Sometimes We Ran (Book 4): Survival, page 5
part #4 of Sometimes We Ran Series
“Wait,” I said.
The stranger stopped, and looked at me with astonishment. “You show these things mercy?”
“No. It’s wounded. It'll crawl into the woods and die. It's a waste of ammunition,” I said.
The stranger just laughed and pulled the trigger. The Red-Eye's brains were splattered on the ground, and it fell in place.
“Nice thought, but waste of ammo or not, you should never pause when you got’ em on the ground. That will get you killed out here, my friend.” The bearded stranger turned and waved to his silent partner. “I guess we’ll see you down the road,” he said over his shoulder.
“Maybe,” I called back.
“Do we know who they are?” asked Ben. He watched as the pair walked down the road like they were on a scenic tour of the country.
“No, don't recognize them. Must be new in town,” I said. I caught a glimpse of Lisa leaning on the hood of our car.
Ben shaded his eyes against the summer sun to watch our new friends as they slowly drifted away. “Kind of weird how they just showed up like that huh?”
“No, not weird at all. They’ve probably been following us. Most likely, all day.” Strangers made me nervous. The bearded man and his young girl companion were rarities outside the gates. In the years since the end, the world went quiet. Not a lot of people traveled the road anymore. They might know where we lived, and that made me more uneasy. “We'll have to set some guards when we get back. In case they bring some friends.”
The strangers disappeared around a bend in the road. Ben and I walked back to the car. Lisa was now leaning on the hood with her head down. Louis was standing nearby, holding her rifle and gently stroking her hair. When Ben and I approached, she waved him away with a flick of her hand. Louis returned her weapon, and retreated.
She looked up at me. Her lips were a strange gray color, but the color was coming back into her cheeks. “Feel okay?” I asked.
“Fine,” she mumbled. “Just dizzy. My arm hurts like hell.”
I put my hand on her back to steady her. “We'll go home now. That's enough excitement for today.”
Ben raised the hood on our ailing sedan to find the starting problem. “Sounds good to me.”
I opened the driver's door to let Lisa inside. “John?” she said, before taking her seat.
“What is it?”
Lisa shook her head before posing her question. ”You heard it, right? In the library. It was crying. Wasn't it?”
I tried to deny it, but I knew heard it too. “Yeah, I heard it.”
“You taught us all their tricks. You told us what to expect out here with the Red-Eyes,” Lisa said. “How was it crying?”
“I don't know. I guess they learned something new,” I said. The report to the higher-ups on this trip was going to be interesting.
Lisa fished the keys out of her pocket. A few drops of her blood stained the key fob, so she wiped it off. When it was clean, she put it in my hand. “I don't feel so good, and my elbow hurts. It may be more than just a scratch. You or Ben feel like driving home?”
“Of course.” I led Lisa to the back seat and let her inside. Louis joined her.
“I'll watch over her,” he said. Louis took Lisa's hand. This time, she didn't protest.
Ben fiddled with the battery connections and the fuel filter, and by some small miracle, the car came to life. Ben took the driver's seat and I rode shotgun. Literally, it seemed, as I had Lisa's rifle secured in the seat with me. After a brief warm-up, Ben drove down the library road, away from the zombies and the smell of cats. When he got to the stop sign, he had to do something not done in a very long time. He had to stop and yield to some traffic.
A white heavy-duty pickup truck was coming through. Spewing diesel exhaust through twin chrome stacks and making a racket enough to wake the dead, it crossed in front of us on the main road. It was the bearded man and his lady friend again. They certainly weren't walking the road but going in style. As they passed, the bearded man in the passenger seat, raised his hand in a sort of half wave in our direction. None of us waved back.
The truck went by, leaving only oily smoke behind. It went up the road and disappeared around the bend. At least they were moving away from Cannon Fields.
“Should we follow them? See where they came from?” Ben asked.
Taking a quick look into the back seat, I saw that Lisa had placed her head on Louis's shoulder. Her eyes were closed. The color was coming back into her face, but the cut on her arm needed to be looked after.
“No, let's go home,” I said, giving up on this mission outside. Ben turned left, next stop was a warm bed, medical attention, and a good meal. I turned to the window to watch the ruined world go by. We will go home and heal till the next time outside the gates. I had a nagging feeling that the strangers at the library will show themselves again..
Chapter 4: Night of the Red-Eyes
Nights can be difficult after the world ends. Just too quiet.
My eyes snapped open and sleep ended. The extreme stillness got me up. Dawn was still a few hours off, and sleep still escaped me. I stared up straining to see the ceiling of my bedroom in the dark. I knew it was up there above my head but couldn't make it out yet in the inky blackness.
Karen took in a sudden intake of air and buried her head deeper into my shoulder. Her arm was around my chest gripping me tight. For good measure, she also had a leg thrown across my knees to lock me in place. After I told her my story about the harrowing escape from the library, she wasn't going to let me up to wander around until morning.
I closed my eyes again, but sleep still eluded me. I decided to get up. Sometimes a walk helped. A brief stroll in the muggy air might just let me go back to sleep. Trying not to wake Karen, I untangled myself from her and sat up in bed. I wasn't careful enough. Karen woke up, and searched my side of the bed with her hand. I turned on the small battery lantern on the night table, and stood up to find my clothes.
Karen sat up straightening her hair. “What's the matter? Everything okay?” Her voice was tinged with slumber.
I sat on the bed to put on my shoes. “Nothing. You know me and the quiet. Can't sleep.”
Karen slipped an arm around my shoulders. “Sorry. Anything I can do?”
“No, just going to take a walk.” I kissed her hand to try and reassure her I was of sound mind.
“You want me to go with you?” Karen asked.
“Not necessary. Go back to sleep.” I put on my holster, and checked my weapon..
Karen laid back down on our bed. “All right. Be careful. Come back soon.” She rolled over and went back to sleep.
I left the bedroom making sure to turn out the lantern. “I won't be long,” I said, but it looked like she was already back in dreamland.
First, it was a stop in the kitchen to pick up some flashlight batteries. Opening the drawer with our supply, revealed it to be low. In the beginning, we grabbed all the supplies we could from the outside world. Batteries were top on the list. We managed to put away a good supply, but now they seemed to be going low. Batteries were now officially on the endangered species list here in Cannon Fields, along with paper, salt, shoelaces, eyeglasses, and men’s shirts.
I selected two AA cells, and placed them in my flashlight. Shining the strong light around the kitchen revealed I wasn't the only one up this morning. Joker, our fat tomcat, was parked in his usual spot on the cabinet by the wood-burning stove. He liked to sit there, and get Karen or I to feed him small morsels as we cooked. Old and arthritic, he couldn't do much hunting for food these days. Some mornings, I could sympathize.
“Morning, Joker.” I reached out to pet his huge, round head. His only answer was a raspy meow.
Another gun check, then I stepped outside onto the front porch. I locked the door behind me, securing Karen, Joker, and all the other furry freeloaders inside. At the top of the porch stairs, I took a deep breath to get the stuffiness of the house out of my lungs. It was a nice night. Not as humid, with mist hanging in the air. The canopy of stars still stretched above my head looking like the world's best planetarium. With the cities permanently dark, light pollution was no longer a problem when stargazing.
Going down the stairs to the walk, I trained my flashlight's beam at Karen's front-yard garden. It was in good form this year despite the lack of rain. The green peppers and carrots looked good if a bit wilted from the early summer heat. Karen could grow vegetables in cement if needed. Our entire front yard was covered in plants and herbs for the community's food supply. Corn, an outhouse, and a two-person hammock took up the backyard.
I walked out to the mailbox at the end of the walk. Just for the heck of it, I opened it up and took a look inside. Nothing but rust and a few spiders. No mail for a long time. My curiosity satisfied, I swept the flashlight beam up the street. First to my left, then up the slight hill to my right. I checked the gardens and yards of the houses in both directions. At this early hour, all was quiet. No movement on the street.
I moved the beam to the house across the street. My good friend and former road companion Claire lived there with her husband Ryan and their young son, Alex. Before our lives in Cannon Fields, Claire and I met in the dead zone that is North Georgia. We spent a lot of time walking the road and running for our lives. Claire was a lot like me. The quiet made her uneasy as well. Sometimes during one of my walks, I would find her on her porch fighting her insomnia. We would walk and talk together to try and get back to sleep. I passed my beam of light up onto Claire's porch, but she wasn't there. She was still suffering from the stomach bug going around.
Nobody to talk to this morning. It was time to walk.
I decided to go up the hill towards the roundabout and the main buildings. The other way looked too dark and scary. My flashlight beam revealed some dark shapes and the cracked, gray ribbon of asphalt under my feet. Making as little noise as possible, I turned up the hill. It wasn't too bad of a grade. I had walked it many times before in all sorts of weather. As I walked, I watched for the familiar blades of grass, or the odd broken patch of concrete gutter to guide me. My neighbors’ windows were all dark. The world around me stood still, waiting for morning and a new day. The quiet all around was still unnerving, but it was peaceful. A nice pause before the potential frenzy when the sun came up.
When I reached the top of the hill near the roundabout, I paused for a minute to rest. Breaking out the canteen, I took a slug of water. I put the canteen up to my lips for a second sip, but thought about it. With the drought, water was another potential endangered species around here. We had some stored from the wet winter, but if the dryness continued, we could be in trouble. Rainwater was one of our sources, and all the houses had some kind of collection device. Lack of clean water was a killer of survivor communities. A long drought could spell doom for all of us. I took the second sip anyway. We’d worry about the water later.
Standing in the center of the roundabout, was our collection of chairs and tables. In the early days, we took everything not tied down from the stores and malls. That included patio furniture, I guess. Some of them still had faded price tags from a world long since dead and gone. I walked among the dew-covered tables looking for a good chair. This was important. It would be my chair for the barbecue in a few hours, and I wanted to be comfortable as I ate.
None of the chairs and tables matched, but that was okay. We weren't picky. If it could stand on its own, it was allowed in the roundabout. I wiped the water droplets off an oversized camp chair and took a seat. The tables and chairs stretched off into the darkness around me.
“This is the one,” I said to myself. The other chairs and tables didn't answer. I moved around to test my potential seat. Plenty of room for my gun and holster, while allowing me elbow room to stuff my face. It was near the conversation, but out of the way if I didn't feel like talking to anybody.
From behind me, I heard the distinct sound of footsteps. I stood up, my hand going to my gun. It was a reflex born from years of fighting nasty things.
“Whoa, easy now.” A quick sweep of my flashlight revealed Ben's smiling face and outstretched hands. “What are you doing out here this early?”
I took my seat. “Couldn't sleep. Quiet got to me, I guess. What about you? Taking your rifle for a walk.”
Ben took the chair opposite me at the small picnic table. “The same. Couldn't sleep.” He traced lazy circles in the moisture on the table. “Ever since Mom died, I can't seem to lay down and relax for long. House is just too damn quiet.”
“How long has it been now?” I said. The passing of Ben's mother hit us all hard. Suffering from dementia and other ailments, she had somehow defied the odds, living a full life. Always had a smile or a wave from the front porch of the house her and Ben used to share. She might not remember your name, but the woman sure was an asset to the community.
“Oh, about six months now. She died in the winter.” Ben paused a second to collect his thoughts, his head down to conceal the sadness.
“Six months. Doesn't seem that long ago.” It was all I could think to say.
Thick quiet descended on us. We were both lost in our memories of the nice old lady who used to live down the street. Ben turned, rummaged in his bag, and produced a beat-up thermos. “How about some coffee?”
“Is it the real thing?” Coffee was like a ghost or rumor around the community. The supply of the bean had run out a long time ago.
Ben shook his head. “Sorry. It's the okra stuff.” He poured some of the tan beverage into the plastic cup from the thermos and handed it to me
The disappointing and watery beverage swirled in the cup. A fellow coffee addict discovered that okra seeds could be dried, roasted, and then ground into something resembling coffee. I thought it tasted like hot water strained through green beans, but some imagination made it tasted okay. It depended on the crop and the roasting technique. At least it would never run out. Okra grew like weeds even in the tough, clay soil here in the south.
I took a long sip of the lukewarm brew. This wasn't a bad batch. Ben had used goat milk to enhance the taste. “Actually,” I said. “those two travelers we met at the library today are keeping me awake.”
Ben nodded. “Me too. They didn't look like typical road people. Pretty well-fed, well-armed,”
“And they had transportation and fuel.” I took another sip of the okra coffee. “That big white truck has a fuel source somewhere.”
“You think they might be trouble? We haven't had any problems with other survivors in awhile,” Ben said.
Finishing off the weak okra seed coffee, I handed the plastic cup back to Ben. “Maybe. Don't know.” I sighed at the possibility of danger with new people. “I guess we'll have to watch out.”
“Yeah, I guess” Ben sighed just like me. We were both veterans dealing with road-weary strangers. In more than a few cases, we had to shoot our way out of a problem. “Shame really. I hope they're friendlies. It's been kind of peaceful lately. Girl wasn’t too bad looking, either.” That got a laugh out of both of us. Even during an apocalypse, Ben was always smooth with the ladies.
A gunshot rang out from the distance. It was the sound of a powerful rifle. A sniper's weapon. There was a brief pause, then another shot echoed across the compound.
Ben and I stood up in unison, weak okra coffee forgotten. “That came from the gate,” Ben said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Looks like I picked a bad morning for some insomnia,” I said.
Something was tramping through the plants around the dark admin building across the roundabout. Both of our heads snapped in that direction. Ben kneeled down beside the table and pointed his lantern-battery flashlight at the corn. “Maybe it was a cat or a really big rat.”
The sound increased as whatever it was came to the edge of the field. The plants danced and swayed in Ben's light. “Sounds like a damn big cat,” I said, taking a knee on my side of the table.
A human form stepped out of the corn and headed for the tables and chairs. It was a Red-Eye zombie, and it was inside our fence.
The visitor walked along in a crazy zig-zag pattern, head down. The left arm was swinging free and covered in blood from a sniper's bullet. It stopped in the middle of the roundabout and lifted its head to smell the air. Two gulping sniffs later, it pinpointed Ben and I cowering by the chairs. Staring at us with two glowing red eyes, it raised its good arm and charged.
Ben raised his rifle, and looked through the night vision scope. The drooling zombie visitor was almost upon us when he pulled the trigger. The bullet caught the zombie in the side of the head. It stumbled, and fell to the ground. Silence returned to the compound.
“Nice shot,” I said.
Ben kept his rifle up until he was sure the zombie was down. When he was satisfied the man-eater was staying on the ground, he lowered it slowly to a resting position. “How's that damn thing —”
Ben didn't get to finish his thought. The Red-Eye raised itself off the ground and stood up. It held the side of its face and turned in our direction. A low, gurgling moan emanated from its rotting lips. The moan turned into an angry wail in our general direction. Shaking its head, it backed away from the table and our guns. It turned and took off into the misty morning and we immediately followed.
“Didn't kill the ugly bastard. Only made it mad,” Ben said as we picked up the pace and ran after the zombie.
Ben and I were close behind the intruder. It turned left and headed down the street. It was running into the heart of Cannon Fields. Our footsteps and the labored breathing of the beast resounded off the walls of the houses. Everything was still dark. Only my flashlight and a few passing solar lanterns lit the way. No residents came out to check on the commotion. When shots are fired, the procedure was to stay inside unless needed. Stay inside, and seek shelter.
The zombie was injured, seeking escape from its ultimate fate of a bullet to the brain. The zombie-making parasites inside were okay, but the body was shot full of holes. I was catching up. Soon, this particular nightmare would be over, then we could all go back to bed. Ben stayed a few paces behind me in case the zombie doubled back or tried a move to get away. With Ben behind me, I wouldn't shoot him by accident. His rifle shot to the ear and the gate sniper's bullet slowed the Red-Eye down. It was up to me to kill it.
