Survive (6 page)

* * *

Sometime later, still pitch black outside, they were awakened by a loud crash, followed by the sound of a car horn blaring. John jumped out of bed, throwing on his shorts to cover up his nudity. He stepped in to his shoes, and headed out the door, grabbing his carbine on the way out. Sara followed as quickly as she could, tucking her little Beretta into the pocket of the bathrobe she hastily threw on. They ran toward the road, just beyond John’s parent’s driveway. As they drew closer, both Harold and Patrick caught up with them. Patrick had a double barreled shotgun over one shoulder. Across the road, a beat up old Ford F 250 had driven into the ditch, and now the rear wheels where up in the air, spinning impotently. The horn was still blaring, engine running.

Patrick shined a flashlight in to the cab of the truck. They stared in stunned silence as the saw a form slumped over the steering wheel. Another form was hunched over that one, moving rhythmically, slowly. As the light filled the cab, a woman jerked up and revealed herself. Her face, especially her mouth, was covered in blood. A chunk of gore hung from her mouth as she chewed.

“Holy shit!” Patrick said, leveling the double barrels at the truck. John was faster, bringing his AR 15 up to ready position and firing one shot through the rear window of the truck. The woman’s head snapped back, blood spattering all over the front windshield. She slid slowly to the right and dropped out of sight.

Harold opened the driver’s side door, allowing the figure inside to slide to the left and fall out onto the dirt road. They could then see that it was a male, covered in blood.

“Amos Hopkins. That must be his wife Sissy.” Harold said, pointing back into the truck. “They live a couple miles up the road.”

“Dad, get away from him.” John said, calmly. His carbine was trained on the dead man.

Everyone jumped as the dead man suddenly sat up, even John, who thought he was ready for it. He fired at the same instant Sara fired from right behind him. The man’s head exploded from the simultaneous assault.

“What the frig?” Patrick yelled. “He was dead! Holy hell, how did he just get up?” Patrick held the shotgun out in front of himself as if to ward off the twice-dead creature.

“Weren’t you listening earlier?” John asked. He moved to the door of the truck, making sure the female inside was truly dead as well. She had a bandage on her left arm, as well as a hospital bracelet.

“Damn. They’re already here. I thought we’d have more time.” said John, shaking his head slowly.

They turned the truck off and put Amos Hopkins back in the truck with his wife, closing the doors behind them.

“We’ll take care of them in the morning.” Harold said as they walked back to the driveway. “I think I’ll stay up awhile. No sense in trying to sleep now.”

“Alright Dad. Just be careful. Holler if you need me.” John and Sara walked back to the little cabin. John took Sara’s hand.

“You’re pretty damn good with that gun, little lady.” John said in his best John Wayne voice.

“Ayup. Good thing you took me to the range all those times. And here I just thought you were trying to show my ass off to all your shooting buddies.” Sara gave said body part a little extra wiggle as she walked.

“Oh most definitely that too!”

* * *

As he stood in the small bathroom getting ready for his second chance at bed, his phone chimed that he had a new email. Poking his head out of the bathroom, he made sure Sara was already sleeping peacefully before flipping open his phone.

M, they’re looking for us. Two men showed up at my place in Maine today. They ransacked the place, looking for something. They left a list pinned to my door with a knife. It was a list of NEC officers. Some had been crossed out. Your name was on the list too. Be careful. They had a lot of firepower with them. Get me on the shortwave tomorrow. 1830 hours. I’ll be listening. -Jcon14

John sent a quick reply, acknowledging his receipt, then deleted the message. He flipped his phone closed and climbed into bed with Sara. John kissed her bare shoulder, then closed his eyes. The nightmares started that night.

Chapter 6

September 22, Zed Year One

Brattleboro, Vermont

“Fire into the room! Pour it on!” John yelled, firing an AK 47 into the dark portal of the open doorway. Light from the muzzle flashes lit up hideously decayed forms inside, all struggling to get through the doorway and out into the open.

“I’m out!” John’s father, Harold Mason, yelled, dropping the empty magazine from his rifle.

Cries of “Me too!” and “Empty!” and “That’s it!” came down the line as the sounds of gunfire diminished until it was only John firing, trying to stem the tide of the undead all by himself.

CLICK! John pulled the trigger again. CLICK! He looked down, frowning at his empty weapon. He threw the impotent gun down to the ground and ran for the door. Reaching it seconds before the undead, he slammed the door shut and tried to lock it. As he tried to slide the bolt home, the rusty metal squealed, but wouldn’t budge. Heavy bodies began smashing in to the door from the other side. John leaned against the door, pushing with all his might, but the door slowly began to open. Rotting fingers reached around the door, groping for the living.

“Help me!” John yelled. He shoved harder at the door, bracing his feet against the dirt beneath him. The undead redoubled their efforts, and the door slid open more. An arm, flesh shredded and putrid, edged around and reached for him. John looked over his shoulder, seeking support.

John’s family reached for him with decaying hands, bloody mouths working in unison as they moaned “
Jooohhhnnnn.”
The door smashed its way inward and John was pulled down by the incoming horde moments before his family reached him.

John sat straight up, a wordless scream almost escaping his mouth. He breathed heavily, drenched in sweat. He sat there like that for a few moments, just staring into the brightly lit room. As his breathing slowed to a more normal level, he heard birds chirping outside the bedroom window. He looked around slowly. His carbine leaned against the wall next to the bed, his shoulder holster hung from the bedpost, still with his Sig Sauer nestled inside. The big bed took up most of the room, with his gun cabinet against the far wall. Two nightstands framed the old four poster bed, and a big dresser occupied the last wall. Storm lamps sat unused atop the dresser.

He kissed Sara on her forehead, careful not to wake her. He stood up, pulled on the pants he’d dropped on the floor the night before, and padded quietly into the living room. Princess raised her head in greeting before flopping back down in a patch of sunlight on the wooden floor.

Walking through the living room, John glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:15.
Good
, he thought to himself.
There’s so much to do today.
He shook his head and frowned as he reached the kitchen.

John filled the coffee pot with water and coffee grounds, then turned the old machine on. “At least the electricity still works,” he mumbled softly to himself. Princess thought he said “There’s a slab of bacon out here for just for you,” and ran over to him, tail wagging happily.

He looked down at her and shook his finger at her. “No coffee for you!” He smiled affectionately and ruffled the dog’s head.

Walking out to the car, John scanned the area. Nothing seemed to be amiss. “Yet,” he said to no one in particular. John opened the hatch of the station wagon and carried the rest of the supplies inside. It took three trips but he nodded in satisfaction as he took inventory.

With the food and water in the basement, and the little bit left over in the kitchen from their last getaway, as well as the guns and ammunition he already had here at the cabin, he estimated they had at least six months of food for the three of them, several rifles, carbines, pistols, and several thousand rounds of ammunition of each caliber for which he had a weapon. Including the dead trooper’s rifle, he had three AR 15s in various configurations, four AK 47s, two M14s, each with a long range scope and beautifully polished wood, and two 12 gauge pump shotguns with pistol grips.

He also had a deadly little Heckler and Koch MP5 he’d acquired two years earlier when he’d finally managed to get a machine gun license. Hard to get, even for a police officer, but he’d jumped through all the hoops and paid all of the fees to get the license, and then paid an exorbitant amount for the little 9mm submachine gun. He’d spared no expense outfitting it with a laser and a red dot scope.

Aside from the rifles and carbines, he had several pistols, including his Sig Sauer P220, two other .45s, three Glocks in 9mm, two in .40, and two .357 magnum revolvers.

Sara’s own little arsenal was still packed in one of the duffel bags. A Glock 19 and a Beretta CX4 Storm 9mm carbine. The little pistol caliber carbine was Sara’s solution to big bulky rifles that, as she put it, “sucked to shoot”. John chuckled as he took the Storm out of the duffel bag and placed it on the rack by the door. He put the empty duffel bags down in the basement. When he came back up, he found Sara in her robe, pouring coffee in to two big white mugs.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” John said. “I hope you slept ok.”

“You mean after you stopped thrashing and growling in your sleep?” Sara asked, handing John a steaming cup of black coffee. The aroma almost made John’s eyes water in pleasure.

“Yeah, after that.” Smiling ruefully, John sipped at the hot coffee. “Oh man, that’s good.”

They sipped coffee in silence for a few moments. Sara pulled a cast iron skillet from a cupboard and began pouring flour into a bowl. “Pancakes?”

“Only if we have real syrup,” John said. “End of the world comes along, I’ll be damned if I’m going to eat that fake shit.”

Sara laughed, pulling out a tin jug of John’s uncle Patrick’s homemade maple syrup and shaking it at him. “You’re safe this time.”

A few minutes later, the couple sat at a battered, hand made wooden table eating pancakes and sipping coffee. They continued to smile at each other as they ate. Finally, John pushed his plate away from him and stood up.

“Well, time to get to it. Let’s head over to my dad’s house and see what we have to work with.”

“John, I don’t want to sound like a jerk but what are you going to do? I mean, what are any of us going to do?” Sara put her hand on John’s arm.

“I don’t know. But we can’t do nothing. It’s only been a couple days since these things showed up out west. They spread too fast. We have to be ready, today, to stop them when they come here.”

“Whatever you think, whatever you want to do, you know I’m behind you one hundred percent.” Sara’s voice broke as she said, “You’re all I have left.”

“Sara, we’ll go back and get your family as soon as we can. A few days, at most. We’ll find a way to do it safely.” John hugged Sara close, kissing her forehead. Finally, he broke the hug.

“Come on, get dressed. We should head over there.”

Ten minutes later, the couple, both wearing their pistols in hip holsters, and John carrying his carbine, walked in to the elder Masons’ home. Harold and June were both in the kitchen again. June offered them both pie as they entered.

“No thanks, Mom. We just had pancakes. Maybe later.” John said as he pushed the pie away carefully, as if it might explode if it jiggled too much.

Sara and John took seats next to each other at the table. June poured coffee for them all. The clock on the microwave read 8:20.

Harold lifted his mug, took a long slow sip, then set his coffee back down before speaking. “Phones were working for a bit this morning. Patrick called Nancy and Franny. They’re on their way over. They’re bringing everything they can, and the kids are coming as well.”

“Kids?” Sara asked.

“Nancy and Franny’s kids. Though I’m pretty sure being in their mid 20’s disqualifies them as kids.” John said.

“Pam and Roy are coming too, even though she doesn’t get along with the twins.” June said, referring to Nancy and Franny, identical twins, and younger sisters of Pam.

“Damn. I’d hoped Roy had been eaten by now.” John muttered. He saw Sara choke on some of her coffee.

June reached over and slapped John in the back of the head. “You be nice. He’s your cousin.”

“Cousin in law!” John yelled.

June gave her son a disapproving frown. John looked down sheepishly, not quite catching Sara’s smirk.

Just then, a tall, skinny blond woman in her late 30’s entered the room, followed by a sulky and equally skinny blond teenage girl and an even more blond preteen boy.

“Good morning, Jen. Would you like some coffee?” June asked the woman.

The teenage girl came rushing over to John, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing. “Uncle John!”

Cousin, actually
, John thought to himself.
But close enough.
“Hey Kelly! How are you doing?”

“I’m ok. I’m worried about daddy.”

“Don’t you worry, if there’s anyone who can take care of themselves it’s Jesse Sanderson. And anyway, you know your Grandpa Walt will watch out for him too.” John said, extracting himself from Kelly’s bear hug. He looked down at the little boy. “Hey Jacob. How’s it hangin’?” John tousled the boy’s hair.