Survive

by Todd Sprague

  Aside from the rifles and carbines, he had several pistols, including his Sig Sauer P220, two other .45s, three Glocks in 9mm, two in .40, and two .357 magnum revolvers.

  Sara’s own little arsenal was still packed in one of the duffel bags. A Glock 19 and a Beretta CX4 Storm 9mm carbine. The little pistol caliber carbine was Sara’s solution to big bulky rifles that, as she put it, “sucked to shoot”. John chuckled as he took the Storm out of the duffel bag and placed it on the rack by the door. He put the empty duffel bags down in the basement. When he came back up, he found Sara in her robe, pouring coffee in to two big white mugs.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” John said. “I hope you slept ok.”

  “You mean after you stopped thrashing and growling in your sleep?” Sara asked, handing John a steaming cup of black coffee. The aroma almost made John’s eyes water in pleasure.

  “Yeah, after that.” Smiling ruefully, John sipped at the hot coffee. “Oh man, that’s good.”

  They sipped coffee in silence for a few moments. Sara pulled a cast iron skillet from a cupboard and began pouring flour into a bowl. “Pancakes?”

  “Only if we have real syrup,” John said. “End of the world comes along, I’ll be damned if I’m going to eat that fake shit.”

  Sara laughed, pulling out a tin jug of John’s uncle Patrick’s homemade maple syrup and shaking it at him. “You’re safe this time.”

  A few minutes later, the couple sat at a battered, hand made wooden table eating pancakes and sipping coffee. They continued to smile at each other as they ate. Finally, John pushed his plate away from him and stood up.

  “Well, time to get to it. Let’s head over to my dad’s house and see what we have to work with.”

  “John, I don’t want to sound like a jerk but what are you going to do? I mean, what are any of us going to do?” Sara put her hand on John’s arm.

  “I don’t know. But we can’t do nothing. It’s only been a couple days since these things showed up out west. They spread too fast. We have to be ready, today, to stop them when they come here.”

  “Whatever you think, whatever you want to do, you know I’m behind you one hundred percent.” Sara’s voice broke as she said, “You’re all I have left.”

  “Sara, we’ll go back and get your family as soon as we can. A few days, at most. We’ll find a way to do it safely.” John hugged Sara close, kissing her forehead. Finally, he broke the hug.

  “Come on, get dressed. We should head over there.”

  Ten minutes later, the couple, both wearing their pistols in hip holsters, and John carrying his carbine, walked in to the elder Masons’ home. Harold and June were both in the kitchen again. June offered them both pie as they entered.

  “No thanks, Mom. We just had pancakes. Maybe later.” John said as he pushed the pie away carefully, as if it might explode if it jiggled too much.

  Sara and John took seats next to each other at the table. June poured coffee for them all. The clock on the microwave read 8:20.

  Harold lifted his mug, took a long slow sip, then set his coffee back down before speaking. “Phones were working for a bit this morning. Patrick called Nancy and Franny. They’re on their way over. They’re bringing everything they can, and the kids are coming as well.”

  “Kids?” Sara asked.

  “Nancy and Franny’s kids. Though I’m pretty sure being in their mid 20’s disqualifies them as kids.” John said.

  “Pam and Roy are coming too, even though she doesn’t get along with the twins.” June said, referring to Nancy and Franny, identical twins, and younger sisters of Pam.

  “Damn. I’d hoped Roy had been eaten by now.” John muttered. He saw Sara choke on some of her coffee.

  June reached over and slapped John in the back of the head. “You be nice. He’s your cousin.”

  “Cousin in law!” John yelled.

  June gave her son a disapproving frown. John looked down sheepishly, not quite catching Sara’s smirk.

  Just then, a tall, skinny blond woman in her late 30’s entered the room, followed by a sulky and equally skinny blond teenage girl and an even more blond preteen boy.

  “Good morning, Jen. Would you like some coffee?” June asked the woman.

  The teenage girl came rushing over to John, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing. “Uncle John!”

  Cousin, actually, John thought to himself. But close enough. “Hey Kelly! How are you doing?”

  “I’m ok. I’m worried about daddy.”

  “Don’t you worry, if there’s anyone who can take care of themselves it’s Jesse Sanderson. And anyway, you know your Grandpa Walt will watch out for him too.” John said, extracting himself from Kelly’s bear hug. He looked down at the little boy. “Hey Jacob. How’s it hangin’?” John tousled the boy’s hair.

  “John!” June and Sara both yelled at the same time. Jen glared at John evilly.

  “Hi Uncle John,” Jacob said shyly.

  The family spent some time sitting at the table. June made eggs and toast for the three newcomers while the rest sat comfortably drinking coffee. John produced a pen and began jotting down notes to himself on a paper napkin.

  A few minutes later a car pulled into the shared Mason driveway. John and Harold both went out to see who it was. Patrick was just walking out of his house as they reached the driveway. A blue Dodge Durango had just come to a stop.

  A tall, muscular man in his early 40’s exited the driver’s side, followed by a dark haired woman slightly past her prime with long black hair and an annoyed expression on her face.

  “Good to see you, John.” The man offered his hand to John. They shook vigorously, the kind of handshake that would rip the arm off an unsuspecting person.

  “Kurt, Franny,” John nodded to each of the Crawfords respectively as he shook Kurt’s hand. He could see the back of the Durango was packed to the brim with various supplies.

  “This better not be one of your stupid pranks” Franny said to John.

  “Yeah, Franny, I made every TV station in the country help me prank you.” John rolled his eyes.

  The men of the family all pitched in to unload the Durango, carrying everything in to Patrick and May’s house, placing it all in one of the many spare bedrooms. John noted with approval that Kurt had brought his rifles and ammunition as well.

  * * *

  An hour later, a beat up old Chevy Suburban drove in to the driveway. John and his father again greeted the newcomers, Roger and Nancy James. Nancy looked just like Franny except that her hair was shorter and had gone to gray in places. Roger, a short but wiry man, was carrying a shotgun in one hand as he exited the vehicle. As John approached Roger, he could smell gunpowder.

  John raised an eyebrow as he shook Roger’s hand. “Trouble?”

  Roger had a distant look in his eyes as he spoke. “Neighbor. Didn’t have no choice.”

  Nancy looked like she had been crying, but she wiped her eyes and punched Roger lightly on the shoulder. “Wasn’t your fault, honey.” Roger just nodded.

  The menfolk again unloaded the vehicle, carrying everything into the big house, leaving everything in yet another empty bedroom.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent welcoming family members to the valley. After the James family arrived, Jill and Truck Robin showed up in Truck’s big Ford F350. Jill, Kurt and Franny Crawford’s daughter, had married Truck less than a year ago. Truck’s family had been farmers across town but had recently moved to Florida.

  After the Robins, Pamela and Roy Kaminski showed up driving Roy’s Jeep Grand Cherokee, packed with supplies. John and his father helped Pam and Roy move their things into John’s parents’ house, as Pam didn’t get along well with Patrick Mason, her father.

  While they were still unloading Roy’s Jeep, Morgan and Stephanie James drove up in their Toyota pickup truck. Morgan was very proud of his big wheeled truck. At one time, he’d had a Confederate flag painted on the hood but Roger James, his father, had made him remove it until he co
uld adequately explain to him why he wanted it. “‘Cause it’s cool” just wasn’t good enough, his father had said.

  Morgan was moving his truck out of the way when a little Subaru squealed into the driveway. The car came to a stop right in front of John. A tall, thin twenty year old with long brown hair, dressed in a conservative long skirt and white button down blouse jumped out of the vehicle. She ran past John without so much as a word, straight in to the arms of her father, Roger.

  “Oh Daddy, it was awful!” Alison James cried as she clung to her father fiercely. Roger shushed his daughter with soothing tones as he guided her inside the house.

  John turned as the passenger side door opened and a shorter, curvy young latina woman with short black hair got out of the passenger side. She was wearing a blue tank top and brown cargo shorts. John walked over to greet her, but came up short when he saw the blood on her shirt. The woman saw the look on John’s face and raised her hands.

  “It’s not mine, I swear,” she said to John. “Alison and I were just getting ready to leave after her grandfather called this morning. Someone knocked on the door and I answered it. Our friend Jeff was standing there bleeding from his arm. He kept saying he’d been bit. I wrapped a pillowcase around his arm but got his blood all over me. His mom came and picked him up and took him to the hospital.”

  “It’s alright. You’re safe here. I’m John Mason, by the way.” John said, extending his hand.

  “Oh, right, sorry. I’m Marta Martinez.” Marta shook John’s hand. Her hand was warm and soft and steady in his. John nodded almost imperceptibly. Yep, she’s alive, he thought to himself.

  “Marta, I’ve heard a lot about you from Nancy and Roger.”

  “Yeah, I bet. I’m not sure what bothers them more, that their daughter is a lesbian, or that she’s living with a Mexican.” Marta laughed wryly. John chuckled with her.

  “Well, don’t worry about it. We’re all family here, and families sometimes don’t get along, but they stick together.”

  John helped Marta carry in the few bags they’d brought with them. Patrick and May’s house was really beginning to fill up at this point. John saw Patrick carrying a cot down to the basement. He went to help.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Douglas and Vanessa Gentry arrived, along with their toddler Eric. They brought their BMW X3 SUV, packed tightly with high end camping gear from L.L. Bean and other sundries. Douglas spent several minutes talking to his mother, Pamela Kaminski. Roy, Pamela’s second husband, nodded a greeting to Douglas but did not speak to him. Tension floated in the air between the two.

  John greeted Douglas warmly. “Hey Doug, it’s been a while. I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “Didn’t have much choice. Those things are everywhere. My house is all glass, we couldn’t stay there.”

  “We’re going to go through our supplies and see what we have in a little bit. I think everyone’s here now. How are you fixed for food?”

  “We brought what we had but it’s not much. We eat out a lot.” Douglas said.

  “What about weapons? Ammo?” John asked, patting the pistol on his hip.

  “I don’t have any. Didn’t need them. Our homeowners association hired a security company for our neighborhood.” Douglas said defensively.

  John frowned but kept his comments to himself. Little Eric ran past the two, followed by Princess. Eric had a cookie in his hand, and Princess seemed intent on relieving him of his chocolaty burden.

  John looked at Douglas. “How about helping me take an inventory? Might as well get some use out of your overpriced accounting education.” John grinned.

  Douglas flashed a fake smile at John and nodded agreement.

  Later that evening, the whole clan sat around in Harold and June’s living room. There weren’t enough seats for everyone so most of the younger folk were sitting on the floor. John smiled when he saw Sara sitting on the floor playing with Eric. He stood in the center of the room reading from a clipboard.

  “Well, we’ve got some good news, and some bad news. First the good news,” John looked down at his clipboard. “We won’t have a problem with water. With the wells and the brook out back, as well as the pond, we have plenty of water for everyone in the valley.

  Now for the bad news. Looks like we’ve got about three weeks worth of food for everyone, including the freeze dried stuff I have in my basement, and everything you’ve all brought with you. We can stretch that if we ration it, but let’s just call it three weeks. We’ll eat all the frozen and refrigerated stuff first, along with whatever fresh vegetables we can get from Uncle Patrick’s gardens. All in all, we need to get more food pretty soon.

  We also have enough rifles and handguns to go around, but only barely. And most of those are hunting or target guns, except for my AR 15s and AK 47s, two M14s, and the shotguns. Tomorrow I’ll have everyone come over to the cabin and we’ll get some of them distributed. For now, almost everyone has at least a rifle of their own. And Morgan brought his collection of Glock pistols, which will come in handy.

  Ammunition is going to be a problem for the long term, but for now we’ve got a good supply. We’ll need more .223 and 7.62 x39, and as much 9mm as we can get, when we get a chance.”

  Kurt Crawford raised his hand. “We should make a run over to Dan Bender’s house tomorrow. It’s only a couple of miles, and he has a little gun shop in his basement. He might have some ammo he can sell us.”

  God I love Vermont, John thought to himself and smiled.

  “Good idea,” said John. “We’ll need to get our cash together also, I don’t know if the credit card system is still working or not, but someone as smart as Dan will know credit is useless now.”

  “Do you expect me to just hand over all of my cash so you can go buy guns and bullets?” Douglas asked, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. “I don’t think so. I’ll just hang on to it until this little fiasco is over with.” Douglas sat back with a stubborn look on his face.

  John looked at Douglas for a moment, then turned and flicked on the TV behind him. He stepped out of the way as he flicked through the channels. One channel after another flicked by with snow or a Technical Difficulties message flashing on the screen. Finally, after several minutes of searching, John found a station with something playing on it. It was an emergency broadcast from what looked like a government facility. A podium with the presidential seal on the front of it stood in front of a purple-draped background. A black woman was speaking into the microphone.

  “All government services are hereby suspended in most regions except the areas immediately surrounding selected military reserves. All citizens are urged to take every precaution. At this time, the CDC is working on a cure for the, ah, disease, and will have some progress to report very soon.

  All of our research indicates that when bitten by an infected person, an individual goes into a comatose state resembling death. There are no life signs at all in these individuals. Several minutes later, the individual revives, but still with no discernible life signs. The individual begins to decay, but still exhibits great mobility, and seems to be motivated only by hunger. Total immolation by fire, decapitation, or destruction or disruption of the brain seem to truly kill these individuals. All citizens are urged to remain in their homes until the government can reestablish control. Thank you.”

  The black woman walked off screen, leaving an empty podium. Moments later, the scene started over again.

  “It’s a recording. They’re looping it,” John said, turning to Douglas. “Sound like your money’s going back into your mutual funds anytime soon?”

  Douglas stared at the TV for a moment, then looked angrily at John. “You’re such an asshole! Just a fucking gun nut.”

  Tension began to mount between the two, but June stepped in. “Coffee anyone? I’ve got apple pie, too.”

  * * *

  Later that night, John sat at his father’s kitchen table. Harold, Patrick, Kurt, Roger, Truck, and Morgan all
sat around the table too. Everyone else was watching a movie in the living room. Some Adam Sandler movie, from the sound of it, thought John.

  “Look, the fact of the matter is this stuff is going to get worse every day. It’s only been a couple of days since it started, and the government is all but gone, road travel is dangerous, and we’ve even got Zeds in Brattleboro. And it only takes one bite to kill you.” John said, looking around the table.

  “Zeds? What are you, Canadian?” asked Morgan.

  John rolled his eyes. “No, it just doesn’t sound as unreal as zombies, so maybe it’ll help people accept it faster.”

  “Oh okay, Mr. Canadian,” Morgan retorted.

  John threw a donut at Morgan, bouncing it off Morgan’s forehead. Everyone at the table chuckled a bit.

  Harold broke in. “Sounds kind of bleak.”

  “I know, Dad. But I have a few ideas that might help us out. First, we need supplies. Tomorrow, I want to take a few people into town and get whatever food we can from a grocery store. We’ll swing by Dan Bender’s house on the way back, maybe trade some of it for ammo, maybe a few more rifles. Whatever we can get.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Patrick said, nodding.

  “Also, we should think about blocking off the entrances to the valley.”

  “What do you mean?” Harold asked his son.

  “Well, we could take a few of those cargo containers you and Patrick are using for storage sheds, drag them by tractor up in to each of the passes, and block them off. I spoke to the neighbors about it this morning, and they’re in. As long as we leave a tractor and a couple of ladders up there, anyone living can be brought in easily, but the Zeds can’t get through. They’d have to wander over the mountains and through the woods to get here.”

  “Yeah, we can do that. That sounds good.” Patrick said, smiling.

  “And that brings us to another question. The neighbors,” John paused. “The Culicos left this morning. They said they were going to head north. The Kensingtons said they were going to stick it out. Their son and his family got here a few hours ago. They’re going to be holding that end of the valley. I suggest we include them in any planning we do. Jack Kensington, the son, used to be a Marine. And old man Kensington knows his way around construction. We may need them before this is over.”