Sometimes We Ran (Book 1) (13 page)

“Thanks, John. Goodnight.” Claire’s eyes were already looking a little heavy.

“Goodnight. Sleep tight.” All of a sudden, I was pretty tired myself.

Before I went to bed, I checked all the exits to make sure everything was secure. Finding everything satisfactory, I climbed into a rickety cot and covered myself with a blanket. I made sure my gun was close at hand. I didn’t want any nasty surprises in the night.

We laid in the dark for a few minutes. Outside, another storm was raging. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed over our heads. I could hear the rain bouncing off the roof. It almost sounded like machine gun fire.

I heard Claire say, into the darkness, “John, are you still awake?”

“Yes Claire. I’m still awake. Are you okay?” One thing about Claire, she didn’t always go to sleep right away.

“I’m okay. I just wanted to ask you about something.”

“Ask away.” Sometimes her nighttime questions were tough to answer. Claire could get a little philosophical before she went to bed.

“I just wanted to know if we’re doing all right. I mean, I know we’re alive and all, but are we doing okay? You think we’ll ever find a safe place to stay permanently?”

It was another deep question. I thought for a minute, than answered, “Well, we got hot food and a warm bed with a roof over our heads, so I guess we are doing better than some people. As for a safe place, I don’t know. Maybe there’s a place out there somewhere. We just have to stay alive long enough to find it.”

My answer seemed to satisfy her. “Oh …Well then I’m glad we’re together. I would hate to go through this alone.”

I knew how she felt. Before I found her, I was very alone.

I heard Claire breathing deeply, so I knew she was asleep. I drifted off a few minutes later. Outside, the storm was reaching its peak. I hoped the rain would end soon. Even though it kept the undead at bay, it was a getting a little depressing.

Claire and I wound up staying at the firehouse for about two weeks. We had warmth, food, water, and a dry place to sleep, so we weren’t in any particular need to hit the road. Also, for the first time in a long time we had a place to take a shower. We limited our showers to about ten minutes to make the remaining water last for a good while. After cleaning out the bodies of the two zombies I had killed, it even began to feel a little cozy.

Claire and I quickly settled into a routine. We would get up in the morning for a quick patrol around the firehouse. We looked for any approaching groups of undead on the road, and checked for any supplies in some of the wrecked cars. After coming inside from our patrol, we would take our showers, and then came breakfast, usually an MRE or some of Claire’s pancakes cooked on the wood stove.

After that, well, there really wasn’t much to do. Funny thing about the end of the world, it can get a little boring. If you’re not running for your life or scrounging for supplies, you wind up sitting around with nothing to do. Who knew there would be some downtime during a zombie apocalypse? The fact is, without radios, computers, cellphones, or any of the other million things we used to entertain ourselves, life could get a little quiet.

By the third day, Claire and I had read all the magazines and books that we could find in the firehouse. To pass a little more time, we fiddled with the radio in the dispatcher’s office. It was hooked to few a car batteries that still had a little charge. Claire and I knew next to nothing about radios, but that didn’t stop us from flipping the switch and turning the frequency dial up and down. We found mostly static or complete silence. On one channel, I thought I heard someone say “California,” but I think it was my overactive imagination.

About the fourth or fifth day, I found a deck of cards and taught Claire how to play poker. At first, Claire couldn’t remember what hand beat what, but soon she got the hang of the game. We used meals-ready-to-eat as poker chips. One hand, I raised her a “Chicken with Vegetables,” but she beat my two pair with a full house and I lost the meal. During our stay, she became a real card shark.

We played checkers and other games to pass the time. Claire gave me a haircut. She said I was starting to look like a homeless man. Claire let it slip that her 23rd birthday had come and gone, so we celebrated over an oatmeal cream pie. Claire thought it was great, but no matter how much she begged, I was not going to sing “Happy Birthday.”

We looked in the lockers and trunks of the firehouse. We were mainly looking for clothes, but actually we were just nosy. Most of the clothes we found didn’t fit anyway. Claire could wear most of the shirts we found as dresses.

Sometimes we just talked. We talked about our old lives, our friends, or what we thought the future held for both of us. The conversations could get real deep, or they could be mundane, idle conversation. When we weren’t talking, we were resting. It was good to conserve our energy for any horrors we might encounter.

It was during the second week that the rain and thundershowers finally stopped. This was a mixed blessing. The rain made it tough for us, but it really screwed up the senses of the zombies and gave us an advantage. With the rain gone, they would be back to normal. Still, it was nice to see the weather clear up a little.

Although the rain was gone, it was replaced by a low-hanging gray fog that obscured everything around the firehouse. Sometimes it was so thick we couldn’t even see down the road in either direction. I don’t know why the weather was so messed up, but I considered the fog a good thing. It was good camouflage.

Claire wasn’t a big fan. “What the hell is the deal with this fog? Are we in London or something?” she said during one of our excursions outside.

I lowered my binoculars. “Well, it is pretty thick …almost like smoke. It keeps us hidden.”

She thought about my point for a minute. “I guess you’re right. You know we can’t see anything coming, right?”

I hadn’t thought of that. I hoped nothing was watching us from inside the thick fog banks swirling around the firehouse.

Claire got cold, so she went inside to fix her world-famous chocolate chip pancakes. I stayed outside to continue my lookout. The sun had peeked out a bit, and was starting to burn some of the heavy fog away. The visibility was slowly improving.

I swept my binoculars along the rows of wrecked cars and trucks. Nothing was moving, except for the crows and other birds feeding on the dead bodies and other things on the road. I checked the fields and trees beyond the road. There was no movement there, either. I swept back to the road, and that’s when I saw someone or something walking among in the wreckage.

It was human in form.

I thought no one was around. I strained my eyes to see if it was a zombie or a living being. Whatever it was, it was walking down the road looking down at the ground, so I couldn’t get a good look at it’s eyes. I saw it stop at a flipped-over car and bend down to check it out. It was definitely another survivor. It was a male, about middle age, wearing a gray trench coat over orange coveralls.

I sprinted to a hiding place among some small bushes, and then continued my lookout. I scanned our new fellow survivor for weapons, but saw none strapped to his body. That didn’t mean he wasn’t carrying. Weapons could be easily hidden.

Our new friend slowly walked up the road, checking out the wrecked vehicles. I saw him pick up a few things and put them in a small backpack. Suddenly he stopped, and started concentrating on the ground. He bent down to take a closer look, then began following something on the ground.

It occurred to me what he might be following. Claire and I must have left some sort of a trail. He had a road map right to our front door. As if he could sense where I was, he looked up in my general direction and spotted the firehouse. He broke into a trot and turned towards my hiding place. We were going to have company.

I ran inside to rouse Claire. She was at the stove, happily cooking up some pancakes. I hated to give her the bad news.

“What’s the matter? You look a little upset,” she said with a little concern.

“Someone’s coming up the road and he knows we’re here.” I hid my rifle and shotgun in different locations in the cot area. If we had to retreat inside, at least we’ll have a few weapons.

“Another survivor? You mean someone alive and not dead? Maybe they’re friendly,” she said, grabbing her bat.

“Maybe, but don’t count on it.” I answered, getting my handgun ready for action. “I’ll talk to him and see what’s up. It’s best we don’t look too aggressive.” Claire nodded that she understood.

We ran to the door and looked out the window. About fifteen minutes later, our fellow survivor walked into the driveway of the firehouse. I got my first close look: definitely male, about thirty to forty years old, with a gray trench coat, stained orange coveralls, and a small backpack. His feet were wrapped in dirty bath towels tied up with some old cord. I guess his shoes must have given out. He didn’t look armed.

He glanced at the roll-up doors, then made a beeline for the door we were hiding behind. I pulled my handgun and got ready. He started to grab the handle, but then thought better of it and walked a few feet away from the door. It looked like he might just move on down the road.

No such luck. “I know you’re in there,” he said in a loud voice. “You might as well come out and talk.”

I put my gun away and turned to Claire. “I’m going outside to have a little conversation with this guy. You stay here and keep a lookout. If anything happens to me, you get the hell out of here.”

“The heck with that, I’m coming with you. You may need some help,” she whispered back.

We didn’t have time to argue. “No way. You stay here and watch.”

Claire wouldn’t let it go. “What if he’s armed? If he smokes you, I’ll be trapped in here.”

It was against my better judgment, but I relented. “You stay near me and don’t say a word. Understand?”

Claire nodded in agreement. She looked a little shaky.

I pushed the door open to meet the first live human being I’d seen since I found Claire at that long-ago intersection. “Ah, there you guys are. I thought someone was here,” he said in a somewhat friendly tone. “My name is Glenn.”

I eyed him carefully. “I’m John, and this is Claire,” I said, nodding in her general direction. I took off my glove, and extended my hand for a handshake.

He left me hanging, and didn’t shake my hand. My senses went into overdrive. Something wasn’t right.

Glenn moved in closer. “Wow, she’s a real cutie. Found yourself a little road companion, huh, John,” he said with a little smile. His comment and slick smile instantly sent shivers up my spine.

“She’s a friend. Are you armed?” I got right to the point.

Glenn showed me his hands, palm out, and stepped to conversation distance. “Whoa, big fella. I’m not armed unless you count this little dull carpet knife on my belt. I’m like you …just walking around.”

The tone of his voice was a little slimy. I made sure he caught a glimpse of my gun. “Where are you from, Glenn?”

He turned and pointed down the road. It was the direction that Claire and I had come from. “I came from that way. It’s pretty rough down there,” he said turning his attention back to me.

The conversation was going nowhere, and I still didn’t trust him. “So Glenn, you need something or are you just passing through?”

He laughed a bit. “Well, I could use a little food and water. My cupboards are a little bare.” He started to fidget a little bit. He also began to flex his hands and look around a lot. Something was about to happen. I moved my hand closer to my gun.
Here we go.

Claire chose that moment for some misguided charity. She stepped out from behind me and said, “We have a little food. We can give you some.”

Glenn’s face broke into a greasy smile. “Well, little girl, it doesn’t exactly work that way. You and your lover boy here are going to drop your weapons and leave. I’m going to need to take it all.”

I put my hand on my gun and said, “Now, you know that’s not going to happen. We’d be happy to share with you. No violence necessary.” We stared at each other like two gunfighters from the Old West. Each of us was waiting for the other guy to make a move.

Glenn moved first.

He lunged at Claire so quickly that I didn’t even have time to pull my weapon. He grabbed her by the collar of her denim jacket and dragged her to his side. He then pulled his carpet knife and jammed it into Claire’s throat. I pulled my gun and drew a bead. He was using Claire like a human shield. I couldn’t fire without hitting her in the face. Claire yelped a bit as he jostled her around. He was hurting her.

Glenn’s eyes were wild with fear and desperation. “Okay sporto, this is how it’s going to work. You drop your gun, or I slice up your little bitch here and watch you cry over her dead body. Got it?”

I had no choice, so I started to put my gun down. “That’s it …very smart. I would hate to kill her. She looks like she is a real tiger in the sack,” Glenn said with a laugh. This guy was a real slime-ball. Just like all the rest of them out here. If he hurts so much as an auburn colored hair on her head, I would kill him.

Glenn was concentrating so hard on disarming me that he forgot about Claire. She went into action. First, it was an elbow into his midsection, and then came one of her signature moves.

She kicked him right square in the nuts. It was a strong blow for such a small girl.

Glenn fell to the ground, clutching his injured crotch. “You little bitch!” he yelled. “Now I am really going to kill you. I am going to slice your goddamn throat open.” He started to get up. Claire started to get away, but tripped over her own feet and fell. Glenn reached for her leg with his carpet-cutter in his hand.

Now it was my turn. I rushed over and kicked Glenn in the ribs. He flipped over onto his back, with his arms outstretched. I stepped on the arm with the cutter in it, kneeled down, and jammed my gun into his head. I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled his head off the pavement. My gun was jammed so far into his head it left an impression in his skin.

I leaned down close and decided to tell him a few things. “Still want to cut her throat, Glenn? Is that what you want to do?” I said angrily through clenched teeth. He started begging for his life, but I wasn’t through talking yet.

“It’s not enough that I lost my wife and everything I held dear, but now you come along and try to take my friend away from me. She’s one of the few reasons for me to keep going in this otherwise fucked up world, and you wanted to kill her. Give me a reason Glenn, any reason at all, not to blow a hole in your fucking head, and throw your worthless corpse in the road for the crows!” Eight months on the road running from bad guys had changed me. I was not the happy-go-luckylovable freelance telecom engineer I used to be, and I was absolutely not bluffing.

Glenn was about to die.

I shot a quick glance at Claire. She was standing there, frozen in fear from what I was about to do to Glenn. I hadn’t told her about all my past adventures on the road. I really didn’t want to relive them anyway. The fact is, sometimes you have to kill to survive. After the outbreak, every geek, punk, or loser in the free world thought they could take over. They would gather up weapons, and terrorize everyone else into giving up their stuff. They didn’t want to work together. They would often kill you as much as look at you.

In the early days of the apocalypse, you took the high ground and you didn’t kill. Eventually, after other survivors repeatedly try and kill you, it’s every man for himself, and you start defending yourself. It eats you up inside, but all too soon it becomes easy. The guilt and remorse you used to feel after murdering someone is replaced by a primal, almost animal, need to survive.

I had killed before. There was the guy a few months ago that jumped me out on the road. I jammed my knife in his chest and watched him die calling for his dead mother. Then there was the husband and wife team that tried to burn down a store while I was inside resting for the night. They got my backpack, but didn’t get away. I put a bullet into the back of each of their heads as they tried to escape. In both cases, I was almost on autopilot. Glenn was just another loser in a long line of losers, and he deserved to die.