Decay: A Zombie Story

by Dumas, Joseph

  He turned quickly and swung the shovel once more. It smashed one of the infected right in the side of the head and ended its undead existence. However, as he delivered the blow, the shovel slipped from his grasp and flew several feet away.

  The last of this herd of infected was coming at him fast until, out of nowhere, a flare from close proximity exploded into the side of the ghoul’s head. It fell to the ground with the lit flare as Tara stood there holding her flare gun nervously.

  Mike quickly picked up the gun and left the blood-covered shovel, then ran towards the store, past the scattered and battered bodies strewn about the parking lot. “Thank you,” he said to Tara.

  “No problem,” she said as she rushed back into the store.

  At this point, Jen and I had gone back downstairs and met them inside.

  “Are you guys okay?” I asked immediately.

  They both nodded as Tara dropped the empty flare gun in disgust at the whole situation.

  “That was close,” Mike said. “Are the signs up?”

  “All up,” I told him. “Now we wait.”

  He nodded and looked out the window at the sky.

  TYPICAL PROTOCOL

  JEN

  About a week had gone by since we put the signs on the roof. There have been no air traffic whatsoever, nor have there been any signs of vehicles on the street. We’ve been taking turns waiting at the window, listening and looking at nothing but random infected people walking by the store and the clouds.

  You’d think such a calm and clear sky would be relaxing, but it has become quite unnerving just hoping and praying for anything to fly overhead. Mike and Pete were comparing it to the week following 9/11 when all air traffic was suspended. The difference between then and now is I remember being scared if I heard a plane or helicopter. Now, I pray that I’ll hear one. Also, we have heard absolutely no chatter at all on the AM radio…I’m starting to get a sense that we’re going to be here for the long haul at this point.

  It was about eight in the morning; I had been sitting at the front window for a couple of hours. Tara and Samantha were still sleeping in the back—this was basically all Sam had been doing as of late.

  Mike and Pete were in the back sorting through some useful merchandise they found—not sure what it is, but I’m crossing my fingers for food as we’ve basically been living off of snacks lately and we’re just about out of the instant coffee, which, even though it tastes horrible, is about the best treat we’ve had.

  It had rained for a couple of days earlier in the week and the puddles in the parking lot were tinted red from the diseased bodies still laying and decaying on the gravel.

  After the rain stopped and the blood had mostly washed away, Mike, Pete and I put on those large yellow gloves, some paint aprons, and removed the bodies. We moved them to a patch of tall grass and weeds just beyond the lot. It was disgusting, most of their heads were smashed in and the blood had washed away so they almost looked like people again, with very pale and dried out skin.

  Also, their eyes were blank with a whitish/gray tint to them… It looked as if they wouldn’t be able to see, but who knows. Many of them had bite marks on their arms, neck, and shoulder areas. The marks were grossly infected with a gray tinge to them and dark red—almost black—vein marks stemming from the wound for several inches until they faded into the lifeless skin.

  Tara came from the back room. “Morning,” I said to her. She simply waved as she made her way over to sit with me. She appeared to have a blank look on her face, but it was hard to tell if something was wrong or if she was still half-asleep. “Is everything okay?” I asked. A tear ran down her cheek as she shrugged and looked out the window.

  “I’m just…I’m just never going to see him again,” she answered.

  I rubbed her back as I told her, “You don’t know that.”

  She shook her head, “I do. I do know that and so do you.”

  I did know that, but I didn’t want to say that to her. I couldn’t even bring myself to say it to Sam about Robbie, even though we did know that for a fact.

  She then told me it was her birthday tomorrow. I felt terrible that she had to spend it this way. At the same time, I was surprised she even knew the date as I’d lost track sometime last week. It was still June—that’s all I knew. Poor girl.

  Suddenly, Mike and Pete emerged from the stock room with smiles on their faces. “Good news!” Pete said, happily.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “We found some good stuff,” Mike explained.

  “Sam’s on her way out,” Pete said. “We’ll tell all of you together.”

  Soon, Sam came out from the back room looking mentally exhausted, but also curious about what was going on. She walked over and I gave her my seat.

  “Hey, Sam,” I said.

  She looked up at me and attempted to smile, but couldn’t seem to produce one. I rubbed her back and looked over to Mike and Pete.

  Mike placed a large box on the cashier’s counter next to a smaller box that Pete had placed there. Mike began to open the large box as Pete looked through the small one that was already opened.

  “We’re running low on food that we’ve recovered from the office and vending machines,” Pete said. “However, Mike and I found some very useful items in a big camping pallet of stock that was just sitting there in the back.”

  Mike pulled out a white packet from the large box and said, “Voila! Chicken Parm!”

  “What?” I asked anxiously.

  “Dehydrated food!” Peter yelled.

  “Seriously?” I asked again, overjoyed.

  “That stuff will last a long time,” Tara said.

  “For sure. Unfortunately, we have a limited supply,” Pete replied.

  “How many?”

  “A dozen packets,” Mike said.

  “Yeah,” Pete chimed in. “Mike and I were talking and we’re doing okay right now, but we could really use some more supplies.”

  “All right…” I replied cautiously.

  “If we head out soon, we can make it to the gas station and back before dark.”

  “You’re going to have to walk there?” I asked.

  Pete looked at Mike and nodded.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “We’ll be okay,” Mike insisted.

  “What about what happened when we put up the signs?” I asked angrily.

  “We’ll go fast, not staying in one place too long,” Pete said. “And we’ll have the gun and some other tools with us.”

  Suddenly, Mike quickly ran to the back room and said, “I forgot something!”

  He returned, holding a small plastic package. “Look, we can use these!” he said.

  He handed the item to Pete; it was a set of walkie-talkies with a range of five miles. These were a Godsend for our situation.

  PETER

  Mike and I began getting things together for our little expedition to the gas station. It was weird; I had been to this gas station dozens of times without giving it a second thought. But, now our whole day would be centered on getting there and back without any problems.

  We loaded up a couple of shopping carts with one and two-gallon canisters that would be used to collect the gasoline. At the same time, Jen and Tara figured out how to use the walkies so we could all keep in touch. Also, we gathered up a couple of shovels—which was becoming our go-to weapon throughout all of this—and the shotgun.

  The gas station would be about a half a mile away from the hardware store. If we left now and didn’t have any problems at all, we would return a little after noon at the latest. However, I fully expected us to hit a few speed bumps along the road.

  Soon, Jen came up to me and gave me a brief lesson on how to use the walkie-talkie, instructing me to leave it on channel two at all times, and make sure to wait one second after I press the button to speak. I could tell she was ecstatic at the idea of being able to reach us. I have to admit, I was pretty fond
of the idea myself.

  So, after loading up our gear, we got ready to go and decided we would test out the walkies every couple buildings to make sure we didn’t lose the signal or anything.

  Jen ran up to me as we approached the doors and hugged me for a long time—like something out of an epic war movie when the girl hugs the guy as he is about to head into battle. The streets were clear so I hoped we weren’t heading into any kind of a battle.

  Mike was getting quiet but didn’t seem too nervous. I tried to focus on the task at hand and not think about what was happening. Thinking about everything, I came to realize that I was more nervous that the pumps wouldn’t work or would be empty than I was about the threat of infection. We had gotten away from the infected before, we could do it again.

  Mike finally stepped out of the store and into the empty lot. I could still see dark marks of blood stained pavement where the corpses were before we moved them. The spots looked more like dirt or oil stains at this point, but it was still quite disturbing to think of what was actually there.

  Jen shut and locked the door behind us. She and Tara would wait by the window until we returned. Mike and I looked back at them for a moment—then to each other. Then, we began pushing our shopping carts through the lot; they were loud on the rough pavement. I didn’t think about this and definitely became a little nervous that the undead would surely be able to hear us. Luckily, the road was much smoother than the old pavement at Fix-It and made them a little quieter.

  As we reached the road, the walkie-talkie beeped and Jen’s voice came through the light static ambience. “Good luck,” she said. I looked back at the store and they were staring at us through the window. I simply gave them a thumb’s up and kept going.

  “Do you think we’ll come across any of them?” Mike asked.

  “Probably,” I said. “But they’re slow. Hopefully we can avoid any close combat.”

  Mike nodded and asked, “You nervous?”

  I shrugged. “Not as much as I thought I’d be. I’m just crossing my fingers that we won’t have any problems actually getting the gas.”

  “We may have to turn on the power depending upon if the attendant shut it off before this all happened.”

  “Do you know how?” I asked.

  “I’ve never done it before,” Mike explained. “But we can figure it out.”

  We continued down the road which wasn’t too bad looking. A couple of cars were abandoned along the side, one had its windshield broken and the inside was stained with blood. However, there was no sign of an occupant. There was no sign of any infected as far as we could see on the road.

  However, we did pass a vacuum service shop where we witnessed a male and female with employee shirts and nametags on, scraping and pounding against the blood stained front window. They appeared to have been locked in when they became infected. At this point, it was safe to say that these too would spend the rest of their existence—or undead existence—inside that shop, trying to get out.

  As we passed the vacuum repair shop, Mike looked at me and said, “Well, that sucks.”

  After a moment, I started to chuckle at the terrible joke, as did Mike. It was then that I realized how desensitized we had become and that two weeks ago, I would’ve thought that was a terrible thing to say. I felt that Mike was thinking the same thing.

  We didn’t dwell too much on it and continued moving. The road we were walking on soon turned into a hill for a while, so it was getting a little tiring pushing the carts. We tried not to stop as I told Mike that the gas station was only a little further after we reached the top of the hill.

  Eventually, we reached the top of the hill and could barely see the sign for the gas station off in the distance. We stopped for a moment and I decided to try the walkie to let Jen and Tara know of our position.

  I held down the button for a moment and said, “Hey, guys.”

  I waited for a moment until Jen’s voice came back and said, “Peter?”

  “We’re almost at the gas station,” I said. “Things have been pretty quiet.”

  As I said this, I should’ve knocked on wood because all of a sudden, a pair of undead came stumbling from between two buildings.

  One knocked over a trash can as it lunged towards us. Luckily the trash can caused it to trip and gave us an opportunity to move away from them. We backed away from them, keeping the shopping carts in front of us, hoping we might be able to push them away if needed.

  The other undead individual stumbled around the trash can and its counterpart and came towards us slowly. I engaged in what I am now referring to as typical protocol and brought my shovel to the disease carrier’s head. At the same time, the one who had fallen began to get up. While it was on all fours, Mike charged directly at it with his cart. It didn’t kill it, but it pushed the infected back and tangled its arm in the undercarriage of the shopping cart. It was really stuck in there as Mike attempted to back away from it; its body tumbled along with the cart, flailing painfully on the ground and knocking trash all over the place.

  “Shit,” Mike said as he shook his cart from side to side, trying to shake the grimacing ghoul loose. The sickly thing gnashed its teeth at us and growled as it kept trying to steady itself on the ground.

  I picked up the trashcan and slammed the bottom down onto the head of the infected. It also didn’t kill it, but it slowed it down considerably. Mike then tugged the cart quickly and the arm came loose.

  The creep then rolled to the side on the ground and mumbled some gargling noises as it tried to find its undead equilibrium. Mike took the shovel from me and took it upon himself to engage in typical protocol.

  After the commotion, we could see a couple of moving figures several blocks away. We weren’t a hundred percent sure if they knew we were there, but we decided to not wait around to find out. We quickly continued on our path to regular, unleaded treasure.

  JOEY

  It was dark inside and I hadn’t seen anyone since my arrival, nor had I seen any of the sick ones walking around in at least a few days. Perhaps things were calming down or maybe they were finally succumbing to the disease. Who knows?

  I was surrounded by empty water and soda bottles, as well as empty bags of nut mixes, chips and pretzel bags. Things had grown repetitive and I had lost the will to constantly be looking out the windows for people. Truthfully, I began to lose the will to live. I was pretty sure my family, friends, and girlfriend were all dead and I knew no help was coming. This was the stage I never thought would come: acceptance.

  Upon arriving, I hadn’t planned on staying. After all, who would think about living in a gas station? But, it just happened - plenty of snacks and a shotgun to boot. I located a box of shotgun shells and taught myself how to load the gun. I shot it once about a week ago, just to make sure I did it right. I took one of their heads clean off.

  Usually they stumble past the station, sometimes stepping on the bell-cords hard enough to set the bell off. When this happens, they typically stumble around for a while, looking for someone or something—too stupid or primitive enough to realize that they caused the sound. Half the time, I end up having to deal with them because they either somehow detect me or some instinct lands them at the door and they pound away for ages.

  One night, it happened right as it got dark. I knew it couldn’t see me so I just left it. It sat there slapping the door with its bloody mitts relentlessly until morning when I finally dealt with it—this was my shotgun test.

  Typically, they just wander by without paying any mind to the station or the fact that I’m inside. The first day here, I counted forty-three from the sunrise until I finally fell asleep behind the counter. I arrived here after running for miles the night that everything happened, and I’ve been here ever since. It’s almost time to go though—one way or the other.

  Suddenly, I heard some kind of noise, a noise I certainly had not heard since I’d been here. I couldn’t tell what it was so I had to look out the window. To my surprise it w
as two guys pushing a couple shopping carts towards the pumps. They looked fine—definitely not sick. One had a gun and the other had a blood stained shovel. There was no telling if these guys were friendly or what. They pulled up to the pumps and each took gas canisters out of the carts. I crouched down as low as I could and silently watched them… They had no idea I was there.

  I continued watching them as they pumped gas and surveyed the area. The door was locked and they had no reason not to smash it open and look for supplies. I grew nervous at the idea of dealing with anyone, so nervous that I set aside the thought that they might be able to get me out of here. I had really been here too long.

  Soon enough, one of them finished filling his canisters and began walking towards the door. I crawled into a space below the counter and clutched the shotgun as tight as I could. I heard him walk to the door and try to open it. “It’s locked!” he shouted to his friend.

  “So what,” his friend replied. “We got the gas. Let’s head back.”

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t just check inside?”

  “Do you think we can get in?”

  “The door is glass… It can’t be too difficult with that shovel.”

  I grew extremely anxious at the idea of these two looters coming in. I double checked the shotgun to make sure it was loaded and actually began to pray. I didn’t want to shoot anyone—I also didn’t want anyone to shoot me. It’s funny; I was ready for everything to be over, but with this staring me in the face, I just wanted everything to be okay. I guess if it ends, I want it to be on my own terms.