by TW Gallier
We weren't even running that fast. I was hoping we'd get better gas mileage at lower speed, but it honestly didn't look like it. The Humvee got better gas mileage. Maybe as much as twice as much. At least Mike loaded us up with outboard oil, so we could siphon gas anywhere we found it. If we found more. It was late morning before we spotted something interesting.
"My dream house," Mike said.
It was a river front home on stilts. The white-painted, wood frame house was off the ground a good fifteen feet. There was a pickup and a sedan parked under it. I thought of it as a beach house, but knew people lived like that in flood plains. We idled off shore, while all three of us looked for survivors and zombies. Once we were reasonably certain it was safe, we went ashore. Since there was no dock, we pulled to the river bank.
Leaving the boat tied to a tree, we went into full combat mode. Helmets, a full load of ammo, we quickly secured the yard and area under the house. All of that thick forest around us worried me. Zombies could be right on top of us before we knew it. The boat was a good twenty yards away.
The pillars that the house sat atop were thick steel pipe. I estimated it was about a thousand square foot home, with that much space below it. The pickup was a beauty, a brand new full-sized Dodge, light gray paint, and big ass mudder tires. It was four wheel drive, of course. It was unlocked, but no key. I doubted it would start, but it was worth a try. Not every vehicle would be killed by the EMP. There were always survivors.
Without a key, there was no way to see how full the tank was. We were able to pop the gas cap. The car was also unlocked, so we could access its gas tank as well. There was even a 4-wheeler ATV and a riding lawn mower. Both the ATV and lawn mower started. The 6-gallon plastic gas tank was half full.
On top of that, there was a small haphazardly built shed with camping gear. I yanked out two nylon packs, one red and one blue. I wanted those. Plus I noticed a Coleman stove and lantern that we could use. We could use the two tackle boxes and dozen rods and reels, too.
"Let's make sure there aren't any survivors up in the house before we start taking the gas and other stuff," I said.
Stealing their gas would probably get us shot in the back.
I led the way up the stairs. They creaked loudly, so there was no sneaking up on that house. They would know we were coming up. So I took the last few steps more cautiously. No weapons were sticking out windows or doors. There still wasn't any sign of life.
The deck completely circled the house. We checked it out, looking in every window. Since the curtains were all drawn, we couldn't see a thing inside.
"Nice view," Mike said once we worked our way around to the front door. "And the breeze is nice up here, too. This is my idea of paradise."
I preferred the mountains, but to each his own. The view of the river was pretty spectacular. My problem was how often I heard about the Mississippi flooding.
We moved into position to enter. I tested the door knob, turning it as slowly and quietly as possible. It was unlocked. I cracked the door, and then kicked it open. Rushing through, I moved to the side as I looked for enemies to shoot. Instead I found a scene out of a nightmare.
"Oh god," Charlie gasped. "The stench is horrific."
Nothing stank worse than rotting human flesh.
"Paradise lost," Mike said. "Jesus."
A man lay spread-eagle in the middle of the living room. The back of his head was a bloody mess. Blood, bone, and brains splattered the ceiling, walls, and floor. A shotgun lay atop him, one thumb still on the trigger. From the degree of decomposition, I'd say he was about a week dead. So the guy killed himself shortly after the shit hit the fan.
"Why did he commit suicide?" Mike asked.
It did seem odd, since there were hunting and fishing trophies on all walls. He was an outdoorsman, so should've been better equipped to deal with the loss of civilization than most. He could hunt and fish for food, if nothing else.
Pounding on a door in back echoed through the house. Then a soulful wail, followed by more pounding. We quickly moved through the house, checking all of the open rooms. The room in the very back was blocked from opening with a chair wedged under the knob. The door was rattling the pounding was so hard.
"I have a bad feeling about the reason he locked that person in there and then killed himself," Mike said.
"Hello! Who are you?" I called. I was answered with more pounding. "Zombie?"
"That's my guess," Charlie said. "His wife or girlfriend changed, but he wasn’t able to kill her outright, so locked her in there."
"And then he killed himself," Mike finished. "I can see it."
We discussed leaving her in there, but decided someone would come along and let her out. And then she'd eat them. So we dragged the sofa over and blocked the hallway. I tied a cord around one leg of the chair. We got behind the sofa, took aim, and I yanked the chair away. It only took a moment for the monster inside to open the door.
"That's so disgusting!" I cried. Her face was a bloody ruin. She was covered in dark, mostly dried blood and gore. Behind her, on the floor, were two tiny corpses. Well eaten children. My breakfast tried to come back up. "Fire!"
Her head all but exploded so many rounds hit it at once.
"See if you can find the keys to the pickup," I said.
After a short search, we found the keys to both vehicles in the woman's purse. We didn't waste any time getting out of that hellhole. Fresh air never smelled so fine.
Neither vehicle started. I sent Charlie and Mike to fetch empty tanks and the siphoning kit. They hooked the trailer to the ATV, so were able to bring every empty tank back up. We had enough rubber tubes for each of us. I siphoned the gas out of the pickup. Mike took care of the car, and Charlie drained the riding lawn mower and most of the gas out of the ATV.
We did discuss taking the ATV with us, but it was too much for that pontoon boat. It would probably cause us to capsize. We got most of those tanks topped off. Plus we got the 6-gallon can.
"Let's load these all back into the trailer and – " I said, but noticed Mike and Charlie staring down at the river. I looked and saw four zombies by the boat, and two others on the boat. Then as one they turned and looked at us. "Well that just sucks."
A sound to our right brought us around, weapons at the ready. Six more zombies were stumbling out of the woods to the north of the house.
"Three more over there," Charlie said, pointing to the east.
Practically surrounded, we ran up the stairs to the house. We could lock the door, but I didn't want to deal with that stench and we'd be trapped inside. Then I realized the windows were many and large. The zombies could smash through them easily.
"We fucked up. We should never have come back up here," I said.
"You, sir, are wise beyond your years," Charlie said. "Translation, Duh."
For a second, I really wanted to punch him. Then I heard them coming up the stairs.
"Mike, blow away the stairs with a grenade."
"I didn't bring any fucking grenades!"
The stairs came up the side, about midpoint on the house. There was a front door and a back door. I sent Charlie to the back corner and Mike to the front. The zombies would come onto the deck in their crossfire. I headed into the house to look for something, anything, we could use to fight them.
Chapter 18
The sound of gunfire echoed through the dead house. I struggled to keep my gorge down as I rifled through the cupboards looking for flammables.
"How flammable is vegetable oil?" I muttered.
"They're on the deck!" Charlie shouted. "Too many to stop!"
The gunfire continued unabated. Both of them were firing three to five round bursts now, so no longer taking careful aim. That wasn't good.
I opened up the vegetable oil and threw it against the wall. That couldn't hurt, but cooking oil was used to deep fry, so how flammable could it be? I checked both bedroom closets and the bathroom. Nothing like kerosene or lamp oil was to be found. I figure
d an outdoorsman like the late home owner should have camping equipment and the fuel to power it. Then I remembered seeing camping gear under the house. I was about to give up when my eyes fell upon the stove.
The gas stove.
"Oh hell yes," I said.
The gunfire intensified even more. Two zombies began pounding on the outside walls and windows as I turned on all burners. I blew and blew, but couldn't blow out the flames. So I turned the burners off and pulled the stove from the wall. A bright yellow flexible hose stretched between the stove and wall. I struggled for way too long before I finally got the line loose from the back of the stove. I didn't know if it was natural gas, butane, or propane, but it was filling that house up with highly explosive gas.
Time to bug out.
I ran out the front door. Mike was starting to back away from the corner. I joined him, killing one, two, three zombies in as many shots. There were more on the stairs, but starting to thin out on the ground.
"What the hell were you doing?" Mike asked.
"Making a bomb."
I could hear the ATV still idling down below. At least it hadn't used up what little gas we left in the tank.
"Fall back to the next corner," I said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Hurry."
Mike started backing away. I held my ground for a second longer, and opened up full auto on the zombies at head level. A few lead zombies fell, but I wasn't really taking aim. Once Mike was far enough away a surge of zombies would overtake him, I took off running to the north-west corner.
"Charlie, get ready to go over the side!"
"It's fifteen fucking feet!"
"There are thirty fucking zombies up here!" I replied. "When I give the word, run to the middle of the house and climb over the rail. You can lower yourself slower that way."
I wasn't a hundred percent sure that would give us the time to climb down slower and safer, but it was worth a try. Neither Mike nor Charlie challenged my assumption.
"Empty a magazine into them and then GO!"
All three of us opened up. The lead zombies were hit by a hailstorm of bullets. That stopped forward progress, and even forced a few to step back. When my weapon locked open, empty, I took off running as I shouldered it across my back. Mike and I met Charlie in the middle. I waved them over, while I pulled my pistol and started shooting on both directions at the approaching monsters.
"Get down, Roger!" Charlie screamed.
A second later I heard gunfire below. I was hoping all of the zombies would be up there, but life sucks. After squeezing off four more shots, and emptying my pistol, I tossed it over the side and vaulted over the side just seconds before the zombies reached me.
"Airborne!" I cried as I plunged down feet first. I hit the soft, rain-soaked ground, tucked and rolled. I was back on my free in a flash, though the barrel of my rifle dug a big clump of dirt up. So I snatched up my pistol and reloaded. "Get the ATV and gas!"
There had to be two dozen zombies still on the ground. Where the hell were they all coming from? Jesus. I slowly turned 360 degrees, emptying another magazine as I went and killing zombies in every direction.
I reloaded the pistol as Mike jumped on the ATV and started toward the boat. Charlie jogged behind him, keeping the zombies at bay. Barely keeping them away. It looked like most of the zombies on the ground were going after them.
I holstered the pistol, and then did my best to clean the dirt off the end of the barrel. There was a little dirt up the barrel. I hesitated using it.
"Screw it," I growled, and then fed it a full magazine. I held it out at arm's length, turned my face away, and pulled the trigger. It didn't blow up! "Hey, zombies! Zombies! I'm over here!"
I ran back and forth, waving my arms. The vast majority of them stopped and turned toward me. I got a chill when that happened. It was like they all moved as one. Freaky.
"Screw you, you butt ugly rotting mother fuckers!" I taunted them. They started toward me. I glanced at my friends. They were halfway to the boat. Only a handful of zombies were still chasing them. Charlie and Mike could take them out easily enough. So I grinned at the monsters coming at me. "You're a motley crew, and I don't mean the rock band, assholes."
I started backing up, shooting the closest ones in the head and heart. They slowly began to drop. When I was halfway to the surrounding woods, I noticed Mike and Charlie had reached the boat and were frantically transferring the gas tanks over. More zombies were headed toward them, as well.
"Heads up!" I shouted. Then I looked up at the house, with decks full of zombies. They'd also smashed open most of the windows and were climbing in. I started shooting at the windows and the wall to the kitchen. "Burn!"
I went through half a magazine before the house exploded.
The explosion knocked me down. It knocked down all of the zombies, too. Some of them up on that deck were on fire when they regained their feet. That was the first time I noticed a zombie care about what was happening to him. The burning zombies flailed their arms and ran around in circles, much like a normal person would do.
The other zombies pretty much ignored them.
Jumping to my feet, I took off running toward the river.
"Watch out, Roger!"
A handful of zombies were attacking from my left. I knew immediately I'd never reach the boat. They were closer to it, and had a better angle. Cutting right, I faked them out, before cutting sharply to my left. I was just able to squeeze between them and another larger group charging toward the boat.
Though none of them truly out right ran, they could do a pretty fast jog when they leaned into it. I did notice some of them falling down. Worse, the first group turned around and kept themselves between me and the boat. Another group was heading for the boat at a pretty fast clip.
I really wasn't going to get back to the boat. That realization was chilling.
"Shove off!" I shouted, which wasn't easy. I was pretty badly winded by that time. "Pick me up down river!"
They only hesitated a second. Charlie pull-started that old engine, while Mike pushed them away from shore. I changed my angle, picked up the pace a little, and ran straight into the woods. I was headed downriver, at least. I could hear the boat just off shore.
The zombies came crashing into the woods after me. They were pretty loud. Stealth was not their thing.
Being a country boy, I knew the woods. I ran through them almost as fast as open ground. Low limbs scratched my face, neck, and arms. Briars tugged at my clothes, but I didn't slow down. I barely paid any heed to what kind of underbrush I was charging into, which wasn't doing me any good.
"Shit!" I screamed, too late.
The woods suddenly opened up when I plunged through some exceptionally thick underbrush. I face-planted my ass in the river. Cold water engulfed me, while going down my throat and up my nose. I almost panicked and lost my rifle.
Sputtering, I finally got my feet under me and stood up in chest high water. Zombies were standing on shore staring angrily at me. I immediately lifted the M-4 above my head, barrel down to drain water from the barrel. And then I started shooting them.
They just stood there and let me kill them. It was so bizarre, I stopped firing.
"Gotcha!" Mike shouted. I felt the boat loom behind me, and then Mike grabbed my collar. "Hurry up, man. Climb up."
With a little help from my friend, I hefted myself up and onto the boat. I leaned against the rail and watched the zombies for a long moment, while struggling to regain my breath. They were just staring at us. And there was only about ten feet separating us.
"Why aren't they attacking?" I asked. "Even before you arrived, not a single one of them even tried to step into the water."
"Maybe they're afraid of water?" Charlie said.
"Obviously, but why?"
Mike sighed gustily, and relaxed. He handed me a beer, and then popped his can open.
"It don't matter why, man," he said. "If they are all afraid of the water, then we have to use it against them. Per
sonally, I now feel a hundred percent safer in this boat."
"Yeah, well, in a day or two we'll have to leave the boat behind," I said. "We need to start making plans." I gave the zombies another wary look as Charlie took it out of idle, and turned her toward open water. "Zombies are full of surprises. I just hope we don't get a bad kind of surprise."
Chapter 19
"I wanna go fishing," Timmy said as we reached the former model home's front door.
His little brother was all onboard with that, nodding vigorously in support. I would rather be fishing with my boys than attending a hastily called meeting. Nothing good came of such meetings. The last thing I needed was another threat to deal with.
"Go inside and play with the other children," I told Timmy and Harlan. "This meeting shouldn't take too long. We'll go fishing afterwards."
I ushered them through the door. Timmy went reluctantly, but then he spotted his friend Spooky and took off toward her. Spooky was the nickname of Paul and Ann's ten year old daughter. There was nothing spooky about her, so I wondered yet again why she was tagged with such a name, but even her parents called her Spooky.
"Jenny! We're about to start," Bill called from the door onto the front deck. "The meeting is about to start."
Every adult in the community was there. Fred was the only person on guard duty, and his post was the corner of the deck overlooking our first barrier on the access road. That stunned me. We'd never had one hundred percent participation in a meeting.
"What's the meeting about?" I asked.
Bill just smiled and nodded. He was our unofficial leader. Some called him "mayor," but he claimed no title. After centering himself on the rail, he faced the group and held up a hand to quiet everyone down.
"I called this meeting to discuss information we recently received," he said quite solemnly. My fight or flight instinct kicked in. Something bad had gone down that would affect all of us. "With this new information we need to discuss our future."
