by J. L. Bourne
They were at the upstairs door now. This door had a rectangular shaped vertical window, about six by ten inches. I could see one of them with its face pressed up to the shatterproof glass, sneering, trying to see what was inside. It started pounding and moaning when it saw me. The others soon followed suit. John climbed up onto the roof and I followed. It was windy like the day before. This was good news, maybe.
John took his pack (and his dog) off his shoulders and turned it around so it was being worn in the front of his body. I helped him put the parachute on and, using zip-ties, I strapped as much to him as I could without hindering too much movement. I quickly showed him the basics on how to get out of the parachute when he hit the ground.
I explained to him that it was very important that he unfasten the two inner thigh straps prior to the chest strap. He nodded that he got it, so I bent down and grabbed my chute. The broken glass sound erupted from below and I was sure they pushed the shatterproof glass through the doorframe. I hoped that these things could not climb ladders. Using the carabiners from my daypack, I secured the rifle to my chest d-ring through the carrying handle. My knife was strapped to my belt for easy access when I hit the ground.
I would be jumping first at this moment came the familiar sound of bending steel, and the screeching sound of the wood desk being launched across the floor. There was no way to secure the top hatch from the outside. It was simple, if they could climb, they would get up here. I gave one last lesson to John Make sure you pull your risers to slow your descent. I described what they looked like to him.
I made John watch me as I crept to the edge of the roof. I could hear the sounds of them wondering below, trying to find their food. I could see the balcony door below me being pushed open, two, five, and now twelve creatures were wondering the balcony below. For some reason, they didnt look as rotted as I thought they should be. I was guessing that every bit of two-hundred walking dead were inside the tower at that moment.
John leaned over and saw them. He was white with fear. Not just the thought of being eaten to death but the thought of jumping the tower, breaking both legs, and not being able to give yourself a fighting chance I knew what he was thinking. I was thinking the same thing. At that moment the hatch on the roof access jumped up and slammed back down Clang clang The creatures wedding ring was chiming on the hatch, making it rise a couple inches then slam back down, as the back of its left hand hit. I could see the white hand for a split second when the weight of the hatch pushed it back down. I almost fucking lost it.
I somehow grabbed Johns attention through this and showed him how to pull the release d-ring for the drogue. The drogue is a small parachute that catches the wind and pulls the rest of the chute out. The drogue on this chute is spring powered. Pull the pin, and the drogue will shoot out, catching the wind, and deploy the rest of the chute. I checked the windsock on the far side of the field good to go. Looked below. There were many, but most of them seemed to be in the tower. I pulled the pin and held on to the ledge, so I wouldnt fall off before it deployed.
The wind caught the main chute and literally yanked me off my feet. I could see the roof hatch swing completely open and heard it bash as it jack-knifed and hit the roof. John was right behind me. The creatures on the balcony saw John and I jump, and started almost screaming. I looked up as their outstretched hands reached for the dome of my chute.
There were windows every few feet that looked in/out of the stairwell. Damn they were climbing over each other to get to the top. Many were in military uniforms. My estimate at two hundred was too low. From the way they were piled on top of each other in the stairwell, there were more than likely a thousand of them. I was slowly floating to the ground, it seemed like forever. Every window that I passed by on the way down was another snapshot, or Picasso if you will of dead faces and limbs crowded together Then it was back to reality as I hit the ground. It wasnt a soft landing, but I didnt break anything. I immediately unlatched my chute and rolled out of it. I unsheathed my knife and waited for John to hit the ground. The creatures were closing in.
As soon as John hit, he was attempting to get out of the chute. Neither of us wanted the wind dragging us into a group of those things. I had to help him along by slicing through the nylon harness. I told John to grab one end of the chute. We then ran through a group of those things toward the aircraft.
John knew what my plan was. We wrapped at least ten of those things up in the damaged chute by running around them and tangling up the cut harness with the drogue. Luckily, we drifted fifty meters in the direction of the aircraft when we jumped. We ran as fast as we could. In all the excitement, the dog slipped out of Johns pack onto the ground. John was ahead of me, and I scooped her up on my way. She was so scared that she was trying to climb on top of my head. I dont fucking blame her. I felt the warmth of urine seeping through my clothing. She pissed herself. *
We made it to the aircraft and I slung open the cockpit glass and threw my shit in the back seat. John and Annabelle jumped in the back and I told John to strap in. I immediately jumped in the bird and slid the cockpit closed and latched the lock. I remembered the startup sequence from the checklist, and out of habit started saying it aloud as I performed it
1_Clock started
2_Starter switch on
3_Battery above ten volts
4_Ignition light on
5_Fuel pressure light out
6_Oil pressure rising
7_N1 above 12 percent
8_Condition lever to feather
9_Thumbs up to the lineman.
I almost laughed at myself on this step. There was no lineman. Although I was sure the bastard was out there somewhere looking for us. I increased the condition lever to full bite and could feel the propeller catch air.
I couldnt have avoided what happened next. There were fifty of them closing in on us. All I could do was to attempt to get into take off position. One of them near the nose walked toward the prop. I always wondered what it would sound like, now I knew; like a big vegetable processor. That corpse lost its whole left shoulder in the deal. I checked my prop RPM, it dipped a little but cycled back up to 2200 RPM. I didnt want to hit any more of them. Using the pedals, I weaved the nose in and out of corpses as I rolled into position, buzzing a few of them, but nothing big like the first one.
I checked my fuel pressure, good to go, everything was in the green. I pushed my power lever to max and I started my take off roll 50 knots, the airspeed indicator kicked in 65 knots, 70 knots I clipped one of them with my left wing, breaking its hip (at least) right before 80 knots. At 85 knots I pulled the stick back and we were airborne. John already had his helmet fastened; I grabbed mine from my lap and pulled it over my head. I checked the internal communications system with John. He was reading me but I could tell that he was in some sort of shock by the way he was talking and by the fact that his lips looked blue in the rear view mirror.
The worst part of this was that we had no real place to go. As we took off, I looked over at the tower. The roof was now full of them and they were walking off of the top of it like lemmings. I was trying to fly the plane and look at the chart at the same time. I was wobbling back and forth, and could hear John getting airsick on the speakers in my helmet. It was sort of funny, but I didnt want to laugh at him. I noticed a small abandoned airstrip called Matagorda Island airfield about 65 miles northeast of our position. I quickly marked it on my chart with a red ink pen. It looked like there were numerous islands there, and it wasnt too far from Corpus, so the power was probably still on.
We cruised northeast for about twenty-minutes at 180 knots when I started having propeller trouble. The engine was fine, but the prop kept losing pitch angle thus not allowing it to grab as much air. In short, it kept feathering on me. I knew this was something to do with the corpse I chopped up earlier. I had no choice. I had to glide the plane in, because the prop pitch control was probably losing oil pressure. I feathered the prop with the c
ondition lever and pulled the engine back to three hundred foot pounds of torque.
According to my chart, the strip was in sight but I couldnt see it. I descended to three thousand feet to get a good glide solution. Below me it looked like a tourist area, with numerous hotels lining the beach. Thank god it was February and not tourist season. At this point, I had to make a choice. I could either find another place to land, or say fuck it, and land in the street. Below, I could see a few of the creatures, but it was nothing like what we were running from. I was on borrowed time without a good propeller. I had to take her down. I pulled the stick back and left and pushed a little left rudder and glided into a 180-degree rendezvous with the road below. Nose down, gear down, and as soon as I was near the road, I flared my nose up and touched down with my main landing gear.
I hit the brakes and tried to steer my wings between the telephone poles. I still had a lot of fuel left and didnt want to be wearing flaming fuel because my wing decided to wrap itself around a poll. Along the way, I clipped one of those creatures with my right wing, doubling it over. It had hit its head so hard when it slammed its upper body into the wing that it died instantly, leaving a brown smudge of brain on the wing. I checked my speed, fifty knots As I slowed to a halt, the immediate area was clear.
I signaled John to get out. I left the engine running so that the sound of the aircraft would muffle our escape. John and I jumped out, grabbed our shit and headed for a sign called Matagorda Island Marina.
Now here we are
I gashed my leg open on the sharp bumper of a wrecked car five minutes into the journey. It was a long hump, (a miles worth of side streets, beach fronts, and backyards) but we are here. It is a decent sized marina with a large ferry, and a gift shop. Electricity is still on. Marina abandoned. Looks like the harbormaster took his own life. His bloated corpse is slumped over a desk in the front office, with what was left of his brain caked on a calendar marked January. The TV was still on, playing snow.
February 16th
1912 hrs
I am very weak today. If it were not for John, I would be dead. Annabelle is next to me sleeping. It is dark outside and I have been blacking out on and off most of the day. My leg is infected and I need some antibiotics. In the harbormasters desk, we found some whiskey. This has served me most of the day as a disinfectant, as well as painkiller. Tomorrow, John will go out alone to find some medicine for my infection. We are in no trouble currently.
I could hear the sound of the aircraft engine still running yesterday for at least two hours before it died. No matter, it was junk now anyway, as I am sure there is no one left alive that knows how to fix it.
February 17th
2220 hrs
Im feeling better today. We heard the sound of an engine in the distance that sounded like it could have been a dirt bike. John found a first-aid kit on the ferry near here. It didnt have any pill antibiotics, but it did have some of the topical kind. I have been keeping the wound clean and washing it a few times a day, and applying the medicine. It seems to be working. Im just still very red and sore around the cut. Last night we heard the sounds of something in the darkness. Using the goggles, we tried to spot it, but it turned out it was only a raccoon looking for food. Tomorrow, I will try and walk so I dont get too stiff. John and I need to survey this area, as we are only safe here temporarily.
*Come to think of it, it might have been me.
Dark Knight
February 18th
2302 hrs
There are sporadic gunshots in the wind. We picked up a distress call on the harbor radio from a family in the outskirts of Victoria, TX (50 miles from current location). The signal was faint and we tried to respond, however they could not hear us as they kept transmitting over and over as if we werent there. I thought about it and decided that it would not be worth a fifty-mile trek through hostile territory to find a group of people that may be dead when I got there. Sad. I used to be more compassionate and chivalrous. I guess after seeing bad things happen to good people, you just dont want to be good. They are trapped in an attic with those things shuffling around below. I think I know who will be able to wait longer.
I guess they must have moved the essentials up to the attic when the S.H.T.F. Something keeps eating at me, as if a shell of my former self were ordering me to do something. Or, maybe I do have a conscience left. Doubt it.
I am walking now, but not running. John and I unfastened the chain that held the floating ramp to the marina. We found some rope in the utility room of the marina office, and use it as part of our drawbridge mechanism. John and I thought of it today. When we are here, we simply pull the rope, and the floating ramp gets pulled away from the shore to the marina, making a hard time for any of those fuckers to get here. I hope they cant swim.
February 19th
1524 hrs
We are making good headway in securing the area. There are numerous small boats in the marina, and John and I have pulled the ones we think are worth a damn to our location. I want to check them all at once to avoid starting the engines at different times, making too much noise. This morning I saw a group of eight dead pass the street about fifty meters from the waters edge. The only thing that troubled me was that they were moving faster than the previous creatures we have encountered. By no means were they running or even jogging, but they definitely were not walking. My heart sank as I noticed the speed at which they moved.
I crossed the gangway to the ferry next to the marina office. It was a medium sized ferry that could fit about twenty vehicles. I assume it was used to cross the channel to mainland Texas.
I climbed to the top deck and checked the bridge. I found a set of binoculars (left my others at the tower) and used them to try and spot the pack of dead. I looked up and down the beach, and checked the windows on the hotels. No signs of life. I counted five windows on the fifth and sixth floor in the nearest hotel (Hotel La Blanc) that did have occupants. Dead, rotting occupants that will never check out of their hotel.
These binoculars were built for sea service. They are large, heavy and had powerful magnification. Theyre not really suitable to carry around, but great for checking the area. Three of the monsters just stood there at the window staring out. One of them seemed as if it looked right at me. The two others looked like they were pacing the room. I wonder how they died.
My leg is much better now and I think I will be able to run on it if need be in a couple days. We are out of food today, so we are going to burgle the vending machines until I can run again. Then we will scavenge for food. I could only salvage 500 rounds for the CAR-15. John has a thousand for the semi-auto .22.
2223 hrs
Thirty minutes ago I heard a noise. I donned the night vision goggles on and expected to see another raccoon. Not the case this time. Four of them are standing at the waters edge looking out toward our location. They arent making any noise. They are just standing there with arms swinging ominously at the waters edge. John and I are being as quiet as possible. I am conserving battery power by leaving the goggles off, but it seems every splash the water makes as it hits the marina pontoons, I imagine them swimming toward us.
February 20th
1854 hrs
I was up all night last night. The fog on the water made it impossible for me to see the shore after midnight. This morning when the sun came up and burned some of the fog away, I checked for them. I could hear some noise in the distance. It sounded like someone was knocking over tin cans. My leg is feeling much better. Today, we lived off of stale candy bars and soft drinks. Makes me think There will probably never be another can of this made. Sort of depressing. Im going to need a watch soon, as the battery in this one has been the same for over two years. I guess I will put that on the list of must loot. Although, some would argue that stealing to stay alive is not looting. I say its just details. Im not planning to raid a jewelry store but I wont turn down something that will keep me alive.
; On a lighter note, John and I found a radio station still broadcasting music. Too bad its automated and it keeps looping every twelve hours. Still good for morale and Im glad its still working. You can almost imagine it is live. It helps a little.
February 21st
0800 hrs
We are in dire need of provisions. Plenty of water here at the marina in the drinking water dispenser, but we have been living off of caffeine and sugar. A detailed map of this area would be very helpful, although getting to it may prove fatal. Early this morning as the sun was rising through the fog, I could hear and see many of them walking the street in front of the ferry marina. For some reason they were moving together. Seemed like they were attracting themselves to the noise they were making. I couldnt see the whole group of them, but from the numbers I did see, I could estimate that there were hundreds.
