by Crae, Edward
“MacGuyver was my hero,” Dan joked.
They turned back to look at their handiwork. Smoke was billowing from the back of the station, filling the air with the stink of petroleum and burning flesh. Through the broken windows, the two of them could hear the dying screams of the stumblers echoing from the garage.
“Meet ya at home,” Drew said.
Dan howled in triumph as they rounded the gas station back to the parking lot. Drew passed the pickup to return to the propane truck. As he reached the street, a stumbler emerged from behind another car. Drew lifted the shotgun, still running, and blasted the creature away without a second of hesitation. He yelled like a cowboy and leaped up into the driver’s seat.
Dan opened the pickup’s door and slid in. Before he could close it, a high pitched whine caught his attention. The pug was there, looking up at him with pleading eyes. Dan’s heart sank; both in pity and a goddamnit sensation.
“Goddamnit,” he said, sighing. “Come on, buddy.”
The dog hopped up on his lap, jumping off onto the passenger seat. Dan shook his head, starting the truck and pulling out as Drew took off.
“Well,” he said. “Looks like you’re coming home with us. Better not turn into anything weird.”
The dog wagged its tail, rising up to look out the windshield, its tiny little tongue hanging out with glee.
“Little fucker.”
Chapter Three
“I can’t believe you brought the dog,” Drew said, shaking his head with a skeptical grin. “We’re gonna have another cocoon in the vanity.”
“I think he’s okay,” Dan said, scratching the little guy’s head. “He’s not looking to go hide anywhere.”
Drew rested his hands on his hips as he studied the propane tank; looking back and forth between it, and the truck that he had parked next to it. Neither of them knew how to hook it up, or whether it was even the right kind of connector. It would probably be a good idea to try and look it up first.
“Why don’t you park it on the other side of the house until we figure it out,” Dan said. “Our tank is still pretty full. There’s no rush.”
Drew stared for a few more seconds, bobbing his head as he accepted Dan’s idea. “So, what are we calling the dog?” he asked.
“I thought Pauli would be a good name,” Dan replied, “after Paul Revere.”
Drew grinned. “I get it. The zombies are coming, the zombies are coming!”
He hopped back into the truck, and Dan went around the garage to check on the horses. He had put them in the small fenced in area that was his dad’s dog kennel at one time. He figured they would be alright there; at least until winter came on full force. So far, he had been right.
The two beasts stood motionless, chewing on grass and little else; like horses usually do. Dan opened the gate, and Pauli ran right in, sniffing at the horses’ feet. They didn’t seem to mind.
“Here’s your new bodyguard, fellas,” Dan said.
He turned to go back into the house, leaving the gate open so the horses could go out and graze in the yard—and crap somewhere else. Pauli followed, and Drew came around the corner shaking his head.
“That truck is pretty conspicuous,” he said. “It sticks out like a sore thumb.”
“We’ll worry about it later,” Dan said, unlocking the side door. “I wanna check the bulletin board site.”
The house smelled stale, as usual. With the power out, and the furnace not running, the air just kind of hung there constantly. The only source of circulation they had was the box fan that sat between the kitchen and living room, and that got turned off every time they left the house. There was no need to waste power keeping a fan going when they weren’t home.
Dan went to the broken sliding doors to the deck. They had been covered in OSB, screwed right to the frames, with small vents cut into the panels for looking outside. Dan slid the door open and pull-started the generator. It huffed and puffed in response, starting roughly, but thankfully starting. Pauli watched him, wagging his stubby little tail.
“Want some food?” Dan asked. Pauli jumped in circles. “Well, okay. You understand that word.”
There were a few deer bones left on last night’s dinner plates. Dan tossed them to the floor, and Pauli eagerly grabbed one and lay down on the floor to enjoy it. Dan then went back outside to unload their score from the pickup. Drew was on his way in with a load of bags.
“Even warm beer is gonna be good,” he said as he passed.
“Sit it out on the deck,” Dan said. “It’ll get cold.”
He grabbed the remaining bags from the bed, closing the garage door, and heading back into the house. He set them on the kitchen table, and then went to the fireplace to put more logs in the smoldering fireplace. Pauli looked up, almost smiling as he took a break from chewing the dried bits of meat that still clung to the bone.
“Like that?” Dan said. Pauli wagged his tail.
Drew shut the deck door after depositing the beer outside, and carried two other bags to the living room, where he dumped them out on the floor and sat down to sort through their contents.
“King Dons?” he asked, holding up a package that looked identical to Ding Dongs. “What the fuck? Pork rinds… gum? You need fresh breath there, buddy?”
Dan chuckled, sitting down on the other side of the pile with the bag of pints. He pulled them out, one by one, lining them up on the floor. “I’ve never even heard of any of this shit,” he said.
“That’s because you drink that cheap shit that I wouldn’t give to my drunken uncle.”
“Fuck your uncle,” Dan said, “and his liver.”
Drew reached over to grab a pint. “Aw, damn,” he exclaimed happily, holding up a bottle of Fireball schnapps. “This is my shit.”
He unscrewed the cap, sniffing it like a bottle of fine wine, and took a swig. He smacked his lips, grinning strangely. “Now that’s good shit.”
Dan opened a bottle of no name tequila, guzzling at least a third of it. “Ah,” he said. “Tastes like Mexican piss.”
It felt good going down, and didn’t taste too bad. But there was a little bit of a lighter fluid taste that lingered. He didn’t care.
“Ta-kill-ya,” Drew said, sorting through the cigarettes.
He opened a pack, lighting one up and sighing with pleasure as he exhaled. “Damn,” he said. “Cancer never tasted so good.”
Dan rubbed his shoulder. It was still aching. The dislocation at the hands of the hunter-thing was painful as hell, and it lingered after all these days of rest. He leaned back and reached into his pocket for the pill bottle. He had two Vicodin left. Soon he would have to resort to the codeine, and that just didn’t work as well. He took one, washing it down with a swig of tequila.
“We should go back to Gary and Linda’s,” Dan said, thinking of an excuse to do so. “I know they have solar panels. They would be much better than a generator.”
Drew nodded, saying nothing. Dan knew that he was on to him. He wasn’t really interested in the solar panels, but Drew kept his knowledge to himself.
“I’m checking the bulletin board,” Dan said, getting up to boot up his laptop.
Drew put on some music; some weird, techno-death that Dan had never heard. He ignored it, waiting for the Windows logo to disappear and booting up his browser. He typed in the address, and was surprised to see another video.
“More news,” Dan said. Drew got up to join him, pulling a chair up next to him and leaning his elbows on the table.
Martin Patterson began his speech after the video buffered.
“Our sources have discovered that the security firm responsible for the attacks on civilians has been identified as Gephardt Security, based out of Houston, Texas. They number in the mid two hundred thousand range and have been dispatched by unknown forces in an attempt to seize control of the country. The National Guard and active military have since been officially disbanded and are considered criminals and terrorists.
Amid th
e chaos that is happening, with civilians fighting against mutated humans and animals, there is an active war going on between these rogue military personnel and the black-clad mercenaries. Citizens are urged to avoid contact with Gephardt employees and to trust and assist the actual military when the need arises.
Also intercepted was a memo to mercenaries in the area to evacuate Bloomington, Indianapolis, and other larger, surrounding communities. There was no information found as to why, but speculations are abundant, and those of you out on the fringe are warned to stay away from metropolitan areas. Since these areas have been overrun with mutants, it is likely that Gephardt is planning on destroying them. Again, avoid larger cities at all costs.
Since this information was found, we have moved our base of operations to an undisclosed location. Our techs are working diligently to keep our bulletin board up and running, and we will continue to do so until this plague is eradicated and order is restored.
This is Martin Patterson. God be with you.”
“Holy shit,” Dan said. “They’re gonna bomb Bloomington.”
Drew sighed. “If they use a nuke,” he said, “we would be poisoned by the fallout.”
Dan shook his head. “I don’t think they would use a nuke… probably.”
Drew took a swig of his Fireball. “Yeah… I guess they wouldn’t be able to get one, unless the government gave them one, or two, or three.”
“Fuck,” Dan said, leaning back and scrolling through the posts. “So much for going there for supplies.”
Dan clicked the search box, typing in filling propane tanks. The search brought back two posts, one entitled Converting natural gas heaters to propane, and another, entitled Propane tank basics. Dan clicked on the second, and a PDF loaded up. The document was filled with diagrams on how to hook up appliances, places to find propane, and finally, a diagram on how to fill a tank from a truck.
“Hot shit,” Dan said, smiling. “Here we go.”
Dan sent the document to his printer, and leaned back smiling. “That’s going in the Apocalypse Compendium.”
Drew pointed at the screen, where another link reading Mutant types was located. It had several thousand hits and replies. Dan clicked it.
It was a forum post, where people were relating their experiences. The title post had over fifty thousand views, and several hundred replies. Dan clicked it, and read it out loud:
“In light of recent confusion on the nature of the rampant mutations, we should come to some common naming conventions for what we have all seen. Below is a list of mutants in order of appearance as related by subscribers.
First and foremost are the millions of ordinary citizens that have succumbed to the mutation effects on a basic level. They are collectively known as zombies, obviously, but they are not actually undead. It is just easier to call them that. Within this group are a few types.
There are slow-moving specimens that seem to just wander around aimlessly. They appear as dirty, unkempt vagrants, and may or may not attack. Some may have overly mutated or damaged features, as they have harbored the virus—or whatever it is—the longest. It has damaged them to the point of dulling their vision, hearing, and spatial awareness. They’re mindless and don’t look like they have the need to eat. They are known as Shufflers. Some of them are oblivious to their surroundings, and can easily be avoided or stealth killed—without having to even use much stealth.
Some think that the Shufflers are the source of the mutated strains of the virus. It simply occupies their bodies and feeds off of them as it mutates. They can spread it if they attack, which isn’t very often.
Second are the more dangerous Shamblers. They are more aggressive and will always attack on sight. They are highly infectious, mutated to the point of having extremely damaged skin, red eyes (usually) that look like rubber balls, and are capable of running with an odd gait. They can also spread the virus. Avoid them or kill them, if possible.
The third type is called Crawlers. We think these may be the same type as Shamblers, but are made up of people who may have once been in wheelchairs, or have lost their legs somehow. Pretty self-explanatory.
The fourth type are just children. They are simply kids who have succumbed to the mutative effects, and attack just as aggressively as the Shamblers. The smaller ones seem to be capable of climbing with great skill. Avoid them or kill them, if possible.
Higher up on the list are strange things that people have seen out in rural areas. They are highly mutated people and animals that sometimes do not appear in their original form. They are white in color, with hard, slippery skin. They may have unusual appendages like tentacles, scorpion-like tails, and are highly dangerous. These are usually made up of predatory animals, or people with predatory nature. The most common type, other than wild or domestic animals, appears to be former criminals, hunters, or anyone who was previously more aggressive in life. Some people have seen them emerge from the cocoon-like objects that have been spotted in random places. They emit a strange, hissing or jingling sound. These ones are called Stalkers. Avoid them at all costs.
Other things have also been seen in the wild. There are green, glowing things that are spotted sometimes in the distance. No one has been able to get close to one, and we are not entirely sure what they are. We simply refer to them as Floaters. Some of our scientists have said they are some kind of spore sack with a gas bladder-like structure that is lighter than air; thus the floating.
Lastly, many people around the world have seen dark, shadowy figures out of the corner of their eye. Again, no one has seen one up close or spot on, and they don’t appear to be aggressive. Whether or not they are just a figment of peoples’ imagination is unknown. No data on whether to flee or fight, as none have actually been encountered. They can be referred to as Phantoms or Shadows, but it’s unlikely you will see any, since I personally think it’s bullshit. These are nothing new, and I don’t think there is any relation to the current events.
Please use the above terms when referring to any encounters, and post descriptions of new things in this forum before naming them. Signed, Strahd71.”
“Damn,” Drew said.
“Who the hell is Strahd71?” Dan wondered out loud.
Drew shrugged, getting up to pace the kitchen floor. “Man,” he said. “Mutant kids. That’s fucked up. I don’t know if I could kill a kid, zombie or not.”
He seemed unusually agitated, shifting nervously and gritting his teeth.
“Chill out, man,” Dan said. “I don’t think you’ll have any problem shooting something that’s trying to kill you.”
Drew shook his head. “It just makes me think of my nephew,” he said. “I know he got sick. He was already sick. He’s probably one of those kid things now.”
Dan sighed, thinking of how horrifying it would be to see one of them. Kids were scary enough without being mutated and murderous. He got up, reaching outside to grab a couple of beers. They were colder than they were before, which was good enough. He handed one to Drew, who took it gladly.
“Thanks,” he said. “Sorry.”
Dan made an indifferent fart noise, sitting back at the laptop.
“I wanna find out who this Strahd71 is,” he said. “It looks like he’s written a lot of these posts.”
The faint sound of gunfire echoed in the distance, and Dan and Drew froze, staring at each other. It sounded again in rapid succession, followed by a shot from a high powered rifle.
“That sounded like an automatic rifle,” Dan said. “Then a sniper rifle.”
Drew went closer to the deck doors, sticking his head out to listen. The gunfire sounded again. “Yep,” Drew said, “definitely a military rifle.”
Dan joined him at the door, trying to get a feel for what direction the firing was coming from. It sounded like somewhere beyond Gary and Linda’s; far enough to be barely audible, but close enough for concern. The closest thing in that direction was Shirley’s house. She lived alone, so having a bunch of people there with her was
unlikely. But, if the mercs had encroached on her property, she would fire at them for sure.
And Shirley never missed.
“Let’s go,” Dan said. “Shirley might be in trouble. And if they take her down, we’re next.”
Chapter Four
They were armed to the teeth. Both of them had an AR-15, a Glock, and a third weapon. Dan carried the Barrett, and Drew carried the shotgun he had liberated on the first night. They carried ammo in fanny packs, and had dressed in camouflaged hunting clothes—minus the idiotic orange vests.
They stuck to the lengthening shadows on the side of the gravel road, passing Gary and Linda’s house along the creek. They could probably stay down near the water the whole way; at least until they reached the bend. After that, their choice would be to cross the road again, or keep to the creek as it went around the back of Shirley’s house.
“Who is this lady?” Drew asked as they descended the bank down into the rushing water.
“She’s just a woman who’s lived here for forty or so years,” Dan replied. “Her husband died about ten years ago, and she refused to move.”
“How old is she?”
Dan shook his head, ducking under some branches. “I don’t know. Sixty something, maybe.”
Drew grinned, obviously picturing Granny Clampett hanging out the window with her shotgun, yelling “Get off my land!”
“We need to be careful when we reach her place. She’s likely to shoot at us, too.”
Drew pursed his lips, looking down at the ground as they trudged through the mud. “Great…”
Ahead, the gunshots became louder, and Dan and Drew could hear men shouting. Among the gunshots were the obvious sounds of a high-powered rifle—likely wielded by Shirley herself. She was no stranger to hunting, and she would use her most powerful weapon to defend her home; whatever that was.
“Stick to the bank,” Dan whispered as they rounded the last bend.
Dan could see Shirley’s house from their position; the back end of it, anyway. There, the creek split off from the road and wound around the back side of the house, leaving about fifty yards from her back porch to the bank. The front of the house was obscured by the forest, still thick this time of year, but covered in the browns and orange leaves of autumn. They swallowed the house with their colors, making it difficult to tell where the tree line ended and the house began.
