by Greg Dragon
Dara put the picture gently into the last box she had to fill, closing the flaps. She pressed a hand on the box in a final goodbye, and turned to climb the narrow basement stairs. Her work down here was done, and in the morning she’d carry up the last few boxes, load them into the old moving company trailer, bought for a bargain price at auction, and it would be time to leave this part of their life behind.
* * *
When morning came, it was all Dara could do to get up and get moving. Now that the time had arrived, she was reluctant to go, knowing in her heart she’d never seen the house, or even the city, again. Her gut said this was it, that humanity had finally reached its extinction level event.
The stuff she was seeing on the morning television shows only reinforced her instincts. Now it was all that you could see, more and more reports of rioting as people protested the government’s lack of action. More and more videos and first-hand accounts of people dying and rising again.
It was insane, and Dara finally had to switch the TV off and send Ted into the den to watch an old movie while she finished up.
Dara went around the house, dusting and doing the breakfast dishes. They were leaving a lot of stuff behind, big pieces of furniture and the appliances. There was just no way to transport them by herself, and they wouldn’t be of any use at the hunting camp anyway.
When she’d finished her chores, she brought up the final few boxes and tucked them into the back of the moving truck. Very little empty space was left, not more than enough to put Ted’s wheelchair and other equipment in the very back.
Once that was in place, after getting Ted to climb up in the passenger seat of the truck, Dara pulled down the door and latched it. She’d bought a large padlock to secure the door, and that took her a minute to get in place and locked. It was probably too big of a lock, but she’d grabbed it during one of her stocking up runs without thinking about how hard it was going to be to use.
Dara turned and took a last look around their old neighborhood. There were mostly older couples, with a few immigrant families moving in over the last few years, bringing the noise and boisterous activity of children back to the area.
She only realized she had an audience after she’d finished with the truck. Several people were standing on their small porches, or out by the sidewalks, watching her preparing to leave. It bothered her for a minute, now that they were almost gone, because she’d never thought to go around and warn anyone about getting some supplies in, and getting their houses secured, just in case.
Well, it was too late now. Dara lifted a hand and waved at the watchers before turning towards the front of the truck. She pulled herself up into the driver’s seat with a groan, already tired and not looking forward to the long drive ahead of them.
Dara backed out of the driveway, trying not to look at the house. She didn’t want to think about that old life any more. Today was the start of a new adventure for her and Ted and she pushed her thoughts away from anything else.
Ted was more than happy to grin and wave at everybody who was still watching as they drove slowly down the short street, heading for the road to the mountains.
Chapter Three
The clubhouse was a mass of moving, talking and drinking members. The noise level was stunningly loud, even for a typical Friday night. It was only added to by the topic of conversation: the impending zombie apocalypse and the gang’s response to it.
If George “Big Bear” Andropolous had told himself a week before he’d even think something like a zombie apocalypse could be an actual thing, he’d have laughed like a mad man. He’d say anybody that believed in that shit needed to be locked up, or weaned off whatever drug they were using.
It was insane.
Except, now it was all over the television, nothing but special reports all day long, the radio talked about nothing else, and the Internet was chock full of people claiming to have been eyewitnesses to actual zombie attacks. They even had video to prove it.
But Big Bear was nothing if not accepting of the shit life seemed to throw at him. He’d brought his old lady with him tonight to hear the gang’s leader, Joey Waldron, discuss what was going on and what the club members needed to do about it.
He wasn’t the only one who had shown up with their entire families. It was like they expected to roll out tonight, and from the looks in some faces, George thought some of them might do just that, no matter what Joey said.
George was thinking it actually might not be a bad idea.
Half the kids in their neighborhood were sick, and a lot of the parents, too. Everywhere he’d gone during the week, while running his route for the mail-order company he worked for, there’d been sick people. He couldn’t even make some deliveries because no one would come to the door to sign for them.
He owed it to Joey, though. Joey needed his co-leaders to back up whatever plan they came up with at the meeting tonight. George wasn’t about to let Joey down, not after all the man had done for him since they’d met so many years before.
No, Joey had hauled his ass out of trouble back then, and he wasn’t going to bail on him now. The club needed to stay together. That’s what kept them all out of trouble and on the straight and narrow.
Or, at least as straight and narrow as they could be. Some of the members were, to put it nicely, a bit light on the adherence to local laws thing. Mostly it was flouting the stupid drug laws that would get you locked up for just thinking about smoking some weed.
There weren’t any really bad apples in this group. Joey had put his foot down on that score when he’d started the club, which was more a social group than an actual motorcycle gang. A real MC club would probably laugh them out of town, but Joey and his compatriots loved their bikes, and some of the usual stereotypes about motorcycle gangs, at least.
George was shaken from his inner thoughts as the noise welled up even more. He looked around and saw everyone turning towards the raised platform at the back of the room. Usually some local musicians would be occupying the space, making a little green playing for the Friday night club meetings.
Now, though, the stage was being taken by the gang’s leader, Joey “Dead Eye Joe” Waldron. He got the nickname after winning a turkey shoot when he was just twelve years old. Joey was a natural-born shooter, being able to hit any target with any gun you handed to him. He didn’t even need to have shot with a particular weapon before, just sighting and pulling the trigger like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Hey, hey, boys and girls. Listen up,” Joey started, raising his hands. The hush spread backwards through the crowd, until there was total silence in the room. Even the smallest baby seemed to wait on Joey’s next words.
When there wasn’t the merest whisper to disturb him, Joey grinned and started the meeting.
“Okay, so I can reckon you all can guess why we’re here without a band or any food tonight. It’s all about what’s been on the news the last few days.”
There was a rumble of agreement and lots of nodding heads at that.
“Yeah, it’s been getting kind of scary as the week went on,” Joey said. He looked around the room, meeting eyes. “I don’t know any more than the rest of you, no idea how any of this happened. All I know is, it’s time to make a plan to get the hell out of town. We need to find a safe place we can hole up with our families, somewhere we can ride this nightmare out.”
The muttering was getting louder, and Joey held up his hands again until things settled down.
“I’ve been talking to some of you during the week, feeling out what you think we need to do, and see if you had any ideas about where to go. It seems one member has a very good idea, and I want him to come up and tell you all about it, see what you all think.
“Big Bear, the floor’s all yours, man.”
With that, Joey stepped back. He waved at George, urging him to come forward. Speaking in public wasn’t George’s favorite thing to do—that would be humping his old lady every chance he got—but when the
boss man spoke, he would obey.
George clumped up the short set of stairs, rocking the wood and making the stage shimmy. He wasn’t called Big Bear because he was a little cuddly teddy bear. George topped out at six feet, four inches and three hundred pounds. It was all muscle, not an ounce of fat softened his rock hard body.
George gave Joey and nod and turned to speak to the gathered members of the Road Kill Motorcycle Club.
A sea of anxious faces met his gaze as he stared out at them. He swallowed and cleared his throat before he could speak.
“When Joey came to me, asking what I thought about this whole zombie apocalypse thing, I knew right away where we should head for. It’s a place up in the mountains that my grandpa used to tell me about, a hunting camp his daddy stayed at.”
There was a good amount of muttered interest at that. It was news to most residents of the area, as the place had been closed since long before most of them were born.
“Anyway,” George went on. “Grandpa took me there once, when I was about fifteen. We hunted for deer, and camped out around the old cabins. Some of them were in pretty good shape, though most had just about fallen down.
“I think we can fix up a few cabins, the ones in the best shape, and use campers and tents until we can get something better going. There’s good clean water and plenty of game, since it’s been part of a Federal preserve for most of the past fifty years.”
Most of the men were nodding, though George thought they’d be having some serious conversations later as they tried to convince the women and children that leaving their homes and camping out indefinitely was a good idea.
George had a feeling that being without the modern conveniences people had grown used to would be hard for most of them, especially the kids who were connected to their smart phones like they were vital organs.
But, far better to do that than fall to the sickness going around, or even worse, to the aftermath. The zombies.
No matter how many times he thought about it, no matter how many times the word punched him in the brain, he still could hardly wrap his mind around undead creatures eating their family, friends and neighbors.
Joey had come up and clapped George on the back. He stepped forward and called for quiet again.
“Okay. Now, I think George’s idea is the best I’ve heard. I don’t think it’s going to be safe to hang around the city for much longer. We don’t have a large enough place to settle every body in, and no way to really fortify it if we found one. This place would be a death trap.
“So, I’m calling for a vote. All in favor of George’s idea raise your hands.”
Every hand in the room went up, even the women and kids agreed, if somewhat reluctantly. Fear was a great motivator, it seemed.
“Right. With all in agreement, I want to get some groups formed and put them in charge of the different things we need to find, and also to make plans about how we’re going to do this, and when we’ll be leaving.
“Anybody with access to RVs, campers, trailers of any kind, tents and so on, get up with George. He’s going to be in charge of the hauling and housing.”
Joey began pointing at various members of the club, and indicating different parts of the room where they should join up and start their planning. Before long, there were small clusters of people all talking and taking notes.
* * *
George had his hands full getting a list of everything the members were volunteering in the way of useful equipment for both the move and living conditions afterward. It was going to be a huge list, considering how many people they were talking about.
One thing he asked for that Joey hadn’t mentioned was generators. They wouldn’t last for long, but would be a huge help in running power tools for the rebuilding the camp was going to need.
Then there was the need for space heaters, lanterns and some sort of cooking system. RVs and some campers would have propane stoves, but that meant the need for extra tanks. Then he thought about grills. Some used charcoal, but many were run from propane as well.
And coolers, George realized. They’d need something to keep food in, and without a source of easy refrigeration, stuff would go bad quickly. So they needed to think about food that wouldn’t spoil so easily.
He went to remind the group in charge of food and water about that, but they already had it covered. Turned out, some folks had small solar power systems, and they’d volunteered to take them down and set them up at the camp.
So, one problem solved, George sighed with relief. Now he wouldn’t have to worry about storing the insulin for Clarice, his old lady. She worried so about keeping her medicine cold and protected, and he knew she would have been making herself sick over it. Now he could tell her to relax, because he’d arranged for space to store all she could get from her doctor.
By the time the little meetings broke up, everyone was exhausted, hungry and worked up by all the things they had to get done in the next few days.
George gathered up his wife and headed out to their truck, determined to say to hell with his diet and stop for the biggest burger and fries he could get.
* * *
The ride back into town was quiet, and George knew why. Clarice was still worrying about having enough insulin. Her doctor had agreed to write several scripts, which she could turn in at several different drug stores. But even that likely wouldn’t be enough, if things didn’t go back to normal very soon.
“Babe, I don’t want you to worry about your medicine. You’ll just make yourself sick, and then things will be even worse.”
“I know,” Clarice whispered. “I just can’t help thinking about what will happen when I run out. Like in that book, remember?”
George remembered. It was about what happened after an EMP—electro-magnetic pulse—weapon was set off over America. He wished she’d never read that book, because the main character’s daughter had been diabetic, and she’d died when there was no more insulin for her.
“I didn’t want to say anything earlier, because I know how you feel about stuff like this, but I’ve been talking to some folks, and they have a way to get all the insulin you’ll need for a few years.”
Clarice turned to her husband, frowning. “Bear, I don’t want you doing anything stupid.”
Ah, the woman knew him all too well. It was something similar, a small heist gone wrong, that had led to him being jailed for two years. It was how he’d met Joey, the only good thing to come out of the whole experience.
“I know how you feel, Clarice, but with the world going to hell without the hand basket, we might have to make our own rules. I don’t like the idea any more than you do, but I don’t see we have much choice.”
When Clarice made to question him about the plans, he put a finger gently on her lips. She sat sideways on the truck’s bench seat, her eyes wide with fear.
“I’m not going to discuss it further. I didn’t want to say anything at all, because if it goes wrong, I don’t want you involved in any way. So forget the whole idea, and let’s get you a big salad for dinner. I’m starved.”
Clarice didn’t want to let it go, but after a huge sigh and a moment of pursed lips, she nodded.
“I’ll have the grilled chicken with ranch dressing. The big one. Who knows when we’ll have premade salads again.”
“Not only that, but burgers and fries we don’t have to cook ourselves, Babe,” George said with a laugh.
They rode home with the bags between them, pushing thoughts of what was coming in the future as deep in the backs of their minds as they could.
There was plenty of time to think about the horror and the hardships they were facing. For the rest of this night they just wanted to be normal.
Chapter Four
After three days of waiting and watching the news stations reporting on the sickness and what was happening all over the world, Connor decided it was time to get moving. He’d been sitting in front of the big screen in the living room, cleaning one of his many guns, when the
situation suddenly became intolerable.
“Janet, get your sorry ass in here!” He didn’t bother turning from the latest video horror showing on the spotty local channel.
When Janet came into the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel, Conner glanced at her and grunted. She was moving faster today, must be feeling better. He knew he’d hit her harder than he’d meant to the other night, but he wasn’t the sort of man who apologized.
No, Connor was more likely to punch the other kidney, so his target could hurt all around their torso. A band of pain to remember him by. Any of the many people who’d gotten on his wrong side would verify that outcome, if they dared.
“What do you want, Connor? Another beer?” Janet kept her voice mellow, giving it a little June Cleaver lilt. It was the voice she used when she knew better than to piss him off again.
“Of course I want another beer? What else are you good for, you scrawny slut? It sure ain’t screwin’.”
Conner set the cleaned and oiled pistol on the coffee table in front of him and selected the next in line.
“I think it’s time we started heading out,” he said, not looking up. “We’ll load the pickup after lunch, and when it’s dark we can drive over to the warehouse. I’d bet there’s nobody guarding the place by now, what with all this shit going on.”
When he gestured at the television, Janet looked despite herself. They were showing some more video from someone’s phone. The caption said it was Paris, and she could see the Eiffel Tower far away in the distance.
The scene was one of such madness it was hard to believe it could be real. But as they’d seen, the events happening all over the world were the unvarnished truth. The government had given up trying to excuse what the public was seeing, and had mostly gone silent.
Conner glanced up at the television, eyes glazed over at the blood, ears deaf to the screams and cries of those enduring the attacks. When the video went blank and the newscasters began their stuttering attempt to explain it all way, he looked back at Janet.
