Zombies Inside

by Rebecca Besser

  “I’ll be careful,” he whispered. “I promise I’ll come back.”

  With a quivering breath, she nodded and pressed her face into the side of his neck. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he said, pulling back and kissing her.

  Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, she stood up on her tip toes and put her soul into the kiss, making it clear to him one last time how much he truly meant to her.

  Breaking away reluctantly, Jerrold picked up his 30/30 rifle and his bag, and headed for the door.

  “Make sure you put these back up as soon as I’m through the door,” he said, taking down heavily pieces of lead pipe and angle iron they had at different levels of the door. “I’ll padlock the door at the top of the steps from the outside, instead of the inside. Do you remember the knock I’ll use when I come back, so that you know it’s me?”

  Dawn nodded, but he was facing the door and didn’t see her.

  Turning, he looked at her. “Do you remember?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Three fast, two slow, three fast.”

  He smiled and nodded, stepped back over to where she stood, and kissed her one last time. Looking deep into her eyes, he said, “I’ll be back tonight.”

  She smiled weakly, nodded, and closed the door behind him as he picked up his rifle and bag again, and stepped through.

  ***

  Jerrold stood in the shadows of the apartment building’s basement, waiting to hear the scraping of metal as Dawn replaced the bars on the boiler room door. They’d been lucky to find such a place to stay. They had heat, and had been draining the water out of the building’s pipes for months. He’d also feed them on what the building had to offer. Each apartment had provided canned goods and everything else they’d needed. The zombies had left the building after the people who lived there had died or been turned into one of the walking dead. Now their supplies were getting low, which after a year, they couldn’t complain. But this time he would have to venture beyond the safety zone and into the unknown.

  Satisfied after he heard the last bar being placed across the door, ignoring the sobs he could hear from his wife, he mounted the steps to their second defense – a padlocked metal door that lead into the main lobby of the building. Withdrawing a small, silver key from his bag, Jerrold quickly and quietly unlocked it. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the door open slowly. The hinges screeched loudly and he froze for a moment. Deciding it would be better just to get it over with, knowing the sound would have already alerted anything in the area to his presence, he jerked the door the rest of the way open and jumped through. Whipping his rifle around from where it hung on his back with a shoulder strap, he held it at the ready and spun in a semicircle to check the room around him. Seconds passed and all that could be heard was his panting breath. No danger presented itself.

  Turning back to the door, he quickly shut it and attached the lock to the latch he’d installed when he’d gone on his first “raiding” trip. They kept it locked from the inside when they were all at “home,” and when he went out he locked it from the outside.

  Surveying the room again, Jerrold noticed that the only thing that had changed since the last time he’d been there was that more plants were growing through the openings of the vacant windows, which had been shattered long ago.

  It was still dark; the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a light yellow glow to the backdrop, in between the buildings he could just make out beyond the vines. Stepping carefully, holding his rifle in front of him, ready to pull it up at any moment, he advanced to the busted out glass door that had once been a grand entrance. Pushing aside the greenery, he stepped out into the world and breathed deeply of the fresh morning air; it was almost foreign to him since they’d sought haven below. The sweetness and crispness of it almost made him cry, and at the same time, overwhelmed him with joy.

  A bird flitted past and called to its mate, which soon joined it in a tree that had once neatly graced the sidewalk of the city, but was now growing wildly. Old Christmas lights hung from the branches, providing a ladder for the vines to climb – the tiny, twinkle light bulbs looked like alien berries waiting to be picked.

  With a grin on his face, Jerrold shivered as a strong wind blew, cutting through his worn-out clothes. He’d forgotten how cold it was outside when fall gave way to winter.

  “First things first,” he said to himself, heading down the street to where he knew a man’s clothing store used to operate. He knew he needed a coat, gloves, and a hat if he was going to stay warm long enough to hunt for gifts and food.

  The sound of his voice startled a black squirrel that had been searching through the weeds for the last of the nuts from a small walnut tree. It chattered at him angrily as it ducked inside a faded blue BMW that was parked at the curb.

  Bending down slightly, Jerrold could see that it had made itself a nice little nest in the interior, where it had dug into a rip in the seat and was not living lavishly in leather and insulation.

  Chuckling and shaking his head at the absurdity, yet genius, of the upside down world that they now lived in, he continued on in search of warm clothes.

  Soon he reached the store he was looking for. But, to his chagrin, he noticed that all the showcase windows of the front of the store were intact. Smeared on the inside was a dark brown substance that he knew was dried blood, which meant someone or something could still be inside.

  Jerrold stood there for a moment, indecision warring in his mind of the possible dangers of breaking the glass and alerting any zombies that might be lurking somewhere, and the possible danger of going in period when something could still be in there. A strong gust of wind that easily penetrated his clothes and bit into his skin with tiny, pin like teeth, made the choice for him. He had to have something more to wear, and if he didn’t go into the store, he could waste hours searching for the right items, and then hope they would fit him.

  Looking up and down the street, seeing no movement, he lifted the butt of his rifle and broke one of the windows. Glass hit the pavement with a tinkling of accusation, as if angry for having been broken and disturbed after so long a silence.

  Jerrold held his gun at the ready and waited for a ghoul to jump out at him. He’d had it happen plenty of times before and had always come away the victor. Nothing happened. No one and nothing came from the new opening. Glancing up and down the street again, not seeing any movement, he started knocking away the jagged remains of the glass so he could get through. His hands were so numb from the cold he didn’t feel when a small sliver penetrated his palm, breaking the skin and letting out a small trickle of blood.

  Entering the store, he hurriedly located what he needed. He found himself a new pair of jeans, a shirt, underwear, socks, boots, a coat, gloves, and a hat; he piled them in the center of the store, where he could see all around him. He quickly shed his worn out clothes, donned his new apparel, and took out his old hunting knife, adding it to his new outfit in case he did meet a zombie. Leaving his old clothes lying on the floor where he’d taken them off, he grabbed some more clothes and shoved them into a shopping bag he’d found behind the counter. Knowing that he couldn’t carry them around all day because he would be collecting more items, he decided to jog them back down the block and leave the bag outside the door to the basement sanctuary.

  While Jerrold had been searching through the racks of clothing, the small sliver of glass had come free from his hand, but he still hadn’t noticed. Unknowingly he began a blood trail, starting with the glass, to the racks, to the clothes he left lie, and the counter where he’d gotten the bag. The gloves he’d chosen were thick, and they absorbed the red liquid, only to start dripping around the cuff after he’d left the bag at the basement door. He didn’t think anything of it, as now his hands were warm and his palms were sweating.

  Jerrold decided that clothing and food should be top priority for this trip, even though he wouldn’t return without presents. He just knew that finding appropriate gifts wo
uld take longer, and if he got his “duty” done first, then he would have more time to “shop.”

  Turning to the right this time when he left the building, he went to a department store he knew would have clothes for his entire family. There were plenty of shopping carts sitting around, so he used one to procure clothing for his family. Having not seen any zombies for a while, he started to let his guard down. He assumed they’d moved on to where they thought people might be more numerous.

  Christmas decorations and fake snow were on all of the displays, some still standing and some destroyed. Strings of lights dangled drunkenly from cash registers, and Santas that had been placed close to the windows had faded from red to pink where the sun had bleached them through the summer months. Seeing these relics reminded him of last year, of what a disaster Christmas had been.

  After getting all the clothes the cart could hold, he paused to think of anything else they might need. Batteries came to mind. He searched around the counters where he remembered having seen batteries when he’d shopped there long ago, but there were none. The empty racks stared back at him menacingly, as if mocking his stupidity for thinking he’d find something there.

  All the snacks and candy bars were gone as well. There was nothing of use or value as far as food.

  Pushing the overloaded cart out of the store was harder than he’d first thought it would be. There was so much stuff knocked over and in the way that the wheels kept getting stuck and he had to continually clear a path. It was at one of those times, while he was bent over pulling an inflatable snowman that had deflated long ago from beneath the wheels that a noise from behind him alerted him he was not alone.

  Slowly he stood erect, slid his rifle strap off his shoulder, and prepared to fire. Spinning suddenly, he brought the butt of the 30/30 tight into his shoulder and looked down the sights with the ease that only comes from practice.

  Standing no more than ten feet from him was an old woman and a young boy, but they were no longer human. The wasting of their flesh released a stench that he should have noticed and probably would have if he hadn’t been constantly moving. But the fact of the matter was, he was accustom to the smell of death – he’d been living with it for a year now, and it wasn’t something he noticed anymore.

  They stared at him, the little boy holding the old woman’s hand like they still thought they were living and he was going on a shopping trip with grandma.

  The standoff ended when the old lady hissed and her dentures fell from her gapping, rotted mouth. Her cheek split and her bottom jaw slid from its sockets to dangle below her face by loose, flapping skin.

  She darted forward at Jerrold, as if it was his fault she was falling apart. Not seeming to realize that she was still holding the boys hand, she ripped his decaying arm off as she came for Jerrold, the only fresh meat she’d seen in months. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have any teeth, or that she could no longer bite, she attacked him anyway.

  Not wanting to draw unneeded attention, Jerrold quickly sidestepped the woman and grabbed the long knife that was strapped to his thigh. As he spun, he brought the blade down into the back of the old woman’s head, penetrating her skull with a sickening squish. She was so rotten that she was literally falling apart.

  Amazed at how easy it had been to kill her, for a moment Jerrold just stood there marveling at the corpse and didn’t pay any attention to the boy.

  Suddenly, a shrieking sounded penetrated the silence of the store – it was high-pitched and angry. Turning toward the sound, Jerrold saw that the boy had climbed up onto an empty rack and was about to propel himself at him.

  Jumping back and losing his balance when he slipped in the black blood that had oozed out of the old woman, he landed hard on the marble-tiled floor. The knife fell from his grasp and slid a few feet away. For a few moments he couldn’t move – the breath had been knocked out of his body and he’d jarred his back.

  In those precious moments, the boy took advantage of the situation. Hissing and clawing, he scrabbled across the floor on all fours. He was a wild beast and he smelled blood.

  No sooner had Jerrold gotten his breath back, than he saw the small body pounce into the air above him. He frantically searched around himself for his knife. With the boy in the air, merely two feet from landing on him, Jerrold gripped something and brought it up at an angle in an attempt to knock the boy sideways. He succeeded, hitting him directly in the head.

  The boy fell to the side with a whimper and didn’t get up. Jerrold looked over at the boy, slowly sitting up, forcing his back to stretch. He’d picked up a large plastic candy cane and had, by some miracle, stabbed the boy in the temple with it, killing him.

  Sadness gripped his heart. He was here to get things his family needed to survive. He knew the boy had been a zombie and there was nothing he could have done to save or help him, but he still felt bad about ending his existence.

  It took Jerrold precious minutes to get his back to stretch enough to allow him to stand. After that, he hobbled his way out of the store. By the time he was halfway home with the cart his back was almost back to normal, with only a few spasms every now and again. Pushing forward and through the pain, he made it back and dropped off the cart, leaving it beside the bag he’d brought back earlier.

  Now that he’d seen a couple of zombies his guard was back up. Slipping off his glove, he wrapped his hand around the padlock, giving it a swift tug. He looked back over his shoulder when he heard a rustle in the rubble. He slid his hand back into his glove, not seeing the blood he’d smeared all over the padlock. Holding the rifle in front of him like a combat soldier creating a perimeter, Jerrold snuck over to where he’d heard the noise. A rat jumped up from a hole and scurried away. Startled by the sudden appearance of the rodent, he almost pulled the trigger.

  With a deep sigh, Jerrold bent over and closed his eyes for a moment, still thinking about the boy he’d just killed. Mentally shaking off the thought, he reminded himself why he was out here and left the building once again. This time he headed straight across the street, heading into a residential area where he had the best chance of finding food and presents.

  The first house he entered was small and it looked like it had been the home of a young couple with a small children. Baby toys were strewn about the decaying, dirty carpet; they looked as if a small animal had decided to play with them. They’d grown brittle over time and the soft plastic and plush toys now sported holes and teeth marks.

  Quickly doing a check to make sure there was nothing moving around upstairs – where he found a crib and a toddler bed in one of the rooms – he ventured back downstairs. Sitting under the Christmas tree were many presents. Jerrold knew his children would be too old for the toys, but he knew he could use the bright red wagon to haul food and gifts. Digging it out from beneath the packages, he was about to leave, but then thought he better check a couple of the woman’s presents to see if there would be anything Dawn would like.

  Knelling down, he tore open a small, somewhat flat, rectangle box. The paper came off easily as the weather had broken it down. He discovered that it was a new cell phone. With an ironic smirk he tossed it aside – the once vital piece of technology no longer had a purpose. He dug through more of the pile and opened a few more packages, finding CDs, DVDs, and all kinds of other things that needed batteries or electricity to function. He was about to give up when he came across a small box far back under the tree; it held a dainty opal ring. He slid it into his coat pocket, knowing that Dawn would love it. Deciding to open one more thing and then check the kitchen, he found a collection of children’s books. They were too young for his children, but they hadn’t had much experience in reading and he knew they could use them to practice. He hoped he would find more age appropriate books at another house; it would be great for what little schooling and teaching they tried to provide.

  A quick check of the kitchen cabinets yielded a couple of cans of soup and vegetables, but not as much as he’d been hoping for. A
door in the far wall of the kitchen was slightly ajar and Jerrold decided to check it out, and was glad he did. It was a pantry and all kinds of canned goods and dry goods where stored on the shelves.

  Feeling like a kid at Christmas time, the thought of which made him laugh, he pulled the wagon close to the door and started to fill it.

  He wasn’t paying much attention to what he was grabbing and when something warm and furry slithered against his wrist, he screamed and dropped what he’d been holding. He looked down at a box of corn flakes that had a hole chewed through the side. The light tan flakes inside moved and wiggled. He knelt down and gently brushed the cereal aside to see a rat’s nest.

  Standing, he kicked it off to the side and was more careful while loading the wagon. Once it was full to the point of over flowing, he set out for another house. Pulling the wagon with the hand that was injured caused it to bleed more profusely. Blood ran down the handle and dripped on the ground, but Jerrold didn’t notice, he was still on a high from finding so much food in one place. Now all he had to do was find a few more gifts and he could go home. He had plenty of time before the sunset.

  The next house he entered smelled like muscle cream, even after the time it had sat vacant and open to the elements. He knew that an older couple had lived there; it was a smell that no other dwelling would have possessed. It reminded him of his own parents and what it had been like to visit them. He didn’t look through the presents, but he did take the time to look through the medicine cabinet, taking anything he thought might be useful.

  Two houses later, he hit pay dirt. Quickly securing the house had shown him that a boy and a girl had lived here – there was a room for each. He took some of the decorations from each room for his children, so they could decorate their sleeping area. But he was mostly happy with the books he found on their shelves. After carrying them downstairs and putting them in the wagon, he knew he would have to find something to make sides for it. If he hit one bump on the way home he would lose everything.