by GJ Zukow
For all of its horror, some things enjoy it. A huge murder of crows, fat and healthy looking, has landed and is walking amongst the carnage. They walk around and selectively eat the pieces of once human flesh they find the most delectable. There is such an availability that none have to scrabble or fight for a meal. The numbers of the murder are as the numbers of those they follow. In the past year their food supply has grown and so has their children. The crow never really competed directly with man for food. Insects, lizards, snakes, berries and seeds were what it always had. Sure, they would raid a farmer’s field occasionally, necessitating the need of a scarecrow. Usually I saw them by the side of a road or highway pecking at some unfortunate piece of road-kill.
While I went around and finished off the undead laggards I could feel the black crows cold, black eyes watching me. More than once I would spot one starring directly at me, like they were just waiting for me to drop dead so they could feast on flesh that was fresh. More and more of the black birds flutter down to join the feast. The multitude of their caw’s sound like a deranged laughter in my ears.
I can hear the distant sound of barking. I don’t know if it’s the same pack I tangled with before or if it’s a different one altogether.
I don’t care though. I’m packing up the Rover and driving the fuck out of here now. I keep getting the feeling of someone walking across my grave and the hairs on the back of my neck won’t go down. If I stay here surrounded by this madness I will soon completely loose the tenuous grasp that I currently have on my sanity.
21
The Rover hadn't come through unscathed by the horde. It was still drivable, although it had been dented up pretty badly and had all of the passenger side windows smashed. The sheer numbers of the herd, banging into the vehicle, as it broke like a wave around a stone in a fast flowing river, had actually pushed it off the driveway.
Driving down the dirt road I passed the neighbors house again.
The last time I had been at the house, except for the broken glass on the front door, it had been in good shape. Now it’s basically in ruins. It's still standing, but all the windows are shattered, the doors are gone and even a lot of the aluminum siding has been stripped off. It was in the direct path of the massive horde that swept through, and all around the landscape was a shambles. As I idled slowly past the property, one of the undead must have heard the sound of the Rover's engine.
I actually stopped the Rover and was going to wait until it got close so I could shoot the asshole in the head. The walking corpse belonged to a very overweight guy in life. The zombie was clad in the remnants of what had to be a pair of jeans, torn and tattered. He was wearing only one shoe and sock on his left foot and as he ambled out the broken living room window he got about five feet and stopped. Then it tried to come at me again and abruptly stopped again. The unfeeling corpse tried over and over again, each time more violently than the last but it kept stopping after about a mere inch or two. It looked like there was a leash around its waist or something and if that were true than that meant that a living somebody had tied it there.
I stopped the Rover and slowly, cautiously approached it. I laughed out loud at the stupid thing and put it out of its misery with my "nine" when I realized what had happened. There was a jagged gash in its side and back. Old, blackened, stringy intestines had spilled out and had gotten wrapped around something inside the house.
I drove past "Dmitri's Gas-N-Go" and noted it was in as bad of shape as was the neighbor’s house had been. There was something new here though.
An older model Dodge Ram pick-up truck was overturned in the ditch.
I had to check it out. I don't even care about not caring about the zeds anymore. I had already started swerving for the fuckers in the road. Not away from them, screw that, towards and over them. I find it damn hilarious to run over their stupid asses. I don't care if the zeds hear my gunshots or not. I won't be here by the time they arrive anyways. As long as it's not a herd, it's not a bother.
Lot of blood in the cab of the truck. Somebody bought it. Crap had flown out of the bed of the truck and was strewn all over the area. Standard stuff you'd expect any survivor to have, canned goods (which I grabbed a few of), clothes, and some loose ammo. I didn't grab any of the ammo as it was the wrong type and caliber for what I had. While I was rooting around I did notice that there was baby diapers and formula lying about. That kind of made me sick to my stomach.
I hadn't thought about children at all really since the world went to hell. Not until then.
I mean, sure, I can completely understand what is almost certainly bound to happen between a man and a woman who are stuck in close confines for a long period. Either their gonna kill each other of fuck each other’s brains out. I never had sex with Jannie, I never even tried to get into her pants. I think my sex drive died with the world. Besides, I thought of Jannie as more of a daughter than a possible mate. Not everybody is like me though. Just killing the overwhelming sense of boredom for fifteen or so minutes by having sex is a good enough reason for most.
Still, I have my questions. If both the parents are immune does that mean the offspring will also have that immunity, or is it still going to be a crap-shoot of random genes that give immunity? If the baby isn't immune when will it get sick, before or after birth? I certainly hope it's the latter, because if it's the former then that's a horror that I don't want to think about.
Went into the gas station looking for some wine I remember seeing from before. I normally don't drink wine, but none of the beer is good anymore. All the beer skunked up over a year ago.
Inside Dmitri's was a blood spattered bull horn. I remember how I thought I heard some gunshots and someone shouting through one before the horde made its way past the bunker. Behind the counter where I made my stand against the dog pack, someone else had made a last stand. Weren't much left at all. Just a few pieces of bone and clothes ripped apart by ravenous teeth and claws amidst a dried up blood stain. I know it wasn’t animals that ate the poor bastard though, the undead did it.
Poor son’s ’o bitches probably ran into the herd and got forced off the road. The unlucky sod that ran in here probably used the bull horn to try and distract the horde away from his girl and child. Didn’t work though. He should have ran and left ‘em for dead. I would have. I certainly ran out on Jannie when the shit hit the fan. Sounds cruel, but I’m still alive aren’t I? Aren’t I? Maybe I died a long time ago and am in some ghastly purgatory. Doesn’t matter I guess. Either way I still got to deal with this.
There were a dozen or so unbroken bottles of wine and I took them all. Did some drinking and driving that day. Actually, I got drunk and stayed drunk for almost a week. Today is the first day I haven’t been hitting the bottle, except for some hair of the dog to ease the hangover I have.
It was weird where I ended up driving that day. Maybe subconsciously I wanted to come back here to see if I could find any sign of Jannie. Maybe see if she really died or escaped. I don’t know the reason, but here I am, back in Ocala.
I drove here drunk and was having great fun taking pot shots at zeds by the side of the road and running over the ones in the road.
The low gas light came on and I decided to hole up in what looked to be a decently secure bar. I chose a bar because I was four sheets to the wind by then. The booze was calling out for more booze to join it in my stomach. Got tired of wine, I wanted some real hooch, I wanted to get so drunk on some whiskey I would forget everything.
And I did.
I at least didn’t bust through the front doors in drunken stupidity. I climbed up on the roof and chopped a hole in it with my axe and sledge.
Ah, I got to go answer the door. Some damn dead fuck is banging on it. Been having to go up on the roof every now and then and kill them off. I’ll write some more once I take care of these unwanted visitors and get something solid in my gut.
22
I don't know the exact date, but I'm positive I'm about two weeks into Decemb
er. The weather is definitely changing. Along with the cooler air comes the incessant rain. It rains every day, sometimes it’s a light drizzle, usually though it comes down in sheets. It may not be for another month or so that the rain starts to slack off. Living in central Florida without an air conditioner is almost unbearable. I have no idea how anybody lived down here before electricity. While I'm thankful for the reprieve from the hundred plus degree heat, the rain just cranks up the humidity.
This bar is no bigger than a hole in the wall. The trailer I used to live in as a kid was bigger than this. The hole I chopped in the roof just happened to be directly over the woman’s toilet. After sticking my head down the hole to look around to make sure it was clear I jumped on in. Landed with one foot in the bowl and gave myself a soaker. Luckily whoever used the can last had the decency to flush. Now with all the rain the little drain in the tile floor overflows and half the bar gets flooded. The ratty old carpet squishes whenever I walk on it and I've been sleeping on the pool table. Nothing to eat here, except a couple of cans of cherries in syrup. Everything else has gone bad.
The only thing interesting about this place is what was behind the locked door to the manager's office. I knew something was dead behind that door when I approached it. I've gotten to the point now, after having been around the dead for so long, that I could tell it was the smell of old death. The walking abominations, although dead, have an entirely different smell to them than rotting corpses. I can even tell how long a body has been decomposing, and this one had been there for quite awhile. The manager had done himself up right by eating the barrel of his gun and pulling the trigger. If you ask me it actually takes a lot of guts to wack yourself and go hurtling into the unknown void. If I weren't so chicken shit afraid of dying, I probably would have joined him a long time ago instead of living out this nightmare. Someone once said that life was misery and they sure got that one right. The old guy used an old military issue forty-five, the kind the armed forces used before they switched over to the nine millimeters. The clip was full, except for that one round. I thanked him for the weapon, closed the door and haven't bothered the room since.
Every day I have to go up to the roof and kill off the undead that are drawn here. It's a viscous cycle of me killing them and them hearing the gunshots and wandering over from whatever the fuck they had been doing, causing me to have to go out and let off another round of gunfire.
Last night's sky was amazingly clear. A billion stars sparkled and shone in the sky. There were no clouds and the visibility was perfect. There was no light pollution from the thousands of streetlights and neon signs since civilization fell. The complete absence of manmade noise left only the sounds of nature. Before the world ended I could never get away from the sounds of civilization. Even when I went camping miles from the cities I could still hear the distant sounds of the endless traffic on the highways. For a couple of hours I just laid back and really enjoyed the night sky with all its wondrous visions.
Of course even that didn't last long. Something huge streaked across the sky, leaving a burning wake of debris. From west to east it plummeted. It was no mere satellite that was breaking up in the atmosphere above my head, it was much bigger than that. Pieces broke off of it, causing multiple smaller pieces of comet like wreckage to follow in its wake. It could only be the International Space Station falling out of orbit. I certainly hoped those astronauts and cosmonauts who had manned it had escaped before it fell from the sky. I can't see them surviving up there for this long with their limited food supply. They must have gotten into their Soyuz capsule a long time ago, but I'm sure they waited until the very last day to do so. I don't know how much they knew about what had happened down here, but I figure they didn't survive too long after they got back to earth. From what I understand, spending any extended amount of time in the absence of gravity means your muscles atrophy. After a couple of months in space, those who return can barely stand and need help to even walk. Hopefully they came down in some isolated countryside where the unholy zeds wouldn't have quickly run them down and devoured them as they desperately tried to crawl away.
My time here is just about over. It's getting about that time to move on again. I'm going to have to go on foot from now on. The Rover's out of gas and there's no likely replacement for it in sight. Of the three cars in the area, two of them have flat tires from just sitting here so long. The third one is nothing more than a burned out shell.
I'm not that worried about it though. Even with the rain rejuvenating the zeds somewhat, they only way they'll catch me is if I do something stupid. I have more to fear from my fellow humans than them. I'm gonna try and work my way to a mall or camping store. I'm in serious want of clean socks and underwear, among other things.
23
Man, I just love this big-ass fire axe. Found it laying next to a fire engine. I was already loaded down with my pack and the heavy sledge hammer when I came across the scene. Made the decision to drop the sledge in favor of the heavy duty axe. It’s Got a nice sharp blade and a ergonomic fiberglass reinforced handle. Just perfect for chopping zombie heads or smashing down doors. Still keeping my hand axe with me, just in case.
There are scattered zeds all over the place, but very few notice me. The jostling of my pack makes more noise than I do. Those staggering corpses that do notice me are quickly put down. The axe bites deep, slicing through skulls with ease.
Only once did it get stuck from an overhand swing, mainly due to it being driven so deep ‘cause of its weight. I had to stand on the fucker’s chest and brittle ribs snapped as my foot actually entered its chest cavity. Black ichor and rotted flesh oozed, covered and seeped into my shoe as I wriggled the axe from its disfigured face.
I spent what seemed like an eternity running as silently as I could from building to building, furtively peeking around corners and planning the best way to move around. While I made my way to this already looted shopping mall, I noticed the numbers of the undead bitches were somewhat thinner than they normally were.
I quickly found out where they were. I hadn’t spent any amount of time in Ocala before the Scarlet, (even after having lived in Florida for twenty years, the first time I had been here is when Jannie and I fled the infested suburbs of Orlando) so I was basically running blind. Being holed up in that death-trap I never did get around to doing any sight-seeing. I spotted a huge horde surrounding what had to be the city jail. I damn sure didn’t get close enough to see what building it was exactly, but any jail in any city always has the same look to it. The horde didn’t notice me at all, all of their hunger was directed at the building down the street. To me that means only one thing. Other people. Whether they were still alive inside that place was another question altogether. The zeds would single-mindedly try to gain entry into wherever there was living human flesh until they turned to dust. I knew from personal experience that they would not give up until they were destroyed or finally gained entry and ate the living alive. Even if they gained entry and found the starved occupants dead they would still feast, such is their craving for human meat.
It was with a guilty comfort that I realized that the majority of the walking dead had their attention directed at someone else. Having been surrounded by the ghastly things I knew how terrifying it was.
The strip-mall that I came to had been looted already, with every one of the stores having their doors and windows smashed. By the number of head wounded corpses I knew other survivors had been here since the ghoulish parasite took over mankind. There was the odd monstrosity around, but they fell quickly and quietly to my axe. The jail wasn’t far from here so I dreaded to use a firearm.
As I suspected, almost all of the food and water was gone from the Winn-Dixie. More proof someone had made repeated forays here. It would take a semi-truck to get all of the missing canned goods out of here at once. The back office to all the shops had been busted open also, though that may have actually happened during the riots and insanity.
I found some camping ge
ar and a tent along with the new socks and underwear I had originally came here for. Some nice new boots too. Most of the camping gear was untouched…guess nobody wants to go camping during the apocalypse.
Since there was no secure place inside the pillaged stores I set up the tent on the roof of Winn-Dixie. The grocery store had an access ladder back in the dock area. I had never seen one of the undead cannibals have the co-ordination to climb a ladder, so I figure I will be safe. Besides, now I can see the surrounding part of town easier. Keep an eye out in the direction of the jail.
I’m going to light up this can of Sterno and eat some Raman noodles before it gets dark. Can’t risk a fire at night. Sleeping on the roof, even in this one man tent, means no flashlight to write by either. Been awhile since I had something hot, even if it is just simple noodles and instant coffee.
24
The roof doesn’t drain properly, even after I tried to clear the drainage spouts and grates. Grass, weeds and even a small sapling have taken root on these flat roofs. I had to go inside the docks and find some pallets to put under my tent. I couldn’t just haul them up the ladder, the hatchway was too small for the pallets. Finally had to go around and scavenge up some rope to haul them up here.
