Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Sanctuary (10 page)

“I’m
going to either kiss you or kick you, possibly both.”

He
laughed as he led the way to the grocery store. “I suppose I can tolerate
either one, but let’s keep an eye out now. Tell me if you spot any of them
things.”

She was
doing just that, with a great deal of paranoia driving her actions.

“Not as
many today,” he observed.

“You and
Roger shot them all.”

“Yeah,
that was distasteful, much more so after the moment passed and I had time to
think on it.”

She
patted his arm. “You did right. They would’ve killed all of us.”

He
smiled down at her. “You’re a good woman darlin.”

Laura
laughed. “I don’t know about that. I’m lazy. I’m fat. I work at a truck stop.
And don’t tell me I’m not fat. I hate liars.”

“You
might be a tad overweight,” he said slowly, “but running for your life is sure
to be good exercise. You’ll be fitter than an aerobics instructor in a few
days.”

“Very
funny.” She shrugged. “Maybe you can find me some carrots. I need to eat
healthier anyway.”

*
* *

The
grocery store was brightly lit and apparently empty. Even so, they entered
cautiously. Laura had no gun of her own and didn’t really want one. She’d never
been comfortable with weapons, and while she understood this was not conducive
to staying alive, the woman simply couldn’t bring herself to take one. Still,
she was more than ready to assist others however she could.

“Nothing
here,” he observed, glancing down the aisle where the spare shopping carts were
stored. Let’s check the offices first.”

Those
were right inside the entrance. The doors were unlocked and the rooms empty,
although there was some blood on the floor. The locker room and employee
restrooms were likewise devoid of people.

“I don’t
think anything’s in here,” whispered Laura.

The pair
began heading for the rear, toward the storage rooms and butcher’s shop. They
could just make out the soft hum of the generator.

“I think
any that were inside already went out to the streets darlin. That seemed to be
the general pattern.”

They
passed the produce aisle, and Justin took a short detour so he could give Laura
a bundle of carrots. She put all but one back. The piece she kept, she began to
munch on.

“We
should come back later and get rid of the ice cream and things like that. The
generator won’t last too long, and those will melt right away, as soon as it
turns off.”

“I’m
sure Edwin will move the generator before it runs out of gas,” replied Justin.
“They’ll probably set it up in the town hall. Plug normal refrigerators and
freezers into it, and you can keep some basics fresh far longer than if you let
it burn through gas trying to keep all this powered up. Bound to be other
generators in the town as well, though those’ll likely be small personal ones.”

“That
makes sense. How long do you think it’ll be before we’re back and moving it?”

“I’d say
a few hours. We check it now while the others gather up the living. Then when
we have more people handy we can move it and the food we need more easily. Of
course, I could be wrong on this. Maybe Edwin isn’t planning on taking it at
all.”

“Well,”
said Laura, “if not, you need to suggest it to him. It’s a good idea.”

“In that
case darlin, you make the suggestion. I would…”

Justin
screamed and dropped his shotgun. Spinning, Laura spotted the zombie, a child
no more than six or seven that had clamped its teeth around his leg, biting
through the fabric of his khakis into the soft area behind the knee.

“Damn
monster!”

He
lashed out with a hand striking the zombie in the side of the head. The thing
rocked back with the blow but didn’t lose its grip. Laura then jumped forward and
grabbed the long ponytail. A solid jerk pulled the little girl away from
Justin.

“Scoot,”
he ordered, through clenched teeth.

Pulling
a pistol from his belt, Justin shot the zombie in the forehead. The bullet
pierced the skull and blasted out the back, spraying gore across the white tile
floor.

“Damn,
that hurts.”

“Let me
see.” Laura pushed his hands away and lifted the pant leg. “Not too bad. You’re
bleeding, but that’s about it.”

“Do you
think their bites are infectious?” he asked. “I remember that movie, Night of
the Living Dead, and these are zombies after all.” He did not sound hopeful or
confident.

Laura
hesitated. “That was television. This is real. We… We just need to get you back
and bandaged up. Can’t believe it got past us.”

“Not
your fault.” He pointed at the gap between some displays. “Right through there.
I never even thought to look.”

With her
help, he hobbled over to the pharmacy section.

*
* *

Laura
was crying when she related what happened next. Justin became sick almost
immediately, and a nasty infection developed. This grew steadily worse until it
appeared gangrene, or something similar, had set in. The skin around the wound
began to stink as it shriveled and died. They pumped Justin full of pain
killers, as much as they dared, but those did little to alleviate his
suffering. There was no doctor, not even a nurse or pharmacist, available, and
no one knew enough about other medicines to try any. They might have made the
attempt to treat him regardless, except Justin was adamant that he was dying
and didn’t want anything else wasted on him.

Three
days after being bitten, he expired. Seven minutes later he rose again, and his
friend Roger put the zombie down for good. Laura, who had never been religious,
said a silent prayer over his grave.

Laura
also informed us that those who died without being bitten did not reanimate,
matching Edwin’s statements. There had been two suicides in the first week. A
man hung himself and was found several hours later, cold and still. There was
also a woman who overdosed on her heart medication, swallowing everything in
the bottle. She was found while still alive but didn’t last long. Edwin had her
watched for nearly six hours before she was taken off and buried.

One
other piece of information Laura provided was that zombies are weaker than when
they were alive. She had wrestled with a zombie that first morning, and, based
on its size, the thing should have been stronger. Several others in the town
had similar experiences. The consensus, with no science or research to back it
up, was that the muscles continued to operate but not as effectively.

Chapter III

We left
the survivors in Anadarko, Oklahoma on the morning of the ninth day without
seeing Edwin, Laura, or any of the others we’d come to know during our brief
stay, but Briana did wave goodbye to a few kids whom we passed on our way out.
They were playing under the watchful eye of several heavily armed adults. Hopefully
my predictions would prove wrong, and this tiny settlement would somehow hang
on.

The next
few days were pretty dull. We took a series of back roads heading west through
Oklahoma until we re-entered Texas, on the far north end of its panhandle. This
should have taken only a few hours, but the roads turned out to be worse than
expected. To begin with, there were far more wrecks and abandoned vehicles than
you’d expect in such an empty, isolated region. I have no idea where they came
from or where the people were going, but many had run out of gas, making our
own refueling more difficult. We found no trace of the stranded motorists.

Adding
to the confusion was the extensive road construction. Huge sections had been
torn up by road crews just before it all began, and in some cases the
construction equipment was actually blocking the remaining lanes. We stopped
briefly to check out a bulldozer, but neither of us could get it to work – the
intention had been to push some obstructions to the side. I’ll also point out
that if anyone feels the need to stock up on orange road cones, then this is
the place to go.

Between
these two problems, we spent nearly more time off road than on. Fortunately, I
have, as I’ve already stated, a 4X4 trail rated Jeep Wrangler. The terrain was
mostly flat with few trees, which made locating safe routes relatively easy. I
shudder to think what it would be like in the mountains if the roads were
completely blocked. Actually, I know the answer to that. It’s to turn around
and go back the way you came.

We only
encountered one other group of survivors during this stretch of our journey, a
band of six. We told them about Edwin and indicated the location on their map.
They said they would check it out on their way to Louisiana. A few had family
down south and wanted to find them. The odds of their loved ones being alive,
much less okay, were slim, very slim since they lived in the middle of Baton
Rouge, but there was always a chance. Briana and I wished them luck.

I also
spent some time teaching Briana how to properly use the 9mm Edwin had so
generously given us, to supplement the quick lessons and explanations I’d
previously offered. Then I had her fire off a few rounds at some empty cans.
Her aim was acceptable considering her inexperience. My tolerance for Briana
whining about the lingering smell of gunpowder on her clothing, not so much.

The
shots also attracted a couple of zombies. I handed her the other clip, which
was full, and told her to kill them.

“Why
don’t you do it Jacob?” she countered. “You’re the better shot.”

“I want
to see you drop a zombie. I need to know you can do it. You need to know this
as well Briana.”

She
swallowed. “I guess so.”

“Not
people. Don’t think of them as people or anything close. They’re not even like
animals. They’re monsters.” This was the same rationalization I used to make my
own actions easier to accept. It was a worthwhile psychological trick.

“I know
this Jacob.” Her voice was quiet and uncertain.

“But let
them get close enough that you’re sure of the shot. Then put a bullet in the
head of the nearest one first. Don’t let them get too close though. You don’t
want the blood splashing on you.”

At that
point in time we had no idea if direct contact with zombie blood would cause an
infection, or if it took an actual bite. We thought bites only since we hadn’t
heard anything to the contrary, but it was only prudent to be cautious.

“You
have your gun too, right?”

I held
up my pistol and then took a look around in all directions. There was nothing
in sight save the two of us and the zombies which were now about forty yards
away.

“I got
it, if you miss.”

“I just
want to be sure.” She was shifting her weight and shuffling both feet
anxiously.

“Calm
down Briana. It’ll be okay. Just aim and gently pull the trigger.”

“I think
I’m going to puke after this.”

“Maybe.
I came close when I killed those trying to get the kids up on the truck. It’s
okay if you do.”

Briana
pulled at her hair for just a second with her left hand, then stopped and
placed it over her right, holding the gun in a solid two-hand grip.

“Take
aim like I showed you.”

She
shifted, and the barrel rose slightly.

“Now
Briana.”

Nothing
happened.

“They’re
getting too close. Shoot them now!”

She
pulled the trigger and struck the zombie in the neck. It staggered back a step
and raised its arms, grasping the air as it focused on her.

“The
head Briana.”

I
pointed my own gun at the thing, but she fired again, hitting it properly this
time. The zombie crumpled to the ground.

“I did
it,” she gasped.

“The
other one.”

“Oh,
yeah.”

I
watched as she blushed – it was charming – before dealing with the second
zombie.

“I guess
we can go now.”

The deed
done. Briana appeared thoughtful but otherwise seemed okay.

“Actually,
I want to take a look at them.” I glanced around. We were still alone. “Now’s a
good time for it.”

“Whatever
for?” She hurried up beside me as I crouched by the first body. “Careful.”

“They’re
dead dead, no movement at all. We’re safe enough.”

Neither
of us had ever seen a zombie that wasn’t moving, ever. Even so, she was right
about being cautious. I didn’t touch the bodies, and I stayed a few feet back
as I examined them. No sign of major decay. No effect from being in the sun so
long. The damn things were durable.

“I
wonder if they’ll rot now that they’ve been put down. What do you think?”

“I don’t
know,” she admitted. “I hope so. I don’t want to think about tons of bodies
lying out here year after year never going away.”

“Well,
whatever makes them move and attack ends when the brain is destroyed. Maybe
what makes them not fall apart like a walking corpse should…” I shook my head.
“That statement is so wrong.”

She
nodded her agreement.

“Anyway,
maybe what makes them last also ends when the brain’s destroyed. We could stay
here and see.”

The look
on her face clearly showed displeasure at that thought.

“Or
not,” I amended.

“We’re
bound to find out sooner or later,” she countered. “We’ll definitely know after
we settle down someplace.”

“True
enough.”

*
* *

That was
the first break of the day. The second was for a subsequent shooting lesson and
to refuel the Jeep. I showed Briana how to use my rifle and shotgun – both were
simple weapons, easy to operate and understand – and I managed to bag a rabbit
with the .22. You gotta love a good scope.

Happy for
the chance to extend the break – the drive really was rough with the constant
bouncing as we went on and off the road – we pulled out a pot, and Briana
started a fire. While gutting the rabbit, I briefly recalled why I hated
cleaning animals and hadn’t done so since Boy Scouts a couple decades earlier.
The entire process was nasty. Still, I completed it in fairly quick order and
added the meat, properly diced, to the onions and potatoes, the last of our
non-canned vegetables, that Briana had already chopped up. No more fresh fruit.
No more fresh veggies. It was distressing.

“Want
the skin for anything?”

She made
a face. “It’s kinda gross.”

“It
won’t be after I scrape off the fat and let it dry out.”

Properly
curing hides is more difficult than that, but I was well acquainted with the
details. My grandfather had run a trap line way back when, and I had some of
his old books that explained how to catch, skin, and prepare animal hides. I
always found the process fascinating and read them repeatedly when I was
younger. One of these was actually packed in the back of the Jeep with my
family mementos.

“Give it
a go,” she said, after a moment.

My
attempt turned out to be mostly successful, but with no idea what to do with
the skin, we ended up sticking it in a box. The stew, however, turned out to be
pretty good, if somewhat watery. Our little picnic was interrupted only once by
zombies, but we were nearly finished at that point, so we just packed up and
left before they reached us. No sense in wasting the ammunition.

*
* *

It was
late on the eleventh day when we finally turned north on US-83. This road was
to take us up through Kansas and into Nebraska, and despite being a more
significant thoroughfare, it was clearer than the back roads had been. Go
figure. But with the sun going down, we didn’t make it very far, stopping after
a few miles when we spotted a mobile home on a slight rise, well off the
highway. I couldn’t see an opening in the barbed wire that ran along the road,
so I cut it and we drove up to take a look.

No one
was in sight, people or zombies, so we parked behind the trailer. There was a
rain barrel in one corner. It was full, and the water looked somewhat fresh,
not that I was going to risk drinking any. There was also a kid’s bicycle lying
in the dirt and some toys scattered about.

“Gun
ready Briana. If zombies come out, let them get in the open before shooting. No
reason to splatter the inside of the place.”

“Got
it.”

With my
own pistol gripped tightly, I opened the door and hopped back. Nothing
happened.

“Anyone
inside?” I called. “Living or otherwise?”

“Anything?”
asked Briana. She was fifteen feet behind me and several to the side.

“Don’t
think so. I’m going to take a look.”

“Be
careful, very careful. It’s pretty dark in there.”

Her
concern was obvious, and I shared it. I didn’t relish the idea of searching a
house, even a tiny mobile home, when one of those things might be lurking
about, but zombies always went toward any human they noticed. If there’d been
one in there, it should have shown itself by now. Should have, definitely
should have, but not must have. Keeping my gun handy, I stepped through the
door into the kitchen. It was messy, with plates covered in rotting food and
plenty of roaches. Nothing else.

“This
room is clear,” I said, “and filthy. Come on inside.”

“Disgusting.”

“That it
is. Close the door and keep an eye out while I check this way.”

I went
through the living room. The front door was locked, and the window blinds
pulled. The bedroom was likewise empty. Going back through the kitchen, I
checked the other bedroom and the bathroom. Nothing at all.

“There
was definitely a kid here. Lots of toys and games in the one bedroom. Whole
bunch of plastic guns and swords. Probably loved playing pretend war.”

“Think
he’s okay?”

“Would
be nice. Looks like they left a while back. No car. No blood. No bodies. Maybe
they made it somewhere safe.” I looked around. “This place is clearly
abandoned, so I’m not going to feel bad about taking anything useful. Let me
just check outside real fast, then we can see what’s here.”

I
quickly verified the Jeep was okay and that there was nothing in sight in any
direction. Everything seemed quiet. Good enough. We still had a half hour or so
of semi decent light. Best to use it.

“I
really don’t feel good about stealing from these people,” said Briana.

“It’s
not stealing. It’s looting.”

“That is
not a valid distinction.”

I
smiled. “Consider it appropriation then. They left, and there’s nothing to
indicate the owners are coming back.”

“Yeah,
but still.”

“Pretend
the food we’re about to take is just a song you’re pulling off the Internet.”

“I don’t
do that sort of thing,” retorted Briana. She pulled out some cans of creamed
corn and red beets and set them on the counter.

“Really?”

“No,
although I might have copied some from friends’ computers.”

“That’s
good. Secondary piracy is so much more ethical.”

“Don’t
be obnoxious.” She was grinning as well.

With
that matter settled, we moved on to the bedrooms but found nothing of value.
The living room was likewise devoid of anything we could use. There was enough
food to make the stop worthwhile however. In addition to the canned vegetables
already mentioned, we found some of soup and a whole lot of spices, all of
which we packed up. We’d sort through them later when there was more time.