I circled the house twice, testing the garage door and trying to decide the best way in. It appeared that in their excited state, or their violent wanderings, my neighbors had broken several of their windows, creating the perfect entrance for me. At the rear of the house, I used a stick to clear the remaining glass from the window frame, trying to make as little noise as possible. I took my jacket off and laid it on the frame and hoisted myself inside. Even with the broken windows providing ventilation the home smelled of decay, of rotting fruit, old milk, and dead flesh.
I made it through the window and crouched down in the living room. It might have been a nice room at one point, but now it was nothing more than the scene of a grisly murder. The remains of what I presumed to be the mother were spread across the two couches and the coffee table. Her blood stained the carpet and had dried into a congealed pool on the table. Rotten limbs were scattered around the room, and her severed hand still held a large kitchen knife. The bulk of her body had either been consumed or scattered.
As I passed the brutal scene I tried my hardest to remain silent, but the overwhelming smell and the added sight of this woman’s terrible end were just too much, and as hard as I tried, a single dry heave escaped my mouth. Shit, I thought and pulled out my gun and readied a second magazine, hoping I wouldn’t have to use it. I kept my back to the window just in case I had to make a hasty exit. The first one to show up appeared to be the father. He was covered in deep slices to his face and neck. The mother had fought before she was brutally ripped apart. She had been strong in the face of death, just not strong enough.
I raised my weapon and took aim at his forehead, but before I could squeeze off a shot I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. A Walker appeared from the hallway to my left, with one smooth motion I shifted my sites and squeezed the trigger. I returned my attention back to the father, firing a shot through his eye before he took another step.
And dad makes three, I thought as my eyes continued to scan the open space. Unwilling to let anything sneak up on me again I had to search and clear the house. I moved left towards the closer hallway, where the second Walker had come from. Standing over him I realized that he was probably only fifteen, still a kid. There were two rooms off of the hallway, one open and the other closed. I assumed the boy had come from the open room, but I did a quick sweep of it anyways. The next room was empty as well. It looked like a boy's room, which meant that there was at least one more Walker in the house.
I checked the kitchen, bathrooms, laundry room, clearing the house as quickly as I could. The last room to check was the master bedroom. I opened the door to find an empty room, a small blood stain near the bed. I was about to leave when I heard something in the closet. Something was moving. I went to the closet, readied my gun, and opened the door while taking a step back. Inside was a young boy, maybe ten, all appearances of life wiped from his face. Without hesitation, I raised my gun and fired, his body crumpling in a pile on the floor.
After retrieving my jacket from the window I went to the garage and opened the large bay door. I discovered a dirt bike and a quad and, seeing as how I was planning on bringing back a possibly incapacitated Jason, I took the quad.
I pulled out of the garage and closed the door, making a mental note to visit the house again and empty it. I put my jacket in my pack before getting on the ATV to leave, exchanging it for the sweatshirt. I’d have less protection and be colder, but I could move better in the sweatshirt than I could in the jacket. I gunned the ATV’s motor and smiled as it roared to life under me. My plan was to follow the first route Jason was supposed to take in hopes that he’d blown a tire or something and had had the brains to shack up in one of the nearby houses. Knowing Jason, he’d think he could huff it back to the house on his own.
Over open ground the ATV could probably hit about forty, meaning that it would take about twenty minutes to get to town. The twenty-five minute trip seemed to drag on forever, but I finally made it to the gun shop. Rolling past the shop I started off on the route Jason was supposed to have taken. I took it slow, calling his name and looking for any indication that he may have stopped. I knew it was dangerous to go so slow and to make that much noise, but it would have been far more dangerous to search on foot. After failing to find any evidence of Jason on the first route I moved on to the second one, where I found something that bothered me.
Lying in the middle of the road, surrounded by undead bodies and a few shotgun shells, was the motorcycle. At least I knew Jason hadn’t gone down with the bike. I stopped to investigate why Jason had ditched the bike. There was no evidence that the bike had malfunctioned, no burst tire or empty gas tank. There were a few scratches on the bike from when it slid after going down, but that was it. I got back on the ATV and started off even slower than before, calling out to Jason. I went about a block before I ran into trouble. A very large group of Walkers was headed right for me. I looked left and saw that there was another group coming from the side streets. I couldn’t go back the way I came because a group would have been attracted by the noise I made earlier. I needed to keep the ATV just in case I found Jason, and besides, it was my best way out of town and back to the house.
Before I had the opportunity to make a decision I was forced into one when a Walker finally took notice and alerted the entire group to my presence. I had to act quickly, and with no discernable escape route available I decided to take refuge in a house, or rather on a house. I pulled my ATV alongside a house with a fenced backyard and used it to climb the fence like a ladder and made my way onto the roof. What the fuck am I going to do now? I wondered. This rescue mission was officially fucked, and before I sat down to consider the situation I was in, I muttered, “Sarah’s going to kill me.”
Sitting there on the roof I had to figure a way down and back home, I’d worry about Jason after I got myself out of trouble. I knew that I couldn’t escape on foot, but my ATV was out of the question. It was surrounded by an ever-growing throng of undead reaching up for me. My only solace was that they couldn’t figure out how to climb up the ATV. I needed a distraction to get back to the motorcycle.
I decided to get into the house to find something to distract the undead or kill as many as I could with. I jumped down off of the roof into the fenced backyard. Finding it empty and secure, I began to try and find a way inside. I settled on breaking a window and climbing in like I did at the neighbors place. Once inside I did a sweep of the building and made sure it was clear. I headed straight for the garage and quickly found just what I needed, a full pack of small propane canisters, the kind you use for lanterns and small grills. I pulled those out, grabbed a lighter, a towel and some lighter fluid. After gathering everything I needed I began transferring it all to the roof. Sitting down I began cutting strips from the towel and soaking them in the lighter fluid. Most people think that shooting a propane tank will make it blow up but it doesn’t work all the time. Having an ignition source attached to the tank as you shoot it would guarantee an explosion.
After rigging three tanks I was ready to go. The plan was to knock down as many undead with the explosives, jump off the roof and haul ass to the bike. It was crude, but it would do. I lit the rag on the first tank and threw it towards the growing mass of undead and let it settle. Taking careful aim I shot at it, taking three shots to hit the damn thing. The tank burst apart as the gas escaping the hole ignited, blowing legs off of the closer zombies and knocking down others. I quickly repeated the process once more and decided that I didn’t need to use the third canister. I glanced down at where I would land after jumping from the roof. The grass around the house was probably once a perfectly manicured lawn, but now it was long, unkempt, and yellowed with crabgrass and dandelions reclaiming the landscape.
I jumped off the roof, lost my balance, rolled, and felt a sharp pain in my right shoulder. I roared in pain and glanced down at where I had landed. I cursed again when I saw a fucking shovel that had been covered by weeds and long grass glistening with my blood
along its sharp edge. I had no time to check how bad my injury really was, I had to keep moving. I ran as fast as I could to the overturned bike, finishing off two Walkers who were making their way back to their feet. I reached the bike, climbed on, and prayed to God that there was nothing wrong with it.
As I drove away from the mob, the condition of the bike brought only questions regarding why Jason ditched the bike and where he was now. While I wanted to devote more time to figuring out what happened to Jason I had more pressing issues to deal with. I didn’t know how bad the gash on my shoulder was, but I could feel my sweatshirt soaking up my warm blood. I tried to lift my right arm and hissed in pain. “God damn it,” I cursed. I felt the blood run down my back before being absorbed by my ruined sweatshirt. I figured I would need stitches, and antibiotics just to be safe. I knew how to stitch, but the location of the wound would make it very difficult to do myself, my directions would have to be good enough to guide the hand of another.
The adrenaline from my escape was wearing off and the pain in my shoulder was making a comeback. “Stupid fucking shovel,” I said, my words whipped away by the wind. All I could do was hope it hadn’t been used to spread manure or scrape dog shit, otherwise an infection might be inevitable. It took me twelve minutes to make it back to the house, and with darkness edging my vision I walked inside, about to call out to everyone, when I saw Jason, standing in the kitchen like nothing happened. He wasn't alone, though, we had a guest.
CHAPTER 7
I took my pack off and let it fall to the floor with a loud thump. “Well, welcome home,” I said to Jason with a hint of sarcasm. “What took you so long and who’s your friend?” I asked.
“Oh, you know, I decided to take the scenic route, I thought it’d be more fun. This is Sam,” he said nodding his head to indicate the stranger.
At the sound of his name, the guy turned around to look at me. “Well, fuck me,” I said, “If it isn’t Sam McGrath.”
“What’s new Chief?” he asked.
“Nothing much Tojo, just surviving the zombie apocalypse. You know, the usual,” I replied.I walked over and clasped hands with Sam and we shared a classic man hug. I winced when he hit me on the shoulder.
“Ah, shit man, I’m sorry. What’s with the shoulder?”
“I ran into a little trouble while I was out looking for this asshole,” I said, pointing at Jason.
“Wait... You two know each other?” asked Matt.
Sam and I just shared a look and laughed. My shoulder was killing me so I just gave a quick history of how I knew Sam. We were best friends in high school. He went into the Air Force for school and I went to college. We didn’t talk a lot in the years following graduation, but I knew that if anyone could survive this hell on earth by themselves, it would be Sam. In high school Sam spent a great deal of time in the gym, resulting in a 5’ 10'' half Japanese brick shit house. After quickly recapping our old friendship, I told Sam we’d talk later but I had to take care of my shoulder.
I headed towards the bathroom to look at the damage, but Sarah beat me there. She was holding a first aid kit, and before I could say anything she said, “Lose the sweatshirt, t-shirt too,” in a chastising manner. I followed her orders and removed my sweatshirt with little difficulty, it was the t-shirt that was hard, and painful. The pressure of my pack had forced a piece of my shirt into the wound, helping to slow the bleeding, but it had partially dried in place, making its removal very painful.
After I got the shirt off, Sarah dipped a rag in some warm water, she must have heated some up when I was talking to Sam, and started wiping away the blood around the wound. After the first rag was dirty she threw it in the sink and got another one. She began to scrub the wound itself, which began to bleed anew and made me grit my teeth.
I turned to face Sarah and looked at my bloody shoulder in the mirror. “Oh yeah,” I said, “that’s going to need stitches.” I turned back around and Sarah applied pressure to the gash. “You think you can do it with my help?” I asked her. I knew I was asking a lot, she hated needles. She said nothing but nodded her head. “Hand me the needle and thread.”
As I was attempting to thread the needle, Sarah poured hydrogen peroxide on the wound and asked, “So, how’d you manage this?”
Through clenched teeth, I said, “I landed on a shovel.”
She raised an eyebrow. “A shovel? You didn’t get it doing something dumb, like rescuing two kittens from a burning house?” she said sarcastically.
I grinned, “Well, it was after I made two bombs, blew up several zombies, and jumped off a roof to finally escape on the bike Jason ditched. Does that count?”
“Yeah, that qualifies as dumb in my book.”
I just smiled, hoping that I masked the pain I was feeling. “I’m using silk, so it’ll dissolve. You need to make sure that you don’t just stitch the top layer of skin, so go deep. Since this is my shoulder it’s going to move a lot, so the stitches have to be strong. Use a lot of small stitches instead of a few large ones. Just pinch the skin together and start. And for the love of God, don’t stick the needle in, panic, and leave it in.”
“Okay. Anything else?” she asked.
“Yeah. This is probably going to hurt a lot, so I’m sorry if I say anything… unpleasant.” I said, winking. A small smile appeared on her face at my little joke. Good, I thought, the more at ease she is the easier this will be for the both of us.
I was right when I said that the stitches were going to hurt. I’ll give Sarah credit, she was focused and didn’t flinch at all. When she was done stitching she cleaned my shoulder again and covered it with gauze held with tape. .I’d have to take it easy for the next week or so. I popped some antibiotics my dad always kept in the house and went to change. I found a much more urgent and terrible problem than the undead. Do you know how hard it is to put on a pair of jeans when you are forced to not move your shoulder? It’s nearly impossible. After struggling with my damn pants for what seemed like an eternity, I rejoined the rest of the group. I sat down and asked Jason, “Okay, what the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know man, one second everything was going as planned and then falling apart the next. I was dodging the undead just fine, but when I started to look at the pack that was following me, you know to see how close they were, I turned back and there was this walker right in front of me, arms outstretched like it wanted a hug. I swerved, went down, and my leg got caught between the bike and the street. Scratched it up pretty bad, but the worst part is that I think I messed up my ankle when the bike landed on me.” He lifted his foot to show me his bandaged ankle. “So anyways,” he continued, “I went down, and I was forced to kill a couple Walkers because they were too close. I got my foot out and began limping my way down the street. I probably wouldn’t have made it very far if it wasn’t for Sam. That big mother fucker just showed up outta nowhere and all but carried me to where he was staying. Thanks again, by the way,” he said, pointing at Sam.
“No problem,” Sam said nodding.
“So Sam saved your ass, took you to his place, then what?” I asked.
“Relax, I’m getting there,” he said, smiling. “So, after we got back to his house he tells me about how he’s been surviving. I asked if he was with anyone else, and asked if he wanted to come somewhere safer.” I raised my eyebrow at him when he said this. “Don’t look at me like that, James. He seemed cool, I needed his help to get back, and come on man, he pulled my ass out of the fire. The least I could do was offer him some food for his troubles.” I nodded for him to continue, “Right, well, he agreed, and after he loaded his gear into his truck we came straight here. That’s about it.”
“Alright. You’re up, Sam.”
“I’ll keep it brief. I was in Portland when we started getting reports about people getting sick. We were called to report to base in case we were needed. My buddies and I all got there at the same time. Things were okay until a couple people got sick, and then more people, and then all hell broke loose. W
e got the fuck out of there when we figured it was a lost cause. We didn’t have any guns so we used anything heavy we could find. There were seven of us back then. We fell, one by one, on our way here. It was my idea, I wanted to be on familiar ground. It’s my fault they’re dead,” he said, emotion creeping into his voice.
“Hey man, don’t talk like that. You did your best,” I said, sitting forward. Bad idea, I thought as I settled back to my previous position. “Alright Sam, you’re welcome to stay here and join our little group, or if you want we can supply you with food, gear, weapons, whatever you need to make it on your way.”
“You know what,” he said looking around, “I think I’ll stay, at least for a little while.”
“Good,” I said. “Matt, do me a favor and run Sam through sleeping arrangements, watch schedules, and all that stuff. I think I need to lie down for a while.”
Survivors Series (Book 1): Heroes Aren't Born Page 9
