Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Sanctuary (13 page)

“We were
about to try to get back somewhere safe when we saw you going the other way.
Talk about luck,” she continued. “So we ran for the road with more and more
zombies falling in behind us. Damn things never give up.”

“Get far
enough away, and be quiet, and they lose track of you and stop,” said Briana.
“They can’t see for shit.”

“Please,”
demanded Julie. “Your language. My children are standing right here.”

“Sorry
about that.” Briana didn’t sound all that remorseful, but she did give the
older woman a nod. Juliette was only six after all, Michael not much older.

“You
stopped. Thank you for that, several times over, and that’s the short of it.”
Lizzy plopped herself, without any sort of grace, on the grass. “I’ll give more
later. I just need to rest first.”

I looked
around. There were no zombies in sight, save a few on the road in the distance.
“Fair enough. We may as well stay here. It’ll give everyone a chance to sort
through their stuff. Make a list of whatever you need. You three will be
needing clothes for sure. We’ll find those easy enough, but it may take a few days.
Sorry about that. I’ll see if we have something you can use in the meantime.”

“Doesn’t
bother me,” said Mary. “Can I have a gun? Lizzy has our only one, and she won’t
share.”

“You are
too young for that,” stated Julie.

I waved
her off. “We’ll see about getting you all armed soon enough, other than the
munchkins. Is there at least one gun in each car now?”

Simon
turned out to have a revolver, a crappy .38 that was nowhere near as nice as
mine, but it was functional. Cherie had nothing. Lizzy did have a large
automatic, but not much ammo. I wasn’t inclined to share with people I didn’t
know, which meant Briana and I were going to have to take responsibility for
defending the others in the meantime. I realize that was selfish and a bit
foolish, not to mention dangerous, but I wasn’t sure about them yet. I didn’t
outright distrust any of the newcomers, but I was still determined to be
careful.

Another
revelation came when Lois sat down beside Lizzy and gave her a hug, then a
kiss. That sorted out the nature of their relationship. Julie looked like she
was going to have a stroke. Simon was a bit disgusted but not much more. Their
kids didn’t seem to get it, which was just as well. Cherie and Briana couldn’t
care less. As to me, well, I felt no attraction to either woman so there was no
sense of informal rejection or disappointment, and while it wasn’t my thing,
nor did it appeal to me, I was more concerned with how they could contribute to
keeping me and Briana alive than what they did when alone, or in front of
others in this case. And, yes, definitely yes, I did wonder how much they would
be willing to do in front of others. Shame on me.

“You
three will be riding with Cherie until we get more transportation. Tell me that
you don’t want to go back into town for anything. If you have to, medicine or
something you can’t live without, we’ll try it. Still, it looked like there
were a whole lot of zombies in those streets.”

“Not a
chance,” said Lizzy. “I got Lois. I got Mary. I’m good. And it’s crawling with
the bastards.”

“Nothing
compared to Omaha,” said Simon softly.

I could
only imagine, but I’d press him for details later.

“We’re
going to the Nebraska National Forest,” said Briana.

“Why
there?” asked Mary. She seemed genuinely curious.

“Isolated,
good natural resources, basically a potential place to stay long term,” she
answered, “but we have some alternatives.”

“The
plan,” I added, “is to get established and stocked up before winter. Then to
plant crops come spring.”

“Farming?”
asked Lizzy incredulously. “All this going on, and you want to farm?”

“If we
don’t start farming, how long until we starve?” I replied.

“Well… I
guess we’ll have to produce our own food at some point.”

“My
thoughts exactly. Anyway, you all check your stuff, make lists, rest a bit,
whatever you want. I’m going to see if I can’t shoot some rabbits or something
for dinner. Briana, keep an eye out, will you?”

“Stay in
sight,” she advised.

“I plan
on it.”

I got
the .22 and started walking across the field toward a thicket. Off in the
distance I spotted a deer, but it bounded away. I needed a bigger rifle. The
.22 was great for small game, but with so many people it would be better to
have something more substantial, necessary even.

Interlude – Briana’s Story

It took
nearly two weeks, but Briana finally told me the story of what happened to her
during those early morning hours when a quarter of the world suddenly died. The
tale was related as we sat in the Jeep, just prior to turning in for the night.
I think she was feeling uneasy about those who’d joined us and what this might
mean for our relationship, or maybe she was just ready to talk about it.

“Mom!
No!”

The
screams of her younger brother woke Briana from a sound sleep. She looked about
the dark room at first, confused and uncertain of what she’d heard. Then a
second cry poured from the room down the hall, and she frantically threw the
covers back and rushed out, only to catch her bare foot on the door frame.

“Damn!”
she hissed, falling to the floor and instinctively grasping her toes in both
hands. The pain was sharp and intense.

The
noise suddenly ceased.

“Mark?”
she called, using the door for support as she pulled herself back on her feet.
Only silence greeted her. “You okay?”

Briana
slowly limped to his room and reached inside to flip the light switch. Her
brother was lying on the bed, sheets tangled about his waist and legs. Mark’s
throat was torn open, low, almost at the collarbone. Blood had sprayed forth,
initially, coating the walls and furniture a sickly crimson. Now it oozed from
the wound, staining his bare chest, running across his skin to pool against the
bed sheets. There was so much of it. She couldn’t stop herself. Briana screamed.

There
was movement to the side, and she whirled.

“Mom?”

The
thing that had been her mother was facing away from her, slowly pacing in the
corner. Then it turned, briefly setting eyes covered with a thick gray mucus on
a daughter no longer recognized. There was blood all over her nightgown, and
Briana couldn’t help but notice she was chewing. Nor did it take more than a
heartbeat to realize what was in her mouth.

“What
happened?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Mom?”

Some
portion of Briana’s mind was desperately trying to deny the reality of the
situation, to not believe the obvious. Her mother couldn’t have done this. She
never, never would have killed her own son.

“You
have to tell me. Mom? Answer me!”

The
zombie just continued the slow pacing, pausing only once to swallow.

Briana
lightly touched her brother’s arm, one of the few spots not soiled by his
blood. “Mark?”

He was
warm. He felt normal, but he was completely still, eyes staring at nothing,
unblinking. Briana began to cry, the tears rolling down her face, and she
reached for the telephone to dial 911. She got a busy signal. Then her mother
drifted closer, and Briana instinctively jerked away, unintentionally yanking
the phone from the wall.

“Shit!”

Her
mother ignored her completely, and Briana returned to her own bedroom, still
limping heavily. There was a telephone on her nightstand as well, but this time
she received an all circuits are busy message. Briana tried again and again and
again, alternating between crying and cursing as she was unable to get through.

There
was a sound from the other room.

“Mom?”
she called, taking a quick look.

Her
little brother shambled into the hall.

“You’re
alive!” It seemed impossible, and she’d been so sure, but now… “I thought you
had… I’m so sorry. Mark?”

Spotting
her, he immediately closed the distance, moving awkwardly, arms outstretched
and mouth open.

“Say
something Mark,” ordered Briana, as she hastily stepped back.

He made
no response, and in a full blown panic Briana slammed the door shut before he
could reach her. He immediately began to pound on it with his fists.

“Stop
it!”

The knob
started to turn. Quickly, Briana flipped the lock. It rattled and shook. Then
the pounding resumed.

“Mark?
Can you hear me? Say something.”

She
tried the phone one more time, but again nothing. This couldn’t be happening.
What was going on? The hammering increased. It took her a few minutes to
realize her mother had joined Mark. Both were trying to get her. The paint near
the hinges began to flake. It was a standard interior door designed for
privacy, not security.

Looking
around, Briana’s gaze settled upon her dresser. It was four feet wide, five
high. She tried to move it, but it was simply too heavy. The door cracked.
Screaming in frustration she knocked the television that sat atop it to the
floor – it sparked and sizzled for a few seconds – and began pulling out the
drawers, dumping them to the side. Briana tried again. It was difficult, and
the short, stubby legs were snagging on the carpet, but she managed to move it
the few feet necessary. Pushing its back against the door and wall on either
side, she stopped to take a few deep breaths.

The
pounding never ceased, and after a few minutes the door frame unexpectedly gave
way. The door swung in and bounced against the dresser shaking it. Her heart
racing, Briana tried to put the drawers back in, to add as much weight as she
could. The first went in. The second. The third drawer, full of jeans and
shorts, got stuck. She couldn’t get the rails in place. It wasn’t going in!

“Stop
it!” she shrieked, addressing her family, thinking, knowing, that pleading was
useless. Something horrible had happened, was happening. “Please,” she sobbed.

The
drawer finally slid in. The others were added. She put the television back on
top. It was an old one and weighed at least twenty pounds. The door still flew
inward an inch with each push, only to hit the dresser. It wasn’t enough. They
were going to get through. Briana grabbed her nightstand and pushed it against
the dresser, then her small desk and the chair that went with it. All kept
rattling. There was nothing else to use. Wait, the bed. She shoved it over, but
the positioning was bad. Sweating, Briana pulled back the nightstand and desk
to make room. The dresser rattled harder than ever, and she hurriedly got the
bed in place. The nightstand was piled atop it, along with the desk, along with
the books she had, and anything heavy that was in her closet, even her shoes
were added to the growing barricade. Finally, when there was nothing else,
Briana collapsed, sitting on the dirty carpet, her back to the wall, wearing
only an old nightshirt.

*
* *

For
hours she sat and stared at the door. The rattling never ceased. The pounding
never stopped. As the sun rose she saw the wood was riddled with cracks, caused
by their relentless strikes. It was slowly falling apart. That finally broke
the stupor, and Briana forced herself to her feet. She tried the phone again,
but the line was dead. She looked for her purse and her own cell but remembered
she’d left them on the kitchen table the night before.

The
power went out, and she screamed yet again. Struggling to get herself under
control, Briana gingerly approached the dresser. The upper drawers had begun
sliding out. Carefully, she pushed them back in place, one by one. Hesitating,
she grabbed some clean underwear and shucked her nightshirt. Getting dressed,
she tried to think of something else she could do. She had to make it bigger,
more secure. By the time noon rolled around, everything in the room was piled
against the door, extra bed sheets, school folders, her scrapbooks, framed
photos hanging on the wall.

Briana
found she had to pee, and the bathroom was down the hall. Disgusted and shaking
– her tears had largely dried up by that point – the seventeen year old
relieved herself in the closet, using an old sock to wipe. Tossing it in the
corner, she closed the door in a futile attempt to mask the stench.

*
* *

The
remainder of the day passed with Briana listening to the endless blows. The
stuff she added seemed to help though, especially the blankets that were shoved
between the cracked door and the dresser. They provided enough padding that the
wood didn’t seem to be deteriorating as quickly as before. Looking back on it,
Briana realized she had been incredibly lucky that the door hadn’t simply
shattered.

The
night was no better. Unable to sleep, Briana continued to sit on the floor,
staring through the darkness at the door. She prayed it would end. She hoped
her mother and brother would stop, that they would go away and leave her alone.
Briana didn’t want to die like this, and she was absolutely certain they would
kill her, just like her mother had killed Mark. Her mother had killed her own
son. She really had. The horror of it was overwhelming. Briana couldn’t deal
with this, but she was unable to think of anything else, unable to distract
herself. Her mind was zeroed in on the terror waiting in the hallway a few feet
away, and time seemed to slow.

*
* *

That
dreadful night eventually ended, and the morning light showed the zombies were
making progress. It wouldn’t be much longer. The makeshift barricade was coming
apart, and the door itself was all but destroyed. They were going to break
through. They were going to get her. Briana couldn’t think of anything else to
do, save run.

Lacking
any other options, the teenager unlatched the window. She struggled with the
screen for a minute but managed to get it off. Then she perched on the sill,
breathing hard as she prepared herself. The house was a split level
construction, and the fall was over seven feet. Yet, there was grass beneath
her. It should be okay. Closing her eyes, she slid off and rolled when she
collided with the ground.

It was
quiet outside, save for a few birds chirping, and she hurried to the garden
hose. A trickle of water came out, warm and tepid, but she drank it down
greedily. Then the flow ended. Briana wanted more, needed more. Mumbling to
herself, she tried the other outdoor faucet, but it was the same. So much for
that.

Walking
to the fence, she cautiously peeked over the top. There were more of them,
these things, shambling about in the street. Their eyes had that same grayish
look as her mother and Mark. They must have the same… sickness? Briana had no
idea what was happening, but it was bad.

Through
the open window, she heard the door to her bedroom finally give way and the
dresser tumble to the side with a crash. Deciding the monsters in the street
were preferable to the alternative, Briana clambered over the fence and ran.