Day by Day Armageddon (13 page)

  I could hear the sound of the aircraft engine still running yesterday for at least two hours before it died. No matter, it was junk now anyway, as I am sure there is no one left alive that knows how to fix it.

  I'm feeling better today. We heard the sound of an engine in the distance that sounded like it could have been a dirt bike. John found a first-aid kit on the ferry near here. It didn't have any pill antibiotics, but it did have some of the topical kind. I have been keeping the wound clean and washing it a few times a day, and applying the medicine. It seems to be working. I'm just still very red and sore around the cut. Last night we heard the sounds of something in the darkness. Using the goggles, we tried to spot it, but it turned out it was only a raccoon looking for food. Tomorrow, I will try and walk so I don't get too stiff. John and I need to survey this area, as we are only safe here temporarily.

  There are sporadic gunshots in the wind. We picked up a distress call on the harbour radio from a family in the outskirts of Victoria, TX (50 miles from current location). The signal was faint, and we tried to respond, however they could not hear us as they kept transmitting over and over as if we weren't there. I thought about it, and decided that it would not be worth a fifty-mile trek through hostile territory to find a group of people that may be dead when I got there. Sad. I used to be more compassionate and chivalrous. I guess after seeing bad things happen to good people, you just don't want to be good. They are trapped in an attic with those things shuffling around below.

  I guess they must have moved the essentials up to the attic when the "S.H.T.F." Something keeps eating at me, as if a shell of my former self were ordering me to do something. Or, maybe I do have a conscience left. Doubt it.

  I am walking now, but not running. John and I unfastened the chain that held the floating ramp to the marina. We found some rope in the utility room of the marina office, and use it as part of our drawbridge mechanism. John and I thought of it today. When we are here, we simply pull the rope, and the floating ramp gets pulled away from the shore to the marina, making a hard time for any of those fuckers to get here. I hope they can't swim.

  We are making good headway in securing the area. There are numerous small boats in the marina, and John and I have pulled the ones we think are worth a damn to our location. I want to check them all at once to avoid starting the engines at different times, making too much noise. This morning I saw a group of eight dead pass the street about fifty meters from the water's edge. The only thing that troubled me was that they were moving faster than the previous creatures we have encountered. By no means were they running or even jogging, but they definitely were
not
walking. My heart sank as I noticed the speed at which they moved.

  I crossed the gangway to the ferry next to the marina office. It was a medium sized ferry that could fit about twenty vehicles. I assume it was used to cross the channel to mainland Texas.

  I climbed to the top deck, and checked the bridge. I found a set of binoculars (left my others at the tower) and used them to try and spot the pack of dead. I looked up and down the beach, and checked the windows on the hotels. No signs of life. I counted five windows on the fifth and sixth floor in the nearest hotel (Hotel La Blanc) that did have occupants. Dead, shambling, rotting occupants that will never check out of their "Hotel California."

  These binoculars were built for sea service. They are large, heavy and had powerful magnification. They're not really suitable to carry around, but great for checking the area. 'Three of the monsters just stood there at the window staring.

  One of them looked as if it looked right at me. The two others looked like they were pacing the room. I wonder how they died.

  My leg is much better now, and I think I will be able to run on it if need be in a couple days. We are out of food today, so we are going to burgle the vending machines until I can run again. Then we will scavenge for food. I could only salvage 500 rounds for the CAR-15. John has a thousand for the semi-auto.22.

  Thirty minutes ago I heard a noise. I donned the night vision goggles on and expected to see another raccoon. Not the case this time. Four of them are standing at the water’s edge looking out toward our location. They aren't making any noise. They are just standing there ominously at the water’s edge. John and I are being as quiet as possible. I am conserving battery power by leaving the goggles off, but it seems every splash the water makes as it hits the marina pontoons, I imagine them swimming toward us.

  I was up all night last night. The fog on the water made it impossible for me to see the shore after midnight. This morning when the sun came up and burned some of the fog away, I checked for them. I could hear some noise in the distance. It sounded like someone was knocking over tin cans. My leg is feeling much better. Today, we lived off of stale candy bars and soft drinks. Makes me think… There will probably never be another can of this made. Sort of depressing. I'm going to need a watch soon, as the battery in this one has been the same for over two years. I guess I will put that on the list of ''must loot."

  On a lighter note, John and I found a radio station still broadcasting music. Too bad it's automated and it keeps looping every twelve hours. Still good for morale, and I'm glad it's still working. You can almost imagine it is live. It helps… a little.

  We are in dire need of provisions. Plenty of water here at the marina in the drinking water dispenser, but we have been living off of caffeine and sugar. A detailed map of this area would be very helpful, although getting to it may prove fatal. Early this morning as the sun was rising through the fog, 1 could hear and see many of them walking the street in front of the ferry marina. For some reason they were moving together. Seemed like they were attracting themselves to the noise they were making. I couldn't see the whole group of them, but from the numbers I did see, I could estimate that there were hundreds.

  John and I picked the best boat out of the few that we rounded up a few days ago. I checked the fuel tank and saw that it was 3/4 full. There was a fuel pump on the marina, so decided to see if it still worked. Went into the marina office, and checked for a pump switch. Number two pump switch was still on.

  I went out to use pump number two to fill the boat up. No joy, the pump worked; however no fuel came forth. It must have been drained when the shit went down. I went back inside to flip pump number one back on line. Squeezed the nozzle and it pumped for a few seconds before any fuel came out. A nice rainbow of fuel was present on the surface of the water. In another time, that might have cost me a fine. A few seconds of pumping and the last 1/4 of fuel was added.

  John went back in and grabbed my rife and held it at the ready toward the shore while I worked. We still had no idea what capabilities the dead had when it came to water. Yesterday, while listening to the last radio music broadcasts of mankind, John and I found a metal key box next to a shelf in the administration office. All of the watercraft had a registration number stuck to the side of their hulls with reflective number tape, so finding the key was not a difficult task. I matched the number with the key marked 'Shamrock 220' and went back out to her to give it a shot.

  The back end had drifted, facing the admin office door when I walked out. The boat's name was painted on the rear with a "half circle" type banner. It was the
"Bahamas Mama."
I jumped on to the stern and walked over to the wheel and inserted the key. John was still sitting on the dock, eyes trained toward the strips of hotels and the street. I slid the throttle to the start position, and turned the key. On the second attempt it started with no problems and I let it run for about five minutes.

  I sat there smiling at John at how lucky we had been. I turned the key to the 'off position and just as the engine died down, we heard what it had been drowning out. A football stadium of hideous moans echoed throughout the buildings on the island. We could hear Annabelle's reaction from inside the marina. She was upset at the noise, and the hair on the back of my neck was standing up. Now that the engine worked and we knew it, it was time to plan a trip to gather supplies. Leaving in the morning.

  As the day went by yesterday, the shoreline was home to over fifty of those things, begging for our flesh. Something just isn't right about them.

  Their numbers have dwindled to roughly twenty.

  Bahama Mama and co. leaving for supplies.

  Using the night vision goggles, I prepped the boat for an early departure yesterday morning. It was around 0430 when I started loading candy bars, bottled water, ammunition, and fuel cans onto the boat. I brought a pry bar also, in case we had to strong arm our way into a place. John was prepping our little man made sanctuary for Annabelle. It would be dangerous to take her with us. She would be fine here in the confines of our little sanctuary.

  The twenty or so dead were still walking the shoreline, blind to the night, and hoping for a glimpse of prey. I found some plastic oars inside the maintenance shed and quietly put them in the boat. (Never know) John and I boarded the craft and I untied us. I reluctantly started the engine and checked the movement on the shoreline. Some of the creatures were flailing wildly and two of them were wading the water up to their knees. The fact that their fear of water was dwindling sent chills up my spine.

  As we pulled out, I navigated west. I found a chart used for water navigation in the office at the marina. Too bad there wasn't a map of Matagorda Island in there also. I knew the general shape of the island, however, I had no idea of the details. I was now heading toward San Antonio bay. I was going slow, conserving fuel, and watching out for any dangers that may appear in the light morning fog.

  My choices were clear according to the sea chart. I would sail into San Antonio bay and choose either the west, or the east shore. To the west was the small (according to chart) coastal town of Austwell, and east was Seadrift. Neither John nor I were familiar with either. We both agreed on Seadrift. No particular reason. Perhaps in the back of my mind, I thought that because of its name, it would be a better suited docking point.

  The sun was peaking up over the east horizon and was at our backs when Seadrift came into sight. There were numerous long docks, no doubt to provide berth for fishing vessels. I cut the engine and John and I started rowing toward the docks. Noise was a luxury we could not afford.

  Using the binoculars taken from the large ferry, I scanned the coastline. They were here. I could see their pitiful frames walking aimlessly up and down the main street that ran the length of the bay. 'There weren't many, but enough to be trouble. The sign for the marina read, "Dockside Fishing Centre." One of the boats berthed here held a deadly crew. John and I saw three of the creatures walking the deck of the fishing boat, only forty meters away. They saw us, and one of them lunged out at us falling off the boat, disappearing into the murky waters of the bay.

  As we rowed closer to the dock, it appeared that there was a small grocery and bait store right off the pier. At arm’s length of the the clown, I secured the "Mama" to the dock. John and I carefully stepped onto the worn wooden planks of the pier. I grabbed the pry bar and stuck tinder my hell, livery croak seemed like thunder. The sound of the dead walking on the other boat was much louder than we were, but it was still quiet. There were no sounds of nature and no engines; even the bay water splashing on the shore seemed muted.

  The gangway to the boat containing the two remaining ghouls was still in place. They were a threat. I had John keep their attention. He waved his arms at them as I snuck over to the gangway (plank) linking the boat to the dock and quietly slid it into the water. The splash was louder than I expected, and they immediately turned toward me and let out the all too familiar moan. Crabs lined the deck of the fishing vessel with the two corpses. Dead fish could be seen in a pile on the stern.

  The stink was incorrigible. The crabs were snapping at the pant legs of the dead. There were several crab carcasses littering the deck. Legs were pulled off and shells were cracked. Upon a closer look at the un-dead creatures, I could see that several of their teeth were missing or broken. The bastards were trying to eat the crabs.

  John and I left the motley crew of ghouls and headed for the grocery store. Weapons ready, we approached the front door. No movement. Damn I was hungry. Just thinking about all of the food in, there made it worse. In my right arm I had my rifle at the ready, in my left I tightly held the black steel pry bar. The little grocery store was no bigger than a tennis court. Hurricane shudders were in place prohibiting any view of the inside except through the glass front door. Two signs hung on the inside of the door. "Closed," and "Help Wanted." The
latter
was an understatement.