Survive

by Todd Sprague

  “Bronson Plastics. It’s in the industrial park on the south end of town.”

  * * *

  John stood next to the Humvee. A backpack rested over one shoulder, while his new P90 hung from a sling over the other. He looked toward the cabin and saw Sara running down the driveway, a similar pack on her back. He put his backpack into the vehicle, then placed his P90 down next to two others already inside. He turned as Patrick Mason walked up to him.

  “John, are you sure you need to go back out so soon? I know he’s your brother-in-law, but...you know he’s probably dead, right?”

  John turned on his uncle angrily. “I don’t know that, and I’m not going to abandon him. He’s a smart kid. He brought his mother and your granddaughter here safely, I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  Patrick held his hands up to John. “Whoa, boy. I didn’t mean to insult the kid. I’m just saying, the odds ain’t in his favor.”

  John shook his head, visibly forcing himself to calm down. “Don’t say things like that around Sara. I know what the chances are we’ll find him, but we need to do this. Look, I’m not sure when we’ll be back, but there are some things you have to know.” John filled Patrick in on the events of the previous days, including the three soldiers they’d fought, as well as the note about their return. Patrick took it all in without question.

  “You need to have someone go back to the supply base and get as much of the food and whatever else they can find as soon as you can. Today, tomorrow at the latest. The northbound lane is clear, they shouldn’t have any problems. Send the tractor trailer and the two transports. Just unload everything here, get it under cover, and then if you can, make a third trip. In fact, make as many trips as we have diesel for. Keep some people here for protection.”

  “Alright, John. I’ll see if Jack can help us out again.”

  “Get the P90s and the 5.7 ammo unloaded and put it in my cabin, in the basement. Take all of the M16s, they’re the A2 model, and the 5.56 ammo and stick it in your basement. We’ll work on an armory when I get back, but for now, I want it stored separately. No sense in taking chances. I’ll start a training program later.”

  “I got it, John. You take care of business, I’ll see to things here.”

  John looked like he was going to say more, but decided against it when Sara arrived. She threw her backpack into the Humvee and climbed into the passenger side. John jumped up into the driver’s side and closed the heavy door. At least it’s the up-armored version, John thought to himself, but I bet they never had undead monsters in mind when they put armor on these things.

  John managed to spin the tires on the dirt driveway as they pulled out onto the little road, headed for the barricade, and the Zed filled town beyond.

  * * *

  They made good time until they passed through West Brattleboro and made it into the center of town. John tried to skirt the main part of it, but many of the roads were blocked by overturned or abandoned trucks that the Humvee couldn’t muscle out of the way. They had been forced through downtown Brattleboro, where vehicle traffic had been lighter on the fateful day the Zeds had swept through.

  But where it lacked in traffic obstructions, it more than made up for in Zeds. Buttoned up tight in their armored Humvee, they ignored the hideous creatures for the most part. It started with a small group of Zeds wandering around an overturned hot dog cart that had been long since cleaned out of anything edible. One of the Zeds still wore a white apron, turned brown with streaks of old, dried blood. They turned as a mass when the Humvee approached and began shambling towards the vehicle. John ignored them and continued driving, crushing some, while others beat ineffectually at the thick bulletproof windows. The powerful diesel engine had no trouble driving over the reanimated corpses, though. John noticed Sara’s shocked expression as she witnessed the Zeds on the outside for the first time.

  Halfway through downtown Brattleboro, where Main Street intersected with Flat Street, they ran into their first real Zed pack since the Battle of the Barricade. One moment they were powering through a handful of the creatures, and the next they were surrounded on all sides by hundreds, perhaps thousands of the rotting, stinking monsters. They swarmed the vehicle like insects, even climbing up and over it. They blocked out all light, leaving John and Sara completely blind. John brought the vehicle to a halt, afraid that if he kept going, he would hit something and strand them there until they ran out of food and water. Or worse, breach the armored shell that was keeping them alive.

  Sara double and triple checked the door locks and clutched her P90 tightly as sweat beaded on her brow despite the cold October day. John reached over and took her hand in his reassuringly. “We’ll be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

  Sara nodded but said nothing, bravely keeping her terror inside herself. Ghastly faces, half rotten and filled with blackened, writhing tongues stared in at them, pressed hard against the glass of the windows. The growling and moaning from the Zeds became a cacophony of terrifying noise. “What are we going to do?”

  John looked up at the ceiling as loud thumping came from outside. “Just hold on. I’ve got a plan.”

  He revved the engine, causing the big vehicle to vibrate wildly. Then, he pressed the horn down, and held it.

  Sara looked at him and shouted. “This is your plan? To honk the horn? Are you insane?”

  John looked at her and grinned as sunlight streamed through the windshield. Zeds were scrambling over each other to get off the vehicle.

  “It’s working, isn’t it?” John stomped on the accelerator as soon as he could see, barreling through the throng of Zeds in front of him.

  “I can’t believe that worked!” Sara yelled as John continued to blare the horn.

  “Me either. But I couldn’t think of anything else. Maybe they don’t like the noise, or maybe it’s the vibrations. Hell if I know.”

  John drove the Humvee through, up, and over the tightly packed Zeds clogging the formerly picturesque Main Street. The vehicle slid over the squished bodies, but kept its traction, proving what a superior vehicle it was. John held the gas pedal down and did his best to steer through the mass of writhing undead until finally, like a rodeo horse let out of the chute, the Humvee burst clear of the pack. Shambling stragglers fell as John ran them down and kept going. He switched on the windshield wipers as he drove. The wipers smeared the blood and bits of rotting flesh all over the windshield, making it difficult to see until finally, after several passes, the wipers cleared the gunk. Sara shouted in glee as the road ahead opened up before them. As they pulled away from the pack, John looked in his rear view mirror and thought he saw a handful of Zeds standing on a nearby rooftop, just watching them as they drove away. He tried to ignore the shiver that crept up his spine.

  As they neared the plastics factory just south of town, they came to an intersection. Sara shouted, “Stop!”

  John slammed on the brakes, causing the Humvee to skid sideways moments before they would have hit Jose’s truck. The big pickup truck was parked dead center in the intersection, with a big dent on the driver’s side. John pointed to skid marks in the road, leading directly to the side of Jose’s truck.

  “Look at that. Someone hit him.” John pointed the tracks out to Sara. “Stay here and cover me. I’ll check it out.”

  “Be careful.” Sara climbed into the back of the Humvee, unlatched the turret hatch, and climbed up. She dutifully scanned the area while John climbed out. He shut the door behind him, just in case. Aiming his P90 in front of him, he walked up to the pickup. As he reached the door, he could see the glass had been smashed out of the side window. Jagged little spikes stuck up from the door frame. He glanced down and saw blood on the glass. Then he looked into the cab of the truck. He turned back to Sara.

  “It’s empty. No sign of him,” he called back to her.

  “Then he could still be alive.” She said it as a statement, not a question.

  “Yeah, sweetheart.” He turned back to the t
ruck.

  Movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to spin around just as Sara yelled, “John! Behind you!”

  An old woman, dressed in rags that might once have been a fancy dress, and a black hat with a tattered veil came walking towards the truck. John brought his weapon up and tightened his finger on the trigger. Just as he was about to fire, the woman stopped.

  “If you’re looking for your friend, he ain’t here.” The woman spoke in a shrill voice, almost painful to the ear.

  John looked at Sara, confusion on both of their faces. He looked back at the woman. “What do you know about our friend?”

  She shuffled forward a few steps, then spit a big gob of red phlegm onto the ground at John’s feet. “I know plenty.”

  John looked down at the crap inches away from his boot. He briefly thought about shooting her just on principle, but stayed his hand. “Lady, I don’t have time for this. Tell me where our friend is now.”

  “John...please,” Sara said warningly.

  “Alright. Please,” John said.

  The old lady looked up at Sara. “You best be listening to your woman, boy, and show a God fearing old woman some respect.”

  John kept quiet and let the old lady talk. She spat again, this time off to the side. “Anyway, he ain’t here. He went away.”

  “Went away? Where did he go?” John ground his teeth in frustration.

  “He went that way.” The old woman pointed down a side street. John looked down the road and saw that the street ended at an old brick church.

  “To the church?” John asked.

  “Might be, might be not. How should I know? I’m just a crazy old woman.” The old lady cackled in maniacal glee. She turned around and ambled up a dirt path and into the woods.

  John and Sara watched her walk away. “I don’t like this one bit,” John said.

  “Me either, but maybe he’s okay. Maybe he found some other survivors?”

  “Yeah, that’s another thing. It’s broad daylight, we’re not that far from the biggest pack of Zeds we’ve seen so far, and there’s a crazy old lady walking around alone. And not a single, solitary Zed to be seen.”

  Sara looked around, eyes wide in surprise. “You’re right. That doesn’t make any sense. Christ, she was scary.”

  John nodded, “I don’t know how much Christ had to do with that.. ‘woman’,” he said, and climbed back into the Humvee. Sara climbed down out of the turret and closed the latch, securing it from the inside. They drove down the side street, right up to the front of the church. The sign out front had been covered with white paint, with new words in red sprayed over it. The sign now read “Church of Azrael”.

  “Azrael?” Sara said as she took several of the 50 round magazines from her backpack and stuck them into her coat pockets.

  “Angel of death. Or Gargamel’s cat.” John said as he did the same.

  “Gargamel?”

  “Yeah, you know, from the Smurfs?”

  Sara shook her head and checked her weapon.

  “Oh come on! It’s classic TV!”

  * * *

  John led the way as they walked up the steps to the church. They brandished their P90s at shoulder level, their fingers on the triggers, contrary to every firearm safety lesson John had ever given his wife. As they drew closer to the wooden double doors, a strange scent wafted past them.

  “What’s that awful smell?” Sara asked.

  “Hell if I know, but it really stinks!” John said, wrinkling his nose.

  “Something about it’s familiar, but I can’t place it,” Sara said, walking close behind John.

  They reached the doors. John pulled on one. It opened outward, creaking ominously. “This is the part of the movie where we turn around and go home,” John mumbled.

  Sara pushed him forward with her hand on the small of his back.

  The inside of the church looked just like any other church before Zed Day, as the Mason clan had taken to calling the rising of the undead. Actually encompassing several days, the name had still stuck among those at the compound. The only difference was the clutter. Piles of boxes, containers, gallon jugs, and other supplies lined each wall. Two rows of pews led up to a raised altar, separated in the middle by a wide aisle. On the altar, sat several unlit candles, an open bible resting among them. Behind the altar, hanging high, a huge cross was affixed to the wall, with a replica of Jesus in rags nailed to it.

  A simple wooden door stood closed behind the altar, directly under the idol. John signaled to Sara, pointing at the door. They walked toward the altar, stepping over cans of peas and chicken noodle soup that had spilled from a cardboard box. When they were only a few feet away from the door, they began to hear music, a low, dreary sound of chanting and some kind of stringed instrument. John reached out and turned the rusty doorknob. The mechanism clicked loudly, causing John to wince. The music continued, however, so John pushed on the door. It swung open silently.

  Just as he was about to walk through, John looked up at the cross above his head. It was only then that he noticed the figure on the cross was not a replica of Jesus, but an actual dead man, nailed through the wrists and ankles. Blood had dripped from his wounds and dried into crusty runnels on his flesh. A chunk of his side was missing in the same place a spear wound would have been on any other crucified Jesus.

  Sara looked up and realized the same thing John had. She opened her mouth to scream, but John covered it with his hand. He looked Sara in the eye and whispered, “It’s not Jose. It’s not him. It’s not Jose.” He waited a moment until Sara nodded her head, blinking tears away. He took his hand away.

  “I’m okay. Let’s move.”

  The next room appeared to be part changing room, part office, for whatever priest had been the leader of the previous flock. A desk lay against one wall with a big leather chair in front of it. Blue robes hung from hangers in an open closet. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a single, solitary stained glass window let in the afternoon sun. Another rough wooden door stood at the back of the room, closed. The sounds of chanting and music were louder in here.

  After quickly making sure no one else was in the office, they walked to the door in back. John nodded again to Sara. She smiled briefly back at him and raised her gun. John reached over and tried the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge.

  “Locked,” he whispered.

  They looked around the little office for a key to no avail. Finally, John walked up to the door, raised his right foot, and kicked. His heavy boot thudded into the door, nearly blowing it off its hinges. It clattered halfway down a set of stairs before it wedged solidly into the narrow staircase. A gap big enough for a man was still open beneath it, however. The music stopped suddenly.

  Sara looked at John. “Subtle, big man.”

  John smiled and moved into the stairway. Dim yellow light shone around the wedged door, but John reached into his pocket and pulled out his Streamlite, a small but powerful flashlight he carried with him everywhere. The bright beam cut through the shadowy darkness of the stairwell. Each stair was covered in dust, except for a path through the center which had been brushed clean from use.

  Sara followed John as they walked down the stairs and ducked under the door. At the bottom of the stairs, another doorway stood, this one without a door. John reached the bottom first. He ducked low and stuck his head around the corner. He held up his hand, signaling to Sara to hold her position. After a few moments, he pulled his head back around and motioned Sara closer. Leaning close to her, he whispered directly into her ear. “It’s bad in there, baby. I think you should stay here and cover our exit.”

  The pale look on John’s face seemed to have more of an effect on Sara than the harrowing trip to the church. She gulped air into her lungs as if she were a drowning fish. “Jose...is he...?”

  “I don’t see him. I saw bodies on tables. And some kind of cage down at the end of the room, but it’s too dim in there to see much more than that. Stay here.”

  “No, John
. I have to do this. I have to know.” Sara bit her bottom lip until it bled. John considered arguing, but instead wiped her lip with his thumb, then gripped her shoulder in silent support and nodded once.

  “Stay close behind me, then.”

  John slipped quietly into the room, crouched low to present less of a target, a feat already made difficult by his large size. Sara followed behind, mimicking his approach. The doorway led to a large room running the full length of the church. Stacks of old furniture, boxes, barrels, and other bits of detritus littered the area. Among the debris, tables were laid out with plates, knives, forks, and cups. The plates were piled with red meat, glistening in the dim yellow light. In the center of each table, a body lay spread eagle. A human body. Each body lay in various states of butchery.

  Sara let out a little squeak as her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she got her first sight of the tables. John kept moving forward, noticing movement in the big cage at the end. He motioned to Sara by pointing at the cage. They moved towards that end of the room, trying to avoid looking too closely at the bodies. Mercifully, the dim light hid most of the carnage.

  As they got closer, they could tell that what they thought to be one large cage was actually several smaller ones connected to each other, like prison cells. Or dog kennels, John thought to himself. A bare yellow light bulb dangled by a cord from the ceiling, directly over the center cage. Underneath, in a pool of glowing yellow, lay Jose, tied and trussed like a Christmas goose. His mouth had been taped shut, and his clothes were torn and bloody. Blood dripped down one side of his body from a garish wound in his left arm.

  As John stepped forward into the light, Jose’s eyes widened. He twisted his body around to get closer to the side of the cage near John. Sara came up behind John and looked down. As she realized who was in the cage, she reached for the barred door.

  “Sara, wait!” John whispered, grabbing her arm. As he held her back, bright fluorescent lights flickered to life on the ceiling. Several people stood up from hiding places all throughout the room, pointing old rifles and other weapons at them. John saw at least one person that held nothing but a bloody cleaver in his hand.