Benton: A Zombie Novel: Volume One (2 page)

I stayed curled up in my closet for days. I didn’t eat or drink anything. I was content to just sit there, weak and dehydrated. But something told me to get up, to plan my next move, to survive. I could stay in my room, but my supplies won’t last forever.

I wish I could talk to someone about losing my mother. I wish I could reach my friends and my relatives. But my mother is dead, and I’ve been unable to contact my friends and family. I don’t even know if they’re dead or alive.

What I do know is I’ve been locked in my bedroom for six weeks. But now I've got a full backpack, I’ve got my rifle, and I’m ready to get the hell out of here.

4.

MY CAR IS LOCKED IN THE GARAGE, away from zombies and people. It’s been over six weeks since I drove it, but it has a full tank of gas, and there’s a can of gas in the trunk.

With my backpack thrown over my shoulder and my rifle in hand, I slowly open the door. The first thing that hits me is the smell of zombies and dead bodies. Now it smells way worse than it did when I shot Dan, so bad I feel I’m going to vomit. But what’s so weird about it all is that it’s sunny, just as sunny as when my mother was killed. It wouldn’t seem so weird if it were gray and cloudy. The sunshine fools you into thinking everything will be okay.

My bedroom window is on the west side of the house. Although my mother is there, she can’t see me when I make my escape.

But I hear growling in the distance. So I step back into my house. My heart thumps against my chest. It takes me a few minutes to gather myself. I realize the growls are not near me, at least not near enough for me not to continue with my plan.

I open the door again and step out a bit. I see a zombie on the ground over in my neighbor’s yard. It’s Tim Morgan’s yard. I don’t know if it’s him or not, and I don’t want to know. I rush over to the garage, located in front of me.

My hand is shaking as I stick the key into the side door. I don’t see any other zombies, but I keep thinking one of them will jump out from the side of the garage and get me.

That doesn’t happen as I get the door open and rush inside. Even though I know there’s no zombie in the garage, I still get scared for a second.

I close the side door, open my car door, and rush inside. Then it hits me, what I’m about to do. I’m safe inside my car, but I’m about to open the automatic garage door and hit the street. What if zombies come rushing at my car? What if I can’t leave my garage? I push the thoughts out my mind as I start my car and reach for the garage door opener.

I don’t think anyone can grip a steering wheel harder than I’m gripping mine now. I look behind me, and I don’t see zombies. I rush out the garage and then pull onto the road.

I’m not ready for what I see. The windows of many of the homes are broken, and there’s blood on the street and on the lawns.

That’s just the beginning. Half-eaten dead bodies lie on the ground. Some are face up, but I don’t slow down enough to determine who they are. But I can tell one was a government official. I can tell by the uniform he’s wearing. I can also tell one is Mrs. Chester. She’s sprawled in the middle of the street. I look away because they’ve ripped her to pieces. I can tell it’s her because of the blue striped housedress she often wore over her obese body.

My stomach is a jumbled mess, and my head is spinning. Then I see one, a zombie, slowing dragging itself up the street, coming right for me.

I hit the gas. As I turn the corner, making skid sounds in my hurry, I see three more!

They’re chasing after me, but they can’t outrun the car. Then I hear the human screaming. I don’t recognize him from the neighborhood. He has a look of extreme fear on his face as he heads for my car. “Help me!” he says, frantically waving his arms.

I consider slowing down just enough for him to jump into the car, but it’s too late. Two zombies catch him and drag him down. I keep driving, even faster now.

I reach the ramp for the expressway, and a crowd of zombies stand in the middle of the street, blocking the entrance. My heart stops.

I swerve around the zombies as if they were humans I don’t want to hurt. But one rushes for my car and tries to jump on it. As my car speeds down the ramp, the zombie falls to the ground.

I don’t look back.

* * *

Entering the expressway, I take a few deep breaths to calm my nerves and to focus. The entrance was always guarded by government officials. If you left Waterbank, you couldn’t return, not without proof you weren’t bitten. But now, there are no government officials in sight.

Cars pass mine, going faster than the speed limit. I look over at the drivers as they go by. All have determined looks on their faces, as if they know where they’re going. One driver glances at me, but then turns his attention back to the road. A sign above me warns that there are zombies in the area.

Then, soon after I see the sign, I see a dead zombie on the road. I dodge it, and then I see another one only seconds later. It’s clear that any zombie who wanders onto the expressway won’t last long. One passing car appears to be splattered with body fluids.

Tears well in my eyes. I’m not a religious person, but now I want to pray. I wonder if I’ll hit a zombie.

Where am I going? What’s going to happen to me out here?

* * *

After driving for about thirty minutes, I have to pee. I’m getting close to where The Center is located, an arena where they used to hold major music concerts before this all happened. When I was locked up in my bedroom, I heard on my radio that The Center opened up to survivors. But I also heard the conditions inside The Center are not ideal.

I’d rather keep moving, and I don’t want to stop, but I need to. I have to.

I pull over to the side of the expressway and stop my car. I grab my rifle and look ahead, to the sides and behind. No zombies.

I open my car door and dash over to a bush to squat. I notice out here the air doesn’t smell as bad as it did back in Waterbank.

Then, right after I’m finished, two young men, seemingly out of nowhere, run over to my car. They’re dressed in uniforms from the same fast food restaurant.

“Hey!” I hurry back, but one pushes me down. My knees hit the ground hard. They jump inside my car, throw my backpack out the front passenger window, and take off.

I grab my backpack and hold it tight against my chest. My knees hurt under my jeans, but they’re not bleeding. I’m grateful I still have my backpack and my rifle. Again, tears well in my eyes. Why did I leave the keys in the ignition?

Then, I hear screaming. I don’t know where it’s from, but all I want to do is run. I know The Center is close, close enough for me to get to it on foot. I have no choice but to get there as soon as possible.

I run up a hill, then cross a street. Ahead is the parking garage for The Center. Two guys stand in the entrance.

“Look out!” one says.

I don’t look behind me. I just keep running until I reach them.

“Get in here!” One grabs my arm and pulls me inside. Then he shoots the zombie that is coming toward him. I swallow hard. It looks no older than a young male preteen, not as decayed as Dan or my mother was, but he’s missing a hand. After the blast, the zombie falls to the ground.

The guy who shot it turns to me. “What the fuck are you doing? You could have been killed.”

He’s probably not much older than I am, but his stringy hair and pale skin make him look older. A huge gun belt holds his pants on his skinny body. He wears a t-shirt with an eagle and an American flag on the front. I stare at the gap between his two tobacco-stained front teeth. “I’m sorry. My car was stolen.”

I look at the other guy. I guess he’s around my age also. His facial features are strong and defined. “You were almost toast out there,” he says. “I’m Mark.”

“I’m Jennifer.”

Mark smiles softly and runs his hand through his thick dark hair. For the first time in a long time, I smile too. “This is Gary.”

I turn to Gary. “Thanks for shooting the zombie.” I offer my hand. He grabs it hard, pulling me into him a little. His eyes scan my body, up then down.

“Think we should let her stay here, Mark?”

I pull away from him.

“Yeah, we’ve got lots of space, Jen,” says Mark.

I glance into the garage, and I see more people, and at least one female.

I hold my rifle close. “If I could just stay the night? Then I’ll be on my way.”

Gary laughs. “Where the hell are you gonna go? That big gun of yours ain’t gonna protect you for long, honey. You’ll never make it.”

I look Gary in the face. “I’ll take my chances.” I say that even though I know Gary is right.

“Well, for now, why don’t you just come inside?” says Mark. “We took over this garage. There are folks in The Center, but you don’t want to go there.”

“The Center is fucked,” says Gary. “Way too many people.”

“Nobody has given us any hassle about our being in the garage,” Mark says. “This is the only entrance. Whenever we open it, we make sure it’s always guarded. It’s dangerous out there, Jen, but you’re safe in here.”

My name is Jennifer, not Jen. But Mark is a nice guy. Good-looking, too. I don’t care if he calls me Jen.

5.

AS I ENTER THE GARAGE, a huge concrete space with more than one level, I see only a few cars. A small group relaxes together in the center of the first floor level. Some sit in chairs at a table. None smile, not that there’s anything to smile about these days. None smile except for the girl with the wild red hair, who rushes out of her chair and is heading toward me.

She grabs my hand. “Hey, it’s so good to see you. I’m glad you’re here.” It’s as if I’m her long-lost friend.

“Thanks! I’m glad I’m here too.”

“I’m Katie.”

“Jennifer.”

She stares at my backpack. “You got any weed?”

I forgot I was wearing my backpack. I let go of her hand. “No, I don’t smoke.”

“Okay . . . shit. I wish you did.”

Her eyes are blue and wild, as if she’s already been smoking. Like everyone else I see here, she looks to be around my age. She wears a floor-length flowered dress and cowboy boots.

“Leave her alone, Katie,” says a guy stretched out on a rumpled mess of sleeping bags and blankets. He’s got a beard, and he wears glasses. He looks a little older, but not by much. I wonder where all these people came from.

“Come on in,” he says. “Have a seat.”

Katie returns to her chair and pulls one out for me. “Sit here, Jennifer!” Nobody has the energy this girl has. It’s unsettling.

I sit down next to Katie, making sure my backpack and my rifle are close to me on the floor, next to my chair.

“Shoot that thing much?” A girl with short black hair, black clothes, and piercings on her nose and lip sits across from me and glares. In her hand is Poppy Z. Brite’s
Lost Souls
.

“Not much, but I had to shoot a zombie who was attacking my mother.”

"Did she make it?”

I shake my head.

“Maybe she’ll buddy up with my family. They’re all zombies now too.” She smirks at me and then returns to her book.

Just then, Mark walks over. “You guys meet Jen?”

“Is that your name?” the girl in black asks, looking up from her book.

“Yes, I’m Jennifer.”

“You met Gary,” Mark says. He points his finger at each person as he introduces them. “This is Katie, Andy, Sara, and that’s Eli over there.”

They say “hi” back, except I notice that Sara, the girl in black, doesn’t. She keeps reading her book, but then she looks up again. “You’re seven.”

“What?”

“We said we’d only bring ten people in here, and you’re seven. Three more people, and that’s it. The rest are zombie food.”

“But there’s so much room here,” I say.

Andy, the guy sitting next to her, with the blond hair, laughs. “You been to The Center yet, Einstein?”

“No.”

“Well, if you had, you’d see why we don’t want a shit-load of people in here.”

Sara smirks again and pats Andy on the knee. I assume the two are best buddies.

I take a deep breath and try not to focus on my dry mouth. I want to pull one of my water bottles out of my backpack, but I’m protective about my supplies, and I don’t want to share them, not knowing how long I’ll be here.

Mark puts his hand on my shoulder. His presence instantly calms my nerves. I look up at him.

“We’ve closed the door to the garage,” Mark says. “Guess you got here just in time. There are sleeping bags over there. The bathroom is in the office over there. We’ll all eat in an hour or so.”

“Sounds like you guys have it all set up,” I say.

“We’re pretty organized.” Mark is not all muscle, but he’s nicely toned in a blue t-shirt and khakis. He walks away, smiling at me again.

6.

ELI, THE GUY WITH THE BEARD AND THE GLASSES, is in the storage garage’s office, heating beans on a portable stove. Sara and Katie sit at the table, taking peaches out of cans and placing them in plastic bowls.

Sara stops what she’s doing and glares at me. “Go get the plates and stuff.”

“Where are they?”

She doesn’t answer. I realize it was a stupid question. They’re somewhere in the office. Where else could they be in this big, almost empty, garage?

When I get to the office, I see a closet with the door open. The closet is stocked with canned goods and paper products. I’m impressed by how organized everything is. I remove napkins, plates, cups, and plastic utensils. Then I set the plates and everything on the table. Everyone is sitting at the table except for Eli, who is still in the office.

“We’re having beans again,” says Katie. “I guess we’ll all be farting again.” Katie giggles. “We’ve got enough beans to feed an army.”

“It was open season on the mart up the street,” says Gary. “We grabbed as much as we could before a shit-load of zombies moved in. But if you’re nice, maybe we’ll let you have meat tomorrow.”

“You’ve got meat?” I ask.

“Yeah, we snagged a fridge and a barbecue from one store, meat from another. We still have power. So the fridge still works. We found a fenced-in spot behind the garage where we can barbecue. Zombies can’t get to it.”