Soul Survivor: A gripping tale of the living, the dead, and the struggle to survive in an apocalyptic world. (9 page)

It was now
11:30 p.m. and the autumn night was beginning to get colder. He pulled on his jacket and sat down to take a look at the map. By now he was exhausted and decided that tonight he would concentrate on finding a place to rest then decide his next move in the morning.

He passed no houses or buildings since the bus crash. The last intersection was a couple of miles before. He pulled a flash light from the bag and spread the map out before him. He hesitated to turn the flashlight on for fear of drawing attention to himself but the moonlight, while more bright than usual, wasn’t bright enough to read the map. He saw that he was a couple of miles from the next intersection.

“Surely there should be some type of building there,” he said to himself.

With the crow bar slung over his shoulder and flashlight in hand, he headed off south east again. He thanked God for the moonlight. It made travel at night much easier. He wanted to avoid turning on the flashlight unless absolutely necessary.

He had walked for less than thirty minutes when he came to a large clear pasture on the right side of the road. In the center of the pasture was a large barn. Careful not to get caught on the barbed wire he slipped through the fence and started off toward the structure. There were groups of cattle here and there taking little or no notice of his passage.

“I hope animals are immune to all of this,” he said.

Being careful not to make any noise, John approached the barn cautiously. He took the bag and the crow bar from his shoulder and laid the bag on the ground. With crow bar in his right hand and the flashlight in his left, he checked to make sure he could pull his gun out quickly and slowly approached the open barn doors. He stopped at the entrance to listen.

He turned on the flashlight and directed the beam inside. There was a scream as a black mass flew out of the darkness and came at him. He let out a scream of his own as he swung the crow bar and ducked just as it went over his head and out into the night. He could hear the sound of its wings as it receded into the distance. Hooting as it went.

Completely frightened out of his wits now he lay on the ground trying to catch his breath and calm down. Finally he got to his feet and scanned the barn with his flashlight looking for more surprises. There were none.

The interior of the barn was open in the front half with four stalls on each side in the back. Double doors like the doors he just entered were on the other side of the barn. The doors were closed and the locking bar was in place. A loft covered half of the barn and had a permanent wood ladder off to the left side. On the far end of the loft were double swinging wood doors. The door on the right had a broken hinge and rested on the loft floor. There was a rope and pulley system for raising bales of hay attached to a beam that jutted out three feet over the opening.

There were different kinds of farm equipment scattered around the barn. Scythes, rope, empty coffee cans, bridles and items he couldn’t identify.

Slowly he climbed the ladder. Once near the top he raised the flashlight and looked around. Nothing. Just bales of hay. He went back down, retrieved his bag from outside then closed the doors and put the locking bar in place.

John decided to spend the night in the loft. From his bag he took the hunting knife and twine. Gathering several of the empty coffee cans, he drilled holes in them with the knife and tied them together. He then tied them to the ladder leading to the loft. The ladder would be the only way anyone or anything could get to him, so if something attempted to climb up, the cans would rattle and wake him. He hoped.

Putting the knife and twine back into the bag he gathered his things and climbed the ladder. Once at the top he laid his blanket out near the open loft door. He decided to leave the door open. He wanted to hear if something approached. As a precaution he pulled up the rope and tied it off to the beam.

Exhausted, he settled in to try and sleep. As he lay
there the events of the past couple of days played over and over in his mind.   

-Finish reading “
The Demon Dead
” on kindle or in print at amazon.com

Arthur M Wyatt
is An ex U.S. Navy Seabee, Writer, Musician and Painter. He lives in upstate South Carolina with his daughter, black lab, one miniature schnauzer, six guitars featuring an American Fender Stratocaster, 1000 book personal library, vast collection of Heavy Metal, Progressive Metal, Jazz, Blues and Big Band music, two Fantasy Football Superbowl Trophies and a 1994 Ford F-150 with over 300,000 miles. He flies the American flag year round.

He Communicates D
irectly at:

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