY(S) 74, 75, 76

  We are staying with David Kester and his people at their compound, which incidentally, they refer to as the “Preserve.”

  When I wrote my last entry we were leaving the barn to come here. We had one small incident on the way, but for the most part, the trip was unremarkable.

  We came to the scene of a car accident along the road and stopped to see if there was anything we could salvage. Two cars had hit each other head on and spun into the ditch along the pavement, landing in a heap of twisted metal.

  The chewed up, mutilated corpse of one driver lay crushed between the seat and steering wheel of his compact vehicle. The second car, an older-model Cadillac, was intact for the most part. The doors were closed and the windows, though some were cracked, were unbroken. At first glance, I didn’t see any signs of the other driver.

  After knocking on the Cady’s tank to make sure it had fuel in it, I pulled out our siphoning kit and began transferring fuel to one of our spare gas cans. Suddenly, something slammed into the window next to where I was standing. I jumped and spilled gas all over the ground. An infected man was inside the vehicle clawing to get at me. He was emaciated and putrid and his movements were slow and weak.

  I gathered my wits and went back to my task, trying my best to ignore the pathetic creature trapped inside his car. Chloe, who had been wandering around sniffing at everything in sight, came running up and started growling and clawing at the outside of the window trying, to get to the undead man.

  I finally got fed up with the ruckus they were causing and yelled at Chloe to shut up. I fired a round from my carbine through the window and into the creature’s head. Chloe jumped back at the sound of shattering glass and ran off.

  As I secured the lid to the gas can I looked up and saw Jim watching me with an amused look on his face.

  “When you was younger, and thought about your future, I bet you never thought you’d find yourself in a situation like this.” he said.

  I sighed and hauled the gas can back to the truck.

  The Preserve is nestled in the hills off the main road, and up a winding dirt track. It is completely surrounded by an eight-foot-high chain-link fence that has wooden slats woven between the links in sections. The main gate is wood and looked pretty solid.

  As we approached the main gate, someone fired a bullet into the path ahead of us. We stopped a good fifty yards from the compound and waited. Jim was in the Expedition with me and told me to be calm. He got out slowly and raised his hands.

  I opened the door and aimed my carbine in the general direction of the fence line. I could see a man behind one section of chain-link fence with a weapon tracking Jim as he walked toward the gate. Jim stopped and had a conversation with someone inside. Finally, he waved for us to move up. I put my weapon across my lap, closed the door, and drove forward.

  When we got to the main entrance, a man in his early forties walked up and stopped at my window. I rolled it down and he looked me over with distain.

  “I’m Ron Dietz. We got some rules here. First off, you surrender all your weapons to me.” he said.

  I looked at him and laughed. “I don’t know you. And I’m sure as hell not going to hand over any of my guns to you. What other stupid rules do you have?” I asked.

  Dietz’s face flushed red and he gritted his teeth. Chloe growled at him. He looked at her and stepped back.

  “Ain’t no damn dogs allowed here.” he continued.

  From somewhere in the compound I could hear a chorus of dogs howling and barking. I looked at Dietz and raised my eyebrow. Dietz listened for a moment himself and then sighed.

  “If your mutt stays, it will have be cleared by Mr. Kester first.” he said.

  I nodded.

  “You all have to stay in quarantine for twelve hours. That part ain’t negotiable. If any of you are infected none of you can stay.” he said firmly.

  “Fair enough.” I replied.

  Dietz asked me a few inane questions about how many of us there were, and where we were from, and then stared at me for a minute. He finally directed us to pull our vehicles into an area that looked like it had once been a horse corral. Eight-foot-high chain-link had been erected around the pen, completely surrounding it. There was a shed and an outhouse in the area.

  We parked in the center of the enclosure and two men came out and closed the gate behind us, locking us in. I could have rammed the gate down with either vehicle so I didn’t mind. I got out and looked around.

  I could see the entire compound through the fence . It looks like this place was once a ranch. There is the main house, bunkhouse, shop, and a converted barn. There are also several other buildings and houses. The whole spread is laid out on a little over twelve acres.

  At first glance, it reminded me a little of a Renaissance Faire I used to go to as a kid. Alison is going to feel right at home. There are ninety-two people here; twenty-two of them are children under fifteen years old. There are seventeen teenagers and the rest are adult men and women. There used to be others but they have either died or moved on.

  Dietz walked up to the fence and addressed me.

  “Until you clear quarantine, you’re on your own for food. Also, you aim a gun at any of my men and we’ll shoot you down. So mind your manners.” he growled.

  Dietz motioned for two armed men to stand guard and then walked away toward the main house. I could see dozens of people wandering about, but nobody paid us much attention. The two guards were friendly enough but didn’t want to talk to us. I guess I could understand that.

  Quarantine was pretty uneventful. None of us but Grace had any problems with it.

  Yesterday morning, Dietz and a half-dozen armed men came to the corral and asked us to line up along the fence. I was concerned for a brief moment but then realized they just wanted to inspect us to make sure we weren’t sick. One guy came into the pen and went through our vehicles while I held Chloe.

  He emerged from the Rover and gave Dietz the thumbs up. Everyone relaxed and they opened the gate, telling us we could park our vehicles next to the main house. Dietz said that Mr. Kester wanted to meet with me and Jim.

  Janie Potts, the local doctor, introduced herself to us. She wanted to give us all a check up and started with the others, while Jim and I followed Dietz into the main house.

  David Kester is an interesting guy. Although he is only in his late forties, the burden of leadership makes him look ten years older. He is everything that Ron Dietz is not - calm, reasonable, quiet, and friendly. We spoke with him for about ten minutes before he came to the reason for our visit.

  Jim told him that he was here to deliver something to Danny Beckett. Kester didn’t miss a beat. “Is it something from his father?” he asked.

  Jim nodded.

  Kester thought about it for a moment and then let it go. He told us that we were welcome to stay but that we would be expected to contribute to the community. He asked me what I did before “the collapse” and I told him about my job. When he asked about any military experience, I told him about my experience as an MP in the army.

  He let us know that there had been some vets who had lived with them right after everything fell apart but it was agreed that they didn’t really fit in, so they left for Reno. Some others had been asked to leave as well.

  Oddly enough, this community was not an accident. Before the epidemic, David had run a pretty successful blog site about surviving after a catastrophic event. Most of the community members were fellow bloggers who made their way here after it all went to hell.

  The feeling here is friendly, but guarded. There has not been an incident here on the grounds with any Infected for over a month. The community is fairly well off, but not completely self- sufficient. While they have a large garden with vegetables, sever
al fruit trees, and even a couple Pistachio trees, as well as goats, they have still had to forage on occasion to keep everyone fed.

  Every time they have gone into Vacaville (the nearest town) they have lost people to the undead. Recently, they lost four members to the rogue guard unit as well.

  Kester officially welcomed us and let us go about our business. When we went to dinner last night (held in the barn, cafeteria style) we met numerous families who were curious about the outside world. Grace immediately mixed with the other children and we haven’t seen much of her since.

  Jim and Marion have been given their own room because they are married, but the rest of us are being housed in dormitories. There is a men’s dormitory (in the bunkhouse), the women’s quarters (in the main house), and the children’s ward (also in the main house). Only the very young children stay with their parents, due to the space constraints. Alison and I slipped off to the garden to spend some time together. We are both a little weirded out being around so many people.

  We laughed about the dorm situation and the fact that unless you are married you can’t share a room. Alison suggested that maybe we should get married and killed the mood deader than the dodo. She grabbed my face in her hands and kissed me deeply then abruptly turned and walked away. She turned back and grinned at me impishly.

  “You know, if we had a room together you’d get more action.” she said. I smiled and watched her walk into the darkness.

  I am bunking with Albert and Chloe. The men’s dorm has sixteen other guys. They are a pretty good bunch. Albert wasn’t feeling very social and went to bed, pulling the covers up over his head.

  I stayed up and played poker with six cheating card sharks, but still managed to win over

  $6,000 dollars. If we had been playing for food or bullets, I probably wouldn’t have cleaned house so easily, but it was still entertaining.

  This morning I discovered that the compound houses a well-stocked machine shop. Remy, one of my poker-playing pals, runs the shop. When I showed him designs for a silencer using a titanium can, he was thrilled. I spent most of the day in the shop helping him turn out a dozen sound suppressors for various weapons. The first three went on my weapons to replace my severely overused PVC silencers.