Surviving: The Awakening (IdleHands and Azseth) - Zombie Survival
"Fuck, I think I just saw another one," the heavy set bearded man rubbed his eyes, "I gotta stop using my own shit."
"You're not seeing things, Bear," the young woman sipped her can of Coors Light, her long turquoise dyed hair pushed back with a handkerchief acting as a headband. "They've been roaming all over since this morning, you're lucky you didn't get grabbed on your way in. I hear they're eating folks. A tub like you would have kept many of them fed."
"You're shitting me," he muttered, he had just arrived with the latest batch from their cooking labs that were in trailers deep in the woods outside town. "Hey, get me a beer, sweet cheeks."
"Get your own, you lazy sack of shit," she replied, "I'm keeping watch."
"If you weren't Demon's little girl, I'd slap that shit out of that smart mouth," he growled, hefting himself off the couch and headed to the kitchen.
Darcie gave him a bright smile and the finger before turning back to peering through the wooden slats nailed across the windows of the house. It had been yesterday when all hell broke loose and the streets were suddenly full of walking corpses craving flesh. She had been visiting her boyfriend, Eddie, at his shop and he had given her an early Valentine's present. To her horror it was a heart shaped tattoo with her initials. She had been prepared to break up with him again after the holiday weekend, neither one of them were the faithful types but his gift made it even more awkward. He was dead now, so it was not an issue anymore. Darcie found that she missed him more than she thought she would. Or maybe it was the sense of normalcy her old high school sweetheart/heartbreaker brought to her life that was now completely turned upside down.
They kept the radio on the news stations but the reports were mixed and vague, clearly no one knew what the hell was going on. Her father was the president of the Satan's Rejects, a local biker gang known for drug running and violence, had a police scanner he kept on at all times. It was illegal but by far one of the least of his many crimes. It was on now, placed in the living room so that any announcements the cops made could be heard by them. By luck, Darcie had come home from college for the holiday weekend and by her reckoning, classes were going to be cancelled.
She played with her lip ring as she watched out the window, now and then seeing what was once a neighbor come shuffling around. From their vantage point, they could see down the street, their house was in a cul de sac and the neighboring homes were owned by other gang members. Right now everyone that had survived congregated at Demon's house, so it was like any Saturday night except for the murdering zombies hanging around. Darcie felt an amused smile quirk her full lips and she finished off the beer, tossing the can into a wastebasket. On her lap was shotgun, her preferred gun of choice since it took little skill to use one. Just point and fire, if anything is coming at you, it'll be blown to bits.
Leaning back in her chair, she kicked her feet up, crossing them at the ankles on the coffee table. She wore dark jeans and her oxblood Docs, her t-shirt sported a local hotrod shop where her on and off again boyfriend worked and it was pulled over a white thermal. Her had mother bemoaned her choice of blue-green for her hair color, despite the fact that she had been born a brunette but would take that secret to the grave and fought a determined battle to stay blonde. Darcie paused and blinked, trying not to think about her mother. She had been gone to the grocery store earlier today and still had not returned. Her father refused to allow anyone out of the house, he had barely escaped an attack and had survival on his mind. Though it tore him up inside, he had to think of the greater good.
Her father came into the room, carrying a six pack hooked onto one huge finger and a plate with three steaks. They had been cooking up all the meat since the power went out a few hours ago. The gas was still on for some reason but that too would soon go away if nothing was done. The radio was replaying old news, advising people to stay indoors, to wait it out and that the local police and government officials would announce updates as soon as possible.
Demon grunted at the repeat messages and sat down, setting his AK-47 against the wall. He was a large man, broad shouldered and with a thick brown beard shot with gray. His arms were like slabs of beef, covered in black ink tattoos depicting skulls and guns and naked women.
"How's it look out there?" he asked, taking a bite out of one of the steaks.
"It looks like Dawn of the Dead out there is what it looks like," Darcie replied, pushing back the curtain.
"Trust the gubment to not know their asses from a hole in the ground," he said, cracking open a Budweiser. "I'm willing to bet this is all their doing. Some experiment gone wrong."
"Maybe so," she said, patting the shotgun on her knees. "I hope we can ride it out here. How are you holding up, Dad?"
He took a long swig and set his can against his beer gut, "Best that can be expected. Missing the old lady."
That was as close to a heart to heart as they would get, but Darcie knew he was hurting as she was. She was about to speak when Bear came thumping into the living room.
"Looky outside," he shoved the curtains open. "Itchy's up on the roof and he told me about it."
In the dusk they could make out a shuffling corpse. It was an old man in a floppy fisherman's hat and boxers, his sagging flabby chest was scratched and bitten, dried blood caught in the gray matted hair. Darcie recognized him as a the nosey bastard from up the street who more than once had gotten close to getting shot for calling the cops about noise complaints from the motorcycles or loud music. There he was now, dead eyed and wandering, clutching the half eaten corpse of one of his dogs in his hands.
"I'll be damned," Demon said, "It's old man Rourke and he's munching on one of his annoying poodles. Maybe there is justice in the world."
Bear snickered and watched for a moment, "Itchy wanted to know if he should take him out, he's gettin' really close to the house."
The president of the club waved his hand, "If he touches the lawn, then fire other than that, let him be. We don't want to draw too much attention here."
The husky man left to go inform their sniper and Demon glanced at the police scanner that was silent but for an intermittent hissing and crackling.
"Cops are gone," he said finally. "I'd bet on it. They've said fuck off to the people here and are saving their own asses. I don't blame 'em."
Darcie sank back in her chair, reaching out to snag one of her father's beers. Her thoughts lingered on the past two days. So many were dead now and some of them had come back. It was surreal to recognize people who were now zombies, walking dead, infected, or whatever the label one chose to use. The sun set behind the treeline and darkness crept over the neighborhood. No streetlights came on and the only light was from the half moon.
"Daddy, do you think this is the end of the world?" she asked finally.
"You got me, darlin'. I have no idea, and if it is, I think our asses got left behind," he said, working on his third beer. "God and me never seen eye to eye but I ain't worried. It'll take a lot more than the Devil and those monsters to take us down."
There was a sudden shout and the sound of a car revving a big engine. Demon, Bear and Darcie jumped up and they could hear Itchy screaming on the rooftop. The car was instantly recognizable, a customized silver '70 Chevelle that her mother drove came barreling down the street, running down any of the zombies that tried to lunge at it. Darcie had to look away as old Rourke's head as crushed under one of the oversized tires.
"Holy hell, it's Linda!" Demon cried out, joy and worry filling his voice. He grabbed his .45 and stuck his head out, "Goddamnit Itchy, cover us!"
The wiry man on the roof nodded and took aim, firing at the rush of shuffling corpses that had come in the wake of the loud car. The door swung open and her mother scrambled out, her side was covered in drying blood and her bleached hair was dark with it. She limped toward the house and Demon fired the big handgun at one of the lurching zombies, hitting it in the eye and he watched it drop. Itchy's rifle took down two more as Demon ran to his wife, scooping her up as if she weighed nothing and hustled back to the fortified house.
Darcie felt her heart in her throat as the street seemed to slowly fill with the walking corpses, attracted to the noise and smell of blood. Most of them moved slowly but steady and a few seemed to be a little faster and more determined. When her parents were in the house she breathed easier, helping secure the door with Bear. Demon carried his wife to their bed room, laying her on the bed and he began to pull away at her clothing. His hard face became pale as he saw the wounds and he pushed Darcie out the door.
"You don't need to see this, girl," he said gruffly.
"But that's my mom," she insisted, "I can handle it. I can help!"
Demon gave her an ungentle shove and she hit the wall in the hallway and watched as the door closed. She felt Bear's meaty hand on her shoulder and she shrugged him off, wiping at the tears that threatened to ruin her makeup. She stormed into the living room and listened as Itchy was still firing. She peeked through the wooden slats and nearly fell backward.
"Bear! Look at this shit," she cried out, "They're right outside, holy fuck!"
The big man swore and picked up Demon's AK-47. He could see the hideous rotting faces pressed up against the glass between the two by fours nailed across it. His dim mind wondered just how strong they were and if he could make it to the car that was still running outside in time. He would hate to leave his pres and his kin but survival was survival. He looked over Darcie and licked his lips slightly, though survival would be a lot nicer with something to keep him warm at night. His train of thought was interrupted as there was a sudden loud banging coming from the bedroom.
Darcie ran and yanked on the doorknob but it was locked. She pounded her fist against it and screamed until her father yanked open the door. His eyes were red and his hands still gripped in tight fists.
"She's dead," he said bluntly and ignored Darcie as she pushed past.
Her mother lay pale and still, the blood loss too great and the young woman cried out with sorrow. She dropped to her knees and pressed her head against her mother's lifeless form. Regret filled her when she thought about all the stupid arguments they had and how she never got to say goodbye. Anger surged through her as she looked up at her father, ready to lay into him about keeping her away but he looked bad. Really bad.
"Daddy," she said and hugged the big man tight, her arms stretched around him, "I'm sorry...at least we know what happened."
He nodded and patted her hair, "Yeah, that's something."
Bear gave him a nod, "Hey, boss, not to be a dick but we got some trouble up front."
They went into the living room and Demon growled at the sight of the zombies on the front lawn. Many were crawling on the ground, shot by Itchy but they were still 'alive' if that word could be applied to them. Darcie watched, her eyes burning from lack of sleep and unshed tears. She felt drowsy and while the two men discussed their plans she dozed off in her father's recliner.
It was still dark when she woke, a sudden burst of static from the police scanner waking her and she heard the message from the Sheriff. It called for anyone still alive to make for the high school football stadium, there would be armed guards and a transport waiting to take survivors out to a safezone. Darcie rubbed her eyes and looked around but there was no one in the living room. She got up and took her shotgun with her though the house was quiet but for the moans and grunts of the undead who still wandered in the frontyard.
Darcie stepped into the kitchen and nearly slipped, there was something wet on the tile and when she peered down in the dark she could make out a large shape laying on the floor and she heard a grunting and smacking noise. She shuddered and grabbed for the flashlight and clicked it on, the beam catching a most gruesome sight. Her mother and her father were both hunched over the remains of Itchy, his body torn apart and the spent rifle flung in the corner. Her parents looked up and their eyes were dead and dull. Blood coated their hands and faces and Darcie slowly backed away but her father stood up.
"Oh fuck, fuck...." she muttered, raising the shotgun, "Don't make me do this! I'm sorry, Daddy!"
He lunged at her, his heavy hands clawing the air and she fired, point blank into his face. She screamed and saw his head explode, brain matter and bits of bone spattering her face and the cupboards. Demon fell with a thud and her mother crawled toward her. Unable to shoot another parent, the young woman turned and fled, running to the garage and locking the door behind her. Her heart pounded and the image of her father's death blazed in her mind replaying itself until she bent and vomited onto the floor. She wiped her mouth, trembling and crying. Darcie cursed at herself, for her weakness and her pathetic tears but she jumped and screamed at the sound of her mother pounding at the door.
The football stadium, she had to get to it. How she managed to survive this far, why Itchy had chosen that time to come down from the roof and get caught by the flesh eating zombies that had once been her parents rather than them finding her was one of those mysteries that caused her to truly wonder if God did exist. She shook her head, using the flashlight to look around the garage. She needed weapons if she was going to venture outside, the yard and street beyond was still crawling with the undead. She found a crowbar among the tools. It was nearly the length of her arm and could easily crush a skull. Darcie felt the comfort of her brass knuckles in the pocket of her jeans but that was a last resort, there was no way she wanted to fight one of those things that close. Her shotgun was a 12 gauge and she scraped up all the shells and slugs she could find, shoving them in a plastic bag.
When she was done, she found her father's leather jacket hanging on a peg. It was old and worn, with the large patch depicting a skull with devil's horns that was the Satan's Rejects logo. On the front was several patches, including the simple scroll under his name that said 'president'. Despite it being several sizes too large she slipped it on, rolling up the sleeves and she snatched the helmet she normally wore when she rode. Her own bike was there, a Harley sportser and she put what she gathered into one of the saddle bags. The shotgun went over her torso, hanging off her back and she tucked the crowbar through her belt. She had to be fast, to open the garage door and race out, without being stopped by one of the zombies. Taking a deep breath, she slowly pulled up the garage door and stuck her head out.
The undead were still clawing at the window and some were wandering in the street. To her shock, the car was gone and it took a moment for her to realize so was Bear. That fat bastard had left her on her own and saved his own skin. Seething she darted to her bike and started it up, revving the motor and slamming on the gas. The motorcycle shot forward, out onto the driveway and she had to dodge a zombie that was standing there. It groaned and lurched at her but was not fast enough. She felt tears sting her eyes as the cold wind blew at against her and reached up briefly to lower the visor. She was leaving it all behind and her heart felt heavy but now was not the time to think about it. If she wanted to live, she would have to focus and be smart, there had to be others like her out there. The ones heading toward the football stadium.