Flirting With Death: Surviving The Infected Read online

  The rational part of my brain screamed in terror. How could something dead be methodically searching? The infected lifted its head, and sniffed the air, its mouth opening to expose blackened teeth, stained with something foul, as its tongue flicked the air. I realized in horror it was tasting the air, much like a snake. I held my breath. Softly, slowly, it crept towards the doorways as a trickle of fear sweat ran down my temple. I lifted the .44 beside my head, ready for the door to open.

  The zombie considered both doorways; the one I didn't open, and the one I was hiding behind. I agonized over cocking the gun, but didn't want to make a sound. My left hand held the door handle and, when the zombie tried it, I firmed up my grip. A quiet grunt, then it lifted its head again to smell the air, and opened the other door, exposing two steps leading down.

  “Must be the basement,” I thought to myself.

  I couldn't hold my breath much longer, and was starting to see spots when the thing peered down the steps into the darkness. I had seconds to react before I passed out, and tried to quietly open the door before I lost consciousness. The hinge squeaked and the infected spun. Committed now, I inhaled loudly and burst out of the pantry in a near panic. My right fist, full of Smith and Wesson, swung and hit the zombie across the cheek, spinning it. It stumbled, and I figured I had hope; I booted it in the ass and slammed the door to the sound of it tumbling down the dark stairwell.

  I almost dropped the backpack and rifle when I took the corner to the front door too fast, stumbling. An inhuman shriek erupted from the basement, and the sound of more shattering glass nearby worked to move my sore muscles into a fevered pitch. I hit the front door running as the sun peaked over the horizon, like the demons of hell were fast at my heels. I barely got the AK and backpack thrown into the passenger seat when I tore out of there, not paying attention which direction I turned. The panic finally overtook me, and the wind whipped through my hair because I had to take the top off to fit the smoker.

  M66 took me into town, and the speed I was going, I probably could have watched the gas gauge quiver as much as the buried speed gauge. When I realized I had roared into town, I slowed immediately and tried to calm my thoughts enough to look around. It was quiet, almost too quiet, but with the top off, I could hear and smell that things weren't right. I couldn't see any of the infected, but the entire town had the sickly sweet smell of meat gone bad. I knew what that smell was and once again swallowed my gorge, and looked for a good place to turn around.

  A figure ran across the street behind me, its movements blocked in the rear view by the smoker. I almost slammed on the brakes, but it wasn't the shaky, uncoordinated movements of the infected. Then again, the infected that broke into Claire's house wasn't all that uncoordinated like the ones I saw two weeks ago. It was almost normal, like a cunning intelligence had taken over its rotting flesh.

  With no cars about, I realized I could make a u-turn anywhere, and started to when young child walked out into the road and stopped, her small arm held up in the universal gesture to stop. I had been accelerating, so I had to brake even harder to avoid hitting her. The girl’s eyes opened in surprise, and I saw that the whites were almost all red, blood seeping from the edges, crusting around her mouth. I jerked the wheel roughly and swerved.

  The entire morning had gone well until that point, but when my bumper clipped a parked car in my wild maneuver to avoid the child, I realized two things. One, I forgot to put on my seat belt on in the panic, and two, she was infected. My Jeep acted like a pinball, and when the rear bumper swung around, it hit the car almost dead on, slamming me into the headrest, then rebounding my agonized body into the steering wheel.

  +++++++++++++++

  Hands were pulling at me, and the first thing I remembered was vomiting. My clothes were covered with it, and gray colored hands were trying to pull me free from over the roll bars of the Jeep. I'd taken the soft top off to fit the smoker into the back seat that I'd laid down, but the bars were too tall to get any leverage, and it also kept me out of range of the infected’s faces, and I screamed. Long, loud and clear. I needed to turn the key, start the ignition, but my eyes were blurred and I couldn't find it. I also couldn't climb into the middle, because that's where the gearshift was, and the back was full of the damn smoker. I was effectively trapped unless...

  I stood on the seat, making sure both guns were still with me. I grabbed the AK and backpack out of the seat, the .44 still in the holster. I stood up and climbed to the top of the smoker, my vision blurring and hazed in red. I wiped my eyes with my forearm, and came away with blood. No wonder. I shouldered the AK, unsure if this was to be my last stand when I heard somebody yelling.

  “Shoot them!”

  I pulled the trigger, the selector switch all the way down in what I hoped was single shot. I think the extra clips were in the backpack, out of reach for the moment. A man wearing hunter orange, his cheek half sagging off a cut over his exposed bone was the first to get hit, his head exploding in a gory smear, the infected immediately behind him jerking and falling down as well as the bullet continued through, blowing through the center of her throat. Nothing like this ever happens in the movies, and I almost puked again as a wave of dizziness rose up inside of me. I fired, again and again, bodies falling around the Jeep, only to be replaced by others.

  The entire clip was gone within a minute, almost every bullet finding a target. I couldn't miss at point blank range, but something happened that made me sure I was never leaving this place alive. The infected started climbing the bodies of the fallen, forcing me to stand on the center of the smoker, just out of reach of snapping teeth as they climbed inside the Jeep.

  Other than the voice that urged me to shoot, I hadn't seen who had shouted. I wished I had, because I didn't know which way to bail out. Right over the hood was the most clear, as the infected swarmed the sides, so I grabbed the backpack and leapt. My knees buckled as my feet hit the hood and I fell to the ground hard. I must have hit my head hard enough to concuss me, because my vision was still blurred, and I was dizzy. I staggered to my feet as the first hands found my pack and almost pulled me back down. I shouted and jerked to a side, breaking the grip and took off running.

  Feet were slapping the pavement behind me, and the rotting stench of their dead bodies was almost overpowering. I needed to find somewhere to hide, rest and get my head back, or I was dead. I barely was able to pull a new clip out of my pack and change it while running, stuffing the empty in my front pants pocket, where it was sure to crush my balls if I fell. The footsteps were closer to me, so I stopped and braced myself before turning. Figures dripping either drool or blood were close, and I clicked the selector switch up one and held the AK at shoulder height, my vision still blurring. I aimed at the middle of the bunch and pulled the trigger, trying to make a figure eight, hoping to hit everything as I was seeing double and triple at the moment. The gun fell silent, the bolt locking open once again.

  “Over here,” a voice sounded from the north side of the street, the water side.

  I stumbled that way, when two sets of hands roughly grabbed me and pulled me towards the water.

  “Hey, let me go...!” I stammered, my brain confused.

  “Don't fight us Jim, I'm trying to help,” another, separate voice told me.

  “Frank, catch his legs, he's passing out...”

  And everything went dark. Darker than when I hit my head on the wheel.

  Chapter 14 – Boat

  November 17th, 2015

  I remember holding a bucket as I puked, and soft, gentle hands wiping my brow with a damp cloth. The smell of disinfectant and the sting of alcohol as my head wound was cleaned out before being stitched was strong, almost enough to bring me out of my fugue state. I slept, awoke, slept, and lost track of time. It wasn't until a hot cup of broth was brought to my lips that I was able to focus, and I knew I was having a nightmare.

  Sarah sat at the end of the bed, a wicked smile on her face, holding the broth in one hand, the .44 in
differently. Shit!

  “Are you awake now?” she asked me, poking me with her free hand.

  “Don't shoot,” I asked, my voice cracked.

  I realized my throat was dry, and I was thirsty, almost painfully so, and my stomach was clenched up in a knot. She put the broth down on a small end table.

  “How do I know you haven't changed?” Sarah asked me, the gun now pointed at my middle.

  I had been in the middle of stretching my legs, trying to get my stomach to loosen up, but froze when the cold barrel touched my naked skin. I looked down and realized that I was completely stripped. In front of my little sister-in-law. Naked, on the bed, with barely a sweat stained sheet covering me.

  “Shit. Sarah, it's me.”

  “So, maybe zombies can talk now. They're getting better you know. Better at hiding... at setting traps.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked her as she removed the gun. I tried to sit up, but kept the sheet as close to me as I could.

  “Nothing much. Mom said you would have turned days ago if you were going to. Just wanted to mess with you.”

  “And sneak a peek.” A deep voice boomed and the color drained out of Sarah's face as she put down the .44 next to me on the bed and backed out of the room.

  I recognized that voice. It was Frank, and he was outside the room... Which was oddly shaped. The left wall was curved slightly, and the window was rounded. The paneling on the walls looked to be either teak or mahogany and the lights on the ceiling resembled a car's dome light. I was puzzling all this out when Frank walked in, closing the door behind him.

  “You're alive.” His eyes met mine for a second, then he looked away.

  “Yeah, my head hurts.”

  “Concussion, you've been out for three days.”

  “Three days?” I almost shouted and fell back on my back; my head killing me, and I scrabbled to find the bucket once again.

  When I was done, Frank continued. “How bad is it out there?”

  “You saw me surrounded?”

  “Yeah, we'd just come ashore,” he said, and I was trying to figure it out still, but it was escaping my grasp, the connection was there, but I couldn't make it yet.

  “It's bad I guess,” I said, rubbing my eyes, wishing the jackhammers would stop. “I haven't seen any by the cabin though.”

  “That's good news then. When you are safe to travel...”

  “Where are we, Frank?”

  “On my boat, of course.” Finally things clicked. Frank had his sailboat anchored in Bay City. No wonder I hadn't heard anything. The only way he could have taken it up here was to have crossed around half the state by the Great Lakes and come inland from Charlevoix.

  “Nice boat.” I mumbled.

  “Yeah. Well, it doesn't look like you are ready to move, but Katherine said if you woke up soon it was good news. We were worried that you were scrambled for good.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “Well, you didn't miss much.”

  “No?”

  “Sarah spent two days insulting and cussing you out while you were asleep.”

  “She hates me,” I told him, pulling the sheet up to my chest and trying to roll to my side.

  “No, she doesn't.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “You are a dumb ass, aren't you?”

  “What?” The question cutting through the pain. I thought Frank was pissed at me until I could see his face clearly, the small smile that touched his eyes reassured me.

  “Katherine will be in, in a minute to check on your bandages. Rest up.” Frank stood and walked out the small room.

  True to his word, Katherine was back within a minute. I tried to be witty and crack a joke, but she forced me to drink the now cool broth, the liquid salty yet glorious in my parched throat. I sighed and closed my eyes as she talked about everything and nothing at all. Their escape to Bay City, loading the boat amidst a riot, looters trying to take the boat, or barter their way for a ride out of the burning city, and the endless undead. The bigger the city, the larger the population of infected.

  She was telling me how they sailed the boat for almost two weeks to conserve fuel until they had to make a decision to come to Charlevoix. They’d known if the bridge was down, they would have to dismantle the mast and motor the rest of the way in, finding fuel where they could. If the bridge was up, they could sail right into Lake Charlevoix and motor down the channel to East Jordan. They had been lucky, and had docked at a slip when they heard my running gunfight. After pulling me to safety, they motored out to the middle of the channel and had waited for me to wake up.

  “I still can't see straight,” I told Katherine.

  “You will be able to. You just have to take it easy for a little while longer.”

  “But Claire and Justin...”

  “Who?” Sarah asked, barging back in and sitting on the foot of the bed.

  Somehow, being nude under a sheet with my mother-in-law there was only half as mortifying as Sarah's return. I knew Katherine was a Nurse Practitioner, practically a doctor by all rights, and she had probably been the one taking care of me. I looked in panic for a blanket to cover the half transparent cotton sheet.

  “Who are they?” Sarah asked again, giving my leg a squeeze. I jumped and my head swum in pain.

  “Survivors. They lived on the edge of town until two weeks ago.”

  “So you just moved them into our house?” Her accusation was loud in the air.

  “Frank said to help survivors; their house was attacked while I was trying to get the rest of their stuff...”

  “He had his reasons, dear,” Katherine told her, “besides, how many other normal people, other than looters, have you seen lately?”

  “None,” she admitted, blushing slightly.

  “Quit being such a pain in the ass then, go help your Father with something.”

  “With what?”

  “It doesn't matter. Go.” Katherine said, pointing at the door.

  When I was sure we were alone, I tried to focus on Katherine, who was sitting on the end of the bed now, her head turned.

  “She's in love with you, you know.”

  My jaw dropped. “What?”

  “Ever since you and Janie started dating. She's never talked about another boy, other than you. A mother knows these things.”

  “But she's...”

  “Shhhhhhhhhhh. I'm telling you now, that way you can figure out when the time is right to either break her heart, or fulfill her dreams. There's a load of guilt she has to swallow too, and it makes her almost unbearable...” Katherine stood up facing the door, her back to me. “Your clothes are next to you, on the floor. I'll keep my back turned, but you need to get dressed.

  “Yes Ma'am.”

  True to her word, she kept her back turned until I stumbled after getting my pants on, almost hitting my head again. She helped me get my shirt on, and kept me upright as I made my way, drunkenly, to the topside. The fresh air shot a bolt of pain in my head, right behind my right eye, but it did more to clear my head than anything else so far.

  “Kath, you have the helm.” Frank said in a low voice.

  I did a double take; both Frank and Sarah were wearing black, tactical vests with matching AKs and black semi-automatic pistols on their side. They had spare magazines sticking out of pouches in pockets of their vests. Frank was wearing yellow shooting glasses and Sarah had her hair pulled back drastically, and what looked like welding goggles over her eyes, except they had some sort of red light that flashed when I looked at them directly.

  “What, haven't you ever seen a gun before?” Sarah snickered.

  Shit! It was getting dark out, and I could see the boat moving again towards the shoreline, vague shapes moving in the dying light, mostly across the street from the marina.

  “I have, I know how to use that one in fact.” I told her pointing to the AK she held. She colored slightly.

  “Well, you can't walk straight. As it is, we
need to see if your Jeep is any good.

  “My Jeep?”

  “Bumping dock in ten seconds.” Katherine intoned.

  “Bumping dock,” Frank repeated before turning and crouching, his muscles bunching for a jump, “If we're not back in thirty minutes with the Jeep, hit the center of the channel, we'll swim out. I love you.”

  “Love you too,” Katherine repeated, then turned to Sarah. “Keep your dad safe.”

  “See you soon, Jim.” Sarah said, and then the both of them leapt off the edge of the boat.

  Katherine hurried, and got a rope around the edge of the dock, keeping the boat close to the dock, but not so close it banged against the pilings with every wave.

  Immediately, we heard a recognizable popping sound, one I had made plenty of. I couldn't focus on anything, my vision blurry, but the Andersens must have a good reason for moving at night, with me hurt, danger all around. Katherine sat beside me, taking my hand and squeezing.

  “Jim, tell me it's going to be all right.”

  “What is?”

  “Everything.”

  “Everything is going to be all right, Mom.” I told her. She squeezed my hand again and sat at the edge of the dock, her entire body tense.

  “How are they going to start the Jeep?”

  “You had the keys in your pants pocket.”

  “How?”

  “I don't know. I just know that they said your Jeep was off, and I found the keys in your pocket. If it isn't too banged up…” She paused as a long string of gunfire stretched on for seconds before continuing when the bullets stopped, “…we should be able to load up and get home.”

  “Claire and Justin...”

  “I'm not worried about that right now.”

  “But Frank and Sarah...”