SURVIVE THE WALKING DEAD
My Grandfather, he once told me: The damned, they dwell in hell; but those of the dead, that are lost from their way; they keep walking, each and every day…..
For, one native American Indian born child; this was a horrifying tale to tell…..
Rob, woke slowly; his movements- staggered, one excessive- hangover; weighing- on his mind. Unfamiliar surroundings the scenery of his present locale. After a quick attempt, to rub the grogginess from his eyes; reality struck. He was stuck in a cell.
“….. Oh, shit! Hello? Hey, anybody there? I, need a phone call! Hello?”
The room outside his cell; it was dark. Nobody came to an answer of his concerns. Rob, moved to rattle the bars; of the cell- work gate; knowing full well, it will do no good. Surprise, quickly overtook him as the gate swung open easily; a creaking groan from the old hinges.
Not wanting to question this current revelation; Rob carefully exited his cell. The man moved his way to the Sheriff’s office. The station he had awoke in; it is empty. Shaking his head in a silent questioning, of what is going on; Rob made his way to the marked station’s exit. The forty- seven year old construction worker, quickly ducked out of sight; Spotlights shining from a convoy of black military grade Hummers, searching the area.
Taking a chance; Rob slowly cracked open the door, and peered out through the opening. There is an obvious military presence; and this alone, is cause for many a concern. The convoy, from his position; could be seen passing through what is a familiar location. More than a little confused by the events; Rob returned to the Sheriff’s office. Taking a seat behind the office desk he, rubbed his temples; a headache now complicating his thinking. Rob began a quick search of his surroundings; instincts of survival, driving him to find something to protect himself and any kind of pain relief medicine for his throbbing and aching, pounding head.
To Rob’s disappointment, the Sheriff’s office; in all of its storage, has been cleaned out. He could find nothing, but books on regulations and a log book on prisoner entries, that would connect by arrest identification numbers to digital files. Rob, took a quick look in the log book. Apparently, the police had arrested him; on a DUI. Rob read his own statement from the night before, in hopes of triggering a memory of events that may have taken place. The statement read only: needed- talk, a friend…..” Rob, shook his head, and mumbled beneath his breath.
Leaving the sheriff’s office, Rob took a couple minutes to check the gun lockers. As he predicted; they were empty and cleaned out, of even ammunition. Searching a small closet in the reception room, Rob managed to find a first- aid kit, a couple of small, black police issue flash-lights, and a few backpacks. This, at least was something of a good start. Stowing the flashlights and the first- aid kit into one of the packs, and grabbing the last two backpacks; to carry over his left shoulder, Rob caught something out of the corner of his left eye.
Upon the top shelf, on the opposite side of the closet; was a long leather case. Excited at what he may have found; Rob dropped the packs, and reached for the case. Chills gripped at his spine, as something of a multi-legged arachnid; crawled slowly up onto his left hand. Rob, kept still; his heart-rate increasing, as fear began to gnaw on him from within. This was no ordinary spider. It was big, and it had a little weight to it. Rob began to sweat; but remained perfectly still. The tarantula, the size of a boys’ fist; slowly climbed off of his thumb and onto the shelf. Instinct taking over caution, Rob reacted quickly; pulling the case hard to the right of the shelf and down to the ground, Rob retreated to the other side of the closet.
Keeping eyes on the stalking arachnid, Rob threw the two extra packs back over his left shoulder and carried the case and the backpack of supplies back out into the reception area. Concerns for his family on his mind; Rob carefully exited the Sheriff’s office. Nerves wracked for a lack of knowledge of the events that have taken place the night before; Rob began the long track home. Visions slowly came to mind, as his head cleared. Memory in recollection, revealing some of the events forgotten. Faces distorted, in ways unexplained. Rob swallowed his rising fear.
Only two streets down from the Sheriff’s office; a grisly real- time revelation, was now bear witness; by his awakened eyes. Two bodies in the street; they were set to burning. Numerous homes and automobiles had also been- set ablaze. Thoughts of greater concern, now dwell upon him. Rob, he had never been totally religious; but today, he had a nagging feeling, that he was facing some sort of judgment day.
Taking a short cut through an open storage facility; one place, where he too had items in lock- down; Fear began to grip hold tight his thinking. Burnt bodies were lying all around him. Noises- inhuman, sounded from within a storage unit to his right. The sounds of strange moaning and scraping, coming from something moving about within. Rob, placed his right ear upon the roller- work storage unit door. Multiple impacts, from something within the locked unit, forced him- back, and away from the barricade; that kept him away from the things that hid inside the unit. The strange noises increased, as what ever they were; scratched at the inside of the sealed door. Whatever they were; they were trying to get out of the unit.
Rob ran fast through the horse shoe laid out storage facility; without looking back. Real fear, now driving him to seek out a safe distance, from what horrors may soon be fast upon him.
“Hey? What’s that noise?”
“.…. Somebody else must have the same idea…..”
“.…. I don’t know….. That almost sounds like…..”
“Forget it! Can you pop the locks, or not?”
“You hear that?”
“What? That moaning….. It’s probably just the wind…..”
The roller door buckled, as the unknown things within the storage unit; began to force their way to freedom.
“What the?! Are you kidding me? They’re in there! Listen!”
“.…. Oh, my god; the stench…..”
“Forget the smell! Let’s get the hell out of here!”
“.…. I don’t know….. let’s follow that guy…..”
“.…. Hugh, what guy?”
Two teens now made a hasty retreat. The herd of walkers once contained within the storage units, slowly broke free of their forced containment.
Yuma County Medical, seemed deserted. Two individuals, one a tall and broad- shouldered man, in his late twenties; and a slim and black- haired girl in her early thirties, walked the empty halls from the emergency entrance; flashlights and pistols in hand.
There appeared to be no power running within the main building. The interior, like many of the other places they had chance to search; was a shambles. Clutter scattered about, and every so often; the body of one of the dead- ones laid out upon the floor.
“Look! You- see that? Somebody drove something right through- their heads…. Where’s Romero; when you need him…..”
“George C Romero, you Know; of horror films…..”
“.…. Shush! What’s that?”
The sounds from slowly dragging feet scraping upon the tiled floor, and of an unnatural moaning from something drawing slowly near to their positions, caused the brother and sister to quickly bring their arms to bare.
“.…. I don’t know sis….. Maybe we shouldn’t use our guns…..”
“What the?! Are you nuts? These are the dead- walking….. How are we- supposed to defend ourselves?”
“Look at the wound; in that one’s head….. It looks to have been made by some kind of pick or a screwdriver…..”
Samantha and Jack, quickly searched around the bodies as- the walkers drew progressively closer to them. Samantha, she wrinkled her nose in a reflexive action; on the stench from the unknown dead individual, upon the floor.
“Remember, when I told you that taking criminal sciences was going to be a waste of time?”
“..…. Well, I take that back….... I just found: one gored- up Phillips-head screwdriver…..”
“What do you know? I found its companion- right here.”
“Let’s hear it, for routine maintenance…..”
Surprising the siblings, the- first walker; grabbed hold Jack by his right shoulder, the man reacted quickly to the threat; his flat- head screwdriver buried deep into the right side temple of the dead- one’s skull. The attacking walker fell. Samantha, immediately stepped beside him, her screwdriver drawn at the ready. The sight of five, and then of seven more walkers; lumbering slowly towards them, causing the siblings to fall back to the emergency exit.
“There are too many, Jack!”
“Spikethe ones you can! Save the bullets for last!”
Jack and Samantha, leaped fast to nearby positions of cover; as the sounds, of cocking firearms sounded from behind them. Black uniformed, heavily- armed soldiers; reigned fire of continual bullets upon the pack of walkers.
“.…. Civilians! Don’t let them leave! They need to be tested!”
Samantha, immediately moved to react.
“I don’t think so! Let’s move, Jack?”
Samantha and Jack froze in their places. Six of the mysterious soldiers, now blocking their exit. Jack quickly laid his pistol down before him; and knelt down upon his knees with his hands behind his head.
“Shit, Jack! I, told you the hospital was going to be a bad idea.”
“Shut- up, Sam!”
Samantha, unwillingly followed her brother’s actions; her weapon placed on the ground next to his, the girl slumping down on her knees beside him.
“Smart move! Come with us peacefully, and you will not be harmed….. Take the two into custody!”
Two soldiers gathered their weapons and quickly relieved the brother and his sister of their packs, while two more of the soldiers quickly cuffed the two from behind. Jack and Sam, were forcibly motioned forward; the soldiers marching the two siblings in through the double doors to patient admittance.
The walkers breached the many barricades that were meant to contain them. Thirteen units; fifteen to twenty living dead locked- up within each. The herd of walkers, slowly made their way to the north. The smell of the living, and the sounds of uninterrupted human activity drawing them ever closer.
From a ridge afar, one man wearing military dress: camouflage fatigues, with two stars placed upon his right shoulder and upon his hat; looked patiently upon the herd through a pair of binoculars. The unknown general, seeking to identify the pending direction of the herd.
“.…. The dead! They’re walking north…..”
“The relief camp?”
“.…. Yes! Mobilize a unit! Move, what refugees you can!”
“.…. The others?”
“Put them out of their misery! Deliver them to H.A.R.V.E.S.T! We’ll be a little ahead of schedule, but that’s all right…..”
“What, about the herd?”
“.…. Don’t waste the ammo! We’ll deal with the herd later!”
“.…. This, crazy world of ours….. Damned, if you do! Dead, if you don’t!”