Day by Day Armageddon

by J. L. Bourne

  He made it to the ruined aircraft, and retrieved the small bag containing the photo, and immediately started heading back. He was soon besieged by many undead, and had to take refuge in a hotel. He managed to barricade the second floor of the five-floor hotel. He then proceeded to clear out any unsecured guests with his .22 rifle. After three days and nights of enduring the sounds of the trapped undead guests in their rooms, he decided to make an escape.

  He went room to room (ensuring they were not occupied) and collected sheets from the vacant beds. Using square knots, he formed a long escape rope. Early on the morning of his escape, he found the right window to climb out of. The window he chose was on the third floor, and a large tree growing near the window obscured street view. He climbed down the sheets with his rifle slung over his shoulder. He dropped the non-breakable gear to the ground.

  About the time he started climbing down, he felt one of the knots starting to slip on his sheet rope. It was too late to climb back up and check. He continued his descent. The knot gave way as he reached the 2nd floor level. He fell hard and fast through the tree branches and was cut up pretty well on the way down. When he hit the ground, his rifle discharged and the bullet entered the back of his shoulder and exited the front.

  His next memory was of me carrying him back onto the dock.

  March 5th

  1230 hrs

  Woke up this morning in a cold sweat around 0600. The Grisham family was still sleeping in the other room of the marina. John and I were crashed out on the two couches in the office. I know I had a terrible dream last night, but I just can’t grasp what it was. I just remember running fast. The first thing I saw when I woke up, were the small droplets of blood on the wall, left over from the harbormaster’s suicide. John didn’t wake up until 1130 or so.

  Thankfully, the bullet wound and lacerations don’t seem to be critically infected, just some small reddening around the edges of some of the cuts. Lucky for him, the round passed through his shoulder. He might have died of infection if one of us had to attempt to extract it on our own.

  Medical supplies would be a nice luxury to have, especially since there is someone around that might be able to use them. Of course, a nice bunker with eight-foot thick steel walls, geothermal power, and unlimited food and water would be nice also. People in hell want ice water.

  Who am I kidding?

  There is no more hell.

  Hell is here.

  I want ice water.

  Quite Time

  1944 hrs

  Laura and Annabelle played in the back room of the marina while Jan, John, William and myself talked about our experiences. William explained his situation in the attic, and how it came to that. John was lying on the couch with his make shift sling (ironically made from a torn sheet).

  I expressed the fact that we can’t exist here on this island forever. We would never be safe from the hordes that are roaming the streets. What if a hurricane came and washed the marina away, or even worse, washed it up on the shore? A million things could go wrong. We only have limited fuel here for the boats. None of us know how to fix/operate the large ferry docked next to us. I asked William why he had to be a chemist and not a boat mechanic. He apparently has a decent sense of humor for a chemist.

  I inquired to Jan as to how Laura was taking all of this. Jan expressed that she was unusually resilient to all of the horror she had witnessed in the past couple months. I heard Laura whine in her sleep again last night, but did not mention this to Jan, as I am sure she is no stranger to this.

  It must be my military nature, but I feel like we are in the same situation as John and I were in at the tower. I feel like we need to make plans, and need to make them fast. I cannot foresee any danger here at the marina, as we have our own little man made island, but again, John and I had a two hundred foot tower surrounded by a high chain link fence, and were under siege within minutes.

  Maybe I am just paranoid.

  We have our code words established for Laura when we see one or more of those things outside. We play “quiet time.” This lets Laura know that it is not time to play and jump and giggle with Annabelle. Today one of those things was shambling about, very near the shoreline where the floating walkway would be if it were connected to the shore. Its rotted body was having a difficult time raising its head, but it managed to look in my direction as I peered out the blinds at it. I know the thing is dumb and dead, but I still felt a calculating stare, as it kept looking over here. More came soon after. Some looked as if they died recently. These moved faster and more methodically than their rotted counterparts. I would definitely make it a point to avoid them with more zeal.

  March 6th

  0322 hrs

  I woke up a half hour ago and cannot get back to sleep so I decided to check the shoreline with the night vision goggles. I see numerous figures walking around the area near the shoreline. I can hear a sound coming from the direction of the tall buildings. I can’t quite figure out what it is. For some odd reason it sounds like a TV that is turned up too loud. This made me want to check our TV here, but I will wait until it is light outside so that the light from it cannot be seen on the shore. Why do they remain here? Do they sense us?

  If I had a suppressed weapon, I would execute the lot of those miserable creatures right now.

  1242 hrs

  Brainstorming, brainstorming, brainstorming. I spent the whole morning thinking of possible safe areas. Of course, no place is truly safe. All of the heavily fortified buildings or prison facilities would be impenetrable, and useless without access. This island will not do. Maybe a smaller island, with less of an undead population. One would think that an island would be ideal in this situation but there is nowhere to run and the only supplies on the island are already here. Once we run out of the low hanging fruit type supplies that are easily scavenged from nearby buildings, that will be it. William told me of his neighbor and how he was bitten. He swore it didn’t take more than a few hours for him to succumb to the wound and turn. It only takes one of them. I read somewhere that even the best thieves concede to the fact they will get caught eventually, it’s just the law of averages.

  Basing my chances of survival on this premise, I too feel that my day will come. All I can do is attempt to survive. I have never had any children and I see the worried look in William and Jan’s eyes when Laura asks to go outside. That is shit for an existence. I feel somewhat responsible for everyone. I know that if any of them succumb to the dead, I will feel great sorrow. There must be a group of people somewhere. The question is, do I want to make myself known? I moved the harbor radio near John’s couch so that he could monitor it. He enjoys this, and it gives him something to do while he recovers.

  I still have my stolen state map of Texas. There aren’t many details given about Matagorda Island, but there is a hospital a couple miles south of our position. John’s wounds do not seem to be getting any worse, so I’m not sure I will even need to find any medication, but I suppose it’s nice to know it’s there if I want to risk my ass.

  No broadcast on the TV. I could have sworn I heard something like it in the distance this morning. One station has a high-pitched ringing sound, but only snow for the picture. The radio station is still playing, and I think I have almost memorized the order of the songs, and all the commercials. Just a constant loop until the power goes out or the tape/digital feed fails. I wonder what kind of rotting filth is trapped in that DJ booth right now?

  We are fast approaching spring and I don’t like the idea of being at the mercy of a hurricane if one were to pop up here. I hate to keep moving, but it seems to be the only thing that has kept me alive.

  March 7th

  2123 hrs

  When John and I visited Seadrift on our food gathering expedition, we put all we could into two shopping carts and got the hell out of there. That amount would have lasted us awhile with just us. Now, we have three more mouths to feed. John wasn’t yet able to handle himself out there, so that leaves William. I approached him a
bout it today. I sort of feel guilty, considering he has a wife and child. I couldn’t go out there alone and expect to survive. I needed someone to at least be the eyes behind me while I work. He looked at me and told me that I didn’t even need to ask, and then he went on to tell me how grateful he was. I don’t take compliments or tributes too well so I just thanked him and changed the subject.

  After conducting an inventory of food and water, my best guess is that we have enough food to last a week. Just reading that sounds like great news, for a complacent person. I would prefer to have one month plus a week for backup. William only has very limited experience with firearms. This would have to change for him to be effective out there. After discussing with William what would have to be done in the coming days, he agreed to let me teach him how to operate John’s .22 rifle.

  We checked the outside for any lurking corpses. We saw only one shambling parallel to our position, pre-occupied with something on the ground. I loaded my rifle as well as John’s .22 and enough rounds to do what we set out to do. I left my pistols behind for Jan, ready to shoot. I explained to her that she not leave them where Laura could get them, and the basics of how to hold and aim the weapon. I knew they would be safe while William and I were away, and we would only be gone for an hour.

  William and I quietly stepped onto the boat and untied her. We rowed in unison for fifteen minutes so that we would be clear of the marina area. This time, instead of heading toward Seadrift (west), we headed up the coast toward the more populated area of Matagorda Island. No better way to practice than with real targets.

  I could tell that William was nervous. I told him to relax, and that we were not going to set foot on shore today. This relieved some of his tension and made things seem more pleasant. Twenty yards from shore, and very near three large beachfront hotels was where we anchored the Bahama Mama. I hated to do this to William, but better he sweat in training than bleed in battle. I started making noise and whistling and screaming out to them. It wasn’t long before the beach was teaming with dozens of them. Some of them waded knee deep in the water before stumbling backward to dry land.

  It was then I started teaching William how to load and fix a jammed weapon. I figured that if he could load while being taunted by the dead, he could do it anywhere. He fumbled and dropped a few rounds on the deck of the boat, but overall he picked up quickly how to load the weapon and aim it. I took the weapon from him and replaced the loaded magazine with the spare unloaded I had hidden in my pocket (without him seeing). He was gazing nervously at the shoreline when I handed the cocked weapon back to him and told him to aim at the creature in the red shirt.

  Dramatically, I explained to him the basics of aiming and how he needed a head shot to kill them. Ideally I told him I wanted the shot to hit on the top 1/3 of the cranium. I told him to breath, long deep breaths Only when he was ready, should he squeeze, then only on the exhale

  I was testing him. Would he anticipate the small kick of the .22 and yank the weapon when he depressed the trigger? I told him to take the shot

  With both eyes open, like I told him, he gazed through the sights and squeezed the trigger. CLICK

  William jerked high and to the right, his mental reflexes telling him to do so. He then looked over at me, confused. I told him what I had done and why. Over the next few minutes I would take the weapon and randomly load a round to test him. Soon he didn’t jerk the weapon at all. His first kill was a direct hit, entering the eye of the lucky corpse destroying the brain as the shell bounced around in the rotting skull.

  I loaded ten rounds into the magazine and told him to go to town, killing the fully mobile creatures first. Soon the shoreline was littered with nearly twenty still corpses. In total, this little shooting lesson used up twenty rounds. We still had almost 800 .22 rounds.

  We pretty much drew every corpse within a ten-mile radius to our position. No matter, better to draw them here than back to the marina. I pulled anchor and sped farther up the coastline leading them further away from the marina. After five minutes of this I flipped her around and headed away from the island to mask the sound of our return. When we were reasonably close, we cut the engines and paddled back to the stronghold. I feel a little better about taking William with me now that he is more confident in himself.

  March 9th

  2047 hrs

  Yesterday and today were interesting. My humanity bucket hadn’t been filled for a while, and it was getting dry and rustic. After the marital spat John and I witnessed today, I know that this plague cannot and will not destroy human nature. Since there was no television, and taking nice walks through the city was not encouraged, this was my entertainment most of the morning.

  It wasn’t my nostalgia that they were fighting about, it was theirs, but the pre-apocalypse nature of the fight moved me. It was a simple fight over laundry and housework, and who actually did it around the house before all of this. It felt so good to hear a normal conversation for once, and not once hearing about how we were going to avoid one of those things biting our asses off.

  Food: Not critical yet, but a revised estimate of (5) days remaining.

  Laura wants to go outside and play, “Like her friends at school get to do.” I tried to explain to her, with my limited “small people” knowledge that it wouldn’t be any fun to play outside right now, and that the people out there wouldn’t be nice. She looked at me and rolled her eyes and said, “I know they are dead, you don’t have to play.” I was shocked at the little girl’s candor and just sort of chuckled under my breath.

  I wondered which parent she took the attitude from. Using my knife I carved a chess board into the table in the lounge area of the marina. I stole some fishing lures from the marina retail area and John and I are utilizing them (sans the hooks) as chess pieces. So far I have him three games to two.

  I have a strange feeling that William and Jan have made amends for the silly argument, as I can hear no loud voices through the other end of the privacy curtain I put up for them a few days ago.

  Enemy activity: Sporadic movement. Last night’s full moon brought hundreds of them near us. Using NVGs, I studied them. They seemed to be more active. Could this be because of the full moon? I doubt it.

  I gave my last few sets of foam earplugs to the Grishams. Laura was fascinated at how they returned to their original shape after you squeezed them. John still had his set in his pant pockets.

  I had no earplugs left, so I took two 9mm rounds out of the ammo box and stuffed them in my ear. They were a good fit and really drowned out their moans last night.

  March 10th

  1222 hrs

  The radio station stopped playing music today. For a brief moment I heard a human voice on the other end. It sounded like I heard the word “fortify” before the microphone cut out. John and I were playing chess again when it happened. Now, I can’t even pull John away from the CB radio. He keeps trying to broadcast in the hopes that whoever stopped the music will hear and respond. The station is broadcasting out of Corpus, so I know for a fact they are overrun. I also know that the radio John is using won’t reach that far. Whatever keeps his spirits up, I suppose.

  William and I spoke about his chemistry skills. I asked him if he could make anything useful, considering our current situation. He said that if he had the ingredients, he could make pretty much anything. With William being a chemist, and John being an engineer, I’m sure they can come up with something to help our current predicament.

  Thought: I wonder what historical sites were destroyed that Laura will never see. I remember visiting the Alamo last year. I wonder if anyone alive was holding their ground in the

  true last stand of the Alamo

  when the warhead hit.

  Maybe it answered a prayer

  March 12th

  2145 hrs

  → Food: (2) days remaining.

  → Water: Still have pressure, however starting to taste funny. Will need purification tablets soon. If I develop any symptoms, i.e. diarrhea, I will have to fin
d some purification tablets, or simply boil it.

  William knows the time to leave is coming. Tomorrow we will have to head out for supplies or starve here. It is raining and the water is getting choppy, causing the marina to wobble just enough to induce discomfort. No signal on the formerly good radio station. I have been studying the map I procured last trip very closely. There are other options to scavenging. We could head northeast up the coast line and cherry pick, but run the risk of boat mechanical failure which would put us in a world of shit.