Zombie Reign 2: Rescue in Detroit
Joseph Edward
Electronic Edition
Copyright 2013 Joseph Edward
Zombie Reign 2: Rescue in Detroit
Dedication
To my family, to my friends - for their continued love and support!
Thank you to all the fans for your feedback and inspiration, and thank you for appreciating the time and effort placed into writing the Zombie Reign series.
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Prologue
My name is Scott Griffin, “Griff” for short. I used to be a suburban Detroit police officer. When I refer to my profession in the past tense, it isn’t because I stopped being a cop. It wasn’t the economy that took my life’s love and profession from me, although I would have preferred it that way.
I used to be a husband to a wonderful and beautiful wife, with a house in the suburbs. All of that was lost, collateral damage to the indiscriminate evils of the virus. No one knows exactly where this virus started, but no one has been immune from its overwhelming destruction. The virus assimilates the living and mutates them into the walking dead, creating zombies who only have one purpose - and that’s to hunt and feast on warm human flesh.
I am continuing my journal to document how we are surviving day by day. I want to make sure that mistakes we make along the way aren’t repeated, while at the same time I hope to pass some of our survival techniques along. What seems common sense at one moment may become a monumental error the next, with people paying the price with their lives.
I lost my best friend, and partner, Bobby. I have lost my loving wife Kate, and our unborn child. I am now a man with nothing else to lose but my own life, which I refuse to forfeit in order to help rescue those loved ones who may still have a fighting chance of survival. Hopefully we will find more survivors, and secure a place somewhere that we can feel somewhat safe and come out of hiding.
This is our story.
Chapter 1
It had been several weeks since my wife Kate had been turned by the virus and Tommy had to end her suffering. I stood there outside on the front lawn gazing at our dream house, wondering how fruitful our life together would have been had the virus never existed. Kate and I had just found out we were expecting our first child when the outbreak occurred. We had this home built several years ago when we moved away from Detroit. Back then, we wanted to get away from the crime, smog and noise pollution found in and around the city. Unfortunately something much more sinister found its way here to destroy our happiness. Kate had been bitten by an infected dog of all things, and quickly fell victim to the virus.
Getting married and raising a family in our home together was part of our American dream. I wasn’t so sure that that dreams were being fostered anywhere anymore. Dreams were quickly being replaced with hellish nightmares. I scanned the yard and saw remnants of the vain attempts at keeping our domicile safe. There were bodies of the zombies everywhere - including what was left of the dog who had taken Kate from me.
I couldn’t even give her a proper burial. There would be no viewing, no memorial service. I decided the only thing to do was to set her funeral pyre upon the dreams we had built. Tommy had enough sense to knock me out cold after she had turned, which prevented any opportunity I had in stopping him from ending her misery. I know that I wouldn’t have had the strength to do what needed to be done. I truly feel that it would have been easier to have joined her. I probably would have if it wasn’t for him.
Did she feel anything once she had turned? Or was she a mindless feeding machine like the others we had encountered? Could she remember anything of who she was? Knowing there was nothing I could do to save her was a heavy cross to bear.
In short order I came to the realization that Tommy had done the right thing. Kate’s body was left in the basement, shrouded in sheets and covered in blankets soaked in gasoline. Standing on the front lawn, I could tell everyone was getting a little bit nervous and feeling exposed in the open while I finished my duty. Tommy had the truck running and ready to roll, with Justin riding shotgun in the most literal sense of the description. Eric was in an SUV that he had acquired, loaded with some last few items I salvaged from the home. Claire was there with him and looking back at me intently from the back seat. My hands were shaking as I stood over the trail of gasoline, which led into the home and liberally spread over all of the memories it contained.
Tommy, Eric and Justin had helped me move the most useful items out during the past week, which were being stored over at Tommy’s. His home was located fairly close next door, and would be our new base of operations. We had worked hard to clear out the roaming undead from the neighborhood streets, but if Kate’s demise taught us anything it was that sights unseen offered the deadliest threats of all. The way she fell victim to the neighbors’ dog made me shudder to think how we would survive if herbivores contracted the virus. It was one thing to have zombified dogs, but the thought of having infected deer hunt you down made me cringe. Not to mention what kind of predators a flock of flesh eating crows or seagulls would make. My mind was wandering in too many directions, and I could tell my protective escort team was getting nervous.
I lit the trail of gasoline and watched as it entered the home. I was sure not to saturate it too much when I had prepared it, aware that the ignition would only be accelerated by a heavy concentration of fumes. I was also mindful of turning off the natural gas main to the home, to avoid any potential explosion from occurring when I set the fire. This wasn’t about a grand display of destruction. This was about giving Kate some kind of burial and cremation, and ensuring that our home wouldn’t be defiled by any looters or roaming zombies.
As I watched the flames enter the threshold and spread throughout the first floor, I was angered and saddened that we would never get raise our child in this home. There would be no crawling around the house, no first steps across the living room, and no first bicycle ride without training wheels on the front sidewalk. The flames seemed to be laughing back at me as I looked on. They quickly spread upwards to the second floor with orange and yellow tentacles dancing around the window sills, lapping up the precious oxygen they needed to survive. As the intensity of the heat was building up, the crackling sound of burning wood and breaking glass became intoxicatingly peaceful. It had the same mesmerizing effects as a raging campfire on a warm and peaceful summer night. This was anything but a warm and peaceful night, as I was quickly reminded and brought back to the reality of our situation by a shot from a semi-automatic rifle.
“Come on! We gotta go, now!” yelled Tommy.
I turned to see what the commotion was about and found my answer lying in the road in front of the SUV Eric was driving. There was a large dog on the ground, possibly a shepherd mix, trying to scramble back to its feet. Justin had switched up from this shotgun and had taken a shot with his AR-15 and wounded it, striking it near the hind quarter. It was now scrambling up onto its front legs and trying to drag itself into an upright position. Even from this distance, the telltale signs viral infection was obvious.
The eyes were glowing yellow with dark pupils accentuating their luminescence. The dog had dried blood and a stringy mess, which appeared to be entrails, hanging from its jowls. Although it wasn’t barking, it was emitting an eerie grunting noise as if it labored to breathe. It bared its teeth as it chomped wildly into the air, and its snout lunged upward as if it were desperately trying to get a scent of our human flesh. I seriously doubted Tommy’s account that their acute sense of sight was what attracted the zombies to us, and not the scent of living tissue.
I flinched as I was unprepare
d for the second shot Justin fired, and equally as shocked that his shot didn’t drop our injured attacker. One glance past the dog in the road gave glimpse of what Justin had intended as his true target. There were several zombies, all human, making their way towards us. They must have been alerted by the charging dog, as they seemed to have now spotted our convoy and were heading our way.
Looking back at my house, I knew under the circumstances I would never have enough of the time it would take to give Kate a proper goodbye. I ran to the SUV and jumped into the passenger seat, grabbing one of the two way radios we were using to communicate between vehicles.
“Where to, Tommy?” I asked.
“Let’s lead them north and double back through the two track,” he replied, “the woods should provide cover for us to get back to my crib after we swing around.”
“Copy that,” I acknowledged while looking over at Eric who had the wheel, “you know the path he’s talking about Eric?”
“If I didn’t, wouldn’t I just follow Tommy?” he replied sarcastically.
We drove behind Tommy as he took us off road and through a muddy path cutting into the wooded area near our homes. I looked behind as we drove off and could see my house, now fully engulfed in flames. The vehicles were having little difficulty cutting through the path and the zombies chasing us were working hard at closing the gap. We were barely into the wooded pathway when the zombies hit the entrance to the trail, losing their footing on the mud and crashing clumsily into the ground. They recovered quickly, and continued pursuing their prey.
It was eerie to watch the undead run full tilt after us. With mouths gaping open, shrieking as they ran, arms extended outward in a desperate attempt to draw us to them. I couldn’t tell if their screams were echoing off of the wooded area, or if their death cries were being answered by another herd off in the distance. At the time, their ability to communicate was overlooked. That would prove to be a deadly oversight on our part.
The uneven ground of the woods was not forgiving to their limited sense of balance. While the zombies could run well enough on paved surfaces and yards, they had a lot of difficulty making it through the ruts of the two track and thick brush. By the time we had looped the track through the woods, and exited the other side to the clearing, they were no longer visible behind us. We had lost our pursuers and were able to get back to Tommy’s house without another confrontation. Thankfully, their screams of pursuit had stopped, but more cries could be heard in the distance.
Chapter 2
Tommy opened the garage door and we were able to get the vehicles unloaded fairly quickly. Eric and Claire were standing guard, making sure that we weren’t ambushed while we were busy unloading. We left some provisions and ammo locked in the vehicles, in the event that we had to make a hasty retreat. We made sure to cover the supplies with blankets to ensure that prying eyes of wandering looters wouldn’t be alerted to the cargo. Looking back on this, seeing blankets covering something in a vehicle would be a clear indication of valuables and only accomplished in giving us a false sense of security.
As the garage door closed behind us, we made our way into Tommy’s home. It was much larger than a bachelor like him would practically need. The main floors of the home were unremarkable given Tommy’s survivalist mindset. When he invited us down to the basement it was apparent that this is where Tommy made his true living quarters. What was discovered by our guests was of no surprise to me, since I had visited on numerous occasions and was well aware of what to expect. The same couldn’t be said of our new companions.
The home was a ranch, which meant that the basement footprint was as large as the entire main floor upstairs. The entire space was open, unlike most finished basements. Two walls were lined with gun racks and steel shelving. There was an area marked of and dedicated to the storage of survival gear and supplies, as well as a large workbench with some bar stools around it.
In one small corner was a large flat screen television and sectional couch, with a full wet bar sitting adjacent to the seating arrangement. This casual oasis amongst all of the armory and survival gear seemed awkwardly out of place. The basement felt more like a bunker and barracks, with a house that was built around it, rather than the other way around.
You could tell by the look on the faces of Eric, Justin and Claire that they were shocked at the amount of weaponry and supplies Tommy had on hand. Tommy turned on the television, which only displayed the message that had been repeating since all commercial broadcasting had ceased - “STAY INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE – THE CDC WILL ADVISE WHEN TRAVEL IS RECOMMENDED”.
“Feel free to make yourselves at home,” Tommy said, “I’m going upstairs to use the ham radio to see what I can find out.”
Rather awkwardly, all four of us made our way to the couch as it was the only place in this makeshift barracks that one could make themselves feel ‘at home’. We began chuckling as the four of us sat in unison, as if an awkward round of musical chairs had just ended. Cuddled up on the couch, we resembled the intro to the Simpsons with everyone piled on the same seating area.
“Anyone need something to drink?” I asked the group.
“I’ll take a beer,” replied Eric, “or two if you can find any!”
“Same here,” said Justin.
“Just some water,” replied Claire sheepishly, “and is there anything to eat?”
“Let me look around and see what he has,” I answered, “with all of these supplies I don’t think that we’ll be wanting for much.”
For the past several weeks, we had been surviving off of the supplies from my home and had raided the majority of the surrounding vacant homes as well. That was a lot of survival work considering what Tommy had been hoarding here. It did make sense though. It was best to keep the reserves he had stockpiled available with winter on the way. Day to day survival by pillaging was hard work, but manageable for the time being.
I wandered over to the wet bar and there was a mini-fridge stocked with beer. PBR seemed to be the beverage of choice, so I grabbed a few cans and brought them over to Eric and Justin.
“Seriously bro’?” Eric asked, “I’d rather drink my own piss than drink this garbage.”
After all I had been through this snapped a nerve. With the pain of losing my wife, best friend and my home, Eric’s selfish comment sent me over the edge. I took one of the cans and threw it at his face, catching him in the right cheekbone as he glanced away at the incoming projectile.
“What the hell?” was his response as he began to rub a quickly rising welt developing on the side of his face.
“What the hell?” I replied back mimicking him, “I lost my wife, my partner, and just torched my fucking house to the ground! We have a horde of zombies just waiting to add us to their ranks and all you can do is complain because the fucking beer isn’t the brand that you prefer?! Maybe if you would have gotten your own supplies, instead of trying to hijack ours at that drugstore, you would have your precious beer and my wife would still be alive! Then again, with your shooting skills, you probably wouldn’t have made it this far without us! So just remember – you need us more than we need your worthless ass, understand?!”
My tirade wasn’t so much about Eric and his comment, as it was about releasing some of the stress that was boiling over inside of me. The look on Claire’s face made me regret every word of it. In reaction to my outburst, she began to curl up on the couch and looked away from me as she began sobbing.
“What are you guys arguing about?” Tommy asked as he returned downstairs.
“Nothing,” I replied while picking up the beer I had thrown at Eric and made my way to put the beers back in the fridge. Tommy looked at me with a puzzled look on his face as I walked back over from the wet bar and began laughing.
“If you all want food and something to drink, don’t bother with this stuff down here. That’s what I have a fridge upstairs for, just like you normal folk. This stuff down here is the reserve supply. I mean, who would drink PBR unl
ess it was the last beer on the planet available to drink? That’s why it’s down here. Now come on upstairs and we’ll get you squared away.”
Tommy led the way upstairs, followed by Claire and Justin. As I began to fall in line, Eric grabbed me by the arm. I offered no reaction. If Eric was going to knock me silly for my outburst, I wasn’t going to stop him. He had every right to be more than upset with me.
“Hey, Griff” Eric said as I turned to face him, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking when I said that. You’re right. I shouldn’t be bitching about what kind of beer or anything else I’m lucky enough to get with everything that is going on.”
“Eric,” I replied as I put my hand on his shoulder, “apology accepted, but it’s not necessary. I’m the one who’s sorry for that outburst. I’ve just lost so much, so quickly, and haven’t had any time to grieve. Please don’t lose your sense of humor because of me or any of this madness - it’s one of the small things we still have left.”
“That isn’t the only small thing he has left,” Tommy boomed from the top of the stairs, “whenever you ladies down there are done with your Oprah moment, feel free to join us up here. There are condoms in the survival gear down there if you two need them.”
“That’s a pretty stupid thing to say,” I replied to Tommy, “seeing as we have all the weapons down here and you’re up there slightly outgunned. You want to take back some of that?”
Tommy was about to reply when the lights went out. Luckily it wasn’t pitch black, as the glass block basement windows let in enough daylight to see. I quickly made my way over to the supply kits Tommy had out and grabbed some flashlights and extra batteries. I handed some to Eric to carry and made our way upstairs.
“Well, that was bound to happen,” Tommy said as he took a flashlight from me, “I need to go outside and see why my generator didn’t kick on.”
“I’ll go with you,” Justin offered as he grabbed his assault rifle from the kitchen. Justin was quickly graduating from the arm chair survivalist to being Tommy’s protégé.
Zombie Reign (Book 2): Rescue in Detroit Page 1
