Don't Dare Call Them Zombies : Books 1-4 (12 page)

For several minutes we said nothing.

“We should just get some gas somewhere and go straight to Dublin,” Jennifer said. “We don’t need to get any other supplies. We have food in the van.”

I took the box of ammo out of my ba
ckpack and started to load the revolver.

“Okay,” I said. “But we need dog food.”

Chapter 9

It began to rain again by the time we passed Grocery World. A few miles later we found a gas station on a back road that was mostly devoid of freaks. We siphoned
fuel from a few cars and filled up the gas tank. Thankfully, the store had dog food; we loaded up the van with several bags of it. We also decided to load up as much human food as possible. For all we knew, they could be running low at the relocation center.

As we drove further away from the city we began to talk. Jennifer told me not to feel bad about what happened with Katie. She said it was not my fault.

I looked at her for a long time as we drove towards Dublin. The sight of her face was the only thing that kept the images of freaks out of my mind. She looked back at me a few times and tried to smile. But I knew that on the inside she was upset too.

At some point, the woman’s little dog walked up to me. I picked it up and held it in my arms. The poor do
g was a nervous wreck. Its owner was gone and it didn’t know how to act or what to do. I had failed the old woman, so the least I could do was adopt her dog. Sadly, she never told us its name.

“I’m sorry we
didn’t find your sister,” I told Jennifer. “Maybe she drove herself to the relocation center.”

“Maybe,” she said.

The roads were mostly clear with few abandoned vehicles. There were actually a few other vehicles driving on the road. This encouraged us, but every time we saw a freak walking along the road we realized the situation was still extremely bad.

We were careful to take the long way around the small towns we would have to pass by on the way to Dublin. It added time to our trip, but we
didn’t want to encounter any more large groups of freaks.

After a while I switched places with Jennifer, and I drove for a while. She took a bottle of water and a rag and started to wipe her face and arms. I could tell she was exhausted. I was too.

I had begun to grow a beard in the past few days. If they had running water at the relocation center, I needed to shave.

Up ahead I saw a vehicle on the side of the road. It had flipped over and was on its side. As we neared it, I realized the vehicle was the coach that was used to evacuate the groc
ery store.

“Stop!” Jennifer ordered. “We have to check and see if anyone is alive.”

We walked towards the vehicle. Suddenly, a face appeared through the rear window. It was Mr. Humphries. He was infected.

Jennifer quickly ran back to the van. I stood ther
e with my revolver in my hand.

I approached the van and peered through the window. It
didn’t seem like anyone was alive inside. I took a step back and without hesitation I lifted my gun and fired. The glass shattered and Mr. Humphries collapsed.

I had jus
t shot my boss.

I then peered through the opening and called out, “Is anyone alive in there?”

No sound came from the coach.

I walked back to the van and got inside. It was Jennifer’s turn to drive.

“Should we stop somewhere and try to find a place to stay for the night?” she said as we continued driving.

“It depends if we can find a safe place,” I said.

She went silent. She stayed that way for some time.

Thirty minutes later we realized that we had taken a wrong turn. We had turned south on
a road instead of turning north. According to the map, we were near a small town named Egypt.

A pop then came from underneath the van. We stopped and I got out of the van.

We had a flat tire, and no spare.

I got back in and told Jennifer.

“What are we going to do?” she asked me with a look of desperation on her face.

It was then we heard a gunshot.

It came from the direction of a large field.

In the back of that field there was a church. It looked like a hundred cars were parked around it.

“Drive towards the church,” I told Jennifer.

“Do you think it’s safe?” she asked.

“We will have to find out,” I responded.

A flat tire was all that we needed. Of course, when you really need a spare you don’t have one. My senses were on full alert
. Here we were, trying to find some refuge from the freaks that had tormented us for the last few weeks, and now we could be stranded in the open countryside in a very vulnerable position.

“Keep driving, Jennifer – but go slow!” I said. “Let’s see if we c
an make it to the church over there on this flat. We’ll need to try not to tear up the tire. We’ll get stuck if all we have left to drive on is the rim.”

“Ok, I think we can make it,” said
Jennifer with her eyes fixed on road ahead, and both hands gripping the steering wheel. I kept quiet, not wanting to disturb her concentration. Ever so slowly we were getting closer to the church that we could see on the other side of the large field.

Why
were there so many cars surrounding it?

We continued to hear gunshots as Jennifer slowly drove our blood splattered, white utility van towards the church. We turned onto a long dirt driveway that led to the parking lot. The gunshots were getting louder no
w, and each echoing blast vibrated the loose interior paneling of our vehicle. Trying to ignore the rattling from both the gunfire and the flat tire we were driving on, I continued gazing out of the passenger window to try and figure out what was going on at this the house of worship – it certainly wasn’t worship.

“Where are the shots coming from?” Jennifer asked.

“I think from behind the church,” I said.

While still peering at the large, white country building I noticed the gunfire had stopped.

“Keep going. We need to find out what’s going on here,” I told her.

I saw a figure walking out from among the vehicles that surrounded the church.

“Is that a freak?” she asked, bringing the van to a stop. We carefully looked closer at the figure approaching us. It was not a freak, but a man – a fellow survivor – waving at us. Jennifer carefully edged forward towards the tall man who was motioning for us to come closer.

“Stop here. I'll get out and talk to him,” I told Jennifer.

“Be careful,” she said.

“I will,” I answered. “Hold onto the dog. We don't want him getting out.”

“Here, doggy,” she called to the small tan Chihuahua as she scooped him up into her lap.

With our canine companion secured, I stepped out of the van and walked towards the man.
He towered over me as I tried to think of what to say. His black jacket and gray dress pants seemed too formal and too clean for some reason I couldn’t yet comprehend. Suddenly, he put out his hand and stated, “I'm Deacon Cooper of Harvest Church of Christian Fellowship. Welcome to our church.”

After shaking his hand I noticed a few other survivors standing some distance behind him. Two women and a man were watching us warily. The man had a gun in his hand.

“Thank you. My name is Hank, Hank Harper,” I said.

“Where are you from?” he asked while continuing to peer down at me with a cautious look.

“We’re from Sandy Hills. I worked there at the Grocery World until all of this started.” I answered.

“I've heard the cities are in terrible shape,” the Deacon said.

“They are. Sandy Hills is basically destroyed. The freaks are everywhere; the town is infested. We barely made it out of there,” I said.

“I'm glad you did. We haven’t seen anyone from out your way – it sounds terrible. This whole thing is just unbelievabl
e,” he said.

He hesitated for a moment while looking at our van. He couldn’t miss noticing the bloody handprints the freaks had smeared on our car. He looked at me with great seriousness.

“Please forgive my bluntness,” he said, “but I must ask you a question. Are you or your friend infected? Have you been bitten?” The short, heavy set man with the gun gazed at me with a serious look.

“No, we
aren’t.” I responded. “I give you my word.” I was glad to be able to give them the answer they obviously wanted.

“Ok
ay, I'm going to have faith you’re telling the truth,” he said.

Before he could say anything else, I quickly asked what had been on my mind since I saw the crowded parking lot and heard the gunshots. “How many survivors do you have here?” I inquired.

“At last count there were two hundred and twenty. We’re sharing a meal together inside, would you and your friend like to join us?”

“Sure. Yes. Thank you,” I said.

“Pull up and park over there,” he stated while pointing to an empty parking space next to what seemed to be the Sunday School building. A sign stood in front of the spot which read, “Guest Parking Only.” I walked back to the van and told Jennifer that we had been invited to eat at the church.

“Are you sure we should go inside?” Jennifer asked.

“I don't think we have much choice at this point. We can't go far in this vehicle, and we need someplace safe to stay for the night,” I said.

Jennifer passed me the dog, and she slowly drove the disab
led van to the parking spot. I decided we shouldn’t take our furry friend inside with us. I quickly threw a tarp over the supplies we had stacked up in the van and told Jennifer to keep her window cracked open so the dog could get air. Just before exiting, I decided not to take my .357 revolver with me inside. I didn’t want to seem like a threat to the people in this church. I carefully hid the revolver out of sight in the glove compartment.

“Lock your door and toss me the keys,” I said to Jennifer.

She gave me the keys, secured her door, and got out. I sat the dog down on its blanket. It whimpered as if it knew we were leaving. I gave it a couple quick pats on the head and told it we would be back. When I finally shut my door, the dog jumped up and looked at me through the window; it was not happy.

As we started walking towards the church the short stocky man with the gun approached us, along with the two women. Welcome to our church,” he said. “
We’re glad you’ll be able to break bread with us. The social hall is this way.”

They led Jennifer and me along a sidewalk that took us around the back of the church. As we walked one of the women, a middle aged woman in a flowered dress, talked quietly to Jennifer. I
didn’t catch much of what she said, because I was focused on getting a look at the field behind the church. I saw a few men dragging away the bodies of a group of freaks.

The short, fat man in denim overalls noticed I was looking at the activity in the field and spoke.

“By the way, my name is Oscar,” he said, extending his hand.

“I'm Hank.”

“I hope the gunfire didn’t spook you. Although we don't have as many of them around here as where you’re from, we still get the dead people wandering around us from time to time. It's better to take them out from a distance than to get too close, so we usually use our rifles,” he explained.

As we approached the social hall, I could see that fencing had been setup to create a perimeter around the back of the church. The gate to this makeshift fence was ahead of us.
An older man than Oscar sat in a golf cart parked beside the gate. He gave out a sigh as he stood up, leaned over and opened the gate, and let us all inside.

Dean Cooper was waiting inside the fence for us, along with a younger blond haired woman. “Welcom
e to our church,” he said, shaking Jennifer’s hand. I introduced Jennifer to him.

“Sharon, please read our guests the rules,” Deacon Cooper said to the blond woman who was holding an index card. She began to read.

“You’re our guests here, and we want you to feel welcomed and at home in the house of God. However, there is no drinking of alcohol, smoking, or gambling allowed inside. If you must participate in any such activity, please step outside to do so. Also, we ask that you abide by the rules we have set up for sleeping areas and that you attend daily services.”

“Does that sound alright with you?” Deacon Cooper asked us.

“Sounds fair to me,” I said.

“Fine with me,” said Jennifer.

“Good. I need to go and take care of some matters I’ll talk with you again soon. Enjoy your meal,” he said.

The Deacon walked away, and Oscar, Sharon and the lady in the flowered dress lead us towards the church.

Just outside the door was a group of men sitting in folding chairs smoking cigarettes while cleaning their rifles. In a far corner of the secured a small group of teenagers sat around a camp fire, passing around a liquor bottle. I saw a few other people meandering around who didn’t look like they were in an especially good mood. That was not really surprising given that an apocalypse was taking place.