Infected blood and dead zombies littered the house until my dad and I secured the property perimeter. The four zombies that had wandered toward the house were the only ones as far as we could see. I kept one eye on my dad as he checked the far side of our property and I checked the other, but neither of us found a single thing. We didn't even find so much as a dead rodent, which would have explained why the four zombies had traveled in a pack, directly to our open garage door.
"What are you thinkin'?" I asked my dad, who was sporting a perplexed look as he met me at the front door of the house.
"I'm not sure... it's awfully fishy that they got here without following something."
"Maybe a rabbit? We have lots of those around."
He nodded. "Yeah, it's possible. Or even a cat, or squirrel. That would be the only explanation for how they got this far. You drove into town too long ago for them to have followed you back here. Oh well"—he shrugged—"time to clean 'em up."
It took us several hours to scrub the floors with bleach and soap. Carrying the bodies outside was probably the easiest part, but deciding where to put them was a bit tricky. We didn't want them burning in the backyard, nor did we want the smoke blowing back at the house for us to inhale.
My dad decided it was best to carry them across the road to the harvested farmer's field. We double checked their liveliness before lifting them up, which just meant a kick of our boots. Between the two of us, you wouldn't be able to tell which one had the anger problem, but you could definitely tell which tool was used to bash their heads in.
We tied plastic grocery bags around their heads so we didn't drip more blood on the floor as we carried them through the kitchen and down the driveway before stacking them in the field. Once we removed all four from the house, my dad lit their clothes on fire with a propane torch and returned to the garage. We each put on a dust mask and safety glasses, then filled two buckets with hot water and soap. Rubber gloves were a must, and bleach finished up the cleaning efforts so that we not only had the redness removed, but also the potential smell of death. Neither of us wanted something lingering in the house, so we also lit a few scented candles as we double checked the floors and our boots.
The last thing to be cleaned was the bathroom. Shower curtain removed, we coated the bathtub in bleach and filled it with hot water. There wasn't much blood in it, but since we would eventually be cleaning ourselves in it again, we couldn't risk the chance of contamination.
Before the burning pile of zombies died out, my dad carried the curtain out to it and watched it melt as he quickly walked away. We watched from the safety of the house with our masks and gloves still on as the smoke drifted upward. Thankfully the wind wasn't blowing the wrong way, so we didn't catch a whiff of plastic, or burning flesh.
As exhausted as we were, we knew what had to be done next. The fencing materials from Lowe's needed to be taken out of the garage and put to good use. Whether my dad was going to open the garage door again while working or not, was irrelevant. We needed something to catch the zombies, or at least slow them down if they came near our house again. Keeping them out completely was impossible since we would need probably double the amount of supplies we had picked up. And considering how we were spooked and ran out of the building centre, we had no idea if there was actually something in there – neither of us really wanted to risk finding out either.
Since the measurements were made by my dad earlier, all we needed to do was cut the posts and drive them into the ground before bringing out the rolls of fencing. After eating a quick lunch that consisted of a can of baked beans each – cleaning up zombies all afternoon, neither of us could stomach much else – we walked out through the open garage door with work gloves on and supplies under our arms.
The bloodied hammer, along with my barbell, were still downstairs soaking in a bleach bath, but we had several other tools we could use. My dad brought a sledgehammer with him, and I carried a box of nails and a hammer with as many fence posts as I could carry. There was still enough daylight left to allow us to drive posts in, but the metal fencing might have to wait until tomorrow.
As my dad drove the first post in with the sledgehammer, I held it straight with both hands. I could see the fire in the field smoldering a bit, but the flames had died out. Once the first post was in the proper depth, I hammered several nails in it to help line up the next posts.
I walked with my dad to the corner of the lawn before the tall grass and trees started and repeated the process. Once that post was in, we connected a piece of thin rope to each post and spaced the posts out equally in between them. Repeating the process several more times, we managed to outline the whole backyard and half of the front before running out of posts near the front of the house on the left.
"Good enough," huffed my dad, wiping sweat from his brow. "Let's see if we can get the fencing up before it gets too dark."
"We better," I warned him. "I don't wanna be pushin' our luck in the fading light."
He gave me a quick pair of nods and headed back to the garage.
Just before we required flashlights, I was tying off the last portion of fencing around the property. We finished our fence. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do for the time being. If zombies were going to attempt to surround us, they would have to walk around the fence to the front where we could see them through the windows, or somehow manage to pull the fence down. A large group might be able to do it, but not a small group like the ones that had stumbled upon us earlier that day.
Our property was now secured for the most part, so my dad and I retreated to the house for dinner. We made sure the garage and doors were locked, then started preparing food. After the long day we had, we were going to have something a lot better than beans. Besides, I couldn't stand any more farts from my dad.