4. The plan in action.

While I write this, I can see both my daughters and my wife sleeping on the floor. While the building is secure, and we do get some sleep, it isn’t the fitful rest we need or want. Nerves are shot, tempers are short and we are running low on supplies. I’m sure playing lookout and keeping watch is making me more tired than ever. Thankfully we found this place and met Jim and Mildred. I’ll write more on that later.

When the power went out at the house, I felt the cold, spindly fingers of terror crawl up my spine, and my wife shrieked. It was still light outside, but the silence of everything ending at once shook us. It was time to man-up. I started barking orders like it was reveille during bivouac in Hoensfeld, Germany. The girls, startled as well, scrambled to get their coats and boots on while gathering their small bags. Pam grabbed the cat-carrier and her pillows. I grabbed the keys, threw on my coat and headed for the van.

I felt a little regret. I wished I had kept the shotgun I got for my 12th birthday and not left it at my parent’s house. I would have felt a lot safer with it in the van. I started the van, made sure everyone was loaded and we had everything we needed and could carry.

I made one last pass through the house, turning off the lights (why? habit perhaps) and made sure things were as secure as I could make them. Again, I glanced out of the top of the back sliding glass doors in the kitchen. I froze in my tracks. The deer was gone, but what stood in its place made that earlier terror feel like a hot-oil massage.

Someone was walking through the field toward the house. It wasn’t really walking, though; it was more of an encumbered shuffle. The bone sticking out of one leg made it obvious this wasn't normal. There was no emotion on his gaunt, hallow face, and when he got a little closer, I could swear, despite his lifeless eyes, it was Chris, our librarian. And behind him, a small throng of other people in similar states of disrepair were stumbling, shambling or crawling out of the woods.

“David! Let’s go!!!”

Pam’s yelling tore me from my trance.

I ran for the door to the garage. I peeked out of the side of the garage door, pulling the weatherstripping aside. No one was in front of the house yet. I checked the other side and the coast was clear. I got behind the wheel, said a quick prayer and hit the garage door-opener.

The familiar hum slowly brought the door up and out of our path. The remains of Pete and Linda were lying still in the side yard, their blood leaving a jagged, diagonal trail across the once pristine concrete-gray slate of our driveway. I told the girls to cover their eyes. I was more concerned about how they would react to seeing Lizzie’s carcass next to the battered mailbox than the bodies of Pete and Linda. They were good neighbors, but Lizzie was our dog. It would take more of a toll to see her ripped open and emptied like some furry, bloody, black pinata.

I slowly pulled out of the garage and once clear, hit the button to close the door behind us. This was it. The moment of truth. I would miss the place, but I was happy to be getting out.

Once I hit the street I didn't look back. Our small subdivision and the six quaint little homes in it were silent as usual. The only difference was the car sticking out of the front of the Bronski's house. William and JoEllen must have gotten an unwelcome visitor, because JoEllen was lying on the porch in her housecoat, torn asunder, and William had a small caliber rifle in his cold, dead hands. He had been pinned between the car and the wall. The car seemed to be the only thing keeping him together. As we passed, he grimmaced and tried to look up. At first, I wanted to stop and render aid. I quickly looked from William to the field across the street. A few figures lingered in the field, about 500 feet away.

The gunshot was unexpected! I jerked my head back around to William, and he hung limp in the opening.

William must fired off a round into the air before dislodging himself from the wreckage.

He was crawling towards our van when I noticed the bottom half of Billy-boy was still pinned by the car. He was leaving behind a trail of blood, excrement and entrails as he crawled and groaned. I also noticed the large chunk of flesh missing from the side of his neck. He was moving pretty fast, and I looked into the rearview mirror. Not a person in sight. I started to open the door, and Pam grabbed my arm.

"Don't you dare..."

I opened the door before she could finish. I took four quick steps toward William, and planted the fifth step into the side of his head. The wet *squish* sound it made as it flew into the rear end of the crashed car and bounced off was almost comical. William's torso stopped moving. I reached down and picked up the rifle and turned back to the van.

Someone in a bloody flannel shirt and no pants was rounding the rear of the van, heading for my open door. The girls were trying to muffle their own screams, but flannel-boy stopped just long enough for me to cave the side of his head in with the butt of the rifle. He stumbled, bounced off the rear of the van and slumped to the ground. I jumped in the driver's seat and slammed the door.

"This might come in handy." and I thrust the weapon at Pam.

I hit the gas as Pam cussed a blue-streak while pounding me on the arm.

I think the girls were as shocked by hearing their mother swearing as they were by the rotting undead patrolling the streets!

We drove through the small town, avoiding the wreckage. We had to make a detour around the Community Christian Church to get to the main street. Once we hit Monroe Street, we noticed a problem. The train tracks were blocked with a train. It was completely stopped, and about half a mile down the tracks from the crossing, we could see why. The front half of the train was knocked off the tracks, looking like a snake that had been whipped against a tree, broken and lifeless.

I was in the process of turning the van around when Pam noticed another problem. Behind us, the street we came down was filled with a teeming throng of the walking dead.

Pam screamed "Over there!" She was pointing to the small volunteer fire station. Tim, one of the volunteer firemen and school board member, was waving his hands from the door of the station. The large door on the left was slowly creeping open, and Mel was standing inside, signaling us to pull into the bay.

I gunned it and almost ran into the rear wall as the door started closing behind us.

I looked at Pam and said "That was a pretty short trip, huh?"

Within two minutes, the street outside was flooded with the stench and shadows of death.

More later.
DB