by Robert Brown
“Thank you, Hannah. Your mom is probably right as usual, but keep an eye on me anyway, okay? Even if we get into the fence line, you keep track of me while your mom and I deal with whoever is there, all right?”
Her face tightens up into a stern expression and she nods.
She was always a smart girl, all of our kids are smart for that matter, but I feel this huge regret that she can’t just keep being the girl that would get frustrated and cry because she couldn’t figure out how to read a new word, or how a game worked. Now she is playing an adult role in a world of everlasting horrors. She might have to shoot and kill me to protect herself and her brothers and sisters from this damn disease. And stoically, like a battle hardened veteran, instead of complaining or whining that she can’t and I mean too much to her, she simply accepts what is given to her, and recognizes her responsibility in this new life. I couldn’t be more proud of her. If she survives this mess, she and the other survivors will make much sturdier stock than the current devastated generation did.
The man behind the fence is definitely acting strangely. I’m watching him while I wait for the others to finish circling the property, and this guy is pacing erratically. It seems like he is supposed to be keeping watch out here, but he keeps looking back to the house and acting like those expectant fathers’ on television, nervously walking around outside a hospital delivery room. Still, I don’t hear anything unusual, and don’t see any activity on the property other than him.
At least when I approach the fence to speak with him, I know there won’t be any other roving patrols to contend with. If there were, I would have seen them by now. The area inside the fence just isn’t that large to hide anyone moving, at least not if they were watching specific areas near the front. And anyone else walking the perimeter of the yard would have made it around by now. So it will be him and me, having a simple discussion of who he is, why he is on my land, and where everyone else is.
“Marco?” a voice calls from the woods.
“Polo,” I reply.
Olivia walks out of the trees from the right, and Simone and William should be back shortly as well. We use the simple Marco Polo game to identify ourselves on the rare occasion we split up like this. We figure it’s a decent phrase that will help us identify normal human from infected, as well as let us know when someone from our group is returning.
The infected can’t speak, at least currently, and I hope they never regain that skill. All they do is issue this horrible slurping groan. It is a mixture of a growl and a gargle—deep, wet, and rumbling. It's an extremely disturbing sound that no human body should issue. They make it whenever they find prey that they can’t reach. It is another hunting instinct of theirs, I guess.
If they feel they can reach one of us non-infected humans, or an animal for that matter, they will remain silent. They’ll creep along slowly hoping to pounce on us, in an unsuspecting manner. If we are behind a wall or other obstacle, the infected can’t maneuver over or around. They make that sound, which I guess is more of a call, to their fellow infected that there is food nearby and they need help. Other infected always show up when that call is made.
“Did you see anything, Olivia?” I ask
“Yes, there is a small cart around the back of the house with some supplies on it. It doesn’t look familiar, so it probably belongs to that man. The usual scavenger survivor stuff is on it but also a sheet on the back with blood on it.”
“Marco?” we hear from off to our right.
“Polo,” I call to Simone.
“Anything else, Olivia?”
“No Dad, no signs of a fight. No brass on the ground. No marks on the house or holes in the fence. Everything seems mostly left alone.”
Simone walks up with William, “Hi sweetie, I’m glad to see you’re still here.” She has a sly but bittersweet smile.
“Tell me about it. I’m in no hurry to....” I start to joke about my condition but can’t say it. Not even in trying to keep the mood a little lighter.
I don’t like being bitten at all, and I know what I have to look forward to thanks to our experiences over the last few months. Simone was working as a nurse in one of the local hospitals, when management warned all of the staff to look out for anyone coming in exhibiting certain kinds of fevers or wounds consistent with human bite marks. Everyone was told that the CDC considered this a real threat for our area, and once they finished the briefing, Simone called me. After a short conversation where she told me about the threat, I made her promise to come home immediately. I’m not sure what excuse she gave, but she told them she might be gone for a few weeks.
As unlikely as the scenario was, she knew what a supposed zombie outbreak would sound like from the books that I read, and what I told her about them. The news reports of riots, random violence, and starvation in other countries due to the collapse of the world’s economies, already had everyone on edge. Fortunately for me, she was quicker to convince of the coming apocalypse than I was. When she called me at home and told me that the hospital reports were about zombies, I thought she was trying to play a joke on me. That is until she described what the hospital officials told her and everyone else.
The CDC warning mentioned violence, fevers, tremors, and they warned that symptoms are similar to rabies in that the people they have observed are all attempting to bite and eat other people. The worst part was, the hospital administrators lost contact with the CDC official they were speaking with after hearing screaming on the other end of the line, and were no longer able to contact other hospitals in that area.
So I’m not looking forward to the fever, the shivers, or especially the change and new hunger associated with being bitten. All I want right now is to get my family into our house.
“This is my idea, guys,” I say, getting everyone’s attention. “Hannah, you be ready with the laser on your 10/22. Turn it on if the man seems to get aggressive, or if I point my gun at him. Just point it at his chest so he can see the dot. All of you will stay here out of sight. I will walk up and call out to him. We should know pretty quickly by his reaction to me if he will get aggressive. If he doesn’t, I will slowly walk to the fence to make contact with him. I will explain who I am, unlock the gate and enter, or shoot him and then unlock the gate to enter. If I have to shoot at any point, be prepared to offer either supporting fire or retreat, depending on what happens.”
“Is everyone following me so far? Any questions... No? Okay. Remember I am already bitten, so if an army pours out of the house or outbuildings, I want no heroics to try and rescue me.” I give a stern look to everyone.
“Simone and Olivia, have your rifles handy, and be ready to run up to the house when or if I give the all clear. William, you stay on the binoculars, and keep an eye on everything but me and this guy. You need to see any potential surprises, all right? And tell Mom or Olivia if you see anything or anyone.”
“Hannah, you use your best judgment as to whether you should shoot the man or not. He is still human, but as you know, not all people are friendly. Just remember the story Mr. Margrove told us about his encounter and the men that tried to kill us all. Do you think you can do this, or should Mom do it?”
She gives me a serious and stern reply that shouldn’t come from a twelve year old. “I’ve got it, Dad. Just don’t block my shot.”
I still get a little shocked when I hear one of my kids say something like that. I keep telling myself that I have to start giving these kids more credit—to be able to handle life in this world. Before this war for survival broke out, some kids that were 12 to 14 years old were already doing horribly adult things, doing hard drugs and raping and killing each other. Kids and teenagers are capable of some extremely violent actions. It is just that my kids didn’t live in a city with regular violence, and they didn’t hang out with the kinds of people that committed crimes, none of us did. So this change in them to being serious and about getting the job done, even relating to killing another person, is jarring. So the saying is true,
innocence is always the first casualty in a war.
“Hannah, Olivia, William? I want you to know how proud I am of you three. Your mom and I have asked you to do things and be responsible for things that we didn’t have to take care of at your ages. I know that once you are back inside our house I don’t have to worry about what will happen to any of you, because you stick up for each other, and work so well together. If I could give you one piece of final advice before I head out, you need to express your concerns and hesitations to each other going forward, all right? Ask more questions and don’t always trust the first plan given.
“My plans aren’t always the best. I often leave things out that I should have thought of. So if you ever have concerns or suggestions, make sure you make yourself heard, because your idea could save someone’s life. Now, does anyone have any questions or ideas before we start?”
Hannah replies, “I think I should go instead of you, Dad. I don’t think you or Mom use us enough as approaches to strangers. We are less threatening, and in this case, I might be able to approach the house without that guy freaking out, where another adult is especially a threat.”
I give a small smile to Simone and think briefly how to let Hannah know the reasons for my going instead of one of them. “You are right that you would be less threatening, Hannah, but in this case, it is not his property. He is the intruder, and I want him to feel threatened to a certain degree. I need my presence and your laser dot on his chest to help convince him that he should put his gun on the ground without fighting back. If you are there with him, it's like threatening someone with a tiny gun. It may be just as deadly as a larger gun, but bigger things often feel like greater threats. Like the difference between a big fat infected guy and an infected little kid, size matters in how we see things.”
She nods, but I can tell she isn’t completely convinced.
“The other reason I’m going is that I am already bitten. The threat or potential threat inside our house could be so immense that no one that is at that gate makes it out alive. I will only send you to speak with strangers after we have had a great deal of time to observe them and find out how they react to outsiders. Ultimately, your life is just more valuable than mine.” I pause, then add, “But if you were bitten instead of me, then I’d probably let you go, okay?”
That seems to have satisfied all of the questions and after a round of quick I love yous, be carefuls, and goodbyes.
I start walking toward the gate, and call out, “Hello, you inside the fence.”
To our good fortune, the man lifts his hand over his eyes to peer out at the woods where I called from, rather than ready his weapon for a fight.
“I am coming out of the woods and approaching the fence now,” I call as I casually walk forward and let him know what his position actually is. “My name is Eddie Keeper, and I am the owner of the property you are now in. I am not alone, and I need you to remain calm and not make any aggressive movement or actions toward me, do you understand?”
He nods his head, and says, “Yes,” but then stupidly pulls his rifle off of his shoulder by the strap, and aims it at me when I am halfway between the woods and the fence. He then bizarrely says, “That’s far enough. Now, tell me who you are?”
Great! I think. Someone is in my yard that can’t remember the last two seconds of conversation. But I stop, and tell him, “I told you who I am. I am Eddie Keeper, and this is my property. I told you not to make any aggressive moves, but you have, so now you need to look at your own chest.”
The red dot is easily visible on his blue shirt, even though it is not dark outside yet. As he looks down and sees it, I can’t help but smile. I guess my fighting lessons to the girls are paying off. The laser started at his chest and lowered itself to hover over the man’s crotch. His rifle lowered with the movement of the dot.
“Okay, now,” I yell, bringing the man’s attention back to me and my now raised rifle. “I tried to be civil with you, but apparently you are either unable, or unwilling to follow instructions. You will now slowly place your rifle on the ground, and then step over it leaving it behind you. Do it now.” This part at least he is listening to. I continue to move forward after he has placed his gun on the ground and it is behind him. “Who are you, what are you doing on my property, and where are the other families that live here?” I say as I reach the fence.
“My wife got hurt, and we came here for medical care. My son, Mike, was looking for help last night when he ran into some people, a Samantha and her group. She told him where your place was, and there is a nurse that lives here that might be able to help my wife, but the nurse isn’t here.”
I step in between this guy and Hannah’s laser, and give a thumb-up sign with my left hand since he is starting to get hysterical while telling me this. I don’t want Hannah to mistake his animated discussion style for aggravation, since I don’t believe they can hear him from where they are.
“I get it that you seem worried about your wife, but I still don’t know who you are. I want to get myself and my family back inside our home. Now I am going to hang my rifle on my back, draw my pistol, and get my keys out to unlock the gate. I need you to stay very still, and I mean statue still, because I will shoot you if you move this time. Do you understand me?”
He nods, but I better be quick, because this guy is definitely on the edge. His jerky, almost jittery demeanor indicates he is not functioning on all cylinders. I step to the right, giving Hannah back her line of sight to him. While I’m unlocking the gate, he tells me his name is Carl, and he is an accountant from Grants Pass and something about them being in Rogue River for a while and needing to move on. He is speaking super-fast, and his focus just isn’t on this situation. So I stop him and bring him back to the present.
“Look Carl,” I say and then lift the gate handle, re-insert the lock, and lock it with the handle up, then push the gate open, keeping my Glock 27 at waist level but pointed at him. “Your wife is hurt, and my wife is the nurse that lives here. The quicker I can safely get my family in this fence, the sooner my wife can start helping your wife, okay?”
All right, I think. I’m inside the fence now, and the gate is open. If anything happens, he won’t be able to close the gate, especially while he is under fire.
He finally seems to be calming down somewhat. I see him taking deeper breaths, and his eyes actually look like they are starting to focus more instead of just dart around. This man is undeniably acting like someone that is missing his normal medications.
“Carl, someone else is inside, right? I’m going to call out to them, okay?”
“Greg,” he says. “Greg is in there.”
I’m not normally a believer in Murphy’s Law. I mean, with the luck I’ve had in keeping my family safe to this point, I couldn’t seriously believe bad luck was on my side, but this particular encounter is just not working out very well at all. I call out to Greg, who I think should already be out here with all the yelling I was doing. “Hey Greg, get out here. It’s Eddie Keeper. We’re back.”
At the same time I see Carl’s eyes focus on the bandage on my left arm. His eyes go wide, and you can see his face change from compliance to anger, and I mean a hate filled anger that makes him look like he will explode from it.
He starts mouthing, ‘You’ve been bitten! You’ve been bitten!’ And on the third time round he gets his voice back, and the hateful accusatory sound that flows forth again doesn’t sound like the same man I have been dealing with. “You’ve been bitten, haven’t you? You’re trying to sneak in here and kill us all!”
Now, I know with all of his various behaviors and reactions that this man is a drugger. I just have to hope that his symptoms or issues are mild and he can still use reason, and see logic. I don’t want to have to shoot a man that has a son and sick wife inside. Please let this work.
“Carl, calm down. Yes, I’ve been bitten, but that was five hours ago. I didn’t turn when I was bitten, that means I have an hour left before the fever hits. I j
ust need to get my family home, none of them are bitten.”
“What?” he yells.
He is finally being coherent, only this isn’t the kind of cognizant reaction I would like him to have.
“You’re full of shit. You probably don’t even live here, you bastard.”
I have to raise my pistol to his chest as he tries to take a step toward me.
“Carl, I used a key to unlock the gate. I wouldn’t have the key if I didn’t live here.” I think I lost him. My last hope of bringing him back to his senses is gone.
“You’re full of it!” he yells. “You think just like the rest of them. You think you can pull one over on me just because I can’t always think straight. But I got you now. I understand this deal plenty well. You’ve been bitten, and no one with you is coming in here.”
This is just bullshit. I go on a long scavenging run with my family for supplies, and hopefully news about the world, and have to return with a fresh bite from an infected to face off with some damned mixed up, possible drugger, just to get back to my own home. For all of Carl’s erratic behavior up to this point, I do understand his fear of someone with a bite. But whatever Carl’s issue is, he is letting me know in no uncertain terms that our goals and desires are completely opposite, and after he is secured and my family is safely in the yard, he must leave as soon as humanly possible. I move the finger on my gun from the ready to the trigger.
Greg, whom I will later find out was in the basement and couldn’t hear me, decides it is finally time to emerge from the house, and sees me with Carl and calls my name.
I turn my head to the right to look at Greg, and while my head turns, Carl steps forward, grabs my gun, and tries to wrench it out of my hand. I pull the trigger while my eyes are darting back away from Greg and shoot Carl in the chest, on the right side, right about where his nipple would be. Hannah shoots Carl in his right side about six inches down from the armpit before Carl is able to release his hold on my Glock. Finally, Carl registers a look of shock and surprise on his face as his body starts to fall backward, with a slight clockwise spin to his left.
