Hunting Season: A Zombie Survival Story

by Stoesen, Chris

  I opened the door as quietly as possible. Stepping out into the side yard from the basement door, I could make out the road. It was still dark as hell out here. The moon helped but not much. There was no traffic on the road which wasn’t unusual for three o'clock in the morning.

  Holding the pistol in front of me, I eased along the side of the wall. I pulled up the breath mask. Damn, forgot to put that in place. I could still taste Sharon's lipstick. FOCUS, Daniel. I had to keep my head in check.

  Reaching the corner of the house, I peered around the corner. There was George standing on the porch. But he wasn’t alone. In the back yard, I could make out at least three other shambling forms. Dad and I talked for years about a fence. This is why we need a fence.

  George lifted his head. As did two of the others I could see clearly enough. They were sniffing the air, or at least that is what it looked like. They turned towards me. That meant that the scent killer didn’t work. I opened the bottle of Tinks and squirted some on my boots like I would walking to my tree stand. It kept you from leaving a human scent trail through the woods.

  This caused the shamblers to pause. They turned in circles again with their heads up in the air. I used this as my opportunity. When their backs facing me I started forward. With both hands, I lifted the pistol up. I had a weaver grip on the pistol and walked.

  Ed was the closest. Yep, I named him too. Ed was wearing some greasy coveralls from a service station. The back of it read Ed's Discount Tires, McDonough, Georgia. Had this guy had wandered close to thirty miles as the crow flies to get here. Holy crap. Maybe he got bit while running away from them. That might make sense. Nah, nothing made sense anymore.

  As I got closer to Ed, he turned. POP. I fired one shot right into the side of his head. His head twitched to the side, and the creature collapsed straight down. The sound was softer than snapping fingers. But it was enough to alert the others. George walked towards me. The railing of the deck stopped him cold. He bumped into it twice. I ran forward and fired my second shot into George's forehead. George just toppled over the railing and landed with a thump.

  The other two forms were moving towards me. As an experiment, I started towards the corner of the house and stepped around the corner. The one to the rear lifted its head and circled again. The one closer kept following. I glanced around to make sure nothing had snuck up on me then waited for the shambler to get close. When he was just a little out of arms reach, I pressed forward the pistol and fired. POP. This pop was louder than the previous two. That meant that the bottle was failing and wouldn’t contain another shot. I had to jump backward to avoid the fall of the third zombie. Huh, I didn’t name this one. Oh well.

  That third shot recaptured the last zombie's attention. This one had been a woman. She was a fat one with this massive red mu-mu on. Times had been tough for her and she was in sad shape. Her torn mu-mu did not hide the trailing intestines from a gash across her ample stomach. Her face was chewed on and several bites were visible on her arms and legs.

  I looked around for something to use other than the pistol. A big bang wouldn’t be the stealthy way to go. Part of my brain chimed in, 'besides the neighbors might call the cops.'

  Tucking the pistol in one of the cargo pockets on the pants I wore, the bottle stuck out of the pocket. Not the safest carry means but it would work. I found an odd piece of two by four that Dad had left from a repair to the deck he started last week. Lifting it over my head, I waited for the fat one to close on me, then I stepped forward and smashed it down on her skull. She paused for a moment and stumbled but was still upright. How thick was her damn skull? Probably too much fat insulation. I pulled back the two by four and swung across to hit the side of her head this time. Luckily I was taller than the fat chick and could connect solidly. It threw her head to the side, and I heard a crack as something broke. She fell over.

  I did a quick circle to make sure that no one else was out here. I threw down the two by four and grabbed the pistol again. It was awkward to remove and I could see how I could shoot myself if I did that again. Note, don’t use cargo pocket to store pistol upside down.

  I ran to the door and knocked saying, "All Clear."

  Sharon opened the door and pulled me in.

  She looked me over. "Well, the splatter gear was worth it. You have blood on your face mask and arms."

  "Yeah, I had to whack one with a two by four."

  "What? What about your silencer?"

  "It's not a silencer, and it's only good for a couple of shots. The bottle breaks down and then it is useless. So rather than risk a full volume shot, I went old school with a two by four. That reminds me, we need baseball bats. I think I have some in the garage. The Tinks helped. But if you are close, it's not enough. They can definitely hear and smell. Their sight may not be worth a damn though."

  Sharon ran up the stairs to broadcast that out to others while I went into the bathroom to clean up.

  Sharon spoke to her new friend Night Rain for a while and told her of our experiment. Once I cleaned up, I headed upstairs and with the other radio called up Mr. Sellers and told him the news.

  "Well, hot shit. Glad to hear it. I never thought much of that cover scent stuff. I always filled my freezer every season without it. But I guess this old dog can learn a new trick or two. They ain't broke into the house yet. But there is more of them. Seems that they can gather in numbers rather quickly. That poses a problem when trying to make a getaway. Any thoughts?"

  "We could come get you in my truck. Plow them over with the brush bar and let you jump in the bed, and then we get away?"

  "Nope, too old for that shit. I would break a leg. Then you're left taking care of a cripple. We will just wait and see. Hell, maybe the government will figure something out."

  He then laughed.

  "Well, sir. At least the power is still on."

  "There is that."

  "We are spreading the word as best we can. Peaches found someone out there in Athens, Night Rain."

  "Who the hell is Peaches? That girl you are running around with?"

  "Yes, sir."

  More laughter came over the speaker, "Well y'all take care. Watch your six, boy."

  With that, he signed off.

  Turns out, Sharon was in a group call with three other ham operators. Night Rain being one of them. They were having a grand chat. Sharon explained about cover scents. She had to explain it several times before the girls would believe it. When she signed off, she was blowing them kisses like they were the best of friends.

  "So who were you talking to?"

  "Well, there was Night Rain, Elyse and Goth Girl."

  "What kind of handle is Elyse?"

  "None. He boyfriend was the one into the radio thing. She wasn't until the trouble. Her boyfriend went to the store late last night and never returned. He always had a portable ham unit with him so she tried to raise him. She couldn’t find him but found us. Elyse is up near Augusta. Goth Girl is down near Macon. Kinda close to us actually."

  "What did they say?"

  "Oh, that they have the same issues we have. Only Goth Girl has anyone with her. Two of her friends were spending the night while her parents were out of town. Now they are just waiting. Most say there isn’t much food left where they are. Speaking of which, I’m hungry. What do you have to eat around here?"

  We stood and moved into the kitchen. Rummaging through the freezer, I pulled out some venison chili we made at the start of deer season last month. Was a nice doe Dad took with a crossbow. Putting a pot on the stove, I thawed the chili.

  "Why aren’t you microwaving it?"

  I looked at her offended, "That ruins the taste. Must cook man food with fire."

  I beat my chest while saying that last sentence. Yeah, I couldn’t keep a straight face and was laughing by the end of it. Sharon joined me. The chili heated, and we each had a big bowl. It was so good. It was a mild batch not one of Dad's patented 'Colon Express' batches that would keep you on the toilet for the n
ext two days. I washed the bowls when we finished. We moved back to the family room and sat on the sofa next to the radio gear.

  "Have you tried to call your Dad again?" I asked her.

  "No. I have been afraid to. But it is a good idea."

  She picked up the phone and dialed her Dad. This time hoping that the call would go through. Nothing. Not even a dial tone. It was like someone shut down the networks on purpose. The government may have been trying to secure all the communication traffic. We leaned in and held each other tightly. This led to us kissing more. But exhaustion soon took over. We were sound asleep in each other's arms. We didn’t wake until daylight was streaming in through the windows.

  Chapter 5: Venturing Out - Friday

  With the sun in our eyes, I figured it was time to get up. Let's see what the world looks like in daylight. I moved to the glass sliding doors and saw the three bodies were still there. No new zombies had made their way into the yard. It was like they scout like ants. The scouts have a look and bring in the rest of the colony once they found food. That was something to think about.

  I grabbed the Buckmark again. I pulled the duck tape off and relieved the pistol of the bottle.

  "Hey, I’m going outside to the woodshed."

  "What? Why would you do that?"

  "The glass doors aren’t strong enough. We need to reinforce them. I have plywood sheets out there and can cover up those doors in two minutes."

  Sharon looked nervous. She was biting her lip and looked adorable. I wanted to stop what I was doing and kiss her again. But work first. I moved to the garage and got a drill with a Phillips head driver bit and a hand full of four-inch screws. Shoving the pistol in the back of my waistband, I set off for the shed. The yard seemed peaceful enough when he stepped outside. He walked around the entire perimeter of the house to be sure. The truck was still there and looked fine. Walked back to the woodshed, and I popped open the door and grabbed a big sheet of plywood. I dragged it out of the shed and shut the door.

  "Aaaahhhgggh!"

  That was the best I could manage. There on the other side of the door was Mrs. Jensen from next door. She was in her nightgown. Mrs. Jensen is eighty-four years old and wears a damn near transparent nightgown. If the blood dripping from her lips wasn’t enough to freak me out, the sight of her in that nightie was. Crap, did I think the word nightie? What am I a six-year-old girl? Well, I did just scream like one.

  Her arms reached out for me over the top of the wood. I dropped the heavy boards and pulled the pistol as I stepped back. As luck would have it, my heel went right into a small hole in the ground and down I fell. I pulled the trigger on the pistol. In the still morning, it boomed. It was just a twenty-two, but it sounded much louder in my ears than it had any right to. Needless to say that shot missed. Mrs. Jensen moved forward. The plywood had fallen over and landed on my legs, covering my feet. She tripped over the edge of the plywood and fell face forward. Her arms extended out in front of her as she fell.

  An eighty-plus-year-old zombie is every bit as frail as the original person. The arm bones crunched as he fell to the ground. The frightening part was her head. It was about five inches below my crotch. I was sure that my first intimate moment with something other than my left hand would be an eighty-year-old zombie biting my nuts off.

  As her head lifted, I jammed the pistol onto the top of her head and pulled the trigger. The thought struck me I wasn’t wearing eye protection nor a face mask. POW. This shot was less loud than the accidental discharge but splashed body matter out. Mrs. Jensen's head fell limp. The splatter fell on my legs and my hands. Wiggling like a five-year-old hopped up on cake and ice cream, I got out from under the plywood and Mrs. Jensen.

  Sharon came running from the house with the Ruger 10/22 that I had packed for her earlier. She saw me and the dead old lady.

  "I’m fine. Go back inside. Wait for the all clear. We may get company."

  She nodded and ran back inside. I rolled her body off of the plywood and dragged it up to the deck. Moving my head back and forth, I had no intention of being ambushed again. When the plywood was up, I rinsed the gore off of me with the hose. I would need to wash these overalls soon. In moments, I was back into the house, safe and sound with Sharon.

  "What happened? I heard those shots. I had to know you were OK."

  "One of our neighbors had gotten infected. The zombie Mrs. Jensen was feeling frisky and ran on over in her nightie to give me a hug."

  "Wait, a minute. Excuse me? You knew the zombie? It was getting frisky? And what are you? Eight? Who says nightie?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, Mrs. Jensen is a neighbor. She was always very friendly and nice. And always dressed very prim and proper. But her nightgown was darn near see through. I saw more of her in that moment than I have in my past seventeen years of life. I totally need eye bleach. Do you know how to use that rifle you grabbed?"

  Now it was her turn to look uncomfortable, "No. I don't have a clue."

  It took ten minutes showing her how to work the rifle. I had her load it multiple times. We then went out into the garage and I let her fire it into some phone books for her to get the feel. We used another water bottle suppressor on it to reduce noise. She had the hang of it after a few shots. We had a cheap scope mounted on it so I was sure she should be able to hit a target.

  Heading back into the family room, we checked in with our radio buddies. Passing along what we learned so far, I told Mr. Sellers about Mrs. Jensen.

  "Yes, sir. I’m sure it was her."

  A sigh came over the speaker, "Well, damn. I was hoping they would be unaffected. Have you seen any new critters since you fired those shots?"

  "No. I looked out the windows about five minutes ago. No signs. I’m worried about the long term, sir. What are we going to do for food?"

  "Well, boy. You got choices. One, you can hunt. Two, you can forage. I would suggest checking out Mrs. Jensen's house. She always was canning and had a big stocked larder. She used to entertain often. Still bought food like she would entertain. Her husband's been dead now, ten years. The only other folks who go there are her son and daughter-in-law. It was probably one of the two worthless pieces of white trash that did her in."

  "When do you think we should check them out?"

  "No we about this. Don't take that girl of yours. Take the Prick Eighty-eight with you and go light and fast. Carry a rifle and a pistol. Now I think about your experience with the fat one, take a ball bat too. That and an empty backpack for your forage. Go fast and come right back. You can keep in contact with your girl and me on the radio."

  "Sounds like a plan. I will see if Sharon will agree."

  I was surprised that she readily agreed. She had checked the fridge, and we didn’t have more than a few days of food left. Well, food that the two of us will eat. Dad was going through some kind of Indian food craze. Curry just tore my stomach up. The thought of a zombie catching me on a toilet didn’t make me happy. She was insistent that she goes with me. That led to an argument for about an hour. My case was that we needed to have a safe place for me to retreat to. If she wasn’t securing the house, we would have to clear the house. Clearing one house was enough for me.

  She agreed. I was still wearing my gear from earlier and added an empty backpack, two small Home Depot led flashlights, my rifle and two magazines. Between the bat, pistol, and the other gear, I was pretty well weighed down. Still clipped to my pocket was my knife. I knew I would run so I let the face mask dangle around my neck. There was no way I could breathe in those things when I was huffing and puffing.

  The basement door was our primary means to get in and out of the house because it was easy to secure from the inside. We pushed over some furniture to block the front door. The garage could still be opened from the outside, but it was secure enough. I grabbed the PRICK-Twenty-Five and headed out.

  Our yard was clear, but I now saw figures in the distance shambling on the road. I re-doused in Tink's as a precaution and set out. As I took
the first steps, I realized what was wrong. Growing up in the country, deer season always had a few rifle shots as background noise in Jasper County. But what I was hearing weren’t occasional shots or even the more frequent shots heard on opening day. This was strings of shots being fired off at a time. It sounded as if the whole county was at war. This was reassuring in its own way. Where there was gunfire, folks were fighting back. But who were they? Were they friends or were they some lunatics from a bad horror film? Living in a small town didn’t mean you were free from weirdos and psychopaths.

  I did a radio check and gave Sharon, or Peaches as she wanted me to call her, an update on the shamblers on the road. Once I secured the house, I promised to check back in.

  Going cross country was dangerous as there weren’t that many trees between our property and Mrs. Jensen's. That meant there was no cover to hide behind. Then again, that meant there was less places for zombies or other undesirables to be hiding from me. I hoped that the doors were open. Well, they would have to be for Mrs. Jensen to have escaped. As I caught sight of her house, I could see three figures. One was dragging itself across the ground. It was missing part of its leg. Another was missing part of an arm. Neither looked familiar. There was a car that had slammed into one post on her carport. That looked like the Oldsmobile that her son liked to drive. Through my scope, I could make out the wrappers and other debris that marked out his car from most others.

  Making sure not to be married to my scope, I lifted my head and looked around. I applied more Tinks. This time to my shoulders. I figured it couldn't hurt. Re-slinging the rifle and moving with the bat in my right hand and the pistol in my left, I pushed forward. The walking shambler had his back facing me. Mr. Crawley, the one crawling across the ground, spotted me moving and turned. Unfortunately, the leaves gave me away. There had been no rain, and the leaves were dry.

  It crawled so I raise my face mask and smacked it on the back of the head with the bat. I had a better angle and swing this time so it was down for the count on one swing. But that was noisy enough to get missing arm's attention. He needed a better name. Let's call him Tim. Even for a zombie, Tim's eyes were wide with a perpetual surprised look like it was the first time he had seen a naked girl. He raised his stump and his good arm and approached.