Sometimes We Ran (Book 1) Page 12

  I unscrewed the cap off the tank and smelled the water. It had a scent similar to swimming pool water. I shined my flashlight on the pump and checked out the instructions. It all seemed pretty straightforward. I turned the handle, and a gurgling sound came from the tank as water moved to the manifold above the showers. I pumped for about fifteen minutes or so until I thought that enough water had passed from the tank to the manifold. I stepped into one of the shower stalls, turned a small knob, and was rewarded with a stream of water from the shower head. It was a steady stream, but it was ice cold.

  Claire clapped her hands with delight. “Hot damn! Me first.” She began to remove her clothes.

  “Wait a minute. Let’s find a few towels first before you get naked and everything.” I found a couple of white, starched towels, and gave a few to Claire. “Take your shower. No more than fifteen minutes though. Be warned that the water is cold.”

  “No more that fifteen minutes,” she repeated. She grabbed some soap and shampoo out of her backpack and waved me away. “Go over there and don’t look.”

  I smiled a bit at her modesty, and walked over to the gurneys to keep a lookout. I heard the water turn on, followed by a squeal from Claire. “Holy crap, this water is cold,” she said above the sound of the shower.

  I took a closer look at one of the gurneys. It contained a partially zipped-up body bag with a small ID tag attached near the head. It read “Male - approx. age 40, Infected 2/18/15, turn time: 18 minutes, Variety: yellow eye.”

  The body bag contained a zombie.

  While Claire finished up her shower, I unzipped the bag and took a look. The body was badly decomposed and the smell brought tears to my eyes. Maggots the size of small earthworms fell out of his eyes and mouth. When I looked closer, I saw surgical scars here and there across the body. Apparently, the medical staff here had done a autopsy. The smell was making what little food was in my stomach turn, so I quickly zipped up the bag.

  I found a small clipboard attached to the gurney. I thumbed through the attached papers and saw phrases like, “patient admitted to medical with several bites,” “high fever with convulsions followed by death,” “patient reanimated-18 minutes from death,” and “extremely violent and unreachable through normal communication.” One page contained in the chart had a list of about a hundred medications, ranging from common antibiotics to experimental vaccines, that had been administered. None of them had any effect on the zombie virus, fungus, parasite, or whatever it was that had reanimated him. It looked like they knew about as much as Claire and I knew about the outbreak: nothing.

  Claire finished her shower early and bounded over to me fully dressed, all dry, and looking squeaky clean. Only her auburn hair was still wet. “Wow. That may have been the best shower ever,” she said as she walked up.

  The shower had done her good. “Better dry your hair,” I said handing her a towel. “You’re still fighting a cold, you know.”

  “Got it covered. I cut it short so it dries easier. Watch.” Claire stepped back and shook her head like a dog after a bath. Water droplets flew off her head in every direction. After she was finished, her hair was indeed drier, but now it stuck out of her head in little pink highlighted auburn spikes. I tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh.

  “What are you laughing at? That’s how I dry it.” Seeing me laugh was starting to make her giggle a little bit.

  “Nothing. It just looks like you stepped on a power cable.” That got us both laughing like mental patients.

  “All right, smart guy,” she said as she composed herself. “Your turn to hit the showers.”

  I handed her my rifle, and directed her to a good lookout point. I grabbed some toiletries, opened the curtain on the nearest stall, and stepped inside. It was fairly large, with a small sink and mirror on one wall, and a nozzle on the other. There was also a small bench. I stripped down and turned on the water. Remembering that bad things can happen when you’re naked and in the shower- like a zombie trying to join you for instance-I kept my weapons within easy reach.

  Claire was right. It was the best shower ever. At first, I didn’t even mind that the water was ice cold.

  I soaped up everything, including my hair, and then rinsed off quickly. Although getting clean felt good, I was about to freeze to death. I carefully pulled the bandage off my new cut and washed it with soap and water. It stung like crazy, and was beginning to swell a little bit.

  I turned to the small mirror to check out my new wound. It was an inch-long slice right above the left eyebrow. Not so deep to need stitches, but deep enough to hurt like hell. It matched the one over my right eye. I got that cut when I slipped and fell during a truck raid looking for supplies.

  I dried myself with the stiffest towel I had ever seen, then ran a slightly dull razor over my face to cut down on my beard a little. Unlike the youthful Claire, the shower really didn’t make me feel any better. It was nice to be clean, but I still felt tired and very old. The strain of being on the road was beginning to wear me down. I wish we could find a safe place and stay awhile. Maybe this firehouse would work out for at least a few days.

  I really missed my wife.

  I put on my underwear, pants, and socks and sat down on the bench to rest for a minute or two. The latest zombie attack in the office really took something out of me. My left eye was throbbing, and a general feeling of hopelessness was running through my body. Claire and I could wander for years and never find a safe place to stay. I began to wonder if there was a point to all this walking. Lately, my old, worn out body had started to send signals to give up. The outbreak had taken so much away from me.

  The only bright spot was finding Claire. At the very least, it was nice to have a friend to talk to while you go from nightmare to nightmare.

  As if on cue, Claire peeked through the curtain of the shower stall. “Oops. Sorry Tiger. I didn’t know you were still getting dressed. It just got a little too quiet. Are you all right? You look a little gloomy.” She put her hand on my bare shoulder.

  “I’m all right,” I answered. No sense worrying her with all my problems. I put on my shirt and stood up with a groan. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  “Sounds good. You know, you’re in pretty good shape for an older guy,” Claire said looking me up and down. “I mean, my Dad was about your age and didn’t look nearly as good as you.”

  I arched my eyebrows, which caused a shooting pain because of my new cut. “Well, I’m on a very strict diet. It’s called the Running-for-your-Life-While-the-World-Ends Diet. It’s very effective.”

  Claire’s laughter echoed off the metal walls of our sanctuary. It was fun to make her laugh. It always made me feel a little better. I made a mental note to try and make her laugh as much as possible.

  The first thing we did was try to light the wood stove that had been installed in one of the corners of the garage. I broke up a few empty pallets, and piled the wood up in the stove. A little discarded newspaper for a fire starter, and we soon had a warm, smoky fire to warm our hands and bones. Initially, the stove belched out so much smoke into our faces I thought I was going to have to snuff it out. Eventually, it started to draft better, and the smoke cleared.

  Next, we turned our attention to the meals-ready-to-eat. Claire decided on “Spaghetti with Meat Sauce,’” and I took a chance on “Chicken and Vegetables.” The MREs were self-contained goodness. They came with a main course, a side dish, some bread or a roll, and a small dessert. They even came with condiments and a powdered drink. I put the main courses in the heater bags and added a little water according to the instructions. After about fifteen to twenty minutes, we were sharing a somewhat hot meal. You know, a lot of soldiers will tell you that MREs are pretty lousy food, but to me, it was one of the best meals I’d tasted in a long time. Claire and I both ate with gusto with no leftovers. After our meal, I made one of the brownie MREs for us to share. It was a little soggy, but really great. We didn’t leave a single crumb.

  These were
the good times. Plenty of food, warmth, and even a shower. Good times were becoming rarer. I know both of us wanted to stay here for as long as we could, but the undead might have something to say about that.

  “God, that was great. I think I might actually be full,” Claire said.

  “You said it. We are going to have a take a few of those meals when we leave.” I sat down on a nearby cot.

  “Do we really have to leave here? It seems safe.”

  I thought about it for a minute. “Well, you know what happened at the store. We could wake up tomorrow, and be waist deep in walking corpses.” I paused for a minute, and looked into Claire’s hopeful little face. “Maybe we can stay here at least until the meals run out.”

  With our stomachs full of hot food, we decided to call it a day and sack out. Claire said she felt funny sleeping in a cot that someone else might have slept in, and who may now be gone, so I found some extra cots, pillows, and blankets stacked in a storage locker and set them up by the stove. Claire climbed into her cot, and I covered her with one of the gray, scratchy blankets.

  “Thanks, John. Goodnight.” Claire’s eyes were already looking a little heavy.

  “Goodnight. Sleep tight.” All of a sudden, I was pretty tired myself.

  Before I went to bed, I checked all the exits to make sure everything was secure. Finding everything satisfactory, I climbed into a rickety cot and covered myself with a blanket. I made sure my gun was close at hand. I didn’t want any nasty surprises in the night.

  We laid in the dark for a few minutes. Outside, another storm was raging. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed over our heads. I could hear the rain bouncing off the roof. It almost sounded like machine gun fire.

  I heard Claire say, into the darkness, “John, are you still awake?”

  “Yes Claire. I’m still awake. Are you okay?” One thing about Claire, she didn’t always go to sleep right away.

  “I’m okay. I just wanted to ask you about something.”

  “Ask away.” Sometimes her nighttime questions were tough to answer. Claire could get a little philosophical before she went to bed.

  “I just wanted to know if we’re doing all right. I mean, I know we’re alive and all, but are we doing okay? You think we’ll ever find a safe place to stay permanently?”

  It was another deep question. I thought for a minute, than answered, “Well, we got hot food and a warm bed with a roof over our heads, so I guess we are doing better than some people. As for a safe place, I don’t know. Maybe there’s a place out there somewhere. We just have to stay alive long enough to find it.”

  My answer seemed to satisfy her. “Oh …Well then I’m glad we’re together. I would hate to go through this alone.”

  I knew how she felt. Before I found her, I was very alone.

  I heard Claire breathing deeply, so I knew she was asleep. I drifted off a few minutes later. Outside, the storm was reaching its peak. I hoped the rain would end soon. Even though it kept the undead at bay, it was a getting a little depressing.

  Chapter 16

  Don’t Trust Anyone

  Claire and I wound up staying at the firehouse for about two weeks. We had warmth, food, water, and a dry place to sleep, so we weren’t in any particular need to hit the road. Also, for the first time in a long time we had a place to take a shower. We limited our showers to about ten minutes to make the remaining water last for a good while. After cleaning out the bodies of the two zombies I had killed, it even began to feel a little cozy.

  Claire and I quickly settled into a routine. We would get up in the morning for a quick patrol around the firehouse. We looked for any approaching groups of undead on the road, and checked for any supplies in some of the wrecked cars. After coming inside from our patrol, we would take our showers, and then came breakfast, usually an MRE or some of Claire’s pancakes cooked on the wood stove.

  After that, well, there really wasn’t much to do. Funny thing about the end of the world, it can get a little boring. If you’re not running for your life or scrounging for supplies, you wind up sitting around with nothing to do. Who knew there would be some downtime during a zombie apocalypse? The fact is, without radios, computers, cellphones, or any of the other million things we used to entertain ourselves, life could get a little quiet.

  By the third day, Claire and I had read all the magazines and books that we could find in the firehouse. To pass a little more time, we fiddled with the radio in the dispatcher’s office. It was hooked to few a car batteries that still had a little charge. Claire and I knew next to nothing about radios, but that didn’t stop us from flipping the switch and turning the frequency dial up and down. We found mostly static or complete silence. On one channel, I thought I heard someone say “California,” but I think it was my overactive imagination.

  About the fourth or fifth day, I found a deck of cards and taught Claire how to play poker. At first, Claire couldn’t remember what hand beat what, but soon she got the hang of the game. We used meals-ready-to-eat as poker chips. One hand, I raised her a “Chicken with Vegetables,” but she beat my two pair with a full house and I lost the meal. During our stay, she became a real card shark.

  We played checkers and other games to pass the time. Claire gave me a haircut. She said I was starting to look like a homeless man. Claire let it slip that her 23rd birthday had come and gone, so we celebrated over an oatmeal cream pie. Claire thought it was great, but no matter how much she begged, I was not going to sing “Happy Birthday.”

  We looked in the lockers and trunks of the firehouse. We were mainly looking for clothes, but actually we were just nosy. Most of the clothes we found didn’t fit anyway. Claire could wear most of the shirts we found as dresses.

  Sometimes we just talked. We talked about our old lives, our friends, or what we thought the future held for both of us. The conversations could get real deep, or they could be mundane, idle conversation. When we weren’t talking, we were resting. It was good to conserve our energy for any horrors we might encounter.

  It was during the second week that the rain and thundershowers finally stopped. This was a mixed blessing. The rain made it tough for us, but it really screwed up the senses of the zombies and gave us an advantage. With the rain gone, they would be back to normal. Still, it was nice to see the weather clear up a little.

  Although the rain was gone, it was replaced by a low-hanging gray fog that obscured everything around the firehouse. Sometimes it was so thick we couldn’t even see down the road in either direction. I don’t know why the weather was so messed up, but I considered the fog a good thing. It was good camouflage.

  Claire wasn’t a big fan. “What the hell is the deal with this fog? Are we in London or something?” she said during one of our excursions outside.

  I lowered my binoculars. “Well, it is pretty thick …almost like smoke. It keeps us hidden.”

  She thought about my point for a minute. “I guess you’re right. You know we can’t see anything coming, right?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. I hoped nothing was watching us from inside the thick fog banks swirling around the firehouse.

  Claire got cold, so she went inside to fix her world-famous chocolate chip pancakes. I stayed outside to continue my lookout. The sun had peeked out a bit, and was starting to burn some of the heavy fog away. The visibility was slowly improving.

  I swept my binoculars along the rows of wrecked cars and trucks. Nothing was moving, except for the crows and other birds feeding on the dead bodies and other things on the road. I checked the fields and trees beyond the road. There was no movement there, either. I swept back to the road, and that’s when I saw someone or something walking among in the wreckage.

  It was human in form.

  I thought no one was around. I strained my eyes to see if it was a zombie or a living being. Whatever it was, it was walking down the road looking down at the ground, so I couldn’t get a good look at it’s eyes. I saw it stop at a flipped-over car and bend down to check it
out. It was definitely another survivor. It was a male, about middle age, wearing a gray trench coat over orange coveralls.

  I sprinted to a hiding place among some small bushes, and then continued my lookout. I scanned our new fellow survivor for weapons, but saw none strapped to his body. That didn’t mean he wasn’t carrying. Weapons could be easily hidden.

  Our new friend slowly walked up the road, checking out the wrecked vehicles. I saw him pick up a few things and put them in a small backpack. Suddenly he stopped, and started concentrating on the ground. He bent down to take a closer look, then began following something on the ground.

  It occurred to me what he might be following. Claire and I must have left some sort of a trail. He had a road map right to our front door. As if he could sense where I was, he looked up in my general direction and spotted the firehouse. He broke into a trot and turned towards my hiding place. We were going to have company.

  I ran inside to rouse Claire. She was at the stove, happily cooking up some pancakes. I hated to give her the bad news.

  “What’s the matter? You look a little upset,” she said with a little concern.

  “Someone’s coming up the road and he knows we’re here.” I hid my rifle and shotgun in different locations in the cot area. If we had to retreat inside, at least we’ll have a few weapons.

  “Another survivor? You mean someone alive and not dead? Maybe they’re friendly,” she said, grabbing her bat.

  “Maybe, but don’t count on it.” I answered, getting my handgun ready for action. “I’ll talk to him and see what’s up. It’s best we don’t look too aggressive.” Claire nodded that she understood.

  We ran to the door and looked out the window. About fifteen minutes later, our fellow survivor walked into the driveway of the firehouse. I got my first close look: definitely male, about thirty to forty years old, with a gray trench coat, stained orange coveralls, and a small backpack. His feet were wrapped in dirty bath towels tied up with some old cord. I guess his shoes must have given out. He didn’t look armed.