Ghosts: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

by Shawn Chesser

  Glenda thought: Lesser of two evils. Then she acted, stepping blindly into the gloom. Heart racing, she closed and locked the door and spun back around with the two knitting needles held in front of her horizontally. Crouched on the low stair, coiled and full of tension, she imagined that she looked like a bull anticipating the toreador’s next move.

  At first the garage’s interior was as dark as the inside of a casket, the silence absolute. Glenda remained still, listening, and when nothing came for her she lowered the needles. A few more seconds passed and her eyes adjusted and she saw she was in a large rectangular room with a cement floor and a pair of car lifts located centrally and spaced a few feet apart. On the wall to her left was a row of work benches, their tops cluttered with tools and rags and cans containing all kinds of automotive lubricants.

  The trio of horizontal windows on the roller door to her right were papered over. And dollars to doughnuts, if Glenda were a betting woman her money would be on the paper having been placed there after the outbreak.

  As she scanned the room for a comfortable place to rest and wait out the zombies, the distinct crackle and pop of glass resonated through the door at her back.

  A few more seconds passed and her vision improved and she saw the bulky shadow on the far side of the garage for what it was: an old pick-up truck with wide bulbous fenders and a low box bed jutting out back.

  Perfect.

  Glenda put the needles away and crossed the garage. She weaved around an inert tire balance machine and some part-worn tires and then stepped over the nearest lift’s grounded H-shaped support.

  Behind her the door started rattling in its frame. Though not as loud as the outside door, the result was the same. Her stomach clenched and the hairs on her arms reached for the sky.

  She wiped a porthole in the grimy smoke-clouded side glass with the sleeve of her equally grimy robe. Peered in and saw there were no keys, let alone an ignition to stick them in. There was no steering wheel or column. Nor seat or seat rails. These were all terms she knew second hand from reading the entries in the joint checkbook as Louie poured dollar after precious dollar into his precious Healey. And like the British roadster had once been, this truck was a work in progress.

  There was a loud bang as something heavy impacted the rollup door. Glenda started, and when she stepped back from the truck, she noticed razor-thin slivers of daylight on both sides of the door near where the rollers rode up in the channels where there had been none before.

  Bang. Bang.

  In her mind, she pictured her entire entourage—Van Man, Mombie and her three cubs, plus the deer hunters—slamming against the door, inadvertently creating soot angels on the horizontal panels.

  Then she had a thought. The banging continued and she hustled around front of the truck. It felt so good to move normally. Out of character. To just be Glenda for a moment. She reached the door and crouched and found exactly what she was looking for. Threw the flat security bolt into the notch cut into the right side channel.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Seemingly, all of the monsters were now attacking the door. And hearing the racket increasing in volume and tempo, there was a possibility even more had arrived. As she threw the left bolt into place, the panel near her head buckled inward an inch or so letting in a wide bar of light and then a beat later four pasty white fingers were probing the entry.

  Glenda sat down hard with her back to the east wall and the tiny breach full of fingers to her immediate left. She pulled out one needle, straightened her legs, and waited.

  ***

  After three or four minutes, tiny rivulets of coagulated blood ran down the inside of the door and the slender fingers were shredded and ringed with lacerations deep to the bone. Suddenly the four digits withdrew and the light was back, painting the gray floor with a splash of gold.

  Five seconds later, eclipsing the sun, a milky eye appeared at the opening.

  Perfect.

  Glenda hovered the point of the needle an inch from the roving eye and, behind a sharp blow, drove its ten-inch shaft deep into the thing’s brain.

  Over the course of three hours she repeated the process six times until the slivers of light around the door disappeared and she was so tired she found it impossible to keep her own eyes open. Under the watchful eye of the dead, she fell asleep sitting upright and still clutching the blood-slickened needle.

  Chapter 25

  After consuming a meal consisting of nuts and greens gathered and prepared into a dry salad by Tran and a couple of strips each of perfectly roasted venison, the Graysons climbed into the Ford F-650, closed the doors, and under the soft glow of the dome light held a lengthy family meeting.

  When all was said and done Raven had taken the news better than expected, accepting that her dad was going away for a day or two with aplomb not usually found in most modern day twelve-year-olds.

  But these were no longer modern times. In fact, Cade thought as he hugged and kissed Raven atop her head, if he and others like him didn’t continue pitching in and doing their part, no matter the risk, he was certain her future would be filled more with misery befitting the dark ages than the Jetsons-like conveniences all of them had gotten used to before the fall.

  Seeing her dad’s eyes misting, Raven loosened her hold around Brook’s neck, scooted across the back bench seat and, from behind, covertly wiped a stray tear from the corner of her father’s eye. “You’ll be OK, Dad.” She paused for a second, seemingly having forgotten what she was about to say.

  Cade looked at Brook next to him then studied Raven’s face in the rearview mirror. Saw mostly her mom’s eyes and dark brown hair and defined features there and noted the innocence still contained in the big browns.

  A half beat later Raven said, “Stay frosty, Dad. I’ll take care of Max and Mom while you’re away.”

  Cade shifted his gaze to the center console, took Brook’s hand in his, and locked eyes with Raven in the mirror. Held them for a beat and said in a low voice, “I know you will, sweetie.”

  There was a long silence and through his side vision Cade saw a pained half-smile forming on Brook’s face.

  Then, as if the light at the end of the tunnel was anything but the speeding train the grownups saw it as, Raven vaulted forward, balanced her small frame plank-like on the front seatbacks, and asked if she could stay the night with the Kids in their quarters.

  Remembering Brook’s words verbatim—we will continue later where we left off—Cade squeezed her hand and, using the oldest trick in the parenting book, passed the buck. “It’s up to your mom,” he said with one brow cocked.

  Before the word mom had crossed Cade’s lips, Brook caused Raven to start by blurting, “Yes, it’s OK by me.”

  Smiling, Cade gazed at the gold and red embers in the distant fire pit and saw the seated bodies around it moving slow and purposeful, fed and fully sated for the time being. He counted eight and even from this distance recognized Daymon, who was facing away, by his spiky top dreads. Shifting his gaze clockwise around the fire, Cade saw Heidi, her equally spiky blonde hair glowing warmly. Next to Heidi was Lev and Jamie, heads tilted back, mouths forming silent O's, faces lit up by soft light and laughter. Chief, Tran, and Jimmy were leaned in close, their features also reflecting the fire’s radiance. Cade imagined the hushed small talk and occasional outbursts of Jack Daniels-fueled banter coming from Duncan, who was animated and rocking forward on his camp chair. Comfortably numb is what the man proclaimed himself to be these days. Cade made a mental note to do a quick recon on the man’s state of inebriation before turning in for the night. Then he wondered how Charlie Jenkins’s ghost hunt was coming along. Supposing he’d never find out the answer to that question, he looked at Brook and Raven and fumbled for his two-way radio. Looked up at Brook and said, “Checking in with Seth and Phillip. That’s all.” Worried the party around the fire pit would draw in more dead, he raised Phillip first. Pretty quiet at the road, the older man said. Then he checked in with Seth a
nd received nearly the same reply. All quiet on the western front, so to speak. Finally he noted the hour on his Suunto and flicked off the dome light. He said, “Zero six hundred is going to come awfully early.” He watched Duncan toss a stick of wood on the embers, then list sideways in the camp chair and barely catch himself before keeling over fully. Cade thought: More so for some of us than others.

  Savoring the moment under a brilliant star-filled night sky, Cade walked slowly, shoulder to shoulder with Brook and Raven, towards the compound. Halfway across the clearing, near the dirt airstrip, he abruptly peeled away from them and, wraith-like, stalked the periphery of the fire pit just outside of the flickering light spill, taking everything in like a snapshot before finally veering back and reuniting with them at the entrance.

  Ignoring a pair of funny looks directed his way, Cade led Brook and Raven through the door. Once inside, the wood smoke clinging to their hair and clothes was instantly overpowered by two very familiar odors. First he picked up the scent of damp earth that reminded him of an unfinished basement. Then came the underlying industrial smell of painted steel fighting a losing battle against the tenacious effects of moisture.

  At the T he led them left and stopped in front of the Kids’ quarters. Dead center on the door, someone, Taryn he guessed, had taped a sheet of copy paper with the words Welcome to the Mickey Mouse Club scrawled in red ink. And a tell to her dry sense of humor, like the sign was drawn up by a first grader, every third or so letter was purposefully turned around.

  “We’re here, Annette,” said Cade with a grin.

  Raven about-faced and shot her mom a quizzical look. “Who is Annette?”

  “Annette Funicello. She was a Mouseketeer ... way before your time, sweetie.”

  “Hell ... way before our time, honey,” added Cade.

  There was an outburst of laughter from behind the door.

  “Playing Ouija,” said Raven. “They’ve been contacting dead comedians.”

  “Are they being appropriate?” asked Brook, a serious look parked on her face.

  Letting Brook play Bad Cop, Cade eased back against the wall, content just watching.

  “I haven’t heard of any of them.”

  Good, thought Brook, delivering a rapid-fire knock to the door.

  The door cracked open and Sasha filled up the opening. Upon seeing Raven, she said, “Is it OK?”

  Raven nodded.

  In a sing-song voice Sasha called over her shoulder, “Sleepover,” pulled Raven inside and slammed the door, leaving the adults alone in the hallway.

  “M-O-U-S-E,” said Cade, grabbing Brook by the hand. “I’ll be Cubby. You’re Annette.”

  Following Cade through the catacombs, she felt her cheeks flush as the first stirrings of want started down below.

  Chapter 26

  The banging resumed without warning, the resonant rattle of the rollup door’s many moving parts jolting Glenda right out of one nightmare and into another. In her dream the dozen charred and eyeless corpses from the Huntsville roadblock had arisen and begun chasing her. Led by the crispy blind creature that was most certainly still waiting for her inside the convenience store, the obsidian black monsters followed in lockstep precision like the soldiers she presumed they once were. And belting out some crude military cadence, whose only concern was ripping the flesh from her bones, they had cornered her here and were succeeding in breaking down the door just before her eyes snapped open.

  Not far from the truth, she thought as she scooted sideways on the cool floor, putting some distance between herself and the bulging garage door.

  Then there was another tremendous crash prompting her to stand up and crab around in the dark until she banged her knee against the smooth curvature of the pick-up truck’s right front fender.

  Trying to stifle a few curse words while concentrating on not kicking any more of the spare parts scattered about the floor, Glenda felt her way in the dark to the passenger door. Thumbed it open, climbed in, and clicked it shut at her back. Kneeling where the passenger seat would be, she reached over and felt the unforgiving hump of the transmission tunnel rising vertically several inches above the floor pan. Tuning out the continuous racket, she rested her upper body where the driver would normally sit and, with the tunnel displacing several ribs and the rubber soles of her hikers flat against the passenger’s side door, fell back into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 27

  Dressing in the dark, Cade donned black combat fatigues. He shrugged on his MultiCam plate carrier and cinched the cummerbund tight. Slipped on the leather hand-me-down boots given to him by his former mentor and current commander of FOB Bastion, Army Special Forces Major Greg Beeson. Velcroed his knee and elbow pads into place and secured a half-dozen fully loaded FDE (Flat Dark Earth) colored magazines for the M4 in the vertical pouches on his chest.

  He strapped the Glock 17 to his outside right leg in its black drop-leg holster and left the Glock 19 behind for Raven to practice with. The Gerber went on his belt next to his left hip. Lastly, he rose and grabbed his M4 from its place by the jamb and snagged his tactical helmet—the NVGs already attached—from a metal hook by the door.

  In the pitch black he peered in the direction where he imagined Brook’s sleeping form would be. Drawing in a deep breath of damp air still laced with her scent, he blew a kiss and eased out into the equally dark hallway.

  He closed the door firmly and flicked on his Mini Mag-Lite and, leading with the stark white beam, negotiated the warren to Daymon’s door and knocked lightly while still on the move. He made his way to Duncan’s door and rapped sharply. Paused for a tick and then delivered another staccato volley to no result.

  So he moved on through the security area, greeted Seth, and retrieved the satellite phone and a two-way radio from the shelf. Poured himself a cup of coffee and made sure Seth was clear that whoever was monitoring the CC television feeds also needed to be on high alert for incoming calls on the other Thuraya sat-phones. Cade shook Seth’s hand and squeezed past the chair facing the bank of electronics. At the inner T he hooked left and found himself in front of the quarters Lev, Jamie, and Chief shared. No need to knock. The door hung open and the interior was dark. Figuring Chief was already manning the over watch for the morning shift and the others were topside and chomping at the bit for some action, Cade closed the door and headed back the way he’d come. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to get a head start. After spending three weeks prepping the compound for winter and working on beefing up the outer fortifications, he wanted out of Dodge as well.

  Once outside, Cade held the white foam cup in a two-handed grip, savoring its warmth against his palms. He could see steam wafting up from the cup and roiling clouds when he exhaled. He figured the temps had dropped into the high thirties. Holding the cup under his nose, he inhaled the coffee’s heady aroma and walked his gaze across the clearing.

  The sky overhead was still a dark shade of purple and scattered stars winked like diamonds on a swatch of velvet. To the east the sun was just starting to take the edge off of night, the cusp of darkness there a tie-dye of violet shot through with orange and yellow. In the inky gloom of the forest canopy the birds were just getting started, their halfhearted warbles floating above the clearing.

  To Cade’s right the fire from the previous night was still smoking. Thin gray tendrils curled up and then drifted south before getting lost in the early morning fog hanging low around the clearing’s edge.

  A hundred yards left of the fire pit was the Department of Homeland Security Black Hawk, its navy and gold fuselage glazed with morning dew. Cade noticed that someone had already removed the camouflage netting which was now in a heap on the ground near the helo’s nose. A dozen feet to the right, Duncan was crouched beside the helicopter’s port side wheel, no doubt checking it for proper pressure or torquing down some nut or bolt there. Apparently finished, Duncan rose and with some sort of tool in hand, walked swaybacked around the helo’s nose and gingerly took a knee near the sta
rboard side landing gear. So far, so good, thought Cade as he started off towards the chopper. Save the obvious effects of age combined with sleeping on a wafer-thin mattress, from afar the aviator appeared good to go.

  Cade sipped his coffee and started a slow walk through the dew laden grass. Fifteen feet from the chopper the port side door slid open abruptly. Inside, armed with carbines, and looking like they were ready to go to war, he saw Daymon, Lev, and Jamie sitting on the bench seats. Obviously, the three had consulted with each other beforehand. They were dressed identically: MultiCam fatigues, MOLLE gear and plate carriers, plus tan surplus boots liberated from the quarry. Rounding off their ensembles, each had a white foam cup of coffee identical to the one Cade was holding.

  Reacting to the rattle clatter sound of the door opening, Duncan reappeared around the nose.

  Cade halted, looked at the Camo Triplets, and said, “Larry, Mo, and Curly got their morning Joe.” Then, ignoring the daggers being stared his way, pivoted left and tongue-in-cheek addressed Duncan. “And how are you? Bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning?”

  “Never better,” Duncan lied. In fact, he’d never felt worse. After Logan’s death he’d surpassed every previously established bottom and was convinced he was rapidly closing with the eternal flames of hell. That he hadn’t slept more than four hours in a stretch since late July only added to his misery.

  “Could of fooled me,” said Cade. “I’ve seen tree sloths with more giddy up than you, Dunc.”

  “I’m flying you to an undisclosed location ... not running a marathon. The bird is ready as she’s gonna be,” he drawled. “Gimme your cup of Joe and I’ll be good to go.”

  The last three words made Cade smile. But that smile was fleeting. His face and eyes hardened and all businesslike he questioned the aviator about the Black Hawk’s air worthiness.