Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Sanctuary

by Scott, Joshua Jared

  * * *

  “Third and final farm,” said Briana on the radio. “There’s a truck and a Mercedes in the driveway.”

  With Steph driving slowly, accompanied by Mary who refused to travel with Lizzy, we were more strung out than usual, something I did not like.

  “Interesting combination that. We have a zombie too.”

  “Shoot it,” ordered Lizzy.

  Briana was still looking a tad pale, so I dropped the zombie the moment we pulled up in the drive. The others arrived in short order, parking nearby, except for Steph who remained on the road. She wasn’t used to the extra long trailer, and didn’t want to try backing out with it.

  My sweetie pointed. “Hey, we got more of those things.”

  There were three additional animal trailers, all painted the stereotypical white, in a row beside a small barn.

  “We come back for them later,” I said. “Actually... Alec, if you can start the pickup we’ll attach one to it, one to your truck, and one to Lizzy’s Jeep. We can take all of them. They’ll be useful.”

  “Why not your Jeep?” demanded Lizzy.

  “No hitch on the back of mine. I had it fitted out for off road driving, not hauling.”

  “Well, I don’t know how to drive with one.”

  “Have Mary drive the Grand Cherokee,” I suggested.

  Lizzy glared at me, but Mary seemed delighted.

  “I’ll do that. I know how. Lizzy can drive the pickup. I don’t suppose we’re taking the Mercedes.”

  “You are not driving the Jeep,” stated Lizzy.

  Mary’s face began to fall.

  “Fine,” she relented. “You can drive back, but I’m going to sit next to you and watch to make sure you don’t die.”

  “Wasn’t your license revoked?” One look, considering Lizzy’s exceptionally foul mood, told me that question was a mistake, but it was neither the first nor would it be the last, not by a long shot.

  “That was for street racing!” she shrieked. “I’m a good driver!”

  Definitely more volatile than normal.

  Briana chose that moment to intervene. “Mary can drive the Wrangler with Jacob watching. Steph, Alec, and me all get a pickup and trailer. You get your Grand Cherokee with a trailer. That works out for everyone. Besides, Mary doesn’t need to be learning to drive while dragging one of those things.”

  A thirteen year old driving my Jeep! My heart rate was accelerating, though the logic was sound.

  “How many damn trucks do we need anyway?”

  “Forget those Lizzy. It’s the trailers we want.” I tried not to think of what might happen to my Wrangler with Mary behind the wheel. “If we take them when we go out scavenging we can haul a lot back, far more than we have been. Plus, we’ll be going out for more livestock. We can’t just hope to find the things every time we search a farm.”

  “Fine. Fine. Fine.” She stomped up to the door and kicked it open. “Come out zombies, so I can shoot you in the fucking head! Well? Another empty house.”

  The search was fairly typical, so I won’t go into too much detail. We grabbed the standard things, including quite a bit of liquor, mostly bourbon and vodka. We also took a second television set and all the movies we found. There were a lot of a cartoons – children had lived here – and I made sure to take the toys as well. It should be enough to keep the kids at our camp occupied for a while.

  In the rear we found a chicken coop. There weren’t many left alive, and those which were did not look good. There was an open feed bag in the corner, but it seemed they’d been out of water for some time, probably drinking from puddles when it rained. We loaded the rooster into a portable cage and the hens in some others. The rooster was particularly feisty, but it turned out that I did not require any stitches.

  “Poor Jacob,” laughed Lizzy, sarcastically and with more viciousness than normal, “got his ass kicked by a chicken.”

  “Yeah, I did. You can get the goats loaded up.”

  These people had clearly liked having animals about. The cattle appeared healthy and had water from a stream and plenty of grass to eat, so we left them for now. They also had goats in a separate corral with its own barn. These had been eating from one of those giant round hay bales and drinking from a huge trough. The water was running low, but they’d likely be good for a while longer, maybe a couple of weeks. We had room however and decided to bring them along. There were no horses to be found, although we did pack up three saddles and the related tack.

  “How am I supposed to get the fucking goats into the trailer?” she demanded.

  “Bribe them with food, like Steph did the cows,” suggested Briana.

  “Goats eat cloth,” said Mary. “You can take your shirt off and use it as bait.”

  Mary had not yet forgiven Lizzy for punishing her, but she was getting close.

  “Go give the chickens more water,” snapped Lizzy, “and I’m not getting undressed in front of all of you.”

  “Thank God for that,” I said softly.

  Briana began to laugh.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing that’s going to improve your mood. Go put the goats in the trailer. It’ll be dark in another three hours. If we stop dawdling here we can get back with plenty of light to spare.”

  Interlude – Eric’s Story

  Eric has a rather interesting back story. Most of the survivors we’d encountered to that point left the cities early in the apocalypse, such as Briana and myself. Others were in the wilderness from the beginning, as with Susan and Timothy. None were holed up in a town for weeks on end. Lizzy came close, but her experiences were nothing compared to Eric’s.

  He was in his apartment, awake and playing World of Warcraft on his computer, when the change struck. Eric’s first indication that something strange was happening came when another player typed in a query asking if anyone was watching the news. Eric was busy killing digital life forms and didn’t pay much attention. The player suddenly went offline, and another, then more. His curiosity aroused, Eric got up and turned on the television.

  He watched the initial, confusing news casts, and as soon as he had a fair grasp of what was happening, Eric telephoned his mother. She was living in a retirement community in Florida, enjoying the sun and warm temperatures.

  “Mom, are you okay?”

  “What is it Eric?” she asked, sleepily. “I think I dozed off after eating breakfast.” She had always woken before the sun, as long as her son could remember. “I need to get these dishes in the sink.”

  “Forget about that. Have you seen the news?”

  “Now Eric, you know I don’t watch that sort of thing. It’s always so depressing.”

  He tried not to scream in frustration. “Mom, listen to me. Lock your doors and turn on the television.”

  “Hang on dear,” she replied, not really paying attention. “Someone’s knocking.”

  “No! Don’t go out. You don’t understand what’s happening!”

  It was no good. She had already set the phone on the table.

  “What is it Edie?” asked his mother in the distance, the words barely audible.

  “Let me in!”

  “Well, come on in. Why the rush?”

  Eric’s head was pounding. Now was not the time for one of her episodes. His mother wasn’t senile or suffering from Alzheimer’s, but her brain sometimes sputtered, preventing her from understanding things, at least without having them explained slowly and repeatedly. It was one of the reasons he’d moved her into the assisted living center two years earlier.

  “Close the door!” shrieked Edie. “Hurry!”

  There was the unexpected sound of struggling and a thump as something hit the floor. Eric heard screams, one that might have come from his mother.

  “Mom!”

  There was no answer, only silence. He stayed on the line regardless, hoping, praying for something. Then the connection was severed. When he called back, all Eric got was a busy signal. With a curse, h
e ripped his telephone from the wall and flung it across the room. What was he going to do? Grabbing the remote, he turned the television sound back up – he’d muted it while making the call – and saw that things were getting worse. People were being told to remain at home, to stay indoors. Well, that sounded sensible, and it wasn’t like Eric could get in his truck and personally check on his mother. She was on the other side of the country. He was of the mind to try though, until he looked out the window, shortly after sunrise.

  Eric watched helplessly as a pair of zombies caught a kid, maybe eight or nine years old. The girl had tried to run between them, but the first snagged her long hair, stopping her cold. The second, in its rush to reach the child, tripped and fell. Then it took advantage of its position and grabbed her leg, biting into the soft flesh of her calf. The original zombie sank its teeth into her upper arm, tearing off a long strand of muscle. More were drawn by the screams. She tried to limp away, but only made it a few feet before they fell upon her. Horrified, he turned back to the news, with only occasional glances outside. Eric did not see the unfortunate girl reanimate, but he did spot her shambling about later.

  When his cell rang, he grabbed it, praying it was his mother.

  “Eric! Thank God I got you. I’ve been trying to reach somebody, anyone.”

  “Who’s this? Brittney?”

  “Yes!”

  Brittney Stevens was the secretary at the construction company where Eric worked.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, wondering why she had called him. They’d never gotten along and were nowhere near being friends.

  “No, I’m not okay!” She struggled to calm herself. “Have you seen those things?”

  “I… I watched them kill a little girl outside.”

  “God. That’s… I saw them bite…” Brittney was beginning to cry. “I need you to come get me Eric.”

  “Get you? Why? Where are you?”

  “In my apartment. I was going outside for work, not knowing, but they saw me. They’re banging on my door! Please, you have to help me.”

  It was becoming difficult to make out her words.

  “Okay. Where do you live?”

  “I’m in the same complex as you!”

  That came out clearly.

  “Really? Where exactly?”

  “Building at the end, number 7A, first floor. Oh God! The door’s starting to crack! Please hurry.”

  “I’m coming. Don’t hang up. I’m leaving my cell phone on.”

  He slipped it into his shirt pocket, picked up his keys, and stopped. He needed something to fight with. Eric looked about frantically and settled on the baseball bat sitting in the corner. He’d played in high school and sometimes went to the batting cages for fun. The wood was solid. It was heavy. It would have to do.

  Bat in hand, Eric ran out of the apartment and straight for his truck. Some zombies veered in his direction, including the little girl, but they were slow and too far away to reach him before he was inside the pickup and moving.

  “Brittney,” he said, into the phone, “I’m almost there.”

  “Thank God!”

  Eric pulled up near her building. There were three zombies banging on a door. He couldn’t see the number, but it had to be hers.

  “Can you see me out the window?”

  “Yes! I see your truck. What do I do?”

  “Let me try to distract them.” He honked the horn, and the zombies turned toward him. “Oh, crap.”

  “What is it?”

  “They left your apartment. Damn, the door is cracked good, right in the middle. Anyway, they’re coming for me. I don’t see how… Wait! Stay there. I’m going to back up. When they’re almost at me, I’ll drive forward again, and you can run out and jump in the truck.”

  “Okay Eric… I can’t see you anymore!”

  “I’m still here,” he said. “I’m one building down. Just a few more seconds. I want them to move well away from you. Okay, I’m going forward again. You look clear. Come on out.”

  He stopped by her building, and Brittney rushed out. She sprinted around the front of his pickup and grabbed the door handle.

  “It’s locked!” she shrieked.

  He quickly hit the button.

  Brittney jerked it open and climbed inside. The moment she slammed the door shut, he secured them again.

  “Asshole!”

  “Sorry. I didn’t even think about it.”

  The zombies were almost on them, and he hit the gas, pulling forward out of the parking lot and into the street.

  “Where do we go?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Anywhere away from here.”

  Eric rounded a corner and was immediately struck by another vehicle. The pickup went spinning to the side where it collided with a parked car before coming to a stop. He was spared the worst, but Brittney was a different story. She wasn’t wearing a seat belt and, air bag or not, she’d bounced about badly.

  “Are you okay?”

  She groaned but didn’t open her eyes. There was blood streaming down her face, and the passenger side window was cracked where her head slammed against it.

  He tried to start the engine, but it was dead.

  “Brittney? We really need to go.”

  There was no response, and Eric stumbled out of the pickup, pausing briefly to look at the SUV that hit them. There was someone in the front seat, slumped over the wheel, but the man wasn’t moving. He then scooted around the rear and pulled open the passenger door.

  “Hurts,” she stammered, barely coherent.

  “I got you.”

  He pulled the woman out, slinging her over a shoulder, one arm across her thighs. There were zombies everywhere, along with a scattering of normal people, none of which were close enough to help, even if they’d been so inclined. He set off at a fast walk, zombies following or moving to intercept. Brittney wasn’t big, but she was still too heavy to run with.

  “Wake up,” he ordered. “Brittney, can you hear me?”

  There was a mumble, maybe. Possibly it was his imagination. The woman had gone completely limp.

  The zombies were closing from all sides. Where was he going to go? There! The alley was narrow, but it looked clear. Eric almost made it too, but he stumbled and went down on one knee. Pain shot through his leg as it hit the concrete, and he struggled to keep a grip on Brittney. He managed to rise, but the delay was too much. Eric felt something grab her.

  “No!”

  He tried to maintain his grip but felt cold hands touching his shoulder. The jerking on Brittney grew stronger, and she was pulled free. Spinning, he saw her fall to the pavement, the crowd of zombies bending down to feed. Eric could do nothing but run away.

  * * *

  An hour later, he’d been joined by three others, including Steph. They were on foot, trapped on a back street near the center of town. The roads were a mess with wrecks everywhere and an ungodly number of zombies wandering around. They didn’t know what to do or where to go.

  “We can’t stay here,” said Jose, a day laborer whom Eric had worked with several times.

  “I know. Have any ideas? I’m open to pretty much anything.”

  “One’s coming.” He pointed.

  “It’s alone. Want to try fighting or run?”

  They knew zombies could be killed. Earlier, in the distance, Eric watched as a man shot one in the head, dropping it for good. Another had stopped moving after it was run over by a car.

  “I will bash it,” said Jose.

  The man stepped forward and nearly took the zombie’s head off with a powerful swing of his crowbar. The thing fell to the ground.

  “Yes!” he shouted, pumping a fist in the air.

  “Another one!” yelled Eric.

  Jose turned to see the second zombie shamble out from behind a school bus. It was only a few feet away, and he instinctively extended an arm to hold it back. The monster immediately targeted the bare flesh in front of it, grabbing the man’s wrist and biting down h
ard. One finger was severed and the flesh stripped from another. Jose screamed, and Eric rushed forward to pull him back as the zombie wandered off, momentarily satisfied.

  “It’s pretty bad,” said Steph, using her silk scarf to bind the wound. The gushing blood slowed but did not stop.

  “Damn,” muttered Jose. “So stupid, just stupid.” He began to swear.

  “English,” pressed Eric. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Nothing important.” He pulled the scarf off and rewrapped it, even tighter. “I’ll be okay, I think.”

  “More of them,” warned Steph.

  “What are we going to do?” asked the other woman, sounding even more frantic than the redhead.

  “We… We go inside,” replied Eric.

  He hurried to the nearest building, a small candle shop, and gave the door several good kicks before the frame cracked.

  “Everyone inside.”

  They filed in, and he closed the door behind them.

  “No way to secure it,” gasped Jose.

  Eric looked around. “We’ll go to the back, over there.”

  They moved to the supply room. There were a pair of small file cabinets, and they used these to barricade themselves inside.

  “Rear door opens up in the alley,” said Jose, checking. He closed and locked it. “Loading area, some trash bins. Looked clear.”

  They heard the zombies enter the shop.

  “Do they know we’re here?” whispered the woman.

  “I know they saw us go into the building, but I don’t think they know where we are now,” replied Eric, softly.

  The zombies shambled about, and they could hear the monsters bumping into tables and knocking things over. Then there was silence. Eric allowed himself to relax. When the doorknob unexpectedly rattled, the woman screamed. Banging immediately began.

  “That’s not going to hold for long,” cautioned Jose.

  “I know. How’s the hand? You can keep going, right?”

  “Hurts like a bitch, but I think it mostly stopped bleeding. I need a doctor.”

  “Not sure where we’re going to find one. Damn. This is never going to hold. We need to go back outside.”