“Hey Robert, watch out for the zombies… Don’t get bit.” Ray smiled.
“Fuck you too Sunshine. See ya on the 28th. Oh, by the way, Nut job sends his regards.”
Women and Children First
A. Ben Carpenter
I used to have this neighbor who was a DJ. He was a good guy, and he worked nights, so we pretty much left each other alone. But on his nights off, he would work on music for the club. He would mix beats, spin tracks together, mess with tempo, and a bunch of other stuff that was above my head, technically speaking. The bottom line is, I had several sleepless nights before I got used to the constant thumping in the walls.
Thump, thump, thump, thump, “Yeah, boi.” Thump, thump, thump, thump, “Shake that whatever.”
At the time I found it incredibly annoying. Now, I just look at it as practice for the apocalypse. I can sleep through any loud, repetitive thumping noise. I’m calling it a win.
I know the drill. I’ve seen all the movies, read all the books, even some of the manga, like High School of the Dead (that one was good for several reasons, especially the anime jubblies.) This was a zombie apocalypse, possibly THE zombie apocalypse, and I knew exactly what to do about it. At least, I thought I did.
I used to live in the city, but I knew that staying in my apartment when it started was stupid, so I packed up my big back pack, got in my car, and drove as far as I could. It was chaos on the roads. I don’t have to tell you what it was like, you were there. People were running through the streets, cars were on fire, police cruisers and fire trucks were everywhere.
Turns out driving as far as I could got me roughly eighteen miles from my apartment. At that point it just turned into streets filled with abandoned cars. I later found out that there were several major accidents on the freeway, multiple fatalities, and they were never fully cleared (most likely due to the multiple fatalities.) So I got my back pack, my hat, and my weapons out of the car and I started walking. I left my keys in the car.
Weapon Lineup:
1 Aluminum baseball bat
1 Glock 9mm, 2 spare mags, half a box of ammo
That’s it. I had a few changes of underwear and socks in the backpack, and a bunch of travel food. Mostly granola and protein bars, and about a gallon of water.
I learned some interesting things that day. Firstly, that anyone who dies turns into a zombie, not just the people who get bit. That was a huge revelation, and possibly the most valuable piece of information I ever learned. At the same time, I learned that zombies have a hard time going down stairs, or even just down a steep hill.
A group of four zombies were staggering after a lady, trying to eat her I guess. She was running towards a cop, screaming for help. He was standing in one of those public fountain things, which was a few feet lower than the regular sidewalk. He saw her coming and pulled his gun, waited for her to get behind him, and then we all watched as the zombies fell down the stairs. They just stepped off into the air like it was flat ground, and tumbled onto their faces. It was only like three steps from the sidewalk, but they couldn’t grasp the concept of elevation changes.
Once they stood up again the cop told them to freeze, but of course they kept coming. So he shot the front zombie in the chest. Sure, it made him stagger back a little, but the rest of them were still coming and, after a moment, ol' chest-wound was staggering forward again as well.
I yelled, “Shoot ‘em in the head, dumbass!”
I don’t know if he heard me, or just wised up, because the next shot went right though its brain. He dropped it like a rock. The other three went down right after it, easy as pie.
But on the last shot, I guess the bullet kept going after it left the zombie’s head, and it hit some guy in the street who was pretty much directly behind the last zombie. He took it in the chest, and he went down hard. The cop didn’t even see it, what with the lady who was still screaming at him.
Stupidly, I ran over to see if the guy was alright. He wasn’t. I mean, other than the bullet hole in his chest, which appeared to have hit a lung, he was fine. But I also knew there was no chance of help arriving before he died, not at the rate he was bleeding out. Still, stupidly, I ran over and yelled for the cop, and we got back just in time for the guy’s death rattle. It sounded desperate, and moist.
We were all still standing there staring at him when he started twitching. When he sat up, the lady started screaming again. I didn’t even wait for the cop, who was slowly backing away. I just took out the bat and bashed his head in. It took three swings.
That is one of the things that alarmed me the most that day. In the movies and on TV, you hit a guy in the head with a bat and he goes down right away. But when he's already dead, one thump to the head is rarely enough. Fuck me, right?
So the cop asks me where I’m headed, and I tell him, “Out of town”. He says there’s a military base a few miles west of the city, I might want to aim in that direction. I say thanks, and start walking. That was two days ago.
So I made it to the outskirts of the suburbs that day. There’s a lot of abandoned houses out there, which means plenty of places to sleep and a lot of food to scavenge. The power was still on, and the water was still running, but I didn’t know how much longer that would last. Maybe a few weeks, maybe a few hours.
That night I crashed in a small apartment complex. I found a ladder, and pulled it up onto the balcony outside, locked, bolted, and barricaded the door, ate some food, took a shower, and went to sleep to the sound of pounding on the door.
Honestly, the pounding is comforting at this point. I mean, if the pounding stops, it means they got in, right?
On the way out to the 'burbs I stopped in at a post office and stole procured a map of the area. If you’re looking for a good map, look in a post office or bus depot. Lots of good, up-to-date maps.
If I remember the street names correctly, then I was only about eight miles from the very edge of town (or the Edge of Madness, and I like to call it that), and then only another five-or-so miles from the military base. Walking, there was no way I could make that in one day, which meant I needed to get to the edge of town and then make a new plan.
Then the pounding stopped.
I looked at the door. Still locked and barricaded.
I looked at the balcony. Nobody out there.
I walked over to the door and peered out the peephole. The dead guy was still there, staring at the light in the hallway.
Then the power went out.
Not just in the hallway, or in the building, but in the whole city. I could hear the silence. I could feel it in the air. No power was flowing anywhere nearby.
Then the pounding started again.
Well, I decided, that was creepy as fuck. It was time to bug out.
I got all of my water from the fridge, snagging the orange juice as well. You gotta get your vitamin C where you can. I loaded up my bag and, snagged an ice pick from the kitchen. I figure, if the zombies get that close, an ice pick to the head will put them down pretty quickly.
I went to the nearest house and looked in the windows. It looked empty. I tried the door. It was unlocked. I went inside slowly and quietly, closing and locking the door behind me. I went through the place room by room, and it was thankfully empty.
I refilled my water from the sink, glad the water was still running at least. I figured the water pressure should stay good until the water tower ran out. That meant I had either a couple of days, or a couple of minutes left before the water was gone. Get it while it lasts.
So I had to go past the school to get out of town, and I hated going around it, especially considering how slowly I’d been moving lately. I needed a car or, preferably, a tank. I looked at my maps and figured that it would either take another two or three days to go around the school, or I could figure out how to go through that hot-zone without getting eaten. Sounds like fun, right?
So for starters, I looted the house. They had some food, which I took, but nothing much else of use. The
n I checked the garage, and just about crapped for joy. Two words for you: Motor Scooter.
Maybe it was for their kid, maybe they used it to get around the neighborhood, I don’t know and I don’t care. It was basically just a skateboard with a handle, and a three horsepower engine on the back. There was even a bike helmet and some pads I could wear.
It started right up and ran perfect. I checked the gas tank and it was only about three-quarters full. I wasn’t sure how many miles it would go on a tank, but I knew it was better than walking.
I’m sure I looked like a total dumb-ass, but you know what I didn’t look like? Zombie food. I didn’t have a speedometer, but I bet that thing got going at least 25, maybe 30 mph. Downside, it was noisy as hell. All those zombies that were around the school turned and started following me, as well as some other zombies that were just in the area. Well, maybe it gave the people in the school a chance to get out. It was too late to undo the damage anyway. Beside, unless I rode right into a zombie, they weren’t fast enough or coordinated enough to catch me.
That got me to the outskirts of town in like, 45 minutes. I was stoked, to say the least. I waited until I got to a nice, large, open, flat area, and stopped to look at the map. I was only about four miles away from what appeared to be an Air Force base.
I ran out of gas three miles later and ended up walking the last mile. Not a problem, just an inconvenience. The problem came when I got to the turnoff for the Air Force base. There were a couple of humvees blocking the road, and six armed soldiers standing around. They stopped me when I walked up, but you know the drill. I’m sure you got the same story I got.
I could go to the refugee camp that was set up near the base if I wanted, but I would not be allowed on base. I would be debriefed upon arrival, then undergo a medical inspection (not an examination, an “inspection,”) then I would be assigned to an area of the refugee camp, where I would then be assigned lodging (a tent.)
Was there food? For the time being, yes.
Was there water? Yes, they had several operating wells on the base.
Was the refugee camp behind a fence? They were currently installing a wall, and expected it to be completed within the next day or so.
Could I leave anytime I wanted? Yes, but they might not let me back in if I left.
Well, that was brutal honesty. But for the time being, it was still safer than being in the city.
That’s how I got to camp yesterday afternoon. Since then, it hasn’t been going very smoothly. During my “debriefing”, it became very clear that they just wanted to know what was happening back in town. They were not very happy with what they heard. One of them was especially upset about the school. Maybe he had a kid there, I don’t know. The medical inspection was pretty much just to check that I had all my working parts, and that I hadn’t gotten bit by anything. Then there was the camp.
The 'wall' was just some sheets of high strength webbing filled with dirt and rocks. Is it effective? We’ll see. It looks both very tough, but at the same time it also looks very fragile. Like I said, we’ll see. The food isn’t good, but at least it was available. The water was clean and plentiful, and we're right next to the base, which was sort of comforting I guess. Not anymore, but at the time it was, you know?
They got the wall done this morning, right before your group showed up. And you know what happened after that.
I’m sure there are some hard feelings right now, but I want you to know I don’t blame you guys for bringing the undead with you. You were running, and they were chasing, and that’s all there is to it. I would have done the same thing as you, so I can’t really get mad, right?
Besides, I think we’re all too pissed off at the military right now to hold a grudge against you guys. Those fucking meat sacks.
You didn’t see it because you were at the front gate, but a bunch of people ran out the back gate and tried to get in the base. The soldiers at the gate didn’t let them in, and they didn’t tell them to get back behind the wall. They just shot them.
So now it's just us 'refugees' in this camp, with a couple hundred undead outside, and the only thing keeping them away from us is a temporary wall and a couple of chain link gates. And those gates aren’t looking too sturdy, and I’m starting to wish I never quit smoking. Because, you know, lung cancer is suddenly very low on my list of worries.
All I’m saying is: count your ammo, dude.
Remember who that last bullet is for.
Eddie Smith, Part Four:
The First Virginia Republic
No, I don’t know why the dead people suddenly stopped moving two days ago.
No, I can't explain why I'm sleeping better at night, beyond the obvious.
No, I don't understand why this is all happening, but I can tell you, that ever since we made the decision to head north to find this Adrian Ring character, I've felt smart. Not saying of course that the simple act of getting back behind the wheel of my rig has made me brighter. I'm saying that the decision to do this was the right one, and that we are helping the world be a better place, one mile at a time. I feel smart for having done this.
Each mile seems to make it better too. You know, did anyone else stop to put it all together that the dead folks went back to being dead on the third day, of the third month, at just about three o'clock?
There's some seriousness in that thought. I ain't that crazy. Not that kind of crazy at least. I'm a different flavor of crazy entirely. I need to tell people about that. Maybe I am crazy.
Wish I had a cigarette.
And a cold Shiner Bock.
Man. I'm happy and tired. Still damn cold. It's almost April and back home in Texas it'd be eighty degrees right now, and instead we're sitting here shivering, wearing coats we scrounged off the dead, and out of abandoned homes. We've had to dig through closets to find boots to keep our feet dry, and rummage through the glove boxes of abandoned cars to try and find enough winter gloves for us all. We weren't quite prepared for this weather, but the Lord provides if you work hard enough.
Hm? You're bored eh? You want something more exciting?
Road Warrior story?
Right.
Well, you boys were probably locked up inside the armored lock box when everything went batty on the Virginia/Tennessee line near Bristol, so you heard all the action, but still don't know what happened. You wanna hear that? Yeah? Don't tell your mommas I told ya.
Now that the dead are back to being dead we're using the interstate again, but you know for the entire length of this here journey we've been on back roads. County roads, surface roads, you name it. Far from the highways and big cities whenever possible, and it's helped. We've had fewer accidents to skirt, far fewer dead to fight, and the road conditions have been good enough. Lots of potholes, and now snow which has slowed us down, but tomorrow before we leave I'm gonna try and operate that Pennsylvania plow truck we got a few days ago. If we can run that big boy's blades it'll be smooth sailing for a good long ways.
Right. Gunfight. Sorry.
We was on I think it was 633 heading this way just outside of Bristol in our convoy when we came around a little bend and came to a stop. I was third in line like always in the fuel rig, and your daddy Adam was in the front driving the Peterbuilt with the flatbed. Wedge we call it on account of it having that big steel wedge that looks like cheese on the front of it.
We stopped because the road had been blocked off by a pair of shipping containers. They had somehow been taken right off their truck and dropped in their own version of a V formation with both ends propped up against the sides of brick buildings. One of the buildings had a sign hanging half off the front of it that read 'Art's Vacuum Repair.' Don't ask me why that little nugget of memory is still clinging to the hole.
Standing on the rooftops of the brick buildings, and behind a row of sandbags on the tops of the steel shipping containers were a handful of militia-types. Most were wearing some combination of BDUs and camo, or police Kevlar, and they had assumed safe f
iring positions behind something sturdy by the time we came to a stop. These people were clever; they'd put their little roadblock in a spot where we couldn't back up to turn a semi around easily. The road was somewhat narrow too, which meant backing up would be a real pisser to boot.
One of them waves from the top of the container and pulls out this bullhorn, like police use during riots. You remember what he said? Could you hear him? No? Well he says, "Welcome to the First Virginia Republic!"
Mmhm. Right. First Virginia Republic. Not sure exactly what he or they thought they was achieving by declaring their spot in the road a safe haven and a new nation, but hey, more power to you. I personally thought it was a dick move to block off a road entirely with no visible way to get through, or back up easily. Not very American, but then again the founding fathers of The First Virginia Republic had their own ideas of what's right from wrong.
I got real nervous as your daddy got onto our bullhorn. He leaned out of the Peterbuilt's passenger's side and started talking back. "We're headed north from Texas, and didn't know this road was blocked or private property. We apologize. I'll get us turned around right quick and get on our way."
Your daddy got back inside the truck and the man with the bullhorn started talking again. "Is that fuel truck full of good fuel?"
That'd be the truck I was sitting in. Right about then I wished I hadn't had my SKS trashed in that little wreck we had when the zombie fell off the overpass and smashed into the windshield of Tammy's truck. Man I loved that gun. Tammy was good people too.
I put my window down, pulled out my Colt and switched it to my left hand after thumbing it to the 'shoot assholes' setting. I didn't want no wait if it got ugly. I made my target clear in my head; a woman leaning a little funny over the edge of one of the brown building's roofs. I could see most of her side, and could tell she had no Kevlar on. She had pretty red hair, but a face better suited for a mechanic's line of work.
"We’re running low," Adam lied. "We only have enough to get our little group to where we're heading. If you need some diesel, we could spare maybe twenty gallons. Thirty. More if you've got trade that could help us." We could spare more than that, but you can't go all in on a hand without gauging your opponent. Doesn't make any sense.
Unhappy Endings: Tales from the world of Adrian's Undead Diary Page 19
