Zombie Dawn (4 page)

Fortunately, Kate had freed up both the pitchfork and the hoe, and had ordered everyone back to our house.  She tossed me the hoe and quickly speared Marc with the pitchfork.  She was low, and she skewered his throat.  It was not a killing blow, but it did allow her to hold him away from her.  His girlfriend tripped for a moment over Ralph’s corpse, so I had a moment to tee off on Marc with the hoe.  Because Kate had perforated his neck with the pitchfork, I actually knocked his head off.  It dangled on his chest, its jaw still trying to bite.

I was in shock, and the girlfriend got really close to me.  Fortunately, Kate was watching and smashed her in the side of the head with the steel rake, dropping her for good.  The rake was totally lodged in her cranium and couldn’t be removed.

Kate and I looked at each other in shock.  “What the hell just happened?” she asked.

“I have no idea, maybe the SuperFlu. But that was crazy.”

There was no break, though, because we heard movement around the corner on the road.  Again, I was too out of it to move, but Kate screamed at me and got me moving back to the house.  As I took a last look down the driveway, I could have sworn that I saw Dad, Dave, the Dillons, Ralph Dorfman, and a few of the other neighbors shambling down the street towards me.

As we returned to the house, I called to Mike to bring up the guns.  He’d already brought some up and told me that Sean and Bobbie were bringing up some more.  Mike handed me three loaded magazines for the .45, grabbed his knife, and unjammed my gun. 

Mike and the kids were sort of excited.  It hadn’t fully registered with them that their grandfather was gone and the world totally changed in the past five minutes.  Mom was sobbing like her heart was broken.  The Johnsons were in a fugue state.  We literally had to move them where we wanted them.

I told Bobbie to lock all the doors and windows and pull all of the shades down then get right back to me.  I ordered Mike to get upstairs in a front window with the .30- .30 Marlin.  “Mike, you have to get headshots.  Body shots don’t put them down.” 

“Is that what happened to Papa?”

“Yeah, I guess he waited too long, and they got him before he figured it out.”

“Also,” I shouted to him, “don’t shoot anyone coming up the stairs until you know who they are.  We may be coming up there.”

I asked Kate to take Sean and guard the back of the house.  Kate had her 20 gauge pump loaded with bird shot and Sean had his .22 semiautomatic rifle.  I told them to stay together no matter what happened.    

I had no idea what to do with the Johnsons so I suggested the four of them wait in the basement.  Bill had started to snap out of it, so he asked if he could help.  I gave him a 12 gauge loaded with slugs and told him to guard the basement bulkhead door and keep an eye on the basement windows.  Bill told me that he knew about the head shots and that he would not shoot anyone coming down the interior basement stairs until he identified them.  He reminded me that he had been an infantryman in Korea.  I told him to blast anything trying to get in through the bulkhead.

My Mom was actually a pretty good shot. I figured I’d keep her busy so I gave her a 16 gauge pump and asked her to watch the windows on the west side of the house.  All we had for that one was birdshot, but that side was pretty safe because the windows were about six feet off the ground and there were only three.  I told her to shoot at eyes when she had a target.

Bobbie came back. “Dad, I locked all the windows and doors like you said and closed the blinds.”  

“Okay, Bobbie, how about Molly?”  Molly was our black lab and when I had last seen her she was out back in the fenced back yard.

“She’s out back.”  Just then, I heard Molly bark like I had never heard her before.  She actually sounded dangerous.  Not bad for a fat old girl.

Kate called out: “Jack, something is trying to get into the back yard and I think someone’s in the garage.”  I asked her to watch them and see if they could get into the fence and that I’d check the garage.  I left Bobbie watching the front door with her .22 pump since I knew Mike also had the front of the house covered.

I quickly opened the inside garage door.  There were three zombies already inside it.  I quickly took them down but it took me six shots since my training told me to shoot for center mass; only after the first few shots did I remember to go for head shots.  The zombies were stumbling around and moving slowly so the shooting was easy.  It was Ralph and two of the Dillons.  I had to drag Ralph’s body out of the way to get the garage doors closed.

I heard Mike scream upstairs.  I checked Bobbie and ran up to see Mike.  He was trembling and sobbing.  My Dad, caked in blood, torn to shreds, and clearly now a zombie, was shuffling down the driveway with about a dozen of the other neighbors.  “I can’t shoot Papa,” sobbed Mike.

“It’s okay,” I said.  “That’s not Papa anymore.  I’ll take the shot.”  Mike handed me the rifle and I did it.  It took two shots since I shot high the first time, although I did drop a zombie directly behind Dad.  It was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do.  But it really didn’t take that much thought.  It wasn’t Dad anymore and I knew Dad would have wanted it.  In fact, he would have kicked my ass for taking two shots.

Once again, the zombies immediately moved toward the sound of the shots.  If one fell, others would trip over them and they’d get tangled up but they still somehow moved toward the house.  They made a low moaning or chanting sound that got louder after they heard shots.

I heard a shot from the back of the house and told Mike to finish off the ones in front.  “Take your time and make every shot count. Don’t shoot high.  Remember that they’re moving towards you.”

Other than the fact that it was totally surreal to shoot your former neighbors, it was pretty easy.  Mike was a natural.

I heard a shot downstairs and ran down.  Kate had been carefully watching a group of zombies in the back yard.  “They reacted to each shot, but they also seemed to smell Molly.  It was like they were torn between moving toward the sound and moving toward the smell.  Finally, Molly rushed them and they rushed at the fence.  None of them tried the latch; they just walked up to it like it wasn’t there and started pawing at it and walking into it.”

Five zombies were pushing on the gate and shaking the fence.  “Why did you shoot?” I asked.

“That was Sean,” Kate replied, “He said he couldn’t wait.  He shot one in the chest.”

I turned to Sean.  “Don’t waste ammo, buddy.  If you need to shoot, make it count.”

“Sorry, Dad, I just wanted to help.”

I had a brief moment where I thought how insane it was to criticize a child for not effectively killing his neighbors.   I can’t recall reading up on that in any of the parenting magazines I read in the doctor’s waiting room.

Mike had been firing steadily and called downstairs.  “Dad, I got them all, can I come down now?”

“No, Mike, stay up there and keep an eye out.”

Kate and I had a brief discussion.  We reviewed what we knew so far:  you had to destroy the brain or upper spine to stop them; they responded to sound and smell; they kept coming with deceptive speed; their sight was weak; and, if they bit you, you would become one, too. 

We decided to bring Molly in and finish off the rest without making any noise.  We wanted to avoid attracting any more.  Who knew how many there were?  They were making noise, too, a low moaning sound that became louder when they heard or smelled something.  We were afraid their sounds would lead more zombies to our house.

Kate called Molly in.  Fortunately, she obeyed for once.  With Kate covering me, I took an aluminum softball bat into the back yard and opened the gate wide enough to let one zombie in, killing it with two solid strikes to the top of the head.  “That was easy enough,” I told Kate.  “It puts them down and can’t get stuck.  Takes a lot of power, though and it’s tiring.”

Kate remarked that we didn’t want them in the back yard because they already stank, and because we didn’t know what caused their condition or how it spread.  “That’s a good point,” I admitted. “We need to get rid of these and clean up the ones in the garage and the front yard.”

Bobbie came running up.  “Dad, can I shoot some?”

“Bobbie, do not ever leave your post again.  You could get us all killed.  Get back there and stay there until we send someone to relieve you.”

“Okay, but I want to shoot a few.”  I admit, I always had a soft spot for that kid.  Here I was considering whether to let her shoot what used to be the neighbors.  After a moment, I decided that she might need the experience.  My only defense is that I must have been in shock.

“Hold on a second,” I said.  “Kate, please get Tyler and Cody up here.  Would you watch the front door for awhile?”

“You’re going to let eleven and twelve year olds shoot them?”

“Yeah, we have to.  They may have to.  Let’s let them get some practice.”

So that’s what we did.  We quickly taught Tyler and Cody how to aim and shoot.  Each one shot a few times and finally scored a head shot.  Bobbie got two with three shots.  Sean got two with four shots.  The range was about fifteen yards.  Not bad for beginners with a .22.  At that range, the .22 did pretty well, too.  They say the slow, small bullet enters the skull and bounces around inside, scrambling the brain, because it lacks the power to blow through the other side.  Supposedly, it’s a popular caliber for Mob hits.  Seemed to work on the Zs.

Those were the only zombies we saw the first day.  I had Mike cover me while I dragged the bodies, including Dad’s, over to our brush pile.  I doused the whole thing with gasoline and lit it up.  I sobbed as it burned but it was the only thing to do.

Chapter Three:  Forting Up

After awhile things slowed down a bit.  We set people up in pairs as lookouts.  I put Sean and Mom on the quieter west side of the house, up in the attic.  From that side, we could see over towards Mom and Dad’s house, about fifty yards away and separated from ours by woods and scrub.  Everything looked quiet over there.

Bobbie and Tyler took the attic window that looked out over the garage and the east side of the house.  I had given Tyler our old bolt action .22.  It was a single shot, but they were really lookouts and were told not to shoot unless they needed to get our attention.  Looking east, there was the driveway, a lawn, and a strip of woods.  The woods ran about a half mile out to Chestnut Street, a country road that led to town, a couple of miles away.  Nothing was moving on that side.

I put Mike back in charge of the front of the house with the .30 -.30.  He had about thirty rounds with him, which I figured would be enough.  We had a few more boxes in the gun safe.

I left Cody with him.  Cody had a .410 over/under loaded with birdshot.  I spent a few minutes showing him how it worked and told him that he’d have to aim carefully and shoot only if he was within ten feet of a zombie.  I showed him a few examples of what ten feet looked like. 

We only had about twelve rounds for the .410.  It made me wonder why we’d chosen to build such a random collection of firearms rather than a few types with standard calibers.  I reminded myself that all of the guns, except for the handguns, were for recreational purposes and had been enjoyed and used over the years and bought or traded for bit by bit.  They’d have to do.  We were lucky to have them.

Bill and Mary volunteered to watch the back of the house, to the south.  Bill had the 12 gauge.  I gave Mary my .22 Browning pistol, which we used for plinking.   Bill told me that he would not let anything get the kids “no matter what.”  Mary was a tough old bird, too, and she was determined to do her part.  I was surprised how well everyone seemed to adjust.  There was just no time to think.  I suggested to Bill that he not shoot outside of ten yards, and that Mary not shoot outside of five yards.  They agreed.

Kate agreed to move around and check each group from time to time. When it was quiet, we could all hear one another and we would certainly hear any shots, but we wanted to keep in touch as best we could.  Kate was sort of a general reinforcement and communications system.  By then, I had loaded her up with the Sig 9 mil and she still had her 20 gauge.

The only weapons left in the gun safe were my brother’s .300 Winchester Magnum and an old M-14.  I was storing Jim’s gun for him because I had the best gun safe.  Seeing his gun made me wonder how he was doing.  He lived about fifteen miles away with his wife and two kids.  I needed to check on them but there was nothing I could do.  Jim had one box of 20 rounds for the .300 mag and I decided to save them for him if I could.  The M-14 was empty; I was just watching it for a client who took his third DUI and ended up in county for 90 days.  I wished I’d stocked up on some Nato 7.62s for it, but "c’est la vie." 

Jim, his wife Debbie, and his three kids lived about fifteen miles away.  Jenny was divorced.  She and her two kids lived about fifteen miles away in the other direction.  I decided to check on both of them as soon as I had the chance.

I took the opportunity to secure the basement and garage, since those areas were hardest to guard.  I had a decent wood shop and a supply of boards so I completely boarded up the basement windows from the inside, fastening the boards with three inch wood screws.  Amazingly, the kids had not been at my cordless drill recently and it went quickly.  I double checked the bulkhead door to make sure that it was fastened but I wanted to use that as an emergency exit so I left it alone.  There was an interior entry door at the bottom of the bulkhead stairs.  I beefed up the frame with some two by sixes, using four inch wood screws (the biggest I had) and attached metal L brackets, then put a couple of removable boards across the door into the brackets.  The door would be difficult to force from outside but we could still use it for an emergency exit.