Dark Recollections

by Chris Philbrook

  I took my time answering him. “this place is cleared out, it’s safe.” I thumbed at the gas station behind me, “I actually left a bunch of baby food in there too. I’ve got some stuff in the truck here you can have too, just hang on and I’ll dig it out.” I carefully watched his response to that. And honestly, he started to tear up and smile ear to ear.

  He could barely get it out, but he muttered something like, “oh my God, thank you so much man.” That made me feel good. I rooted around in the truck, emptied a bag, and refilled it with stuff I knew I had plenty of back at the school. I also felt good because turning the truck around faced me in the opposite direction of the road I would be heading towards when I left. It’s a small detail, but it might point them in the wrong direction. As I did this, the guy asked politely if he could go in the shop, and I nodded. I kept my facing so I could see him, and his wife, who was turned in her seat to watch the events unfold.

  About the same time I got done repacking a good sized bag for them he came out with two bags himself. I handed the bag to him, nodded, wished him good luck, and his lip trembled in response. He had tears streaming down into his face. It was then I noticed how filthy and skinny he was. Gaunt almost. He backed away, put the food in his car, got in, and they drove away.

  I gave it a minute to digest everything, then got the pump running and filled the Tundra. According to the pump I put about 20 gallons in the truck. Pretty good haul for a Plan C. I checked the pump’s tank capacity numbers and it looked like there was over three thousand gallons of fuel left in the two tanks. Plenty to go me quite some time, the whole winter at the very least.

  I did a quick last second check of the garage and found a 5 gallon fuel tank. Score right? I walked it out to the pump and immediately my stomach dropped. The wagon was back, and mom was outside it, coming across the road straight at me, handgun raised in my general direction. She looked… loony.

  Nonverbal aggression commonly escalates things. Threatening posture, physical motion, all that stuff. I just slowly lowered my arms to my side as non-threateningly as I could, and let her come to me. I could see she was pretty detached from reality, and was crying just like her husband was just minutes earlier.

  Her hands were shaking something fierce as she brought the gun to my chest level and stopped at the back of my new truck.

  “We need more food, and gas, and water too. I don’t want to shoot you but I’ll do it for my son. We can’t go on being nice anymore I’m so sorry.” She got the sorry out as more of a guttural choke than a word. I could tell what she was trying to say though. You could see her pleading with her eyes. I forget exactly what I said at that point, but it was reassuring her that there was plenty of food and water, as well as food, and I was more than willing to share it.

  She motioned for her husband to come out, and he did. You could feel the fear coming off him though. He clearly wanted no part of armed robbery and it was palpable. He gave her a wide berth as he reached into the truck and grabbed two of my bags of groceries. I pointed out two that I knew had good food in them. He nodded frighteningly in thanks to me as his wife continued to shake with fear and anxiety.

  I stayed as calm as I could but things got worse when she started yelling at him to grab more. I knew I could go without the stuff, so I wasn’t about to get into a gunfight with a young mother and father over some candy bars. However, the young man was willing to argue with her over it. They started screaming and crying and she started gesturing wildly, trying to get the point to him that they were going to die if they didn’t take all of my newfound food. It was about that point I saw the zombie across the street moving towards their open car door, and their little kid.

  Sternly, not loud, but certainly audible, I simply said “zombie.” Her gun went off. I don’t know if the sound of my voice did it or if she was trying to shoot the zombie or what, but her pistol went off. Her husband dropped like a rock, clutching his chest. The plastic bags filled with food dropped at his side, and tipped over. She wailed at a thousand decibels and dropped on top of him screaming she was sorry. I took a few steps to my left, got a clean angle on the corpse walking towards her car, and fired a single round, splitting its face in two. It fell in the road a few steps from her open car door. Dimly, I could hear the kid start to cry inside the car.

  I put the Sig away and went to the guy to attend to him. Immediately I regretted not bringing a first aid kit. I tried calming her down but in the end I had to shove her off of him to check his situation. For being a total shit-show with a gun, she hit him dead square in the left lung. I could hear his chest gurgling when I put my ear to it, and his entry wound was starting to bubble and froth outward. His breathing was becoming more and more labored, and his mouth was filling with blood. He had a hole in his lung, and he would die. He would have no last words.

  “You gotta get out of here. He won’t make it, and he’ll try and kill you when he comes back.”

  She sobbed, staring at me like I wasn’t even there. I took action and loaded the bags of groceries her husband had dropped into the back seat of their car. Like I said, I didn’t need it, I just wanted it. I did glance at the little guy in the car seat though. Despite the fact that he was screaming in fear, he was a handsome baby. If they survived, he’d be a good looking boy, suitable to proud of. She was sobbing still, but her breathing was controlled. I picked up her pistol and glanced around. No more zombies visible.

  I got her up off the ground, brushed her hair back to clear her eyes, and looked her straight up, “I’ll take care of him, now you need to go take care of your son.” She nodded weakly in response, and walked back to her car. I dropped the clip in the pistol, ejected the round into my hand, loaded it back into the clip quickly, flicked the safety on, and handed it to her as she shut her door.

  “I’m sorry.” She said.

  “Me too.”

  And the woman and her 3 year old handsome boy drove off. Once I felt comfortable about them being far enough off, I walked back over to her fallen husband. He was just starting the twitches that come right before the reanimation. I slid the sword out and sunk it in one of the eyes that not minutes before were crying in gratitude for the small good deed I’d done for him and his family.

  I never got their names.

  -Adrian

  October 18th

  It bothers me a great deal that I had to watch a wife kill her husband so I could get a fucking candy bar. The state of affairs of this shitty ass world now has my head in shambles.

  It’s Monday. The weather blows. It’s cold, rainy, and raw. Typical fall weather for around here. I am still “recovering” from my jaunt to the gas station on Wednesday. Physically I was unharmed, despite running into three full on zombies, one lunatic wife, and one freshly attempting to reanimate body. I went maybe 6 miles roundtrip and I ran into all that. What the fuck is downtown like? Baghdad of the Living Dead?

  Christ’s sake. I got back Wednesday at like 1 in the afternoon I think. I didn’t check my watch exactly. Got the Tundra to the dorm, backed it right up to the door as close as I could, and got the groceries inside. I took the gas cans down to the basement where the generator is and left most of them in an adjacent room. Outside chance the generator blows up I didn’t want gas cans nearby. I also took one of the gas cans down to the maintenance shed so that just in case all the gasoline wasn’t in one place. Always have a Plan B, right?

  The rest of that day I basically vegetated. Damn near grew roots. I was so fucking pissed I could barely see straight. I had this awesome habit when I was younger of punching things when I lost my temper. I couldn’t even tell you how many times my older brother and my Dad had to patch the drywall in our house growing up. Fist holes in walls were available wholesale when I was going through puberty. I was almost that mad that day.

  I found solace in candy. Don’t judge me. I have a hardcore sweet tooth and this was the first chocolate I’d had in months. I didn’t think to grab any on any of my trips out or on “that day” so
I was pretty stoked to have some finally. I gorged and ate three candy bars. Sugar joy alleviated my tension. Otis too, he always knows when I’m down.

  The days leading up to today have been pretty quiet. Thursday when I woke up I was kind of sore, which is pretty normal for a day after the one I just had. Despite not getting hurt really when you’re all adrenalized you can sometimes hurt yourself a little just being in a fight. I think I swung the sword so powerfully I actually strained my shoulders. So I took four ibuprofen and a break and read a few books out of the library all weekend. Our library here is the majority of the second floor of the main school house. There’s about 16 classrooms in it, 8 on the first floor and 8 more on the third. Second floor is all library though.

  I need to be really practical right now though, so my readings are more or less limited to trying to pick up usable skills. I stuck to gardening and agricultural texts this weekend. I know I need to plant the seeds I got, but frankly I don’t know shit about farming. After this weekend’s reading, I now know shit about farming. Not much about it, but some. I did read this neat book about growing stuff in your apartment so you could have fresh produce in the city, and I desperately want to put that into action. If I can score a few bags of potting soil and the pots to go with it I think I can get some stuff growing here in the dorm over the winter.

  But, it’s been five days since I last touched this journal, Mr. Journal, and I think I still have a lot of story left to put down in the annals of history, such as it is. The last part I remember I had talked about was when I was at my mother’s place, and my gun clicked dry.

  I had walked up behind the younger Zombie that was face down but getting up, leaving his entrails on the floor as he did so. I was close enough that I was really almost at his feet when the gun clicked empty. I can totally remember that sharp pang of fear hitting me square in the pit of my stomach. What. The. Fuck.

  I backpedalled a few feet and watched in horror as the kid kind of rolled over and started to come at me. I looked around the lobby to see if there were any weapons, but there was nothing visible. I took another couple steps back, and thought about how having the Glock would’ve been so much better. The Glock I wanted had a higher magazine capacity, and I would’ve been good to go.

  Phil to the motherfucking rescue.

  I reached into my pants cargo pocket on the left side and grabbed the spare mag Phil hooked me up with earlier that day. I dropped the empty and slid the full one in, and thumbed the slide forward. Calmly and with relative precision, I snapped two rounds at the undead mess coming at me. First round sailed a little high and hit it in the back, but the second round split his forehead clean. His brains flew out the exit wound and covered his back with bloody grey poop. My heart was fucking pounding hard, so hard it actually hurt a little. I can recall the uncomfortable doubt of wondering whether or not I was having a heart attack. I wasn’t though, panic attack maybe.

  Once I gathered myself and got my heart to slow down some I grabbed my empty clip off the floor and went back carefully to grab my banana box. All was clear this time, and I got the fuck out. I tossed the banana box in the back seat and got in. Once I got the door locked I snagged a box of 9mm and reloaded my empty clip. I also filled up the chamber and the two rounds I shot out of the new clip. I hate to admit it, but that ass Phil totally saved my bacon with that second clip.

  Phil, if you’re out there, I take back all the bad things I’ve ever said about you. You have earned your passage to heaven in my book, sir.

  Still on my agenda was checking on my friends. The rest of my family was long since out of the question. Dad had been dead for some time, my older brother Caleb lived right in the city, and my younger sister Rebecca was away at college, which was on the other side of the city. No chance for a rescue for either of them, at least not that day. I guess it’s ironic that I actually thought about the logistics of driving all the way through the city to get to Rebecca, but not 45 minutes to find Cassie. I don’t even know what to say about that. I guess I’m a total fucking scumbag.

  Anyway, earlier I mentioned that I wanted to check in on Steve, my coworker buddy, and my two friends John and Dorothy. It was getting dark at this point though, and I really wanted to get a move on. I knew for one that Steve was probably either A) doing just fine, or B) not home anyway, so I knew, or at least had a good feeling I wouldn’t be long at his place. I switched my destination order immediately. I think it was about 6:30 or so by that point, and it was half dark. I had until maybe 7 or so before I’d be in the dark. I left my mother’s place, moving a little faster than the speed limit and headed past the school. The school parking lot was still packed. I didn’t know why then, and I still don’t know why now, but my bet was that there was some kind of parent teacher conference that night, or a basketball game or something. The kids would have been out of school for hours by that point so it didn’t make sense that this was a rush of parents getting their kids. I couldn’t get involved anyway. I almost got sideswiped by some prick in a Prius though as I drove by the exit. It was close, but no damage done.

  I hit Main Street, and headed straight east the 8 miles to John and Dorothy’s place. Now I said it was out of town, and it is. Their place is a few hundred feet down a side road off of a fairly well traveled state route. It’s rural, pleasant, and was a bitch to get to. The roads were packed big time that day, and everyone was *flying*. I got passed at least 20 times on a solid yellow during the trip. No middle fingers given my way though, which was a pleasant change of pace from the prick earlier in the giant truck.

  I got off the main route without getting the car wrecked and turned onto the street John and Dorothy lived on. No traffic here, just trees and darkness, as the sun had fully set by now. Now before I go any further I should mention my buddy John was a bit of a gun-nut. That’s being fairly mild. He was ex-Army, just like me, (I did 4 years, he did 8) but he came from a long and storied lineage of deer hunters. He spent far more money getting his hunting rifles geared up than he did on his cars. Funny that he drove a $900 pickup truck with a $3,000 hunting rifle in the back window. Only in America I guess. Good times. Classy fella though, he just really enjoyed firearms and spending time in the woods with them.

  I turned left super slow into their driveway and came to a stop about 15 feet from their garage door. Lights were on in the living room, but I didn’t see anyone. John’s truck wasn’t visible, and Dorothy’s little beater car was nowhere to be seen either. I let myself out of the car and made sure I had the Sig and the spare clip on me. No sword though, shit was crazy enough without me marching into their place with it. I knocked on the door they used as the front, which was on the breezeway that attached the garage to the house. More of a mudroom really than a breezeway.

  I waited a full minute while looking into the window next to me. It looked into their living room, and with the light on inside I could see everything. No one came to the door, so I tried the knob, and it was unlocked. Remember earlier how I said to trust your nose? As soon as I opened the door I got a whiff of something awful, something bloody and dead or dying. I drew the pistol out of instinct, and walked slowly into the mudroom. Stretching across the floor from the back door opposite my door to the interior door heading into the house was a crimson streak of blood. It wasn’t a huge swath of blood, but it came from a serious bleeding injury. A bit of dread hit me, I can remember it clearly. I hoped it wasn’t either John or Dorothy, or especially their 4 year old Danielle. Shit if that kid died I think I would go loony on the spot.

  The door heading inside was ajar, and I used the muzzle of the pistol to push it open fully. The streak of blood continued through the living room, past the central fireplace, and down the hall. It looked like it ended right at the bathroom door halfway down their hallway. I decided then and there to clear the house as normal. I went room to room carefully, cautiously, using standard room clearing military procedure. Living room and kitchen were both clear, both closets were empty, but when I cleared the bat
hroom I saw where the blood was coming from. Before I went in to examine more fully I cleared the bathroom at the end of the hall and crept upstairs to clear the other two bedrooms. The house was totally empty. I noticed in both of the bedrooms where they slept the bureau drawers were pulled out and gone through. Clothes were also missing from the closets.

  I returned to the bathroom and the source of the blood. In the tub, dead as a doornail, was their family dog Dwayne. John loved Dwayne Wade and named his dog after him. I can’t fault him, Dwayne (the dog, not the basketball player) was his homeboy just like Otis was mine. Can’t be hatin.

  Honestly I was relieved. I had started to think the streak came from their kid Danielle and when I knew it wasn’t, I was so relieved. I did however remember that John kept his gun safe downstairs. I flicked the lights on, and went down to clear the basement. Everything was kosher though, and I found the safe door open. All the guns were gone. However, he did leave behind two packages of gun kit cloth, which is disposable stuff, and I knew I would eventually need more, and he also left behind two full boxes of 12 gauge double ought. That was 20 more shotgun shells for me. Huzzah.

  I checked the basement for anything I could take, and found little. There were some tools, which I already could get, and some cleaning supplies, but those would be in major motherfucking abundance at the school, so I skipped the basement. In the kitchen upstairs though, I found about ten cans of food they left behind as well as a few boxes of crackers and bags of chips. God bless John and his obsessive love for Cool Ranch Doritos. I was now hood rich with 4 bags.

  I did get a scare though when I looked out the window above the sink. In the backyard, barely visible in the light shining out of the window I could see a person standing near the back fence. They were just standing there, and I can remember feeling really creeped out. I mean, who the fuck just stands in someone’s backyard? Dorothy have a stalker or something? I figured I would look into it. I gathered my shit in a few brown paper bags Dorothy had under the counter and carefully exited the house going to my car. All clear. I tossed the stuff in the back, and grabbed the Mossberg.