Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Family & Friends (Book 1)

by J. D. Chambliss

  As he knelt in the firing position, he periodically checked behind him. Though he only saw the white farmhouse each time he swiveled his head, he wasn't taking any chances. If these were in fact zombies, it would not do to let one sneak up behind him. He checked the iron sights again, trying to find a target, but this time there was nothing. In the grass before him there lay a disturbing number of corpses, some of which were still twitching.

  Though his father had apparently kept a considerable amount of ammunition for the AR-15, it was not enough to deliver a double tap to every single zombie that entered their territory. Despite that, it looked as if the 'invasion' was over. He surveyed the area in front of him and could see no more invaders. As he began to stand up however he noticed what he assumed to be yet another one stumbling onto the property. Wiping his forehead and eyes yet again, he knelt and peered through the iron sight. He immediately opened both eyes and raised his head above the sights, trying to confirm what he believed he was seeing.

  “My God,” he muttered.

  It was a little girl. She couldn't have been more than ten years old, wearing a purple sun dress and walking slowly through the yard. He'd killed at least thirty 'people' so far, but all of them had been adults. Inside he knew that she was simply 'undead' or 'infected' like the rest of them, but somehow he didn't know if he could bring himself to shoot a child. He tried desperately to remind himself that shooting her would be a kindness, especially if she were among the walking dead. He lowered his head and aimed down the sights once again, placing his finger on the trigger of the assault rifle. “Deep breaths,” He reminded himself as he aimed the rifle at the little girl. He could feel his heart pounding, his hands both sweaty and shaky. He couldn't seem to keep a bead on her, the sights kept moving to the left or right. Dammit, he needed to keep his hands still.

  Mark placed his finger closer to the trigger and readied himself. “Okay, on the count of three,” He told himself. He sucked in yet another deep breath, and this time held it in.

  “One...”

  “Two...”

  He looked up from the sights once again, this time practically slamming the AR-15 on the wooden surface. It could have been either one of his little sisters out there. Could he shoot them if they 'turned'? On that note, why hadn't either of them changed? Why hadn't he changed? What made his family so special? It didn't matter. They might not have been that special, but they were still alive, and he quickly resolved to make sure they stayed that way. He reached out and gripped the rifle once again, pulling the stock tight against his shoulder. Squinting down the sight again he placed his finger on the trigger, this time counting down from three.

  “Three...”

  “Two...”

  It was the moment of truth. Could he do it?

  “One.”

  Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder. He pulled his finger from the trigger and quickly looked behind him. His heart had rather quickly found its way into his stomach, but it was only his father, standing there in his stained coveralls, pointing at the girl.

  “I think she's human, son,” He said.

  Mark breathed a sigh of relief and dropped his head to the surface of the wooden box he had been resting against. He wouldn't have to kill her after all.

  “I mean I think, we'll have to go check.”

  Mark stood up from the box and began to walk across the field.

  “Mark, take your damn gun,” He heard his father say.

  “Right,” Mark muttered, turning around and grabbing the weapon by the plastic hand grip.

  The pair walked slowly across the field, weapons once again at the ready. As they walked, Frank heard a groan from the grass beneath him. One of the zombies was still twitching. He grimaced and brought his boot down on the thing's head, watching a buffet of gray matter and blood pollute the once beautiful green grass. He was amazed at how easily the skull had broken under his work boot. He wasn't highly educated by any means, but he was aware that the skull should have been the strongest part of the human body. This wasn't right. What had happened to these people?

  They didn't have to walk far, but as they approached, they could see that the girl was in fact human, even though her eyes were just as vacant as any zombie they'd seen so far today.

  “Hey, little girl,” Frank said. “What's your name? Where'd you come from?”

  The girl didn't answer. Frank checked her eyes again, they were normal, or at least normal for a human.

  “You need to come with us sweetie,” Frank said, beckoning the girl over to him. She didn't move.

  “I...I think something's wrong with her,” Mark said.

  “Either shell shocked or not right in the head,” Frank agreed. “Come on hun,”

  The girl still refused to move. Frank sighed and reached out his hand, beckoning for her to take it. She remained still, arms at her sides, staring straight ahead.

  “Go get your mom,” Frank said, finally.

  ***

  Jack inched his way across what was once a highway through the base and walked past a huge metal sign that read: “Motor Pool.” He had worked his way through the residential area without incident, and had come across this place purely by accident. The front gate was open, and inside there were a plethora of vehicles that he could see. They were lined up neatly, everything from civilian cars to the heavy Deuce and a half transport trucks. A deeper inspection of the area showed that there were actually a row of tanks. How nice would that be? Jack smirked to himself, though he was well aware that he could not possibly operate all of the systems in even the most basic tank. In fact, without any training, he would be unlikely to move the tank out of the motor pool.

  There were a few options here. The first option, of course, would be to sneak into the motor pool and find the keys to a vehicle. Then he would have to figure out where that vehicle was on the lot. It wasn't impossible by any means, but it certainly wouldn't be ideal. The sun was beginning to rise, and he would be completely visible – not a good position to be in during the zombie apocalypse. Then again, with his luck, these things could actually see at night, which would cause some serious problems.

  His second option would be to hotwire one of the older vehicles. From what he knew of military vehicles, many of them were still fairly primitive. While most cars had switched over to the computer driven system, the military was always behind a bit, mostly to ensure that their vehicles would still work in any environment. Jack had heard more than one story about a jeep that had continued running even after meeting a land mine. He doubted he'd be running over a landmine any time soon, but just in case, he had resolved to simply take a jeep from the motor pool.

  It was a fairly uneventful theft, and moments later he was simply driving off the lot with a fully fueled standard military jeep. It wasn't exactly an adventure, but he was certain there would be plenty of excitement off the base.

  Another thing he was certain of was his inability to obtain more ammunition before he drove off the base. Though it was a military base, he'd learned, rather unfortunately, that almost no one carried a weapon on base, and all ammunition was locked away. While this would prevent incidents, it did not help much during the zombie apocalypse.

  Jack drove around aimlessly for a bit, but soon enough came across a sign pointing him toward an exterior gate. It was time to go home.

  ***

  “Sweetie, can you tell me your name?” Virginia asked the girl. They had been at this for at least half an hour, and the blonde girl had yet to say a single word, or really move around on her own. “You're safe here, you can tell us.”

  “She's not very smart is she?” Kelly asked. She was partially annoyed, though the question was innocent enough.

  “Kelly!” Virginia said sternly, turning to face her daughter. “What did I tell you about that?”

  Kelly sulked a little. “Fine,” She mumbled.

  “No,” Virginia said. “Tell me what I told you.”

  “If you don't have anything nice to say, don
't say anything at all.”

  Virginia and Kelly finished the latter half of that sentence in unison.

  “And don't you forget it,” She said to her younger daughter.

  With much coaxing, they had managed to bring the girl in from the yard, but she carried no possessions and no identification. She was currently situated in the kitchen, and they were having absolutely no luck getting her to talk. As a teacher, Virginia recognized that the girl was probably autistic, though the amateur diagnosis was not going to help the current situation. Somewhere out there, this girl had friends or family, and they were missing her. What failed to cross Virginia's mind however, was that her family might in fact be dead.

  “Can you tell me where you were before you came here?” Virginia waited for an answer, though at this point she was almost certain there would be none. The girl seemed to be in her own little world, with no sign of even responding to the people around her. “Are you hungry? Food always cheers me up when I'm feeling down!”

  Virginia set about the kitchen making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for the girl while still engaging her in conversation. She described the type of peanut butter she was using, and explained her preference for wheat bread over white.

  While she was preparing the food, her oldest daughter, Amber walked into the kitchen with a hair brush.

  “Her hair is a mess,” Amber said, walking toward the girl with purpose.

  “Oh honey,” Virginia said. “I don't know if you should--” She cut herself off when Amber successfully started to brush, without any major reaction from the girl. “Well, that's interesting.”

  “Just needs a woman's touch,” Amber grinned.

  “Oh ha ha,” Virginia said as she brought the sandwich to the table. She set the plate in front of the girl, though as expected, it remained untouched.

  Amber was 17, and a soon-to-be graduate of the local high school, or at least was going to be, before the outbreak this morning, if that's even what it was. Today had been the official 'senior skip' day, though the school admittedly did not view it as official. Both she and Mark had opted to stay home, which was probably for the best. Though she was trying to maintain a strong front for her little sister, she inwardly shuddered at the idea of being stranded in the high school as all of her fellow students transformed into the undead.

  “Hey,” Amber said excitedly. “Her tag is sticking out of her dress...it has a name. Sarah. Her name is Sarah.”

  Frank and Mark stood at the back of the house, watching Uncle Carl operate the backhoe. The front of the property had been fine, as there was a six foot ditch following the road. Frank couldn't begin to count how many times he had requested the county bring the level of the ditch up a bit. During the spring, it was a trip hazard, and during strong rains it became a drowning hazard. The only positive side of the ditch, or death trap as he liked to call it, was the fact that it could transform into a snow tunnel during the winter. Then again, that too was a hazard considering the passing cars.

  Carl's purpose today was to dig a trench around the property in an effort to stop approaching hoards, and with any luck it would actually flood during the next storm. The ditch Carl was digging wasn't exactly neat, or clean, and once again, Frank wondered if Carl hadn't been drinking. Despite that, he did seem to be getting the job done. As they watched their presumably drunken family member dig a trench to nowhere, they heard something that they hadn't heard since yesterday evening: the sound of a vehicle coming down the road. It was a low hum at first, but they both recognized it as a vehicle blazing down the country road. The hum became louder as it approached, and both began to walk toward the road.

  Neither said a word, but noticed that the approaching vehicle was now in sight, and it was a military deuce and a half.

  “Thank God,” Mark said. “The Calvary is here.”

  Both Frank and Mark began to wave their hands and shout at the oncoming truck, which finally began to slow down. It approached them at roughly five miles per hour, but showed absolutely no signs of stopping.

  “Hey!” Frank shouted. “We need some help here!”

  The truck didn't stop, but a box was tossed from the back, just before it sped up again, taking off down the road. Before long, it was once again out of sight.

  “What the hell just happened?” Mark asked aloud.

  “They dropped off a care package. Apparently, we're not important enough to stop for.”

  “Dad, look out!” Mark screamed. If he had caught it a split second later he might have missed it, but somehow, a monster, or zombie, as he was now accustomed to calling them, had made its way across the yard and was preparing to turn one or both of them into an afternoon lunch.

  Mark all but pulled his father out of the way, and then brought his AR-15 to bear. Without using the iron sight, he took a shot at the creature...and missed. The creature took an uncoordinated swing, but managed to knock the rifle clean out of his hands. He swore and started to pick it up, but all at once realized that the creature was in his way. In fact, it had begun to wrap its slimy fingers around his neck. If all of the zombie stories were true, Mark would be finished if he were bitten. With that in mind, he tried to pull himself away, though it was no use. He instead began to violently punch the zombie in the chest. It was flinching a bit, but it certainly wasn't going anywhere.

  Click

  His father had aimed and fired his rifle, attempting to kill the creature once and for all. No such luck, the rifle had jammed.

  “Seriously?!” Mark screamed.

  From the same side, he saw the butt of his father's rifle intervene, cracking against the creature's skull. It immediately loosened its grip and fell to the grass, leaving Mark to gasp for breath. He propelled himself away from the creature as fast as his legs would allow, and actually found himself face down in the grass.

  He quickly pushed himself back to his feet, but before he could turn around, he heard a rifle shot resonate through the air around him. He'd heard rifle shots before, obviously, but this one made him jump. Upon turning around he saw his father above the body, rifle pointed directly at the monster's head.

  “Thanks son,” he said.

  Mark, too shaken to actually say anything simply nodded, breathing hard. He placed a hand around his neck, feeling the area where the monster's hand had been just moments before. Earlier today, actually just seconds ago, he'd been disconnected from the entire situation. He'd felt invincible. As his fingers trembled and mind raced, he realized that he wasn't invincible. These...these...things had easy access to him, and his entire family. Any, or all of them, could be killed at any minute...unless he was vigilant.

  “We're going to finish digging that trench,” He said, grabbing the AR-15 from the grass and marching toward the backhoe.

  “Uh..son,” Frank said. “Problem.”

  There was indeed a problem, a big one. Mark looked at the tree line, where his father was indicating, and saw hundreds of zombies breaching the property. Most of them were falling into the freshly dug trench, but some were working their way around.

  “We're going to war,” said Mark.

  ***

  The jeep's engine chugged, the fuel needle finally moving past the 'E' mark. Anticipating this, Jack had taken an exit, paying particular attention to a sign that promised gas. There was in fact a Shell gas station just off the freeway, and as expected, it was mostly empty. Two of the pumps seemed to be occupied by cars, one of which was home to a zombie that apparently couldn't work a door handle.

  Jack parked at one of the pumps and thought for a moment. Though society had collapsed, he would still need to use his credit card, otherwise the pump wouldn't activate. He certainly didn't have the equipment to siphon gas out of the tanks, but to his credit, he actually had his wallet with him. Though he was wearing army issue PT's, he, along with everyone else, had been issued a neck pouch that contained his military ID, along with his credit card and some loose cash.

  During the second week of basic training the
y had been lectured about wearing the neck pouch as it was a choking hazard. Unfortunately, military ID's were required at the chow hall, and they did not always have time to revisit the bay. It was a sticky situation, but his blatant disregard for orders had certainly saved him this time. He put the jeep in park, climbed out, and then put his head under the dash where his soup of cut wires and makeshift connections were still sitting. He untwisted the wire leading to the 'run' circuit and listened to the engine power down.

  Walking around the jeep, he found that the pump still had power, but a second look at the jeep showed him that the gas tank was actually on the other side.

  “Dammit...” He muttered as he climbed back into the jeep and connected the starter relay. Amazingly the vehicle came to life, and he was able to pull it around to the next pump, facing the proper direction this time. He stopped the vehicle once again and walked to the pump. Pulling out his credit card, he made the pre-payment, placed the nozzle into the jeep and began to pump. Other than the fact that the world had presumably been taken over by the undead, this was turning out to be a relatively normal day.

  As he waited for the vehicle to fill, he took notice of a restaurant in the adjacent parking lot. It appeared to be some type of privately owned burger joint. He was hungry, and if the power was still on he might be able to fry something up. He shrugged and decided there was nothing better to do as he pulled the M4 from the passenger side of the jeep and started toward the restaurant.

  It could have either been fortunate or unfortunate, but the front of the restaurant was made of glass, and it was easy to see the interior. That being the case, Jack was relatively certain it would be safe. He walked toward the side entrance, pulled it open, and was greeted by a blast of air.

  “Holy hell, air conditioning,” He said, almost as if he were describing a deity and pushed forward, into the restaurant. The power was clearly still functioning, and with any luck someone had remembered to close the freezer.

  Walking into this place was a bit of a culture shock to say the least. It had been nearly a month since he'd been in a civilian building, or a restaurant that didn't look like a cafeteria. He briefly recalled those tense moments in the chow hall at Fort Sill, most memories littered with a drill sergeant screaming some of their more popular phrases: “Hold your glass with both hands!” or “Chew with your damn mouth closed!” or “Shut your damn mouths in my chow hall!” or...