OUTNUMBERED volume 1: A Zombie Apocalypse Series (3 page)

Turning down a main aisle, our noses picked up a much stronger putrid smell of the undead. Four people stood a hundred feet away. Several zombie corpses lay close by them. I motioned for John and Janice to step back behind the remaining racks of palletized goods to be safe in case the humans weren't friendly.

I leaned around the rack and shouted, "Hello, we're friends. Do you need help?" In the distant aisles, I heard the moaning of more zombies. We surveyed both directions of the aisle where we crouched and didn't see any monsters nearby.

Two men, a woman, and a young girl eyed me warily. All four carried guns that were turned in my general direction, but the barrels pointed safely toward the concrete floor.

I yelled again. "Three of us are here gathering supplies, do you need help?"

Behind them, I saw several zombies emerge from a cross aisle fifteen feet away. "Behind you, more zombies!" I yelled. The moaning and screeching grew louder as the zombies sensed the movement and sound of live prey.

At least eight of the macabre undead advanced on them as more stumbled around the corner. My group moved down the wide main aisle to help the strangers. Faster than I ever expected, two of the zombies streaked ahead of the rest and attacked a man dressed in military camouflage. He stood to the left at the edge of the aisle. He'd fired several bursts without having time to aim at their brains. The momentum of the attackers drove the man back several feet. The barrel of his M16 lodged under the head of the nearest zombie and blasted its brains out. But the second fast mover sank its teeth into the man's flesh between his shoulder and neck. The man's screams were muffled by the zombie's hand clawing at his face.

The other strangers had their hands full with approaching slow movers and we were too far off to chance shots past the humans into the zombies. I stopped and sighted on the zombie chewing on the first man they'd attacked, but they moved around erratically behind the other people as the man began to crumple downward. He was as good as dead, but I couldn't chance a shot that near the other three folks. The man and his attacker slumped to the floor behind the line of shooters. The large bodied man lost the struggle with the unbelievably strong monster.

We reached the humans and I shot the zombie who was now on top of the downed male human attacking his face. I shot it in the head twice. The man underneath it appeared to be dead. Large, ragged chunks of flesh lay beside him in a widening pool of blood. I turned and the six of us finished the final onslaught of zombies in less than thirty seconds.  I quickly counted at least fourteen zombies on the floor.

The three strangers appeared relieved until they saw their fourth member lying on the concrete covered in blood. The woman cried out and took short running steps toward the man and started to sink to her knees toward him. I grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back before she could touch him. She was thrown off balance and fell to the concrete on her butt. She glared at me as I stepped between her and the dead man. "Don't go near him. He's dead, but he's in the process of turning. He'll soon be one of them."

Over my shoulder I saw the dead man's legs draw upward in spasms. The woman stood and moved in front of me. Tears ran down her cheeks and her shoulders drooped. She pulled a pistol from a thigh holster, and I stepped back. Her pain and sorrow showed on her face as she steeled herself to the task.

"I can do that for you," I offered.

She didn't look at me. "I'll do it. He said I had to do it if this happened. I have to protect the ones he left behind."

Faster than I'd have believed possible, the new undead body threw the fast moving zombie off and surged up off the floor with its mouth gaping open. Frighteningly quick it reached for the young girl in one unbridled lunge. The woman reacted just as fast. She raised her arm and three shots from the large caliber handgun blasted through the zombie's right temple. Blood and brains splattered against boxes on the shelves and ricocheted through the air.

The girl screamed and leaped to the woman. They both wailed loudly and sank to their knees clutching each other tightly.

The other man, middle aged I noticed, spoke. He had vivid blood splatters on his shirt. His hands, neck, and the left side of his face were speckled with red. He muttered, "I don't know what to do next. My son-in-law was our strength since the zombie attack. He made the major decisions in these types of situations." He turned to look at the woman and child. "I guess we'll finish collecting supplies and head back home." He looked at us with tears streaming down his cheeks and laid his hand on the woman's shoulder. She sobbed and looked as distraught as the older man. She stood and pulled the girl up with her.

I turned and looked questioningly at John, then Janice. They each nodded.

"I'm Tom. My friends are John and Janice. We have a compound in Iowa, and you're invited to join us if you'd like to. There are twenty-six of us, and you'll be welcome and safe there."

The man wiped away tears with a shirt sleeve. His brown hair was thin at the crown; a bare circle was forming. I judged him to be five feet ten inches tall and about two-hundred–thirty pounds. "Kira is my daughter, and Paige is my grand-daughter. I'm Walter Conley." He pointed to the corpse that had just turned. "That was Carl Schafer, Kira's husband." Carl had been a big, powerful, rugged looking man

Walter and Kira conferred for a minute. "Thank you." Kira said. "We'd like to go with you. We'll work and earn our way however we can help."

Janice stepped forward and extended a slender hand to Kira as she introduced herself. "We have strict rules, but they're common sense things for the good of all. There are daily work assignments and mandatory training for everyone. We also have a teacher for the children. Paige makes five students."

I drew the attention of our new members. "One thing I want to be clear about up front is the requirement that you'll be separated and placed in solitary confinement for three weeks. If you're infected, you'll be put down. After the three-week period, you'll be members of our group, but only then. Do you agree to that?"

Walter and Kira exchanged glances before they silently nodded. Kira spoke to Paige to comfort her and assure her that everything would be alright. Paige still stared at her daddy's body but stood straight and tall beside Kira.

I dug in the rucksack hanging on my left hip and tossed bottles of water and disinfectant to Walter. "You need to clean up, get the blood off of you before it finds an opening in your skin." He headed toward a restroom at the back wall to use a mirror. John pulled a flashlight from his utility belt and followed.

As the situation calmed, I noticed Kira was attractive, a tall, slender, brunette with lovely features. She wore a long sleeved pullover shirt and jeans over hiking boots. Paige was slender like her mother, cute, and dressed similarly.

When I spoke to Kira, she looked up. "We'll load your truck and you can follow us. We'll use it until it needs major repairs. When that happens, it'll be junked. We have newer Ford trucks, all diesels. It makes repairs and parts replacement simpler to keep one brand. The three of you can help load all the supplies we can find into the trucks and our trailer." She nodded, so I continued, "We'll wrap your husband's body and place him on top of the trailer. We'll bury him at our place. We have a cemetery for our members, and since you've joined us, he'll be interred there."

We found enough food and other supplies to fill our equipment that evening, and then we headed back to Iowa in the dark. My thoughts were somber; I kept going back to Carl Schafer and the speed with which he transitioned into a zombie. This was a new development for concern. We would have to address this issue at the next weekly group meeting. Everyone needed to be aware that a dead body could possibly turn into a zombie in a fraction of the time previously seen. The most important impact was that the new creature could attack in an instant. I wondered what had caused this change or mutation in the zombies and what other changes might lay ahead.

Our group was pleased to see the new faces when we arrived at the compound late that night. It was a positive sign that all was not lost, and some small pockets of humanity still remained alive in addition to us.

The three newcomers were shown to the showers, disinfected and then inspected by Doc Sparrow. At fifty-four he was the senior member of our group. After dressing in new clothing, they received hot meals before being escorted to the detention holding cells. The cells consisted of bare rooms with three-inch thick rough-sawn oak lumber on the walls and ceiling above concrete floors. A single bed, one chair, a small table with a plastic washbowl, water pitcher, and chamber pot offered the bare essentials in the six-foot by eight-foot enclosures. Finally, everyone who had risen to greet us returned to their rooms for a few hours of sleep before sunrise.

~*~*~*~

Our regular routines continued without incident for a week and six days after the arrival of the newcomers. They were provided with all the books and outdated magazines they could stand to read. Three times a day they were fed the same food we ate.

That morning, I'd gone with a crew to mow along the road to the lake and didn't return until after ten. Marcie Tanka, our nurse, stopped me when I walked by Doc's office. She was serious and didn't wear her usual smile. I put my arm around her shoulders. "Ira and I have monitored the condition of our guests since they arrived. We've noticed Walter's appetite waning steadily for the last four or five days." She shook her head. "This morning he didn't touch his food. He definitely shows signs of turning." Marcie shook her head almost imperceptibly as a compassionate tear rolled down her cheek. I took in a deep breath, exhaled, and nodded. She summoned Ira Sparrow, and he joined us to walk toward the holding cells. Ira agreed that the sickness had slowly crept into Walter's brain. He was infected and had been lost to us.

Ten feet from the door, I heard low mumbling from Walter's cell. Through the half inch thick wire embedded safety glass in the cell door, I observed him. He was docile as he stood facing a side wall until I knocked loudly on the door. His head turned and he stared at me as if drugged. His mouth opened, and he lumbered to the door and clawed at the rough sawn wood trying to reach out to me. He was oblivious to his fingernails peeling back and blood dripping from his finger tips. His eyes were red ringed, and the mumbling became the moaning cries we'd grown weary of hearing.

From the next cell, Kira's muted voice cried out, "What's happening? Are zombies in the building? Please, what's going on? Someone tell me. Are my daughter and father alright? Are they safe? Please, someone talk to me."

I walked to Kira's cell and switched on the speaker. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but Walter is contaminated. He's in the final stage of turning." She stared at me, disbelief evident in her gaze. "No, that can't be. He was fine when we got here. I want to see him. Please, there's a mistake. I've got to see him."

"I'm sorry Kira, but once you go into isolation it's for a full three weeks. You and Paige still have another week to go. You don't leave and no one enters your room until the isolation period is complete. You were told that up front, and it's not negotiable. "

"Dammit! I want to see my father. He's all Paige and I have. I just need to see him one last time. Please." I switched the speaker off because further talk was futile. Kira pounded on the door as I forced myself to turn away. Her muted cries could still be heard by anyone close by. I motioned toward Paige's cell and said, "Marcie, will you please let Paige know what's happening? I imagine she's frightened by the loud ranting."

There was no sense arguing with Kira. The protection of the group was of the utmost importance, and personal needs for closure had to be dealt with by each individual. Sad and harsh, but that's the way it was. I walked to the end of the holding cells, climbed the ladder to access the cell's ceiling, and opened the hatch above Walter. He stood under me between the opening and the door. If released, he'd attack any human, even his daughter or granddaughter. I aimed and pulled the trigger. When the sound of the .45 caliber blast echoed through the building, Kira screamed. I saw people who'd stopped what they'd been doing to turn toward the cells. Everyone knew what a gunshot from that area meant. In the bitter silence that ensued, a single faint but clear female voice was heard by all. "I hate you, Tom Jacobs. I hate you!"

Some of our more sensitive people shy away from having to end the life of someone they'd known before that person transformed into an undead creature. As the group leader, that despicable task routinely falls to me or Shane in my absence. It sucks, but that's our role. We do the dirty work to keep everyone else safe. But it's not as painless as some may think.

~*~*~*~

At the end of Paige and Kira's incarceration, I advanced the weekly meeting by a day to introduce them and formally welcome them. They'd been given copies of the organizational chart showing everyone's name, position and a small picture of each member. I dreaded the day when we lost power and could no longer use our computers and printers. Two chairs were placed in front of the seated group, and Kira and Page were asked to tell their history and how they came to join our group of survivors.

"I'm Kira Schafer, and Paige is my daughter. Thank you for taking us in. My father was Walter Conley. I guess you all know what happened to him. We were at a Walmart in St. Peters, Missouri, looking for food when we were attacked by zombies. Three of your people found us there. My husband, Carl, was bitten, died and turned." She patted Paige's leg as tears flowed from the child and Kira continued. "Carl had trained us in what to do if one of us, any one of us, was bitten or scratched by a zombie and blood was drawn. I watched Carl spring up from the floor and lunge toward Paige. She stood a few feet behind and to the side of my father. I waited as long as possible before I shot Carl. Body fluids and brain matter sprayed onto my father. We thought he was okay... but Tom Jacobs said he wasn't and killed him." She said the last part harshly and glared at me. I chose not to confront her as she grieved and let the unjust remark pass; but it stung none the less.