ZOMBIE'S DOOM? Chronicles of Jack Doom

by Will Lemen

  "Quiet, keep your voice down, are you trying to get us killed?" I whispered, paranoid that the noise might bring more zombies, or worse, raptors.

  "Sorry!" Gin moaned, distraught by the surrounding landscape.

  During the three days in the tank, they had all forgotten just how brutal the massacre they had escaped from had been. Or maybe they all just wanted to forget the vast amount of carnage that they had previously witnessed.

  Whatever the reason for their temporary amnesia, the scene they were now being forced to endure, was so horrific that we all knew that none of us would ever be the same again.

  Piles of the zombie bodies that had been torn apart by the raptors and the T-Rexes' were everywhere, their rotting carcasses were stacked one on top of the other, sometimes as much as twelve bodies high. If we hadn't of had to kill so many, and hadn't grown to hate them so much for their insatiable appetite for our flesh, we might have felt somewhat sorry for them.

  However, as things were, we felt no remorse for the hundreds of zombies we'd killed and burned that now lay in the piles before us. Or for the ones that we'd killed all along the way since the undead began their attack upon us at our home.

  Neither was there any remorse forth coming for the ones that were torn apart by the giant lizards, the ones that we now had to climb over or step on to get to what we were hoping would be the safety and security of the armory.

  The sickening squishing sounds of intestines squirting out their feces and different colored fermented juices, and the rotting muscles tearing away from the bones of the formally undead were bad enough.

  However, couple that noise together with the chomping sound of the bent and broken teeth of the snappers as the decapitated heads snapped at us and gnashed their teeth while we trudged over the stacks of convulsing dismembered limbs and disemboweled organs.

  Now, imagine if you will how the cacophony was only made more odious by the never-ending sound of the innumerable flies circling the seemingly endless mounds of degrading bluish-green corpses.

  These sounds echoed in our minds for weeks after, bringing back the memory of the short but what we regarded at that time, as an un-ending journey to the weapons cache we so desperately needed.

  "Good call dad," Jacob said, as he kicked a biting head to the side, knocking several of its teeth down the open hole where its throat should have been.

  "What good call?" I asked. "You mean going back into the armory?"

  Jacob laughed softly through his now fly incrusted gas mask.

  "No, I mean calling these heads snappers, because that's exactly what they're doing, they're snapping at us."

  "Everyone stay alert, just because we don't see any eaters, that doesn't mean that there aren't any nearby. And watch out for those heads, I mean snappers, you get bit and you die," I warned everyone, knowing that there was really no need to.

  "Watch out for raptors too!" Jacob warned. "They're a lot faster than the eaters are!"

  During our trek to the front door of the armory, we saw no sign of live zombies (just live heads), or of the prehistoric monsters that had destroyed their massive horde and inadvertently and ironically saved our skins at the same time.

  When we finally made it to the entryway of the armory, our clothes were adorned with small chunks of festering flesh, and dripping with rotting blood, feces, and several bodily fluids that none of us had any idea of what they might be.

  And as if that weren't enough to make us sick to our stomachs. To highlight the decaying mess that befouled our clothing, our garments were peppered with a generous amount of hitchhiking maggots that wiggled excitedly as the flies that accompanied them continually swooped down and landed nearby, and then took off again, never venturing to fly too far away from their descendants.

  "We've got to get out of these clothes, at least the pants, they're slimy, and they stink," Gin announced with a sour look on her face as she peeled away her gas mask.

  "How can you tell that it's your clothes that sink? I mean with all of the rotting corpses lying around all over the place, you've narrowed down the source of the smell to your pants?" Jacob asked, with a teenage sarcastic smile on his face.

  "Well you can keep your clothes on if you want to, but I've got to get out mine," Gin answered, not much in the mood for levity.

  "First things first, we need to get the guns and ammunition, then maybe we can either wash our uniforms, or find some other's here in the armory," I ordered, as I began to make my way to where the M-4 rifles were stored.

  "First things first, we need to get these maggots and pieces of rotting skin, and whatever this other stuff is off of us," Gin insisted, as she brushed the decaying body parts and fly larvae from her clothes.

  "Good idea mom," Jacob said, as he too wiped the decomposed body parts and little white grubs from his uniform.

  After we had skimmed off our outer layer of disgusting putrefied flesh and maggot infestation, which had magnified our experience to some extent, we continued into the armory to collect the much-needed weapons that were stored there.

  The huge zombie horde that had attacked us had been drawn to our location by the sound of the buildings crashing down and the cannon fire that caused them to fall, so inside the armory was mostly devoid of zombies. Some of the raptors, which luckily for us were no longer present, had summarily dispatched the few zombies that had infiltrated inside the building leaving it a zombie free structure, at least for the time being.

  "Everyone grab two rifles, and let's get to the ammo room, we'll need as much 5.56 and 9mm ammo as we can carry," I informed them as I picked up two M-4 carbines the Sarg had left behind after freeing them from the locked rack.

  "Why two rifles?" Gin asked.

  "Because we don't know exactly what we're going to run into out on the road, but from our experiences out there we all have a pretty good idea of what to expect," I answered grimly. "And whatever we run into, one thing is for sure, we don't want to be caught short of firepower when we run into it.

  Gin and the two boys each grabbed two rifles from the same rack, and we continued to the room where the ammo was stored.

  "It's all still here!" Jacob shouted, seemingly surprised.

  "It should be, zombies and prehistoric lizards don't use guns," Billy quipped, as he rolled his eyes at his brother's naive statement.

  "Billy you stay here with your mother, Jacob you come with me," I said. "We're going to see if we can find some new uniforms and maybe a shower, and anything else we can use. You two stay here and see if you can locate something we can use to carry the spare magazines for these guns."

  Taking the 9mm pistols and our edged weapons, Jacob and I proceeded down the hallway in search of much needed assets.

  "Keep your eyes peeled for the office where they keep the keys to the vehicles. Before Bruce died and the tank blew up, we thought that there might be some Hummers parked in the back where they found the tank, we need the keys to one of them," I said, reminding Jacob.

  "I know dad, we were on our way to look for one when that sniper opened fire on us and blew Bruce's head clean off his shoulders," Jacob added without emotion. "I got the pleasure of sitting on his headless body's lap for the last three days, I'd like to thank everybody for that one."

  During our three-day stay in the tank, we all had the opportunity to become very intimate with the slowly decomposing bodies of our three former friends, so I wasn't surprised to hear Jacob reminisce about his stay at the hotel Abrams.

  It wasn't long before we stumbled across some clean uniforms, a small locker room with a shower, and an office where we found a small brown metal box full of keys.

  "The showers work, well kind of," Jacob said, as he turned the handle on one and a small trickle of water dribbled out. "It's not much, but if it lasts we can take a cold shower."

  "Any shower is better than no shower!" I exclaimed nodding my head in agreement.

  It had been four days since we had left the YMCA, and all the comforts of home that i
t had provided for us. The Sarge and his people had turned the abandoned club into a sanctuary, an oasis in the middle of a zombie desert.

  While we were there, we had grown used to things being a little like they were before the apocalypse, before all of the death and destruction. We had grown used to the hot meals and the hot showers, the clean sheets and the warm beds.

  It seemed that those days were over now, and we would have to make do with what we had and what we could find, no matter how meager.

  "Look what I found while you were gone, magazine pouches for the M-4 mags," Billy bragged, holding up a pouch in each hand. "And we loaded this cart with ammo, and since the Sarge broke down the front door with his giant crowbar, we should probably move to another room, one that has a door."

  Nodding in agreement once again, and motioning for them to follow me, I said. "Good idea, let's go, I'll show you what Jake and I found."

  After leading my family to the showers and letting them pick out their new uniforms that the National Guard graciously provided us with (Army Digital camouflage pattern), I told them that we would all clean up right after we secured a new vehicle for our journey.

  There was no use in taking a shower and putting on clean uniforms, and then going outside and having to slop through a bunch of blood and guts to get to a vehicle. It made more sense to do the dirty work while we were still dirty. Besides, it was too dangerous for only one or two of us to go outside and find some means of transportation; we would need someone to watch our backs while we looked.

  Taking the box of keys in tow, Jacob and I cautiously made our way out the back door of the armory, while Billy and Gin stood watch over us.

  The carnage at the back of the building was not as bad as it was in the front of the building. The high fence that surrounded that part of the armory had kept most of the marauding zombies at bay, the one's that did find their way in were lying in several pieces which were scattered throughout the parking lot by the prehistoric beasts that had saved our lives.

  We meandered through the parking lot avoiding stepping on most of the rotting body parts, and at the same time, hopefully avoiding any sniper's bullets that might be aimed at us.

  "There's a bunch of Hummers back here dad," Jacob acknowledged, jumping into one of the vehicles. "Hand me a key and I'll see if it works.

  I handed Jacob four keys in a row, none of which would start the Hummer, however, as Jacob turned the fifth key, the military vehicle turned over and then started with a roar.

  "Can I drive dad, I can do it," Jacob begged, smiling and gripping the steering wheel.

  It was only a few yards to the back door of the armory, and there wasn't what you would call a whole lot of dead bodies to drive over. Besides, he needed the practice; we were sure to need him to drive at some point in the future.

  "Sure pull it up as close as you can to the back door, then get right back here."

  Jacob followed my orders to the letter and parked the Hummer close the rear entrance of the building without incident. Then he joined me again as I had requested.

  "What now dad?" Jacob inquired eager to drive again.

  "I think this time we're going to take two vehicles, travel in a caravan. Every time we get on the road, something happens to our transportation. So this time, since we have two military vehicles at our disposal, we're going to try something different, maybe we'll have better luck.

  I dug through the box of keys once more, handing them one by one to my son who promptly inserted them into the ignition of the second Hummer.

  "Bingo!" Jacob yelled, as the second Hummer spewed smoke from its tail pipe and began to rumble.

  "Pull it behind the other one, not too close though, we need to be able to load supplies into the back of it too," I informed Jacob, as he slowly drove the olive-drab colored truck over a bloated carcass that was doubling as a speed bump, and moved it into place.

  "Good enough," I said. "Let's hit the showers!"

  Gin was pleased that the armory had showers; however, she wished that the hot water had been working. Nevertheless, things being as they were, she agreed with me that any shower was better than no shower at all.

  Once we had cleaned the dried cadaver juices and lingering stench off us and slipped into our new uniforms, we secured one of the rooms that had two exits and began to gather as much ammo as we thought we could pack into the two Hummers, and then we loaded every magazine that we could find.

  "When are we leaving," Gin asked.

  With all of the horrific occurrences that had happened in the last few days, I hadn't considered what we would do, or where we would go.

  Hell, I didn't even think we would live through it, let alone make plans for what we would do if we did.

  "I think we should spend the night here locked in this room; while we figure out what we're going to do, where we're going to go, you know, make a plan."

  "We could try and make it back to the YMCA?" Gin suggested.

  "We could, but the Sarge left us for dead, he left all of us here and he could have waited, he should have waited, I would have waited for him.

  So I put a few rounds in the back tires of the bus as he drove off. Therefore, if we go back to the Y, and him and Beth didn't make back we'll be fine. That is unless they show up later, then I'll have to kill him.

  On the other hand, if we go there and he and Beth made it back in one piece, he's not going to be too pleased to see us, and I'll have to kill him.

  Or, if we show up there and he welcomes us with open arms, I'm still going to kill him, it'll just be a little easier that way.

  Either way, if I end up having to kill the Sarge, and I will end up having to kill him, it's the principle of the thing you know. I don't think his people are going to take too kindly to that.

  Do you?"

  "No, probably not," Gin answered.

  "Maybe we can find another YMCA, or something like it," Billy contended.

  "Or maybe another box store, like before," Jacob added.

  "Well we'll just have to figure it out, but for now the Sarge's YMCA is not an option," I stated firmly. "And if we run into the Sarge at anytime in the future, he's going to be dead before he hits the ground. Nobody leaves me and my family to die and lives to tell about it if I can help it."

  We spent the rest of that day planning our next move, filling up the Hummers with extra rifles, pistols, and ammunition, and generally making ready for the next day's trek.

  Fortunately for us, the former Sergeant in charge of the motor pool had been on the ball, and kept the vehicle's fuel tanks filled up using the gas pump located on the property, so we didn't have to stomp over a myriad of decomposing body parts in preparation of the next day's journey after taking our showers.

  We were lucky enough to find a soda and snack machine in the building, but not lucky enough to find them unmolested.

  It seemed obvious that early on in the zombie invasion, the troops that were staffing this armory left in a big hurry. Only stopping to pillage the machines and lock the doors behind them.

  Who knows whether they panicked and ran for the hills, or set out to face the invading hordes as a disciplined military unit?

  How and why they left was of no consequence, the fact was, that they had emptied the machines before they did so, leaving us without any of the much-needed sustenance to get us by until we were able to forage for some real food.

  But that's the way it is in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, some good, some bad, some ugly, mostly bad and ugly.

  Back to Contents

  THE JOURNEY BEGINS! AGAIN!

  "Wake up everyone, rise and shine, the suns already up, we're burning daylight," I cheerfully announced while strapping on my Glock 19.

  "I'm awake, and ready to go!" Gin stated grumpily. "I'm so sick of the smell around here, the sooner we leave the better."

  "That's my girl, rough and ready," I kidded.

  My good mood could have only been brought on by the fact that we were about to leave
this god forsaken hellhole of a place.

  "Boys, get up we're leaving in just a few minutes," I said, still adjusting my gear.

  Slowly both boys started to stir, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and making moaning noises as they stretched.

  "What about breakfast?" Jacob asked.

  "What about it?" I answered back. "We don't have any food remember, and even if we did, I personally would like to eat somewhere that doesn't smell like road kill, we did enough of that on the Morphadite."

  "Me too!" Gin added. "Let's go, the sooner we leave the sooner we can find some food and eat."

  The three of us picked up our brand spanking new M-4's, and Jacob grabbed his trusty 9mm carbine, and we headed outside to our newly acquired Hummers.

  "Billy, you and Jake take that one," I said, pointing to the rear vehicle. "Your mother and I will take the lead, stay close, but not too close, maybe about ten or twenty yards behind us. Billy you drive, Jacob, you ride shotgun, and I mean ride shotgun, keep your gun ready and your eyes peeled."

  With our guns fully loaded and in hand, and our Hummers fully loaded with extra rifles, ammo, and fuel, we slowly pulled out of the motor pool area.

  With severed body parts covering the ground in every direction, we heard the sound of rotting flesh being squeezed and bones being smashed under our tires as we traversed across the gruesome landscape.

  There was no sign of the raptors or of the T-Rex's, only the dismembered twitching corpses and the snapping heads of the zombies that had fallen prey to them.

  Several hundred yards of what you might call a killing field had to be crossed before the bodies began to thin out somewhat, and we no longer had to grind our way through, ripping sinew and muscle from bones as we attempted to gain traction on the bloody body parts of the fallen undead cannibals.

  Once clear of the mass of bloated remains and most of the still biting heads. I stopped our small caravan and got out of the truck, then announced to my family.

  "We need to dig out some of this gore from inside the wheel wells, some of the eaters clothing among other things has gotten wrapped around stuff; we need to get it out before it messes something up. Plus, we'll never get away from the smell and these damn flies if we don't clean this mess up."