Zombie War

by Jean Booth

  He knew he was going to have to stock up on guns and ammo, but—like a kid in a candy store—he didn’t quite know where to start. He grabbed two of every gun that he wanted, AR-15s, Socoms, pistols and shotguns, placing them on the center island for easy access. He remembered that when he had purchased the pistols here in the past, they kept the keys to unlock the trigger guards in the back.

  He leapt behind the counter without looking, directly onto the remnants of one of the salesmen. It was all he could do to keep his footing in the mess of a person that remained. His arms pinwheeled as his feet sought purchase on the slick surface. His previous disappointment at not seeing any action was obliterated at the gruesome sight of the employee that he was standing in.

  He caught his balance, only to be nearly bowled over by the smell that wafted over him. Trying to ignore the guts and body parts that he had to wade through to get to the door where the keys were, he clung to the counter for support, but it was proving to be more difficult than he thought it’d be. This was so much worse than the video games or movies depicted. He got there, only to realize that he needed another key to unlock it.

  “Fuck!” His voice seemed to echo in the otherwise silent store. He did not want to have to find that key, as he was certain he’d have to find it in the mess of the person that he was standing in.

  He tried kicking the door in with his steel-toe boot, only to slip and fall back into the remains. His left hand pushed against something solid on the floor as he scrambled to get up without vomiting. He unconsciously closed his fingers around the object as he braced himself against the wall, completely saturated in blood, bile, and bits of organs.

  “Just breathe, slowly and shallowly. Come on Matt, you’ve seen worse.” He hadn’t really, but he anxiously tried to talk himself down from completely losing his mind. The mess triggered memories that had been buried for years. He struggled to keep them buried and maintain his composure. He closed his eyes for just a minute, relaxing his breathing so he could think of another way to get into the back room for the gun keys. He realized he was holding something in his hand when it started digging into his flesh. Uncurling his fingers, he found a key ring digging into his palm. He stared at it for a moment, in disbelief. Choosing not to question his good luck, he scrambled over to the storeroom door.

  A mixture of blood and sweat made it difficult to keep a hold of the key ring, so he took a moment to wipe his hands off on his—not much cleaner—jeans. The keys to unlock the trigger guards were hanging in a neat row inside the storeroom. He placed all of them in his pocket, knowing he might need them at a later date. He was about to return to the gun display when he heard a shot. All the color drained from his face.

  Sarah was in trouble.

  He leapt back over the counter, and gore splattered his body once more. He sprinted across the store—for the first time cursing its size—toward the camping section. The scene that greeted him made bile rise in the back of his throat. Skidding to a complete stop, he bent over and vomited.

  SARAH

  The sound of the gun was an explosion in her ears. Everything was muffled; all she heard was a ringing in her head. Splatters of the zombie’s face covered her own. Warm liquid poured through her hair and dripped down the back of her shirt. She wiped the bits of skull, skin, and mushy zombie brain from her eyes with shaking hands. She had to make sure it was really dead.

  She took a step back from the aisle and looked at the top of the display. One arm was barely attached to half a torso dangling from the top of the display. The ceiling was splattered with the back of the zombie’s skull and thick gobs of blood. She glanced around her to make sure that the sound of the gun firing didn’t bring anything else running. She caught sight of Matt on the floor, retching. She took a step toward him, but then stopped herself. She couldn’t afford any more mistakes; Matt would want her to ensure the area was clear before she went to him.

  With the gun raised, she turned toward the clothing racks. Her hearing was taking its sweet time coming back, but then it would with how close she’d fired the gun to her head. She could vaguely hear the sounds of Matt heaving, and began to walk toward him, swinging her gun first in one direction, then another. She made sure to check every part of the store that she could see while she walked the remaining three feet to the clothing racks where Matt sat, hunched over.

  Apparently, while Sarah had been waiting for her hearing to return, a handful of zombies had materialized from somewhere. They must have crawled and dragged themselves over. They had to have been in the store when Matt and Sarah had entered, but must not have been able to pinpoint the exact location of their scent until the gun went off, a homing beacon for the undead.

  Matt was curled in a ball, dry heaving. Half a dozen zombies surrounded him. Without even pausing to yell out a warning, Sarah shot them. She had fifteen bullets left in the magazine that was currently loaded into the gun Matt had given her. She tried for headshots, completely giving up on that idea by her third bullet. She just wanted them dead. At this distance, body shots were easy. Her only goal was to get them on the ground so she could stand above them and blow their brains out. Her gun clicked empty while three more advanced, and she switched the magazines out, just like Matt had taught her. She took the last three down just as they were reaching for Matt.

  She was breathing hard and trembling with adrenaline and fear. She couldn’t remember how many bullets she had left, nor did she care. Her knees gave out and she collapsed against Matt, leaning into his body for support that wasn’t going to come anytime soon. She saw his gun in his hands, but it was held with such disregard she knew he wasn’t really aware of his surroundings yet. She had no idea what had caused this reaction, but prayed he’d pull himself together soon.

  Unbidden, tears streamed down her face and for once she didn’t try to stop them. Death deserved tears. Minutes ticked by as they sat. “It’s okay, baby. They’re gone,” Sarah murmured into Matt’s ear, stroking his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. Her hearing was starting to come back, and over Matt’s weeping she realized there was another voice.

  “I’m not a zombie. Don’t shoot. Please don’t shoot me.” It was all the disembodied voice was saying, over and over like a broken record. It took Sarah another moment to focus on it. An older man came into focus, his arms outstretched. There was a small child clinging to the man’s leg.

  “I’m not going to shoot you,” she croaked, using Matt to push herself up. “Who are you?” She holstered her gun and walked toward the man, deliberately blocking his view of Matt as she did so, giving him time to compose himself.

  “My name’s Frank, and this is Gillian. We heard the shots and couldn’t believe that someone else was still alive out here.” He smiled, the first gore-free smile Sarah had seen in what felt like forever.

  “Hello, Frank. I need to see both of your eyes before anything else happens. I’m sorry, but you understand?” It wasn’t really a question. Frank nodded, and leaned forward so she could see his clear, gray eyes. Gillian turned her head, opening her bright green eyes wide. They were clear, full of tears and terror.

  “Thank you. My name’s Sarah.” She reached out a hand for Frank to shake, but dropped it again when she saw that it was red with blood.

  “I can’t believe you’re here. We’ve been walking around for hours trying to find someone who wasn’t infected. When I heard your shots, I’ve never been so relieved to hear a gun before,” Frank explained as Gillian turned her face back into his pant leg.

  “How’d you two manage to make it?” Matt’s voice croaked behind Sarah.

  “I’m retired. I was picking Gilly up from kindergarten so my son and daughter-in-law could keep working when I saw the first abomination. I thought someone had been in an accident. The thing ran out in front of my car, I almost hit it. The body was mangled with blood and bits of organs. We weren’t that far from home when I saw George and Rebecca.” Frank paused, his voice thick. “They were both beyond our help. I cou
ldn’t let Gilly see her parents like that. I drove into the mountains and we hid. The only reason we came back to town is because we were hungry. I’m an electrician, not a hunter. I’ve never liked guns or had any interest in hunting. My son was into all that, and look where it got him.”

  He paused, tears peaking from the corners of his eyes.

  He sounded so broken. Sarah knew what she had to do, what Mary would have done. “You are both welcome to join us. We’re not sure exactly how things will work out, but there’s a place I know of. We’re headed there now. It should provide protection and be easily defendable, provided it’s empty.” She didn’t go into too much detail. If he declined, she didn’t want him to know where they were going. She wasn’t confident the information would be protected if he were to get eaten, or changed.

  “Really?” Frank’s whole face lit up. “We’ll pull our own weight. I may not be a hunter, but I know how to farm and how to provide electricity, provided we can still get the supplies.”

  Sarah found herself smiling back at Frank. “Okay. Grab a couple of backpacks and fill them with all the dehydrated food you can carry. We need water filters and propane, so make sure you save room for them too. Matt and I need to change and finish getting the guns and ammo. Go quickly and we’ll meet you at the stairs.” Sarah gave the order quickly, desperate to leave this place as soon as possible.

  Without waiting for a response, she walked over to the clothing section, grabbed the first pair of pants and shirt she came across, and headed toward the bathroom. On her way to the bathroom she grabbed a box of ammo to reload her magazines with. After today, she wasn’t willing to skimp on the arsenal. Matt was a quiet shadow behind her. She wanted to ask him what’d happened to cause such a breakdown, but realized this wasn’t the time or place. If he wanted her to know, he’d tell her in his own time.

  FRANK

  Frank and Gillian were waiting by the stairs when Matt and Sarah returned from gathering more weapons. They each had a blue bag slung over one shoulder, three rifles thrown over the other shoulder, and pistols in shoulder holsters, hip holsters, thigh holsters, and back pockets. They were prepared for war. Frank’s face paled slightly at the sight of them decked out in military chic, and Gillian cowered further behind her grandfather’s leg.

  “We have our vehicle. While you were changing, we loaded it with as much of the non-perishables we could carry. We also gathered some blankets and extra clothing just in case.” Frank gestured to the packs lying at their feet. He kept his voice steady and clear, unwilling to show just how uncomfortable he was around guns. He’d tried hunting a few times over the years, but it’d just never appealed to him. His son had been the avid gun collector. Frank inwardly winced; the image of George as he’d last seen him would never fade.

  “We’ll be driving out of town to a house we know of. I don’t know what we’ll be driving into, or what to expect there, but you may end up having to shoot something.” Sarah handed him a .38 with a box of ammo. Frank’s face must have clearly shown his feelings on guns, because Sarah added, “I know this is hard, but please remember that any hesitation on your part could cost you your life. Or hers.” Sarah gestured to Gilly, still clinging fervently to Frank’s leg. “This is a war, and I intend to live. Will you be okay?”

  “I have to be. We’ll follow you. Thank you. For everything you’ve done for us.” At her confused expression, he continued. “You’ve given us hope when we were hopeless. You’ve shown compassion, when you could’ve just been rid of us. You’ve shown us it might be possible to actually live again.”

  SARAH

  As they drove off quickly toward the freeway, Sarah put her foot down; the streets were empty anyway. The house was located approximately ten miles out of town, off a small frontage road, over an old rickety bridge. Matt and Sarah drove in a silence that was starting to become uncomfortable by the time they crossed the bridge.

  “We’ll have to find a way to block access to the bridge once we get settled. I want to be able to cross it, but not have anyone follow us. Maybe Frank can help you engineer something?” She said to break the tension.

  “Yeah, we could probably rig up something. Maybe a hydroelectric fence too. We could activate a gate with a special sensor device that would have to be added to our cars. I’ll ask him about it later. This really is a perfect spot.” His voice was distant and had a tremor to it that she didn’t understand.

  She wanted him to talk to her, but knew that she would have to wait until he was ready. In the meantime, she visually checked out the house and surrounding area as Matt stopped the truck. It really was more perfect than she’d remembered. The only easily accessible area was the bridge that they’d just crossed, and if Matt was right, they would be able to manage that with a strong fence. There was a small glen filled with budding fruit trees hiding the left front of the house. To the right, between the house and the pond, was the small farm complete with pasture for horses. If they were able to replace the horses with cows, they would have dairy products. Add a few more chickens into the coops already set up, and they’d be set. Sarah smiled in satisfaction at her choice of dwelling, as well as the knowledge that with all the work it took to tending a farm, she’d never be bored again.

  The car doors slamming in the driveway was the only disturbance to an otherwise peaceful setting. If they hadn’t just witnessed the destruction the virus had had on the town, they never would have believed it. This was a place of serenity, peace, and promise. They all shared the hope that this would truly be home.

  “Wow. I’ve lived here my whole life and I never knew that this place existed. Is this your house?” Frank asked as he stretched and visibly relaxed for the first time since they met.

  “No. I don’t know who lives here. You should take Gillian and wait in your truck while Matt and I check things out. We’ll come get you after—when we have a better idea of what’s going on.” Sarah pulled out one of the shotguns and clasped it to her belt holster as she talked. She hid one pistol in her back pocket, another under her shirt and tucked extra ammo in her front pockets. Anyone looking would only see the shotgun, but underneath the innocent girl façade, she was dressed to kill.

  MATT

  The image of Sarah covered in blood was haunting Matt. It was dredging up memories he had thought were long buried. He knew he should explain, but the flashbacks made him weak and insecure.

  He had a newfound respect for Sarah. She was able to be strong while opening herself up to him, being vulnerable in a way he didn’t fully understand until now. He didn’t like these feelings of weakness, knowing that Sarah deserved a strong man, someone stronger than him. He knew she needed an explanation, but didn’t know how she’d react to the weakness inside him. He couldn’t lose her. It was too painful to even think about.

  He was interrupted from his internal debate by her soft voice.

  “Should we knock, or just barge in?” she whispered. He could hear faint tremors in her voice. He hated that he was so distracted with his problems that he couldn’t comfort her properly.

  “Why would we knock? We’d lose the element of surprise.” His voice was gruff with frustration and suppressed anger at himself. He winced when he saw her flinch. He definitely owed her an explanation.

  “What if they’re still home, alive and as prepared as we are?” Sarah replied, her voice gruff. He knew she was trying to hide the hurt she felt at his sharp tone. “People don’t live like this for no reason. This place is so secluded, and filled with so much livestock; I don’t think the zombies would come here. I think we should knock, just in case.” She ended quietly, subdued.

  She had a point. This thing hit so fast and without warning, he hadn’t expected there to be many survivors. Frank and Gillian had caught him unawares. Maybe Sarah was right. At his sharp nod, Sarah knocked. She was the less intimidating of the two, even all decked out in weaponry.

  They waited for a response. Nothing. She knocked again. When there was still no reply, she tried th
e handle. The door swung open.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” There was no response to her calls, but the stench of death permeated the room. She turned to Matt. “I don’t think they made it. Let’s go.” The smell was worse the further inside they went. The house had an open floor plan with the garage and laundry facilities to the right and the bedrooms to the left. The door they entered opened into the spacious living room with kitchen separated only by a tall countertop. Sarah headed for the kitchen while Matt went to scope out the laundry room and garage.

  Matt didn’t want to be caught off guard, so he made sure to check both the washer and dryer, as well as all the corners of the room where something could be hiding. He opened the garage and turned on the light. It was immaculately clean and organized. There wasn’t a place to hide a rat, let alone a zombie. He ran a quick visual check around, marveling in the supplies that were so well maintained, when he heard a muffled yell from behind him. Back in the house he saw Sarah staring blankly down the hall. She was pale, and looked like she was struggling to maintain composure.

  “What is it?” He whispered.

  “They’re dead. In the kitchen. It’s bad.” He peered over the counter and was grateful that he’d emptied his stomach earlier. From what he could tell, there were at least two bodies. At least, there were two different shades of hair still dangling from the cabinetry. Both heads had been completely yanked from the bodies and were lying in a pulverized heap by the cabinets under the sink, the hair stuck up in clumps. The bodies were slumped in a desiccated pile, further down the counter, almost as if they’d been caught in an attempt to flee to the garage. The blood had congealed into a thick rusty brown color, tainting the entire kitchen surface. It was truly a horrific sight that would give him new nightmares to contend with.