Hunting Season: A Zombie Survival Story

by Stoesen, Chris

  “Daddy! We will come for you. We have a doctor with us.”

  “No! You can’t. There is no way you can come in. If you broke in, you would let in the creatures. The house is surrounded. There is nothing anyone can do for me. I was just hoping that I would hear from you one more time. I love you very much. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Oh, Daddy. Please let us come get you. We can help you and get you somewhere safe.”

  There was more laughter. “There is no where safe in this world. This is the end. Make the most out of it you can. You found a good man. I’m happy he is there for you. He will make you happier than I could. I need to rest. I love you.”

  Then in a crackle of static, the radio went dead again.

  I held Sharon till she sobbed herself to sleep. I carried her upstairs and put her in my bed. She was still the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I kissed her forehead and stepped out of the room and closed the door. Ugh, being a nice guy can suck when your hormones are telling you differently.

  I pulled up a chair and chatted with Officer Jefferson until we both were too tired to talk. It had been a long day.

  Chapter 16: Investigations

  The next morning, was like any other. We ate. We talked and wondered. Doc walked the horses while Sharon and I covered her from any wandering zombies that happened by. One day after another passed, and we developed a routine.

  Three days later, Officer Jefferson took his first steps. This was a big day for all of us. To celebrate, Sharon baked a cake. Yep, it was a box mix that only needed water added. It wasn’t the best cake ever, but hey, it was cake. Cake is good. Well, as long as it isn’t fruit cake. That stuff is just nasty.

  After our celebrations calmed down, Officer Jefferson pulled me aside. “Let’s go for a ride tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure you will be up for it?”

  “Yeah, I need to get out. Now is the right time.”

  “Sure, we can do that.”

  “OK. First light tomorrow, let’s go.”

  It seemed odd, but I had no problem with it. The day came and went like the others before it. The same routines. Only difference was cake. Gretel ate three pieces and had a stomachache from it. Yeah, we were doing a bang up job of watching her, weren’t we?

  The next morning, I was ready to head out. Officer Jefferson had changed out his shirt for one of mine. It was a long sleeve camo shirt. We really needed to think about getting more clothes for everyone at some point. Need to add that to the to do list as well.

  We loaded up in the truck and noticed that there were no zombies walking about the yard. It seemed strange that it would be empty. I started to turn out of the driveway towards the Legion Hut when Officer Jefferson stopped me.

  “Turn towards town.”

  “Uh, why, sir? The Legion Hut is that way.”

  “We are going by Sharon’s house first. We should check on her Dad. It’s the right thing to do.”

  I knew he was right. I felt guilty as hell for not doing that to begin with. But I still didn’t trust nor like that man.

  “Good call. We'll go there first.”

  “I have an idea about how to get him. I put some rope in the bed of the truck. You had one of those cross type lug nut wrenches. Between the two, we might be able to get to a second floor window.”

  Did this guy think I was? Spiderman or something? How the hell was I supposed to climb a wall to a window? Since he wasn’t offering any more details, I just kept my mouth shut and drove.

  The drive towards town was really uneventful. The road conditions hadn’t changed since we had last driven this way. The wrecked cars were still where we pushed them. The dead zombies that we had killed before still rotted on the ground. It was eerily quiet.

  We reached town and spotted a couple of zombies wandering the road. I moved around them and pulled up to Sharon’s house. The front gate had been knocked down by a large pickup truck. There were about twenty dead bodies laying in front of the house.

  I drove through the broken gates. And stopped. There were about a dozen of the undead wandering the yard. They were aimless until we pulled in. Then they started to shamble towards us.

  Tyson looked at me and said, “Get in the bed of the truck. I will drive. We are going to the side of the house. I tied the lug nut wrench to the rope. Look at the top of the house there.”

  He pointed at the east wing of the house. The roof was steeply peaked and had a lightning rod poking from the top point of the roof.

  “If you can get the rope over that and behind the lightning rod, you should be able to climb the rope to that window. From there, you can kick the window in and get in. I’ll stay in the truck and cover you. I have that Ruger rifle of yours and can get rid of these fellows wandering the yard.”

  He must be mad. I’m now Daniel Jacobs, cat burglar extraordinaire.

  “Um, sure. If you think it will work.”

  I managed to muster that sentence with more conviction than I actually felt. I was pretty sure that I was going to die doing this. Before the shamblers could get closer, I opened the door and got out of the truck and jumped into the bed. Tyson scooted over and closed the door. He started moving slowly up to the house. As the dead got close to the truck, he would knock them over by sideswiping them. They would topple over and have difficulty getting back up. The longer they were infected, the more decayed and fragile that they were. That was helpful.

  He only hit two of them before parking underneath the window. I stood up and grabbed the rope. Having seen plenty of TV shows, I figured, how hard could it be. I had the coil of rope in one hand with the part that had the wrench in the other. I started to swing the wrench in a circle. Once I had momentum going, I threw the thing up at the top of the house.

  The wrench slammed into the top of the roof before bouncing over. Two tiles broke off of the roof and slid down to be lodged in the gutter. I gently pulled on the rope to get it to move forward to the lightning rod. I pulled and pulled and the rope came right over the top and the wrench fell right down towards me. I had to jump backwards and moved all the way to the rear of the truck. The rope and makeshift grappling hook slammed down in the bed and put a hole in my truck bed! Damn, that pissed me off. Before I could fume too much about this, a hand grabbed my butt.

  I spun around and slapped at the hand that was being fresh to find myself looking down at and elderly lady with her hair pulled back in a bun wearing a light blue sweater. It would have been funny if the lady wasn’t a zombie with mouth open ready to take a bite out of my butt.

  The slap I had given her hand to knock it away from my posterior, broke her arm. In the back of my little brain the thought rang out, “let that be a lesson for all of us. Osteoporosis is a serious matter. Drink your milk people.”

  Being caught weaponless, I gave her face a good solid kick. The heel of my boot connected with her upper jaw. The head snapped back with an audible crack. As I put my boot back down I could feel that something was stuck in the sole of the boot. Seeing her head as the body toppled backwards, I knew it was some of her teeth. I shivered in disgust. No doubt about it, the zombie apocalypse is one of the grossest ends of the world. I think the only worse one would be some airborne Ebola virus. I saw a documentary on that disease and that is just nasty.

  I grabbed my grappling hook and gave it another try. Right as I went to throw, Officer Jefferson fired my rifle and threw me off. The wrench sailed through the air and went straight through the window.

  “Well, that is one way to do it.”

  I tugged on the rope and it seemed to be holding. I had on some thin hunting gloves. They were neoprene and good for holding out water or bodily fluids but I had my doubts as to their usefulness as climbing gloves. I gave it a shot. I started up. I made it past the first floor and my hands were burning. The gloves were being cut by the rope. I reached up and got a hand on the windowsill.

  Below me, Officer Jefferson kept up a steady rhythm of shooting that I was mostly blocking out. But if I
was hearing right, he shot more than there were zombies that we could see. We might ben

  I managed to pull my self up and get an arm into the broken window. A glass shard sliced open my shirt and gave me a minor cut on my left forearm. With some work, I managed to smash out enough window to roll in.

  I flopped into the room. Thankfully, I landed on my feet. But I toppled over almost immediately. I pushed with my feet to land my butt outside the broken glass that lay underneath the window. Breathing a sigh of relief, I stood up and drew my pistol. I double checked it. A round was loaded, and the magazine was full. I looked again at my gloves and they were ruined. My palms hurt, but the gloves took most of the damage.

  I rolled up my sleeve and looked at the cut. It was bleeding pretty freely, and I needed to deal with it. I looked at the room to see what I could cannibalize for bandages. The room was a bedroom. It wasn’t Sharon’s. The bed dominated the room. It was a four poster bed with a lace cover and a stack of pillows at the head that nearly buried the headboard. I flipped over the top most pillows and found a normal one with a pillowcase. That was going to be my bandage. I stripped off the case and used my pocket knife to tear the thing in strips then bound the cut.

  The one thing that Officer Jefferson didn’t tell me about his plan was our exit strategy. How the hell was I getting out of here? I guess I will have to figure that out. The bedroom I was in had one door that was opposite of the broken window. It also had a dresser and old fashioned wardrobe. I’m talking about one of those that you can go to Narnia in. It was huge. I walked over to it and pulled it open. Inside were clothes. Mostly dresses and old fashioned female clothes that I wasn’t going to bother to identify. It was too full to try my whim to step in and find Narnia. Oh, well.

  I closed it back and went to the door. I opened it slowly and looked down the hallway. The hall extended through the main part of the house to the west wing. In the main section of the house, there was the stairwell both up and down. There were two doors in the center and a door at the far end of the house. I crept up to the stairs. Up led to a door at the top of a small landing. Down led to first floor foyer.

  I opened to door to the right. This was Sharon’s room. It smelled of her perfume. I forgot what that smelled like. We had been living like refugees for so long now. Her room also had a dresser and a wardrobe. I opened her wardrobe and found a small suitcase at the top shelf. I grabbed some jeans, sweatshirts and anything that looked durable. Then I went to her dresser to get her some underwear. Opening the drawer, I came to a complete stop. I had no idea what to grab. If I grab something pretty, she will think I want to wee her in them. Which I do. I just grabbed a handful without looking and stuffed them in the suitcase. I also grabbed her a pair of sneakers.

  Now, what to do with it? I zipped up the suitcase and picked it up. I didn’t bother with the extending handle to roll it. I ran back to the first room I came in and poked my head out the broken window.

  Below there were a number of bodies lying around the truck. More zombies were wandering in. I was nervous for Officer Jefferson. I still can’t bring myself to call him by his first name.

  I shouted, “Look out below!”

  Then dropped the suitcase aiming for the bed of the truck. I didn’t bother to wait and see if I made the shot but turned and ran back to check out the house. The other rooms upstairs were clear. Another bedroom was Mr. Buckley’s room. He was obviously not there. The guy was still making his bed during the apocalypse. I guess that's ingrained habit for you.

  I went down the steps. The foyer had the front door with the controls to raise the window and door rolling gates. To the left there was the dining room. It had a large table with eight chairs surrounding it. It had a large china cabinet and buffet that held some old looking china. I had no idea. They had pictures of castles on them. All I knew was that most people’s china was the plates you aren’t allowed to eat off of. Kind of useless if you ask me.

  To the right was a formal living room. The place was antique central. Everything was dark wood and old. Nothing important for my purposes.

  I turned to the hall beside the stair case. I started down the hall but banged my shin on this goofy piece of furniture. It looked like a giant chair with a lift up seat. The back of the chair part had a mirror with coat hooks on it. I scowled at the piece while rubbing my shin then ran on.

  The hall emptied into the main living space. Here was a room with sofas and a large TV mounted to the wall. It had a door connecting to the kitchen. So far, no clue where the damn stairs down were.

  Running to the kitchen door, I ran through it when I realized, I had no idea what to expect. Why was I assuming this place was zombie free? I needed to slow down. The kitchen was small but had all the normal gear. I opened the fridge because you never know where Mr. Buckley could be hiding. Not there, but there was a cold Coke. I took that and began to drink. There were two other doors here to the inside and one that seemed to go to the outside. I opened the first and found the pantry. A well stocked pantry. I would need to raid this later.

  Opening the second door gave me success. A stairwell down.

  “Mr. Buckley? This is Daniel. Are you alright? I’m here to help.”

  I had no idea if he was still alive and if he was sane. I have always doubted his sanity, but I sure didn’t want to be shot by him.

  All I heard was a low moan. Crap. I pulled my pistol and started down the stairs. Half way down, the stairs took a sharp right turn. At the bottom of the stairs was a blood stain. This was probably where he broke his leg. If there was blood that means a compound fracture. That is bad.

  I proceeded down and saw the body slumped on the ground next to his wireless set. The microphone dangled down from the machine and hung above him.

  “Mr. Buckley?”

  I had a pistol now in one hand and a Coke in the other. I reached down and shook his shoulder a bit. He moaned. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Setting the Coke down on the nearby chair, I rolled him over.

  His face looked pale. He was unshaven for several days. But so was I. His leg had a makeshift bandage and a splint on it. I placed my hand on his neck to feel for a pulse. I was worried because if he had turned for some reason, I just gave him my hand to bite.

  There it was. A pulse. He lived, I think. I never checked if zombies had a pulse. I grabbed the Coke and lifted his head. I placed the can at his lips and he started to drink. I’m pretty sure that zombies don’t drink Coke. Soon the eyes fluttered open.

  Looking at me with a confused look, he tried to speak. He stopped and tried again with more success but the voice was still raspy.

  “Daniel? What are you doing here?”

  “Sir, I have come to get you. I have a doctor that can address your leg.”

  His lips formed the unsaid word, Oh.

  He drank some more of the Coke and seemed to perk up some. Ha! That should put paid to all of those scoffers that disparage soft drinks. It really does add life!

  I looked around the basement. There was this room and several others off of it. The longer I was here next to him, I realized that he smelled. He had been here on the floor for at least a couple of days. Unable to move, he had soiled himself.

  “I will need to clean you up, sir. Are you up for that?”

  He sighed and shook his head in the affirmative.

  I moved about to understand the space first. The first door I opened was full of storage. It was loaded with food stuffs. This guy could live here for years. The next door was a full bathroom. Good. That will make the next unpleasant task easier.

  As I moved to the next door, “Mr. Buckley, this is quite a nice place you have here.”

  “Thank you.” He moaned softly in pain. I was worried that the leg was getting infected.

  The third door was full of tools and the like. This is where he made his bandage and splint. There was a smeared blood trail all over the floor.

  I went back to the bathroom and got things ready to clean up Sharon’s Dad. I didn
’t want to do this.

  I turned back to Mr. Buckley and sighed.

  “I need to go back upstairs and get you some clothes. Do you want me to get you something to eat?”

  He nodded. He had pulled himself up to an almost sitting position. I was impressed he had that much strength left.

  The next hour was painful. Both physically for Mr. Buckley and emotionally for me. I need some mind bleach to get rid of some of the images that I have from that time. Obviously, I don’t possess the skills needed to be a successful nurse. My respect for them has gone up immensely.

  With Mr. Buckley clean and in new clothes, he was sweating profusely. I found a cane in a closet and was trying to get him to stand up. We managed to get him in the chair by the radio. I put him on the radio to talk to Sharon. I knew she was worried sick about her Dad. I now had to talk to Officer Jefferson to figure out our escape plan.

  When I got to the broken upstairs window, Officer Jefferson was gone. But so were the zombies. My first thought was that the bastard left me here. But that didn’t seem true in my heart. By the time I made it downstairs to Mr. Buckley, I heard Sharon’s voice over the wireless set.

  “Oh, Daddy. I’m so glad you are OK. Officer Jefferson… Sorry, Tyson, just got back. There were too many of the zombies there for him to stay.”

  Mr. Buckley handed me the microphone.

  “Sharon, how are ya’ll getting us out? Your Dad needs to see the Doc. I’m worried about his leg.”

  “If you can get Daddy to the front door, Tyson will pull up to the front of the house. He will honk twice and you can take him out to the truck.”

  “Sounds like a plan. When is he coming?”

  “Officer… Tyson said in about an hour.”

  “It’s weird to you to call a police officer by his first name, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, my goodness, yes it is.”

  “Thanks for admitting it. I was afraid I was the only one.”

  “Honey, thank you for packing that bag for me. Good choices considering. Peaches, signing off.”