Authors: Glyn Gardner
“Tom, grab a bat or something,” Mike whispered excitedly. Tom saw about a half dozen zombies were closing on the two. Mike reached into the trunk of the Tahoe and grabbed an aluminum softball bat. Tom ran to Mike’s side holding an old tire iron. The zombies were still shambling in their direction. Mike didn’t think the monsters noticed them yet.
WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP!
They looked up. A pair of military helicopters flew overhead towards the Air Force base. The zombies also heard the helicopters. They looked up, following the sound of the flying machines with their eyes.
“Now, let’s take ‘um quietly,” ordered Tom. He charged out from behind the Tahoe, followed by Mike.
“Is that a helicopter?” called Jen from the door. As soon as she did, she realized that she’d screwed up. The group of zombies turned at the sound of her voice, a chorus of moans rose from their collective throats.
Mike and Tom were caught in the proverbial no-man’s-land. Both armed with only blunt objects, charging headlong towards a half dozen zombies. Mike was quicker than Tom, plus he had the advantage of being a step or two farther from the zombies than Tom.
He slipped as he tried to stop, ending up on his butt. But, he was able to un-holster his pistol quickly. Tom was not so lucky. He had left the shotgun in the convenience store. He had no choice. He swung the tire iron in a wide arch at head level.
He connected with the neck of one zombie, driving it to the ground. He hit another with a downward blow. A dull-wet crunch told him this zombie too was finished. Now the other zombies were close. He heard the reports of Mike’s pistol.
He jammed the end of his crowbar into the face of another. This zombie also fell to the ground, taking the crowbar and Tom, with it. He rolled to the left, using his foot to pull the crowbar out of the zombie’s skull. He continued to roll to the left, away from the zombies.
Mike continued to take careful aim at the zombies surrounding his new friend. He managed to shoot two of the creatures, afraid to shoot too close to Tom.
The two remaining zombies clawed at Tom, one grasping his arm. It felt like Tom’s arm was being squeezed in a vise. He could feel the cold fingers dig into his skin. He tried to crab crawl away from his remaining assailants. He kicked at the hand squeezing his arm. He kicked the zombie in the face. He kicked again.
Panic had long since set in. He was frantic, kicking at anything that came close to his feet. As he retreated on his butt, his hand found Mike’s softball bat. He grabbed it with his right hand and swung down on the closest zombie. He connected with its head, halting its assault.
He heard Mike’s pistol fire once, twice, and finally a third time. A heavy body fell on top of the still crab-walking Tom. The weight knocked his arms out from underneath him. He kicked franticly with his legs while trying to shove the zombie off of him with his arms.
The zombie’s head was only inches from his neck. He flung his left hand under the zombie’s chin. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t force its head away from him. He screamed in anticipation of the bite. It never came. He noticed the cold fluid running down his neck. He could smell the decay
“Holy Shit!” he screamed. “Oh Jesus H Christ!” he cried, rolling from under the now life-less body. His stomach convulsed, and he vomited.
“Oh God!” cried Jen. “I’m so sorry. Are you ok Tom?”
He looked up, still on all fours. “I think so,” he replied. He stood up and gave himself the once over. He could feel the panic setting in again. He pulled the bloody shirt over his head, and ran inside. Jen followed him all the way into the bathroom.
“Here,” she said. “Let me help.” She peeled paper towel after paper towel off and ran them under hot water. Tom was already rubbing soap onto his blood stained torso.
They could hear Mike barking out orders to the two teens. “You got this, Tom?” she asked.
“I’m good. Go see what’s up now.”
“…Hurry up. Get what you have in the cars, make sure the windows and doors are closed, and get in here.” The kids ran towards the two cars with bags full of food and other items Jen had packed them with. Mike started shoving the shelving towards the big plate glass window.
“What’s up Mike?” she asked, as she helped him move the shelves.
“We made a lot of noise, and there are a shitload of those things coming up the road.” He pointed down the hill. Jen tried to quickly count the creatures closing on the gas station from up the road. She stopped counting at twenty-five.
“We need to get the hell out of here then,” she said. She could feel herself starting to panic.
“We can’t. It’s getting dark. We have to stay here. You wanna go stumbling into another building in the dark?” Mike asked.
“No, I guess not. What are we doing?”
“Get the shelves in front of the windows and doors, cut the lights, and lock ourselves in the back room. Oh, and pray those things don’t get inside.”
“What are the kids doing?” she asked s they ran back inside for another load.
“Full tank, Mr. Mike,” reported Larry.
“Thanks,” he replied. Turning back to Jen, “getting our cars stocked for tomorrow.”
“Cars?” she repeated.
“We found the keys to the Toyota out there. Figure the more space we have for stuff the better off we are.”
Tom came out of the bathroom. He was clean, and he didn’t have a shirt on.
“What’s up Mike?” He could see the panic on Jen’s face.
“We made too much noise. A bunch of those things are coming up the road.” The moaning was growing louder
“Shit, how many is a bunch?
“I don’t know, I counted more than twenty-five,” Jen interjected.
“Fuck!” We gotta go.”
“Too late. We hole up here.”
“Fuck that! We got cars, gas, food, and water. Why don’t we just move?”
“Where we gonna go tonight? At least here we have somewhere to hide.”
The lights went out. The conversation ended there. Theresa threw the lock on the door, and ran from the door to where the group was standing, Larry right behind her.
“They’re here,” was all she whispered. The five crouched down in silence, and moved to the back of the store. Mike led the procession of survivors into the store room. As Jen, the last one in, entered; he closed the door. He felt quietly for the lock. A soft click told him they were as secure as they were going to be.
The Body Shop
Staff Sergeant Brown and Private Jackson woke to the sound of screaming. Both men jumped out of their respective hammocks and climbed into their unlaced boots. They raced into the waiting room where the children and Mrs. Sparks were sleeping. Neither soldier could believe what they were seeing.
Pvt. Anderson and what looked like the little girl who died yesterday were attacking the two children. The little boy was trying in vain to fend off Anderson, his kicks doing little to deter the hands and teeth of the trooper. The little girl was on the ground bleeding. The little dead girl was clawing at her stomach like a dog digging in the dirt. The body of Mrs. Sparks was lying motionless on the ground, a pool of blood spreading steadily around her.
“Anderson! What the fuck are you doing?” As soon as he shouted, he knew it was a mistake. Both Anderson and the little dead girl turned. Their faces covered in the blood of the newly dead. SSgt. Brown took a step back, realizing he hadn’t grabbed his rifle. Anderson advanced on his former squad leader. SSgt. Brown continued to back away, pulling Jackson with him.
Jackson pulled himself free. He hadn’t forgotten his rifle. He took quick aim at the head of his former teammate. BANG! The dead trooper’s head snapped backwards, pulling the rest of the lifeless body to the ground. BANG! The little girl’s head exploded from the impact of the 5.56 mm bullet. She also fell, the blood soaked bandage on her arm, resting across her head in a macabre salute.
“Fuck Sergeant Brown! You fucking see that? That was Anderson. I just saw him a few hours ago.” Tears began to streak down the young man’s cheeks. He began to shake uncontrollably. He knelt next to the lifeless body of his former friend. He stroked the front of Anderson’s lifeless hair. He continued to cry, his falling tears etched tiny lines in the blood that caked his best friend’s face. SSgt Brown just stared at the two, unable to move. After a few minutes he looked away.
I know I know, he thought to himself. Shit! SSgt. Brown contemplated the situation. Shit! Shit! Ok, Dave, time to get moving. You still got one troop to take care of.
“Ok, time to get back in the game. Get back up there and keep watch. I’m gonna call the Squadron.”
The young trooper stroked Anderson’s head one more time. He wiped the tears off on the sleeves of his ACU’s He stood, saluted the corpse of his best friend, did his best about-face, and trotted off towards his the stairwell; still mumbling to himself.
SSgt Brown ran and grabbed his rifle and LBV. Then he turned towards the office. He shook his head. “Please God, get us the hell outa here,” he silently prayed.
He walked to the office. The auto body shop seemed somehow bigger and darker than it had earlier. He picked up the phone, dialing the number to Squadron HQ. He let the phone ring several times before hanging up. He tried the phone several more times to no avail. He stared at the phone for several seconds. Oh this just keeps getting better. He headed up the stairs. “Ok Jackson, what’s going on outside?”
“They definitely know we’re here,” replied the young trooper. SSgt Brown looked out the window. The street light was still on. He could see a large group of the monsters closing on the building from different directions. Soon the banging started. Then they heard the moaning. They continued to watch as more of the creatures shambled towards the metal building.
“Sarge, we can’t stay here.”
“I know. Go see what’s going on out back.”
The young black trooper trotted to the fire escape. He pushed the door open just a crack. BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ! Shit! The door was connected to the fire alarm.
“Go!” he yelled. SSgt Brown ran to the now open fire escape door. The yard was clear of zombies.
“Go! Over the fence!” he yelled. He grabbed the tarp on the way out. Both troopers ran across the back lot, the blue tarp following close behind. They reached the back fence. SSgt Brown threw the tarp over the barbed wire that topped the fence. The troopers leaped the fence. SSgt Brown hit the ground off balance and rolled to the right. He looked around for Jackson. The young trooper was kneeling a few feet away, rifle to his right shoulder, scanning left and right.
SSgt Brown took a look towards the building. The mass of zombies continued to pound on the front and sides, not appearing to notice the two soldiers. He looked around. “Go north slow and easy,” he whispered. Jackson moved out, looking left and right as he did. They moved north over railroad tracks toward the interstate. They could see zombies in the distance, but none were very close. The two would simply freeze and crouch lower when a zombie got too close for comfort. This tactic seemed to work well, thought SSgt Brown. He wondered how long it would last. The light was fading fast.
Jackson skirted a wooden fence that surrounded a metal building of some kind. The highway was about 300 meters away, up a steep embankment. SSgt Brown noted that there was no traffic. This was strange. About that time Anderson froze, holding his left hand next to his left ear, fist closed. SSgt Brown froze, crouching a few feet behind the young scout. As he did he began to make out a noise.
What is that? It sounded like a scraping. What was scraping? It sounded like it was coming from around corner a few meters away. Jackson looked back to his squad leader. SSgt Brown pointed his index and middle fingers at his own eye, then at the corner; take a peek. Jackson rose to his feet. Slowly he crept forward. One step, another step, he froze. He backed away. SSgt Brown rose. He stepped to the left, bringing his weapon to his shoulder. “Crunch!” Damned! The sound of the breaking stick seemed to reverberate forever.
SSgt Brown mentally cursed himself. Then the moaning started. Jackson continued to back up until him and SSgt Brown where shoulder to shoulder. “I could hear a bunch of them around that corner,” he whispered.
“Ok, we go back.”
The two turned in unison and ran south along the fence line. About three quarters of the way down the fence, they slowed. They could hear more moaning; this time coming from the south corner of the fence. Shit. SSgt Brown grabbed Jackson’s load bearing equipment. The trooper stopped.
Several ghouls rounded the corner. The two turned to return north. There were more shambling south towards them along the fence. Shit! They were trapped.
“Follow me,” ordered SSgt Brown. He ran west away from the fence. Several of the zombies moved to intercept them at walking pace, but were much slower than the living. When SSgt Brown thought they were far enough away, he turned back north.
“C’mon, pick it up.” He sprinted towards the highway, followed by Jackson. SSgt Brown snuck a peek over his shoulder. There were eight zombies about 100 meters behind them. He slowed, Jackson almost running him over.