by Lee Ragans
When I asked him why he was doing all of this he said flatly, "Jake is gone, you can't do it all by yourself."
13
As summer turned to Fall things were uneventful. My first attempts at peas had grown and were edible. I was learning to be a farmer. By spring, I was hoping to grow more food. We still had plenty in storage, but that would eventually be gone.
Early on the first cool morning of October, I was awakened by the sound of Vendela heaving in the toilet. I did not move. I waited. She came back to bed a few minutes later, put my hand on her stomach and said, "You did this to me." She curled up in the bed with her head on my chest.
14
Brian said it was October 23rd, but we were not sure. That day we will never forget. The sound started at 2 AM. At least the clock on the wall said 2 AM. I can only describe it as a moan and shuffle that shakes the ground. Vendela woke up with a start, and since she became pregnant, it was almost impossible to wake her up.
I grabbed my shotgun and worked my way to the common area. Brian was already there. The streets were completely full of zombies. They were not walking anywhere. They were just there. Stumbling into each other and then stopping. It was a traffic jam of the undead. Our best guess was that a north moving horde ran into a west moving horde and mingled.
There was no way we could get out. We were on an island. The thumping on the elevator doors from below was not constant, but it concerned me. So much so that I gathered up some spare 2x4s and wood screws and fashioned a semi-permanent blockade in the elevator shaft. The noise from my work attracted the walkers, but Vendela strategically tossing glasses and plates from the balcony at the nearby buildings seemed to keep the horde distracted.
We had no way out now, but they had no way in. It was as good as it could get. The attachment to the office building next door was my next concern. The zombies in there were more active now with the streets filled. Even though Brian cut their numbers in half, I was worried that the doors or glass on the main floor might give way and then the horde would join those inside.
Brian and I moved a large conference table from one of the meeting rooms up against the adjoining metal doors and braced with the last of our 2x4s. The back service doors had been welded shut during our last visit from the soldiers. That concern was gone.
The generators were still safe, none of the hordes had made it into the parking deck. I was nervous to run the generator for long periods of time. We ran it just long enough to boil water on the hot plates and in the microwave then shut it down. That was just enough time for Brian to watch Battleship once, and he seems quite happy with the arrangement. Our fuel supply would only last a month. We stretched it.
15
December came in colder than ever, and the zombies slowed, but it was not cold enough to freeze them yet. Vendela had a baby bump and Brian, and I decided to eat less on days when we were not working hard so we could extend the food. These days we were barely working so there was no need to eat.
I took my time walking to the roof to look out early one morning. With no fuel runs the steps were my only exercise. I had my shotgun and a small hammer. It was hard to imagine going anywhere without them, but they were not necessary. We had long since cleared the entire building.
As far as I could see the streets were filled with slow-moving dead. It was worse than anything I had seen in the first days. Looking north, it was the same. I had the uneasy feeling that they knew we were nearby and they were waiting us out.
Midmorning I heard a mechanical chirp as if someone keyed a bullhorn. I looked around... and could see someone waving from the top of the American Cancer Society building. It was part of a network of building connected by flying walkways. You could move blocks downtown without going outside.
I waved. They waved. Then I saw that there were 3 of them. It was Karen and her boys. They knew we were here. They wanted to check on us. Over the moans and shuffling of the dead, I could hear Karen's voice on what would have been a booming bullhorn, "How long can you hold out?'
I thought for a moment and stood up... I raised my right arm 8 times.
Karen's voice floated back, "8 months? 1 for yes 2 for no."
I raised my arm once.
Her voice floated back, "Good. We will be back before then."
I rushed back downstairs to tell Brian and Vendela. It was the best news we had in a while. Well, ever. Someone knew we were here and cared.
16
The first full freezing days of January hit us hard. Without the generators running, we had to huddle together for heat. That was fine for Vendela and me, but Brian did not want to be touched. He was having a tougher time.
After 2 days of the extreme cold, I chanced it and ran the generator for 4 hours. We boiled water and had the space heaters on full. It made things better that day and into the night, by the next day, we were back to living in an ice box.
Vendela and I were huddled under several layers of blankets in our bed when Brian walked in. We gave up on locking the door, it did not make sense to do so anymore. There are 16,413 zombies in this area, give or take 5.
I looked at him and asked, "You counted?"
"Yes, they are frozen, easy to count."
Brian walked out.
I lay there and thought about it. That was 16,000 swings of our hammers. Not impossible but very hard to do.
Brian and I cleared the lobby of frozen zombies and made a path to the fuel truck in less than an hour using small hammers. It took longer to get the door blockade out of the way. We filled up the gas cans and headed back.
I am not ashamed to admit I was glad I had gone to the bathroom before we went out.
All at once the thousands of frozen zombies started to moan. They could not move their limbs, but their insides were not frozen. The moan was deafening. They knew we were there and were mad that they could not kill us.
Brian and I both rushed back up the ladder and took great care to secure the barricade at the elevator doors.
17
It was 70 degrees by the 3rd week of January. That made the zombies very active, and they seemed madder than usual. The slamming on the elevator door was louder. They ignored the distractions we threw onto the street. The barricade held, but we had to move away from the elevators to avoid the noise. Something about hearing the monsters at the door made it a bit hard to sleep. We decided to go all way up to the penthouse. It was not that much nicer than the other rooms, just larger and a large tub.
With the small generator on the balcony and the hot plates, it was almost livable. I will confess that I was completely tired of rice and tomatoes, but that is what we had. We ran out onion powder a month ago, but at least, we had salt.
After 3 days in the penthouse, we were no longer able to hide from the sound. The pounding on building and the doors were not audible, but the moaning had become a constant annoyance.
By day 7 we were all going a little crazy. Even Brian, who never reacted to the zombies, was starting to fling things off the balcony at the horde.
On day 10 we realized things were much worse. Brian woke us by saying, "There are 22,000 now." He walked off as if he had just said good morning.
Vendela and I stared at each other and had no words. It was not getting better. It was getting worse. The temperature had dropped again, but that just slowed the horde. It was not cold enough for them to freeze.
The sound was still there. It only got louder.
18
I was certain that I was losing my mind. Vendela had started spending her days and nights with pillows held over her ears. Brian walked around wearing headphones. He had nothing to play through them, but he had to do something. Me. I just tried to ignore it.
The weather warmed up in March, and I had hoped the horde would have dispersed. It did not. Brian said the number was now 30,000. I think he was starting to estimate.
There was no way to see up the streets around the building.
Vendela slept, and Brian and I brought food up
from the kitchen each day. The long walk down 40 flights of steps passed the time and made us feel like we were doing something. The smell of the zombies, as it warmed up, was getting very strong. With no air-conditioning, the building was miserable on the best of days, but now any fresh air was scented by 30,000 dead.
19
Vendela was getting big. We had less than 1 month before the baby would come. I stared off the balcony. Looking North toward the fuel truck, we were cut off from and the thousands of zombies packed in around the building.
It struck me. They were dumber than cows. My father told s story of cows walking into a well. One after another they would walk in. Eventually filling it up. The zombies were dumber.
I thought and looked. There had to be a way to do something. I had to trick them, which was not hard, but these zombies seemed like they knew we were here. They should have moved on, but they just didn't.
We had the shotguns, and we had had one M16A2 left by one of the soldiers. I told Vendela and Brian my plan. They said it was crazy, but they had no better ideas.
I filled up empty wine bottles with water and tried throwing them. I was not strong enough to reach the road. Brian tried, and he could not do it either. We looked at each other, then toward Vendela, and I said, "We have to find another way."
I looked around and found some exercise bands. Attaching them to the railing and a bit of good aim. I was able to consistently launch a bottle onto the interstate.
I looked at Brian and said, "We need bait. Are you up to it."
"What do I need to do?" He never looked at me.
I pointed to where I wanted him to run and where he needed to go to make it work. He went down to the lower roof between the buildings and waited for my signal. When it was time, he would use the service ladder and drop the last 15 feet to the ground. The zombies were light in the area. He would use the shotgun to clear the way.
Vendela joined me on the balcony. We waited for dark. I wanted to be sure the walkers could not miss what was happening. As the sun started to set, I took my place.
I rested on the railing and took slow, careful aim with the rifle. My first shot hit the back top of the fuel truck. Too High. I fired again lower, and fuel started to pour out. I took aim further to the right and fired again. Then again. Then one more time for luck. I had 4 holes pouring fuel at a good rate. The river of gasoline poured down the road and into the low overpass.
I yelled out, "Go."
Brian took off. The last thing I could see of him from the roof was his backpack. He had food and water for a week in case he could not get back right away.
He cleared the sparse horde and made it to the highway and past the quickly emptying fuel truck. Some of the zombies were following him. Many ignored him. They were slow. Once he pulled two frying pans from his backpack and started banging them together, he had the attention of the entire horde.
As they moved, falling off the ledges and roads to get to the noise, I lit the first gasoline filled wine bottle's rag and launched it. It hit the road but missed the fuel. I lit the second. The burning fuel mixed with the spilling gasoline while my second flaming wine bottle was in the air. As the second hit, the fire spread.
The first of the mummified zombies caught fire. The zombies just added fuel to the fire. Within minutes, the entire horde was moving toward the highway of fire. The fuel from the truck spilled for hours on the growing pile of burning dead.
At some point, Brian stopped banging the pots. I heard a few staggered shotgun blasts. Some must have missed the fire or had come from the north up the highway.
I could see Brian slip away north. The undead bonfire attracted the remainder of the nearby horde. The 10s of thousands of partially dried dead roared and joined the fire like moths to a flame.
The pile moved and ended up partially under the overpass. The truck leaked until morning. The fire burned for 3 days. At the end of the second day, the overpass collapsed onto the fire making a loud crunch. I laughed.
I watched Brian move around and onto the roof of a nearby building. He waved, we waved back.
He was back in our building by the 3rd day. There were only a few scattered zombies. Nothing we could not handle with hammers.
We were safe for now. I had no idea what we would do if another horde showed up. We were all out of fuel trucks.
20
Our baby was born the days after the last of the embers of the fire went out. I cut the cord and Brian watched in awe as our daughter let out a cry and declared her right to live.
Vendela recovered quickly and was walking later that day. She was fully recovered in just days. She said her asthma did not seem to be acting up. She had some theory that the baby cured her. I thought there might be something to that, but I was not sure.
She ate, our daughter fed.
Brian went looking for baby things. He was gone for a week and returned with a cart full of diapers and toys. I did not have to ask where he went. The red Target cart gave it away.
21
Karen and her boys showed up. Stayed a while. When they left, they left us with 10 gallons of fuel, a charcoal grill and 10 bags of charcoal. Over time, they brought things we needed. We gave them a safe place to stay between their trips out to find whatever was compelling them. We were a way-station for travelers. We made a life for ourselves. Travelers traded what they had for shelter.
The doctors and the soldiers came through again on their way to California. We never heard from them after that. We were hopeful they found what they were looking for, but since everything didn't go back to normal and the dead still walked, we were pretty sure they failed.
We were left behind, but we made a life. We thought about leaving the W and going somewhere safer, but we could never come up with a place that was any better. We grew food, scrounged the city for things we needed, and made a home in the middle of a dead city.
Brian took his role as an uncle seriously and watched over our daughter as if his life depended on her safety. There were close calls. What do you expect? There are zombies in the world.
We had hope and a desire to make the world a better place for our daughter. Things eventually got a little better, but they got a lot worse first. That, as they say, is another story.
On Pointe
When citizen soldiers have no way home, they make a home where they are.
The dead are amongst the crowd beating on the reinforced doors of the CDC office located next to the campus of Emory University. What was once a mob begging for help was now a crowd fighting for their lives to get through doors that would require explosives to open. And only then if the explosives were in the hands of a trained breaching specialist.
"Okay people, we are about to get out of here. Remember we are in the same shitstorm these people are in. We are just armed and trained."
Doug Marshal looked over his small team and saw concern in their faces but no fear. They had been at this already. This was just like when Tripoli airport fell. The only difference was there is no help coming.
Doug looked out the window and signaled for his fireteam leaders to come closer. The two corporals move in, and each huddled close enough to let them talk privately without the soldiers overhearing. The rest of the squad did not take offense to this kind of meeting. They cherished the idea that their NCOs were taking the time to talk and plan. NCOs that never planned were dangerous and got their soldiers killed.
"Best plan I have is to use smoke grenades to create a diversion across the street, and we make a run for it in the opposite direction into the woods. I am not from here, but the map shows interstate 85 about 3 miles North West."
"Is leaving a secure building and taking the roads the best plan?" Corporal Hanson asked.
Corporal Jones responded in a whisper just loud enough to be heard, "I don't think this building is going to hold out too long. The labs are secure, but this outer area is going to give way if those people find hammers. It is just cinder block, no reinforcement."
&nb
sp; Hanson asked, "Where do we go when we get to 85?"
The sergeant replied, "We find a vehicle or two and get out of the city, into the burbs. We keep the radios charged and listen for orders. They know they left us here."
Jones added, "We can't be the only soldiers they abandoned."
"Abandoned is a strong word for not being able to come back. It is the end of the world after all." Dough said softly.
