Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Sanctuary (4 page)

A second
problem, far more pressing, was that Briana did not know how to use a gun, and
she was born and bred in Texas. Shame on her and her family for that one. I
gave her my .38 revolver to carry. It was the easiest to explain and is all but
impossible to jam. You simply fill the cylinder, close it, and pull the
trigger. There wasn’t even a safety. I would’ve preferred giving her the .45 –
Briana looked strong enough to fire it despite the nasty kick – or maybe my
slightly smaller .40 caliber automatic, which I personally prefer to the Glock.
However, these required a bit more in the lesson category and some live fire
practice, which we couldn’t do just yet.

*
* *

Lunch
was another round of cold steak and lunchmeat, along with some canned veggies.
Briana also offered to make the sandwiches I’d mentioned earlier, for the next
day when we were on the road. I readily agreed. It gave her something to do,
aside from stealing all my bathroom fare, and having a task, however simple,
seemed to be calming. Her eyes still darted about though. It was obvious Briana
was scared.

I was
frightened as well, had been from the very start. I know what I’ve written thus
far doesn’t really show it, but that’s more the effect of my pride than actual
confidence on my part. Now, I wasn’t panicked or terrified, not even close. I
had my plan – I’m big into planning and more than a little dependent on such –
and ample resources to carry it out. I had someone to talk to who could also
share in the work. Granted, Briana was a teenager, meaning her grasp of reality
was nowhere as good as she likely thought. Still, the underlying fear was
always there.

One of
the best things about Briana was that she was treating me like a person and not
a substitute parent or, far, far worse, throwing herself at me, hoping that if
I saw her as a possession I would be more inclined to keep her safe. I don’t
think I could have dealt with either scenario. Like I said, Briana is, without
doubt, a beautiful woman, with a lovely smile and a most wonderful figure, but
I’ve never had any use or respect for those who depend solely on their looks to
get through life. I think I would have left her behind if that had been the
case. Saying so might seem questionable, seeing how the opposite sex was
rapidly becoming a commodity, but the grief and stress would have been brutal.

She
finished the sandwiches, wrapping them in wax paper and sticking them back in
the cooler with its ever diminishing supply of ice – that would be gone by
nightfall – and we shifted the conversation to other, important topics.

“Is your
Jeep a standard?”

“No,
automatic. Can’t drive standards. Tried to learn a few times but never was able
to get anywhere. I gave up a long time ago.”

She
smiled. Briana’s teeth are straight and white. I’d worn braces for years, and
when they came off I had a perfect set of choppers myself. Then, over time, a
few teeth shifted slightly. It was quite frustrating. However, I’ve never had a
single cavity. My enamel was as good as it got. It’s a tradeoff I’m quite happy
with, ideal now that the dentists were likely all gone.

A second
driver was going to be very nice, and she was close enough to my height that
shifting the seat might not be necessary. With the Jeep fully loaded, I wasn’t
sure if I could even move it back and forth.

An
explosion sounded somewhere outside, and we both hurried to the front. Briana
had a hand on her gun but hadn’t drawn it from the holster. Good on both
counts. I peeked out the windows while she shifted about nervously.

“Anything?”

I shook
my head. “I see a zombie, just one. It’s looking over to the north, I think.”

“The
zombie or the explosion was north?”

“Both.”

Leaving
the front, I hurried upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms. It had a window
facing that direction.

“Damn.”

“What is
it?” She drew up next to me and pulled the curtain back so she could see as
well.

“That’s
by what, TWU?”

Texas
Women’s University, in the center of town and a good ten miles or so from my
house, was one of the schools in Denton, the other being the University of
North Texas. I couldn’t see any of the buildings from where I lived, but the
rising smoke seemed to be in that general area.

“What do
you think did that?”

“I don’t
know. That was loud, and there’s a lot of smoke. Gas tanks maybe, or propane
that exploded? They might have those there. Could’ve been a fire that heated
them up.”

Briana
frowned. “That’s a lot of guessing.”

“Don’t
have anything else. We’re too far for me to make out any details.”

“Think
it might have been the Army?”

“I don’t
think so. I can’t see a reason to hit the area, and even if they were trying to
get rid of zombies en masse, artillery doesn’t look like that. I remember
watching them blast it off at Fort A.P. Hill when I was in Boy Scouts at the
National Jamboree there. They loved firing it at the crack of dawn, waking
everyone up. But, they might have used something else, if it was them.”

Flames
were beginning to appear. The center of town was on fire.

“Jacob,
should we be worrying about that?”

“I think
we’re good,” I replied, after my own panic subsided enough to make some
rational observations, something that took longer than I like to admit. “Look
at the smoke. It’s moving away from us. The wind’s out of the south. I think
it’ll burn the other way, mostly.” I checked my watch. It was only 2:30 PM. “We
could leave now, but I rather wait until sunup. That’ll give us more driving
time to get out of the Metroplex. I don’t want to get stuck in the area,
outside, after the sun goes down.”

“Makes
sense, but I think we need to keep an eye on that.”

I
nodded. Burning to death was way down on my list of things to do.

*
* *

We spent
most of the afternoon watching the distant fire with a few breaks when we
drifted into the backyard for some fresh air. The house was hot and stuffy and
becoming more and more unbearable. Fortunately, by the time the sun was going
down, the fire had clearly moved further away. The glimmer of flames was still
visible, as was the thick mat of black smoke, but both were slowly diminishing.
The damage had to be tremendous, and I felt a great deal of sympathy for any
survivors caught in its path. Hopefully they would notice in time to get away.

Neither
of us slept much that night, and we shared the bed again. Briana didn’t say
anything, just plopping down on one side when it was time to turn in, but she
clearly did not want to be alone. I refrained from making any comments, my
feelings being in complete alignment. My rest was fitful however. I kept
getting up to check on the conflagration north of us. Briana did the same,
possibly more often than me.

*
* *

We left
Denton on the morning of the fourth day, shortly after sunrise. The fire turned
out to be less a concern than we’d feared. It had moved away, and with the way
the strong winds were blowing, we couldn’t even smell the smoke. The billowing
plumes of black soot were still evident in the distance, but it was far from
the route we’d be taking.

I
believe I’d dealt with the situation up to that point fairly well. I started
off reasonably secure. I had not lost anyone close to me. I had not been in any
personal danger. I did see the three nimrods get themselves killed, which
served to cement the reality of the situation and ensure I remained cautious.
And I met Briana. She had experienced something dreadful when the zombies
arose, something to do with her family. I would have to remember that. It was important
to keep in mind that many of those we’d encounter in the days to come would be
closer to her in what they’d gone through than me.

Understand,
I never was an emotional man. I was far from heartless and in no way a
sociopath who cared only for himself, but while I tried to be diplomatic most
of the time, I did have the unnerving tendency to eventually say, or let on,
exactly what I thought. And, aside from where children were concerned, I have
very little patience. The point of all this was that I knew I had to be careful
about how I behaved around others. The danger of giving grievous insult by
downplaying their personal tragedies or not understanding their situations was
very real. With everyone’s survival at stake, it would be best to avoid starting
conflicts out of stupidity or carelessness.

So,
after getting cleaned up and taking a lukewarm bath in the tub that was still
full – I let Briana go first – and eating our fill of the food in the cooler,
we finished loading our belongings. The sandwiches Briana made the day before
seemed to be keeping, and we decided to eat them on the road before they went
bad.

I gave
the house one final walk through, starting at the top and going from room to
room. I checked drawers, closets, even looked under the beds, but I only added
a few things to what I was taking. There was an old oil painting, small and
framed, that I was able to wrap in a towel and slip in the back – it had been a
gift from my parents when I went off to college. That was it for personal items.
I hated leaving so much behind, but I couldn’t take it all, or very much for
that matter. Practical survival gear took precedence, although I think I would
have packed the photo albums no matter how difficult that made traveling.

Briana
added to the pile as well. You know, I think she enjoyed going through my
stuff, but I could accept her curiosity. It was better than her on and off
moping. Briana talked readily enough, but she often fell silent and seemed to
be thinking about… something dark.

The
items Briana took included additional clothing for herself, mostly shirts and
jogging pants, the type with elastic around the ankles. She added quite a few
kitchen knives and some extra cooking gear as well. These were nice to have but
not essential, and we could dump them if we needed the space. She also
appropriated a stuffed rabbit pillow thingee. Now, this is kind of hard to
explain. It was a gag gift from a co-worker a year or so ago, and I had tossed
it in the guest room without worrying about it since. It was basically a plush
rabbit twisted in a circle with a gap between the head and the tail. You put it
around your neck and then sit back against a chair. It supposedly kept a person
comfortable while in a car or on a plane. I never cared for it, rabbit design
notwithstanding, but Briana said she’d used them before and liked the things.
She also declared it to be cute.

When all
was packed and done and ready, we prepared to drive off. That was when we
encountered our first snag. Remember, there was no power. My Jeep Wrangler was
in the garage, and the garage doors required electricity to operate. The things
were composed of flimsy aluminum paneling, and I was positive I could push
right through. Still, that seemed like a really bad idea. Any damage to the vehicle
would leave us screwed. In the end, I used bolt cutters to snip the pieces of
metal locking the garage door in place so it simply sat on its guide rails,
held down by gravity.

Briana
and I then went into the yard and around to the side farthest from the garage.
A few yells had the zombies in the immediate area, eight of them, two of which
were children, shambling toward us. We waited until they were close to the
fence and then went back to the house, locked the back door, went into the
garage, locked the door between it and the house, and with Briana holding the
.38 to cover me, I pulled the garage door up. It promptly, and unexpectedly,
slid back down, slamming into the concrete. That was loud.

“The
broom!” she cried, pointing.

I
grabbed the push broom, jerked the garage door up a second time, and used the
handle to jam it in place. We leapt into the Jeep, locked the doors – that was
conscious, not second nature – and I started the engine. Backing up and
swinging around was no problem, but zombies were approaching, crossing the
driveway. I had to swerve into the grass to avoid hitting them. My Jeep is
customized and has big tubular steel bumpers on the sides and back, with extra
high ones in the front that protect the engine. I have steel skid plates on the
bottom to prevent damage if going over rocks. It’s trail rated for 4X4 off road
use and extremely durable. Even so, I wasn’t about to take the chance that I’d
end up like the three men in the pickup. Too much was at stake.

“Sure
you don’t want to swing by your house for anything?” I asked, turning down a
side street, moving slowly and keeping an eye out. “We likely won’t ever be
this way again.”

Briana
shook her head. “I… No, I don’t want to go back there.”

She was
quiet for a moment. Briana had looked at my box of photos and mementos, and I’m
sure she wanted to retrieve such things of her own. But whatever horror had
happened at her house was overriding this desire.

“Cabela’s
then?”

“Sounds
good, I guess. Do you think anyone will be there?”

“Most
definitely,” I replied. “With all the camping and shooting gear they carry, it
had to have been an obvious target for survivors living nearby.”