Survive (16 page)

“Yeah, you know, long haired, unwashed, unshaven hippies?” He smirked. “They’re pretty dangerous, with their free love and hemp shirts. You have to watch them or they’ll hit you with a flower.”

Sara groaned. “
That’s
what she meant by sandals and socks! Seriously?! How do you people... I mean... UGH!”

John laughed as Sara fumed. He pulled her down onto the bed. She forgot what she was fuming about a few moments later.

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Blue skies without a single cloud covered the couple as they made their way through the stalls of the Brattleboro farmers’ market. John carried a canvas sack over one shoulder, half full of cucumbers and tomatoes. He carried a big gallon jug of maple syrup in one hand, and held Sara’s with the other. They reached a table covered in gourmet cheese, and Sara let go of John’s hand to better peruse the offerings.

John’s phone vibrated silently in his pocket, indicating a new message had arrived. He turned away from Sara and pulled his phone out, flipping it open.

John, my name is Albert Johnson. We met at the last meeting, I was the guy with the Mack Truck hat. You seem like a decent guy with your head on straight. I’m an officer in the group, a member of the council, and after talking with you, I think you might just be the voice of reason I need to back me up on the council. We have too many hot headed people that actually want the end of the world to happen so they can justify all the money they’ve spent on ammo over the years. We have one seat open, and I want to nominate you. Some people owe me some favors, so if you’ll take the job, it’s yours. I will warn you, things are getting a little weird. Some of the groups out West that we are allied with are starting to get restless. There’s talk of an anonymous backer with some big bucks looking to arm and equip some of the more radical groups. If you take the seat on the council, I need you to vote against getting involved with any of that crap. You and I both know that those people are nothing but racist animals. They are no more what the founding fathers intended than those apes in Washington. John, some of these people can be dangerous when they don’t get their way, but I get the feeling you can handle it. Let me know as soon as possible. My screen name is Jcon14.

John flipped his phone closed.
What the hell did I get involved in?
he thought to himself. Sara turned to him, a big wedge of smoked Vermont cheddar in her hand. “Everything all right, babe?”

He smiled and nodded. “Of course. It was just spam.”

* * *

John and Sara spent the rest of the morning walking through downtown Brattleboro. Sara enjoyed the little shops up and down Main Street. They ate lunch in a little deli overlooking the Connecticut River. They met up with Jesse and Jen for iced coffee after lunch. Jesse was wearing a dirty softball uniform with an unreadable company logo on it.

“How was the game?” Sara asked as they sat down at the table.

Jesse grinned. “We lost, but I hit a home run. Right out of the park. It broke a window on a car driving past.”

John laughed. “Sweet!”

Jen scowled. “Not really. We have to pay for the broken windshield.” She kicked Jesse under the table.

Sara and John both laughed as Jesse rubbed his ankle.

They chatted for a while, until Jesse and Jen had to leave to pick up their children from Jen’s parents. They said their goodbyes and John and Sara headed for home.

That night, sitting in the hot tub on the deck of the little apartment they shared, Sara turned to John. “I hope your family likes me.”

John laughed and waved steam out of his face. “Sweetheart, the whole weekend went really well. They all love you. The twins want you to come up so they can show you how to can.”

“Can?”

“Yeah, can vegetables, fruits, whatever. Though I don’t know why they don’t call it jarring instead of canning. They don’t even use cans.”

Sara didn’t know what to say to that, so she deftly changed the subject.

“I spoke to the realtor today. She has a couple of houses for us to look at tomorrow. Hopefully, we can be moved in somewhere nice before the wedding.”

John nodded as he felt Sara’s hand rest on his leg. “I love the hot tub, but this apartment is so small. I never planned on staying here very long, but then I met you, and school is so expensive...well, it’s served it’s purpose, I think.”

Sara stood up and got out.

“Hey, where are you going?” John asked as she slid the glass doors open and walked inside, her bathing suit dripping water all over the carpet.

“I’m going to put some brownies in the oven. I’ll be right back.”

John smiled, sinking back into the warm bubbles.
I love my life
, he thought.
I am a very lucky man
.

A few minutes of mixer-noise later, Sara stepped back out onto the porch and back into the hot tub. They sat together enjoying each other’s company and staring out over the lights of the little Massachusetts town. Time passed as they enjoyed the bubbling water together.

Suddenly, Sara sat upright, water splashing over the side of the tub. She looked at the glass doors at exactly the same moment the smoke detector started blaring.

“John, we’ve got a big problem!”

Chapter 11

September 25, Zed Year One

Brattleboro, Vermont

Douglas pulled John aside as folks started helping the children out of the back of the dump truck. From the corner of his eye he saw Sara and Dierdre herding children away from the truck, chatting amiably with the little ones. He pulled his attention back to Douglas, noticing the sheen of sweat on the man’s face. “Whoa, slow down, Doug, what’s wrong?

“I’ve been on the radio all day with survivors just south of us. I was trying to convince them to come join us, you know? I found a bunch in the elementary school in Guilford, a group of townspeople who got there and locked it up tight.”

“Oh yeah? Hey that’s great, Doug. Good work. We’ll go get them in the morning.”

Douglas shook his head. “That’s not it. Between those and some folks in Massachusetts, I figured out that these things, the Zeds, seem to be gathering into bigger and bigger packs. I talked to someone who saw two packs of them join together.”

John frowned. “Okay, that’s bad, but we’ll...”

Douglas grabbed John’s arm. “Shut up and let me finish! John, one of these packs went through Guilford today, just a couple of hours ago. I was on the radio with them when the pack hit. They counted thousands. Thousands!”

John looked down at Douglas’ hand on his arm. He looked back up at his cousin and raised his eyebrows.

Douglas pulled his hand away from John. “They wiped everyone out. They poured into that school and ate everyone!” He raised his voice hysterically.

“Calm down, Doug. That’s pretty awful, but that’s miles away from here.”

“No, John, I told you, I’ve been on the radio with other survivors. They’ve seen the pack, and it’s heading right for us.”

John looked over in the direction of the southern barricade, manned by the Kensingtons. Just then, the first sounds of gunfire rang out into the afternoon.

“Oh crap.”

* * *

The last of the children were chaperoned into the old hunting shack. John took Sara aside as she and Dierdre walked behind the children, followed by Margaret.

“That hunting shack is the farthest house in the valley, they’ll have to come through everyone else to get there. Stay with your mother and protect the children.”

Sara looked like she was about to argue, but caught herself as she saw her mother awkwardly carrying the rifle she’d been given. “Alright. Be careful, please. I don’t know what I’d do without you, John. I love you.”

“I promise. I love you, Sara.” He kissed her hard on the lips, before releasing her. As she ran after her mother, she yelled, “Princess! Fish!” Both dogs streaked after her, the fur on their backs bristling.

“Everyone who’s able, grab all the ammo you can carry and get into Truck’s pickup or Morgan’s. Everyone else, get inside and lock the doors.”

John watched as his mother, June, and May Mason both locked themselves inside, each holding a rifle in shaking hands. Almost everyone else in the clan, including the newest residents, jumped into the two trucks.

“Jose, grab your gear and go protect your mom and the kids.” John pointed off toward the shack in the distance. Jose looked at him, then toward the sound of gunfire. He frowned and kicked the side of a nearby car.

“COME ON!” He yelled angrily.

“God damn it, Jose, I don’t have time to argue. Take Tina and get over there.”

Jose roughly grabbed Tina by the arm and dragged her after him. She smacked him soundly in the back of the head as they walked. They could be heard arguing even over the sound of gunfire and the roar of the two pickup’s engines.

John climbed into the back of Morgan’s pickup and they headed toward the southern barricade. John flicked his radio on. “John Mason to any Kensington listening. We’re on our way.”

The radio crackled back immediately. “Jack here, we need help! More of those things than I can count over here, and no end in sight.”

The gunfire grew more frequent as the two pickup trucks arrived at the barricade. Jack Kensington, both of the Jamaican farm hands, and two older men stood atop the shipping container container that served as their only protection, firing down. Even before the engines were shut off, the moans of the undead were deafening.

John ran for the ladder and started climbing. As he reached the top, he watched in horror as a Zed leaped over the bodies of other Zeds, hit the top of the barricade, and lunged at one of the older Kensingtons with such speed that John could barely follow it. The man was down before John cleared the top, his throat ripped out, a fountain of bright red blood shooting straight up in the air. A barrage of gunfire tore the Zed apart moments later, but not before the damage had been done.

Jack yelled, “Dad!” and ran to the old man. He pushed the Zed off the side and pressed his hands into the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. As the blood stopped flowing, John grabbed hold of Jack’s arm and pulled on him. Jack turned angrily towards John, blood covering him from fingers to elbows.

John yanked Jack out of the way as the man who used to be Jack’s father sat up. Jack turned as he fell, just in time to watch John shoot the Zed.

“NO!” Jack yelled, reaching for John, but he saw that it was too late. He picked up his gun and aimed it at John. “Down!” he yelled.

John dropped to the ground as Jack fired, hitting the Zed again, finishing the job John had started. He screamed wordlessly as the Zed fell off the side.

Roger stood next to John, offering his hand. “Jesus that thing was fast. I didn’t know they could jump like that.”

“Neither did I. This is bad.”

As John stood up and looked out over the road on the other side of the barricade, a horrific sight greeted him. For as far as he could see back up the little road that led south, Zeds flowed like water towards the barricade. Most were the shambling, mutilated and decaying monsters, but many, far too many, were running and leaping over their brethren to get at the living flesh waiting on top of the thin steel shipping container. John stepped aside as more of the Mason clan climbed to the top. They spread out as best they could on the little metal roof.

Jack Kensington nodded to John. “Thanks for showing up to our little shindig. Wish you’d been a little quicker getting here.”

Suddenly the weight of the Zeds pushing against the container started moving it. It jerked a few inches, surprising everyone on top. One of the Jamaicans happened to be standing too close to the edge. As the container jerked from underneath him, he toppled over the side. The Zeds below swarmed him within seconds, drowning out his screams.

“Morgan, get that truck up here, push the barricade back!” John yelled over to Morgan. The young man jumped down off the container and ran to his truck. He started the engine, slammed the truck into gear and drove right up to the container. He set the bumper against the steel wall and gently nudged the container back into place. He set the parking break on the truck and climbed back up onto the barricade.

John fired round after round into the sea of Zeds on the road in front of him. Each shot hit a Zed, sometimes going through one and into the next. But as each Zed fell to the ground, two more shambled forward to take its place. And more disturbingly, John watched as another one of the faster Zeds jumped up onto a slower Zed and leaped for the top of the container. He fired twice, catching the Zed in the shoulder with the first shot. The second shot blew the back of its head off, showering the Zeds beneath it with bloody tissue.

John looked around him at his family and friends.

Jack Kensington stood at one end of the container, a solid, angry, heartbroken anchor against the encroaching undead. He fired rapidly, his military training guaranteeing every shot to hit his target.

Next to him, Roger fired more methodically, taking more time to hit the moving targets. Morgan stood right next to his father, a Glock pistol in each hand and a canvas backpack full of extra magazines at his feet. He fired round after round from the little black pistols at the closest Zeds. One of the faster ones tried climbing up the side of the container, using the bodies of the downed Zeds as steps. Morgan fired both pistols into its head, driving it back to the ground.