When the coffee finished percolating, I removed a dog biscuit from the glass container on the counter and sauntered back into the living room to see if anything changed. “Here you go, you spoiled mutt.” I said as she took the biscuit and lay on the rug at my feet holding the treat between her paws while she concentrated on eating every last crumb, then licked the carpet just in case she missed something.
I tried to call my family again, but the phone lines are still tied up and the call didn’t go through. I almost threw the phone against the wall in frustration, but stopped myself at the last minute and instead stomped my feet and growled. I know it’s childish, but it beats punching the wall and breaking a hand.
I’m frustrated and worried. Until I speak with them and know they’re safe, I won’t be able to relax. Not like it would be easy to do that with what was taking place outside anyway.
The news reporters droned on during the next few hours about the outbreak and interviewed a plethora of so-called experts in the field who didn’t agree on much of anything. Some of the experts said they believe the outbreak was caused by a virus created from a mutation of mad cow disease, rabies, or maybe a combination of the two. One of them said that the mutation had to have been man-made and blamed the government. He pointed out that genocide wasn’t a new concept.
To prove his theory, he pointed to recent comments in the media such as the one from the GOP candidate who said that America should just let the poor die or the politician who yelled out “let him die” when discussing the implementation of the Affordable Care Act.
Psychologists blamed the events on everything from mass hysteria and psychosis to subliminal lyrics in rock music or violent video games, especially those designed around killing zombies.
Religious leaders went on air to preach that this is the end time that they’ve been warning congregants about for the last few centuries. They explained that it’s God’s way of cleansing the world from sinners who approve of same-sex marriage, birth control and women’s rights.
After a while, I got fed up with hearing them debate the issue when it was obvious even to me that none of them had a clue what they were talking about and instead decided to check online to see what was being posted. My black VAIO laptop was already sitting on the wooden coffee table where I left it, so I just had to turn it on. Should have done that earlier. I just haven’t been thinking straight.
I refilled the coffee mug while the computer was booting up, then sat down and connected with the Wi-Fi and logged onto Facebook. There were no recent postings from anyone I know, which seems really odd. Usually my friends are quick to post anything new that’s happening, but the home page is dead.
Damn! I shouldn’t have used that word.
I went ahead and wrote a status update anyway to let them know that I’m okay and sheltering in place, then logged out and opened up the YouTube video website.
Unfortunately, YouTube is chalked full of new videos tonight. I say ‘unfortunately’ because some of the things that have been uploaded to the website can’t be unseen no matter how hard I try to forget them – and I will definitely try to forget them.
The videos are gruesome and are doing nothing to ease my stress level. Quite the opposite, actually. Most of the recordings were filmed from the safety of balconies or through window blinds so quality isn’t the best, but the scenes are riveting in a morbid sort of way.
If anything, I’m feeling more frightened than before after watching them. It seems that the situation is totally out of control and riots are now breaking out all over the globe. There are too many horrendous and unfiltered videos to watch in a lifetime even if a person wanted to. I don’t.
They show innocent people being attacked in the streets by mobs of undead who resemble zombies in the cheesy SciFi movies I watched as a teenager. Their skin is ashen and their facial expressions with the skin sunken into the bones of the skull are a variation of extreme hunger and rage. Their eyes are frightening in their blackness and the zombies’ clothing is smeared with entrails and the blood of their latest victims.
One of the videos that has already gone viral showed a pretty little girl that reminded me of Shirley Temple. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven and was dressed in a pink nightie with tiny flowers on it and was standing still holding a teddy bear in her little hand.
The child’s head was bent down and she looked as if she was crying. A woman in her thirties dressed in jeans and a white sweater sneaked out of the house next door and ran over to check on the child. As she crouched down to speak with her, the little girl immediately sank her teeth into the woman’s neck, ripping out a large chunk of flesh.
Blood pulsated from the torn artery in rhythm to the woman’s heartbeat. As she sank down to the ground, a look of astonishment and puzzlement was pasted on the victim’s face. After a few moments, the woman got back onto her feet and began walking around. Well, not exactly walking. It’s hard to adequately describe the uneven gait and jerky movements she made, but it’s something straight out of a horror flick.
Once again I can find no other word but “zombie” to describe these people. It also seems to be the term that is most commonly coined by posters and commenters of the videos I watched on YouTube and I have to admit that it fits.
First of all, these people don’t look alive. I watched some of them succumb to horrible wounds they suffered after being attacked. They were definitely dead, but a few minutes later, as the cameras were still rolling, they rose back on their feet to attack others without any provocation and chewed their victims flesh like starving cannibals. If they aren’t zombies, then I have no idea what else to call them. It makes me wonder if the cheesy books and movies had it right all along.
Like I said before, I’ve read almost every zombie book out there and have seen all the movies. Those characters are just imaginary creatures invented by writers, not real people reanimating into murdering lifeless beings that will eat you for dinner.
There has to be an explanation for what’s happening that doesn’t involve living in a nightmare scenario. In my dreams earlier tonight, I fought like a hero, but right now I feel like a frightened little girl who just wants to curl up under the covers and not come out. I could be handling this better. At least my family is still alive. They have to be. I refuse to accept anything else.
I’m safe in the basement, but know not to become complacent. No place is one hundred percent safe. Anyplace can be breeched by someone determined enough and with the right resources at their disposal. I took all the precautions though, so they’ll have a helluva time getting in if they try. First of all, I have weapons and thanks to my dad, know how to use them. Secondly, also thanks to Dad, the house is a virtual fortress.
Even the windows were updated for safety and replaced with ballistic glass with metal frames and ventilating locks. These babies still look like normal windows, but they won’t break even if you toss a rocks at them or fire dead center with a small caliber weapon.
The old leaky roof that came with the house was replaced with a metal one. The trim work, fascia around the masonry, and steel siding keep the house as fireproof as possible. We have a large number of grass fires in Oklahoma as well as tornadoes and earthquakes. This state isn’t for the faint of heart.
Even with all the safety measures, I can’t seem to stop listening for the slightest sounds and I’m keeping my guns locked, loaded, and within reach even to go to the bathroom. There are no second chances when it comes to making life and death decisions. You have to do it right the first time. This was drilled into me for most of my life and it stuck.
I walked over to the desk, turned on the power and moved the dials on the HAM radio that Dad talked me into keeping in the basement “just in case.” He said that he wanted to have one set up here so he could talk with his friends around the country while he hid out in the basement to get away from the women folk. According to him, this was going to be a sort of man cave he could use when he was away from home.
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I’m beginning to think that he had other reasons. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if Dad knew that something like this was going to happen and was just trying to ensure that I was safe when it did.
I tried for about an hour to reach my family on the radio, but they didn’t answer. That doesn’t mean they aren’t safe, though. It was still early morning and they’re probably just asleep in their bunker under the house.
Yeah, I should have turned the radio on earlier, but I’ve gotten so used to picking up the phone or Facebooking with everyone that it just didn’t cross my mind until now. It’s not like I’m thinking clearly anyway. I’m still trying hard to accept what’s going on outside not only in my hometown, but throughout the United States. I still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this is reality instead of just another nightmare. I keep thinking that if I go back to bed, I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal.
Get it together, Sidney!
I have a high quality antenna on the roof, so the radio usually has a long range even when the weather isn’t great. Like some other amateur radio operators, I have a small radio teletype called a Ritty or RTTY and other fancy stuff. My Dad is addicted to technology and he was like a kid in a candy store setting this equipment up in the basement and teaching me how to use it. I listened to other operators talk for the better part of the night, but other than calling for my family, I kept quiet. Most of the operators seem like trustworthy men and women, but I’m here alone it it’s not a good idea to slip up and let the wrong person know.
Operators are filling the airwaves to pass along messages from loved ones who survived, but were separated from their loved ones and some of the latest news. After a few more minutes of listening, I had to turn off the radio to get some shuteye. I’m barely seeing straight and am having a hard time understanding what people are saying. If I don’t get some rest, I won’t be able to respond quickly if we’re in danger. Sure, it’s going to be difficult to sleep knowing what’s happening outside, but my body needs rest. I have to take care of myself if we were going to get us through this.
After locking the bedroom door as an extra level of caution, I climbed under the comforter with Coco and we snuggled together until we fell asleep. My weapons are loaded on the nightstand next to me ready to be fired if needed. Hopefully, that won’t be the case. As I drifted off to sleep, I said a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening that my family and friends will be kept safe from harm. I care about other people too, of course, but as harsh as it sounds, I don’t know them, so I try to separate myself from their deaths. To survive mentally and not just physically, I can’t get caught up obsessing about all the cute little girls out there who are being eaten alive by crazed ghouls.
Chapter Two
It Can’t Get Any Worse…or Can It?
Dan
“…their flesh will rot while they are still standing on their feet, their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouths.”
Zechariah 14:12
What a shitty week this has been and just when I thought that it couldn’t get any worse, it did. There’s really no other way to describe it. It was a hotbed of activity at my security consulting firm that contracts out to the U.S. government and a select few millionaires and billionaires. The last few days, we received multiple warnings about possible attacks on American soil. We were on the phones so much this week that I’m surprised they didn’t permanently connect with our ears. The phones have ringing off the hook with people providing information – for a fee, of course – and from the powerful and wealthy who wanted answers. We had to send some of our men and women to other states and abroad to investigate the ongoing situation and do some recon.
None of my confidential sources could or would tell me what the hell was going on, but it was plain to see that they were nervous. I could hear the tension in their voices on the telephone, then if I pushed for details, they’d get quiet and suddenly find an excuse to hang up. These are the same people who are usually so chatty that I hang up on them, so I could tell that something was up. The thousand dollar question was “what.”
To make things more difficult, a few of the guys that work for me were screwing around all day during briefings and planning. It’s their way of relieving stress and dealing with tension and I understand that, but it just wasn’t the time or place. Yeah, I could have chewed their asses, but I got down to business and let it ride. Nothing would have come of it and let’s face it, most of the time they’re a solid team and a force to be reckoned with. Most are prior military who served in both Afghanistan or Iraq. They’re a credit to the uniform or I wouldn’t have hired them to work for me in the first place.
Times like these cause me to miss my old Army platoon. It was more than a job and we were closer than friends. We were and are brothers. The recruiters and politicians tell you that you fight for freedom and patriotism, but when the shit hits the fan, it’s really all about you and your brothers in arms watching each other’s backs. Your teammates are the only ones that you can depend on when the shit hits the fan. OpCom may or may not send a retrieval team to save your ass. The one thing you can be certain of is that your team will give their own lives to save yours and you’d do the same thing for them.
Right now, I’d rather be at work stuck answering those damned phones or debriefing the men. Instead, I’m seated in an uncomfortable position on a cold hard floor inside a vacant office space looking out a dirty second floor window down towards Sheridan and Mickey Mantle Drive on the main drag of Bricktown watching snowflakes float down to ground that’s littered with the leftovers of last night’s celebrations. It’s quiet outside right now, but that doesn’t mean much.
I came here to search for my wife, daughter and her friends after waking up New Year’s Day and finding the bed empty next to me. At first I assumed that my wife had just woken up early and gone shopping or something, but after sitting down to watch the morning news and seeing the devastation that occurred while I slept through the night, I immediately hopped into my truck and hurried here to look for her.
It’s not that I didn’t expect her to go anywhere last night; I held the door open when she left. She should have returned home hours ago. My beautiful wife went along with a group of giggly young ladies to the New Year’s Eve celebration to try to keep them out of trouble. My youngest daughter and her friends aren’t stupid, but they never seem to be aware of their surroundings or the dangers they can pose. My wife and I have spent many a night waiting for our daughter to come home from a date or event and when she was late, which is often, we couldn’t help but consider the “what ifs”. That girl is going to drive me to a heart attack, but we love her just the same.
After a couple of days out here in crazy land, all that I’ve discovered is my wife’s car sitting in the parking lot by the Amtrak train station with the door ajar and her purse laying on the oil soaked pavement with the contents scattered. My wife was carrying a 9 mm in her purse when she left home, but it was lying on the ground next to the front tire. She hadn’t taken even a single shot. There was no sign of the girls at all. I’m doing my best to hold out hope, but the longer I wait, the harder it’s becoming. There’s blood coating almost every square foot of ground outside. It doesn’t leave much room for optimism, but I try not to give up.
My mind is starting to playing tricks on me. Every time I see one of those damned zombies from behind with the same golden hair as my wife, I think it might be her. I’ve begun watching from a distance because when one of those things sees you, they make a loud racket that sounds something like a howling screech of pain mixed with a roar that calls hordes of others to join in the smorgasbord with you as the main course. It’s easy to understand how people died so quickly because these creatures are quick to surround you before there’s time to get away. I learned this the hard way and am covered in dried blood and guts from the lesson. I need a shower something fierce. Let’s face it. I stink.
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br /> If I don’t find them after today, I have no choice but to stop looking, but I’ll never give up hope. My other daughter lives alone and I’m certain that she’ll be terrified at being alone during this and not knowing what has happened to her family. I tried to call her phone several times and even texted since they sometimes get through when calls can’t, but the lines were all tied up and now are down for good. There was no way to get a message through without a HAM radio and I was so worried about my wife and other daughter that I ran out of the house without remembering to bring the damned portable. So much for being a tough unflappable retired Army Ranger.
Shit, I’m terrified and the only thing keeping my hands from shaking is the tight grip that I have on this weapon.. Give me an enemy I can understand any day and I won’t have a problem with it, but how do you fight something like this? You shoot them and they don’t die unless you get off a head shot, but when they’re shambling around in that spasmodic way they do, it’s hard to get a bead. Especially when you’re running away from a pack of those things. They like moving in packs. It’s similar to a herd mentality.
Wait! There’s more movement down by the dumpster where I put the dead bodies of people that died and for some reason didn’t reanimate as a way to draw them where I could look in safety. The zombie passing by now was number ninety seven. I’ve been counting them. I’ve been in this spot for days now and there’s not much else to keep my mind busy. During daylight, I take walks through the streets looking for anything that will lead to my wife and the girls, but at night, I have to stick to surveilling out the windows.
It won’t help the situation if I get surrounded and eaten by those blood suckers or turned into one of them. It’s hard as hell not to stay outside and look into the faces of everyone that passes by this way or just go Rambo on them and try to kill them all, but that would be stupid and I don’t have shit for brains. If my family is still alive, they’ll be out during the daylight when the zombies were hiding from the sun, not at night anyway. My wife is smart. She knows how to take precautions.
Nuclear Undead (Book 1): Wake the Dead Page 4
