Vaccination - 01 Page 22

  I went down to the basement, after putting Jake in the Pack ‘n Play and putting on a baby video for him. Gotta love the electronic baby-sitter. I went down to my secret room, an area that was an expanded crawl space under the garage. It was large enough to stand in, and it was there that I had my gun safe and reloading equipment, and various other supplies and things. A casual glance would never reveal that there was anything there at all. Since no one ever expected there to be any usable space under a garage, if at all, it was the perfect hiding place. So I went down there and surveyed what I had and what I might need.

  I had a modest firearm collection, around ten handguns and rifles. I didn’t have any theme to my collection, just bought what I wanted at the time, selling it when I wanted something else. I also had a few guns that I inherited from my Grandfather, so that added a bit. I had played at Cowboy Action Shooting for a while, owning a couple of six-guns, a lever-gun, and a pump shotgun. After that, I got into IDPA, which was a lot less equipment oriented, and owned a Springfield XD in .40 and a SIG P226 in .40 caliber as well. I reloaded for a number of calibers, and lately had been reloading for .40 S&W. On the rifle front, I had an old Enfield No4 MkI, and a couple of .22’s. I had an Auto-Ordnance M1 Carbine replica that I had recently purchased; this was the one, which I had stocked up on ammo for. I had three additional 15-round magazines and two 30-round magazines for the little carbine, so that gave me 105 rounds without needing to reload a single mag. Thanks to the case and extra boxes I bought, I had 2000 rounds of ammo for the M1.

  I took the two semi-auto pistols and grabbed all the extra magazines I owned for each. I grabbed four boxes of ammo and put all of this in a little backpack I had. I put all the magazines for the carbine in the bag, and put in three boxes of ammo for it. I put a box of .22 ammo in the bag and grabbed the carbine and one of the .22 rifles. At the last minute, I threw in a box of .380 ammo and the extra clip for the Walther PPK.

  Slinging the now very heavy backpack on my shoulder, I ran upstairs. I checked on Jake and went into the office. I needed to think about what I was doing and where would be the best placement for armament. My IDPA days were serving me well at this point. I was looking at my home with new eyes. Where were the weaknesses, where were the bottlenecks? Where was the best place to store a gun for easy access? Do I shore up the windows or do I block the stairwells? If I were determined to get in, what would stop me?

  I sat at the desk and decided that the best way to ensure a forceful response to a crisis was to be armed at all times. I loaded my SIG and put on my competition holster. I placed spare magazines in the kitchen and in the front room for the gun. I went back and forth, as to what rifle I wanted on the ground floor, and decided on the .22, figuring that if things got bad on the ground floor, I wanted superior firepower in my back up locations, which were my basement and my bedroom. The basement had the shotguns and the Enfield, so anything coming after me down there was going to earn it. I loaded the magazines for the M1Carbine and inserted a 30-round clip into the gun. Best to start with a hail of withering fire, as my dad used to say. I loaded the .22 next, having only two magazines for it, but each magazine held 25 rounds, so I did not feel under gunned. The .22 rifle I had was a GSG-5, an MP5-looking .22. Mostly for plinking, but as I loaded the hollow points, I found myself hoping it would be enough. I placed the rifle on the top shelf of the pantry, figuring it was the most central location and gave me access to the hallway and basement stairs if needed.

  I took the XD and carbine and brought those upstairs, placing the pistol on a shelf in the hallway linen closet. The door of the linen closet swung outward, effectively blocking the hallway if needed, but only as a temporary measure while the pistol was retrieved. I placed the two extra magazines on the dresser near the door of my bedroom and two more in the master bathroom; the final stand, if it came to it. I prayed it never did, but I did the best I could think of.

  I went back downstairs and looked at my doors and windows. If I had to hold up here, how would I block them? What would I use? I figured the first floor being brick was very comforting, and I needed to think of some way to board up my windows and doors. I needed to go to the home improvement store.

  I packed up Jacob and started out to the store. Immediately leaving my driveway, I felt something was wrong. It was in the air, something out of kilter with the world. It didn’t feel bad or scary, but my senses were on alert. Maybe I was just reacting to what Ellie had told me, but as I drove through my neighborhood, I began to see signs that things were not right. Doors to some homes were open, and there was a large stain on the porch of another home, as if something had been killed there. I saw several families packing as if to leave on vacation, putting as much in their cars as they dared. In each case, the mailbox had a white flag on it. Were they taking their sick with them? I couldn’t tell, and I really didn’t want to stop and ask. One house had the garage door wide open, belongings scattered around, and the door to the house open, as if they just ran in the middle of packing up the car. I wondered if the city was the same way. If this virus was that bad, was anywhere safe? Were these people just running to bigger problems?

  I thought about these things as I made my way to the home improvement store. There were a lot of cars on the road, and many of the ones I saw had a lot of belongings in them.

  Turning onto the major road, I was stunned at the amount of traffic. At this time of day, there should not have been the hundreds of cars I saw. I joined the southbound lane and noticed that the northbound lane was heading south as well. Everyone was heading south. I began to wonder what the hell had happened to the city, and whether or not my brother was safe. Every business along the road was closed, and I seriously doubted I was going to find any store open. As I slowly passed a parking lot, I saw two men arguing over a water jug, and just as they passed out of my line of sight, I saw one man take a swing at the other man’s head. People were going nuts.

  I pulled off the main road into the drive of the home improvement store, and I immediately saw it was the wrong thing to do. The store was a madhouse, with people rushing in and rushing out, grabbing supplies from each other and racing off without tying down their loads. There was no way I was bringing Jacob into that mess, even being armed as I was. I had forgotten to take off my gun when I went out, so my SIG was still with me, under my coat. I pulled out of the parking lot, narrowly missing an elderly woman rushing out with what looked like fifty feet of heavy chain. Weird.

  I headed west to a street that would take me to a road back north, and it was packed as well. It took me twenty-five minutes to go two miles, and everyone was on edge. I decided to get off the main road, head through the subdivisions, and get home that way. I wound my way through the first subdivision, noting once again the signs of hurried leaving. Jake was starting to act up, not liking being in his car seat for any length of time. I reached around, trying to find his binky, and managed to poke him in the eye while I searched. Naturally, he hated that, and let me know it. Good set of lungs on that little guy. I looked back and found his binky between his legs, so I grabbed it and placed it in his mouth.

  WHAM! The car jerked and slid sideways, and I fought to control the vehicle as I brought it to a stop. I checked my rear view mirror and saw a body lying in the road. Oh God. Oh God, No, no, no, no, no…not good at all. I got out of the car and ran back to the body, a middle-aged man who was lying on his face in the street. “Help!” I yelled, hoping someone in the houses would hear me. “Somebody call 911!” I yelled to the unresponsive houses. I kneeled down and turned the man over, hoping he was still alive. I immediately stepped back, as the man had a gaping hole where his throat used to be. His shirt was covered in dried blood, and his face had dried blood all around the mouth. His eyes were closed, as if he was sleeping, and his left leg looked broken at the ankle. What the hell was this? Did I run over a dead body in the road? If I had, how the hell could he be there without any police or ambulance? I started to walk back to the car, and I saw another m
an approaching the vehicle from the passenger side. I shouted at him.

  “Hey! Hey, buddy!” He looked at me and starting walking toward me, his eyes fixed on me. Something wasn’t right. He opened his mouth, and instead of saying hi, he let out this hideous groan, like he was in serious pain. I stepped back and he raised his hands toward me, as if he wanted to grab me. I backed up and placed my hand on my gun. “Hey, pal, you better back off. What’s the matter with you?”

  The man didn’t answer; he just let out another groan, and lunged for me. I backed up and drew my gun, hoping the sight of the weapon would stop the guy. I circled to the left away from the car and the guy never even acknowledged the gun. He followed my movements and I could see his nose flaring, as if he could smell me. For a brief second, my mind flashed to the old man I had watched tear apart his caretaker.

  I raised the gun and tried one more time. “Mister, if you do not stop, I will shoot you.” I was nearly shouting at this time.

  No response. He just kept coming. I thought for a second just to wound him, but nobody can shoot like that. I lined up his chest in my sights and pulled the trigger.

  The shot seemed unnaturally loud in the subdivision, and struck the man squarely in the chest. The .40 caliber slug knocked him backwards and onto his back. Exhaling heavily, my breath caught as I watched in horror while the man slowly scrambled to his feet and came at me again.

  Thinking I must have hit something in his clothes that stopped the bullet, I took careful aim this time at his chest and fired another round. The man staggered backwards a few steps, but managed to stay on his feet. I could see the holes in his shirt, and they were both centered on his heart. No blood came out, nothing. It was as if the man was already dead, but how the hell could he be walking around? I heard another groan as the man came at me for a third time. I raised my aim and fired a shot that entered his right eye, exploding brains and dark matter out the back of his head. The man dropped instantly and was still. My brain spun for a moment. A noise snapped me out of my reverie, and I looked up in time to see the man I had initially hit with my car, shuffling up to me. He moved slowly, and I could see his foot was broken as he dragged it along the ground. His leg bone clicked as it hit the ground in his advance. A rasping gargle came out of his ruined throat as he reached for me with one hand, the other hanging loosely at his side.

  I didn’t waste time with any more body shots. I centered my sights on his face and fired once, the bullet smashing through his nasal cavity and erupting out the back of his head. The man’s head snapped impossibly far back, largely due to the fact that he was missing half his throat. Overbalanced, the man fell straight back like a tree falling and smacked onto the road.

  I took a step back, holstered my gun, and looked around me. Two men were down, killed by my gun, but were they killed by me? Or were they already dead? Ordinarily, that would be a crazy thought, but I had just seen for myself a man rise after being hit by a car and having his throat torn open. Did the virus do this? Were all those people who were reported as “comatose” actually dead and coming back to life? Way too many questions and this was not the place to think about it. I could see other people starting to come from houses and around buildings, attracted to the noise I made. By the way they were walking, and the groans I was starting to hear, no one living came to investigate, which I think scared me worse than anything else. Was this whole area just dead? I needed to get out of here and get home. I turned back to the car just in time to see a teenager clawing at the back window, trying to get in at Jacob. Jacob was screaming at the noise I had made, and his screams must have attracted this nightmare. The teen was grayish in color and his face was ripped up. One of his cheeks was torn open, giving him a horrific leer. That face was pressed against the back window, and I could see the teeth working, wanting to get in and tear at Jake’s tender skin.

  Something in me snapped. I ran over behind the teen, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and the belt that held up his sagging pants. I screamed “NO!” as I bodily lifted the teen and slammed him down head first into the pavement. His head cracked and dark fluid began leaking out. I didn’t wait to see if he was dead. I drew my gun again and fired eight shots rapidly into his head, splattering brains, bone, and everything else all over the road. Bullets skipped off as they ricocheted off the road. The slide on my gun locked open, indicating an empty gun, and still I pulled on the trigger. I was breathing heavily, and couldn’t see very well. I heard noises around me, but nothing registered. I didn’t want this thing dead; I wanted it destroyed.

  Jacob’s crying penetrated my fog, and I managed to look around. At least ten more people were coming at me, and I did not have any more rounds. Time to go. I ran to the driver’s side of the car, jumped in, and started the engine just as another one came at my door. It was a housewife in a robe, and the robe was open to reveal a ripped-open stomach cavity. What horrified me was her organs were missing. I could see her backbone as her bloodied hands pounded on my window. That was a close-up I didn’t need.

  I started the engine and pulled away, bouncing another woman off my fender and swerving to avoid three more people. When I cleared the area, I looked back and saw a mob of about twenty slowly following my car. To my horror, I saw a young woman run out of her house, waving her hands and trying to get my attention. She didn’t notice how close the mob was. They reached her quickly and she was dragged back screaming as fetid mouths began to tear chunks of flesh from her arms. She was swallowed up and taken down by the crowd, and I could see just a single foot drumming the ground for a second, then she was still. It was like watching a pack of hyenas kill an animal. I shook my head and gunned the engine, trying to get out as fast as I could. If I had gone back, I would be dead and so would Jake. Please forgive me, I prayed, wondering what kind of God I was praying to, and wondering if prayer would ever matter again.

  I drove home without incident, paying very careful attention to the road and side streets. There were several cars on the road that looked like they had been abandoned; at least I could not see anyone in the cars. I moved through my neighborhood without incident, although I swear I could see something moving in the backyard of the guy who lived at the end of the block. I pulled into my garage and quickly closed the door. I pulled a now-sleeping Jacob from his car seat and moved him quickly inside. I carried him upstairs and laid him in his crib, then went downstairs to close the blinds and drapes on the ground floor. I didn’t want to announce my presence to anything unfriendly, not until I had taken some precautions. As I closed my front drapes, I noticed a dark figure moving down the street toward my house. My heart skipped as I thought, He knows someone’s here. I ran to my ammo store and reloaded the empty magazine in my SIG. I went to the pantry and retrieved the .22, checking the magazine and making sure a round was in the chamber. I went back to the window and surreptitiously watched the dark figure slowly become more recognizable. It was a man, roughly my age, limping slowly down the middle of the street. His mouth hung open and his hands were swinging at his sides. He walked with an almost hypnotic gait, edging ever closer to my house.

  Suddenly, Jake started crying. I ran to his room and picked him up, trying to get him to go back to sleep. His cries were unusually loud, and as I peeked out the window, I saw the man move closer and closer to the house.

  “Please, baby, please be quiet,” I whispered as I bounced Jake gently. “Sleepy time, daddy’s here.” I wondered if he had a nightmare about that horrible face trying to get through the back window of the car.

  I looked out again and the man was closer, his head cocked to the side as if he was locking in on my home. Christ, if he started pounding on the doors he was going to attract more of them.

  “Jakey, sleep honey, sleep.” I tried to sound as calm as possible, but an edge was getting into my voice. We’re so dead. I thought.

  Jake finally quieted down to a subdued whimpering and I snuck a look outside. As the dead man came within ten yards of the front of my house, out of the
east came a kid on a bike, pedaling as if the very demons of hell were on his tail. He swerved away from the corpse on the street and headed west, dodging an outstretched hand and groaning mouth. The corpse turned to follow the biker, completely losing interest in my house. I nearly fell over in relief.

  That was interesting. They follow what they want until distracted, and then they follow that. Might be useful to remember. I stayed at the window, looking out and managed to see what the kid on the bike was running from. A crowd of about twenty of those things came shambling down the street, in various states of decay and disrepair. Several had large amounts of blood down the front of their clothing, others were missing fingers and eyes and pieces of flesh. One particularly gruesome specimen had his lower jaw ripped off, and his tongue lolled around in the air under his face. Where were they all coming from? Why wasn’t the news reporting this? I had to resist the urge to run out and hose down the mob. I knew I would be overwhelmed and killed, and what would happen to Jake then? No, caution was better. Besides, I needed to think about reinforcing my windows.

  Where was I going to find enough wood to build a barrier? I certainly was not going back to the home improvement store, and I sure wasn’t going to leave Jacob. What to do? I pondered this as I looked out my back window at the bike path that ran along the power line easement behind my house. The condominiums across the way looked peaceful enough, but part of me wondered what nightmares waited in the halls. I hoped I would never have to find out. For a moment, I considered my fence as a source of lumber, but dismissed that as foolish. I might need that seven-foot barrier, if for nothing more than to be able to move unseen in my yard. I was never so glad that I insisted on reinforced support posts than I was right now.