Pick it up
a voice said in my head.
Pick what up?
I mentally shouted back.
Dave’s relentless assault on the door didn’t waiver. He kept pulling on the wood, making the gap bigger. That was when time started to slow down. The door seemed about to give way to his attack, bending in the middle, and before I knew what I was doing, Dave’s Glock was in my hand. I must have taken it off his nightstand.
I screamed for him to stop, but he just kept coming. I knew it was only seconds before the door wouldn’t hold him back any longer. I had to do something. By this time, tears were streaming down my face out of fear and because I didn’t want to hurt Dave. My throat was hoarse from screaming. I knew what I was going to do and I already hated myself for it.
Shoot!
The voice screamed.
I pulled the trigger and my head exploded from the concussion. Firing a gun indoors without ear protection was never a good idea.
I wasn’t aiming for his chest or head, just his arm. I only wanted to hurt him so he would stop. I hit him in the bicep. Unlike the movies, there wasn’t a huge spray of blood, but the 9mm did have a little power behind it. Dave jerked backwards and out of sight. It had only been a couple of seconds before his face appeared in the hole he had made.
He immediately started to rip and tear at the cheap wood, growling and snarling in rage. The whole door gave way and fell inward. He stumbled forward, nearly falling down as he broke through. He was still moving toward me when he regained his balance.
I fired again, this time hitting him in the stomach. But his momentum was too much, and he tackled me onto the bed.
With one hand gripping the gun, it didn’t leave me much room to wrestle with Dave. He seemed oblivious to the fact that I had fired another shot in his leg and he grappled with me, rolling both of us onto the floor. My free hand was stuck between our bodies and I had no way to stop him as his jaw opened and dove towards my face.
I moved my head to the side and his teeth found my shoulder instead. They broke through my shirt and tore skin and muscle. I screamed in pain as he tried to pull back with a chunk of my flesh in his mouth. That’s when another bang from the Glock echoed in the room, sending a wave of pain through my head. Dave slumped down, his full, motionless body pinning me to the floor.
I struggled and looked to my left. On his dresser was a splatter of blood with small pieces of flesh sliding down. I rolled him off of me and staggered up to my feet while waves of pain racked my brain from the reverberations of the gun blast.
Somehow, amidst the scuffle, I was able to position the gun just below his ear with enough of an angle to go through his head. He laid there on his chest with his jaw slack. There was a quarter size hole near his temple with a flap of skin and bone hanging by a thin strip of flesh.
There was no need to feel for a pulse this time. That thought made me shiver. I wasn’t sure if he was really dead before or if I had imagined it.
Pain seared through me as my adrenaline started to wind down. I gripped my shoulder and backed out of the room. My mind was flooded with thoughts and emotions as I paced around the living room. There was too much going on in my head to think clearly.
I walked to the cupboard and grabbed my bottle of rum, shaking my head and cursing the whole way. The bottle was still half full. I took a long drink and almost coughed up half of it, but it seemed to bring me out of my rattled state.
I looked down at my phone and saw there was still no tower reception and my battery was down to nine percent. No help there. I couldn’t call 911. Even if I could, they were probably busy with a million other incidents throughout the city.
I took my shirt off and looked at my shoulder. Dave’s teeth really did a number on me. If I had let him munch on me for another second, I’d be missing half my shoulder muscle. The flesh was torn and ripped, and I could tell I needed stitches.
Even worse, the dark red blood that was dripping from Dave’s mouth surrounded my wound. Whatever that stuff was, I was sure it wasn’t good. I’m not sure how worried I was about infection at the time, but I remember the thought crossing my mind. Going to the hospital was out of the question, though. First, I knew they stopped accepting patients yesterday. Second, I didn’t really want to run outside and see whatever mayhem was going on in the world. I was scared. I thought about going to a FEMA camp, but I wasn’t sure which schools housed them.
Gritting my teeth and trying to ignore the pain, I dumped what was left of the rum on the open wound. To my surprise, it wasn’t any more painful than what I was already feeling.
I went to our bathroom and grabbed the closest thing to medical supplies that we had, which was a cheap ten dollar first aid kit you could pick up at any Walmart. I saw a bottle of peroxide right next to the kit and grabbed it as well. There was more than enough medical tape and gauze to do a quick patch-up of my wound, but I was sure it wasn’t going to be enough. I needed some real medical care, but I had to do something right then.
I poured the peroxide on my shoulder thinking it wouldn’t burn any worse than the rum. Oh, how I was mistaken. I cried out in agony as soon as it registered to my nervous system. I toughed it out though, worried more about infection than the pain. Infection was something they always warned us about in first aid training while I was in the Army.
After a few more pours of the acid-like liquid, I covered the wound with a pack of gauze that I had soaked with antibiotic cream. I wrapped the patchwork up with about seven layers of medical tape to make sure that it didn’t move.
By this time, I had calmed down a lot. I was still anxious, but my breathing had steadied and I wasn’t shaking as badly. I crossed over the debris in the hallway and went to my room to grab some fresh clothes. After that, I got Dave’s gun and stuffed it in my pants. I still hadn’t reached pure survival mode yet. I didn’t bother checking how many rounds I had, nor did I look for more ammunition. This is usually the part in the movies where someone yells, “Grab the rifles and all the ammo you can carry!”
Unfortunately, this was reality. There was no way I could have foreseen what the world was turning into. I had one thing on my mind: Go to where the help was. I thought that somewhere there had to be somebody in charge. What Dave was trying to tell me before still hadn’t completely sunk in. When 911 doesn’t answer, no one is coming to help you. Chances are there is no where you can go for help, either. You’re on your own. But I hadn’t evolved to that level of survival yet.
My shoulder was really starting to pulsate with pain. Any motion with my left arm was met with sharp and reverberating stabs of agony. I grabbed a long sleeved shirt out of my closet and made a half-assed sling to cradle it.
I started thinking about where the FEMA camps could be. There were schools everywhere, but they would have to set up in a large field. That meant high schools and middle schools, probably Eastern Florida State College, too. The closest one I could think of was Palm Bay High School. It was about four or five miles northeast of where I lived, just over and across the highway.
I scrambled for my car keys and walked by Dave’s room one more time. He was still lying there, motionless. I was relieved that I couldn’t see his face. I thought I had just killed my best friend of ten years.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to him, and then darted out the door.
Chapter 3
There and Back Again
March 20
th
Morning
Outside, I immediately noticed some of the sounds had died down. That car alarm was still going off, but I didn’t hear any traffic in the distance and the far off gunfire was much more sporadic. I shut the door behind me and saw little reason to lock it as I headed to my car.
I started to open the car door when I noticed something across the street. Our neighbor, John, was standing in his bay window, blankly staring out into the street.
I didn’t know many people in our neighborhood, nor did I care to, but John seemed like a pretty good guy. I’m pretty sure he was over fifty and had kids my age. He was a big, burly man with long curly hair and a handle bar mustache. Most weekends I would see him in his garage, working diligently on his Harley. The appliance repair business he owned was doing well, and I knew he was near retirement. We regularly chitchatted near the mailbox. On more than one occasion, he came over to help us fix grandma’s old dryer. He had a lot of personality, and I always enjoyed our conversations.
John was just standing there, wavering slowly back and forth. I couldn’t get a good look at him because the shadow of a large oak in his front yard darkened the window. I briskly crossed the street and called out his name. I knew he had a gun or two, and didn’t want him thinking I was a looter. I figured he probably heard the gunshots at our house as well, and was looking for nearby thieves.
I needed someone to tell the truth to. I wasn’t a murderer. I wanted John to see the scene so that when everything went right again, he could tell people of my innocence. Slowly, he turned to face me just as I stepped onto his front yard.
When I reached the cover of the tree’s shadow, John’s image cleared up. He was standing there, shirtless and covered in red. Thick blood surrounded his mouth and continued down his neck, matting his hairy chest. Tiny bits of flesh could be seen peppering his body. He had the same gaunt complexion Dave had. His mouth was locked open in a silent scream and he had an angry, stone gaze that sent shivers down my spine.
“Shit,” I managed to say as I let out a breath.
I froze. The sight of Dave coming at me freaked me out, but seeing John covered in blood almost sent me into shock. I hadn’t seen anything this horrible since that car bomb in Afghanistan.
He stood there and beat at the bay window. There was a bang… bang, then it shattered on the third strike. He let loose an eerie groan as he reached out in my direction. I started to walk backwards, slowly at first, until I saw him attempt to climb over the broken window. That’s when I turned and walked quickly toward my car, though my head was turned most of the time, watching his every move.
John fell over as he tried to climb through the jagged windowsill and rolled into the front yard. By the time I got to my car, he was up and moving again. The bottom of the windowsill must have had jagged blades of glass because he had a fresh, deep cut in his belly. Dark red blood was dripping down the wound, overshadowing the fresh red blood that already covered much of his stomach.
His shambling pace wasn’t very fast, and there was no way he could have caught me before I got into my car. That was good because I stood there, unmoving. I stared at him in awe and horror at what was unfolding.
The gash on his stomach must have worsened from his movement because the tear grew and spread from his belly button to his left side. I could see the muscles had ripped and bubbly looking flesh started to poke out. It seemed like only a second, but when he reached the road, the rip opened and John’s intestines spilled out, flopping on the pavement with a sickening, wet thud. His momentum never stopped, but he seemed to lose control of his balance. It must have been hard to stand straight up with half of your stomach muscles ripped apart. It didn’t take him long to figure out how to counterbalance his new disability, though. His intestines dragged behind him, leaving a black gooey slug-like trail across the pavement.
An inhumane force was driving him to me. Things started clicking in my head. I wasn’t sure what conclusion I was coming to at this point, but I did know John wanted to eat me. His mouth, still open, would occasionally chomp down. The sound of his teeth gnashing made me cringe, just like when someone raked fingernails across a chalkboard.
By the time he made it to my driveway, I was in my car and had the engine running. I put the car in reverse and spun around to see where John was. After going through what I did with Dave, you would have thought I wouldn’t care who I hurt. For some reason, though, I backed up and around him. I don’t know why I didn’t just run over him. Hitting him might have done unwanted damage to my car, which I thought I would need. But now, I think I didn’t hit him because I didn’t want to hurt the guy. I liked him, and the human mind sometimes will not let you accept the horrors that reality throws at you.
I sped down the road. In my rearview mirror I could see John slowly lumbering in my direction until he was out of sight. I made a few turns to get on one of the major roads that led toward Interstate 95. I was going to try and find a FEMA camp, but the thought of jumping on the interstate and just driving as far away as possible sounded pretty good to me at that point.
I could see more people in the streets as I drove. Those close to my car started moving toward me as I drove away. Others walked, seemingly lost. Most were pale and gaunt like Dave and John. Some had blood around their mouths while others looked like they had flesh ripped from various parts of their bodies. All walked with slow, shambling gaits.
There was a car accident in the first major intersection I came to. I saw two people, a man and a woman, fighting to get through a window of a small sedan. I stopped the car and looked around my general area. For that moment, I was clear of any of the mutilated or infected people I had seen up to that point.
It’s hard to believe now, but only an hour had passed since I woke up that morning. I dug in my pocket for my phone and checked it, just in case I came within range of a working tower. No luck. I plugged it into my car and heard a relieving ’beep’, telling me it was charging. I’m pretty sure that was the last time I touched my cellphone.
I was jolted by a blood curdling scream. The two figures that were trying to break into the driver’s side door of the sedan had smashed their way through the window.
A middle aged bald man was being dragged out by the male attacker, while the female was clawing her way inside. From where I was, it looked like she was burrowing her face into the man’s neck. In between cries of pain, the bald man was screaming for help. I sat there, stricken with terror. The male attacker finally managed to drag the bald man out of the driver’s side window and onto the pavement. Both dove down on top of him like starving wolves.
Help him!
The voice in my head shouted.
The bald man screamed for them to stop, even as they tore into his flesh. I was horrified. I didn’t move. I just watched as they dug into his neck and arms. I was too scared to move, let alone listen to the demon in my head telling me to try and save the dying man. His calls for help died down. A pool of blood started forming around his body, and then there was silence. Well, except for the distant sound of the two assailants tearing into the dead man.
I just kept staring… staring at the two lunatics feasting on the dead man, staring at the figures walking around, staring at the streets devoid of any traffic. Thoughts of my neighbor John and of Dave and the news from the night before started to come together finally. I guess this is when it finally hit me. Subconsciously I probably already thought it, but this is when I finally said it aloud.
“Zombies,” I whispered, barely audible. “Holy shit.”
That’s when it hit me. I had been bitten. I was a goner. How could I forget that? The bubbling anxiety filled my chest again. Soon I would be one of those things too. I had to get to one of the schools. If there was some sort of vaccine, the FEMA camps probably had it.
I had this image of a company of my old Army brethren defending a camp on the Palm Bay High football field. They would be lined up around defensive barriers, keeping the dead at bay.
The thought of the dead rising drove a spike into my stomach. Just because I knew there were zombies now didn’t mean my mind wanted to accept it. Dave and I had joked when we were younger about what we would do if zombies rose from the dead. I’m sure most young people thought about it at one time or another. But the reality, at least as I’m sure most people saw it, was that there would never really be zombies roaming the earth. Medically speaking, it was impossible. I mean a virus that can reanimate the dead? That’s a fantasy. Could it have been some strange magic or secret government gas that could wake the dead? That was all science fiction. But here it was right in front of me. It was not easy to accept. I’m sure most people felt the same way.
I turned away from the horror at the intersection and slammed my foot on the gas. I reached the main road that headed east and crossed over the Interstate.
“Damn it,” I cursed aloud.
There were cars backed up a mile, both on the bridge and on the off ramp heading south. I didn’t want to attempt going that way. Common sense told me there was a traffic jam on the other side. None of the cars were moving and I wasn’t sure if they were occupied. I decided to head north to find another crossing.
That’s when I remembered Southwest Middle School. It was a big school, with its own football field, and it wasn’t that far north of where I was. I had a good feeling that there would be one of those relief camps there.
While I drove, I passed two cars screaming south. They were probably going to attempt to get on the highway. I crossed over a bridge and as I descended, I saw a plume of smoke coming from the north. I kept driving. I didn’t see any walking dead shambling around, but then again, there were hardly any houses in this area.
I finally approached the school area, and screeched to a halt. I could see the middle school, and the grammar school that was right next door. They were surrounded by a couple of large residential areas with a huge church across the street. The athletic field had green and white tents set up throughout, with military and civilian vehicles scattered around. I couldn’t see what was burning, but it was behind the tents.
That’s not what made me stop though. Spreading out like a flood was a hoard of zombies. I wasn’t close enough to tell the eye color of anyone, but I could tell you that it wasn’t just civilians that shambled along. I saw men in military uniforms, doctor types in white coats that had red splotches on them, and even a police officer or two. It must have spread through the camp like wild fire.
A wave of defeat washed over me. I slumped down and put my head on the steering wheel. It was over. I was infected, just like the others that helped the sick at that school. Now they were zombies. If the FEMA camp at Southwest Middle School was this bad, then I was sure others were too.
I looked at my gas gauge. There was less than half a tank. Even if I decided to leave town, or could get on the highway, I wasn’t going to get far. There was no way to see my family one last time. I wondered if this whole area had been quarantined, or had the entire country fallen like we had. An odd and creepy shriek off in the distance grabbed my attention.
I looked back up at the mass of zombies. A half mile away I saw a figure running through the hoard of dead. The zombies were half-heartedly pursuing the person, reaching and moving toward the fleeing man or woman like a wave. I couldn’t really make out what they looked like from that distance, but the person was weaving in and out of them like a running back.
A shiver ran down my spine. The person reached the tree line and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was happy to see someone make it.
I couldn’t stay there. I could have turned into a zombie at any moment, but I decided it was going to be on my terms. I decided to go back to the one place I could call home. I would lie next to Dave and join my friend in whatever afterlife there was. Besides, if I did happen to find someone, they would probably shoot me the minute they found out I was infected. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to kill me, but I wasn’t feeling any different yet.
I turned the car around and sped back toward my house. When I passed the intersection with the wreck, I noticed the two zombies were gone. The body of the man was still lying there, but he hadn’t turned into a zombie yet. It had only been about twenty minutes, and I wasn’t sure how long it took for the infection to spread and reanimate a victim. I actually took a chance to drive as close as I could just to see if maybe he was alive and had somehow fought them off.
He was dead. I saw missing chunks of flesh on his neck and arms and he was lying in a pool of blood. His face had been partially chewed off, the sight of which made my stomach churn. Why didn’t they devour him? In the movies, they just kept eating and eating, down to the bone. It didn’t make any sense. I brushed the thought off. Nothing really made sense anymore. Even if it did, I knew I was a dead man anyway.
Other figures were moving in the area. Some were undoubtedly attracted to the sound or motion of my car. Even though I thought I was going to die and turn into one of those things, the idea of getting pulled out of my car like that poor soul at the intersection and having one of them rip out my throat was not the way I wanted to go.