Dark Recollections

by Chris Philbrook

  I quickly did the whole room clearing deal to make sure the rest of the house was safe, and I saw a half empty banana box on the floor of her closet. Probably a leftover box from the move into here a few months ago. I would also like to make a short aside here and point out how useful and sturdy banana boxes are. Anyone who reads this, if you need a good, sturdy box, go for the banana box, it’s reliable, and has handles.

  I dumped her shit out, took the box into the kitchen and just took everything. I emptied all her canned goods and her freezer as well. She had 10 of those frozen dinner meals, which I thought was pretty cool. (ironically, I had one of them for dinner earlier) Anyway, once I had the box filled with all her stuff, I knew I had to get out quick. If there were two zombies outside in this hallway alone, God only knows how many others there might be. I guess it makes sense that older people might’ve died ahead of the curve for normal deaths. Heart attacks from stress, strokes, or even just a natural death would’ve introduced a zombie to the building here and if the older folks were nearby, it’s not like they can run well to get away. Plus they are not as able in defending themselves, so really, it’s like fish in a barrel for zombies.

  I figured I would be best served by clearing my exit out of the building, then taking the box out. If I was jumped holding the box I might drop it, cutting down on my reaction time as well as possible busting my banana box, and frankly, banana boxes are just too damn good to risk losing it. Lol. Oh Christ I just farted and it smells like pure evil. Fucking frozen dinner is giving me gas. Otis just got up and walked up the stairs to get away from me. I am awesome. I gotta crack a window, brb.

  Much better. Anyway I checked the eyehole in the door and it looked clear. I slowly opened it, and peered out in both directions, Sig at the ready. It looked clear in both directions, and it was also quiet. I propped the door open wide enough to push the box through with my foot, and I stepped out into the hall. Mom’s body was still face down where she fell on top of me. Both the zombie bodies were still where they went down when I dropped them as well. Good shooting I guess on my part.

  I brought the Sig up, and started my slow and smooth gait down the corridor. I had 20 feet or so to go straight to the four way intersection, then a left to head out to the lobby area with the nurse’s station in it. I made the first 20 feet clean with no contact, but when I took the left I nearly shit myself. Not like the farts I’m dropping tonight, I mean legit underwear filling fecal slippage. The nurse’s station looked like a motherfucking butcher’s table. One of the nurses was slumped in the chair behind the counter, head all the way back with one of the elderly residents just going to town on her neck. You could clearly hear the gristle popping in the dead dude’s mouth as he chewed his way through her throat. Horrible. I noticed that she was wearing the same style of shirt and pants as the woman who got decapitated outside my condo earlier that day. That confirmation kind of felt good.

  Laying on the floor in the middle of the lobby was a younger guy, probably mid 20’s and dressed athletically. He was face down and two more of the older folk zombies were lying on top of him, eating away. It was just gross. The smell alone, even from a solid 15 feet away was sickening. Entrails have a nasty smell. Earthy, a little like vomit as well, with some poo stench mixed in. Add to that the coppery tinge from all the blood and it’s enough to turn any appetite. Certainly almost made me hurl the spaghetti I just ate. Of course as soon as got within 15 feet or so the zombies either smelled me or saw me. I don’t think they can smell, so I think they saw me or maybe heard me.

  The one already standing eating the nurse’s neck was the closest, and quickest to respond. I took a few steps in his general direction and squeezed off two rounds at his head. I remember the first round hit him squarely in the neck and punched a dark hole right where his Adam’s apple was. The second hit him in the nose, and he went down immediately. The other two zombies were pretty much jerked into motion from the sound of the gunshots. They were more or less in a prone position though, and being older, they were slow to get up. Finishing them was easy. A few steps closer, and two 9mm shots put them down for good. I did a quick survey, saw nothing else between me and the glass exit doors, and decided to go back for my haul. Here’s where I made my first few major mistakes of the day.

  I grabbed the box, stuck the Sig back in the holster, and started a slow creep back to the lobby. Hallway was clear for me, just like the first time, but as soon as I made the corner heading out the lobby I was nearly knocked over by the fucking nurse who had her neck eaten apart. I totally forgot to put one in her head before walking away. Somewhat fortunately, the banana box was between me and her when she kinda stumbled against it, and I was saved. I took a few steps back, dropped the box as gently as I could, drew the pistol and popped one in her forehead. She fell so hard that her head nearly came disconnected from her spine. Really jarring visuals, seriously, the image frequently haunts me.

  By that point I realized there was another un-dealt with body in the lobby. The kid. This guy was younger too, so he would likely be quicker and stronger than these older folks. Not that the nurse was old, but she was kind of a big girl, and not that young.

  I made the corner again, this time leaving the box behind so I could deal with the kid. As soon as I took the turn at the four way I could see he was getting to his feet. Coming up slowly, like he was a sore athlete doing push-ups. It was nasty though, because his guts were coming apart underneath him. I made a snap decision to shoot him before he fully got to his feet. I took a few quick jogging steps at him, and drew a bead on the back of his head as he was halfway up. Of course that was when I realized my second great mistake. The gun clicked dry. I was like two feet from this fucking zombie, and my gun was empty.

  Tired now. I’ll finish after my trip to the store tomorrow.

  -Adrian

  October 13th

  The best laid plans of mice and men right? I hate my fucking life.

  Alright so the maintenance dump truck I grabbed started fine, no problem. I gathered up my gas cans, the Sig, the shotgun, and my short sword. It’s the smallest high quality sword I own, and if possible, I would rather use that first. However, driving with a sword sheathed on your hip is really awkward. I totally can see why a cop would take a nightstick off their belt when driving. I wound up just tossing it on the seat beside me.

  So I was up early to get down there. About 8am. I’m pretty fortunate in that my girlfriend bought me one of those self winding watches that always stay running as long as you’re moving. You know I bet there are a shitload of these watches that are gonna run forever on the arms of zombies. How weird is that?

  So I grabbed a good sized bite to eat (frozen bagel with jelly, can of beans, and two glasses of OJ from concentrate) and set off down the road to the gas station. The campus is pretty high in altitude relative to the valley we’re situated next to. We’re almost on a plateau really. What that means is our road (well, I guess it’s just MY road now) is pretty steep going downhill, and has a few ups and downs. The truck made it about two miles before it started hiccupping and coughing, and came to a halt. I pulled over after the power steering died (which if you’ve never done it is a pretty herculean task)

  Turned the key off, tried to start it, and it tried real hard, but just sputtered and died. Lather, rinse, repeat a few times, and still a dead truck. So I had to make a decision, walk back and scrap the trip? Or walk back, get truck #1, and do it with that one. I’d be missing out on a lot of fuel doing that way, but at the very least it’d be a recon mission. I decided to do that. I got out into the cold morning air and immediately felt some burning fury and frustration. This shit always seems to happen to me. Always the crap that should NEVER go wrong, goes wrong. I should’ve expected this shit.

  I started a slow jog. I had 2 miles, mostly uphill, and I didn’t want to gas out on this unnecessary and unexpected jog. I paced myself, and everything was fine until I got to the nice cape home that’s about a half mile from campus. It was on
the right side of the road, set back about 50 feet with a long, curved driveway. It had lovely crème color siding and a very nice veranda connecting the garage to the main house. It also had two zombies meandering in the yard , one in the wilting center flower garden, and one right in front of the garage. I only noticed them because I happened to stop jogging right next to the house and glanced absently sideways. Had I not stopped, I would’ve jogged right past them. Well they sure as shit noticed me. When I finally took them in, they were both shuffling with their stiff, clumsy walk at me, arms sweeping, feet dragging.

  My cursory examination of them pegged them as a couple. Probably the snooty people who owned this 300k house here in the hills. The guy had a sweater vest for Christ’s sake. In can only imagine the prick he was in life. Fashion notwithstanding, they were a threat, and they were moving pretty good. Their yard tilted to the road and I think they were building steam coming downhill at me. Course maybe I was just scared shitless. I brought up the shotgun, racked up a shell, and was about to drop mom, when I realized I really didn’t want to waste rounds, or make noise. I slung the shotgun once I figured I had time to use the sword (which I’d put on my belt when I left the truck). I drew the sword, and entered into an old fashioned ass whupping. Zombies don’t block or dodge anything, so it’s not a fair fight if you just keep your spacing. They have no sense of self preservation. I took off her right arm with a backswing at the elbow, sending her into a wobbling tailspin. Once she stumbled to a stable upright position, I snapped the sword two-handed right into her neck.

  Now let me clear something up for un-initiated: beheading someone isn’t easy. There’s a lot of muscle, cartilage, bone, sinew and jazz in the neck, and unless you have a heavy duty axe, or big sword, it’s fucking work to chop a head off. Certainly not like in the movies where a cavalier swing send the head flying and a gout of blood fountaining from the neck. It goes without saying I didn’t get it on the first swipe. However my strike was pretty high on the neck, and it crushed her jaw completely, as well as knocking her to the ground. She landed face down, and I curb stomped her head from behind. She twitched a few times, and I moved away to address Wally. (I was assuming at some point I would find the zombie Beaver shortly)

  Wally was a good five feet away when I came down with both hands on the base of his neck, where it meets the shoulder. The sword sunk in a solid six inches, and lodged in the top of the ribcage I think. It didn’t kill him, but it gave me a solid handle on his movement. I used the grip of the sword to twist him down onto his back, where I kicked his head repeatedly until he stopped moving. Once I felt reasonably safe, I got the sword free, and stabbed him the eye. I know, this shit is grody, but I’m recording history for posterity, so fuck you if you’re sensitive and offended.

  Wally and June were down. I gave the area a once over and saw it was clear, and I also saw their garage door was open. Inside said garage was a gigantor pickup truck. A Tundra, gunmetal grey. I slid into the garage quietly, making sure that it was empty, and checked the truck. Quarter tank, keys in the ignition. I gave it a quick once over, and then reached inside to start it. It turned over immediately, and sounded smooth. No hiccups. Smooth.

  Fuck walking back for truck #1. This would work, and I’d make do. I took the sword off, hopped in, adjusted the seat, and backed out. In the rear view mirror I caught a brief glimpse of a kid running out behind the truck, and I jerked the brakes. I heard a thunking noise, and my heart dropped. I just hit a kid. After killing the kid’s undead parents. Fuck my life. I was exhausted, frustrated, and suddenly racked with tremendous guilt. I powered the window down and leaned out to look back. I saw a little girl, maybe 10 years old laying splayed out behind the truck. I dropped my head on the window frame and my mouth dried up. I looked again though and the kid had sat back up, and was coming to her feet. It didn’t take much for me to figure out she had been a zombie awhile. Her cheek was missing, teeth showing through, and her skin was a super alabaster color. I was actually relieved to see she was a zombie. I threw the truck into reverse again, and lined up the tires to run her over.

  There was a bump, a crunch, and a giant stain left behind in the driveway. With a clear conscience, I drove down the road, off to my original destination. I stopped at the original truck and grabbed the gas cans before heading all the way down the hill. The road was just as clear of cars as it has always been, but there were quite a few tree branches down in the road. Rather than clear them out of the way, I just drove carefully around them. I didn’t want to clean the road out too much for two reasons. First, it is shit a zombie can trip up on. That’s saying something too. These fuckers can get entirely bamboozled by simple obstacles like that. I once watched a zombie walk straight forward for 15 minutes stuck in a playground swing. Damn swing was up around its armpits and it just kept going forward. Probably still there right now. And secondly, any survivors might think a cleared out road leads to salvation, and I wasn’t sure I wanted roommates just yet. Call me selfish if you want, but I’m fucking pragmatic so suck it.

  I crept up to the stop sign around the corner from the gas station. Old habits die hard and I came to my complete stop. Mostly just to check out the surroundings, but traffic safety has always been a pet peeve of mine too. I could clearly see movement inside the two houses across the street from the gas station. It was slow movement, deliberate and a little clumsy. Pretty sure it was zombies. I counted at least 6 different shapes moving in the windows. I figured they were stuck inside and wouldn’t be a problem. I slipped into the main road and drove the last 100 feet at about 5 miles an hour. The gas station lot was clear, and the two open garage bays were void of movement. There was a body half under a car on a lift, but it looked pretty ravaged as I pulled up to the pump.

  I work like the military in situations like this. Clear the building first, then do your work. I hopped out, sheathed up the sword as I kept an eye out, and headed up the few steps into the front doors of the station. This station was a mom and pop shop, not a chain, and it looked like a house more than a franchise style square building. I pushed the door open slowly, and took a sniff. Always trust your nose. I’ve learned that. Dead bodies and zombies smell wretched, especially if they’re in an enclosed space for a long time. The interior of the gas station actually smelled pretty good. It smelled a little moldy maybe, dusty for sure, but no rot in the air at all. I stepped in once I felt comfortable.

  I move with purpose. I’m quick, assertive, and have good violence of action. (look that phrase up, it’s good shit if you don’t know what it means) I cleared the main store area, which consisted of 4 chest high aisles, and the back room, which was just a glorified janitor’s closet. There was one exit in the back room area, but it led upstairs to the apartment above. I didn’t feel the need to go up there at the moment so I left it shut. No power was on. I checked the cooler doors and immediately wished I hadn’t. The milk inside had gone rancid, and the stench was overwhelming. I actually panicked for a second because it was almost the same as a ripe Zombie. It wasn’t though, all was safe for the moment.

  I immediately grabbed a handful of plastic bags from behind the counter and started filling them with everything I could see. My main items of note were pretty fucking outstanding. Soda, chips, and candy. I hadn’t had shit like this since the world ended, and it was long since overdue. Energy drinks, coffee cans, sealed juices so stocked up with preservatives they were good until the next apocalypse, and a whole bunch more of the good old canned sustenance. I filled four bags at a time and made a trip to the truck, setting them gently in the back. Once I had filled the bed of the Tundra with bags, I searched for the keys to open the pumps. Nada. I looked for a solid 15 minutes but found jack shit. Eventually I saw the body outside in the garage again and figured I’d check the pockets.

  I felt pretty safe checking the corpse because the head was crushed by some parts that had fallen off the car. Looked like the whole ass end of the car had come loose and crushed him. He was also pretty fresh compar
ed to the bodies I’ve seen from the first of the zombie days. I wonder now if he was trying to fix the car to mount an escape? Anyway, he had the keys in his pocket, and it only took a minute or two to get the pump door open, and get the manual handle set in it. It only took me three rotations to get fuel coming out the nozzle. Like an asshat though, I didn’t put the truck on the right side for the gas cap. I filled the four gas cans though, and then pulled a quick U-turn, switching the truck around. As soon as I pulled into the pump again and got out, I heard the car coming.

  Frankly, I panicked. Hide? Just stand there? Get the gun ready? My decision was made for me though when the car crested the little hill and drove by me. They stomped on their brakes though, and stopped the car right in the road. It was an import station wagon. Volvo? Subaru? I don’t remember right at the moment. A woman was driving, and a young guy was in the passenger seat. The car sat still in the road for a solid minute before the dude got out of the passenger side. He had a big scruffy nap of hair that looked like a badly trimmed beard that ran into an afro, and he was wearing a heavy flannel shirt and jeans. Reminded me of a hippy crossed with a logger. Funny stuff.

  He hopped out of the car and just stood there, looking at me. I waved slowly, and rested my hand on the Sig at my waist. I could see he had a shotgun inside the car, set in the doorframe and within easy reach. I forget exactly what he said after our moment of awkward silence, but it was something like this:

  “Uh, hey dude, you okay? You need help?”

  And I said, “I’m fine man, thanks. You two okay?” He seemed genuinely concerned, so my guard came down a little. After I said that, he replied:

  “There’s actually three of us, we’ve got our son too, he’s only 3.” I remember vividly him looking in the backseat of the car, and I could kinda see a car seat. “Do you have any food? We need food for him, we’ve been looking but we’re low on bullets, and it’s hard to get into stores that way, you know?”