Some twisted part of my mind brought an image of those zombies snapping around to the camera in that video, Thriller. The stench, coupled with the various injuries each one had, almost made me puke. That was when I made the first of many mistakes that would almost kill me that day.
I ran for the front door.
Standing right there, I still don’t know how I didn’t hear him pounding on the door (it was smeared with gore from the zombies partially eaten hands). He was a heavy-set, middle-aged man. I punched him out of frightened reflex. That did absolutely nothing. It grabbed me by one arm and leaned in to bite. I was jerking back as I shoved the pistol in its mouth.
Mistake number two: check the safety.
So I’m jerking away trying to break this thing’s grip as I kept squeezing the trigger with no results. It finally dawned on me to check the safety as a handful of those things are closing the distance across the yard. I know I have at least three at my back, but have no idea how close they are to me. I flipped a switch just above the trigger-guard and squeezed. The ‘pop’ was unimpressive in stature, but it isn’t the size of the bullet.
That thing dropped like a rock…and pulled me with it. I jerked free and rolled away, coming up to my knees. By the glow of the flames, I saw them. I was now the hub of their attention in every direction. They were walking away from whatever had initially drawn them, and were coming for me.
One was closing in, but still almost ten feet away. I brought up the pistol and…
Mistake number three: do not shoot unless absolutely necessary.
Now every head in and on the block turned my way. Also, from further up and down the street, more of them turned and headed my direction.
I began running for my car as fast as I could.
Mistake number four: one of those things stepped out from behind a truck and knocked me on my ass. That was how I lost my pack and all my supplies.
Mistake number five: zip and secure any sort of carry bag you are using to transport supplies in. Stuff spilled everywhere. Then, a couple of those things were on me. Fortunately, they had a handful of backpack. I shrugged out of it and rolled away. Once I made it to my feet, I continued…carefully.
Finally, I reached the car and was on the move. I had to plow, slowly at first, to get through a fairly impressive number of them. I crossed the field and made it back on to the highway. I think that explosion drew a lot of attention because the road seemed much clearer. There were stragglers here and there, but nothing I couldn’t navigate past.
It only took a couple of hours to reach as far as I could on Highway 26. About four miles from Banks was what had been some sort of National Guard roadblock. The woods made it impossible to simply drive around, and the roadblock covered the east and west bound lanes. I would have to continue on foot.
I had plenty of those things on my trail, coming in a mob down the highway in my wake. Also, there were some coming from in front of me. I took the only route that made sense…I made for the woods.
Typical of this time of year, it was cold and rainy. But I had enough daylight to see by. The woods actually kept me out of the worst of the weather. A few stragglers were in the pines, but I had no trouble keeping out of their sight. Late yesterday afternoon, I reached my destination.
In what was one of my greatest strokes of luck, I reached the edge of the clearing that surrounds the distribution complex as a team of five people came out to dispatch the thirty or so zombies that had begun to congregate at the fence. They were using a combination of axes, picks, and bats, while a couple more stood just inside the fence with rifles as cover.
When I called out, one of them, a huge mountain-man looking sort (later he would introduce himself as Tom Langston), told me to “shut-up and run for the gate!”
One of the riflemen signaled me to come in once I got there. Then they just ignored me until the zombies had been dealt with. The five on that detail came back in and we were hustled to what had been some management-type’s office. Everybody from outside the fence began to strip. I was told that I had to be checked for bites or scratches. Once they saw I was clean (as were the five who had been outside the fence) I was introduced to a bunch of people I don’t yet remember the names of and brought inside one of the large buildings.
As I was introducing myself, I told about Erin and Beth. About what had happened. That was when I broke down. I couldn’t stop crying. Somebody escorted me to this small office and said something about taking my time to “get myself together.” I’ve been in here ever since. Sometimes I just cried. Sometimes I slept.
I don’t much like sleeping.
Too many nightmares.
Anyways, I think I’m better. At least stable enough to go out and meet these people. I think I’ve cried myself out.
Time to go meet my fellow fugitives.
Saturday, February 2
This is quite a community. There are a few folks who have sorta taken charge. It reminds me of Survivor or Big Brother in that there are people who just naturally assume a leadership role. There are others who work hard at keeping the proverbial gears greased. Then, there are those who do nothing.
Tom Langston is one of the leaders here. Of course it is all unofficial and he would be the first to deny it. But, he has a mind for organizing and coming up with ideas that further enhance our safety.
What’s better is that he gets those things put into action ASAP!
He says he was a big horror movie fan. Many of his ideas come with a story about which movie he is borrowing from. Today for instance…
Today we moved every single trailer portion of the shipping truck fleet still in this complex out of the fence. We parked them as close to the outside of the fencing as we could. Meanwhile, five guys drove forklifts with stacks of wooden pallets to jam under the trailer rigs.
Of course the sound carried and some of the zombies in the woods came out. But we had total coverage with a dispatch team. Tom said not to use guns because that sound would carry better than the trucks we used would. I don’t have any idea if that was true, but he was so convincing that nobody argued.
He also had a group paint: “WE ARE ALIVE” on the roofs of all the big, long warehouses. Everybody was so busy that, for just a few hours, we almost forgot.
Just before we put the last rig in place, we drove all the personal cars and trucks to the parking lot out front and parked them in the first row. All the cars have the keys in the ignition and are loaded with a ‘survival kit’ that includes a first aid kit that would’ve made Erin proud, two cases of bottled water, a water pitcher with a filtration system (my idea!), a hefty supply of non-perishable food, flashlights, batteries, CB radio (I didn’t know they still existed), flares, five-gallon gas can (empty) and assorted weapons (bats, axes, machetes).
I “inherited” a car from somebody that used to work here. I guess Tom had every locker opened and gathered all the car keys they found and then matched them to the cars in the lot. The rumor is that Tom worked security here and had to “take care of his co-workers” when this all started.
I guess we all have our own horrible stories.
Sunday, February 3
We might have created a bit of a problem. This morning, sunrise revealed that those things are about four or five deep…all the way around the complex.
During the watch shift last night, I was walking my section of the fence with Scott and Samantha Anderson, nineteen-year-old twin brother and sister who look like models for a Norwegian ski resort brochure. Everybody takes a shift at night except the children (currently defined as fifteen and younger). You work in threes so that you can send a runner for help if need be. All last night we could hear them. The mewling and gurgling sounds they make kept getting louder. We thought it might just be a trick of the wind. Then, when it started to snow, things quieted down a bit. By the time our shift ended, we had a couple of inches of snow and the noise had almost vanished.