Zombie Complex | Book 1 | The Battle For Chattahoochee Run

by Pain, Alexander

  Stopped at the light a block ahead, I looked at the scene unfolding behind me in the rear view mirror. While I'd seen a dead body in the road before, I'd never seen one get up and start walking. Yet, this dead guy got right back up and walked straight towards the Subaru. To the Subaru driver's credit, she just floored it and hit the “dead” pedestrian again. He flew back up onto the sidewalk in a crumpled heap. I saw that the Subaru driver was white as a sheet as she blew right by me at the light, she got up to the light by the mall, squealed her tires rounding the corner, and took off. It was a surprising day. I never knew that Republican women sometimes drive Subaru wagons.

  I didn't stick around either. As soon as the light changed, I floored it. I also noticed that the bloody pedestrian was getting right back up when I glanced at my rear view mirror again.

  Chapter 9

  I drove the rest of the way home with maniacal intensity and tunnel vision. There were some people milling around in the mall parking lot, but I didn't get a good look at them. For all I know they could have literally been transforming the vibrant retail center into a dead mall. I was driving 70 in a 35. It took me about 2 minutes to skirt the entire shopping mall. Then I blasted along beside the perimeter and made a couple of quick turns to get back into Chattahoochee Run Apartments. The place was actually called Chattahoochee Run Luxury Apartments to be precise.

  The term “luxury apartments” was an oxymoron. It made as much sense as military intelligence or peaceful religion. Perhaps, a decade or two ago, the complex would have been considered upscale. But, now the once proud jewel of an expanding real estate empire was rapidly degenerating into a hovel for foreign guest workers. As I idled down the gently sloping lane leading to the front gate, I wondered how we could defend the complex from all the evil that would soon be shuffling our way. I hoped that the gates would keep working and hold the biters at bay.

  I knew Karen would be upset when I got in. A wall of curry smell hit me as I entered the courtyard of our apartment building. Even worse, the radio and TV were at their most sensational and fear was gripping the nation. When I climbed up to our third floor unit, she was in a tizzy. Social media was on fire with “zombie” videos. People were starting to submit videos of biters attacking, killing people, and surviving police gunfire. Armchair survivalists were urging citizens to arm themselves and prepare for the fight of their lives.

  “What the hell are we going to do?”

  “Baby,” I said. “Calm down. We are going to be alright!”

  “No,” came the reply. “I will not calm down. It's your fault that we don't have enough money or gas to get the hell out of this city!”

  “It will be okay!”

  “No, it won’t!” She yelled stomping her feet heavily on the kitchen floor. “Plus, the bastards downstairs are cooking their shit again!”

  I sniffed the air and concluded that the smell was probably actually a mix of state fair portable bathroom shit and split pea soup. Sensing Karen’s mood, I knew my calm voice mind tricks were not going to work this time. I tried humor.

  “At least,” I said. “We don't have to worry about those high credit card balances anymore.”

  She was not amused. I told her that we had plenty of supplies and were capable of fighting off any foes living or dead.

  “You can't even do five pull ups!”

  “We don't need to do pull ups. We have guns!”

  Finally, I had to demonstrate. I barred the heavy metal door to our apartment with our aluminum “charlie bar” that created a wedge between the floor and door knob. Then, I went back to the master bedroom and unveiled the arsenal of democracy. I opened up the gun locker and started making trips back and forth to lay out our stuff. Of course, we had all of our guns. But, we also had lots of other weapons. For example, we had a big old aluminum softball bat and a smaller Tee-ball bat. Next I pulled out a big bundle of plastic wrap and unrolled it to reveal a big bunch of knives. They were still wrapped from our last move. We had a bayonet. We had survival knives and folding knives. We had a machete. Feeling particularly psychotic with the blades, I ran to the living room and came back with our brand new hatchets. They looked nasty too!

  In the firearms department, we had plenty. To show that we even had what we needed to get small game for food, I pulled out several BB and Pellet guns that I had accumulated over the years. We even had a slingshot, a ton of marbles, and some sling bullets. With the gun locker empty, I pulled our two tool boxes out of the closet. Why we had two tool boxes in an apartment I couldn't explain. But, inside, I found that we had three hammers. We also had some basic hand tools including a hand crank drill. We had a couple of hacksaws, but no decent hand saw. We just had a little one from the import tool store. With the tool box empty, I pulled out my “bug out bag.” It was a rucksack with assorted disaster supplies from our time down in Florida. We had flashlights. We had little mini lanterns. We had candles. We had portable AM/FM and shortwave radios. We had an assortment of batteries. Karen was glad to see that we at least had some of the stuff we needed.

  I didn't go into the detail of our shortages. For example, we had a reloading machine, we had no gun powder, no bullets, no bullet molds, and most importantly no instructions. I had been carting it around for decades waiting in hopes that would we eventually buy a house with a garage.

  Next, we took a look at our food and water supply. We had the cases of bottled water from MegaMart. We had the bottled water from the dollar store. With luck, our supplies might last us for a couple of weeks. Since we still had water and power, we took all of the bottles in the recyclable bag, washed them, and filled them with tap water. That would give us another couple of weeks. We also filled the tubs, our sinks, and the washing machine. Beyond that, there was a creek running through the property and the Chattahoochee river was a few miles away. We had some bleach that could be used to purify water.

  The food situation was a far more dire. Living in an urban apartment with a cramped kitchen, we tended to eat out more than most folks. We had some basics like rice and beans in the pantry. We had the stuff we bought at MegaMart. But, we didn't have much beyond that. There were some rabbits and squirrels on the complex grounds. Since we still had internet, we printed out directions on how to clean and prepare them for dinner. We probably had food for two weeks. We hoped that might be enough time for federal authorities to stop the zombies and restore order.

  We were doing pretty well for medical supplies. We were prepared for minor medical situations. I even had a couple of weeks’ worth of my prescriptions. But, we didn't have supplies for major medical traumas. I did have a book on first aid and home treatment for various maladies. An HMO from a prior employer had given it to me so that they could save themselves some money. But, now, that book was a good thing to have. Unfortunately, whenever something sounded serious, it advised readers to make an appointment right away.

  The dog was a little nervous, but Karen and I vowed not to eat him. Plus, he was a very good watch dog. There was a danger in having a dog during the end of the world. We realized that he needed to be walked and he needed to be walked outside! We had been hoping to hole up for a week or two in hopes that the police and the National Guard would handle the zombies.

  Some of our remaining American neighbors were packing their cars and SUVs. The highways were jammed and social media, the radio, and television stations were reporting widespread zombie attacks. It didn't take much of a disaster for Atlanta to run out of gas. The convenience stores that we typically relied on were already dry according to the Internet. When we went out onto the breezeway outside our front door, we could hear engines revving and horns honking on the other side of the barrier wall that separated us from I-285—Atlanta's Perimeter. Traffic reports said that people were abandoning their cars on the highways. We checked out the web cameras for the major highways near us and they were bumper to bumper and barely moving. It was official. We weren't going anywhere.

  Of course, people still tried. The inside
of the complex was almost as dangerous as the world outside. As soon as some neighbors got their cars packed, they would roar out of the complex at high speed. I suspected that they wouldn't last very long on the roads, but they had to try. I understood the notion. Soon one large part of the population would be trying to eat us and another large part of the population would be trying to kill us and take our stuff.

  Chapter 10

  Walking the dog on the first official night of the zombie apocalypse was simply scary. Since we were literally right by the perimeter, every time I stepped outside with the Dale, we could hear the death of our civilization. I'd get him to go ten feet down the breezeway and then we would hear gunshots. He'd crouch and refuse to go any further. I finally got him to go outside around two o’clock in the morning. Karen made me take the 9mm Smith & Wesson and my big bowie-style hunting knife. I was glad I did. We could still hear the awful sounds of the apocalypse. Fortunately, we were separated from the highway by a towering noise abatement wall in most places and two layers of chain-linked, barbed wire topped, fencing in other places.

  Getting out gave me a chance to breath, walk the complex, and think about how we would survive. Our complex itself was fairly defensible. It was basically a long rectangle that paralleled Atlanta's I-285. On the long east side, it was separated from the highway by a fifty- foot tall wall of concrete and aluminum. On the west side, it was screened from the residential street by small pine trees and a chain-link fence topped by barbed wire. The road into the complex led to a fairly serious metal gate that was electronically controlled. The south end was anchored by the headquarters of a large multinational corporation with plenty of fences and barriers. The north end was screened from roads by thick woods and another chain link and barbed wire fence. A steep ravine ran from north to south through the center of the complex and had a creek at the bottom. That ravine would provide another defensive barrier to zombies within the complex.

  Inside the complex, there were a total of twenty-four structures. As you entered the complex, you drove down a winding drive. There was a rental office with a pool, tennis court, and pool house on the left. On the right, there was a small brick and stucco building that housed the mail boxes. Due to mail thefts, the mail hut was basically a barred cage and could only be accessed with a key fob via electronic access controls. We called it the mail jail. At the bottom of the hill, you stopped across from a building with a line of one bedroom bungalow-style apartments connected by a breezeway. From there, you could make a left or right onto a horse shoe shaped main drive that ran through the complex. A right would take you south to three apartment buildings and the backside of a large corporate headquarters. There used to be a gate connecting the complexes, but the big corporation sealed it for security reasons. A left on the main drag would initially take you north around the complex and then wind back south where you'd end up seeing the same corporate headquarters through some woods behind a low building that housed a car wash and a row of rental garages. There were a couple of side roads off of the horseshoe to the north that would take you to other buildings. The northernmost building in the complex was a one story building the housed a car wash, the laundry room, and maintenance supervisors office.

  The complex had a few other amenities and structures that would prove interesting. For example, in the middle of the complex just off of the main drag, it had a community garden that had raised beds for growing food. It was a measly two tenths of an acre. But, that garden could be a start. The gardeners in the complex already had plants in and starting to grow. The garden had some large wood and large plastic storage lockers containing a few basic gardening tools. There were even some large tables for preparing pots and seedlings. The garden even had something that looked like a well. Set off from the complex by a split rail fence and a western ranch style gate, the garden would definitely be an asset.

  As Dale took care of his business, I was focused on our survival. One thing was a certainty in my mind, we would not be able to defend the entire complex alone. We would need help from everyone.

  Chapter 11

  We realized that we would have to recruit other people to the cause of securing the complex and surviving over the long haul. The scary part would be going door to door and recruiting neighbors to the cause. I knew we had some neighbors with useful skills. But, other apartments might contain zombies. Since most of the apartments were housing for guest workers from India, there might also be language or cultural issues to overcome.

  I had no idea how many residents we could recruit for the common defense of the apartment complex. But, if we could make progress, we would be able post guards, fight off intruders, and turn our attention to getting food and water. We could try our hand at agriculture and make the complex self sustaining. We'd be hard pressed to do that alone. But, it would all begin with knocking on doors.

  Karen and I wore our thickest jeans, leather jackets, and gloves. Since it was mid-April and pretty warm outside, it was a tad uncomfortable, but we didn't want to get bit. I took my new hatchet. I had my 9mm Smith & Wesson holstered on my hip. It was the first time, I'd ever worn my holster out of the house. No more playing Barney Fife in front of the bathroom mirror. I had been hemming and hawing about getting a concealed carry permit for a long time. Now, I didn't need one. It was “go” time.

  We started with our floor: the top floor. We held the high ground at least. We lived on the third floor. Actually, it might even be considered the fourth floor if you counted the apartments down on the terrace level. We walked across the breezeway and knocked on the door to the apartment opposite of our unit. However, the woman who lived there wasn't home. The smoking douchebag who lived right next door to her also wasn't home. If there was anyone who deserved to get ripped apart by zombies, it was the definitely the guy who insisted on smoking in the common breezeway outside our front door. Karen and I both grinned at that thought. His cigarette smoke always wafted straight through the poorly insulated walls of our apartment and into the master bedroom.

  Since the rest of the floor across the hall was just a breezeway overlooking the courtyard. We started on the units that were on our side of the hall. First up was a guy we always called “Johnny Businessman.” He was always well dressed and had a good hair cut. He was kind of snotty about saying hello to fat people like us. His front door faced out over the breezeway. His door was slightly ajar. I knocked and got no answer. I knocked again loudly and gave the door a push. It creaked open slowly and banged into the door stop.

  It was dark inside the apartment. I stood in the entry foyer and nervously said, "Hello?! Is anyone home? Is everybody okay?"

  “Oh god, what’s that smell?” Karen asked.

  “What smell?” I said. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “How can you not smell that?”

  “Smell what?”

  I was starting to get a little nervous. Even with the collapse of civilization, I was a little nervous about entering a stranger's apartment uninvited. I remembered that Georgia had a very tough castle doctrine that allowed home owners and renters to shoot intruders. I turned to Karen with a quizzical expression.

  "Should I go in?"

  I shouldn't have turned. He was on me in an instant! Johnny Businessman emerged from the darkness of the apartment and charged into me. The force of the assault knocked us clear out of the apartment and into the breeze way. Karen brought her hatchet up but didn't want to hit me. I was pushed up against and almost over the railing. My left arm with the hatchet was pinned between the railing. I had my right arm up to fend off Johnny. My forearm was against his clavicle. The yuppie bastard was strong. He probably worked out and ate at douchey vegan places where portion sizes were perfectly appropriate. He was shirtless and wore sweat pants. His skin was cold and his complexion was very pale.

  "Move! Move! Move!" Karen shouted as she orbited with her hatchet.

  Johnny Businessman was snarling and growling. He leaned in for a bite. I could hear his teeth gnashing way t
oo close to my ear. I jammed my right forearm under his chin. He recoiled and chomped down on my leather jacket. I yanked my arm free so fast I probably brought some of his teeth out with my jacket sleeve. Then I pushed him back off of me. He charged again. But, this time, I tried a different tactic. I ducked way down, dropped the hatchet, spun and brought my left arm, under his groin, and lifted up from my knees. His momentum did the rest. He flew over right over the railing and hit the brick sidewalk of the courtyard with a crunch. Karen and I both looked over the rail. He was still moving!

  Johnny Businessman was trying to regain his feet despite a broken arm and leg. I picked up my hatchet and we raced down stairs. This time we had the upper hand. I grabbed his foot, dragged him out into the handicapped spaces in front of the building, and brought the hatchet down on his head. I'd never heard a crunch like that. I repeatedly bashed him with the hatchet until it was covered with brains. It was so gross that I ran across the parking lot and hurled in some bushes. Karen joined me for a hurl. We had killed our first zombie!

  We both just stood with our hands trembling, gasping for air, and appreciating every breath. Adrenaline was racing through out bodies. I could practically hear every heartbeat and my heart was trying to pound its way right out of my chest.

  "Are you okay?" Karen finally asked looking me over and checking for bites and scratches.

  She knew better than to criticize my technique, and instead said, "Let's go see if he has any cool shit!"

  Chapter 12

  Johnny Businessman's apartment was sparse but immaculate. It looked like something out of a furniture catalog: standard leather couch, recliner, and flat screen TV. Surround sound. I was kind of glad I got to whack him. I really do hate people who live in apartments and use surround sound.

  Apartment life was starting to make us hate everyone. The sharp and useless young executive also had some kind of fancy wireless speakers for his computer and iPhone. It was all state of the art. Before the Zombies, Karen would have probably used the apartment as an example to help me improve my admittedly poor housekeeping skills. But, post-Zombie apocalypse, she headed straight for the pantry and refrigerator.