The
demented on top of him began trying to claw at his face. Tom used his forearm
and the rifle to keep distance and fend off the attacks. He could hear rapidly
approaching footsteps. Using his left arm, he reached down for his pistol,
pulling it out of the holster. Bringing it around to the demented’s temple, he
pulled the trigger, warm blood spilling onto his neck. With a shove, Tom rolled
the body off of him.
Looking
to his right, he saw several demented barreling down on him, shrieking with rage
when they saw their prey laying helpless. He brought his pistol around, and
began firing into the oncoming rush. No longer counting rounds, these were
rapid, desperate shots. Several dropped to the pavement, but his pistol ran
dry before the onslaught did. He reached for his M4, slick with the demented’s
blood, knowing he would never bring it to bear in time.
Suddenly
the nearest one’s head exploded in a shower of blood and bone fragments. In
nearly the same instant, there was a loud boom from behind Tom. Another boom.
Wasting no time Tom spun to his feet, sprinting down the road. Another boom.
In
the faint moonlight, Tom could just make out Hank’s kneeling silhouette on the
next rise.
Hank
continued to fire, the booms echoing through the night. Knowing this would
draw them, Tom ran as fast as he could, hoping to reach Hank before something
from the woods did. Between shots, the darkness of the trees was alive with the
snaps and pops of branches breaking.
Nearing
the top of the rise, Tom yelled, “Go…Go!” The surge of adrenaline was beginning
to wear off, his legs and lungs crying out in pain. The uphill sprint was
taking its toll.
With
a final shot, Hank rose and began his retreat.
From
the top of the hill, Tom could see Rachael and Hank making their way toward the
lights of Hood River down below. Whether it would be a safe haven to regroup,
or a death trap, they would soon find out.
******
“Mommy,
I’m scared.”
“I
know honey. Daddy will be home real soon.”
She
had to stay tough for Sam. Her stomach had been in knots all day, hoping Tom
would arrive. With the last bits of news she was able to get before their air
card lost signal, it was clear he would not be flying out of Portland. She
figured it was about a six hour drive under normal circumstances, but had no
idea what the roads would be like.
The
day started off fairly normal. They had mostly been staying inside, but headed
outside to work in the garden. She hoped that by sticking with their usual
routine, Sam would not get scared. He probably sensed that something was wrong,
and often asked her if she was feeling okay. “Just ready for Daddy to be home”
Kelly would respond. This seemed to satisfy him.
While
she was working in the garden, Sam was busy rearranging the dirt with his
various dump trucks and bulldozers.
“Mommy,
here come the neighbors.”
Looking
up from her plants, she saw two figures working their way up the steep slope
between properties. Their awkward stumbling movements immediately reminded
Kelly of some of the videos she had pulled up on the computer. They did not
seem rushed, but were very determined to gain the hill.
“Sam,
why don’t you go inside honey?”
“I
want to stay with you.”
Kelly
gave a slight shooing motion and said, “Just head in and I’ll be there in a
sec.”
Little
Sam ran off toward the house. Once Kelly saw he had made it to the front porch,
she walked out of the garden and down toward the hillside.
As
she neared the figures, it was clear they were the Chandlers from next door.
They had moved in a couple years ago and rarely came up to visit, mostly
sticking to themselves. Both of them were in their forties and from what she
had seen, in incredible shape. Tom had talked with Jim, and discovered that
adventure racing was their only hobby and true passion in life. Most of their
time was spent climbing, running, and biking themselves to chiseled forms.
Currently
they appeared to be having a very difficult time just making the hill. At the
sound of her approach, they both snapped their heads up, glaring at her.
Startled by their appearance, she took a step back. Both had blood running from
their mouths, staining their t-shirts in a deep red V. Their red eyes squinted
with rage. With angry growls, they charged the steep embankment with renewed
vigor, their legs churning in the sand and rocks.
Kelly
turned and ran for the house.
She
saw Sam standing in the open doorway. He turned and ran back into the house
when he saw mom running toward him.
Nearing
the porch, she was really glad that the day before she had closed all the
wooden shutters that covered the windows. Rushing through the front door, she
spun and closed it behind her.
She
leaned her back up against the door, out of breath and beginning to panic.
“What’s
going on mom?” Sam said from over on the couch. His little voice quivering,
clearly shaken up.
“Jim
and Linda are real sick honey. Remember when great Grammy forgot who you were
and would yell at everyone?”
Sam
nodded his head.
“It’s
like that. We need to stay inside so they won’t accidentally hurt us.”
She
spun around and locked the deadbolt. “Where’s Daddy’s board?”
“Behind
the shoe thingy.” Sam replied.
She
found the large board leaning against the wall behind the armoire they used to
hold their coats and shoes.
With
a boom, one of the Chandlers slammed into the front door. The door rattled as
one, or both of them relentlessly pounded on it.
Pulling
the board out from its hiding spot, she slammed it into the large metal brackets
to each side of the door. When Tom first started doing survival training he
installed what he called his “barricade system.” He always said it looked
cool, like a castle. She thought he was crazy, but never stopped him. Looking
at the board, she quietly thanked him.
The
loud booming continued as the neighbors tried to batter their way through the
door, but with the barricade in place it barely moved.
It
was now hours later, and Kelly and Sam sat in one of the upstairs bedrooms,
darkness surrounding them. Through the day the relentless pounding continued,
the noise drawing the attention of anything in the area. Kelly could only look
out the upper windows, and watch in horror as the loud booming attracted more
demented. She recognized a few of them as neighbors, others were strangers,
but none of them were there as rescuers.
Kelly
had pulled the pump shotgun out from under the bed, checking that it was
loaded. Sitting on the bed, listening to the pounding and occasional growls,
Kelly silently prayed for Tom to arrive…soon.
Near
the edge of town, Rachael had spotted a three story brick building, and now stood
waiting for Hank and Tom to catch up. The dilapidated structure towered over a
large gravel parking lot, the windows shrouded in darkness. Under normal
circumstances it was a building she would likely never notice let alone think
about going into. The large steel door hung open, blackness hiding its
interior.
Tom
and Hank came trotting up to the entrance, breathing hard. Bending over near
the shrubs Tom retched.
Hank
looked at Rachael and between deep breaths said, “Fort Knox?”
“I
just…we can…”
“I’m
just teasing Hun. This will do real nice.”
Standing
up and looking back the way they came, Tom said, “Let’s get inside. I see a few
coming.” He raised his rifle to his shoulder, hoping to use the night vision to
help clear the dark building, but found thick blood oozing out of a crack in
the glass. Flipping it out of the way, he used his thumb to click on a small
flashlight mounted under the barrel. A narrow beam shot inside the open
entryway, lighting up a myriad of floating dust particles.
The
trio swept into the building, closing and locking the door with a large
deadbolt. The interior smelled of dust and mold, making it difficult to
breathe. Tom felt like there was not quite enough oxygen in the air to get a
full breath, like someone was holding a blanket over his head.
“Rachael,
watch those approachers, we’re gonna check through the building to make sure we
don’t have any surprises.” Tom said.
She
looked at him with a mixture of shock and worry. Tom was unsure why she was
looking at him like that until he followed her gaze to his blood soaked chest.
From his neck to his belly button was stained a dark red.
Tom
shook his head. “Not mine…at least most of it’s not mine.”
The
relief was evident on her face as she turned to one of the nearby windows to
watch the front street.
Hank
and Tom spent the next thirty minutes working as a team sweeping rooms,
clearing each of them one floor at a time. They found nothing other than
stacks of dusty boxes filled with papers, and a few dead birds that managed to
get trapped inside, never finding their way back out. What were once office
spaces was now a long forgotten storage building. The wallpaper was torn and
stained various shades of yellow.
Returning
to the ground floor they found Rachael peering narrowly out the window. At the
sounds of their approaching footsteps, she turned from the window. “They’re out
there, on the street.” Looking back to the window she said, “I don’t think
they know we're in here. They’ve been stumbling back and forth…apparently not
knowing where to go.”
“How
many?” Tom asked.
“I’ve
seen at least eight, there may be more.”
“Let’s
get upstairs.”
The
three of them worked their way up the narrow stairway, and found a mostly empty
room near the back corner. Moonlight spilled through several windows along the
wall. The air had the musty smell of age and decay, but was not nearly as
suffocating as that on the bottom floor. Several boxes lay scattered about,
some of their contents spilled across the floor.
Tom
and Hank both walked over to the windows and peered out. Across the street
small houses were packed in next to each other. They looked old and run down.
“See
that.” Hank said, pointing out his window.
Tom
looked over to Hank’s side of the street. “Yeah, looks like there are a few of
them walking around down there. I can’t tell if they are the fast ones or slow
ones. Seems like they all walk until they catch site of prey.”
Turning
back around, they saw Rachael sitting on one of the boxes in the center of the
room, looking exhausted. Hank and Tom pulled a couple of their own boxes up
next to her, forming a circle. It was like a mini-campfire from hell…with
no fire.
“Let’s
get some food and liquids in us.” Tom said.
After
a few minutes of digging blindly through the contents of their day packs, they
had what amounted to a small picnic. They were all glad to be eating MREs in
place of the various protein bars they had been snacking on throughout the
day. Dehydration being one of Tom’s bigger worries, he made sure they all
drank through a couple of the water pouches.
Passing
around all the wet wipes they could gather from their bags, the three of them
wiped off as much of the grunge and blood as they could.
“There
is going to be more and more of them all the time. I’m not sure how long it
takes, but all those dead in the cities are going to be coming back.” Tom
said, breaking the silence.
“Other
than the ones that had their brains blown to pieces.” Hank chimed in.
Tom
nodded his head in agreement. “The ones that come back are much slower than
the demented ones, but based on the lack of hardly any living, non-demented
people, I think the numbers may be staggering and growing.”
The
group sat in silence, all of them contemplating the full scope of what was
going on. Unsettling thoughts filled their minds. Thoughts of cities void of
the living, filled with death, hatred, and chaos. If the infection has spread
across the world, those with flu shots would have already lost any
self-control, becoming demented, single minded killers. This would be nearly
half the world’s population, and with the huge push to get vaccinated over the
last couple years, numbers could be significantly higher.
How
many would have been killed in the initial hours of the onslaught? Millions
Tom was sure. Then there were all those that came back, risen. The numbers
surely in the hundreds of millions.
Tom
could not get his mind off of his family. He pictured himself arriving home
only to find his wife and son stumbling around the house, raised from the dead,
hungry for something, hatred filling their eyes. Could he end it for them?
For him? His heart pounding, the thoughts continued to swirl in his head,
trying to consume him.
Rachael
broke the silence with sobs as she began crying.
Tom
turned to her “Hey…were gonna be all right.”
Hank
stood and walked over to the windows, knowing that comforting people was not
his thing...what was there to say anyways. He knew their future was bleak.
Nearly all military personnel would have received a host of vaccinations,
including flu shots if that was the trigger. Power, food, gas…all limited.
Rachael
almost laughed between tears and then shouted, “All right? Everyone’s dead,
were holed up in this shit hole with nowhere to go. You call that all right?”
Tom
really wished Kelly was here, she always knew the right things to say. Knowing
their situation was dire, and unsure of any real hope himself, he simply rested his
hand on her back, trying to comfort her. She curled into his arm, sobbing into
his shoulder. Amazed she had held it together this long, he embraced her and
said, “Just let it out…its okay.”
Hank
stepped over. “Why don’t we lie down, get some rest. I’ll take first watch.”
Nodding,
Tom said, “Wake me in a few.”
Tom
lay listening to Rachael sob for a few minutes before both of them fell fast
asleep. Horribly disfigured faces, bloody teeth, and hordes of grotesque
reaching hands filled their dreams.
Tom
woke with a start, finding that even in the cool air he was drenched in sweat.
Rachael was cuddled up next to him, her arm draped over his chest. Hank was
kneeling down beside him, his face right next to Tom's.
Still
a bit groggy, but glad to be out of his nightmares, Tom stammered, “My turn?”
“Yeah,
been quiet. Several still moving about down below, but nothing new.” With
that Hank laid down on the dusty floor and closed his eyes, crossing his arms
across his chest. He immediately began snoring.
Tom
stood and walked over to the windows, wishing he had a warm cup of coffee to
keep him company in the darkness.
Watching
absent-mindedly out the window, he thought back on everything that had
transpired. The most recent events stuck in his mind. The demented almost
seemed to have set a trap for them or was it just coincidence. He had thought
earlier that some of them retained more intelligence than others or were at
least better able to restrain their rage. The giant one that dragged the metal
post, was he drawing the others in or just too lazy to pick it up? He decided
to himself that the car was surly not part of the trap, much too complicated.
The fence post might be a different story.
Movement
below caught his eye and pulled his mind from his depressing thoughts. Several
of the demented down below were sprinting off down the street, followed by
several more, slow moving undead.
Looking
down the street, Tom tried to get a fix on what had attracted their interest.
Near the end of the street sat a small one story house, its picket fence
falling over from lack of maintenance. The demented were racing through the
small yard, leaping onto the broken down front porch. He could see more of
them coming from between the houses to each side.
Shattering
the night silence were several rapid shots, their flash lighting the interior
of the home.
Tom
turned to wake the others, but saw they had heard the shots and were already
coming to the window.
“What’s
all the rukus?” Hank inquired.
Pointing
toward the little house, Tom said, “Several demented suddenly rushed the house down
there, then the shots.”
More
shots lit up the night, the gunfire drawing demented and undead from all
directions. The small yard was quickly filling up, as well as the surrounding
lawn.
Pop…Pop…Pop
.
More bright flashes, farther back inside the house.
The
spine tingling sound of shattering glass.
Suddenly
the hordes were flowing in through the windows to each side of the front door.
“Anything
we can do?” Rachael asked.
Nobody
answered. They all continued to stare out the window, mesmerized by the sheer
number entering the house.
How could so many fit?
There
was movement on the roof. The attic had roof access through a hinged flat
square at the peak that was being flipped open.
“There…right
there! Someone’s on the roof.” Rachael shouted.
The
man on the roof reached back into the void and pulled out what looked like a
shotgun. Another man climbed out of the hole onto the roof, closing the trap
door behind him. They both turned and sat on top of it.
“Let’s
get out of here…while those things are busy over there. Right now we can go
for gas.” Rachael said.
“I
can’t leave them...not like that.” Tom said.
“There
are way too many.”
“We
have to help them.” Tom said, nearly shouting now.
Hank
stepped in, hands raised. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s figure this out kids.”
Tom
breathed a heavy sigh, realizing he was getting all worked up. Looking at both
of them he said, “I have to help them…or at least try. They will die of
dehydration and exposure up there.”
“I’m
with you, but we need a plan…and not one of my crazy ass plans.” Hank replied.
Tom
nodded his head. “A diversion. I think that is the only way.”
******
“Danny!
They’re coming! Get back in here!”
Ben
watched as his brother came rushing up the porch steps, nearly tripping over
the broken step he had always meant to fix. Pulling the revolver out from the
back of his pants, he slammed the door behind his brother and locked the
deadbolt.
“I’m
sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drop it.”
There
was loud stomping on the porch as the demented raced up. The door shuddered as
they pounded into it. The hinges rattled and shook, but held.
Ben
pulled the trigger rapidly, firing blindly into the center of the door, the
shots booming in the small space.
“Danny!
Pull down the attic ladder. Hurry!”
He
could see more of them racing onto the porch, crossing in front of the windows.
More pounding at the door, loud, incessant, and followed up with growls of
rage. The deadbolt was holding, but the hinges were beginning to give way.
Ben
fired three more quick shots into the center of the door, hoping to drop a few
more of them, at least slow them down.
farther
back in the house he heard Danny yell, “The ladder is down, let’s go.”
Ben
turned and sprinted down the hallway, seeing his brother just in front of him,
pistol raised. He ducked into the bedroom to grab the shotgun.
Danny
saw the front door was about to give and fired several quick shots. Suddenly the
sound of shattering glass could be heard from somewhere in the front room. He
turned and climbed the ladder as fast as he could.
“Ben,
hurry they’re coming in!”
Looking
back down, he saw Ben sprint out of the bedroom, leaping onto the ladder rungs.
Shotgun in one hand, he speed-climbed the ladder. Turning, he pulled the ladder
back up into the attic space.
The
attic was musty and hot.
“Over
there is the roof access.” Ben said while pointing.
Danny
flipped open the hatch and climbed up onto the roof.
“Grab
the shotgun.” Ben hollered to his brother.
Danny
reached back and grabbed the shotgun. Ben climbed up next to his brother,
closing the hatch behind him. Both of them sat down on top of the only flat
space on the roof.
“Now
what?” Danny asked, his voice trembling in fear.
Looking
at the shotgun Ben asked, “How many bullets you have left?”
“I
dunno…maybe six or seven.”
“Went
through all my 357, Mossburg has five.”
They
both sat in silence, knowing this was not nearly enough to get them to safety.