OUTNUMBERED volume 2: A Zombie Apocalypse Series

by Robert Schobernd

  While welders fabricated steel panels for the gun ports on the perimeter of the second floor and inside the two watch towers, people with carpentry and building maintenance skills dressed out a safe room for the children and their teacher, Shana Thompson. That space, for emergency use only, was being constructed in one of the four concrete enclosed rooms beneath the ground level concrete floor slab. In the event we were overrun by zombies or attacked by a group of evil humans, we wanted the children to be safe during the battle.

  Kira and Vivian became friends in record time and spent much of their free time together. After school classes I noticed Kira's daughter, Paige, often hanging out with Mitch and Susie Robard. All three were polite well behaved teen-agers.

  Jerome Watters, the army retiree, fit in with the group immediately and proved to be reliable. Sam Williams was the youngest of the new adults. He was an all around good guy with experience in several construction skills we could use. Both men were strong and healthy and good shots with rifles or handguns.

  Vivian was a mystery. She continued to be vague about her past and didn't reveal intimate details about herself. But then it could simply be her disposition not to open her intimate secrets up to others. She wasn't an outdoors person and had no skills in self defense. At least she was open to learn, and with Kira's guidance and support she quickly began to show progress. She, like Kira, caused men’s heads to turn every time she strode by them. In fact, I suspected the sore neck I'd been rubbing was caused by them.

  CHAPTER TWO

  On the last Monday in February, Ed, Jerome, and I left for a three day ammo run. We headed for Oklahoma City by way of Kansas City and hit any size store that could possibly have even a small supply of ammunition. Our first day proved unrewarding. We blasted away more ammo at zombies than we found to replenish what we shot. We were in one of the four Ford Expeditions we'd liberated from dealerships after the undead decimated the humans in those surrounding towns. I liked them because they're big and heavy and powerful enough to run over or through groups of zombies in an emergency. Late that afternoon Jerome saw an SUV moving across a highway overpass above us. It had become rare for us to have contact with other humans. However, seeing other people gave us a good feeling to know we weren't the only ones still alive. It's depressing to think we're the only human beings still struggling to live in a country as big as the USA.

  South of Kansas City we fell into good luck at three gun shops. At two shops under the same ownership, most of the stock on the shelves of the customer sales room had been taken. But in storage areas in the back, we found stairs to second floor or basement storage spaces. Unopened cases of ammo were concealed under miscellaneous debris in large, obscure closet spaces. We made a good haul of most of the bullets types and shotgun shells we could use plus other sizes for possible trading. We also loaded up on 12 gauge double aught buckshot and shotgun slugs. At close range, we'd found the 12 gage slugs devastated zombie's skulls.

  Ed thumped the steering wheel and grinned broadly as he drove slowly through a residential neighborhood. "See those stickers on the bumpers and in the rear windows of those pickups? Some are for the National Rifle Association, and others are from local gun shops or shooting ranges. Those people owned guns and had ammo for them. Let's see if anything is left inside their houses." Cautiously we opened an unlocked front door and slowly cleared the house. We didn't detect any odors indicating recent zombie activity.

  Each of us had a rifle slung over our shoulder and a large bore, high capacity semiautomatic pistol in our outstretched arms. Ed's hunch was right. In a room at the back of the house, we found a man cave with two gun safes containing rifles and shotguns. Seven handguns were in drawers below the long guns. It was clear that several guns were missing by the wear and imprints left on the felt linings. Four of the guns met our criteria, but we took the others in the event we could someday trade them with other survivors. Jerome whistled at the sight of more than eight thousand rounds of ammo he found in a closet beside the gun racks. At the end of the room sat a refrigerator full of warm beer, soda and bottled water. We took the water and several full cases of water from a cabinet. We searched through other houses in the neighborhood with good results at about thirty percent of the homes. In homes that didn't have an actual gun room, we searched bedroom furniture and closets and found a few handguns and long guns.

  It was nearly dark when Jerome raised the double door on a garage, and Ed backed the four foot by eight foot enclosed trailer inside. After I unhitched it from the truck, he backed the Expedition in beside it. With the door closed, we were out of sight of zombies or other humans. We rested sitting up, but none of us slept soundly in the cold space.

  At dawn, we ate canned fruit and homemade pastries we'd brought along and washed it down with bottled water. After hitching the trailer, we continued ransacking houses. Some doors were unlocked, but most had to be pried open. We averaged one house every twenty minutes and were pleased with the results. During a leisurely lunch, we joked and spoke about our past, and touched on future plans for the compound.

  We'd finished the south side of the street, so we moved across to work the north side and started again. We'd been lucky and had only run into zombies three times during all of our searches. They were noisy slow movers and were easily handled up close with our handguns.

  Sunlight faded into dusk when we left the last house for the day. We'd found a huge amount of usable ammunition inside, and we were carrying it out and stacking it by the trailer. This gun collector hoarded ammunition like someone expecting a war. I looked around and realized Jerome wasn't with us. "Ed, where's Jerome?"

  Ed shrugged and looked down the street. "He's at the next house. I'm ready to quit for the day. How about you?"

  I yelled to Jerome. "Aren't you ready to stop and eat?"

  He turned to us, grinned and waved with his right hand. "One more. I think this will be a lucky one, too." The crowbar was jammed against the door, and with a mighty tug of his left arm the doorframe splintered.

  I yelled, "Where's your Glock? Get it in your hand."

  He pushed the door open with a hearty shove. Immediately, two rotting arms jutted out. Jerome leaned back from the impending danger and screamed as he was forcefully yanked inside the house. As we reacted, we heard the eager screeching of the undead before the chilling human cries reached us. Ed and I were half way across the seventy-five foot space to the house's front door wanting to blot out the horrible shrill cries brought on by Jerome's extreme pain and fright. We reached the doorway and were appalled by the gruesome sight before us.

  Jerome lay prone on the living room floor in a spreading pool of blood. Three zombies jostled to stay on top of him as they fed while he thrashed and squirmed under them. A rotting female sat on his shins and bit hunks of flesh from a thigh. A desiccated male chomped the fingers off Jerome's right hand, and a young female sat on his stomach as she ripped hunks of skin and flesh from his face with her teeth. Jerome's legs kicked feebly and his left arm waved sporadically at nothing as we shot the three monsters in their heads. The undead collapsed onto our defiled friend.

  Jerome's voice carried weakly, "Oh God, oh God, help me." I stood beside the mass of grotesque, bloody, remains that no one would recognize as Jerome Watters.

  "Goodbye, my friend," I aimed and shot him twice in the head to end his suffering ahead of his transformation.

  Ed and I were haggard the next morning. Neither of us slept more than a few minutes at a time. The sight and sounds of Jerome's death stayed in my mind and defied sleep. Every time a friend died it reminded us harshly of how close we were to the same fate on a daily basis. The old saying, “There but for the grace of God go I” so aptly applied to all of us each and every single day.

  At dawn, we wrapped Jerome's body in plastic sheeting and secured him to the top of the SUV. We were no longer in the mood to scrounge for ammo and morosely headed home.

  ~*~*~*~

  Friday afternoon, we buried Jerome Watter
s during a solemn ceremony attended by all the survivors except the two people on watchtower duty. The day was murky, and lightning flashed in the distance as Jerome was lowered into the grave. Marcie Tanka uttered a brief eulogy defining the man Jerome had been to us. I spoke for a minute or so and a simple burial prayer followed. Those who had bowed there heads in prayer raised them, and some threw a traditional handful of dirt into the grave. Then we mourners drifted away.

  When the grievers neared the building, Albert fired up the backhoe and pushed the dirt back into the hole. I took a deep breath and again wondered what had caused Jerome to let his guard down at the wrong moment. I suppose he got complacent because our search had gone so well. He was a good man, a good friend and intelligent. His death was the ninth person we'd lost to the undead menace since their onslaught began going on two years ago. I cringed knowing he wouldn't be the last.

  Sunday morning, after breakfast, I stopped to join a discussion between Ed, Shane, John, and Ira. We were in the communal section at the middle of the building near the end of the shops section. The topic was, of course, zombies. As I sat, Kira and Vivian approached, said hi and were invited to join the discussion.

  My attention shifted to Shane as he spoke. "– suspect the number of fast zombies has been increasing, but I don't know at what rate. Somehow they've changed from the original slow movers to a new breed that is somewhat more agile and coordinated and much faster. I've also noticed they're quieter. Not nearly the amount or volume of moaning and shrieking they've made in the past. This makes them even more dangerous because you can walk up on them without warning." He glanced at the group. "That's likely what happened to Jerome Watters, from what Ed and Tom have said."

  John sat his coffee cup on a chair beside him. "Something else we've noticed. Some of the more damaged and decayed things don't even have eyes in their sockets, but they can sense where a human is and follow them if they change directions sharply. And the same phenomenon occurs with sound. Ira has examined several zombies and found the auditory system to be rendered incapable of receiving sound vibrations. How the hell can they see and hear us if this infection, as it's called, was caused by a virus?"

  I leaned into the discussion. "The brain must be the only functioning organ in the body because we all know destroying it is the only way to kill them. Digestive tracks, other organs and appendages are missing, but the body still moves and kills. That's why I believe zombies are caused by a curse and not a virus. I don't pretend to understand the medical, religious or mystical implications of all this, but I can't grasp how a virus can make a dead body walk when the muscles, tendons and ligaments are rotted away." I looked to Ira and raised my palms questioningly. We all waited for his comment, hoping some new revelation might be added to the discussions we'd had in the past.

  Ira took a deep breath, held it momentarily, then exhaled as he struggled with a reply. "Remember, I'm a vet. I deal in farm animals, dogs and cats. But I'll try. The brain is protected by the thick bone of the skull, suspended in cerebrospinal fluid, and isolated from the bloodstream by a blood-brain barrier; the delicate nature of the human brain makes it susceptible to many types of damage and disease. The most common form of physical damage is trauma, such as a blow to the head. Infection of the brain is rare because of the barriers that protect it, but it does occur.

  "After a time, a zombie's cerebrospinal fluid should dry and the brain should deteriorate, but we haven't seen that happen. For some ungodly reason the brain still seems to function on some level while the flesh, tissue and other organs rot." He raised his palms upward. "I can't explain it and I doubt a medical researcher could either. But my gut feeling is akin to how Tom feels. Something immoral drives them to destroy humans. They're not actually feeding when they bite flesh and bone. The majority have decayed now to the point they don't have functioning digestive systems. The matter they tear off falls to the ground and they bite again and keep on biting until the victim dies and turns into one of them and fights them off." Ira squinted as he formed a thought and looked at John. "Their vocal cords have also deteriorated after the body has been dead for a time. It's another mystery to me how they make any sound at all or why they do."

  Vivian shuddered then spoke in her Latino accent. "They scare the hell out of me. They're so creepy, and the odor is so nauseating it makes me want to vomit."

  I watched Vivian as she spoke. Without the heavy hooded coat, her fetching looks were on display. The pronounced cheek bones, brown eyes, ebony hair, clear pecan skin, and sexy voice combined to make her a rare beauty. She managed to look provocative without looking cheap. She and Kira were easily the most gorgeous women in our small group. Hell, they'd each stand out in a crowded sports stadium.

  I corralled my lust and refocused. "Pass the word to all our people to report even the slightest changes they see in the zombies. We've watched them become faster, stronger, and more agile, but what other changes could possibly be taking place? If there are several similar reports, a pattern may emerge as to what else may be happening."

  Ed had been quiet, almost as if he were brooding before he spoke. "We need to rethink our training methods in response to this mutation or evolution or whatever you want to call it. There's no way to fight these fast movers with blunt force weapons. Ball bats and wrecking bars are out of the question against these things except as an absolute last resort. If a single fast mover walked by and I could hit it from behind maybe, just maybe I could crack its head and kill it. But if there are two or more, a physical attack won't work. The others would be on you in a split second. They have almost superhuman strength and even a strong human is no match for them. As you saw with Jerome. He and I arm wrestled and he was strong, but he was no match for the zombie that grabbed him."

  "I suppose you have a proposal for the training changes?" I said. "I'd like to hear them." I waved my arm to encompass the group, especially the women. "If any of you have ideas on this, or any other issues you think we need to address, speak up. All input is welcome here. We're not racist or sexist."

  Ed continued. "I laid awake last night thinking about it; much to the consternation of Marilyn I'll add. Instead of using stationary paper targets at various distances, I propose we hold that form of practice for the longer distances, in this case one hundred feet and more. For close in shooting, with both hand guns and long guns we should change to trapshooting and skeet methods. If a shooter can't lead a moving target, the fast zombies are going to get to that person or another victim."

  "Wow!" Kira straightened on the chair she'd moved to the conversation circle. "So, the gist of what you've said is that permanently attached rifle scopes are useless on the fast zombies at close range. We'll need to train to hit fast moving, evasive targets at fifty feet or less with our Glocks."

  "That's it. And in the head at that," Ed said grimly.

  "But," Kira challenged him, "that's a target the size of a big man's fist."

  "Yes it is." Ed grinned at her. "I can do it and I'm confident Tom and Shane can, or will learn fast. And you will too. It might take three or four bullets, but it can be done. The rest of you need to learn to shoot like the pros if you want to live. It's that simple. We'll start training with shotguns and clay birds to get the feel of leading a target. Then we'll start on the handguns.

  "When we make ammo runs, we need to bring back more shotgun shells as well as rifle and handgun ammo. Also, we should pick up more shotguns, throwing devices for clay birds and cases of clay birds. John, we'll need an engineering design to construct a concrete pigeon house where the birds will be thrown from. There were several private gun clubs within a hundred miles we can visit for ideas. And we'll need to locate and retrieve several pallets of pre-mixed concrete for that."

  I chuckled as I turned to Shane. "We thought we had everything covered. Then Ed throws a wrench into the training and we've got a whole new set of problems. But seriously, Ed, thanks for the insight. We'll need your expertise in setting up the additional training program."
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br />   Vivian raised her hand for attention and made a grunting noise. Sheepishly she entered the male domain. "Kira and I spoke yesterday, and we wondered why there isn't a fence around this building? It would be a good first line of defense. Sort of like that warehouse you picked me up at. As it is now, when zombies attack they pound of the steel siding trying to get in and the only people who can shoot them are in the guard towers. If they were stopped maybe fifty feet away from the building, they could be shot from the shooting windows on the second floor."

  Kira sat grinning smugly as I looked at the other men. Shane spoke, "That's a great idea. When we built this base building we put a staggered double layer of steel siding on the first floor so the zombies couldn't pry the panels off easily. We only anticipated a few undead in small wandering groups. The local undead. But since they roam in increasingly larger groups, we suspect they're migrating from the population centers to the rural areas. A fence to stop them at rifle range is a great idea." Shane, turned to me, then to, Ed, and John. "Why didn't we think of that?"

  I shrugged and rolled my eyes. "I don't know why, but I'm glad the ladies did."

  I watched as John leaned back in deep thought with his eyes closed during the conversation. He glanced around the group before he spoke. "I'll assume we all agree this is a suggestion worth moving on." He ran his fingers through his short kinky black hair as he waited for affirmative nods from the group and got them. "I suggest holding the fence one hundred-fifty feet from the building. That keeps the targets at rifle range and leaves enough room inside to accommodate large equipment, like that tractor and trailer load of food that came in recently. Our bulldozer can remove eight inches of sod from inside the fence line, and we'll fill it with three layers of different sized rock back up to grade. The concrete slabs over the fuel tanks will prevent them from being a problem as we excavate. There are piles of gravel available at several quarries in the area. Albert and Vince will have to check out loading and hauling equipment at those quarries while another group locates ten foot high chain-link fence material, barbed wire, and post at distributors’ yards. Electric sliding gates can be controlled by the watch tower guards. Shane can direct a crew to take the gates and operators from existing fences at nearby businesses. He can run the wire and connect them here. I'll have dimensioned drawings ready next week. In about three weeks, we should be ready to start installing the fence. Thanks, ladies, you did great. If we weren't a dry town, I'd buy you both a drink."