The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 1): Awakening

by J. D. Demers

  “Aye-aye, Top,” Gonzales replied a little less sarcastically than I think he wanted to. Gonzales may have been a confident prick sometimes, but Fish had a way of making just about anyone feel like they were two inches tall.

  He turned back around and added, “I’ll let you know when you’ve earned the right to call me Fish.”

  Gonzales didn’t say anything back, but I could see anger in his expression as he turned from me and looked out of the side window.

  The weather wasn’t exactly “free skies”. It was a term Fish and I had recently started using when describing a clear, sunny day. There were spots of puffy white clouds, but not enough to provide shade for long periods of time. The dead-heads, as Campbell’s group called them, usually didn’t come out unless something attracted them when the sun was out.

  We headed out and Fish decided to take mostly back roads towards the interstate overpass that led out to Camp Holly. He maneuvered around the confusing road network of Palm Bay. The city hadn’t exactly made the best plan for the urban area. Roads would loop back or suddenly stop or curve at random places. If you didn’t know your way around, you could get lost easily.

  Fish knew his way, though, and we finally pulled out on the west side of Palm Bay Road, which was close to where I used to live. The huge shopping center there, containing stores like HHGreg, Michaels, Target, and more, appeared to be mostly intact. But that’s not what was grabbing my attention.

  The giant parking lot that was surrounded by the multitude of businesses was crawling with the dead. They were all moving north, towards a newly built IMAX theater. Something must have stirred them up.

  “Good for us they’re moving away from us,” Gonzales muttered.

  “I wonder what they’re chasing,” Jenna stated.

  “I wonder where they all came from,” Gonzales added.

  “Probably the highway,” I muttered. “All those cars…” It made sense. I mean, those people probably abandoned their vehicles and were easy prey out in the open. Something could have attracted them to this area. That was all speculation, of course.

  We continued down some more roads until finally we came to Route 192, and turned west towards Interstate 95. We drove through the same mishmash of jammed up traffic we had a few days before. This time, though, it was much easier to navigate. Fish seemed to remember which spots to avoid and which routes were easier to pass through. Zombies were randomly popping out of hiding spaces, but were much too slow to be a threat.

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” Fish ordered as we approached the highway overpass. Nothing seemed different from when we were there just a few days before. If it was some sort of trap, no one else had sprung it.

  “Still think there’s a trap?” I asked him. I’m sure my tone told him that I still thought it was unlikely.

  “Maybe,” he said as he slowed the truck down a couple of hundred feet before the bridge. Cars lined both sides of us. It was impossible to get on the actual interstate, and just like before, there was only room for one vehicle to fit underneath the overpass.

  I’m glad Fish was the cautious sort, but in the end, we wasted two hours trying to figure out if it was a trap or not.

  I was right, but Fish never admitted it. After he sent Boomer and I on a scouting run under the bridge while he and Jenna covered us with their long rifles, we finally figured if there was a trap, the people who laid it were long gone. I found evidence of a pretty nasty firefight, but it had been some time ago. Old, spent shell casings and a few burned out cars with bullet holes was all that was left of whatever trap or battle had been there.

  There was no telling if it was a fight between survivors or the dead. After all, the dead could usually get back up after a few days and continue on their rampage. All evidence of the losers of that battle had literally walked away.

  We loaded back up and headed west on 192. From there on out, there was no civilization. And though we were only going seven or eight miles, it was interesting to see all of the carnage disappear and be replaced with nature. The four lane route cut through the swamp and marsh land like a knife. There was a reason why people didn’t live there. You can’t build housing communities on water and mud.

  We didn’t see any signs of life… or death on the road. That was a good thing. If the dead-heads were sticking to the cities that meant Fish’s idea of moving out of the populated area was a good one. After the first few hundred feet from the highway, there wasn’t even an abandoned car.

  Doing sixty, it only took about ten minutes to finally reach Camp Holly. Route 192 went over the St. Johns River on a long bridge. Camp Holly was just off to the left on the south side of the road.

  The small complex was surrounded by a couple of cement walls. None completely protected the area, but that could be fixed. The eastern and southern parts were protected by the river with two small wooden docks and one boat ramp. To the west was an open, large dirt parking area, followed by brush and marsh further down. Between the two walls on the north side was another dirt area to park vehicles. Next to the reception building, the wall ran west along the complex. A tall chain-link gate was the only way back into the rest of the compound, and there were boards nailed to the cement wall concealing whatever was behind it.

  “I didn’t realize how visible it was,” Fish said, shaking his head. We were stopped in the middle of the road looking over Camp Holly.

  “That could be a bad thing, but a good one as well,” I returned. “Think about it, Fish, the camp is off the road, but below the road embankment. You won’t see it until you’re right up on it. That means we can hear whoever is coming.”

  He grunted with agreement.

  “Yeah, but I’m betting the mosquitos are atrocious out here,” Gonzales said, throwing in his two cents.

  “You aren’t afraid of a few bug bites, are ya, darlin?” Jenna teased.

  “I guess I prefer those to the dead-heads biting me,” he conceded.

  “There are ways to handle the bug problem,” Fish added.

  We turned into the compound and Fish slammed on the brakes just as we drove into the dirt parking area.

  “Shit!” he exclaimed. We all shared in the curse as we came to a sudden halt.

  From the road, you really couldn’t see it, but now that we had driven down into the parking lot, we could make out two trucks parked on the north side near the wall and embankment that paralleled the road. One of the trucks had some sort of boat trailer on it and the second had a hatch on the bed.

  “Jenna, get in the back,” Fish ordered. “Keep your eyes peeled.” She acknowledged and jumped out with her long rifle.

  “And us?” Gonzales asked.

  “Same as before, Private,” Fish responded as he grabbed his gear. “Get in the driver’s seat. Be ready to back up the kid and me.”

  A sickening feeling hit my stomach.

  “What do we do if we find living people here?” I asked. I was more worried about that than having a run-in with zombies or a scab.

  “We’ll deal with that if it happens,” Fish snapped. “Get going! We’ve already lost the element of surprise.”

  Gonzales jumped in the front while Fish, Boomer and I exited the vehicle. The first thing that hit me was the smell. Fresh air. Real fresh air. Not the temporary relief that the Ace Hardware compound provided, but nature’s finest fragrance.

  I looked back and saw that Jenna had a pretty good position. She could probably snipe anything that was threatening us. I couldn’t see over the secondary wall that led into the camp, though. For all we knew, there were a hundred scabs in there waiting for us.

  Fish and I made our way to the two trucks with Boomer in the lead. I carried my MP5 and Fish had his rifle out. I guess out here you didn’t have to worry about the sonic boom of weapons fire.

  Boomer gave me some awkward signs. As if he sensed something, but then it was gone. Then he stopped and growled. Fish grabbed my attention and pointed with his rifle towards the boat ramp. On the end near the water lin
e was a five-foot long alligator, sunbathing.

  I reached down and stroked Boomer’s back to calm him down.

  “Dinner,” Fish whispered with a grin.

  I grimaced. Alligator kabobs were not at the forefront of my mind.

  We finally made it to the trucks and I noticed Fish had calmed down some. He was investigating them too casually for my comfort, peering in the open windows and moving around junk that was left on the seats.

  I took up position at the back of the trucks facing the compound.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much, kid,” Fish said in a normal voice. “These trucks have been abandoned for some time.”

  “How do you know?” I asked as I turned towards him.

  “These windows have been down for at least a month. The mold inside is pretty thick,” he said, gesturing with his thumb.

  “They still might be in the building,” I said, pointing at the reception hall in front of us.

  “Doubt it,” he returned. “That’s an airboat trailer,” he said nodding towards the back of one of the trucks.

  “So, maybe they’re out for a ride?” I said rhetorically.

  “Maybe, but those things are pretty loud.” Fish made his way towards the building. “Stay frosty, just in case.”

  Boomer and I followed him. Gonzales pulled the truck up closer to the front of the building and the two of them got out.

  “Jenna, stick by the truck,” Fish commanded. “Honk the horn if you see any trouble.”

  “I can handle myself too, you know,” she said in an offended tone. “Why not let Carlos babysit the truck?”

  “Because I said for you to stay near the truck,” he shot back. He may have liked Jenna, but Fish didn’t enjoy being second guessed. I found that out the hard way already.

  She raised one side of her lips in a silent grumble and went back to stand at the driver’s side door of the truck.

  “Kid, you’re in the lead,” Fish directed. “Gonzo take the rear. Stay at least five feet back.”

  Gonzales nodded. I could tell he was trying to hide his fear. Rare breeds like Fish could seem confident in these types of situations, but normal people like me and Gonzales were scared. We could try to deny or hide it, but it was there.

  Fish and I quickly prepped our flashlights and I realized Gonzales was going to go in blind. After I turned on the light on my hat and MP5, I quickly removed the one from my shoulder harness and handed it to him. He nodded in an uncustomary thanks and I returned the gesture.

  Fish moved to the side of the screened door that led to the front patio and opened it. I moved in as tactically as I could with Boomer at my side. I leveled the submachine gun at the center of the door as I moved. I made it to the front with Fish on my heels. He moved partially in front of me and raised his hand.

  He signed “Three, two, one” with his fingers, then turned the knob on the front door. The old hinges creaked as the door lazily swung open.

  Boomer instantly started growling and my nose told me why a half a second later.

  Death. I couldn’t see or hear it, but the smell was god awful. It had been masked by the abundance of fresh air. The breeze that came from the east must have kept it away from us. I heard Gonzales choke back some bile and heard Boomer let out a low snarl.

  I moved forward into the dark building. The room was long with windows that lined the east side facing the river. The right side held a snack bar booth and a long display case. The left was lit with ambient light, but the right was almost pitch black.

  Stepping forward, I heard a loud groan from the floor boards. I looked down to see that the floor was warped. The ground must have adjusted over the years and caused the foundation to move. It was like a mirror from a funhouse but on the floor.

  That second I took to check the ground was a mistake.

  I heard Boomer growl and bark as something flashed on the right. I turned the submachine gun around and saw a gigantic blob just a foot or two from me.

  The zombie that came at me was an easy four hundred pounds and a whole head taller than I was. He had on blotchy overalls with a faded red flannel shirt underneath. There was a bubbly flap of fat that concealed any form of a neck, and giant floppy cheeks that sagged even with its mouth fully extended. A dime-sized hole was in its left temple. The trigger guard of a small .38 revolver was stuck on one of its pudgy fingers which indicated that this zombie died of a suicide.

  On instinct, I pulled and held the trigger. Thirty rounds came out in seconds, but none were aimed at the rhino-zombie’s head, as I later referred to him. Sheer panic had me shooting before the barrel cleared the floor. By the time the magazine was expended, I had peppered up the behemoth’s right leg and went all the way to its sternum.

  Even if I had put a bullet in its head, the sheer momentum it had was enough to land him on top of me. I ducked, hoping it would just trip over me and fall to the ground. Unfortunately, it dipped down as well and tried to grab me. Both of us slammed to the wooden floor with me being the cushion.

  The weight of the zombie was excruciatingly painful. I could feel my ribs pressing into my lungs and for a moment, I thought they would snap. I could barely draw breath and with each move it made, I felt more pressure. The only thing that saved me was the fact that I had tried to dodge underneath it. The zombie was too fat to swing around and get ahold of me while I was balled up underneath its large gut.

  Boomer was barking and I heard Fish curse as the familiar sound of his suppressed .45 discharged. If I didn’t think the bastard could be heavier, I was wrong. At least it was actively moving while it was still alive… well, dead… undead? I still haven’t got that one down yet. Anyway, it became dead weight after Fish put it down.

  It took Gonzales and Fish a few minutes to free me from the rhino-zombie. Even after that, the two of them had cleared the small building before I finally got to my feet. I checked myself to make sure none of my bones were crushed or broken. Black goo was peppered on my clothes and vest from the bullet holes I inflicted on the zombie, but other than hurt pride, I was fine.

  Fish came back over and glared at me.

  “What the fuck was that about?”

  “The floor creaked,” I whined. “I just looked at it for a second-”

  “Get your head in the game, dumbass.” He cut me off and turned. He looked around and saw Gonzales in the snack bar area. “What do you got, Gonzo?”

  “This guy had enough food to last a man six months!” he exclaimed. “Why would he off himself?”

  Fish peered through the open cashier window. “Shit, that would have only lasted his fat ass a week. It still doesn’t make sense, though.”

  I walked over, removed the .38 from his finger and checked the cylinder.

  “The gun still had four rounds in it,” I told them.

  “And there’s a shitload of ammo back here too,” Gonzales continued as he searched the gear spread out in the snack bar area.

  “Probably gave up hope,” I said sadly. Fish rolled his eyes.

  There was a door in the back that led west toward the inside of the enclosed camp. That made sense because we didn’t see any other way to get behind the wall. Fish had Gonzales breech the doorway that time. I remember wondering if Fish was losing faith in me.

  We moved into a large open area. There was a gate leading to the front parking lot, but we could now see it had been boarded up from the other side. There were a couple more small buildings and sheds in the back area, and a large stage on the south end bordering part of the river. Picnic tables were scattered in different areas and a large cement structure about three feet high was off to the right. I could see it was covered with meshed together chain-link fence pieces.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing my MP5 towards the strange contraption. I never noticed it the one time Dave and I had gone to Camp Holly.

  “That’s where they hold the gators,” Fish said walking in that direction. “I use to come out here with my buddy and-” he stopped in mid-sente
nce.

  Boomer started growling and then I heard them...

  Moaning. Lots of moaning. It was all coming from the alligator cage. Gonzales and I joined Fish and looked inside.

  There were six zombies, two of which were children, crowded in the short enclosure. It could have only been four feet high, half of which was deeper and filled with water. Some of the zombies were missing limbs. I saw at least two arms and one foot lying casually on the cement floor of the cage. Among the body parts was what appeared to be the leftover skeleton of an alligator, though some of its bones had obviously been gnawed upon as well.

  Our voices, along with Fish’s approach, must have stirred up the gang. They all began to claw and yank on their cell, begging to be free with their terrible croaks.

  “What the hell happened here?” Gonzales asked.

  “God knows,” Fish said evenly. “And only God cares. Kid, help me put them down and take them out.”

  We spent the hour killing off the zombies, removing them from the cage and finishing them off with sledges, or breakers as we started calling them. We did the same with the man in the building, though it took all four of us to move him out. After clearing the rest of the area and making sure there were not anymore surprises, we had lunch.

  It was a fairly good lunch, too. The rhino-zombie definitely stocked up some nice food. He had those gourmet survival meals. I felt a little guilty eating two… okay, not all that guilty. He also had five cases of fruit punch. I think I drank seven cans.

  Besides the food, we found a bunch of ammo for the .38, along with two 308 rifles with ammo to match. The guy was probably a Prepper, because there were loads of survival gear sporadically placed throughout the camp. Fish said half the stuff was junk and he probably just bought it all off some quirky website that told him he needed it for the end of the world. I was sure we’d find some use for it, though.