Hunting Season: A Zombie Survival Story

by Stoesen, Chris

  Stopping short of tackling the man, she stopped in front of the couch and said, "Officer Jefferson, do you remember me?"

  The officer blinked at her and then his face broke out in the first smile they had seen from him. "Of course I do, Gretel. You were brave to tell me about Jimmy running away. Why are you here? Where are your parents?"

  Officer Jefferson, now he had a name, looked around and his eyes landed on us. He gave us a questioning look rather than accusatory. I shook my head and Sharon grabbed and held my hand. The officer's eyebrows shot up and he mouthed "Oh."

  "Well, never mind. I’m so glad you came to rescue me, Gretel. You are a helpful girl."

  Gretel just lit up with pride. She smiled as if she had just saved him all by herself. Sharon and I could only just smile.

  I approached the officer and offered him my hand, "I'm Daniel Jacob, sir. And this is Sharon Buckley. Pleased to meet you. You seem to know Gretel already."

  His handshake was firm even though he looked terrible. Sharon waved from the other room. Gretel just grinned at all of us.

  "Good to meet you. My name is Tyson Jefferson. Thank you for saving me." He looked at Gretel and changed his mind about his next sentence, "Things have gone to the dogs around here. If you hadn’t come along, I wouldn’t have survived."

  "You still need a doctor. I’m going to check on the radio and see if there are any."

  Sharon beat me to it and had the larger radio cranked and working. She was reaching out to the new friends she had made. I turned back to Officer Jefferson.

  "Officer Jefferson.."

  Before I could say any more, he held up his hand, "Please, just Tyson. You sound like you are interviewing me in court with all of that Officer Jefferson stuff."

  "OK. What is the situation like out there, sir? Are there any safe places? I met a classmate and stopped him from stealing my truck. He seemed to think there was a government camp somewhere."

  The officer just grimaced, "Old news, that. The camp didn’t last six hours. Some people were infected and got in before they changed. Guards panicked and ended up shooting everyone. About five hundred people were killed. The guards didn’t know what to do. There are compounds that some wealthy folks have but there are no safe zones. At least none I’m aware of. Rumor has it that some folks have taken to the sea to get away. They might be all right. There are pockets of survivors around. It has fallen to every man for himself at this point. If you have a group, I think you do better than by yourself. You have a strange one started. How did you end up with Gretel?"

  "Gretel was in my next door neighbor's basement. Mrs. Jensen was turned at some point and I found her in my yard. I knew she canned and always had spare food so I went over there to get some. In two attempts, I nearly died each time and came out with Gretel the last time. So we have less food and more to feed. I figure I can try again to run into town. Take a different route to get around the road block. Maybe we can find something. Gretel only has PJs and you need a doc. I need to go back out."

  That was when Sharon blurted out, "Found one! Well, sort of. There is a Vet office that is still manned. It's surrounded by zombies. The vet was checking on a horse late when the problems started and hasn’t left. She has a HAM and is broadcasting as Mustang Sally. What she needs is for us to pull her out with the horses and she will help us."

  Well, if the mafia can use vets for emergency physicians, why not people stuck in the zombie apocalypse? "Where is she?"

  Sharon spoke into the headset again. When her head popped back up, she was grinning, "About three miles from here. Further east of the town. I think we can do it."

  Sharon's optimism was contagious. I knew we would be loading back up in moments. My only worry now was gas. I still had three-quarters of a tank left in the truck. But that would only last us so long. Once Officer Jefferson, scratch that, Tyson was taken care of, we need to find a more secure location. Feeling confident that Tyson wasn’t going to go all undead on us, I left Gretel in charge of his needs. Gretel couldn’t work the radio and Tyson couldn’t move so we had to take their security by faith. That wasn’t easy to do.

  We loaded up the truck with extra ammo and a rifle for each of us. I took the AR and Sharon went with the Ruger. We put in the twenty-five round magazine in hers as we weren’t sure what we would find.

  Chapter 9: Doctor's Orders

  We made decent time getting to the vet’s office. We passed a few zombie stragglers on the road. I used that as an opportunity to get Sharon to practice her marksmanship.

  “There is no way I’m just going to shoot at someone’s Mom or Dad.”

  “Sharon, you need to know how to fire that and reload. Those things aren’t the people they once were. They will kill us if they get a chance. We may save the lives of their loved ones by putting them down. I’m not asking you to be a vandal and shoot up road signs like a drunk redneck. This is necessary.”

  She balked at first but soon was leaning out the window on her own and making head shots like a pro. It was grim work, and she didn’t rejoice as her skills grew. Which was a good thing, after all, these were people once.

  When the clinic came into view, it was at an intersection. A single blinking red light flashed above the road letting all see it was a four way stop. To the south-east, was the clinic. The clinic owned a large lot and barn behind it for the care of the animals. The lot had a large chain link fence surrounding it. On the opposite corner was a gas station. Ah, that was good news. We can top off the tank and possible get some spare canisters.

  To the north-east corner was an old antiques store that had been closed for the past ten years. It hadn’t changed in my memory. The south-west corner of the intersection was a diner. It had awful food if you ate there for anything but breakfast. The cook was Hungarian and tried to have a Hungarian menu but served American breakfasts. It didn’t take long for them to offer breakfast all day to keep the doors open. Rednecks don’t have varied enough taste buds for traditional Hungarian cuisine it seems. Well, neither did I.

  Other than that, the area was wooded. There was a house a couple hundred yards in any direction on the roads but this was it.

  Wandering in the street were about thirteen zombies. Around the clinic were another fifty. It was the biggest group we had seen since we were in town last. I slowed the truck down about fifty yards from the intersection.

  “Sharon, raise Mustang Sally on the radio. Let's see what she thinks.”

  “Mustang Sally, this is Peaches, come in. Over.”

  A hiss of static then the radio came to life, “Good to hear from you Peaches. Any chance you are here to help a girl out. Over.”

  “We are fifty yards from the clinic. You are surrounded. I’m not sure how to proceed. Over.”

  “Thank God. I have three horses loaded in a trailer in the lot behind the clinic. They haven’t breached the fence yet. You need to get to the gate and back in. I can hook up the trailer. Then we can get out of here. Over.”

  Looking at Sharon, I shook my head. “I have an idea but it is a bad one. I will take the Ruger and get in the bed of the truck. You will drive us in reverse to the gate. I will open the gate and cover you while you drive in and we will close the gate back. Then the good doc can help me hook up the trailer. With the doc and me in the bed of the truck, you can drive through the fence and back out on the road.”

  “You are right, that is a bad idea,” said Sharon with a look that said she couldn’t come up with anything better.

  It just so happened that Sharon had the transmit button depressed while I explained my idea. When she realized this, she let the button go. The doc’s voice came crackling back over the line.

  “It might work. I have all the supplies I could get together in two large duffel bags. I’ll pitch them in the truck before hooking up the horses. Over.”

  We looked at each other for a moment before I kissed her on the cheek and grabbed her rifle. I checked my surroundings before opening the door and jumped in the bed of t
he truck. Sharon slid over and closed the door. She then had the foresight to open the middle window and hand me a second loaded 25 round mag and a 10 round mag.

  I took a standing stance leaning over the top of the roof of the truck. Sighting in on the zombies in the intersection, I called out my intentions, “I’m going to clear the intersection. Roll forward slowly.”

  The crack of the light twenty-two caliber rounds whipped out and found their targets. The wandering zombies in the intersection turned towards the noise and walked to the truck.

  Inside the truck, I heard Sharon call out to Mustang Sally, “Sally, can you make some noise in there? We need to avoid being swarmed by the zombies while we come to you. Over.”

  The zombies surrounding the clinic pealed away but then turned back. I wasn’t sure what she was doing, but it was keeping their attention. By the time we reached the intersection, none of the thirteen original zombies there were standing. Several others had peeled away from the clinic and they were down too.

  Sharon turned the corner and went past the gate. She then backed up to it. Jumping out of the bed, I went to the gate. It was locked.

  “Shit!” I didn’t mean to yell it but I was frustrated. I looked again at the lock and saw it was one of those cheap combination locks like they gave us in high school for our lockers. You could smack them apart with a hammer if needed. So I tried shooting it.

  “Aw, fuck! Damn it, that hurts.”

  The lock did shatter. The dial blew to bits and the inner gears and mechanisms blew all out and the lock dropped from the clasp. But the parts flew out-wards and sliced into my thigh.

  “What is happening back there?” Sharon called out in a panic. I saw that she had rolled down the passenger window part ways and lifted the AR to shoot at the shambling horde that was heading towards us.

  “Nothing. Let's get backing up.”

  I pushed out the clasp and opened the gate for her and shot at zombies again. Sharon put the truck in reverse and backed it up inside the gate and headed to the horse trailer.

  Once she was out of the way, I ran and closed the gate. My leg burned. I could see a piece of shrapnel poking out of my leg through my pants. It hurt to walk. Heck, it hurt to stand still.

  The doc wasted no time. She stood and directed Sharon to back the truck up right to the trailer. I stood near the gate and kept shooting the closest zombies. None had come closer than twenty yards to the gate. I looked at my weapon and the bolt was locked back. I ejected the spent magazine and put it in my back pocket. I took a minute to find another loaded magazine. My head wasn’t as clear as it should have been. The pain in my leg was really distracting me. But I got the weapon loaded and pushed the bolt release and was ready to go again.

  In those couple of seconds it took to reload, the zombies were now within five yards of the gate. I started shooting again.

  I heard a hand pound on the side of the truck and the doc’s voice cry out, “We're good.”

  Sharon yelled, “Get in the truck.”

  I kept shooting. At this point it felt like a video game. I would get high score.

  “Daniel! Get in the truck,” this shout got my attention. I ran over and jumped in the bed of the truck. When I landed in the bed I cried out in pain. I would need that leg looked at soon.

  Sharon punched it and slammed into the gate. A thought reached the back of my mind, she messed up my paint job. But the rest of me didn’t care. Moments later, there were several thuds as the truck rolled over the zombies were in our way. In no time, we were clear.

  The doc pushed open the partition window in the back of the truck.

  “Thank you for saving us. My name is Heather McCauley.”

  I looked up at her face that was poking through the small opening. I nodded in greeting. She saw the blood on my pants leg and her face darkened.

  “I will take a look at your leg as soon as we can stop somewhere.”

  I think I managed a small wave of my hand at that. At least that was what I tried to do. All I could think about was how much my leg hurt.

  Chapter 10: Homecoming

  We made it back home without incident. We agreed to leave the horse trailer on the truck and the horses in the trailer. There was no good way to secure them at the house where some zombie wouldn’t try for a free meal. Gretel opened the door for us and got us in the house. For once, there were no zombies wandering the property. They must have taken off elsewhere for a free meal.

  The doc wanted to look at my leg first. I told her no and sent her to check on the police officer. Sharon was pale with fright when she saw my leg. I cut the pants leg to fully expose the wound. Sure enough, half of the damn dial from that lock was stuck in the side of my calf. Hell, I’m just glad as I can be that it didn’t slice my nuts off.

  I was about to pull out the junk I could see when Sharon stopped me.

  “Wait for the doctor.”

  I grunted something. The blood loss wasn’t too bad. It was stuck in the muscle. I closed my eyes and slept. My next memory was a sharp pain in my hurt leg. This was above and beyond the pain that was already there. I sat up and looked for what caused the pain. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and I was ready to fight.

  I found myself looking into the eyes of Doc McCauley holding up the dial of the lock.

  “Next time ask for the combination.”

  She then pulled another three pieces of metal from my leg and stitched my leg. I passed out in the midst of that part. Apparently I’m not Rambo. When I woke up the next time, it was to Sharon trying to force feed me some ibuprofen. I gratefully accepted it along with a swig of water.

  I looked around the room and saw the doc.

  “Thank you for taking care of my leg.”

  She waved her hand, “Thank you for saving me and my horses. They are safe enough in that trailer for the moment but we need to find a more secure location. This house is great but we need supplies and space.”

  That was true enough. Our group grew from just Sharon and I, to five people. We didn’t have enough food for that many for any length of time. That is when I remembered the police officer.

  “Hey, how is Officer Jefferson doing?”

  “He may make it. He lost a bunch of blood. I have none to give him. I have patched him up as best as I can. It doesn’t look like anything important was hit. We need to wait and see. I gave him some iron pills and pain killers. I started an IV for him. It's all just meatball surgery at this point. Without proper equipment, it was the best I could do.”

  “Thanks for what you have done. We can lie low a couple of days here. Then we need to find a better place. And I think I have an idea.”

  Chapter 11: Plans and Promises

  I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier. Surely the most secure place in this town had to be the Legion Hut. The American Legion Post 124 was set up by some World War One vets way back around 1920 or so in our town. The Legionaries were mostly old men trying to relive their glory days and had a place to drink without being bothered by dumb young folks.

  Well, our Legion Hut, as we called it, was dominated now by the remaining Korean War and Vietnam War veterans of the town. Some Gulf War guys had joined, but I hadn’t heard of any of the Iraq or Afghanistan vets joining up yet. The World War Two generation was nearly extinct. It was sad but a reality of time moving. Back in the fifties, the Legion prepped for the Communist invasion. The Legion Hut became a series of four interconnected buildings with reinforced walls, doors and tunnels connecting the buildings.

  Rumors had it they were stockpiling weapons there. But since they never openly flaunted the law and were a law-abiding bunch, no one investigated. Hell, they were our parents, uncles and grandparents. I used to go there for boy scout meetings. I remember this one old vet, Captain Henry Stoe. He would talk to anyone who would listen about the old relic they had in front of the Legion Hut, an old quad fifty machine gun. In his pocket, he still carried his timing and head-space gages for the weapon. He talked at le
ngth about his unit, the Deuce-Natural. It took me years to realize that it meant the 27th Anti-Aircraft Battalion Mobile. He was proud of his years of service. He kept that weapon looking like it was in tip-top shape and ready to fire at a moments notice.

  Other members told me that to have the gun there, it had to be demilled. That means the receiver is cut so it could never fire. Hell, that old man probably figured out a way to repair it.

  Anyway, the Legion Hut was located further to the east of town, a few miles past the vets office. If there was any place that could be defended that was it. Knowing some of those vets, they probably had the place secured.

  “We should check out the Legion Hut. The vets set up a defensible position there. It isn’t too big so we should be able to clear it of any zombies by ourselves. It should be a perfect place.”

  Doc McCauley laughed. "My father was a member of the Legion for many years. If even half of the rumors about the place are true, it would be a perfect spot. Just how do we get past the vets that are holding it? They won’t let just anyone in."

  “I’m still thinking about that. There are some guys I know who are members there. I think I can talk my way in. But there is no telling.”

  “We can’t move Officer Jefferson yet,” Doc McCauley warned. “He is still too at risk to move him.”

  “I know. We can hold here for the time being. I’m thinking about making a supply run into town first. See if there are any people left and if there is anything non-perishable left in the stores to eat. It may be some time before the officer can move.”

  Sharon and the doc both nodded their heads in agreement.

  “It will be awhile before you can go out with your leg, honey,” Sharon warned.

  “I’m fine. Not much blood loss and it only hurts. It isn’t so bad.”

  To that Sharon gave me a frown that wrinkled her forehead. It was funny that even when she was mad at me, she was so adorably cute. I can’t believe how long it's been since I have kissed her. This zombie apocalypse shit is impeding my love life. Now with five people in the house, any prospects of some alone time is out the window.