Day by Day Armageddon (8 page)

  About that time, I heard a vehicle approaching. I hid behind one of the concession stands and watched. The ugly yellow confirmed my suspicions. It was John. I ran up to the gate to let him in. It was locked.

  Reluctantly, I pulled the carbine up to fire, aiming for the part that touched the chain, not the actual lock…Three rounds and the lock fell off the chain. I yanked the chain off and pulled the gate open. John came screaming through. I quickly shut the gate, wrapped the chain back around the gate and ran over to the aircraft. I remembered seeing a c-clamp in the cockpit clamped to a headset. I quickly unscrewed it and ran back toward the gate. There were a few of them already within a "rock's throw." I put the c-clamp through both ends of the chain and tightened it down. Wouldn't stop a living person, but I doubt these miserable shells of human beings could figure it out.

  I walked back over to the plane, where John was parked. I looked at him. His cheek was bleeding. I asked him what happened. He told me that he had to make a stop to siphon some gas, and ended up having to shoot three of those dead people. He killed the first one and on the second shot, he missed and the round ricocheted off a concrete embankment, hitting him in the cheek. He killed the last one and got the fuck out of there. Luckily he was finishing up the siphoning when this happened.

  When I first saw him, I thought he had been bitten, and my only friend in the world was going to be one of "them."

  I told John that I probably had about two hours worth of fuel left, (roughly 190 nautical miles at max cruise speed of 95 knots). The plane was ready to fly. John and I decided it best to leave the plane and head home to figure things out from there. We were only maybe a twenty-minute drive from home. I collected my things out of the plane and put them in the Hummer. We were going to have to distract those things if we’re going to get back out the way John drove in.

  I walked over to the gate, and got their attention. I used myself as bait (they were on the other side of the fence) and lured them to follow me while John got ready to make the escape in the Hummer. They followed me to the other end of the fence. This gave me two hundred yards to sprint back, open the gate, get in, drive through, get out and shut the gate back. No problem. It went exactly like that. John and I drove toward our home, dodging, and surviving.

  This was becoming second nature. John took a back street when we got to my neighbourhood, and parked the vehicle in an empty building lot. We took our weapons, and essentials, and made like shadows back to John's. We avoided being seen by few of those things along the way. We jumped John's wall, and he rushed in to check on his dog, and I secured the rest of the house. His dog came running upstairs, jumping up on John and licking his face. I told John that since I had power we should use my house as a base. After all, if we’re going to die, might as well be together. It's funny how attitudes change.

  Today, we spent moving John's gear over here, one trip at a time, avoiding being seen. I had a feeling we would be taking to the air sometime in the nearer future.

  I'm glad John is an engineer. He thought of a way to make an alarm device that could save us in a pinch. We thought of it today when we had to go out and quietly put down one of them
that were beating loudly on my back gate. I killed it with an ice pick taped to a metal pipe with duct tape. It was then that John asked me what I thought of his plan. He wanted to wire a battery-powered radio to the mailbox of a house two doors down. He said that he had quite a bit of wire in his basement and that it would work. We slipped over to his house to gather some supplies and the wire. His basement was full of Annabelle dung.

  He took his battery powered alarm clock radio and the wire, and a simple light switch (that we cannibalized from his house), and made a sort of remote alarm. Our thinking was that if those things got the jump on us in the night, and there were too many of them, we could flip the switch, turn on the radio and use the noise to draw them to the mail box across the street and a few doors down.

  John wired it so that the radio/alarm would fit inside the mailbox, thus using the metal box as an amplifier. We tried it out for a second, and it was definitely loud enough, although we had to use the alarm function, as there were no more stations broadcasting. We wrapped the wire around the pillar of the box, and tucked it along the curb out of sight. The problem came when we had to get it across the street and into my wall for easy access. We brought the wire across the street and john and I took shovels and piled dirt over it so that those things would have a hard time tripping over it and yanking the connection loose. All in all, it was over 100 yards of wire.

  I mounted the light switch for the alarm to a junction box using a kitchen magnet.

  I will be spending most of the night figuring out where to go next. We might end up staying here for a while, but then again, the mood I was in yesterday might take over.

  After our little invention was complete, I used my binoculars to check on the Hummer. From my vantage point, I could only see from the side view mirrors to the front. I could see 3-4 of them curiously wandering around it. I made sure to take a mental note of this.

  While monitoring the citizen band today, I made a startling discovery. I intercepted a recording being transmitted out on CB channel nine for survivor volunteers to be members of the "new military." The broadcast was a recorded loop dated yesterday. The recording was calling for responses at the top of every hour. Something didn't sound right. If this was a band of left over military and they were calling out for replacements, what happened to the original members? Slain? Executed? No chances. I turned it off until about ten minutes shy of 1800 hours. I then listened in for any others out there that might volunteer.

  
"**static**, Shane Stahl here, Concord, Texas. Anyone there?"

  
"Yes, this is Captain Thomas Beverly formerly of the 24th special tactics squadron, it's good to hear your voice. "

  The conversation went on, and the two exchanged information and decided upon an extraction point not far from "Shane's" house, near a water tower off the interstate. John and I discussed this new development, and decided it best to continue monitoring and gathering information, until it could be discerned that this rogue group was, in fact, a benign group of left over volunteers.

  Spent much of this morning reading over the aircraft manuals and emergency procedures. I wanted to be knowledgeable of this aircraft's systems the next time I took her up, just in case.

  John and I discussed numerous destinations for our next outing. We had one of two options. Continue to stay here, and hope we don't get overrun, or take the bird and what we can fit inside and head southeast to the islands off the coast of Corpus Christi. There is a naval air station in Corpus, and I'm sure there is plenty of fuel, and maybe even a better aircraft.

  If we chose the bug out option, careful consideration would have to be given as to what equipment stays and what goes with us in the plane. John and I have a combined weight of 360 lbs. Add fuel and luggage to that, and we can only afford to fly with four hundred pounds of supplies. That was also pushing it, and that wasn't much when you added it all up. We began to make a list of things we absolutely could not leave. John listed, "dog, 20 lbs." I told John, not to worry, Annabelle was coming with us.

  We wouldn't be leaving today, or tomorrow for that matter. I told John that I did not wish to die on my birthday.

  A group of bikers came roaring through our neighbourhood thirty minutes ago. John had to put the muzzle on Annabelle to keep her from barking. I doubt they would hear the bark over the roar of their engines, but my motto is "no chances." I counted 70-80 bikes as the convoy rolled past. Many bikes had passengers. Most bikes had long rifle/shotgun holsters mounted on them complete with weapon.

  I noticed something that I don't think you would have seen before this epidemic. There weren't just cruisers, there were also racing bikes (crotch rockets) in the convoy. I bet they used the racers as recon scouts. Again, this group looked rough, and I didn't see it necessary to alert them of our presence.

  The sound of moaning, shuffling dead is almost unbearable. Three hours after the bike convoy came through, the creatures that were no doubt following them began their slow parade into the neighbourhood. John and 1 are maintaining our silence. In the fading light there are too many of them to count. This could easily turn into the worst-case scenario. I do not think that they are alerted to our presence, but I cannot be sure. I can see them periodically looking in (his direction, and walking into my wall, but I do not know if they are trying to get in, because of the noise.

  I went to my gun cabinet, and pulled out two sets of yellow foam earplugs and handed one to John. I told John that if we had to make a break for it tomorrow, we were going to need our rest. John stuck them in his pocket and nodded.

  We got our things ready just in case we had to make the great escape. Many of the ghouls have continued on their path in the direction of the bikers. But many more, seemingly lost and confused have camped out here on our street, just walking around bumping each other and changing direction. It reminded me of my college physics class years ago. The molecules were bumping into each other in unpredictable patterns and just milling about on the slide. I would say a safe estimate puts the count at 85 walking dead. I can only go off the moon and starlight for my estimations.

  
Note to
self: Find some NVGs ASAP.

  If today were a normal day, my fellow squadron officers and I would be getting shit faced at a random bar on the river walk. It was my birthday, and I know they wouldn't allow me to stay inside like this. Well, I guess the celebration would have to wait. I had a shot of whiskey with John and toasted to survival.

  Goodnight.

  Bad news. While monitoring the television, and radio, John and I came across the first government broadcast in weeks. It was being transmitted over every available TV channel, and over the AM bands, I think because AM carries further than FM. It was the First Lady. In a solemn voice she relayed, to what was left of the United States, that the President had perished in an un-dead attack and died a week earlier. The armed forces were now in control of the Vice President. She went on to say that the VP was in a secure location and that she hoped the best for America and the world.

  She warned of rogue military factions that had deserted over the past weeks, and hoped that they would come to their senses and return to fight for their fallen Commander-In-Chief

  
She saved
the
best for last.

  She asked that anyone able to hear the following announcement, to do their best to spread the word, as she was sure that not many survivors had electricity, or access to a TV or radio. She then spilled the proverbial beans.

  
"The President has authorized the use of tactical nuclear warheads on all major cities. On February the 1st, at approximately 10:00 AM, Central Standard Time, a strike force consisting of Joint Navy/Air force bombers will deploy high yield tactical nuclear warheads on major urban centres. We believe that this retaliation strike will give us the advantage we so desperately need to take back our country, and our world. The use of our photo recon aircraft have revealed major populations of the un-dead in and around the targeted cities. If you are able to travel, and can hear this message, I urge you to make preparations to evacuate. We will now broadcast the list of designated target areas. Please look closely at the bottom of the television screen."

  I could now see tears rolling down her face.

  Nope, she wasn't bullshitting. They were going to do it. I watched and crossed my fingers. I knew my city was the 8th largest in the United States. I didn't kid myself. As the "letter R" cities rolled by, John and I held our breath. There it was. San Antonio. We are a target. I live eighteen miles from the Alamo. The Alamo was in the centre of San Antonio. The blast radius would be at least twenty miles, depending on the warhead. I bet they weren't taking any chances, meaning the blast radius would probably be more like fifty miles.

  The instant that thought crossed my mind; I watched as the doomed cities rolled by on the bottom of the screen, a precautionary tutorial was being displayed. "Minimum safe distance, 150 miles from ground zero."

  I looked over at John and said, "I think it is time we thought about leaving this place."

  Situation is not improving. John and I loaded up the Hummer for our trip to the racetrack. We will be going out tonight. The moon is out, so visibility will be ok. The text on the emergency broadcast is warning survivors that bombers will be dropping electronic sound decoys in the centre of the city to draw the un-dead in so that they will maximize the effectiveness of the explosion. The warning also made sure to mention that this would cause much more activity within the dead ranks.