Day by Day Armageddon (14 page)

  Walking up to the door, I grabbed the handle and pulled. No dice. It was going to have to be the hard way. Using the bar, I slid it between the door and the frame and began prying. I wasn't going to be surprised this time. I thought back to that Wal-Mart. Seemed like ages ago. I nervously watched the inside for movement, as I grunted and struggled with the locked door. John was becoming a good point man. He was scanning for movement, covering me. Finally after a few minutes of struggling with the door, I finally got it open.

  The store was dark and it was very warm inside. I could smell rotten fruit. I turned the light on that was mounted on my weapon. I panned the area, listening for anything out of the ordinary. John and I each grabbed carts and made our way to the canned goods section. Quietly we filled our carts with anything that could be eaten, and drank, starting with non-perishables first. All the bread was mouldy, but some of the cookies were still good. Of course, the canned goods were fine.

  The refrigerator section was totally rotten. I panned my light through the glass and saw the yellow looking gallon milk jugs, and moulded cheese. Then something else caught my eye. There was movement in the freezer. I always knew there was walk space back there for the stock-boys to stock the cold goods. It appears that the stock-boy and another friend were still in there. The light excited (hem and I could see them pounding on the shelves full of milk. In one section, one of them was crawling through the shelf to the refrigerator
door
that led to Us.

  John and I decided that it was time to leave. We wheeled our carts back to the front and I checked the area for any signs the enemy. I opened the front door and John wheeled out first. As I followed, I could see the refrigerator door open at the back of the store, and heard the sound of a body falling to the floor. I knew it was Mr. Stock-boy wanting to check and see if we were finding everything all right.

  John and I hurriedly jogged back down toward the pier. The carts were making a lot of noise, and I didn't wish to wait around and see how things worked out. Quickly, we loaded the boat with the provisions. Behind us the front door to the grocery store was creeping open and I could see the pale figure of the creature that was in the refrigerator section. John and I jumped in the boat, and I kicked us away from the dock. We paddled as fast as we could, and stopped about ten meters out from where we were tied up.

  It was time for a break. Using my knife, I opened up a can of cold beef stew and drank down the contents. John did the same. As we sat there drinking bottled water, our friend on the pier was giving us a warm bon voyage. The creature looked horrible, it was missing a right hand, and most of the jaw. It was wearing a long white apron with something written on it in blood. I pulled out my binoculars and in simple block letters it read…
"If you can read this, kill me!"

  I smiled at this and thought to myself that I would have liked to have known this man when he was alive, as I loved his sense of humour. I slung my weapon to my shoulder and selected single shot. I then took aim, and shot stock-boy in the head. John gave me a "why did you do that?" look, and I just glanced at him and said, "Professional courtesy my friend, professional courtesy."

  The trip back to our marina stronghold was uneventful. About a quarter mile from the pier, we cut the engines and quietly rowed to the dock. There weren't any of them on the shore, probably because they followed the sound of our engines away from the marina early this morning. We quietly unloaded most of the food and water. It was dinnertime for Annabelle. It's funny how she probably eats better now than she did before all of this.

  John and I talked about family. I told him that I was worried about mine, and that I doubted they lived through this, even considering their location. John told me about his son, and about how proud he was of him, and how he had gotten a scholarship to Purdue. He went on to tell me the antics of his recent family reunion and how his wife couldn't get along with his mother. John asked me why I joined the service. I told him my story of how I was a poor country boy from small town, USA that wanted to serve his country, and how I came up the hard way through the enlisted ranks. Not that it matters now what my rank is anyway.

  I'm sure somewhere deep underground in the northwest United States, rank still matters, but not here on this two-bit marina on some no name island. I went on to tell John why I didn't stay with my comrades allied base. I paused at this, questioning to myself whether or not I should have fought the good light. I told John that sometimes, I regret not going to the base with my fellow officers. The point of the matter is, I'm alive and they are not. I would rather choose "needle in a
haystack"
over "jackass in a fortress." I expressed to him that I would have to live with my decision, but at least I'm alive.

  John looked at me and said, "You speak as if I am accusing you of desertion." I apologized and told him that it was a sensitive subject. I guess I am a deserter. Who is alive to tell? I suppose if things ever get back to normal, I will… No use thinking about that.

  My heartstrings tugged at the thought of my parents being board up in their attic, praying for help. My imagination could almost see their dirty clothes, matted hair and malnutrition-riddled frames. I had to compartmentalize this thought to keep from making a bad decision. Willingly attempting to save my parents whom are hundreds of miles away would be suicide. I wonder how long it took for the devastation to reach the back woods of Arkansas? It didn't take long from the time I saw it on the news to the time it was outside on my street, clawing at my wall.

  It is a cold decision to make; however if I wish to live, I cannot let emotion tell me where to point my steps. Even in the best case, a minor lapse in judgment would mean death. If I chose to go to Arkansas to see if my parents still lived, every decision would have to be perfect, right down to where I chose to sleep at night, and where I chose to scavenge for supplies.

  What went wrong? I don't know why it has taken me almost two months to really think about it, but what sick fuck would do something like this? I assume too much. Was man reaching the level of deity? Maybe it was something larger. I don't want to think about that right now, as I would only curse and scream, and if it was something bigger, I didn't want to take the chance of this higher force reprimanding me for being insubordinate. So for now, I guess we will have our little unspoken agreement. If you exist, let’s just leave each other alone…I'll let you know when I'm ready. I don't fear the reaper.

  The coast was clear earlier today when I took Annabelle out to stretch her legs on the dock. I walked her up and down the wooden planks. I could tell she had put on a couple pounds and needed a little exercise. I kept her muzzle on to avoid any loud barking. The marina resembled a system of docks that would look like an "H" from the air. The floating marina office was attached to one side of the "H" and a single, floating ramp was the only thing that formerly connected this artificial island of wood, metal and foam to the real island.

  I walked her around the perimeter of the dock. Yesterday, I took a long fishing pole from one of the boats and tried to touch the bottom from the point on the dock closest to the shore. I couldn't touch, so that meant that the water was at least nine feet deep in that area. For some reason I feared that they might be able to wade the water and just climb up here. I felt a little more assured after my depth finder test.

  On our second walking lap around the marina, Annabelle started sniffling the wind, and the familiar scene of her hair standing up on her hack became obvious. She sensed him. The wind was blowing from the shore, and we were downwind. I picked her up and took her inside. I went to the window facing the shoreline and waited. I told John what she had done while we were outside. John and I shared the window, and just kept watching.

  The sounds came first and it reminded me of the sound of a distant street sweeper being carried by the wind. Then the mass of them came slowly stumbling and even walking by. There was no way to count them, and I knew that if they wanted, they could get to us here on the marina. When I saw them pass by our location, it reminded me of a big city marathon. All it would take would be the sheer number of them piling themselves up on the water. I was getting tired of running, but this is a big island, and I'm sure that we could never find enough weapons or ammunition to kill them all. If only we had a few more days back at the tower in Corpus to plan. John is picking up faint signals from the survivors trapped in the attic. That is another thing that is getting at me.

  John and I were monitoring the radios this morning. It seems our attic survivors are still ok. We are still unable to raise them with our transmitter. The man's name is William Grisham, and he is making all of the broadcasts. From time to time, I have heard a female voice in the background, but I can't tell if it is a child or his wife. He says that they are not infected and have food and water, to last a week, but the sounds of the corpses below are driving them mad.

  He doesn't seem to think that they can make it out alive without help. Looking at the air chart that I still have, we could take the boat back to Seadrift, then find a car there and try to make it the rest of the way to Victoria, TX. I don't even know why I'm thinking this. The whole trip looks like about fifty miles. Ten of which, are on the water. That means eighty miles of round trip danger. I can't ask John to go, and actually, I would prefer that he stayed here. John is torn between doing the right thing and possibly losing his fellow survivor, or doing the wrong thing and losing his soul. My thoughts are happening in phases. I would hate to be in that position, but I
was
in that position and I did something about it. Fuck it, I choose life.

  William has been broadcasting off and on all day. He sounds desperate. I can't stop listening because it is another human voice. I feel I must help. John and I have discussed it at length, and he will stay and hold down the fort with Annabelle. I almost feel like I am starting to get to know William. For some odd reason, lie rambled on for about thirty minutes just talking about whatever was on his mind. I assume that shock may be setting in, and he is using the radio as an emotional outlet. He spoke of his job, and how he was a chemist before all of this happened. I listened to his voice, and could almost hear his honesty and integrity about the fear of losing his family. I feel I must help. Tonight I will prepare and tomorrow I will go.

  Leaving shortly. I will be taking the boat back to Seadrift, then the rest either by car, or on foot. This could take a few days. I found a CB radio on one of the boats here. It's a little heavy, and battery powered, but when I get within range of William's radio, I will use it to try and hail him. No use going the last twenty miles only to find William and family as one of them. I have nearly 500 rounds left from what I salvaged in my rush from the control tower, taking into account the one round used to shoot the stock boy in the head. With the radio, water, weapon, rounds, food, and other small miscellaneous gear, I am carrying over 70 lbs. This is why a car would be preferable.

  My plan is to acquire a road atlas when I get to Seadrift, then "shadow" the roads all the way to Victoria (If I am on foot). I can't risk being seen by anything living or dead along the way. I will stay in contact with John as long as the hand held will transmit. I do not know its transmitting range, but I am sure I could talk to him from Seadrift, as the signal will travel further over the water.

  Last night, I was outside looking at the stars, when I saw bright green streak in the sky, similar to a shooting star. The green was probably the copper burning up inside a satellite that has long been forgotten. Only a matter of time before GPS fails, along with all other satellite based communications.

  Enough useless babble. Time to cock the hammer.

  Paddled the boat out to about 114 of a mile distance from the marina, as to not attract them to John. Had to gas up the boat last night. When I turned on the engine, I cruised west a bit to attract them away from the marina, just to give John a little more peace of mind. Didn't take long for me to reach Seadrift, as it is only about ten miles from the marina to the mainland Texas. Once again, I shut the
Bahama Mama
down, and did my best to paddle (with one oar) the rest of the way. When I reached the same marina John and I were at a few days before, I noticed that the same two creatures on the fishing boat, and the re-dead stock boy face down on the dock. He was being picked apart by a group of birds.

  Before approaching any of the docks, I tried the CB radio on the pre-selected channel that John and I agreed on. After the second attempt, I heard John's faint crackling voice asking me if everything was ok. I told him that everything was fine, and that his friends on the fishing boat were having crab this evening, and wondered if he would be attending. He laughed at this and I told him that I would get back to him as soon as I got back into range.

  I knew that there was another creature inside the grocery store. I could see faint movement on the street about 1/4 of a mile north inland. I could see what looked like another set of marina docks further up the shoreline. It was too far to paddle without another oarsman. I had to start the engine. This excited the creatures on the fishing boat, and I felt as if every set of eyes left in the world were staring at me, angry for the broken silence.