100 Days of Death Read online

  At some point, I fell asleep in front of the TV. The overload of bad news was exhausting. I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. I scrambled off the couch and tripped over the dog as I raced to pick up the phone. I got to it too late. Caller ID said it was a private number. I tried to call my dad immediately but the circuits were busy again. I have no idea who tried to call me.

  Day 4

  I had another crappy, sleepless night.

  I tried all morning to call my friend Ken who owns the Supply Sergeant (a military surplus store) but I couldn’t get any reception on my cell phone. My landline was still playing the “all circuits are busy” message. I finally got up the courage to get in my truck and drive over to see him. I had a few other errands I wanted to take care of as well.

  The roads were a mess. There were wrecked cars on the sides of the streets and the cars I did see still moving were driving so erratic they looked like they would be joining the wrecks pretty soon. I avoided all the traffic I could. I brought my 1911 Colt with me as well as my shotgun.

  Chloe sat in the passenger seat whining nervously. The smell of smoke was everywhere but I didn’t see any fires.

  At Magnolia Boulevard and Hollywood Way, a military tank and a couple Humvees were blocking the street off. I quickly turned north up a side street to avoid them and then made my way east through a series of alleys to get to my destination.

  Halfway up one alley, a man appeared out of nowhere right in front of me. I slammed on my breaks but couldn’t stop fast enough. He bounced off my left front grill, disappearing from view as he went down. Chloe slammed into the dash, dropped onto the floor and scrambled back up onto the seat.

  My heart was pounding in my chest and all I could think of was, “Crap, I just killed somebody.” The person I hit stood up and walked away. I opened my door and started to apologize when he turned suddenly and stared at me. He looked…sick, and pissed off.

  Several things happened all at once. Chloe began growling. Not the normal warning growl, but something deep and vicious. The man charged at me without warning, hitting my door so hard it slammed shut, almost taking my foot off at the ankle. I barely managed to get it out of the way in time. The man’s fists pounded on my window and Chloe went berserk, crawling all over me and snapping her jaws and snarling at the intruder.

  Something in me snapped as well. “Enough of this!” I yelled.

  I heaved Chloe off my lap and into the passenger seat and started to open my door to kick the shit out of the asshole but I froze as I looked into the guy’s eyes. They were wet and milky. Snot and pus ran out of his nose and mouth. Some primal fear asserted itself in my mind and I locked my doors instead. He continued to pound his fists on my vehicle, leaving greasy, bloody smears on the window.

  I put my truck in gear and pulled away. Chloe leapt into the back seat and clawed and bit at the back window as we passed him, her barking and snarling making me deaf. I didn’t slow down for almost a mile. My heart was racing and I couldn’t breathe. Chloe nosed me in the arm to make sure I wasn’t mad at her. I reassured her with what I hoped wasn’t a quivering voice.

  I wanted to pull over but was afraid I’d run into another crazy, sick person. My mind was trying to make sense of what I had just seen. One word repeatedly leapt to my consciousness but I kept pushing it away. My hands shook. I passed right by the Do It Center and continued on without stopping. I had meant to stop there to pick some 2” screws and some other supplies but that stuff would just have to wait.

  I finally reached the back alley behind the Supply Sergeant. I drove south down the alley so I could access the security gate keypad to Ken’s parking lot from the driver’s side window.

  The gate lurched open and I quickly pulled into the lot. Ken’s Ford truck with the big-ass tires was parked next to a couple of beat-up imports. I stopped near the loading door and shut off my engine. I could hear a fire engine horn blaring in the distance and a helicopter somewhere high overhead.

  I looked around the small parking lot. Up against the fence inside the lot was a pile of boards and trash. Sticking out from under the mess was something that looked suspiciously like a foot. I saw bullet holes in the wall. My stomach started to churn.

  I cautiously opened the door and got out. Chloe jumped out and her hackles rose up immediately as she sniffed the air. I looked up onto the roof and saw the barrel of a rifle aimed down at me. A face rose up from behind the weapon and I recognized Bud, one of Ken’s employees. He nodded to me once but didn’t say anything. Although it was at separate times and duty stations, he and I had both served in the military, and while we weren’t exactly friends, we shared that camaraderie.

  The back door opened and Ken appeared in the doorway. Chloe started to growl but wagged her tail as she recognized him.

  Once inside, Ken shook my hand firmly and stared at me wide eyed. I knew how he felt. “You’re one brave f---ing dude for being out in this shit, man!” he said.

  I didn’t know how to respond so I asked him what was going on with him. He told me how the day before a bunch of gang bangers tried to rob the place and how he, Bud, and Mikey shot four of them and chased the rest away. They locked down the security gates after that and had been there ever since. I asked where Mikey was but Ken didn’t say anything. I remembered the foot sticking out from under the boards and decided not to pursue the matter.

  Ken told me that he and Bud were going to head out to Riverside to hole up with Bud’s uncle. He asked if I wanted to go with them but I declined. I asked him if I could get some supplies from him and he grinned at me.

  “Supplies I got, my man. We’re not coming back here for a while and I’m sure someone’s going to breach the place while we’re gone.” he said.

  He told me he had done almost sixty grand in cash business in the last two weeks and if the place didn’t get nuked while they were gone he’d collect insurance on any damages when he got back.

  I gave him my list and we gathered up water cans, patrol goggles, rope, a couple tactical slings for my carbines, and various other supplies. When I asked if he had any freeze dried food left he asked me if I’d rather have MRE’s (Meals Ready to Eat, or Mushy Rubber Entrails to anyone who’s ever had to suffer through them). When I wrinkled my nose he smiled and threw five cases of Mountain House freeze-dried meals on the rolling pallet we were using.

  He asked if I needed any .22 LR. ammunition. I’m not a huge .22 fan although I had recently purchased a Smith & Wesson M&P 15-22 assault rifle and still had the tricked out Ruger 10/22 my dad had given me. I shrugged and nodded my head, trying to figure out how I was going to afford all this as he loaded 2000 rounds of CCI mini-mag .22’s on top of the growing pile of supplies.

  He helped me load everything into the back of my vehicle under the watchful eye of Bud, who was still manning the roof. I avoided looking at the woodpile.

  I grimaced in preparation for the shock of my bill and asked, “What do I owe you?”

  Ken looked at me funny and said, “You don’t owe me anything, man. Just don’t get f---ing killed.”

  He quickly added, “I told you, somebody’s going to loot the place when I’m gone anyway, and I can’t take all this shit with me. How about this; you can just make it up to me next time I see you again.”

  We shook hands and stood there in uncomfortable silence for a minute. He scratched Chloe on the head and she jumped up into the Yukon. I nodded up to Bud, got in my truck and drove away. Tears blurred my vision. I wonder if I’ll ever see Ken again.

  Day 5

  I didn’t really do anything noteworthy on that day.

  Mostly stayed home and tried to find a place to store my supplies. I did an inventory of my weapons and ammunition. With the exception of .22 ammo (I now have 2,800 rounds) for my two rifles, I don’t have as much stock as I thought. I have:

  •600 rounds of .223 for my CAR-15

  •
160 rounds of .30 carbine for my M-1 carbine

  •120 rounds of 12 gauge (a mix of 00 buck and slugs) 240 rounds of .45 ACP for my 1911 Colt

  •65 rounds of .44 special for the Charter Arms Bulldog Pug 150 rounds of .40 caliber for my Glock 23 service weapon

  As for my weapons, in addition to the above-mentioned guns I have a Glock 36 (.45 cal.) and a Walther P-22 (.22 caliber). While I was digging around I also found an old barrel cocking single- shot pellet pistol I had forgotten about. With it was a Tic-Tac box full of .177 caliber pellets.

  I managed not to watch the news for almost four hours. As soon as I turned the TV on, I regretted it. The Secretary of Defense was making a speech about relocating citizens outside of the major cities for their safety.

  The scene switched to a FEMA shelter located somewhere in Illinois, outside of Chicago. With the fences and armed soldiers everywhere about, the shelter looked more like a concentration camp than anything else.

  The Secretary of Defense stated that shelters like the one on the screen were located outside of every major city in the United States. A map of the United States replaced the shelter footage. On the map were hundreds of red dots scattered in every state.

  The Secretary said that rescue teams from the National Guard and the Army would be searching the cities street by street to help aid in the relocation efforts. There was no way in hell I was going to wind up in a prison camp. I just shook my head as I watched, awestruck by the unreality of it all.

  Day 6

  I woke up sweating and disoriented.

  Chloe was growling at something but shut up when I stroked her neck reassuringly. Finally, I heard it too. An engine (sounded diesel) was idling up the block. I got up and looked out my front window. An Army deuce-and-a-half truck was parked up at the end of my street. Several soldiers stood near the vehicle holding rifles.

  As I watched, several people came running out of nowhere, headed for the truck. I saw muzzle flashes and immediately after heard the reports of rifle fire. The engine of the Army truck revved and ground into gear. The soldiers quickly mounted up and the truck pulled away. It looked like they were shooting at the people but none of them went down. They just ran after the truck and followed it out of sight.

  The TV was showing a test pattern accompanied with the Emergency Broadcast tone on several stations and snow on all the rest. The phone was dead. I tried to get on to the Internet but couldn’t get a connection. I spent the day majorly freaked out. I closed all my curtains and hid in the dark.

  I heard people running up my street at one point and somebody shook my front gate for a while. I didn’t go see who it was. I held Chloe to keep her from barking and somehow managed to fall asleep.

  When I woke up it was almost dark. Chloe wandered in from the other room looking guilty. When I investigated I discovered that she had shit on the kitchen floor. I had forgotten to take her out. The poop was on the tile so it was easy to clean up. I fed her and myself and then went to bed.

  DAY 7

  I am embarrassed to say that all I did that day was cower and feel sorry for myself.

  The day started for me when I woke up to the sound of somebody talking on a megaphone several blocks away. It sort of sounded like a concert in the distance, except for the fact that there was no music.

  I couldn’t understand what was being said, but it was being repeated over and over. I couldn’t stop shaking for hours even though I wasn’t cold. I briefly wondered if I was getting sick, but realized it was just cowardice. I stayed in bed most of the day.

  Chloe shit twice more as well as peed a small tributary in the kitchen, but I didn’t bother to clean it up because I wasn’t about to open the door to throw it out. I threw down some paper towels to soak up Lake Chloe. She avoided me out of shame but I didn’t care.

  DAY 8

  I woke up disgusted with myself.

  I hadn’t bathed or shaved in four days and felt terrible. I finally had my appetite back but before I did anything I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and spent a half hour making peace with my dog. I let her out and kept an eye on her while I took out the trash. My trash barrels are on the side of the house up against the fence.

  It took me three trips to take everything out. Chloe ran up and back alongside the house while I worked, happy and carefree. It was quiet out for the first time in days. Still, I did my best not to make too much noise, lowering the trash into the bins carefully and shutting the trash barrel lids quietly. Chloe returned to the house with me only because I bribed her with a piece of cooked ham.

  I was going to clean myself up and shower, but I decided to dig out the generator from the garage instead. It was in the back under some boxes and covered with a tarp. When I removed the cover I expected the worst. I wasn’t disappointed. The generator looked like it had been built during WWI.

  I dragged it out to the entrance of the garage anyway to see if it was serviceable. I went into the house, got my tools and my iPod in its docking station, went back out, and sat down on the driveway.

  As I was pulling the spark plugs out of the generator and listening to Buffalo Springfield sing “For What it’s Worth”, I heard a crash from over the fence in my neighbor’s yard, followed by footsteps. I held my breath, silently cursing myself when I realized my 1911 pistol was inside on the kitchen table.

  Suddenly, the fence near me lurched violently and I heard someone slam into the other side. Whoever it was hit the fence full force again. The blood in my veins turned to ice when whoever it was emitted a low, wailing moan.

  I saw hands reach up over the fence and paw at the top. Then I heard the sounds of another person running across my neighbor’s yard and then a second body hit the fence like a linebacker. The fence lurched again and I thought for a moment it might topple, but it held.

  I sat frozen with fear as both bodies took turns slamming into the fence. I carefully set the wrench I was holding down onto the driveway, turned off the iPod, and quietly made my way to the kitchen door. As I stepped up onto the back steps to the kitchen, I could see the two figures in my neighbor’s yard.

  They were a Hispanic man and woman, both grimy and disheveled. The woman’s clothes were torn and her naked breasts were exposed. The man looked like he had been run over by a lawn mower.

  They both stepped back and looked at me over the fence, their milky eyes full of rage. The woman moaned again and the man bared his yellowed teeth at me. They both renewed their assault on the fence, trying to get at me. I was sickened with fear but realized I had to take care of them or they would eventually knock down the fence.

  I retrieved my shotgun and walked back out into the garage with purpose, ignoring the banging on the fence. I slung the weapon over my shoulder, pulled out a ladder, and carried it to the far side of the garage, leaning it against the wall.

  I scaled the ladder up onto the garage roof and walked across. I looked down and over the fence at the two people, put the shotgun’s stock to my shoulder and took aim at the man. They both looked up at me simultaneously and started moving toward me, reaching up.

  The man, in his eagerness, stepped too close to the edge of the pool in the yard and fell in, making a racket as he hit the water. He sank like a stone, thrashing about as he went to the bottom of the deep end.

  I took aim at the woman and squeezed the trigger. The 00 buckshot hit her between the breasts and knocked her flat on her back. She got right back up and charged toward me. I had a moment of sadness as I racked another round into the chamber, not because I had to shoot her, but because I could no longer deny what I was facing.

  I aimed for her head and touched off another round. The shot load disintegrated her face and she dropped to the ground instantly. I didn’t stop to admire my handiwork because even with my ears ringing I could hear multiple footsteps running up the street toward my house.

  I practically jumped down from the
roof into my yard and bolted for my kitchen door. I shut the door and locked the deadbolt, for once getting my business taken care of ahead of the adrenaline shakes. I looked over to see Chloe shivering like a leaf and cowering under the kitchen table. I knew how she felt. I walked silently to the front living room and peeked out of the curtains. About a dozen of Them wandered in the street, sniffing the air, and looking about frantically.

  I stepped away from the window and sat down on the floor, listening to them mill about for over an hour. They finally settled down and wandered away. I thought about what I had done. I was pretty impressed with myself that I hadn’t hesitated in the heat of the moment, seeing as how it was the first time I had ever actually shot anyone.

  I replayed the incident over and over in my mind, skillfully avoiding the one important truth I needed to face.

  “They’re sick.” I thought. “Crazy. It’s because there’s no law around, that’s why they’re acting that way. I’ll be able to justify my actions when everything gets back on track. Hell, I can probably just say I don’t know what happened to them. After all, it’s not like there were any witnesses around.”

  Round and round my mind went. Then slowly, in the gathering darkness, the truth crawled out at me, forcing itself to my consciousness so that I couldn’t avoid it any longer.

  Things were never going to be normal ever again. That’s because the “rabies epidemic” was just a colorful euphemism for “we don’t know what the hell happened but people are dying and coming back as zombies.”

  “Welcome to 28 Days Later and the Night of the living Dead.” I said to myself. “Not so fun in real life, is it?”

  I managed to get to the kitchen sink before I threw up. I felt dizzy, like I was trapped in a nightmare and couldn’t wake up. Like I was breathing under water and struggling against some invisible embrace, and all I had to do was open my eyes and realize that I was tangled up in my sheets from too much thrashing about in my dreams.

  I felt a gibbering madness creeping around the edges of my sanity. I think I actually giggled a little. My mind started sliding into the abyss…