Sometimes We Ran (Book 4): Survival Read online

  Sometimes We Ran 4: Survival

  Sometimes We Ran, Volume 4

  Stephen Drivick

  Published by Stephen Drivick, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  SOMETIMES WE RAN 4: SURVIVAL

  First edition. November 23, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Stephen Drivick.

  Written by Stephen Drivick.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Stephen Drivick

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Eleven Years, Three Months, 10 Days After the Zombie Apocalypse

  Chapter 2: A New Mission

  Chapter 3: The Library

  Chapter 4: Night of the Red-Eyes

  Chapter 5: The Stranger's Return

  Chapter 6: The Barbecue

  Chapter 7: Patricia

  Chapter 8: In the Woods

  Chapter 9: More Problems

  Chapter 10: First Blood

  Chapter 11: The Meeting

  Chapter 12: The Response

  Chapter 13: Pine Grove

  Chapter 14: Getting Away

  Chapter 15: Our Lost Children

  Chapter 16: Behind Enemy Lines

  Chapter 17: A Look Behind the Curtain

  Chapter 18: Caged and Forgotten

  Chapter 19: Escape, With Some Inside Help

  Chapter 20: In the Chaos That Followed

  Chapter 21: The Things We Have to Do

  Chapter 22: Preparing for the Worst

  Chapter 23: Interception

  Chapter 24: The Pet Store Retreat

  Chapter 25: Undone

  Chapter 26: Running Through the Storm

  Chapter 27: A Walk in the Sunshine

  Chapter 28: A Crisis Ends and a Leader Falls

  Chapter 29: The Next Day

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  About the Author

  Dedicated to all zombie fans throughout the world. Watch out for Red-Eyes!

  Chapter 1: Eleven Years, Three Months, 10 Days After the Zombie Apocalypse

  I made it to the edge of the thick growth of the cornfield, and poked my head out from the safety of the tall plants. The road before me steamed in the hot summer sun. Hot but empty. Looking both ways revealed the pack of wild children who were hunting me were nowhere to be found. They had lost the trail and were off somewhere else. Time for a quick water break.

  I moved back into the cool shadows of the corn plants. Crouching down among the stalks, I uncapped my canteen to take a swig of precious water. Sweat dripped off my brow, and my shirt was already soaked. It was a nice day for the kids to take part in an exercise. Warm, but not a cloud in the clear blue sky above my head. A zombie hunt in the morning before school. For the purpose of this exercise, I was a zombie today.

  I had to move. Couldn't make it this easy to find me. I took off towards the back off the field, trying to leave a trail so the hunters could track me. That was part of the hunt. Sometimes the zombies we encountered had to be followed before they were terminated by our security people. Teaching the kids to follow a trail was important.

  I picked my way through the corn until I could see the edge of the field. There, I took a knee and listened to the air. A warm breeze kicked up, and the corn all around me began to rustle. I strained my ears to barely hear my students as they hunted for me. They were still far away, and moving in the wrong direction. The hunters may have lost the trail, but at least they were still all together as a group. It was something I taught them. Humans were able to hunt and contain the dead better as a group. The Red-Eye zombies liked to pick off stragglers or hunters who were alone.

  The cool shadows of the life-giving corn helped cool me down, and allowed me to take another breather. Hope the crop is good this year. I reached up, and picked a juvenile ear off one of the stalks. Opening the thick green leaves revealed a beautiful, but smaller than normal ear of golden kernels. The drought that had started a few weeks ago was having an effect on our crops. The soil beneath my feet was giving up the last of its moisture, and a kick raised ominous orange dust that flew away in the light breeze. Our farming guys were already having meetings about the drought and what to do about the situation. Corn was the staple of our survival oasis. Hunting and raising animals, along with other vegetable gardens made up our food stocks, but corn was our base. If the corn didn't grow, we might be in trouble.

  I emerged from the cornfield being careful not to damage anymore of our precious plants. The lack of water and the possible damage to our corn crop was a worry for another time. Now I was teaching our future zombie-hunters how to take care of the invading dead. After looking both ways to make sure I wasn't being tracked, I made my way across a narrow grass path to our fence.

  The fence was the real thing. Cast iron and more than twice as tall as my six-foot three height, it went all the way around our community. At the front was a thick stucco wall with steel reinforcement, and a sturdy gate guarded by snipers and other armed residents. The terrain kept us safe as well. Outside the fence on this side, the land dropped away to a railroad track at the bottom. At the back of the houses, a life-giving stream flowed near the fence. A great place to get some fresh water, or take a dip on a hot, steamy day like today. Zombie traps of all types — snares, holes, covered trenches, etc — were scattered on all sides to keep the dead away. The Red-Eyed zombies and other bad guys had a tough time even getting to the fence, much less getting over into the compound.

  I reached the fence, and grabbed a hold of one of the bars. The whole subdivision had been known by the name Cannon Fields in the old days before the end. In better times, people walked its streets named after wild birds, played on its tennis courts, and swam in its kidney-shaped pool. Now the tennis courts were used as a vehicle garage and shop, ducks and catfish were the only residents of the pool, and the streets were overgrown with wild grasses, weeds, and spilled corn. It was a paradise compared to the outside and my home of more than a decade. All of the residents worked hard to keep it going.

  I pulled my hand back inside. Flecks of black paint speckled on my gloves. The fence was beginning to lose paint again and rust. The two-year cycle of painting the fence stopped when our supply of black paint ran out. The rust was only on the surface: the bars were still strong and kept the bad stuff outside.

  I met one of our guards, looking out over the former great state of Alabama outside our fence. By guard, I mean the mannequin dressed in old faded clothes. He wore a trucker’s ball cap on his plastic head and carried a toy rifle on his shoulder. It seemed like a good idea at the time to fake a few guards, but now it felt silly to keep the stiff, plastic people guarding our flanks.

  I straightened the cap on the dummy’s head. He didn’t thank me. “That’s better,” I said, staring at the blank face underneath the hat.

  “Any Red-Eyes today, Mac?” I asked. “Red-Eyes” was the universal nickname for the zombies that lived on the outside. One look at the luminescent red orbs staring back at you and you knew how they earned that moniker.

  Mac didn’t answer. He just kept staring out of the fence. He was no help, as usual.

  The young voices of my trainees reached my ears. They were still far off, moving away from me. I started walking along the fence, parallel to the hunters. Looking ahead, I saw a group of trees left by the landscapers when they built the place. We left them standing because of all the cool shade. It was perfect. I would get there first and surprise them by leaping out from those trees ending the exercise. Then we would go back to the classroom and discuss what they did wrong. As head of secu
rity of Cannon Fields, this training exercise was my baby. I wanted the kids to learn how to protect themselves and hunt down intruders in case anything nasty got inside the fence. Some of the residents didn't feel it was necessary as, after all, they were still young. Some were barely teenagers. But I knew one day they would have to step up to protect the residents. I wasn't getting any younger. Someday I would be too old to help keep the monsters out.

  Picking up the pace, I got to the shady coolness of the trees first. The corn was pushed back so it surrounded the trees leaving a clearing. I stopped to listen for a minute, then looked around for a nice place to hide before the hunting party arrived. As I was trying to decide on a good place, something hit me on the back between my shoulder blades.

  It was a small rock. Someone behind and slightly above me cleared their throat.

  I turned slowly and looked up. Sitting in one of the low branches of an old oak tree was Amy, one of the young zombie-hunters. Without saying a word, she made a gun with her finger and thumb. Pointing it in my general direction, she said, “Bang. Got you, John.”

  “You certainly did.” It was all I could think to say, being outsmarted by a teenage girl and all.

  Chapter 2: A New Mission

  I pulled a silver-plated whistle out of my pocket and gave two short blasts. It was an alert to tell the students still skulking around in the corn the exercise was over. The sound of the whistle echoed across the cornfield. “Why aren't you with the rest of the group?” I asked. I thought I had taught them to stay together.

  Amy leapt from the tree and stood in front of me. “The boys were being stupid. They didn't know what they were doing, and they wouldn't listen to me. I decided to do my own thing.” A smile spread across Amy's pretty face. “I guess I showed them, huh? I won.”

  I smiled back. Amy and I shared a bond of friendship. I was on the team that rescued her from the road and brought her and our doctor home to Cannon Fields. She was just a young girl then, barely five years old. Amy's face told the story of her ordeal outside with the Red-Eye zombies. She had a few visible scars from a car accident, with one nasty one that ran from her chin to her ear. It didn't affect her attitude. She was always quick with a smile or a wave.

  “You got the zombie, so you won,” I said. “Where did you get the idea to climb the tree?”

  “From you. You said in class Red-Eyes sometimes have trouble climbing. I figured I'd wait in the tree and you would come by. I was right.”

  “At least someone is listening to me,” I said. “Now, let's get out of this corn and find the rest of the class.”

  “Cool,” Amy said. She bolted into the thick green leaves of our main crop. “Try and catch me, John,” she said as she disappeared.

  I took off after her but had no hope of catching up. Amy's young legs allowed her to take a commanding lead in the corn. I could see the plants a few rows ahead of me moving around as Amy thrashed her way to the road. Her girlish laughter reached my ears. “Come on! You're not even trying.” Amy was picking up speed, and moving away at a good clip.

  “Amy! Wait up,” I said. It was too late. She was out of earshot. Soon, I was all alone in one of our vast fields.

  I pressed on, trying not to get lost in our future food supply. After a few terrifying minutes of pushing through the endless crops, I broke out onto the road. Amy was sitting cross-legged on the hot asphalt waiting for me. She shook her head. “Too slow.”

  I was covered in yellow pollen, dust, and corn tassels. Taking a few swipes with my gloved hands, I cleaned myself off. “Oh yeah? I've got a few years on you. You just wait and see how fast you are when you reach my age, young lady.”

  Amy laughed uncontrollably, like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. My complaints about my age often fell on deaf ears and caused great laughter. “I'm never getting old. One day, I'll be teaching all the kids how to get the bad guys.” With that, she turned around and headed down the road towards our meeting place with the other children.

  With knees hurting, I followed. Being north of fifty years of age, I may have lost a step or two in the years following the end of the world but I wasn't ready to give up yet. Amy was right though. Someday she would be in charge of making sure we were all safe in our fenced-in home. There would come a day when I would be too old to fight the dead. Even in all the heat and humidity, I shivered at the thought of growing too old to fight back.

  I caught up with Amy on the overgrown road, and we walked together. Amy went from one subject of conversation to another. I nodded, trying to keep up with her train of thought. Amy was a sweet, gentle girl full of life and great bravery. She was held back only by injuries suffered in her youth during the worst of the zombie swarms. People often called her slow and child-like, but I thought she was still pretty sharp. Amy loved the zombie-hunting exercises in the corn. I knew that one day she would make a fine protector of Cannon Fields.

  After a brief walk on this beautiful early summer day, we arrived at the intersection and the prearranged meeting place. The teachers were already there, looking nervous. They never did like giving up control of their kids to us crazy security guys. Rose and Louise stood in the shade of a couple of trees looking down the road and chatting among themselves. Amy flashed past, and joined some of her friends. I brought up the rear and got my usual disapproving look and shake of the head from Rose. She wasn’t a fan of my crazy exercises among the corn plants.

  One of our teaching staff was missing this morning. My good friend and neighbor, Claire, wasn’t there. “Is Claire around?” I asked.

  Louise shook her head. “Still sick, That stomach thing that’s going around.” That “stomach thing going around” was feared to be a form of dysentery that had entered our community. No serious problems so far. Everyone seems to recover after a week or so of sickness. So far, the mysterious disease had spared me a visit. A theory going around blamed it on our water supplies. The stream at the back fence tested okay so far. Something might be getting into our collected rainwater.

  Louise took a quick head count of her students. “Where are the rest of them? We're still missing three,” she said.

  “Lost them in the corn. Guess we'll have to make some replacements,” I said.

  “Funny. You’re a real funny man,” said Rose, giving me another evil look.

  Like a runaway freight train, the three missing teenagers rushed down the road and ran past us into the shade for a drink of water. “Honestly, John. Must you get them so dirty?” Rose said, turning to the nearest unfortunate dirty boy. She tried to wipe the dust off of his clothes. Soon, the young man was enveloped in a tan cloud of pollen and precious soil..

  “Sorry, Miss Rose,” I said. The other kids just shook their heads and laughed at me. A big strong man being scolded by a teacher was a huge joke, I guess.

  “Did anyone win the exercise?” Louise asked.

  “Amy. She got the intruder zombie today. She showed some vertical thinking, and got up in one of the trees. Good use of the high ground.”

  “Way to go, Amy.” Louise gave the young zombie-hunter a high-five. The rest of the students just groaned. Better luck next time.

  “That’s enough fun for today. Let's go back to the schoolhouse. We'll pass out some more water and cool down,” Rose said in a loud voice. “John, would you like to be our escort?”

  I always liked to assign a guard or two to watch over the kids and their teachers when they were out and about. “Can do,” I said. I waved my arm down the road. “Lead the way, Miss Rose.”

  Before we could get all her people together and lined up, a sharp whistle came from up the road. I didn't even have to look up to see who it was. It was the familiar high-pitched tone of one of our security people, Lisa. We waved at each other, and she jogged down the street towards the gathering of teen-agers.

  “Been looking all over for you guys. Is the exercise over?” Lisa brushed an errant strand of pretty blond hair out of her eyes. It was almost translucent in the morning light. br />
  “Yes, I think so,” I said. The teenagers began to gather around. All the kids loved Lisa. She was a lot closer to their age, and by default, much cooler than I. “The kids got enough fresh air for today.”

  “Management wants to see you,” said Lisa.

  “Denise or Michael?” Denise was the leader of our community, and Michael was her assistant. I’d rather see Denise, but she was down with the stomach thing. Down for the last few weeks.

  “Michael,” said Lisa, “but I think it’s pretty important.”

  “Really?” I said. “Did Michael tell you anything?” .

  “Something about one of our scouts. I think they saw something outside.”.

  “All right. Could you escort the teachers and the kids back to their school?” I asked.

  “Sure. Be glad to.” The kids brightened up as Lisa led them away and up the street towards our converted schoolhouses. I went the opposite way up the road to the community building — the nerve center of Cannon Fields.

  As I walked, the warm early summer breeze began to pick up and scatter some old leaves along the ground. It was my hope that the gentle wind would blow in a few thundershowers or a rain front or two to chase away the impending drought. A good drought could stamp out our crops and decrease our water supply. We were extra lucky this past fall and winter. A few cold days but wet with frequent rain. The life-giving stream at the south end of our community was full and even swollen over its banks. As a bonus, the rain collection barrels on the houses and buildings were bursting at the seams. We had plenty of water stored, even if some of it might be tainted. The warm days this winter even allowed us to grow an extra crop or two in our gardens, keeping the storage facilities and the ladies who put things in jars busy. Supplemented by game animals from the woods and our goats and chickens, our fenced-in home had a good winter and spring. We ate well, and stayed warm.