Survive

by Todd Sprague

  “I’ve got no problem with that,” Patrick said. “We’ve always gotten along well with them. They stick to their own business and leave us to ours ‘cept when they’re just being neighborly.”

  John again stood in front of the whole clan in his parents’ living room.

  “Alright, we’re going to head into town tomorrow and get supplies. I’ll take whoever wants to go, but we’ll be needing a pickup truck, so someone needs to lend one to me or drive your own.”

  Morgan spoke up first. “We can take mine. I’ll go.”

  John nodded. “Thanks. We’re also going to drag a couple of the cargo containers they’re using as sheds up to the passes and block them both off in the morning. Until then, we’ll have to watch them ourselves. I’d like a couple of volunteers to go up to the north pass and keep an eye on it tonight. The Kensingtons are going to watch the south pass tonight.”

  “I’ll watch it tonight,” Truck Robin said. “Jill, you want to come with me?”

  “I guess. But if I get bit, I’m going to eat your face off!”

  Everyone laughed a bit too hard at that.

  After the laughter died down, John said “Alright then. We’re leaving at 7:30 in the morning. Plenty of light and we’ll have had a chance to eat a good breakfast. Meet in the driveway.”

  The family said their good nights and slowly began wandering away to their respective sleeping areas, some across the driveway at Patrick and May’s house, some right there in Harold and June’s house.

  As John and Sara walked back toward their cabin, Princess, following close behind, began growling. John looked in the direction she was facing just as Douglas came out of the shadows. He now had one of Morgan’s Glocks strapped to his hip. The flap on the holster was unbuttoned.

  “Doug, what’s up?” John asked, edging his way between Sara and Douglas. He motioned for Princess to be quiet. She ignored him and continued to growl.

  Douglas looked down at the dog with distaste. “Shut up, mutt.”

  “Doug, what’s going on?” John asked more forcefully.

  “Nothing. I’m just standing out here thinking. Wondering why everyone is letting you boss them around.”

  “I’m not bossing anybody around. What are you talking about?” John asked.

  “Bullshit. You’ve got the whole family wasting its time, jumping through your hoops. And why? You’re nobody. I make six figures. I have a 3600 square foot home in an exclusive neighborhood. I have a vacation condo in Boca. I drive a fucking BMW.”

  “Where the fuck do you get off? Just because you have a fancy car doesn’t mean-” Sara began to push John out of the way. He cut her off, putting his arm around her shoulder and holding her back.

  “Doug, I know. You did well for yourself. Congratulations. Guess what?” John said calmly. “It don’t mean shit right now, man. All you have here is family, and all I’m trying to do is keep us together.”

  “Fuck you, John. You’re not my boss.” Douglas turned around and headed down the driveway, toward Patrick and May’s house.

  John and Sara watched Douglas walk away. After he walked out of sight, they turned and headed towards their cabin. “Why’d you stop me, John?” Sara asked. “That jerk needs somebody to knock him down a few pegs, and I’d be glad to.”

  “Maybe because I didn’t want him to shoot you, Sara. Didn’t you see he had a gun?”

  “Not like he’d know how to use it even if he did pull it on me. Calling you a gun nut, who the hell does he think he is?”

  John tried not to smile at Sara. He didn’t want her to think he was patronizing her, but he was impressed with how she would stand up for him, and glad that someone else saw what kind of guy Douglas really was. Fuck it, he’s still family, John thought. Princess kept staring in the direction Douglas had gone. After a few moments, she squatted and left a big steaming present on the driveway, just in case Douglas decided to follow them. She turned, scuffed her back paws in the dirt a few times, threw her head high in the air and followed her mommy and daddy home.

  * * *

  John and Sara lay nestled in their blankets some time later, their naked flesh entwined under the thin covers. Sara murmured something as she drifted off to sleep. John lay staring up at the ceiling, dimly lit by the moonlight. Maybe Doug’s right, he thought. Maybe they shouldn’t be listening to me. Maybe I’m just going to get them all killed. John kept mulling his thoughts over and over in his head, until finally sleep caught him and dragged him under.

  The nightmares came back that night, worse than before.

  Chapter 7

  September 23, Zed Year One

  Brattleboro, Vermont

  Morning light streamed through the gauzy curtains in the bedroom. John walked in, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He set the mug down on the nightstand and sat on the bed. Leaning in, he kissed Sara gently on the cheek. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  “Mmmm, coffee smells great. Good morning.” She sat up and kissed him back.

  “I see the electricity still works,” Sara noticed.

  “Yeah, but the internet is down. I don’t know if it’s local or widespread, though.”

  “Well, that sucks. There goes my ebay addiction.” Sara said, giggling.

  “I’ve got the guys coming over in a few minutes. I just wanted to say good morning before they got here,” John said, pressing a smiling Sara back down into the bed.

  * * *

  “We’re not going to the grocery store,” John told the men sitting across from him at the little kitchen table. “We’re going directly to the source. The warehouse.”

  “What warehouse?” Morgan James asked between bites of stale donut.

  “The wholesale grocery warehouse up by exit 3. It has pallets of food already loaded, trucks, anything we want.. The hard part is finding it in on the racks.”

  “Wait, why don’t we just run downtown, raid the supermarket and the Walmart across the river, and get back here?” Roy Kaminski puffed on a cigarette.

  John narrowed his eyes a fraction, trying not to roll them. “Two reasons. One, every other survivor is going to have the same idea, and either they’ve already done it or are on their way. Second, downtown is going to be crawling with Zeds. The warehouse might have a few, but my guess is there won’t be that many. There’s a chain link fence surrounding the place so it might even be secure while we’re there.”

  “And they have trucks. We could load up a trailer with enough stuff to last us a good long while, steal a truck, even one of those little ones that just moves the trailers around the yard, and then hightail it back here.” Morgan said, speaking directly to Roy.

  “I can drive whatever we find there,” Roger James said, looking with approval at his son. “Morgan can get us there, we’ll load the trailer, and I’ll drive it back.”

  “Good, I like it. We’ll swing by Dan Bender’s house on the way and see if he will trade or sell us anything, then head to the warehouse.” John stood up and walked to the cabinet against the far wall. He opened the cabinet, revealing several rifles and pistols hanging on pegs. “Alright, who needs a gun?”

  Morgan patted his holsters, one on each hip. “I’m good.”

  Roy walked over to the cabinet and reached for one of the rifles inside. “I’ll take this M 16, I know all about them from the History Channel.”

  John pushed Roy’s hands out of the way, selected a shotgun from the rack, and handed it to Roy. “Actually, it’s an AR 15. Why don’t you take this one for now? We’ll be needing you for more close up work.”

  Morgan struggled to hold his laughter in. Roger didn’t even bother trying. Roy took the shotgun, racked the slide, and ignored Roger’s snickering. John patted him on the back and handed him a brown bandoleer with dozens of shotgun shells held in by loops of cloth.

  Roger came over, and John reached into the cabinet. He came back out with an AK 47 with polished wood grip and stock. He showed Roger how to load it, handing him a pouch with several loaded magazines. He
grabbed the little H&K MP5 for himself, along with another pouch of magazines. “Alright, boys, let’s get going.”

  * * *

  They met Truck Robin and Harold Mason in the driveway. Truck had a shotgun over one shoulder and a little revolver tucked in to the top of his boot. Harold had his lever action 30-30 leaning up against Morgan’s pickup.

  John nodded to Morgan. “How’d it go last night?”

  “No problems. We heard gunshots off towards town, but nobody came near. I could smell smoke this morning, though.” Truck spoke with a slow country drawl. “I want to come with you.”

  “You sure you’re up for this? You were up all night.”

  “Yeah, no problem, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Morgan said, almost cheerfully.

  Roger looked at Morgan and raised one eyebrow. “Always the optimist.”

  “Just the same, I think you should stay here. Get some sleep, you can help us unload when we get back.” John said. Truck nodded reluctantly.

  As the five men piled into the truck, Morgan driving, Harold in the front seat, Roy and Roger in the open back of the pickup, John began to climb up into the bed but stopped when he saw Sara come running towards them.

  John caught her in a big hug. Sara whispered into his ear. “One quick goodbye when you get out of bed isn’t going to cut it, mister.”

  “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart,” John whispered back. “I promise.”

  Sara stepped back a little bit. “You better come back. I will never forgive you if you leave me alone with your family!” They both laughed a little. “No, seriously,” Sara deadpanned.

  “I need you to do something for me. Kurt and Patrick are going to put the barricade up at the pass today. Just make sure someone watches it all the time. We’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Sara nodded and kissed John. Then she turned and walked back toward the cabin. John watched her for a few moments before jumping up into the truck. Morgan backed down the driveway, and they headed out.

  * * *

  The road was completely deserted this far from town. They drove along at forty miles an hour, weapons trained on the surrounding forest and fields as they passed. Every house seemed deserted, though some had hastily erected barricades around doors and windows. In the distance, a long black column of smoke snaked into the sky. John pointed it out to Roger and Roy, but said nothing. They both nodded back.

  They saw their first Zed a few miles down the road. A car had flipped over in the left lane. Skid marks all over the road showed that it had been going pretty fast when it had crashed.

  Morgan slowed down as they approached. A shoe lay right on the double yellow line in the middle of the road. As they neared, they could see the shoe was not empty.

  Roy was the first one to spot it. He screamed an alarmingly unmanly scream as a hunched figure shambled out of the tree line.

  The creature used to be a man, but now was little more than strips of flesh and decay hanging from muscle and bone. It was missing its left foot from the ankle down. John noted in the back of his mind the claw marks and bites all over the Zed. Bear or wolf, he wondered to himself. Must have been real hungry to go after an animal.

  The Zed moved quickly for something with only one foot. It reached the edge of the road, only a few yards away from the truck, before they knew it. Roy, the closest to the Zed, pointed his shotgun at it and pulled the trigger. CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! He pulled again and again, screaming in terror.

  “Take the safety off!” John yelled, pointing his MP5 directly at the Zed’s forehead. He held his fire, though, watching both the Zed and Roy.

  Roy looked down, found the safety button and pressed it. He pointed the thick barrel at the Zed, almost close enough to touch, and fired.

  The concussive force of the blast knocked Roy completely off his feet. He hit the bottom of the truck bed at exactly the same time the newly-headless Zed hit the pavement.

  Roger offered his hand to Roy. Roy accepted the hand and let himself be pulled back to his feet. He grinned as Roger slapped him on the back, laughing. “Nice shot!”

  John continued scanning the area as they pulled past the overturned car. He smiled in satisfaction as he thought their chances were looking up.

  They passed more wrecked cars on the road. Most were off the pavement, in the ditch, or in the tree line, but they had to use Morgan’s truck to push two cars off the road. On those occasions, the group would spread out, each facing a direction with their weapons while Morgan pushed the car out of the way. Then they would all mount up again and continue on their way. They saw no one else, alive or dead, on the road.

  They finally pulled into Dan Bender’s driveway. The Benders lived in a two story home with a large workshop off to one side, and a garage off to the other side. A big sign with the words GUN SHOP hung over the store’s door. Criss-crossed two by fours were nailed over every door and window in sight. Morgan stopped the truck right in front of the workshop and killed the engine. Silence, broken only by the pinging of the engine as it cooled, reigned.

  John motioned to Roger. “Cover me.” He jumped out of the truck, his MP5 held at shoulder level, pointed in front of him. He walked to the door and listened. As he reached for the first two by four nailed to the door, he stopped. He walked quickly back to the truck, to the passenger side, where his father stood behind the truck door.

  “What’s wrong with this picture?” John asked Harold.

  Harold looked at the house for a few moments before it dawned on him. “The boards are nailed on from the outside!”

  “Yeah, someone wanted to keep something inside.” Just then they heard movement inside the house. From a gap in the boards, they could see motion behind one of the windows. A small hand appeared on the glass. The hand moved, but a bloody hand print remained on the glass.

  Roger and Roy jumped out of the truck and fanned out to either side. John walked back towards the shop entrance and began prying the boards off the entrance one at a time.

  “John, you better come see this,” Roy called out from around the corner of the house.

  John and Harold both jogged over to Roy. On the ground in front of him lay Dan Bender. A bottle of whiskey lay on the ground, open and empty. A photo album lay open in front of him, pictures of his wife, Moira and daughter Emily, on pages covered in blood. Dan’s right hand was gripped tightly around a .357 magnum revolver, and the splatter of blood and brain matter all over the side of the house told the rest of the story.

  Harold bent down and pulled one of Dan’s sleeves up showing John a blood soaked bandage.

  “Must have been bit by one of his kin,” Harold said. He pried the gun from Dan’s cold, dead hand. “He did the right thing.” He put the pistol in his waist band and stood up. “Let’s get this over with.”

  They walked back to the shop and finished removing the boards. John opened the door with Roger right behind him. The inside was dark, but John quickly found the light switch and flipped it on. Bright overhead lights revealed racks of rifles and display cases with pistols and accessories. John and Roger spread out in the little shop, heading for the back. The door in the back was not barricaded at all, and the men had the same thought.

  Roger walked up to the door and trained his rifle on it. He nodded to John, indicating he would watch it.

  John began selecting rifles, AR 15s, AK 47s, an Israeli Galil, a couple of scoped bolt action .308s, two FN FALs, and several shotguns. He carried them out by the armful and laid them carefully in the back of the truck. Then he grabbed a couple of Uzi’s, both semi automatic, and several pistols. He threw them all into a tote bag he found behind the counter. Next, he grabbed as many empty magazines as he could find and threw them into another tote bag. After he carried the bags out to the truck, he motioned for Roy to come in and help him with the ammunition. They grabbed every box of ammo they could find, which turned out to be several thousand rounds of ammunition of every caliber.

  As they f
inished loading everything into the crowded truck, John ran back in and picked up a couple of bows and an armful of arrows.

  “No sense wasting ammo on deer,” John said to Roger as they both walked out together. They closed the shop door and jumped up into the back of the truck. As the truck was pulling out of the driveway, the shop door opened and a little girl, her bloody hands reaching for them, ran out of the house moaning.

  Morgan stepped on the gas as John raised his MP5 and put two bullets into the little Zed who used to be called Emily.

  * * *

  Morgan drove the group with its weapon-laden pickup truck through West Brattleboro to Interstate 91. Stalled or abandoned cars littered the road. They began to see Zeds walking singly or in small groups, going from house to house, car to car, looking for anything to satisfy their hunger. Their moans grew louder and louder. As the truck passed them they would notice the truck and follow it. Soon they had a rather large group shambling, stumbling, and in some cases, running after them. Morgan went as fast as he could through the littered streets, but at times he had to go up on lawns or swerve between cars to get past them, and therefore could not go fast enough for the Zeds to give up.

  “This ain’t gonna be easy to get a tractor trailer through, man,” Roger said to John, yelling over the wind and moans of the undead.

  “I know. I have an idea about that too.”

  The pickup wound its way over the highway, which was considerably less crowded with empty cars than the town roads were. One exit later, Morgan pulled the truck off the highway towards a big warehouse complex at the northern edge of town. A tall chain link fence surrounded the complex, and the big rolling gates were closed. A small guard shack stood empty next to the gate. They approached the gate and stopped, scanning the area.