OUTNUMBERED volume 1: A Zombie Apocalypse Series

by Robert Schobernd

  At ten a.m., I left the armory and headed for an exit go outside and take the weekly gauge readings of the four underground fuel tanks. Faintly in the distance, I heard tractor engines as the mowing crew cut the alfalfa ground cover on the forty acres surrounding our compound. We baled it to feed twenty head of Black Angus cattle, but at its full height before cutting, the thick crop effectively slowed the zombies during an attack.

  Each tractor carried two shooters riding in two foot diameter waist-high caged platforms. Their sole job was to watch for zombies. The sounds of the diesel engines diminished as the tractors continued around the field and away from me. The aroma of fresh cut alfalfa wafting in through the ventilation system stirred fond memories of better times only a few years past. Memories that were filled with Emma's love.

  I cringed when I heard the sentry in the northwest tower announce, "Look alive, a whole mob of zombies is stumbling out of the woods toward the building. The mowing crews see them and have headed for the big door, but I think the zombies will be here close behind them. There must be at least fifteen of the damn things, and more are still staggering out past the trees."

  The emergency alarm sounded its harsh “Ooogah, Ooogah,” for everyone to mobilize. The sound of diesel engines increased as they were revved higher to outrun the hungry horde. Sporadic gunfire rang out sharp and clear as the mowing crew raced past the zombies toward the big sliding equipment entry doors at the north end of the building. Expert marksmen assigned to the second floor gun ports made their way up the nearest of four sets of stairs with their rifles in hand.

  Suddenly the engine noise diminished and thumps and thuds were heard. I reached the exit along with two others, grabbed my M14, and ran outside. In the distance, one of the tractors was flipped over on its side. Two men stood in uncut alfalfa firing at the advancing zombies. My concern focused on one man I could barely see laying prone in the alfalfa. He didn't move and was likely injured. The other tractor stopped, and the three men on it fired multiple rounds at the advancing horde as the undead lumbered toward them. Then their stench reached us on an errant breeze as if guts from a slaughter house poured down on us. I don't believe I'll ever get used to that ghastly odor of rotting flesh, guts, and feces. Four of the undead scum changed direction toward our group and staggered ahead. Two sharpshooters ahead of me knelt to firing positions and quickly decimated the four monsters in their shuffling tracks. Gunfire from the building behind us dropped several more.

  As I approached the damaged tractor, a small group of zombies lumbered around the mower unit and surged toward our crew. I aimed, fired and a rotted body dropped. Two of the monsters peeled away from the group and focused on our man on the ground. Both were fast movers and closed on the man in seconds. I shot at one of the stumbling undead and missed. They pounced on him and tore chunks from his arm and stomach with their teeth and leprous fingers. One of our people stepped into my line of fire. The terrified piercing screams of the poor bastard cut through the moaning cries of the remaining monsters as he regained consciousness and realized he was being eaten alive. One of the creatures raised a string of bloody intestines up high and let them fall to his yawning mouth as Maria Gonzales blew the back of his head off before she turned and shot the second undead creature from ten feet away.

  The shooting finally stopped. I spoke to Tony Osmond as he stood staring in disbelief at his mutilated friend, Ollie Fredrichs. He knew Ollie would have to be shot before he could rise to attack us and wasn't taking it well.

  I moved between Tony and his view of Ollie. "What happened, Tony?"

  Tony shook his blond head and closed his clear blue eyes for several seconds. "I was driving as fast as I thought was safe when the front right tire dropped into a hole. Likely, it was a washed out groundhog tunnel. I didn't see the damn thing because I was trying to keep away from the zombies, and I kept glancing to the side to see how close they were." Tony tried to see past me in his dazed condition. "It looks like that whole front steering section is wiped out." He shook his head and refocused. "My buddy, Ollie, was in the left cage. When the tractor flipped, he must have been thrown high and far and came down hard." Tears lurked at the corners of Tony's eyes as the knowledge that his friend would quickly join the undead overcame him. "I can't believe my best friend is gone."

  I heard a shot from behind me and knew Ollie had been put down after he transitioned from living to dead to undead. I put my arm around Tony's shoulders and started back to the building with him. The responders knew what needed to be done and would bring a backhoe to bury the zombies in a mass grave in the field. More guards with trucks would be stationed so workers could escape if another zombie attack occurred.

  Ollie would be interred in a far corner of the field where we had set up markers on the graves of our deceased comrades. Ollie wasn't the first friend we had lost, and unfortunately he wouldn't be the last casualty in our small graveyard. He'd quickly join the other five people we'd all mourned for after they fell victims to the flesh-chomping zombies during the prior year.

  Shana Thompson, our teacher and Tony's girlfriend, met us inside the building and hugged Tony as she consoled him and cried with him. I left them and walked to my room, so I could have a few minutes alone. Today, the constant danger and accompanying death overpowered me. I needed a few minutes alone to rejuvenate.

  I sat on the edge of the bed with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. So much death. Sometimes it abated for a few days or even weeks, but it never ended. It lies in wait ready for one of us to slip up ever so slightly, so it can jump in and claim us. Fresh meat, that's all we were. Death lurked around every corner laying a trap to claim its next unwary victim.

  My thoughts, as usual, turned to Emma. What the hell possessed her to leave our safe haven and run away on her own? How could she do that? We talked about safety procedures daily, and I'm positive she understood the importance of the buddy system. Why didn't she come and get me if she was going to the lake? What was so damned important that day to cause her to ignore everything we'd talked about since this damned invasion began? And her final look. What did I miss? Was she trying to tell me something? She seemed so surprised to see me. Why?

  I fell backward across the width of the queen-sized mattress. Tears welled as I recalled our wedding day. We'd agreed to limit our drinks at the reception, even though we'd been intimate for over a year. She wanted our wedding night to be special and not just another night of great sex. And it was special. My God it was so special. She was so alive and giving and passionate.

  A knock on the door ended my reverie. I said, "Come in," and Connie entered. She closed the door behind her as I sat up straight and then rose to my feet with a resigned sigh. She moved close, almost touching me. She reached up and grasped my head to pull me down for a kiss.

  I stopped her. "No Connie, the timing isn't right. I need more time. Sorry."

  The smile disappeared from her face. "I'll try to not crowd you, but I think you need someone to talk to who cares about you. I'll be here when you're ready."

  I nodded and put distance between us. We left my room, and I went to the northwest watch tower to let the duty person know I was going outside to gauge the fuel tanks. I felt Connie's stare follow me until I was out of sight. I liked Connie as a friend, but Emma still consumed my thoughts and my affection. My love for my wife had burrowed much deeper than even I'd thought possible before she died. I'd never anticipated the extreme feeling of loss her death might evoke. But it was there, and I still struggled to live with it. Connie would have to wait until I was ready, and I wasn't even close to being there.

  ~*~*~*~

  The month following Ollie's death passed uneventfully except for the frequent sighting and shooting of zombies. Such ordeals had become routine occurrences. They seemed to be fanning out from the cities into the farmland at an ever increasing rate. We spoke of it and supposed it occurred because almost all humans had been annihilated in the larger cities.

  John, Janice,
and I exited I-70 at the turnoff for St. Peters, Missouri. The day was pleasant, partly cloudy and almost cool for early summer. We were searching for food, guns and ammo or any other useful items. Locating useable supplies had stabilized because there appeared to be only a few small groups like ours that survived the undead onslaught. With fall approaching, I wanted to stock up on all the food items we could find before freezing weather destroyed more of the canned foods packed in liquid.

  A large elevated sign for a Schnuck's grocery store rose up in the distance off to our left. Janice maneuvered to it and drove around back to the loading dock. The single overhead delivery door was raised like the entrance to a cave. The store had been hit already. We almost passed it but I chose to take time to stop and look.

  Inside the warehouse, we discovered whoever had been there earlier had been a lot pickier than we were. They left a lot of canned and bagged food staples we could use. Whole pallets of rice, beans, flour, sugar and cases of fruits and vegetables remained untouched. We left after loading our twenty-foot enclosed goose-neck trailer three fourths full. We already were likely well over the recommended weight limit but had more empty space inside.

  Our next stop was a Walmart store two miles off the highway. Again we pulled around back. An older model Dodge pickup occupied a space along the back of the building. We stopped and parked ten yards from it. Miscellaneous boxed items partially covered the truck bed. We approached the entrance door cautiously. It was possible the people inside could be friendly, or they could shoot on sight; we'd experienced both replies. Inside the building, we stopped when we heard several gun shots. We clicked the safeties off the rifles and flattened against an inside wall to get our bearings. The stench of zombies hung in the humid air like a herd of rabid skunks had died there. The shots faded to eerie silence. Clear plastic panels in the roof allowed enough sun rays to penetrate the gloom to see without flashlights.

  The three of us cautiously turned left toward where the gunshots originated. As we got closer, we heard human voices. We scurried along in single file. Several more shots echoed through the cavernous warehouse, and we again stopped to look and listen.

  Turning down a main aisle, our noses picked up a much stronger putrid smell of the undead. Four people stood a hundred feet away. Several zombie corpses lay close by them. I motioned for John and Janice to step back behind the remaining racks of palletized goods to be safe in case the humans weren't friendly.

  I leaned around the rack and shouted, "Hello, we're friends. Do you need help?" In the distant aisles, I heard the moaning of more zombies. We surveyed both directions of the aisle where we crouched and didn't see any monsters nearby.

  Two men, a woman, and a young girl eyed me warily. All four carried guns that were turned in my general direction, but the barrels pointed safely toward the concrete floor.

  I yelled again. "Three of us are here gathering supplies, do you need help?"

  Behind them, I saw several zombies emerge from a cross aisle fifteen feet away. "Behind you, more zombies!" I yelled. The moaning and screeching grew louder as the zombies sensed the movement and sound of live prey.

  At least eight of the macabre undead advanced on them as more stumbled around the corner. My group moved down the wide main aisle to help the strangers. Faster than I ever expected, two of the zombies streaked ahead of the rest and attacked a man dressed in military camouflage. He stood to the left at the edge of the aisle. He'd fired several bursts without having time to aim at their brains. The momentum of the attackers drove the man back several feet. The barrel of his M16 lodged under the head of the nearest zombie and blasted its brains out. But the second fast mover sank its teeth into the man's flesh between his shoulder and neck. The man's screams were muffled by the zombie's hand clawing at his face.

  The other strangers had their hands full with approaching slow movers and we were too far off to chance shots past the humans into the zombies. I stopped and sighted on the zombie chewing on the first man they'd attacked, but they moved around erratically behind the other people as the man began to crumple downward. He was as good as dead, but I couldn't chance a shot that near the other three folks. The man and his attacker slumped to the floor behind the line of shooters. The large bodied man lost the struggle with the unbelievably strong monster.

  We reached the humans and I shot the zombie who was now on top of the downed male human attacking his face. I shot it in the head twice. The man underneath it appeared to be dead. Large, ragged chunks of flesh lay beside him in a widening pool of blood. I turned and the six of us finished the final onslaught of zombies in less than thirty seconds. I quickly counted at least fourteen zombies on the floor.

  The three strangers appeared relieved until they saw their fourth member lying on the concrete covered in blood. The woman cried out and took short running steps toward the man and started to sink to her knees toward him. I grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back before she could touch him. She was thrown off balance and fell to the concrete on her butt. She glared at me as I stepped between her and the dead man. "Don't go near him. He's dead, but he's in the process of turning. He'll soon be one of them."

  Over my shoulder I saw the dead man's legs draw upward in spasms. The woman stood and moved in front of me. Tears ran down her cheeks and her shoulders drooped. She pulled a pistol from a thigh holster, and I stepped back. Her pain and sorrow showed on her face as she steeled herself to the task.

  "I can do that for you," I offered.

  She didn't look at me. "I'll do it. He said I had to do it if this happened. I have to protect the ones he left behind."

  Faster than I'd have believed possible, the new undead body threw the fast moving zombie off and surged up off the floor with its mouth gaping open. Frighteningly quick it reached for the young girl in one unbridled lunge. The woman reacted just as fast. She raised her arm and three shots from the large caliber handgun blasted through the zombie's right temple. Blood and brains splattered against boxes on the shelves and ricocheted through the air.

  The girl screamed and leaped to the woman. They both wailed loudly and sank to their knees clutching each other tightly.

  The other man, middle aged I noticed, spoke. He had vivid blood splatters on his shirt. His hands, neck, and the left side of his face were speckled with red. He muttered, "I don't know what to do next. My son-in-law was our strength since the zombie attack. He made the major decisions in these types of situations." He turned to look at the woman and child. "I guess we'll finish collecting supplies and head back home." He looked at us with tears streaming down his cheeks and laid his hand on the woman's shoulder. She sobbed and looked as distraught as the older man. She stood and pulled the girl up with her.

  I turned and looked questioningly at John, then Janice. They each nodded.

  "I'm Tom. My friends are John and Janice. We have a compound in Iowa, and you're invited to join us if you'd like to. There are twenty-six of us, and you'll be welcome and safe there."

  The man wiped away tears with a shirt sleeve. His brown hair was thin at the crown; a bare circle was forming. I judged him to be five feet ten inches tall and about two-hundred–thirty pounds. "Kira is my daughter, and Paige is my grand-daughter. I'm Walter Conley." He pointed to the corpse that had just turned. "That was Carl Schafer, Kira's husband." Carl had been a big, powerful, rugged looking man

  Walter and Kira conferred for a minute. "Thank you." Kira said. "We'd like to go with you. We'll work and earn our way however we can help."

  Janice stepped forward and extended a slender hand to Kira as she introduced herself. "We have strict rules, but they're common sense things for the good of all. There are daily work assignments and mandatory training for everyone. We also have a teacher for the children. Paige makes five students."

  I drew the attention of our new members. "One thing I want to be clear about up front is the requirement that you'll be separated and placed in solitary confinement for three weeks. If you're infected, you'll be put
down. After the three-week period, you'll be members of our group, but only then. Do you agree to that?"

  Walter and Kira exchanged glances before they silently nodded. Kira spoke to Paige to comfort her and assure her that everything would be alright. Paige still stared at her daddy's body but stood straight and tall beside Kira.

  I dug in the rucksack hanging on my left hip and tossed bottles of water and disinfectant to Walter. "You need to clean up, get the blood off of you before it finds an opening in your skin." He headed toward a restroom at the back wall to use a mirror. John pulled a flashlight from his utility belt and followed.

  As the situation calmed, I noticed Kira was attractive, a tall, slender, brunette with lovely features. She wore a long sleeved pullover shirt and jeans over hiking boots. Paige was slender like her mother, cute, and dressed similarly.

  When I spoke to Kira, she looked up. "We'll load your truck and you can follow us. We'll use it until it needs major repairs. When that happens, it'll be junked. We have newer Ford trucks, all diesels. It makes repairs and parts replacement simpler to keep one brand. The three of you can help load all the supplies we can find into the trucks and our trailer." She nodded, so I continued, "We'll wrap your husband's body and place him on top of the trailer. We'll bury him at our place. We have a cemetery for our members, and since you've joined us, he'll be interred there."

  We found enough food and other supplies to fill our equipment that evening, and then we headed back to Iowa in the dark. My thoughts were somber; I kept going back to Carl Schafer and the speed with which he transitioned into a zombie. This was a new development for concern. We would have to address this issue at the next weekly group meeting. Everyone needed to be aware that a dead body could possibly turn into a zombie in a fraction of the time previously seen. The most important impact was that the new creature could attack in an instant. I wondered what had caused this change or mutation in the zombies and what other changes might lay ahead.