Survive

by Todd Sprague

  The newest survivors had integrated well with the family and the remaining Kensingtons. Two simple log cabins had been erected almost overnight by the enterprising folks, and acted as dormitories for most of those who remained homeless after the attack and fire. A handful of the survivors went to live with the Kensingtons as they began to rebuild their own compound.

  John and Sara Mason took in Dierdre and Jose Maxwell, as well as three of the children who had been rescued from the elementary school. Tommy and Tammy Bridges, ten year old blond twins, and Marisa Heddy, a very precocious eleven year old who insisted on calling her pig tails “puppy tails” moved in with the family. Despite John and Sara cleaning up the basement and building simple beds for the children, the little cabin was crowded, however it felt strangely alive. Enthusiastic Princess and Fish, his backside healing, delighted in the constant attention they received from the energetic children.

  Sara, amidst the sighs of the youngest folks, put the little hunting shack to good use and turned it into an acceptable schoolhouse. She took all of the orphaned children as well as the Mason clan kids and taught them as well as she could with the few books she had. Despite the fact that their ages spanned from toddler to pre-teen, the kids thrived under the structure and activities she provided. John was happy to see the smile on her face when she’d come home from the little school after a long day of teaching hungry minds, and his pride for her grew as he watched Tommy and Tammy compete to see who could multiply higher digits. Sara used what little she had, but lamented the lack of books and other basic supplies. John added them to his growing mental list of things needed by the group.

  John was also happy to learn Sara was helping the children cope with their situation. Many of them awoke from petrifying nightmares and had been having a hard time dealing with the loss of their parents and everything familiar to them. Sara had been sitting alone with each of them throughout the day, miraculously finding one-on-one time with each child as she could. She encouraged the children to express themselves, and as the older students journaled their feelings, the younger ones painted and drew. She allowed them to use their few precious art supplies and bits of paper to give them an outlet to express some of the horror they’d been bottling up inside. When the paints ran out, she taught a lesson on how clothes were dyed originally using things from the environment and taught the children how to make paints using crushed flowers and leaves.

  They got to decide if their art work or journals were shown to the class, and day by day optimistic writings were hung on Sara and John’s defunct refrigerator. He saw how each of the kids responded when he would see them outside of school hours. Each one, from the youngest to the oldest, seemed to adore Sara for her efforts, and he adored her even more.

  She made sure to remind John often that they needed to poll the survivors to find someone with a background in psychology to help the children as soon as possible. He dutifully promised to do his best.

  Nothing had been salvaged from June Mason’s home except a few photographs, bits and pieces of John’s childhood. Half of the food for which they had risked their lives had been stored in the basement and was completely gone. With the new survivors, the remaining food was consumed at an alarming rate.

  Ammunition quickly became a problem as well. Though they had plenty of rifles and pistols to go around, what ammunition they had was carefully hoarded in case of another attack, so John was unable to provide the firearms training he thought so important.

  Fuel was also an issue. Each time they took the big dump truck out to pick up survivors or supplies, more and more of the precious diesel was used up. They still had what remained in the big Volvo tractor trailer’s tanks, as well as the gasoline that was still in the vehicles they had arrived in. But when that was gone, they’d have to risk finding a fuel truck or a way to safely extract more from a gas station.

  Along with the new human survivors, a surprising number of pets had been added to the group as well. A Boxer, identified by his dog tag as Moose, had shown up one day and sat in front of the barricade until he’d been allowed inside. The middle aged dog had immediately warmed up to June Mason, much to everyone’s surprise, and was her constant companion. Though Moose was older than Princess and Fish, the three got along very well, and were often seen romping through the compound, though Moose rarely went far from June. They’d also somehow collected a few cats that prowled throughout the grounds.

  To stretch the remaining food supplies, the clan members had taken to hunting again, but they rarely left the compound alone. Most hunting trips consisted of two or three people, one to hunt and the others to watch for Zeds. They’d learned that the undead beasts rarely wandered the forest, instead sticking to the more populated towns and roads. Deer, raccoon, and rabbit filled the cooking pots of the Masons, along with brook trout from the mountain stream that fed the pond.

  Douglas proved to be a very valuable asset in his position as intelligence gatherer. He spent most of his time sitting in front of the radio, gathering data and taking notes on every available scrap of paper. Often his little boy Eric could be found playing on the floor at his feet. Douglas had learned that the Zeds were indeed gathering into bigger and bigger packs, and deduced they naturally formed into these packs for some unknown reason. They would travel between towns, growing as they went, collecting country-dwelling stragglers and adding them as they moved.

  Brattleboro became a hive of Zed activity. Though supplies were desperately needed, the Masons dared not go into town for fear of leading the packs back to the compound before they were ready for another siege.

  Contact with survivors in and around Brattleboro became far less frequent, until Douglas could find no one within fifty miles on the radio. Every day, fewer and fewer survivors were broadcasting. Though they all knew there had to be people out there that had no access to a radio, there was no way to confirm it unless they stumbled across them during one of their infrequent supply raids.

  Douglas was also able to put together a broader picture of the country from his findings. As far as they were able to tell, the outbreak had started in Mexico and traveled across the entire country in two days. It had spread like wildfire, and at least ninety percent, probably more, of the country’s population had been killed or turned into the undead that roamed the lands, from sea to shining sea. The bulk of the survivors seemed to be gathered in Alaska and northern Canada, where the cold slowed the advance of the outbreak. Zeds slowed down tremendously in the cold, the Alaskans had reported. The Alaskans who manned the radios encouraged survivors to travel to the northern most state, claiming that they had plenty of room. However those who had managed to make the long and dangerous journey there reported that anyone who showed up without supplies or valuables was taken to a work camp where they were treated as slaves.

  As for the government, Douglas reported hearing sporadic announcements from the west, and a few others closer to home. Some National Guard units were still operating from bunkers, and some Navy ships and submarines, afraid to come near land, broadcast signals every once in a while as well.

  More disturbing were the reports of men in camouflage uniforms, who would show up in places, sometimes in armored vehicles, other times in helicopters. They would arrive, demand supplies and information, and execute anyone who tried to stop them. Lately, they had even been seen taking women from among the groups of survivors they attacked. These men reportedly wore a pyramid and eye symbol, much like that on the one dollar bill.

  From his contact with others on the radio, Douglas was able to put together information for John, reporting that the cities were wastelands filled with hordes of undead. Few survivors remained in metropolitan areas, having been hunted down mercilessly as they left their bolt holes and searched for food and other supplies. Those safe in bunkers stayed below the earth, while others, like the Masons, tended to their own safety in secret places.

  But the little valley was not entirely separated from the chaos of the world outside the fence.
Zeds did come wandering in from time to time, alone or in small packs, but the Mason and Kensington clans remained vigilant, always having at least one guard at the ready to repel any attacks. The little compound grew with the new cabins, and new lives. Even while supplies approached critically low levels, they continued to survive. Daily life continued for several weeks, until the red and orange leaves began to fall from the trees, turning to brown and crunching under the feet of the children during their recess time as they discussed what costumes they were creating for Halloween.

  * * *

  “John, wait up!” Douglas Gentry came running down the driveway after his cousin. John stopped and turned, waiting.

  “What’s up, Doug?”

  “You’ll never believe it,” Douglas panted.

  “Seriously? What on earth do you think I wouldn’t believe at this point?”

  “Of course,” Doug said smiling. “Anyway, I heard from Jesse on the radio!”

  John’s jaw dropped. “What? Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope. I just talked to him, he was in a camp with other survivors somewhere in Tennessee.”

  “Holy shit! What did he say? Uncle Walt and Aunt Sally, are they...?”

  “They’re alive. All of them. Jesse said they weren’t going to be able to make it up here before winter. Aunt Sally took ill, and they’re staying in a camp with a doctor and medicine. They hope to try again in spring.”

  “Oh God, that’s incredible! I can’t believe it. I’ll go let Jen and the kids know.”

  John delivered his message to Jen and their two kids. They wept tears of joy together, a rare moment of happiness in the new world, in the new Zed order.

  * * *

  “Okay everybody, please quiet down. The quicker you let me talk, the quicker you can get back to whatever it is you were doing,” John yelled over the clamor of people talking after Douglas had given his report. Gradually, folks began to quiet down, dropping their outdoor voices to mere whispers. The afternoon sun shown down, warming the crowd through what was left of the Vermont autumn foliage.

  “That’s better. We need supplies very badly. We have a few options I’d like to throw out for discussion. First, we can make another run to the warehouse for food. The problem with that is there will be more Zeds there now. The fence surrounding the place was knocked down the last time we were there. We’ll be completely vulnerable while we load up. We also can’t guarantee any of the trucks still there will start. We can bring jumper cables and whatnot, but we just won’t know for sure until we get there.” John looked down at the notes in his hand and continued. “We can make supply runs to the grocery stores in town, but again, we’re going to be very vulnerable to Zeds. We know from Doug’s reports that Brattleboro has a lot of Zeds running around, and from what we understand, they’re moving in several big packs. We just don’t have the manpower to take on a pack right now. We have enough ammunition to fend off another major attack, but not much to spare. We need more for training and long term security.

  To that end, Doug has mapped out a couple of National Guard bases. One is in Windsor, the other in Ludlow. Both are quite a haul up Interstate 91, but they are relatively close together. I think if we can find the fuel, we could take the dump truck and the tractor trailer right up 91. Neither town is very big, so hopefully we would avoid any major Zed packs. For all we know, one of the bases might still be secure and we could find some help there. Either way, we could find some supplies, ammunition, food, medicine, maybe some clothing and blankets for the winter.” John stopped speaking and looked out over the crowd expectantly. Patrick cleared his throat.

  “What else ya got?” Some in the crowd laughed uneasily.

  John shook his head and spread his hands. “I’m afraid that’s all I have, Uncle Patrick. We can keep going house to house and taking cans of food where we find them, but the way we’re growing, that’s not realistic. We’ve got a good start on fortifying this place, but without food, it’s not going to matter much.”

  “I have a question.” Douglas spoke up and pushed his wire rim glasses higher up on his nose. “What happens if we find people at the bases, and they’re hostile?”

  “Do you mean the men in camo you keep hearing about?”

  “Yeah, or maybe just desperate people that want our stuff?”

  John nodded. “That’s a good point. We’ll do what we have to to protect ourselves, but if it comes to it, we’ll run in any direction but home. We can’t afford to let them know about this place.”

  Folks in the crowd nodded their agreement. Patrick stood forward.

  “Looks like we got no choice. I say we try for the Guard bases, and if that fails, we go back to the warehouse and get what we can.”

  Voices shouted their assent, and John nodded. “Alright then, first order of business, we need to get some diesel.”

  * * *

  The next afternoon a raiding party left the compound in the big dump truck. John led the party, with Roger driving. He’d let Jose come along, but made him promise to leave his sword at home, instead using the shotgun he’d been given. Sara and Deirdre had both argued with him, but in the end, he’d managed to convince them both that Jose needed to get out of the compound and think about something other than the tragedies he’d been through. A couple of the new additions to camp had come along as well, each armed with rifles. They had also brought a long section of hose from Patrick’s workshop, as well as a hand pump, and eight fifty-gallon drums.

  The first gas station they came across was only three miles from the compound. It didn’t have a diesel pump, so they filled up two of the drums with gasoline for the generators. They sighted only a handful of wandering Zeds, and were able to pump all of the gasoline before they got close. They sealed up the tank and killed the undead quickly before leaving.

  The second gas station they found had plenty of diesel fuel, but was crowded with shambling Zeds. They passed it by, not wanting to take any chances. Roger managed to run down several of the Zeds on his way past, much to the group’s satisfaction.

  The third station proved more promising for the scavenging men. This one lay just outside of town to the north. It was a small Citgo station with a 7-Eleven off to the side. As they pulled into the parking lot, they could see movement inside the station, but none at all outside. John and the others jumped down off the truck and spread out in a loose circle, while Roger unscrewed the cap from the big underground storage tank. The men watched diligently as Roger used the hand pump to siphon the precious fuel into each of the barrels.

  As Roger topped off the last drum, a loud crash came from the direction of the little store. A Zed, putrid and decaying, flopped out of a broken window. The thick plate glass shredded the creature on its way out, jagged pieces ripping gashes in the grey, wretched flesh. John could see that it used to be male, dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt with the store logo on it. Most of its face had rotted off, including one eye. The creature picked itself up off the pavement and began shambling towards them.

  John walked up to the creature, pulled his Ka-Bar knife from the sheath at his belt, and drove it into the reaching creature’s empty eye socket, straight into its brain. The creature slumped to the ground, slipping wetly off the long blade. John looked down at the dead thing at his feet and, surprised with his satisfaction, wondered what he had become. He shook off the strange feelings of doubt quickly.

  As Roger began pumping diesel into the truck’s fuel tanks, John walked up to the store with Jose close on his heels. John pushed the front door open slowly, pulling out his flashlight. He waved the flashlight around the little store cautiously. Even though sunlight streamed through the windows, the interior was dark and shadows hid every corner in murky twilight. His bright Streamlight lit up each shadowy corner in turn. As they moved into the store, they heard a loud crash coming from a back room. Dust mites floated through the flashlight beam, looking like dirty snowflakes.

  “Cover me,” John said to Jose.

  Th
e teen climbed up on top of the checkout counter. From his new vantage point, he carefully aimed the black shotgun around the store, making sure to avoid pointing it at John.

  John walked through the store, his MP5 held at the ready. As he reached the back door, marked with a “Employees Only” sign, a female Zed, dressed in a pretty floral dress marred by bloody tears where her breasts used to be, ran soundlessly from an aisle right for John. The big man turned, bringing his MP5 to bear as quickly as he could, but before the Zed reached him, Jose fired. Buckshot pellets hit the undead creature in the shoulder, spinning it around, causing it to crash into a display rack. The rack fell over into the next, a domino effect making that one fall too. John brought his submachine gun up, aiming for the Zed’s head, when another creature burst out of the stock room door, running headlong into him. John went down with the Zed in a heap. The rotting stench of the creature threatened to overpower him as he lay there struggling with the monster. Pieces of flesh fell away where his strong hands gripped the creature. His fingers sunk in to the rotting meat, making it difficult for him to get a hold of the Zed.

  The female Zed stumbled up out of the mess it had made of the aisles and ran towards Jose. The brave young teen pumped his shotgun and took careful aim at the undead woman’s head. He fired just as she reached the base of the checkout counter. John just barely glimpsed out of the corner of his eye how the Zed’s head exploded all over the candy rack as Jose yelled, “Take it, bitch!”

  He had little time to see anything else, as the Zed on top of him nipped at him, trying to bite him with its rotting teeth. John managed to get one foot up between the two of them and kicked with all his might. His foot sunk into the stomach of the Zed, but the force was enough to make the former man fly off him, sailing up and over him to land hard on the coffee counter, scattering glass pots and stale creamer everywhere. John rolled over and fired, his bullets stitching up the creature from knee to forehead.