Day by Day Armageddon

by J. L. Bourne

  1951 hrs

  Wind is howling outside. The moans of the creatures seem to be getting louder as the days go by. There are a couple dozen outside the marina “patrolling” the shoreline. Every second they are out there I have to tell myself not to go outside and execute them. There will be 9mm rounds stuck in my ear again tonight, because the noise is maddening. Even in the darkness of the new nightfall, I can still make out the drag marks on the shore from the corpse I neutralized yesterday.

  We have agreed it is time to move. We set a target date of one week. In the meantime, we will be gathering more supplies and thinking of a suitable location. I have come to realize that if you do not move, you die. Even then you do not die, you exist as them, which is worse.

  Atlantis

  March 28th

  1300 hrs

  We are in the boat. Early this morning at around 0200 hours, a glass cup that Laura had left on the bait counter the night before fell to the floor for no apparent reason. I immediately stood up on my feet, and felt as if I was drunk, and it became difficult to stand up. It felt I was walking up hill toward the broken glass on the floor. I flipped the light switch on, and called to John and William. They too felt disoriented and it finally dawned on me what was happening.

  I had wondered what took Murphy’s Law so long to happen. We were sinking. It stormed last night and rocked us around a bit. I suppose lack of maintenance, inspections, and the wrath of nature finally did the job. We woke the others up and I suggested to John and William that they start gathering supplies. I had no idea how long we had before the whole marina bait/gift shop went down. The imbalance of weight vs. buoyancy would eventually snap the lumber support and cause the whole building to sink.

  I had no time to be quiet. I donned the NVGs and immediately began getting the Mama ready. The noise I was making, combined with the creaking, overstressed timber of the marina had drawn a crowd. Through the graininess of my optics, I could make out roughly twenty creatures. They were god-awful. I felt in my heart that if there was a hell, these things came from there and in my imagination I could feel their hot hellish breath all over me.

  Even though I was almost sure they could not see in the dark, many of them were looking in my direction, attuned to the noise, cocking their heads like a confused dog to its master. Most were in intermediate stages of decomposition, and I could not see their eyes through the goggles, only black circles, which added to their ominous horror.

  Jan, Tara, John, William, and myself formed a human assembly line as we passed supplies hand over hand to the boat. Only half an hour had went by and already one of the corners dipped almost two feet into the water, causing the opposite corner to hang out of the water a foot or so. This meant the structure was getting over stressed.

  I put the muzzle on Annabelle, and carried her and Laura to the boat and sat them down. The creatures were voicing their demented sounds toward us. I whispered to Laura not to worry and her job was to hold Annabelle, and not let her leave the boat. I handed her the teddy bear and pecked her on the cheek.

  We loaded the boat down to an almost dangerous load bearing weight. It was the lowest I had seen her since we started using it. I helped Jan and Tara into the boat, and told William to stay while John and I made one last late check-out hotel room sweep of the place to make sure we didn’t leave invaluable items. Satisfied with our sweep we boarded the boat and I fired the engine up. If it were not for Laura, I would have fragged a few of them that instant, if not only but to make myself feel better.

  As we pulled away from the marina, I thought back to the places we were forced to take refuge in the past. They seemed to be getting less accommodating every time we move. We are now sitting one mile off the coast of Texas approximately, engine shut off, drifting to conserve fuel.

  2144 hrs

  Decided to cruise northeast up the Texas coast toward Galveston. Something is wrong with the engine. It keeps flooding. When I finally get the engine started again, it dies five minutes later. All hope is looking to be lost. By my approximations we have gone roughly 75 miles up the coast. We are running low on gas as I can see the level approaching the floor of the bladder tank. Still, that is not the problem with the boat. I assume it’s something to do with the engine, and that means we are either rowing this tub at one knot per hour, or we are going to end up on foot.

  It just can’t get any better than this.

  March 29th

  0605 hrs

  Oh yes it can. After rowing for four hours last night, we finally made it to a suitable anchor area away from any dead. After catching only two hours of sleep, we had no choice but to take our chances on foot. Tara had expressed to me that she needed to use the restroom, and that after the little problem we had with the creature under the water, she didn’t really wish to hang her ass over the side. I guess I can understand. We can’t stay on this small boat indefinitely. We paddled the boat near enough to shore for me to see the sandy bottom. I hopped out, ankle deep in salt water and pulled the boat further into the shore. William was covering me with the lighthouse keeper’s shotgun. We unloaded as much as we could carry to the shore. We should be near Freeport, though I can’t be sure.

  Something seemed somehow perilous and foolish with the idea of trekking across mainland Texas with a little girl. I know she is not mine, but for some reason I feel very protective over her. As we sat on the shore I expressed to the men that we should move in a defensive posture, keeping the females (including Annabelle) in the middle and the males on the ends. We are leaving now and must leave some of the mason jars full of vegetables behind, along with some drinking water. We can’t carry all the weight. As we leave the shore, I will take one look back at the Bahama Mama and say my mental good bye, just as I would a high school car that I had owned for years.

  1341 hrs

  After five hours of marching northwest inland, we are taking a short lunch break. I feel so vulnerable compared to the safety of the marina. Enough of them could easily over power us. Over the course of the past few hours, we have crossed numerous two-lane highways and some four-lane. We are in rough country. Some of it ranch. I guess our position to be somewhere in the vicinity of Sweeny, TX, but I cannot tell for certain and I refuse to ask the local population for help. The cacti grow freely everywhere. I supposed I never noticed it before, as I never made a point to just take off on foot across random ranch land.

  We crossed one of the highways earlier this morning around 1030, there was a large six car pile up about a hundred meters away from where we crossed, it looked like a fire truck was on the scene with the ladder extended into the air. I decided to check it out and see if anything was salvageable. Looking at the wreckage, I thought to myself that I really didn’t want to risk driving on the highways due to all the pileups we may encounter along our route. I didn’t want to be trapped and surrounded by them in anything short of a tank.

  As I neared the wreck site, my mind started piecing together what happened. I motioned for the others to stay put. The enemy was nigh. On top of the mechanical extended fire truck ladder, a creature, hanging from a safety tether took notice of my presence. No telling how long it had been hanging there, like a wild animal in a steel trap. This undead public servant was probably a good man in his former life. The bright yellow fireman’s clothing was still visible under all the dried blood. A United States flag was stitched on his left sleeve with the date “9-11-01” embroidered into the stars and stripes.

  I wanted to send this thing away with one well aimed round, but I knew this was different. We didn’t have the safety of the boat to our advantage. I would let it hang there. I walked around to the other side of the wreckage. I figure that this fireman was attacked and took refuge forty feet up, at the top of the ladder for no telling how long. There was a small bucket big enough for one man to sit in at the top. He probably turned into what he is now and inadvertently fell and was doomed to hang there the rest of his rotting existence, from his safety line. There were feces on the ground below the lad
der suggesting he made his stand for probably a few days. My question was, his stand from what? Other than his misfortunate corpse, there was no sign of the undead for as far as I could see to both sides of the wreckage. The bloody handprints at the base of the white mechanical ladder, coupled with the same prints all around the fire truck told a different story.

  We continued on, —into the wasteland of the Texas plains, climbing barbed wire fences and negotiating heavy spring vegetation. We could be traveling for days, if not weeks before we potentially find anything worth holding up in.

  2312 hrs

  We are taking refuge inside a chain link razor wire fence area for the night. We found it out of blind luck after fighting through cactus and heavy foliage for hours. The sign bolted to the outside of the fence stated the following:

  Warning:

  Controlled Area, US Government Property It is unlawful to enter this area without the permission of the installation commander. While on this installation, all personnel and the property under their control are subject to search. This area is patrolled by military working dog teams.

  It was approaching nightfall when John ran into it. We had to take turns carrying Laura for the latter part of the day because her little legs were getting tired and she just couldn’t keep up. The fenced area couldn’t have been more than fifty feet by fifty feet. I hadn’t the slightest idea what the government would want with this small area of land, or why such a big deal would be made for it.

  I could see the panoramic view of the whole area and saw no sign of life or death besides our group. No building could be seen inside the fence as it was a flat grassy area similar to a regular yard. The crab grass had grown rather high and I suppose if someone were lying down, I would not be able to see them. We had no choice other than sleeping in a tree, and I wasn’t much for that option. I grabbed the blankets out of the pack that Tara was carrying and folded them to a width of about three feet wide. I left the length the same.

  The fence was around eight feet tall, so it took a couple tries, but I finally got the blankets over the razor wire, so that I could climb over without cutting myself to shreds. As I hit the ground, I pulled my weapon up to the ready and began checking the grass for any danger.

  I walked around the inside of the fence, then toward the middle of the area. There was a large manhole type cover just sitting there on the ground. I bent down on one knee and noticed that there was no exterior handle, and if there were, I would definitely not be able to lift it, as there was four inches of steel showing above ground. There were very large hinges present on one side of this odd looking lid. I’m guessing that this lid/cover weighs more than all of us combined. I hear nothing but the sound of nature. The stars are very bright tonight, and the fence is secure. If it doesn’t rain, it will be a nice night to sleep under the stars.

  March 30th

  1517 hrs

  Our luck has changed. I woke up this morning to the sound of howling dogs in the distance. No way of knowing if they are wild or domesticated. Made me think of the sign we read on the fence yesterday. I was very curious why a thick steel manhole lid would be sitting inside a razor wire fence in the middle of nowhere, Texas. I told John that I wanted to take a look around outside the fence as on one side it seemed to be clear of trees and shrubs.

  Once again, using the blanket technique, I climbed over the fence, with a fully recovered John in tow. John left the .22 with William and the girls and he took the shotgun, because the shotgun wouldn’t be a good idea to use through the fence.

  The fenced area we came from was about ten feet lower than the hill we were climbing to the clearing. As we topped the small hill, an expansive view unfolded in front of us. There was enough flat land here to land and take off with a small plane, and a fence, similar to the other was about three hundred meters ahead.

  As we neared this second fenced in area, we noticed that it was much larger than the one we had spent the night in, and it harbored a small, shed sized brick building with a grey painted steel door and a series of antennas on the roof. When we made it to the fence, John and I noticed a helicopter-landing pad inside the perimeter. Also there was a large patch of blackened grass surrounding what looked like a very large square hole in the ground.

  No sign of movement anywhere. We had a clear range of view in all directions. We could even barely make out the tops of the razor wire fence where William and the others were waiting. This was definitely not a base, but it was something. John and I went back for the blankets so that we could scale this new fence. We told William of our discovery and returned to the new area.

  Before scaling the fence, I checked the gate just in case. It was locked solid with some sort of cipher locking device. The other area had a large chain and cut resistant padlock on it. I had a feeling that this area was a little more important than the other. We jumped the fence and began checking the perimeter. I walked toward the helicopter pad, keeping my eyes open for any sort of movement. The hole in the ground peaked my curiosity further so John and I decided to check it out. As we edged toward the chasm, I started realizing what this place was.

  I had never seen one in real life, but this area might as well have a “Minuteman III” sign posted on the fence. I was standing where a strategic missile had recently launched. The ground was blackened around the gaping horizontal launch doors. I grabbed my flashlight from my pack and checked around the rim of the opening for some sort of access ladder. There was one about three feet below the lip of the thick steel doors that were retracted back sideways into the ground. John held my arm as I hung my leg over into the darkness of the vertical launch shaft. My weapon was slung over my shoulder as I started my descent down into the darkness.

  The shaft seemed at least sixty feet deep as it took forever to descend. When I looked up, John seemed a million miles away. I didn’t know if I was going crazy at the time, but I could swear I could hear the faint sound of music. I stood at the bottom of the shaft. Shining my light around, I could see dead squirrels that had fallen down the shaft and died from lack of food and water. Dirt and leaves also lined the floor. These doors have been open for a while. Some of the dead squirrels were all but rotted to the bone. I checked the bottom level of the shaft. I noticed an oval shaped door with a wheel in the center on the opposite end from where I was standing. I asked John if he could get down without my help, he didn’t answer, but I could see his leg catch the first rung of the ladder as he began his climb down.

  As John was on his way down, I grabbed the wheel and moved it counter clockwise (lefty loosy) to see if it would budge. To my surprise, it did. I suppose the three feet thick blast doors at the top of the shaft were good enough to keep intruders out, so they didn’t bother locking the insignificant four inch thick oval hatch at the bottom, but why didn’t they close the blast doors after launch?

  John was now down with me. He stood behind me as I finished turning the wheel crank to unlock the access hatch. I turned it all the way left, and heard the sound of a metal clank as the bolts simultaneously released from the frame. I pulled the door outward and the hiss of air rushed in or out, I could not tell. I opened the door fully, bright light and the sound of music blasted out at John and I.

  “It’s the end of the world as we know it!” -REM

  I guess the end of the world breeds cynicism. Pulling my weapon up to my chest, John and I made our way into the interior of this modern day castle. I had no idea of the layout of the place. I took the lead as we headed toward the source of the music.

  All the interior lights were on and we were walking slowly. The song ended then it began playing again. It was in a constant loop. I had hoped different, because the music gave me a false sense of life. For all I knew the song could have been looping for months, now that I had heard it loop once.

  We were closer to the music. It was blaring

  “Wire in a fire, represent the seven games in a government for hire and a combat site ”

  Rounding the corner to where we thought the music w
as coming from; we came to an open door that I estimated to be a foot thick. It looked like a bank vault door. The music was coming from inside that room.

  I could see computer panel lights flashing intermittently inside, and the smell of rot was pungent in the air. I gave John the look and I stepped in. Captain Baker was the first corpse to meet my gaze. Tied up in a steel chair, was an Air Force captain with the nametag “Baker” pinned above his right pocket.

  He writhed and struggled with the bonds that held him firm. His skin was being torn off in places by the ropes. Another officer lay slumped over a command console with a Berretta 9mm in one hand and half his head missing.

  I can only theorize to what happened. Baker had three gunshot wounds to the chest and a cracked skull. As the creature sat there writhing, I grabbed the sidearm out of the other officer’s stiff rotting hand. Checking the magazine, I counted eleven rounds. Three for Baker and one for the no name tag “Major Tom” added to fifteen. I suppose Baker was infected, “Major Tom” tied him up, launched the missile, then shot Baker three times in the chest before taking his own life. Of course, it is all speculation and doesn’t really matter at this point.