Survive

by Todd Sprague

  “We could really use your medical knowledge in our camp. My mother used to be a nurse too. And we even have a teacher, my wife, Sara, to look after the children.”

  The school nurse seemed to be reassured by that and called to the kids. She made them line up behind her. John motioned for Stanley to take the lead, followed by Truck, then the nurse and the students, with John bringing up the rear.

  Stanley quickly led the group back through the halls to the entrance. Roger stood on top of the truck watching for Zeds. The parking lot was littered with the dead bodies of his targets. None moved. Truck began helping the students up into the back of the truck, far above the reach of any Zeds. Most of the children were safely in the truck when a Zed wearing a cardigan sweater and flannel tie came running out of the school.

  It ran right past Stanley and attacked one of the children before anyone knew it was there. Stanley screamed as it bit the child savagely, killing the little boy instantly. John swung around, trying to get a bead on the Zed. The Zed pushed the dead boy out of its way and reached for a little girl in a yellow dress. Stanley screamed in outrage and rushed at the Zed, not willing to risk a shot into the crowd of children. He tackled the Zed from behind. They went down in a heap. Truck started picking up the remaining children and throwing them bodily into the back of the truck, one after the other.

  John ran to where Stanley and the Zed were rolling on the ground. The Zed had his teeth firmly set into Stanley’s neck, but the brave survivor wouldn’t let go. John pressed the barrel of his rifle against the head of the Zed and fired. It finally stopped moving as Stanley’s lifeblood flowed from his severed jugular.

  Stanley stopped moving. The last child made it into the back of the dump truck. John’s eyes were blurry when he put a bullet into Stanley’s head.

  * * *

  The ride back to the Mason compound was relatively uneventful. John filled Margaret in on what had happened to the world, as much as he knew, on the way. She took the news in stride, more concerned with her children than with her own fate. The children for the most part were more fascinated by the ride in the big dump truck and not having to wear seatbelts than anything else.

  Good thing kids bounce, John thought to himself.

  They reached the barricade just before dark. As they drove through the pass and into the family driveway, a small crowd of people came out to meet them. Douglas ran in the lead and met John as he hopped down off the truck.

  “John, we’ve got a big problem.”

  Chapter 10

  June 4, 2005

  Brattleboro, Vermont

  “What if they don’t like me?” Sara asked.

  “Relax, sweetheart, my family is going to love you. Just like I do,” John said, trying to reassure his fiancée. He pulled the old Crown Victoria off the exit and waited at the stop sign for the traffic to thin.

  “Yeah, but what if they don’t?”

  “Well then they can’t come to the wedding,” John said smugly. “I’ll just keep you all to myself.”

  “But why do I have to meet your whole family at the same time?” Sara asked, trying not to whine.

  “Hey, you already met my parents, and they loved you. Besides, they don’t all get together as often as they used to. It’s a pretty big family so I figured now would be as good a time as any, and we won’t have to drive all over the place having you meet them individually. Trust me, they’re going to fall in love with you the moment they lay eyes on you.”

  Sara was quiet for a few minutes. Then she looked in the back, and back to John. “Okay, maybe. But why did you have to bring that?”

  John just smiled.

  * * *

  “She’s a keeper, John.”

  “You better hang on to this one.”

  “Can she cook?”

  Questions and comments swirled around John as he moved from relative to relative, enjoying the picnic and reveling in the sense of family he’d missed while working and living in Massachusetts. Not even his friends on the force made him feel this good.

  “You bet he’s going to keep me. I’m not going to let him go. He doesn’t mind shoe shopping with me!” Sara laughed, following John through the welcoming throng.

  John shook his head as soon as Sara looked away and stage whispered, “I’d rather have my heart cut out with a spoon!” Folks around them laughed.

  The couple finally settled at a table with John’s parents, June and Harold Mason. They ate cheeseburgers and hot dogs and drank ice cold lemonade. June asked Sara how school was going.

  “It’s getting harder, but I can’t wait to be done. I already have an offer at the elementary school just up the road from us, as long as I graduate with a 3.5 GPA.”

  “That’s wonderful, dear. I’m sure you’re going to make a great teacher.”

  “I sure hope so, Mrs. Mason.”

  “I already told you to call me June.”

  Sara nodded and sipped her lemonade. John chuckled and took another bite of his cheeseburger. It doesn’t get much better than this, he thought.

  John walked out to the little field in back of his uncle Patrick and aunt May’s house. He’d left Sara to help clean up the picnic after she’d volunteered. She’d thought it would be a good way to get in good with the clan’s womenfolk.

  Another man stood waiting in the field. He carried a large black bag identical to the one John had thrown over his shoulder.

  “Jesse! I see you brought your new toy.” John dropped his bag on the ground and unzipped it. Jesse unzipped his as well and pulled out a rifle.

  “Yep! Thought I might as well show you how to shoot, punk!” Jesse thumped John on the back with the smile he was quick to show his friends and close family. Jesse was perhaps the only person at the picnic who stood taller and broader than John, if only by a few inches. John swayed forward under the hit.

  “Ooof! Jesus, man, be careful. Don’t you know I’m a friggin’ ninja? My automatic reflexes could have kicked in and I might have killed you!” John tried to look serious. Jesse just laughed.

  “Man, I should know better than to come around you without my hip waders. The shit just keeps getting deeper as soon as you open your mouth.”

  The two men joked around as they loaded their rifles. The scarecrow in the middle of the field glared menacingly at them. Jesse shot first, hitting the scarecrow several times in the chest. John nodded approvingly. “Not bad, man. Not bad at all.”

  John took aim and fired ten rapid shots with his AR 15, a new rifle that he’d spent several months building himself. Each shot hit the scarecrow in its burlap head.

  “Kind of overkill, don’t you think?” Jesse asked, reloading his rifle.

  “Nah, sometimes you just have to go for the headshot.”

  “My dad always said you were a hotshot with a rifle,” Jesse said. “He always loved taking us shooting. I wish they would just move back up here.”

  “Me too. I miss Uncle Walt and Aunt Sally. I thought they were going to come back up after he retired,” John said, taking aim again. He squeezed off two more shots, one for each eye of the scarecrow. Both hit dead center.

  “Yeah, that’s supposedly the plan. They’re going to come over to New Hampshire and buy a house near us so they can be around for my kids.” Jesse smiled at that.

  “Well, that can’t get here soon enough if you ask me.”

  A few moments later, two more men came to join them. They each had a rifle slung over their shoulders.

  “Roger, Morgan. How’s it hangin’, guys?” John asked, shaking their hands. Morgan, who had just turned twenty one, carried a beer in one hand. His shirt had mustard stains down the front of it. “Did you get permission to drink that?” He ruffled Morgan’s head like he would a dog. Morgan ducked out of the way and guzzled the rest of his beer.

  “Nope. Did you get permission to be that ugly?” Morgan grinned while John flipped him off.

  John looked at Roger. “You going to teach your boy how to shoot finally?”

>   Roger looked at Morgan and shook his head. “Ain’t enough time in the world for that, I’m afraid.”

  Morgan raised his rifle and fired at the scarecrow five times. Four out of the five missed completely. The fifth and final shot hit the scarecrow dead center.

  “See, he’s fine as long as whatever he’s shooting at is already dead!” Everyone laughed at Roger’s quip except Morgan, though he eventually joined in. The four continued to shoot for almost an hour until the sun began to drop down behind the mountains. They packed up their gear and headed back to the picnic.

  They found Sara and the other ladies of the family sitting around a picnic table. Roger’s wife, Nancy, John’s cousin, was beginning to launch into a story about how John had thrown sand down her pants when they were little. Growing up across the driveway from each other had given him plenty of opportunities to annoy Nancy and her twin sister, Franny.

  Morgan sat down next to Nancy. “Mom, if you’re going to tell stories, tell the one where you and Aunt Franny dressed him up like a little doll when he was a baby.”

  “Oh God, please can I hear that one?” Sara asked, winking at her fiancée.

  John groaned and continued past the table. He found Franny’s husband, Kurt, sitting at another table with his father-in -law, Patrick Mason. He and Jesse sat down at the table across from Kurt and Patrick.

  “What’s up, Uncle Patrick?” John asked as he poured himself the last of a pitcher of lemonade.

  “We were just talking about how messed up this country is. Aren’t you friends with some of them survivalists?” Patrick said the word like it meant two headed alien monster.

  “I do belong to a group on the internet that does include some pretty hard core survivalists, but all that means is they do what they can to prepare for the worst. It’s not such a bad idea, you know. Especially since you think the country is in such bad shape.”

  “Bah, the government just wants to tell us what to do all the time. It wasn’t like that when I was growing up.”

  “I know, Uncle Patrick. Maybe it was better in some ways back then, but in some it’s better now. We’ve made great strides in civil rights, as well as technology and medicine. But yeah, the government is getting too heavy handed. It’s going to reach a breaking point someday soon, I think.”

  “So what, you got one of them bomb shelters in your basement or something like that?” Patrick joked and elbowed Kurt in the ribs, urging him to get in on the fun. Kurt just shook his head and smiled.

  “No, it’s nothing like that. But I do have several months worth of food stored up, along with water and other supplies. It’s just good sense, Uncle Patrick. Hell, you have a cellar full of venison and canned vegetables from your garden. And how many times do you get snowed in every winter here? Tell me how it’s not the same thing.”

  “What about this group you belong to, the one from the internet?” Kurt asked.

  “They’re called the New England Constitutionalists. NEC for short. They’re just a bunch of like-minded people that have an interest in turning this country back into what the founding fathers had intended. Though we do often disagree on some of the advances in civil rights and social justice, for the most part we all feel the same. And we share interests like shooting, hunting, reloading, and preparing for the worst while hoping for the best.”

  Kurt looked at Patrick.

  “Yep. He’s nuts.”

  They all chuckled at that, even John.

  “That may be true. Lord knows Sara thinks so. But when the aliens attack, I’ll be ready.” John laughed.

  “Good, then you can come bail my tired old ass out of the fire,” Patrick said, slapping the table and draining the last of his lemonade.

  “Hey, can anyone join this group, the Constitutionalists?” Jesse asked as he and John walked back over to the ladies’ table.

  “Well, you kind of need to be like-minded, and someone has to sponsor you.”

  “Sponsor? Why?”

  “Just to vouch for you. The group is involved in a loose alliance with some other people you might call fringe groups. Not all of them are completely on the up and up, so we have to know that whoever joins feels the same way. In fact, I had a hard time getting in because I’m in law enforcement. Usually, they won’t let cops in at all, but I knew some guys from the range who put in a good word for me.”

  “Jesus, John. Sounds a little more hard core than you were telling Uncle Patrick.”

  “I wouldn’t call it hard core, but yeah, it’s more than just a message board. Why, are you interested?”

  Jesse shook his head. “Nah, I think I’ll just leave it to you.”

  They reached the table just as June was finishing up telling a story.

  “His teacher called me in after one day of leadership class and told me he was too much of a loner, that he’d never be a leader. I told him well at least he doesn’t wear socks with sandals!”

  Everyone but Sara laughed at that. She looked puzzled, and whispered to John as he sat down. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

  John leaned over to her and said, “Just laugh. My mother’s sense of humor sometimes leaves a lot to be desired.”

  Later, Roger led the rest of the family back out to the field. He had a big wooden box with him. He set the box down and flipped open the lid, revealing a jumbled mess of fireworks. He started arranging them around in the field.

  John and Sara stood next to Jesse and his wife, Jen. Both of their children ran around the field at a barely safe distance off to the side. John turned to Jesse. “I thought Doug would be here. I haven’t seen him for almost a year.”

  “He was supposed to be but decided to go play golf instead.”

  “That figures. I swear it’s like he didn’t grow up with us. Remember that time we shaved his hair off and covered his head in peanut butter?”

  Jesse burst out laughing as Roger lit the first roman candle. Bright balls of light shot up into the night sky.

  “Yeah, but remember when he put the dead fish in your glove compartment?”

  “Oh God, I couldn’t get that smell to go away. I had to sell that car like that!” John chuckled.

  “Hey, wasn’t it last year that Kurt got you with the shaving cream in the toilet?”

  “I don’t know where he found that much shaving cream. Man, what a mess,” John said.

  “Yeah, but Roger’s still the king. No one can beat blow up sex pigs at Christmas!”

  “Holy crap, I didn’t even know they made anything like that. I thought my mother was going to die when we opened our gifts. There’s this blow up pig with a vibrating vinyl vagina staring right at all of us.” Jesse and John doubled over laughing as another roman candle lit the night. Sara chuckled and rolled her eyes at the cousins who acted like brothers.

  “I hope you kids don’t mind sleeping on the pull out sofa. Your father doesn’t think the guest room needs a real bed,” June said, fussing with the sheets and blankets on the sofa bed.

  “No, Mom, it’s fine. Thanks for letting us stay over. I want to show Sara around town tomorrow anyway.

  “I heard there’s a pretty great farmers’ market here. I can’t wait to see it,” Sara said enthusiastically.

  “Oh yeah, we can go get some fresh veggies and I can stock up on maple syrup.”

  June’s mother frowned. “Well you be careful, there are too many hippies at those things.” She walked out of the room saying goodnight. John noticed how easily his mother allowed the two to sleep in the same bed, even if she knew they shared an apartment. She must really like Sara, he thought. Maybe she sees some of the stuff I do.

  Sara turned to John, knocking him out of his reverie. “Hippies?”

  “Yeah, you know, long haired, unwashed, unshaven hippies?” He smirked. “They’re pretty dangerous, with their free love and hemp shirts. You have to watch them or they’ll hit you with a flower.”

  Sara groaned. “That’s what she meant by sandals and socks! Seriously?! How do you people...
I mean... UGH!”

  John laughed as Sara fumed. He pulled her down onto the bed. She forgot what she was fuming about a few moments later.

  * * *

  The next morning dawned bright and clear. Blue skies without a single cloud covered the couple as they made their way through the stalls of the Brattleboro farmers’ market. John carried a canvas sack over one shoulder, half full of cucumbers and tomatoes. He carried a big gallon jug of maple syrup in one hand, and held Sara’s with the other. They reached a table covered in gourmet cheese, and Sara let go of John’s hand to better peruse the offerings.

  John’s phone vibrated silently in his pocket, indicating a new message had arrived. He turned away from Sara and pulled his phone out, flipping it open.

  John, my name is Albert Johnson. We met at the last meeting, I was the guy with the Mack Truck hat. You seem like a decent guy with your head on straight. I’m an officer in the group, a member of the council, and after talking with you, I think you might just be the voice of reason I need to back me up on the council. We have too many hot headed people that actually want the end of the world to happen so they can justify all the money they’ve spent on ammo over the years. We have one seat open, and I want to nominate you. Some people owe me some favors, so if you’ll take the job, it’s yours. I will warn you, things are getting a little weird. Some of the groups out West that we are allied with are starting to get restless. There’s talk of an anonymous backer with some big bucks looking to arm and equip some of the more radical groups. If you take the seat on the council, I need you to vote against getting involved with any of that crap. You and I both know that those people are nothing but racist animals. They are no more what the founding fathers intended than those apes in Washington. John, some of these people can be dangerous when they don’t get their way, but I get the feeling you can handle it. Let me know as soon as possible. My screen name is Jcon14.