It was, indeed, an entire zombie family. Although it was hard to look at them, they resembled the family that were friends of my friends and owned this land we'd hunted on. They looked extremely normal and suburban until you realized the infection had made them lose their humanity.
"Mojo!" I cried out. He was in full defense mode. He gave commanding, deep-throated barks and snapped his jaws at the air in front of them, backing off quickly as they reached for him before barking and snapping again. When I called him, he looked back at me with a pleading look in his eyes. It was a sort of: I've got this, boss. You go! Go!
I didn't pay attention to his doggy sign language. Instead I tried to get him back. That's right: at that moment, fighting zombies seemed like a better idea than offering Mojo up to them. I aimed the gun and managed the calm precision to pick off the dad. Unconcerned by the fallen zombie, the other zombies turned their attention away from Mojo and trained it on me again. "Mojo! Run! Run!" I yelled.
He threw me a frustrated look. This wasn't what he wanted. As the zombies lumbered toward me, he made a large loop around and then did this dodge and retreat move that was intended to herd them away from me. He snarled at them and snapped at the air in front of him with his impressive row of teeth. Somehow, although I wouldn't have thought the zombies would be afraid of much, they seemed intimidated, backing away, hissing at the dog.
The mother zombie abruptly stumbled away and the zombie children followed. I called Mojo, but he wasn't satisfied and continued herding them away into the black night. He apparently would not be satisfied until they were out of sight. Maybe even farther away than that. Who knew the dog was such a perfectionist?
Finally, he was satisfied and returned to me, panting. I poured some water from our supply (making a note to myself that I needed to filter and refill at the creek later today) into a folding bowl. He lapped it all up and then lay down beside me, still looking watchful.
Once again, I fell asleep...a testament to my exhaustion. And once again, I woke in the pitch black darkness to growling from Mojo. The difference was that this time Mojo was far away from me. He apparently had some kind of perimeter in mind that the zombies couldn't cross. And I guess they had.
"Mojo!" I yelled, struggling to wake up. I cursed, fumbling for my gun and getting to my feet.
But Mojo was determined. I never could see him, never could see what he was guarding me against. I could only assume it was a zombie. If it wasn't, it must have been some other night creature. Whatever it was, I could only hear Mojo's snarling and barking as he advanced into the woods. And I felt totally helpless for the first time since this had started. Maybe I should have swiped night vision goggles because Mojo had a huge advantage in that he could smell the danger, but he could also see it in the dark. And whatever he'd seen, he was chasing after it.
I stood there, conflicted. I wasn't sure how much help I'd be for him out in the dark. Wouldn't he come back to our campsite? The dog was so smart, I was sure he'd be able to find it again.
So I waited. It felt like forever. What was more, it started raining just enough to give me a chill. I reached in the duffel and pulled out a windbreaker, yanking it up around my shoulders and zipping it up. A light breeze started up, which made things even cooler. There again, though, Mojo had an advantage with his fur coat. The cool rain probably felt refreshing to him.
I was wide awake now, not about to drop off to sleep. I waited for what must have been an hour. I couldn't hear or see Mojo at all. Once I gave a piercing whistle, hoping to bring him back. When I realized what other creatures might be attracted by sound, I decided to hold off on any more whistling.
When dawn was just starting to make the terrain a little lighter, I put a canteen on my belt loop, took my gun, and set off to look for my dog. Even then I felt like any zombie could hear me coming a mile away as I stumbled over roots and sticks and rocks as I scanned for Mojo or signs that he'd made his way through.
And I saw and heard nothing. Apparently, I was making so much racket coming through the woods that I was even scaring normal wildlife because I saw no raccoons, no birds, no opossums.
After walking for over an hour, and with the light now pretty good, I saw a house in front of me. It was indeed the house of the family that had hosted me when I hunted here years before. And I figured it must also be the house belonging to the zombie family. It was a modest ranch-style house with a small garden off to the side and some riding toys scattered around in the yard. Seeing the toys made me feel a swift sadness for the zombie kids I'd seen. They were victims after all. I took a moment to remember them as they had been before their attack, when they'd just been hosts to me on a hunting trip. Because I couldn't spare any sympathy on them in their current state.
I drew closer to the house and hid behind a tree as I studied it. The back of the house had no curtains at all and there were lights on inside so I could see in. I guess the residents had found their house private enough to forgo curtains or blinds. It sure was good to see that electricity was still working.
I saw no signs of activity at all in the house or the yard so I slipped up to the back door and listened for a moment. No sounds came from inside. The family must still be roaming the woods, looking for food. Their kind of food, since there appeared to be a perfectly good meal still sitting abandoned on their kitchen table. Had they been attacked at mealtime? I felt a pang as I thought about Mojo. Maybe I could scavenge more food for us while I was in here. I might be able to put up more of a search when I had some food in me, too. I locked the door behind me.
I did a quick check around the house to ensure there wouldn't be any surprises. The family were excellent housekeepers and the whole place was exceedingly tidy to the point where I had to stop myself from taking my shoes off as I walked around their house. I pulled open the large closet door in the master bedroom and let my breath out with relief when I saw there was nothing in there. I checked the other rooms. Nothing in the closets. No cats hiding under the beds, waiting to jump out at me. The doors and windows were all locked. I started to relax for the first time since day before yesterday when this whole thing started. There was a picture of the family in the den-sure enough, it was the zombie family that had attacked Mojo and me. Except, in the picture, they looked happy and normal.
I headed into their kitchen first. I felt bad for a minute eating their food. I had to remind myself that the family didn't need this food anymore-that this wasn't what they were interested in. I opened their fridge, figuring I should eat the perishable stuff first and possibly leave with some of the cans from their pantry. I pulled out a couple of yogurts and a block of cheese, then I found an open box of crackers and a bowl of fruit on the counter. I felt like a large, filthy Goldilocks through the entire process and could only hope the three bears didn't show up while I was here.
Of course I was still hungry. I'd been fighting for my life for the last couple of days and a Frenchified meal of fruit and cheese wasn't exactly going to fill me up. I returned to the fridge again, this time mentally prepared that whatever was in the fridge was mine for the taking. The zombie family owed me that, at the very least, for trying to kill me, right?
This time I decided I was in more of a breakfast mood, since it was dawn and all. I took out eggs, shredded cheese, bacon bits, and a sliced onion. I found a large skillet under the stove and cooked an omelet for myself. I only wished Mojo was here so that he could share my feast with me. I promised myself that I'd find him.
After I finally had enough to eat (in the short term, anyway), I poured myself a tall glass of sweet tea from a pitcher in their fridge and set out to get cleaned up and use a real restroom. This was second on my wish list-hygiene. There were neatly folded fluffy towels under the sink in the master bathroom, which I pulled out. I even made use of their fruity smelling shampoos and bath products, although I knew I might regret it later when the mosquitoes came by to check out who smelled so exquisite.
It was a long, long shower, I'm not going to kid you. I really wasn't sure how long the utilities would last in our new and dangerous world, so I took full advantage of them while I could.
When I finally got out of the shower and stepped out into the steamy bathroom vanity area, I decided that I really, really didn't want to put on those dirty clothes again. I tried to remember how big the zombie husband was. It had been a while since I'd stayed here. Of course, when I'd seen him today, he'd looked like he was ten feet tall and three hundred pounds to me. That was just because he was terrifying me by coming after me. But realistically, he was probably about my size: around six feet tall and fairly lean and muscular. The guy seemed to do a lot of work outside the house and was in pretty good shape. I decided to check his closet and drawers. I found he was slightly bigger than me, but that I could make it work because we wore about the same size jeans.
It was a testament to how quickly life had changed that I really didn't even feel odd about wearing this guy's clothes. In fact, the clothes felt awesome because they were so clean. I pulled out a few extra things to take with me to the campsite, before pausing. Wouldn't this place make more sense to hide out in than the open campsite? I'd be a lot less exposed, especially if (and I felt a huge pang at the thought) Mojo weren't there to keep an eye out for me. Yes, I could effectively get trapped in this house if it were surrounded by zombies, but really, how many zombies could there really be in this neck of the woods?
I decided to hang out long enough to see if the newly-minted zombies viewed their former home as sort of a home base. Were they, in their infected state, not even cognizant of their old life? Their home? If that was the case, I thought that holing up here, at least for a while, might be a good thing.
I walked into their den again, wincing at the family photos. I turned on their television to see if I could find some news. The first station was completely off the air. The next station was running old movies and old shows-I guess it had been scheduled to play before the crisis started. The next couple of stations had nothing, either.
Finally I found a local channel playing news, but it wasn't the sleek type of news show that used to run. The anchor had more of a ten o'clock shadow than a five o'clock one, and his jacket and tie were nowhere in sight. He didn't seem to be reading the news either, which is what anchors usually do. In some ways, this looked like an old fashioned newscast-the kind where somebody would come up to the news desk with updates on sheets of paper. Which is exactly what happened.
The bearded anchor quickly glanced over the paper and his face grew even more grim. His voice was hoarse and breaking by constant reporting. "We have a report from a source in the military from our national bureau who states that efforts to contain the impact of the virus to specific areas has been unsuccessful. As you may know, martial law was implemented soon after authorities realized the virus was spreading rampantly and after the CDC reported that a possible cure may be a year or more in the making. However, again, the efforts to contain the virus to specific areas has failed. Once again, authorities are directing citizens to specific shelters that the military is guarding."
I saw a list of shelters running at the bottom of the screen just like the list of school closings that sometimes ran during ice storms in the winter. It looked like the military had commandeered a local school and a local hospital, among other locations. But what was their longterm plan? What were they going to do when the place got overcrowded or the swell of zombies outside was too much for them to handle? When they ran out of food and water? No thanks. I thought I'd just take my chances outside the shelter where I wasn't fighting with my fellow humans for supplies.
The anchor continued, "If you're just joining us, here's a quick recap. Currently, we're getting reports of widespread panic in areas where the virus is spreading. People are desperate to get away and are basically clogging up freeways and other escape routes in their efforts to escape their communities. Authorities recommend that fleeing residents should instead head for the nearest shelter as escape routes are difficult or impossible to navigate due to these traffic jams. We do have reports of some individuals holing up in their homes and defending themselves with stockpiles of weapons, some of which may have been looted in the immediate aftermath of the start of the infection. The police have confirmed that they unfortunately do not have the resources to respond to every call for assistance. Authorities, however, do not recommend that citizens remain in their homes since it doesn't offer a longterm solution."
Unless you were out in the country. As I was. Fewer zombies to defend against, although they were clearly still here.
"Although currently some areas do still have power and other utilities, there are already reports of scattered outages. A spokesman from the power company stressed that these utilities were dependent on human monitoring to keep working. It is expected that, in time, the utilities will no longer be available to citizens. The spokesman reiterated what the authorities have been urging: that residents should, when they can safely do so, travel to one of the official shelters set up by the military, in order to stay abreast of developments and to receive supplies."
Still didn't sound appealing. And when the anchor started repeating much of what he'd already said, I turned off the television. Clearly they didn't have any other news. I wasn't really sure what I'd hoped to hear when I tuned in. That the CDC had invented a vaccine in, what? The last three days? That the authorities had found a weapon that eliminated the zombies and were gaining the upper hand? I snorted at my optimism.
The only really good news was that the zombies hadn't returned to the house. I made one more check to make sure all the doors and windows were locked and then I lay down in an impossibly tidy room that surely must have been a guest room. Little did they know the type of guest they'd be hosting or the circumstances their hosting would fall under. I figured if I could just get some solid sleep, maybe I could plan clearer. I set the alarm on the clock radio that was on the nightstand next to me and quickly fell asleep.
When I woke up, once again I wasn't sure where I was. But at least this time I was comfortable, although my body was tense and fragments of a nightmare were popping in and out of my mind.
And then I realized the source of the nightmare as I heard groaning and scratching outside the house.
It appeared that my zombie family had returned from their travels. Or, to continue my analogy, the three bears had returned to find Goldilocks sleeping in their bed. Did they know I was here, though? How would they? It's not like humans have fantastic sense of smell and on some level they were still human. No, maybe they were just trying to get back into a familiar place. In which case, maybe this wasn't the best location to bed down, after all.
I lay frozen in the bed. After a few minutes of listening, I realized that these zombies, besides being very slow, were also not endowed with superhuman strength. Which made a lot of sense. Why would what was basically a corpse suddenly be as strong as Superman?
The zombies also couldn't seem to reason their way into the house. They weren't using rocks to smash the window in. This was oddly comforting.
The only problem, then, with these infected people, was that they seemed to be on track to vastly outnumber the rest of us. And that was a problem. They weren't fast, they weren't smart, and they weren't stronger than us. But there were scores of them and they were determined hunters.
I decided that I'd take a few things with me in a backpack that I'd found in the master bedroom closet. I might very well return, but I didn't think I wanted to return today. I would find Mojo first, and if we came back here and those zombies were hanging around, I didn't think Mojo would take it very well. And I wasn't in the mood to chase after him for the second time in a day.
I stuffed in some of the husband's clothing, canned goods and bottled waters, and then cautiously peeked out one of the windows. It was a window on the end of the ranch house where I thought I could see what was going on without being close enough to have them see me.
Sure enough, there was the happy family, scratching repeatedly on the back door of the house that led to the garden. They appeared strangely intent on their scratching.
Since they didn't seem able to work entry to the house out, I decided I should lock the front door after me once I'd slipped out of the house. I searched for the keys. After all, it seemed as if this family was attacked at home, right? So both sets of keys should be floating around.
Finally I found a set-very neatly hanging on a key holder near the garage door. But the garage door was, I felt, too close to the zombies at the back door. So I walked to the front door, peeked outside just to be sure there were no more undead lurking around, and then carefully locked the front door behind me.
I didn't want to pass within view of the zombie family at all, so I took a long route around them. I headed to the portion of the woods that was directly ahead of the front door, although that wasn't the direction I wanted to go in. But it would give me an opportunity to search for Mojo and keep me covered by the brush, as well.
I decided that Mojo had probably just headed back to our makeshift campsite. That seemed very much like something a dog would do-get back to where the stuff was and just wait for his owner. At least I hoped like heck that was what he was doing. I wanted my dog back.
After twenty minutes of walking with no sign of Mojo, I was finally in the section of the woods where I needed to be ... the section directly behind the back door of the zombie house. I squinted over and saw the zombie family still scratching with determination at their back door.
I walked and walked. I was heading generally in the direction of the campsite, but I was also taking short detours from time to time to see if I could find Mojo along the way. That dog had such an attuned sense of hearing, that if we was in earshot, I was sure he could hear me coming, no matter how quiet I might be trying to be.
There was no sign of him anywhere. As I walked closer to the site, I felt my neck and shoulders bunching up with tension. Was he at the site? Was he okay?
I stopped dead when I reached the site. Because it was the site. That I knew for a fact. You could even see the bent grass where I'd slept. But the duffel bag and all my stuff was gone. And there was no sign of Mojo.
"Race to Refuge" under pen name Liz Craig is available now on Amazon (at http://amzn.to/1SCKnHa ) , Nook, Kobo, CreateSpace, and other major retailers. I'll post a chapter each week, but if you can't wait, please visit one of the listed retailers for the completed book. Follow me on Twitter (elizabethscraig), sign up for my newsletter for a free ebook at http://eepurl.com/kCy5j , or visit my website at Elizabethspanncraig.com for more information. Hope you'll enjoy the book. Please vote on the chapter if you enjoy it.