by GJ Zukow
game was scarce to begin with. Sometimes we lucked out and caught a couple of small fish from one of the small lakes, grateful to catch anything at all. The main thing we caught were birds. Occasionally we got a duck but more often than not we ended up trapping crows. Every day we went out hoping to get a rabbit or even a deer but all we ever managed to catch were birds.
We always went out armed but we rarely shot our food. The noise drew too much attention to us. The damage that a bullet did to the small game wasn't worth it so we made Ojibwa bird traps and trap falls to catch our game.
As Allan went out and checked our traps I stayed inside and tried to wipe my dream from my mind. When I first heard the report of a gunshot I thought it was Allan. For a moment I thought he had come across something that was worth shooting but the sound was too distant and came from the wrong direction. There followed more shots, rapidly approaching town. It sounded like someone was driving into town, clearing the way of the undead as they came.
There really is only one main road into the town and if you blink while driving it you might miss seeing the town entirely. The grocery store, pharmacy, post office and the few burned shells of the remaining public buildings line the main road. If they were coming into town it would be by that road so I waited with the binoculars to see what was going on.
Shortly a Humvee, followed by a cube van and another Humvee rolled into town. Both the Humvee's had fifty calibers and armored turrets, both were manned. They stopped in front of the Publix and men quickly jumped out and went inside it and the pharmacy.
Survivors I thought. An organized group of survivors! I wanted to rush straight out and let them know I was here. I didn't though, however much I wanted to. Instead, I scrutinized them through the binoculars before I committed myself to approaching them. I'm glad I did. All of them showed the signs of the "Scarlet". They weren't red yet, they looked as if they had only recently been infected. All of them had the small red patches on their exposed skin. How that could be I had no idea. Had the parasite mutated? Had they been hiding in some secure facility that purified the air and kept the eggs out, only to be driven out by hunger to risk infection? How could it be that only within the past week or so had they been exposed to the deadly contamination?
Allan didn't have the benefit of my binoculars, nor did he have the self control to stay hidden and observe the strangers before rushing towards them.
Allan ran towards them waving his hands in the air and shouting wildly. I watched as Allan rushed closer and saw the lead Humvee's turret swing towards him. Those that were inside looting ran out as I heard Allan shouting to them that he was immune and uninfected. Allan slowed to a stop seeing the fifty caliber gun pointed at him.
One of the group yelled at the others to go back inside and finish getting everything they could, that he would take care of this. Allan stood there, uncertain now and hesitated for a moment until the leader of the group smiled widely and waved him over.
The only weapon I had in arm's reach was a handgun. I wanted my rifle but didn't want to leave and grab it, wanting to see how this would play out. I knew that any shot I made from here with the nine millimeter would probably miss. The most I could hope for, if I had to shoot, was to scare them and make them take cover.
Allan stopped in his tracks once he got close enough to see them clearly and then he ran. Immediately they started firing at him. They whooped and the boss man jumped into the Humvee as the fifty caliber spit fire and hot lead at Allan.
I couldn't tell if Allan was hit or not, he was out of my sight in no time. As soon as he disappeared from view the Humvee drove after him.
In our six plus months of living in the deserted town we had come across a number of decent vehicles. My favorite was a truck that somebody had spent a lot of time and money on. It had been modified with a nice lift kit and sported some big-ass tires on it. It had a manual transmission with four wheel drive and was capable of going almost anywhere. It was one of those extended cab models with a shortened, covered payload bed and a sturdy roll bar.
I had no idea where Allan would run to but I knew eventually he would come here. I grabbed as much of our stuff as I could and hurriedly started putting it all in the bed of the truck. All the time I heard the infected gleefully shouting between bursts of the machine gun fire. As long as they fired I knew Allan was still alive. As I tossed the last of our stuff in the back and started the truck I heard them driving down the block behind us firing wildly into the neighborhood. Allan burst in through the back door and shouted for me to get my stuff. I revved the truck and clicked the remote that opened the garage door yelling to Allan that I was way ahead of him. We were going to have to get out of town quick and I let Allan drive as he had much more experience driving than I had.
We had a small lead on the raiders, and a small amount of surprise I think. Allan drove like a mad man, over lawns and between houses as we made our escape. At first the raiders kept us in sight but they never got any good shots off at us. Allan chose rough ground and a winding path through the neighborhood, ensuring that the bouncing ride threw off the aim of our pursuers. They did manage to place a couple of rounds into the truck but they missed shooting us.
By the time we were out of the town itself and into the more dispersed houses we managed to keep out of their immediate sight but I knew they could still hear the sound of our engine. It was only because we knew the lay of the land that we did so well in escaping. We had spent months hunting and looting the town and knew the best way around. The raiders didn't.
We drove through an area that looked like it was firm ground but was, in reality, a boggy, muddy piece of land. The truck, with its wide, oversized tires designed for driving in the mud, drove through the marshy land with barely a problem. The heavy Humvee didn't follow us past that. In no time even the sounds of the machine gun receded.
We were still too spooked to get on a main road, not wanting to run into our pursuers again so we stuck to back roads. We weren't even sure which direction we were headed in and after about twenty miles Allan asked me how come the gas tank was on empty. It was full when we fled I assured him.
We were coming into a larger town as the engine started to sputter in its last gasps of fuel. When that happened we ditched the truck in the backyard of somebody's house, hidden from view of the street. I check the bullet holes on the truck and sure enough, there was a small hole where a slug had grazed the gas tank.
We were on deadly ground again. The undead ghouls were all around and as soon as we found a suitable place to hole up in we did so.
Night has come again and the darkness is forcing me to stop writing. Tomorrow I'm going to have to start the search for a better safe house and provisions again. We were almost out of food in the last place and would have soon had to do this anyways. I just don't like being forced into action. At least we escaped.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Finding a better place to hide in turned into an impossible task. A legion of the undead have wandered in and surrounded us.
To make matters worse they know were in here. How, exactly, they know we're here I'm not sure. There were plenty of them around when we scavenged and looted on the first days. We were careful about not letting the flesh hungry zombies spot us, but with so many around I suppose it was inevitable.
The abominable undead claw, bang and tear at the house trying to gain entry. Since we were spotted and they know we're in here anyways we've been forced to demolish the interior of the house. Every spare board, plank and piece of wood has been hammered and screwed up to the windows and doors. No matter how much we fortify this place, eventually it will be breached. It's just a matter of time. I can cling to the hope that someone will draw off their attention or try to save us but the chances of that happening are slim to none.
We managed to gather some food, so at least we're OK on that front but it will not be enough for any protracted siege.
Sleep is hard to get with all the fear and sounds of the undead beating on the
house. When we do finally close our eyes it's only because we are so stressed and tired that we pass out. Even when I do get some shut eye I can't sleep for very long. I feel like they will batter down our defenses soon.
If this is the end then so be it. I am determined to make a good account of myself before I go. I'm going to save a last bullet for myself after I kill as many of the damned monsters that I can. I've stared into the hollow darkness of the barrel of my weapon. I'm prepared for when the time comes that I may have to commit suicide rather than being eaten alive. I'm sure I can pull the trigger.
Book Two
Allan's Journal
1
My name is Allan Russell Phillips. To my knowledge I am the last living survivor in the greater Orlando area. While I am sure that there must be more, holed up in some secure location, I have no knowledge of them. I wasn’t always alone, there were others with me, but one by one all the others have joined the ranks of the dead. Most of them still walk. It’s been just over a year since the Scarlet pandemic swept the globe. Even though it didn’t turn people into “zombies” outright, the dead started rising just as the epidemic was receding. Cause and effect in my mind. Of course I could be wrong though, and
