The Adventures of Steve and Terry: The Zombie Chronicles

The Adventures of Steve and
Terry:

The Zombie Chronicles

By:

Mark de Jong

 &

Jason Perry

Text Copyright © 2013 Mark de Jong

I. The
House

Amber laid the wreath of flowers
on the grave. She couldn’t believe her mother had been dead five years. Five
years since—

“Run!” a high pitched voice
screamed. It sounded like a woman.

Amber looked to the rolling hills
of the cemetery. Where had the voice come from? A second voice screamed, high
pitched like the first. She was looking around when two pudgy men crested a
nearby hill. One of the men screamed, the high pitched scream she had heard
before.

“Run!” the other cried. Amber
almost laughed, she never would have expected such high voices from men their
size.

The shorter of the two tripped and
rolled down the hill. His compatriot vaulted over him without a second thought.
The man spotted Amber and ran over, his breathing labored. His friend lay at
the bottom of the hill, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession.

“Do you—have—a car?” the man asked
between ragged breaths. When not screaming like a little girl, his voice was
much more masculine.

“Uh, yeah,” Amber said, a little
uneasy by the men’s awkward appearance.

“Terry,” the downed man yelled.
“Does she have a car?” He was still lying at the bottom of the hill.

“Yeah,” Terry yelled. “Get up
Steve!”

“I’m—trying. Out of—breath.”

Terry turned back to Amber. “We
need to get out of here, now!”

“Why? What’s going on?”

Suddenly a man in a dusty and
rumpled suit topped the hill. He was shambling slowly toward them, swaying from
side to side. Terry screamed, the same high pitched, girly scream Amber had
heard twice now.

Steve pushed himself to his feet.
“Run!” he screamed, huffing and puffing his way toward Amber and Terry.

“That’s what you’re running
from?!” Amber asked, incredulous. “An old man?”

“A
crazy
old man,” Terry
said, grabbing Amber’s arm and starting to pull her away.

“This is ridiculous! Let go of
me!” Amber said, yanking her arm free.

“We gotta go,” Steve said, hands
on his knees, breathing heavily.

“I’m not gonna run from some old
man,” Amber said.

“Crazy,” Terry squeaked, “old
man,” he whispered.

“Sir?” Amber called as Terry and
Steve backed away. “Sir?”

The man on the hill stopped, his
head cocked awkwardly to one side. Suddenly he started towards Amber, his pace
quickening. As he got closer Amber noticed his skin was pale and his eyes
looked foggy.

“Sir?” Amber asked, now a little
uneasy. The man reached her and grabbed her shoulders in a painful grip. His
mouth opened and a low, eerie moan escaped. His teeth descended for her neck
when a rock suddenly hit the man in the side of the head, staggering him. Out
of the corner of her eye she saw Steve get a running start and kick the man in the
side. The man released her and fell to the ground with a moan.

“Run!” Steve screamed again,
grabbing Amber and pulling her along, as Terry followed in their wake. They
were headed toward a red sedan on the asphalt street that ran through the
cemetery. They reached it, Steve leaning against the door and sucking in great
gulping breaths.

“Thank heavens!” Terry said.
“Let’s get out of here.”

“Uh,” Amber said. “This isn’t my
car.”

“What?!” Steve screeched.

“I parked in the parking lot.”

“He’s coming,” Terry squeaked.

They all turned to see the old man
had gotten back to his feet and was staggering toward them.

“It’s open,” Steve said, pulling
open the back door. He vaulted headfirst into the back seat. Terry opened the
driver’s side and jumped in. Amber ran around the car and got in the passenger
side. “What now?” Steve asked.

Terry looked around. “Uh . . .
lock the doors!”

They all locked their doors as the
old man reached the car. He banged on the hood, then flailed against the
windows.

“Ha, ha, dumb, crazy old man,”
Steve said from the back seat with a smile. The smile immediately left his face
as the old man picked up a rock. “Oh crap. Go!”

“No keys!” Terry cried.

“Pull the e-brake!” Steve yelled.

Terry pulled the emergency brake,
but the car didn’t move. “We’re not going anywhere!”

“We’re on flat ground, idiot,”
Amber cried.

Just then the old man smashed the
window. Terry screamed his girly scream as the man reached for him. “Run!”
Steve screamed.

Amber opened her door and jumped
from the car. Terry was right behind her, Steve only a step behind him.

“The caretaker’s house,” Amber
said, pointing.

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “It’s
a long way off.”

“It’s two hundred yards,” Amber
said incredulously.

“We’re not all runners,” Steve
yelled defensively.

“It’s our only hope,” Terry said.

“I’m going for it,” Amber said,
running for the house. Terry followed her. Steve looked from them, to the man
still struggling in the window, and then to the house.

“Crap,” he said, trotting after
them.

Amber reached the house first,
vaulting up the creaky wooden steps to the porch. She looked in the windows to
see if anyone was home. “Hello?” she called out.

Terry reached the house and
immediately opened the door. “It’s open,” he said, stepping inside.

The inside of the small house was
rustic at best. Antlers were hung up on one wall, a deer’s head on another. A
faded rug greeted them on the floor. The walls were covered in old, faded
wallpaper. The light fixtures, lamps, and furniture looked to be from the
seventies and were all covered in dust. Amber and Terry turned when they heard
Steve’s heavy footfalls on the porch.

“Looks empty,” he said between
panting breaths.

“Yeah,” Amber said.

A kitchen sat to the right of the
living room; with a hallway leading back to what Amber assumed were bedrooms.
Stairs hugged the left wall leading to a second story.

“Bad news,” Steve said. Amber
turned to see him staring out the open door. “That crazy old man is coming, and
it looks like he brought some friends.” Amber stepped next to Steve to see the
old man and five or six other people all shambling toward the house. “What do
we do?”

Just then a green, lifted Chevy
truck rounded the corner and headed up to the house. The engine roared as the
driver punched the gas and mowed down three of the people walking toward them.
The truck came to a grinding halt on the gravel driveway. A tall, powerfully
built black man jumped out of the truck carrying a crowbar. He immediately
rushed the nearest person still on his feet and hit him in the head with the
crowbar, crushing his skull. The remaining two looked from the house to the
newcomer. They almost seemed to think about it for a second before charging the
new man, their pace quickening as they shambled toward him. The man backed up
toward the house, keeping his eyes on both of his attackers. He reached the
porch and glanced behind him just long enough to clear the steps. He backed
into the house and quickly shut the door. Only when the door was closed did he
seem to notice the others in the room.

“Do any of you have a gun?” he
asked in a deep voice.

Steve and Terry shook their heads.
Amber said, “No.”

“Do any of you know what’s going
on?”

Amber and Terry shook their heads,
but Steve nodded. They all looked at him. “Zombies,” he said quietly.

Terry laughed, “Zombies?”

“I think he’s right,” the newcomer
said.

“But,” Terry spluttered, “He’s
never right.”

“I saw three men unload into a
group of those things with hunting rifles as they attacked. The bullets slowed
them down a little, but didn’t stop them. It was only when they shot them in
the head that they went down permanently.”

“So what do we do?” Terry asked,
looking at Steve.

“Fortify the house, look for
weapons and food. We may be able to hold out for a little while, but if help
doesn’t come we may have to make a run for it.”

“I don’t know if that’s—” the
black man started.

“No,” Terry said. “Trust him. He’s
read every zombie book out there and watched all the movies. This is his
dream.”

“His dream?” the man asked. Steve
just nodded vigorously. “Okay then,” he said, dragging the words out. “I’m
Antwon, by the way.”

“I’m Amber, that’s Terry and
Steve.”

“So, first things first,” Antwon
said. “Let’s find a hammer, nails, and stuff to board up the windows with.”

“I’ll check upstairs,” Amber said.

“I’ll look down here,” Antwon
said.

“What should we do?” Terry asked.

“See if this place has a
basement.”

Antwon disappeared down the hall
as Amber went up the stairs. “Hmm,” Steve said, “Basement, basement.” He walked
into the kitchen. He opened a door that he thought would be the pantry, but to
his pleasant surprise it led to stairs going down. “Well that was easy. Now
what?”

“We go check it out,” Terry said.

“Oh no, I’m not goin down there.”

“That’s what they told us to do.”

“They just told us to see if this
place
had
a basement, well it does, mission accomplished. They never
said go down into the dark, scary place.”

“Out of the way,” Terry said,
pushing past Steve and moving down the stairs.

Steve looked around the now empty
kitchen. “Don’t leave me up here alone,” he said, rushing after Terry. Steve
reached the bottom of the stairs just as Terry clicked on a small hanging
light. “Whoa.”

The basement had one large room,
unfinished, with two doors leading to other rooms near the back. A large red
toolbox sat against one wall, and filling the other walls were boards, planks,
and pieces of wood.

“Jackpot!” Terry said.

“What do you suppose is in those
rooms?” Steve asked.

“Only one way to find out.” Terry
walked to the door on the right and slowly pushed it open. He took a deep
breath before disappearing into the dark room. He returned a second later
holding a large battleaxe. It looked like something straight out of the middle
ages. “Look at this!”

“That’s not fair,” Steve said,
rushing into the other room. He returned a second later holding an AK-47.
“Check it out!”

“What?!” Terry ran into the second
room. There was the sound of boxes being overturned and then a loud crash. Dust
drifted out of the room followed by Terry. “So not fair.”

“It only has one clip; I couldn’t
find any more ammo for it.”

“Well, use it wisely then.”

The two men went back up stairs
where they found Antwon holding a lever-action hunting rifle. His jaw dropped
though when he saw the AK-47 Steve was holding. “Any more guns like that down
there?”

“‘Fraid not,” Steve said.

“Damn!”

“Tell me about it,” Terry said.
“All I got was this axe. But on the bright side, there are enough boards and
planks down there to fortify the whole house.”

“Well that’s good.” All turned as
Amber came down the stairs. She was holding a nickel-plated revolver in her
hands.

“Oh come on!” Terry cried, tossing
his axe to the ground. “Seriously? I’m the only one without a gun?”

“Sorry,” Steve said quietly.

“Let’s get to boarding up the
windows,” Antwon said, heading down to the basement.

It took over an hour, but they got
all the windows and doors boarded up. As they had worked more and more of the
walking dead had arrived. They wandered almost aimlessly around the house and
truck. A few walked up to the house and pounded on a window or the door, but
they seemed to lose interest and walk away.

Antwon found a bottle of whisky in
a liquor cabinet. He lit a fire in the fire place and then sat in a dusty chair
with his bottle. The rest of the group took seats around the living room, all
keeping their weapons within reach.

“They’re afraid of fire,” Antwon
said suddenly.

“What?” Amber asked.

“They’re afraid of fire. I saw a
fuel truck, with at least six of those things on it. It swerved and hit a
building before bursting into flame. The zombies scattered from the fire.”

Suddenly, Steve laughed.

“Something funny?” Antwon asked.

“Well, that would make sense,
wouldn’t it?”

“How so?”

“When I was a kid, I was playing
with a gas can near a fire. The can caught fire and as I tried to get rid of it
the lit gas splashed on my arm.” Everyone just looked at him as if he were a
dog that had done a trick. “Well, it was terrifying,” he said quietly.