As the World Dies (5 page)

    With a little bark, Pepe darted in and began to chew at the bottom of a bag of dog food resting under a bottom shelf.

    "In a moment, Pepe," Eric told him.

    Reaching up, he fumbled for the shotgun Mrs. Waskom had shown him and drew it down. It felt odd in his hands and he took a deep breath. Breaking open the action of the shotgun, he checked the breach of the barrels to make sure the weapon was loaded. To his relief, it was. Snapping the action back into place, he took another shivering breath and tried to steady his nerves. A trickle of sweat slid down his nose and he brushed it away then pushed his glassed back up his nose.

    "Okay, Pepe, you stay here and eat. I'll go kill the zombie," Eric said to the dog.

    He stepped out of the pantry and meant to lock Pepe in it, but the little dog went running past him and down the hall. Within seconds he heard Pepe barking again at the zombie. He quickly followed, holding the shotgun tightly in his moist hands.

    "You can do this," he said to himself. "You can do this."

    His thumb played lightly with the safety catch as he moved toward the front door. He could see Pepe back on the stairs barking at the zombie angrily. He would step out, shoot the zombie to kill it, then head back inside to start boarding up the windows. It was a simple plan. It was an easy plan.

    The steady pounding of the zombie's forehead against the window assured him it hadn't moved. As a precaution, Eric looked out another window and scanned the front yard and porch. There was no sign of any other undead creatures.

    "Okay, Pepe, you keep him distracted and I'm going to shoot him," Eric said to the dog.

    Unlocking the door, he gulped hard and tried to steady his nerves. The sound of the zombie banging against the window ended abruptly and Pepe scampered down the stairs.

    "Shit!" Eric wrenched the door open and stepped outside in one swift motion.

    The zombie was staggering toward him. An eerie howl rose from its throat and it's tongue lolled in its open mouth.

    Pepe hustled his little body over to the zombie and grabbed the shoelaces of its combat boot and began to try and wrestle it as Eric fought the instinct to just run. He raised the shotgun with trembling hands and fired. The recoil sent him stumbling backwards a few feet.

    The buckshot hit the zombie's bare chest and it jerked back for a moment, then continued toward Eric determinedly. Pepe's growls distracted Eric for a moment as he tried to figure out what he had done wrong. The zombie was closing in and Eric raised the shotgun again, prepared himself for the recoil, and fired.

    This time the buckshot ripped through the thing's neck and the lower half of its face. The zombie kept coming.

    "Oh, God," Eric prayed and tried to fire again.

    The shotgun clicked empty.

    He hadn't brought any more shells with him.

    "Oh, crap,” he exclaimed.

    Pepe suddenly cried out in pain and Eric's gaze dropped quickly to the little guy. The zombie's foot had caught one of Pepe's paws and the little dog darted back, favoring its front leg.

    The zombie walked straight into the end of the shotgun and snapped its bloodied teeth at Eric. Acting on instinct, Eric shoved it hard into the creature’s mouth and pushed the creature back away from him. The zombie staggered back, struggling to keep its balance, but it had no arms to steady itself and it toppled over onto the porch.

    "Pepe, back!" Eric ordered the dog and to his surprise the little dog stopped in mid-attack on the zombie's shoelaces.

    Grabbing up a heavy iron chair, Eric approached the zombie that was wildly thrashing, trying to get back up onto its feet. Grimacing, Eric tried hard not to look at its battered flesh as he brought the chair leg down hard on the creature’s head. There was a sickening sucking sound as the metal leg sank through one eye socket and into the zombie's head. Pushing down hard, Eric felt bone and brain matter give way as the metal sank all the way down into the thing's skull. The body spasmed a few times then was quiet.

    Eric staggered back from the dead solider, gasping for air, and collapsed onto the porch. Pepe sauntered over Eric looking quite satisfied with the whole situation. He wiggled onto Eric's lap and gave him a few licks with his pink tongue. His owner, overwhelmed at what had just happened, kept staring at the zombie's still form.

    "It's really happening," he said finally.

    Pepe looked at him with an exasperated look then skipped off back into the house to make a run at the pantry and the dog food.

    Eric slowly climbed to his feet and looked around. There was no one else in sight and the clouds overhead looked ominous. He had maybe two hours of light left and he realized he needed to do some serious planning. His eyes slowly swept over the farmhouse and he realized he had completely overlooked the old fashioned storm shutters locked in place next to all the windows.

    Excited at the discovery, he quickly moved to slam the shutters closed over the broken window and slid the securing bar into place.

    "Freaking perfect!"

    Deciding to hurry while he had no unwanted visitors, he closed the front door then ran around the bottom floor of the house closing all the shutters and securing them firmly. He wasn't too sure if zombies would figure out how to open them, but it would take some work for them to do so and he would hear them. Keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings, he made his way around the house. His heart was thumping so hard in his chest, it hurt, but it felt good to be actually doing something productive.

    Once the windows were all secured, he slipped back into the house and locked the door once more. The power was still on, which he hoped was a good sign, and he flipped lights on as he went to the kitchen. The house was very dark with all the windows shuttered and the gloom was a little frightening, but he knew the house was now secure.

    He exhaled slowly with relief and moved to the pantry. Pepe was still in the pantry eating out of the torn bottom of the dog food bag and Eric snagged the box of shotgun shells off the top shelf. Pepe barely acknowledged him and kept eating.

    After loading the gun, Eric laid it on the counter and took several deep breaths. He needed to eat. He was dizzy. He found a loaf of multi-grain bread in the breadbox; old fashioned peanut butter swimming in oil in the pantry and homemade strawberry preserves in the fridge. He could not make his sandwiches fast enough and he ate them down with desperate bites. He put a bowl of water down for Pepe and gulped milk directly from the jug.

    When the phone rang, he jumped and almost choked on his sandwich. He chewed quickly and swallowed then grabbed the phone off the hook.

    "Hello?"

    "Who's this," a gruff voice said. "Where is Mrs. Waskom?"

    "Fort Hood. She went to be with her husband. I'm one of the guests. Who's this?"

    "Sheriff Davis. I am trying to account for all the people not down here at the shelter."

    "The shelter?" Eric swallowed down more milk to clear his throat.

    "Yes, the shelter. We're at the community center. You should get down here as soon as possible. We got a doctor here to treat the wounded and we're armed and ready to stand until the army gets here."

    "Wounded?"

    "Yes, wounded. Army helicopter went down outside of town. Some of the soldiers were in a bad shape when the rescuers went out to get them. Some of our folks got hurt and some of the soldiers are not doing so hot."

    Eric's eyes widened a little. That explained the solider on the porch. He had a pretty good idea why the helicopter went down.

    "Look, sir, I don't know if you have been watching the news-"

    "I'm following the orders that FEMA handed down for our area. Gather everyone into one spot, treat the wounded, and wait for the National Guard or Army to come for us. Now, son, I suggest you get down here."

    "You can't keep the wounded in there, sir. The news says the wounded will end up just like those things attacking everyone. End up a zombie." Eric gripped the edge of the sink tightly. He couldn't believe that the infection of the undead had already reached this far out into the countryside.

    "Look, son, I don't look kindly at zombie talk. I suggest you get down here immediately. I can send a squad car for you." The voice on the other end was resolute.

    "I…would rather stay here," Eric answered and began counting out the shells in the box he had found.

    "I'm not coming to get you when the rescue team gets here," the Sheriff said darkly.

    Eric ran his fingers through his hair as he realized how little ammunition he truly had. "I…think I'd rather take my chances here, sir. If you got wounded in your rescue station, it is going to get bad really fast."

    There was a long, agitated silence on the other end of the phone, then the Sheriff said, "Suit yourself" and hung up.

    Eric hung up the phone slowly and then on impulse picked it back up and dialed Brandy's number.

    "We're sorry. All circuits are busy," a voice said.

    Eric should have known the cell phone companies were overloaded. He set the phone down again and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

    Pepe sat next to his feet and stared up at him pensively.

    "Oh, shit, " was all Eric could think to say. "Oh, shit."

Chapter Seven

The Day Worsens

    Eric gulped down more milk then looked down at Pepe. The dog responded with an enormous burp and Eric couldn't help but laugh.

    "Went a little crazy there, did you," he said to the little dog.

    Pepe wagged his tail with satisfaction.

    The house was dreary with all the windows downstairs shuttered. There was at least two more hours of sunlight and if the town was about to turn into zombie central, he needed to get to planning. He took the time to put everything back where he got it from and picked up the rifle. Reloading, it was his first priority. He fumbled around with it a little, but finally got it ready for the next encounter with the zombies. He shoved the rest of the shells in his pocket and looked down at Pepe.

    "Okay, this is the plan. We're going to go make sure there are no zombies around, then we're going outside-"

    Pepe thumped his tail hard at the word "outside" and Eric realized how long it had been since the little dog had been outside to do his business.

    "Okay, definitely that is a major priority. We're going to come up with an escape plan and figure out what we are doing next."

    Pepe yawned and strutted out of the kitchen in front of him and Eric followed.

    The second floor was awash with dim sunlight. The overcast skies made it a little darker than it usually was, but it felt better than the gloomy downstairs. He wasn't sure he was glad they had been the only guests or not. In a way, being on his own meant he had the final say. But it felt lonely being the only one in the house. Well, alone except for Pepe.

    In the room he had shared with Brandy, he pulled out his suitcase and tried to ignore the pain he felt as her sweet scent wafted up from the bed. She always slathered herself in body lotion before bed and the sheets still smelled like jasmine. Digging through his suitcase, he found the small binoculars he had brought for bird watching. Brandy have given him hell for bringing them and called him a nerd, but he felt smug at thinking how his little hobby gave him a tool to protect himself. He picked up the small book he had bought that had photos of all the indigenous birds in the region.

    "Think they have one for zombies?" Eric asked the dog. "You know. One that has photos of all the terrible versions of them."

    Pepe looked at him and tilted his head as if pondering the question.

    "Maybe we should make that book. Starting with the armless army guy," Eric said with a small, nervous laugh.

    He tossed the book back in the suitcase and pulled out Pepe's leash. The little dog did a flying leap onto the bed and scrambled over onto the suitcase with his tail wagging anxiously. Eric felt bad for making Pepe wait so long to relieve himself and quickly hooked the leash onto the small dog's collar. The second it was on, the dog jumped back to the floor and headed to the door.

    Slinging the binoculars around his neck and grabbing the rifle, Eric hurried to keep up with the dog. Pepe started down the stairs, but Eric pulled him back.

    "Check for zombies first," he said to Pepe.

    The dog gave him a nasty look, but followed him.

    Eric walked down the hall to the doors that lead onto the upstairs porch. White wicker chairs and a table were set out there so people could star gaze or just relax on a nice afternoon. He stepped out and looked over the rail. It was straight down to the ground and nothing lurked there. Raising his binoculars, he began to survey as much of the surrounding area as he could from his vantage point.