Books of the Dead (Book 1): Sanctuary From The Dead (4 page)

CHAPTER 5

A Real Horror Story

Twenty hours of the moaning and pounding set many of our group on edge.  Some of the young ones in the basement cried through the night, fearing that the zombies would get inside.  Parents sat among them, reassuring them that everything would be all right.  I wish I had someone around to comfort me with lies, too.

The sickening odor of the undead seeped in through the pores of the building, filling our nostrils, a fearful reminder of what we faced.  More than a few people gagged and wretched in those first few hours of the stand-off.

The warriors debated taking them out with marksmen, but that idea was shelved because it would make a significant dent in our ammunition supply and the shots would most likely bring in more undead.  One of the more insane ideas suggested was to pour gasoline down on the zombies and set them on fire.  Undead creatures were bad enough.  Flaming undead things added another horrifying dimension to the equation that none of us wanted to contemplate. 

We also debated using vehicles to draw them away, but since the church didn’t have a garage, all the vehi
cles sat out in the open parking lot.  Anyone wanting to get to one of them was going to have to fight through a hell of a lot of zombies.  That plan was scrapped and would only be considered as a last ditch alternative.

My recent heroic (or stupid) actions of the day got me a seat at the warrior’s table, but I remained quiet, not having enough credibility with them to really be taken seriously.  These were sober and serious guys and some of them liked to debate things ad infinitum. 

I was nearly dozing as they discussed ways to improve our horde defense strategy when I felt a hand on my shoulder.  I looked up and it was Kara. 

“She’s awake and wants to see you,” she said softly.

Half out of it, I asked, “Who?”

“The girl,” she said.

“Oh, okay.”

Kara led me down into the basement.  One of the children’s Sunday School rooms was setup as a half-baked emergency room.  Doc Wilson supervised all medical treatments.  Even though he was only a
General Practitioner, he did a good job of taking care of any injuries.  No matter what, he always did what he could and hadn’t lost anyone...yet.

Kara graduated from our high school two years after me and was off at Ashland University studying to be a nurse when things went to shit.  The best way to describe her was plucky.  At least, that’s the way I described her.  While she
didn’t have her degree and didn’t feel truly qualified to treat anyone, she never backed down from any task assigned to her by Doc Wilson.  No matter how nasty or distasteful.  Plus, she had an undeniable reservoir of optimism that never seemed to run dry.  After the Outbreak, she rushed back home to her parent’s farm and maintained her steady faith despite the fact that zombies prevented her from making it there.  Her parents, like mine, never made it to the church.

Partitions had been set-up across the room to give patients some sense of privacy.  Doc Wilson, his gray hair
dangling to his shoulders, stood with his back to us.  He sensed our approach and turned, holding up a hand.

“Joel, she’s still pretty out of it.  Nothing’s broken, but she’s had a rough go of it.   Please only stay a minute,” he said, concern creasing his face.  I nodded and went in leaving Doc and Kara standing in the doorway.

The little girl’s head was bandaged with so much gauze and tape that it was hard to see her face.  What I could see was gaunt, her light mocha colored skin tightened over her cheek bones.  Multiple scratches showed from her wreck and whatever other ordeals she had encountered prior to her race in front of the zombie horde.  Both of her hands were bandaged, too.

W
hen I sat in the chair next to the bed her eyes fluttered open.  She looked at me, her eyes initially vacant and fathomless, until a light went on behind them.  That light was dim now, but it shone through all the horrors she had experienced.

“You saved me,” she said, her voice raspy and weak.

I didn’t know what to say.  Consistent with my typical social ineptness, I said, “It was nothing.  Really.”  I was surprised I didn’t add, “Aw shucks.”

“What is your name?”
she asked.  I caught a hint of an accent -- Indian or maybe British. 

“Joel.” 

A normal person would have asked for her name, but thankfully she offered it up.  “My name is Naveen.”

Awkward silence filled the air.  “I’m glad to meet you, Naveen,” I said.  I reached to pat her hand but withdrew not wanting to hurt her
any more than she already had been. 

“My hands do not hurt that much,” she said and reached up to take my hand in hers.  It was so light and delicate that it made me think of a sparrow’s wing.  I did everything I could to limit any pressure, but she didn’t seem to care. 

“How old are you?” I asked.

“I’m eleven.”

“You look younger.”  I didn’t know if it was the right thing to say or not, but it filled the silence and she didn’t seem bothered by it.

“I am small for my age,” she said.  “I owe you my life.  You were very brave to rescue me.”

“Any one of us would have done it.”

“But I only saw you.”

“There were others.”

“You led them, though.”

“Where did you come from?” I asked. 

“We were outside a town called Lucasville,” she said.  “The, the, the...” she trailed off.  “The monsters came and filled the road.  My parents drove off into a field and we got away.  But then our car got stuck.  So we ran to a nearby house.  The people took us in.”

I’m not sure I wanted to hear her story.  She came in alone so it couldn’t be good, but I stayed and listened.  It seemed that she wanted to tell it, to get it out there.  Maybe she needed to.  I guess if she lived through it, I could hear it. I couldn’t have known then that she would never tell anyone else at the church about it.

“They were good people.  Their names were the Underhills.  They spoke of the people here at this church quite often.” 

The Underhill family had been charter members of the church and were an institution when it came to service and devotion to the congregation.  There were several branches of the family involved at the church and it was hard to swing a dead cat on a Sunday without hitting an Underhill.   None of them were at the church now.  The last we had heard from any of them was over a C.B. radio a week into the Outbreak and the signal was weak and full of static.  They seemed to be holding their own, but we never heard from them again and expected the worst.
              “You don’t have to tell me,” I said.  “We can talk later.”

The warmth of the light in her eyes dimmed, covered by a dark cloud.  Despite that desperate need to tell her story, her tone of voice was matter-of-fact, almost remote as if she were telling someone else’s story.  “No, please, I want to.”

“Okay,” I said.  “What about your parents?”

“My father worked at university.  I was born in India.  We have been in America since I was five.  He got a job at Ohio...” she trailed off, getting lost in the worst images of her past.

“Ohio State?”

“Yes.  Ohio State.  We were on our way to one of his conferences on that day.  The Underhills were so nice to us, but those monsters were all around us and food started getting low.  My father felt badly because they were so generous with us and we were taking what they had.”

“It’s okay, Naveen,” Kara said moving in beside me.  A sense of relief came over me to have ‘
a real adult’
come to the rescue.  “They did what any of us would do.”

She let out a breath and looked to the ceiling.  Then she started.

“The monsters were still out there and we couldn’t leave.  The Underhills didn’t want us to, but we couldn’t stay there forever.  That’s what my father said.  They gave us keys to a car and we left.  We thought it might be safe, but it wasn’t.  We hadn’t made it far when they came and got around the car, shaking it again and again.  We couldn’t go anywhere.  My father ran them over.  It was scary.  The car got stuck so we had to run again.  They got to my mother.  My father went to save her but couldn’t.  One of those monsters even bit him.  By then we knew what a bite meant.  We were able to get away, but he began getting sick and I didn’t like the way his eyes looked.   He found me a bicycle and told me I had to ride.  He had drawn me a map to this church because the Underhills thought it would be safe.  He told me to leave but I didn’t want to.  He slapped me.  He had never hit me ever before.  He said I had to go.  So, I did.  I rode without looking back.  I was so tired.  We had not had much to eat before leaving the Underhills.  I had to stop twice.  I hid in empty houses.  One night I heard them out there.  Walking and making those scary noises.  I knew I couldn’t stop that last day.  I had to ride.  Ride fast and long because I knew I was dying.  I hadn’t eaten in several days.  I came into this city and used my map to come here, but that’s when I saw them.  All of them.  Coming this way.  I wanted to stop and hide, but knew I might not have the strength to get back up.  So, I just kept riding.  I saw your church and knew I could be safe here.  But the bike broke and I knew they would get me.  I didn’t have the strength to get back up, but you came.”  She looked over to me and the light came back into her eyes.  “You saved me.”  Tears filled her eyes but what I could see of her face was emotionless.

It was worse than I thought.  I heard Kara stifle a sob.  I could feel tears behind my eyes, but I pushed back a full out boo-hooing session.  This kid didn’t need me breaking down in front of her. 

“I did what I had to,” I said. 

“I think I’ll go to sleep now.”

Her eyes closed and she rolled onto her side and away from us, facing the wall.  It took several minutes to find the strength to stand and leave.

CHAPTER 6

Old Fashioned Trickery

Naveen slept for the next twenty hours.  Kara stayed with her through the night and into the next day.  I came in for reports between guard duty and sleeping.  Her story haunted my dreams as I saw visions of what might have happened to my parents, making for a very restless night.

T
he dissension about bringing her into the church still rippled among some of the congregation.  I tried to block out the few comments I overheard.  Clearly, they didn’t know a tenth of what this girl had gone through.

The horde was relentless in its efforts to get at us and hadn’t left the outside of the church since we brought her in.  Through the first day, they clawed and moaned, pushing their bodies against the doors looking for any
way to get inside.  We had never figured out if they could smell the living or not.  It was a mystery as to why they remained so focused on getting to us when they showed no other higher brain functions.  Why didn’t they just wander off like any predator would when they’re quarry was out of reach?  Was it that what little memory that still remained in their stupefied brains locked in on the last possible victim? 

These were question
that seemed pointless, though.  These damned living dead things were what they were.  They didn’t change.  They knew we were there and until something better came along they would wait us out. 

We had to find a way
to wait them out or change the playing field.  That’s where I got my inspiration.  Sure, we had enough water and food to last a few weeks without forays for more, but that would run our capacity unnecessarily low.  It became clear that we had to give the idea to the zombies that there was something better worth pursuing and lead them away from the church.  I had an idea, which I took to Greg.  The debate was brief since it was the only plan we had, other than waiting them out, which no one liked.

A couple of the warriors made their case to be the point person for my half-assed idea but when the truth came down, Kara was the best shot we had.  Having grown-up out in
the sticks, she learned to shoot at a young age and had a slew of 4H Blue Ribbons in marksmanship to prove it.  

“I think that red Mustang down near 4th street looks like a good one,” I said.  We were on the roof spying possible targets, but keeping away from the edge so none of the zombies would spot us.  Every time they either saw or heard one of us on the inside, they renewed their frenzy to get at us.  It was unsettling
, especially to the young kids, when the zombies got frantic; but in truth, a horde of frantic zombies would cause even the most composed person to freak out.  While they weren’t actively making any real progress to get inside, they still milled about in front of the church, waiting, eternally patient.

“No way,” Frank said hovering over me. “There’s a Caddie in front of the old bus station that would be better.”

“While we don’t have one shot at this, we can’t take a bunch of shots or else it could defeat the purpose,” Greg said.  “What do you think, Kara?”

“Will this even work?”
she asked, then added, “And where do I shoot a car to set off its alarm?”

“I would guess the front,” Greg said.

“If that’s the case, then I’d say the Cadillac.  I have a better angle on its front,” she said.

Frank stuck his tongue out at me.  What a child. 

I flipped him off in return.

We brought up a small riser from the sanctuary to elevate Kara giving her the best angle for the shot.
As a final step, we sat Pastor Steven’s portable pulpit on it to give her something to balance against as she aimed.  It took a good five minutes to get the contraption situated.  We weren’t really in a hurry, but there was a slight tension in the air as we readied Kara for her shot. 

It was all in her hands as she mounted the platform.  She started to work her way into a shooting pose, but stopped.

“You guys want to pray with me or lay hands on me or something?  I’m really nervous.” 

“There’s no need to be,” Greg said.  “You have a good line of sight and we all know how good you are.”

“But still...” she said.

“Well, never let it be said that I have
an objection to prayer,” he said leaning forward and putting a hand on her shoulder.   Frank followed Greg’s lead.  I was feeling like the odd man out.  Prayer was always a struggle for me.  My attempts at public prayer always came out as feckless or self-serving.  “God, help me do well on this exam.”  “God, please help Julie Anderson notice me.”  “God, don’t let me continue being a hopeless loser.”

Greg started, “Please Lord, give this girl a true and steady aim.  Please give that battery
enough of a charge to allow the alarm to ring loud and clear.  And please get these stinking undead things the hell away from the church.  Amen.”

Short, sweet, and to the point. 

“Thanks,” Kara said.

She eased into a shooting position and swiveled a kink out of her neck before finally settling in.  I saw her left eye close and I knew that she was just about to fire. 

There was the crack of the gun and the next thing we heard was the shrill squealing of the Caddie’s car alarm. 

She is a helluva shot or maybe it was the prayer.  I’d like to think both.

We held back any cheers of victory and eased our way over to the edge. 

It took a minute or two before the zombies reacted, but a few broke from the crowd in front of the church and headed towards the sound of the alarm.  A few seconds later two dozen more followed and then most of the horde moved away from the church with only a few holding tenacious
ly to the intent of getting at us. 

With flocking birds
it’s called a murmuration.  A large flock will break from a land location and fly into the sky moving in a swarm-like motion, swaying back and forth like a single column of blackness.  As I watched the horde move away it was much like that.  They broke apart as a group with individuals moving off but then came back into the fold, an amorphous conglomeration of dead flesh shambling along with a seemingly collective purpose. 

The Caddie sat only three blocks from the church and it was the consensus that we wanted a horde this size a lot further away.  Per the plan, as soon as the last stragglers moved away, Mike and Logan ducked out a back entrance and got into one of the SUVs
. 

By now it was safe for us to go to the edge of the roof to watch.

“You guys ready to commence?”  Greg asked into a walkie-talkie.

“We are ready,” Mike came back on his walkie-talkie.  “We’re going to lead them down to Chil
licothe Street and then out to the west side.”

“Stay in radio contact at all times,” Greg said. 

“Will do.”

“Good idea, Joel,” Greg said giving me a nod.  Frank slapped me on the back with one of his meaty hands and nearly sent me sprawling.  I know he
put more into it on purpose.  I wanted keep my macho street cred up, so I said nothing.  “We need to set-up a few of these cars around the church in case this happens again.”

Kara came up and patted me on the shoulder and I felt an uncomfortable warmness in my cheeks.

Mike and Logan drove the SUV down a small street leading and then circled around to get to the west of the zombies.  By now, the horde had enveloped the Cadillac, pounding and clawing at the wailing vehicle.  Some of them were trying to climb over the others to get at the source of the sound, hoping for a tasty meal to come from inside, the car becoming the equivalent to a can of fine tuna.

As soon as Mike and Logan were in position
, just a block away from the horde, they sounded their car horn.  It took a good twenty seconds for the zombies to react.  Logan jumped out of the passenger door and made a war whoop that we could even hear over the car alarm and the honking. 

The whoop definitely got the zombie’s attention as several of them broke from the mob and started toward the SUV and the man waving his arms frantically -- a fresh meal, ready and waiting.  The only thing they had to do was catch it.

Logan jumped back inside and Mike slowly led the parade of zombies towards the downtown area.  The horde staggered toward the SUV, blindly following it down the street.  It was like a macabre parade, zombies stumbling along bouncing off parked cars with the sole intent of getting a bite of a delicious Logan sandwich.  Mike played it safe always keeping a half-block distance between the back of the SUV and the throng of undead.

Unconsciously I began whistling “When the Saints Go Marching In” and got a few bars in before I caught Greg’s unappreciative stare.  I cut off my whistling.

Mike moved towards the west side bridge that would lead them out of town.  It was a slow process that required a lot of patience on Mike’s behalf; most people would just jack-rabbit out of there, but Mike was one of the coolest people I’d ever seen under pressure. 

It took a half hour for the SUV with its trailing zombie horde to make it to the bridge.  The SUV was a distant speck through the binoculars when it sped away from the throng and off to the west side where they would double back and back to the church and home.

After their potential source of food sped away, the zombies continued to follow for another mile, but then the horde broke up into aimless small packs heading off into different directions.  We lived to fight another day.