AniZombie 2: The Refuge Read online

  As he traveled along the road, Bill thought he heard something up ahead. The sound interrupted his reverie and he realized that he had slowed his pace to a walk at some point. He chastised himself for the dangerous lapse. Such inattentiveness to what he was doing could get him killed. “Maybe she was right to leave me behind. I’ve got to get my shit together or I’m not going to make it,” he muttered to himself. He turned to look behind him and did a double take when he saw a couple of zombies several hundred yards behind him, and there were others further away. Bill’s heart pounded hard in his chest and he was gripped by a terrible debilitating fear that bordered on panic. Not because the zombies had closed the gap with him, but rather because of his inattentiveness to his surroundings. He had enough experience now to know what happened when a man dropped his guard these days. If the zombies didn’t get you, the bad people would.

  Turning back to face the road ahead, he once again began to jog. This time, he forced himself back into the pace that Dana had set earlier. As he ran, he again heard the sounds that had alerted him earlier. Dogs were barking and snarling, and a woman was shouting for them to go away. It was Dana, and she sounded angry. There was a curve in the road ahead of him, and he thought the dogs were just around that bend in the highway.

  Bill redoubled his efforts, running faster than he would have thought possible. He rounded the curve and saw Dana, now mounted on a bicycle, pedaling away as fast as she could with three dogs hot on her trail. He found himself at the top of a hill and Dana was accelerating away as she rode down the long grade. She disappeared around another curve with the dogs still in pursuit.

  Bill sighed as he wondered where she found a bike, but then he heard the unmistakable sound of a moan coming from behind him. The zombies were gaining on him. He again broke out in a full run. If he wanted to live, he had no choice but to run. The downhill slope helped him put more distance between himself and the pursuing zombies, but it was a dangerous advantage, because he was soon running so fast, he was afraid that he might stumble and fall.

  Slowing his pace, he came to a stop beside the edge of the road. His heart was pounding so hard that he was afraid he might have a coronary on the spot. He was also sweating profusely, and he had precious little water with him to replace what he was losing. He knew he had to get off the highway. He was between the dogs and the zombies, which was not a good place to be when they were hunting. The land to the left of the road was covered with trees, sloping downward at a steep angle. If he could get down in the cover of the trees and remained still, it was possible the zombies would pass him and continue on their journey. He had no time to ponder the decision. It was now or never. He chose to enter the trees and hope for the best.

  Bill was no woodsman, but even he knew enough to find a place of good concealment and just remain frozen, like a rabbit, and pray they didn’t smell him. He did know the zombies had a keen sense of smell. He had learned that from the news. As he made his way into the woods, he could feel a cool breeze on the back of his neck, and he hope that meant the wind would carry his scent away from the hunters.

  When he was forty feet inside the woods, he found a place to hide behind a large old oak tree. He stood with his back to it and waited. A bird landed in a nearby tree and hopped from limb to limb. A fox squirrel made its way out to an open space beneath the bird’s tree. It picked up an acorn and began gnawing at it.

  Bill watched the animals because he had learned to observe them when they were present. More than once, over the months since the collapse of the country, he had noticed that small animals always go quiet and leave the area when zombies are near. He was afraid that he wouldn’t hear the zombies as they passed his location. He would hear them if they moaned, but with no prey in sight, they wouldn’t be moaning. Therefore, he watched the wildlife in the hopes that they would warn him.

  Two minutes passed slowly, but then the bird leapt into the air and took flight. The squirrel dropped the remains of its meal, turned away from the road, and ran deeper into the forest. Leaping into the air to clear a small branch that was in its path, the fox squirrel disappeared into the thickening foliage.

  Bill’s heart hammered in his chest. He was too close to the road and he knew it. He would have preferred to move deeper into the woods like the squirrel, but he had stopped because he wasn’t certain how much longer it would take the zombies to reach the road adjacent to his position. He thought he heard a shuffling noise once, but he listened intently, and the sound was not repeated. He glanced at his watch and noted the time. He wanted to stay where he was and give the zombies plenty of time to get past him. The problem with that plan was that they were strung out along the road, so knowing when it was safe to come out was going to be tricky.

  Time passed slowly while he waited, as it usually does when a person is anxious for it to pass quickly. He examined the old world hardwood trees that grew in the area, most towering more than a hundred feet over the forest floor. He didn’t recognize them all, but he knew the oaks and the maples. It was late summer, and some of the leaves were just beginning to turn brown, even though the majority of them were still green. He was aware of the musky sweaty odor that was emanating from him. He checked his watch again and saw that twenty minutes had elapsed since he had heard the faint sound of movement on the road. Another bird landed in a tree near him and began pecking at some leaves as it looked for insects. The fox squirrel returned a few minutes later and found another acorn on the ground near the spot it had occupied earlier.

  Bill relaxed. He had felt the urge to urinate for the past several minutes, but he had waited. The strong pungent odor was a liability when zombies, who had a keen sense of smell, were hunting you. He would have preferred to go deeper into the woods before using the bathroom, but he had waited so long already that he didn’t have the luxury of putting it off any longer.

  Bill was still relieving himself when he heard the moan coming from the highway near him. He glanced toward the squirrel he had been observing earlier, only to see that it had vanished, as had the bird.

  Bill was zipping his jeans when he heard something crashing through the foliage between him and the road. Momentary panic seized him. He was tempted to run, but had to resist that urge. If he ran, the noise he made was sure to attract his hunter. His eyes scanned the ground around him for some sort of makeshift weapon he could use to defend himself, but he saw nothing promising. He knew he couldn’t stay where he was. The urine odor alone would guide the zombie directly to him, so he moved away from the tree toward the thicker foliage as quietly as he could.

  Another moan sounded behind him. He tried to ignore it and increased his pace as he made his way through the woods. He turned to the left and set a course parallel to the road. He reasoned that if he could make his way back to the road, then he would be behind the main group of zombies that had passed him earlier.

  Bill stopped from time to time to listen for sounds of pursuit. The first time he did so, he heard the faint sound of something crashing through the brush. He was putting distance between himself and what he thought was a lone zombie straggler that had picked up his scent, or more accurately, the scent of his urine. After that one instance, he never heard any sounds of pursuit.

  Bill stayed in the woods as he traveled for several more minutes, and then he cut back toward the road. He emerged from the forest at a spot near the auto he had checked out earlier. The road was empty in both directions.

  Bill was tired, hungry, and above all, he was thirsty. He took a moment to fish a water bottle out of his pack. He drank most of the water before returning the unused portion to the pack, and then he considered his options. Going back the way he’d come wasn’t a good option. There were no houses for ten or twelve miles in that direction. It would be dark long before he could find a safe place to stay.

  He sighed as he hoisted his pack and headed out along the same direction he had already traveled earlier. He knew several zombies were now in front of him, so he’d have to be careful.
He hoped he’d find a house or a car he could use as some form of shelter for the night. He could use the car he had investigated, but would rather find a more substantial shelter. After all, he had seen zombies break out car windows to get at people in the past. He knew a car was better than having nothing, but not by much, so he kept walking.

  Soon, he moved past the spot where he had entered the woods. This time, he continued down the steep hill until he reached the flatland at the bottom. An hour and a half passed as he walked along the road. He saw no sign of another living soul, nor did he see any zombies. Finally, he came to several houses. He’d planned to enter the first house he found, but changed his mind when he saw the houses had all suffered attacks in the past. Soon he came to a spot where he saw a farmhouse sitting well off the highway. He made his way up the long driveway, but no one answered when he knocked at the door. He knocked on the door again, this time louder. When no one answered, he waited for a couple of minutes while he tried to decide whether he should enter the house. Darkness was falling by the time Bill opened the door, which wasn’t locked, and he entered the farmhouse.

  Inside the house was dark. Bill took a small flashlight out of his pocket that he used only for emergencies since he was low on replacement batteries. Playing the light around the living room, he saw signs that a battle had been fought there. He made his way to the kitchen to see if he could find any supplies and there he found a note on the table.

  Hi there,

  If you’re reading this, then you are most likely taking shelter in my former home. The men have cleared this community, but more zombies could come through at any time. Don’t stay on the ground floor. My family was killed down there when the zombies got in the house. The only reason I managed to survive is because I hid in the attic bedroom. You’ll find a ladder in the ceiling of the back room on the other side of the house. Make sure you pull it up behind you, and you should be safe. I left an emergency food and water kit up there. My husband, Randy, is humoring me in this. He probably thinks I’m being silly, but I feel strongly that someday someone may need that shelter as badly as I once did, so I’m making these preparations and leaving this note.

  Whatever you do, don’t go out after dark. The men cleared the human zombies, but we think there are still some anizombies lurking around the area. There’s always a chance someone led more human zombies to the region. Use as little light as possible. I’ve got thick covers over the window upstairs. Leave that in place so no one or nothing will see your light.

  Now for the good news. You are a fifteen minute drive from the Refuge for Humanity, or the Refuge as we refer to it. The military set it up for us. Survivors willing to work are welcome. My husband says I should warn you that we have zero tolerance for raiders. If you’re a raider, don’t approach us. We keep a burial pit ready to deal with the bodies of such people, and we are a strong group, more than willing and able to defend ourselves.

  Now that my duty to my husband has been done, I’ll move on to more pleasant things. If you’re on foot, then it will take you a couple of hours to reach us. Follow the road north six miles. You’ll pass three more houses, and then nothing for a few miles. Then you’ll begin to see houses again, but they will be spread far apart. After you pass the third house on the left, turn left on the next dirt road you see. That road will be a couple of miles past the third house, and it leads back to the refuge. Come to the gate. Make certain to yell out to the guards, or else they might think that you’re a zombie.

  You should get upstairs now, and be sure to pull the stairs up and tie them off so no one can access them. Good luck to you.

  Sincerely,

  Amy Jernigan Lions

  Bill took the note with him and followed Amy’s advice. As he sat in Amy’s former refuge, eating the food and drinking the water that she had left there, he made up his mind that he’d rest in the room that night, and then head for the refuge the next morning.

  Chapter 2

  The refuge.

  Randy came to a stop and studied the edge of the forest. He was outside the fence with a three man team whose job it was to check the outer perimeter of the enclosure for any signs of tampering. More than once, raiders had sought to breach their defenses in order to steal from the refuge. Herb had decided it would be best to patrol outside at random times a couple of times a day. No one left the enclosure after dark. It simply wasn’t safe to do so. Although they had made efforts to clear the area of Anizombies as well as zombies, they hadn’t been as successful with the animal versions.

  As Randy studied the edge of the forest, he was thinking about the bear that had inhabited it a few months ago. That animal had attacked their cabin, and if not for Herb’s dog, Ox, it would have broken in to get at Randy, who was guarding Amy and wouldn’t have abandoned her to save himself. Several times during that period, Randy had felt as if something in those woods was watching him. Now he had that same sensation that something hostile was in those trees observing him and waiting.

  “Heads up, guys,” Randy said. “I think we may have company in the trees,” he added and then he nodded his head in the direction of the section of forest that had him worried.

  The three men with him were all former military men who knew how to handle themselves in a tight spot. Veterans of the United States Army, none of them had the advantages of Special Forces training, but what they lacked in training, they more than made up for with their experience. All three men were combat veterans, who had seen action in multiple engagements. All three had been sergeants, so they outranked Herb and Randy. However, the refuge wasn’t run like the military in the strictest sense, although there were similarities.

  Jason Romine nodded to Randy and said, “I’ve been keeping an eye on those trees for the past few minutes myself. I keep getting this chill up my back every time I turn away from it.” He stared at the other two men and added, “I haven’t felt like this since my unit was attacked while doing a food distribution in Iraq.”

  Randy noted that the two younger men tightened their grips on their M4s and nodded their understanding with grim expressions on their faces. “Let’s head back for the gate,” he said.

  The men had managed to cover about one third the distance to the gate when they heard a moan come from somewhere within the woods they had been observing. Other moans soon followed as the men went from a slow walk to a jog in their efforts to reach the refuge enclosure ahead of the zombies.

  The fence promised safety. Once they were behind it, they could use the barrier as protection from the walking dead while the defenders on duty used bows to terminate them in order to keep down the noise as well as conserve ammunition. Firearms were used at the refuge only as a last resort because they would draw in the zombies from miles away.

  Randy and his team were half way to the gate when the zombies began to move out of the trees. The opening to the enclosure was situated between the patrol and the zombie threat. This forced the men to move toward the menace if they wanted to enter the refuge.

  “Let’s pick up the pace, men,” Randy said as they jogged toward the gate. “Watch your footing. You don’t want to go down at a time like this,” he warned.

  “You can say that again,” one of the men responded.

  Randy let the others accelerate away from him so that he could ensure no one was left behind. He felt a sense of responsibility for the men in his patrol, and he intended to see to it that no one with him was ever lost because the group didn’t know they had gone down at a critical time. When the other three men were ten feet from him, Randy picked up his own pace.

  “I count seven, no, make it eight, zombies,” Jason called out as they ran. “We’ll make the gate in plenty of time though,” he added.

  Randy was about to reply when he saw a dog break from the cover of the trees and run toward their group. “We’ve got an anizombie runner!” he yelled to the men in front of him. “Run all out!”

  The four men picked up their pace as they tried to reach the gate befor
e the anizombie canine could close in on them. The dog raced past the human zombies on an intercept course for the patrol.

  “Open the damn gate!” shouted one of the running men in Randy’s party.

  Frowning in consternation, Randy turned his face toward the gate and saw that the guards weren’t opening the barrier so that they could get inside ahead of the zombies. Then he saw Trevor Williamson and knew that the gate wasn’t going to be opened because of the presence of the anizombie. He saw that other defenders were running toward the gate, but didn’t think they would reach it in time to permit his team to make it inside before the undead got to them.

  “Stop!” Randy shouted at the top of his lungs. “Take out the anizombie!” He stopped and aimed his rifle at the dog, which was a large Mastiff. He was putting tension on the trigger to take the shot when he heard one of the other men fire. The anizombie he had been tracking stopped in its tracks.

  Randy focused his attention on the animal. As he sighted in on the creature’s head, he thought it looked like an American Mastiff. It had stopped to stare at the men. Since the dog stopped, Randy and the rest of the men were hesitant to fire. They had already fired one shot and missed, which was bad enough. Several more would just help pinpoint their location to any listening enemies.

  “Open the damn gate, Trevor!” Randy shouted angrily as he signaled his patrol to begin running again. “We can still beat the zombies, and the dog has stopped!” he added.

  Randy was vaguely aware of some sort of commotion at the gate, but he was even more conscious of the moaning of the zombies that were now getting much too close for comfort. He wheeled around and faced the approaching threat. A part of his mind noted that the dog was still standing where it had stopped, but the zombies were closing the gap. “It’s now or never, guys!” Randy yelled as he brought the stock of his M4 to his shoulder.