Don't Dare Call Them Zombies : Books 1-4 Read online

  “Where are the shots coming from?” Jennifer asked.

  “I think from behind the church,” I said.

  While still peering at the large, white country building I noticed the gunfire had stopped.

  “Keep going. We need to find out what’s going on here,” I told her.

  I saw a figure walking out from among the vehicles that surrounded the church.

  “Is that a freak?” she asked, bringing the van to a stop. We carefully looked closer at the figure approaching us. It was not a freak, but a man – a fellow survivor – waving at us. Jennifer carefully edged forward towards the tall man who was motioning for us to come closer.

  “Stop here. I'll get out and talk to him,” I told Jennifer.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  “I will,” I answered. “Hold onto the dog. We don't want him getting out.”

  “Here, doggy,” she called to the small tan Chihuahua as she scooped him up into her lap.

  With our canine companion secured, I stepped out of the van and walked towards the man. He towered over me as I tried to think of what to say. His black jacket and gray dress pants seemed too formal and too clean for some reason I couldn’t yet comprehend. Suddenly, he put out his hand and stated, “I'm Deacon Cooper of Harvest Church of Christian Fellowship. Welcome to our church.”

  After shaking his hand I noticed a few other survivors standing some distance behind him. Two women and a man were watching us warily. The man had a gun in his hand.

  “Thank you. My name is Hank, Hank Harper,” I said.

  “Where are you from?” he asked while continuing to peer down at me with a cautious look.

  “We’re from Sandy Hills. I worked there at the Grocery World until all of this started.” I answered.

  “I've heard the cities are in terrible shape,” the Deacon said.

  “They are. Sandy Hills is basically destroyed. The freaks are everywhere; the town is infested. We barely made it out of there,” I said.

  “I'm glad you did. We haven’t seen anyone from out your way – it sounds terrible. This whole thing is just unbelievable,” he said.

  He hesitated for a moment while looking at our van. He couldn’t miss noticing the bloody handprints the freaks had smeared on our car. He looked at me with great seriousness.

  “Please forgive my bluntness,” he said, “but I must ask you a question. Are you or your friend infected? Have you been bitten?” The short, heavy set man with the gun gazed at me with a serious look.

  “No, we aren’t.” I responded. “I give you my word.” I was glad to be able to give them the answer they obviously wanted.

  “Okay, I'm going to have faith you’re telling the truth,” he said.

  Before he could say anything else, I quickly asked what had been on my mind since I saw the crowded parking lot and heard the gunshots. “How many survivors do you have here?” I inquired.

  “At last count there were two hundred and twenty. We’re sharing a meal together inside, would you and your friend like to join us?”

  “Sure. Yes. Thank you,” I said.

  “Pull up and park over there,” he stated while pointing to an empty parking space next to what seemed to be the Sunday School building. A sign stood in front of the spot which read, “Guest Parking Only.” I walked back to the van and told Jennifer that we had been invited to eat at the church.

  “Are you sure we should go inside?” Jennifer asked.

  “I don't think we have much choice at this point. We can't go far in this vehicle, and we need someplace safe to stay for the night,” I said.

  Jennifer passed me the dog, and she slowly drove the disabled van to the parking spot. I decided we shouldn’t take our furry friend inside with us. I quickly threw a tarp over the supplies we had stacked up in the van and told Jennifer to keep her window cracked open so the dog could get air. Just before exiting, I decided not to take my .357 revolver with me inside. I didn’t want to seem like a threat to the people in this church. I carefully hid the revolver out of sight in the glove compartment.

  “Lock your door and toss me the keys,” I said to Jennifer.

  She gave me the keys, secured her door, and got out. I sat the dog down on its blanket. It whimpered as if it knew we were leaving. I gave it a couple quick pats on the head and told it we would be back. When I finally shut my door, the dog jumped up and looked at me through the window; it was not happy.

  As we started walking towards the church the short stocky man with the gun approached us, along with the two women. Welcome to our church,” he said. “We’re glad you’ll be able to break bread with us. The social hall is this way.”

  They led Jennifer and me along a sidewalk that took us around the back of the church. As we walked one of the women, a middle aged woman in a flowered dress, talked quietly to Jennifer. I didn’t catch much of what she said, because I was focused on getting a look at the field behind the church. I saw a few men dragging away the bodies of a group of freaks.

  The short, fat man in denim overalls noticed I was looking at the activity in the field and spoke.

  “By the way, my name is Oscar,” he said, extending his hand.

  “I'm Hank.”

  “I hope the gunfire didn’t spook you. Although we don't have as many of them around here as where you’re from, we still get the dead people wandering around us from time to time. It's better to take them out from a distance than to get too close, so we usually use our rifles,” he explained.

  As we approached the social hall, I could see that fencing had been setup to create a perimeter around the back of the church. The gate to this makeshift fence was ahead of us. An older man than Oscar sat in a golf cart parked beside the gate. He gave out a sigh as he stood up, leaned over and opened the gate, and let us all inside.

  Dean Cooper was waiting inside the fence for us, along with a younger blond haired woman. “Welcome to our church,” he said, shaking Jennifer’s hand. I introduced Jennifer to him.

  “Sharon, please read our guests the rules,” Deacon Cooper said to the blond woman who was holding an index card. She began to read.

  “You’re our guests here, and we want you to feel welcomed and at home in the house of God. However, there is no drinking of alcohol, smoking, or gambling allowed inside. If you must participate in any such activity, please step outside to do so. Also, we ask that you abide by the rules we have set up for sleeping areas and that you attend daily services.”

  “Does that sound alright with you?” Deacon Cooper asked us.

  “Sounds fair to me,” I said.

  “Fine with me,” said Jennifer.

  “Good. I need to go and take care of some matters I’ll talk with you again soon. Enjoy your meal,” he said.

  The Deacon walked away, and Oscar, Sharon and the lady in the flowered dress lead us towards the church.

  Just outside the door was a group of men sitting in folding chairs smoking cigarettes while cleaning their rifles. In a far corner of the secured a small group of teenagers sat around a camp fire, passing around a liquor bottle. I saw a few other people meandering around who didn’t look like they were in an especially good mood. That was not really surprising given that an apocalypse was taking place.

  Upon entering the social hall, I immediately noticed the smell of delicious, home cooked food. Looking around, the scene reminded me of the old fashioned, church pot-luck dinners I attended as a young child – except the room was a bit dimmer. But the fact they had electricity for any lighting at all seemed like a small miracle.

  As soon as we entered number of people came up and welcomed us. They ushered us to a series of tables that were covered with dishes and bowls of food. I picked up a Styrofoam plate, napkin, and a set of plastic utensils; my plate was soon filled with portions of casseroles, salads and meat.

  Only a moment or two later, after being handed a large glass of sweetened iced tea, a younger couple invited us to sit and eat with them. They introduced themselves as Roy and
Kay Bridges. We sat down, and I was about to ask questions about what was going on, but I was interrupted before I could ask the first one.

  “Just eat and enjoy your meal,” Roy stated. “There will be plenty of time to talk after dinner. I'm sure you two are hungry.”

  I glanced at Jennifer, and noticed that she’d already started eagerly on her plate of food. It didn’t take me long to start devouring mine as well. The sliced ham, dressing and gravy, green beans, sweet potato casserole, and macaroni and cheese were delicious. What made the meal seem even better was the environment. Conversation filled the room, but there was no sense of danger or an immediate threat. The freaks may be outside, but they were not in here.

  Children were playing in one corner of the room, and a group of people were playing board games at another table.

  Amazingly, I noticed I was letting my guard down. For a brief moment, it was like the meteor shower had never happened, the freaks had never destroyed civilization, and things were like they had always been.

  Before I could finish my plate of food, Mr. Roy's wife, Kay, had brought Jennifer and me a plate of dessert. I stood up to get a re-fill of sweetened iced tea, but Kay motioned for me to sit down. She walked back to the kitchen and brought back a pitcher and re-filled our glasses. After finishing off some pecan pie and walnut brownies with Jennifer, I had to speak to Mr. Roy.

  “This is amazing. Thank you so much,” I said.

  “It's no problem,” Roy responded. “You are guests here.”

  “You two have been on the road for a while, haven't you?” Kay asked.

  I responded by sharing with them what we had been through over the past few days, and explained how we were trying to get to the relocation center in Dublin to find our family members. I then asked them about the church. From their responses, it seemed like this area had been spared the worst of the apocalypse, at least so far.

  Roy and Kay explained that the church had been preparing for an emergency since the 9/11 terrorist attack took place in 2001. They had stored food, bought generators, installed solar panels, and worked with church members on being prepared. One of the members was the owner of the closest grocery store. When the outbreak started he donated the entire contents of his store to the church, to be used for the benefit of the congregation. According to Kay, the cache of supplies wouldn’t last forever, but there was plenty of food so far.

  According to Kay and Roy, the church disaster preparedness plan had worked almost perfectly. Also, since the church membership included a significant number of hunters and gun owners, the congregation had the means to defend itself from the “dead”.

  “The zombies are not getting in here,” Roy's little daughter Lucy blurted out, interrupting our conversation. “My uncle will shoot them in the head!”

  “That's enough Lucy,” Kay told her. She went silent, but smiled at Jennifer and me.

  I asked them about the structure of the church, and who was in charge. They explained how there was a board of Deacons who were under the leadership of the associate pastor, Reverend Thomas McMann. Kay pointed him out to us; he was sitting at a table on the other side of the room. According to Kay, Thomas McMann reported to the senior pastor, Reverend Sikes.

  “Is Reverend Sikes in the room?” I asked.

  Kay and Roy looked at each other.

  “He has been in his office most of the time since all this started.” Roy answered. “They say he’s praying and fasting.”

  “They say he’s looking for answers and direction from God,” Kay added.

  “I think we could all use some answers about now,” I said.

  “By the way, do you know of anyone who might be able to help me repair a tire on my van?” I asked.

  “Robert, Robert Gardner might be able to help you with that,” Roy said. “He’s a mechanic; actually, his shop is just down the road.”

  “Could you introduce us to him?” I asked.

  “He’s on patrol right now. It will be a few hours until he comes back in,” he said.

  The lady in the flowered dress then tapped me on the shoulder from behind.

  “Hello. Sir, I don't think I introduced myself to you earlier. My name is Patricia Tall. It is very nice to meet you and Jennifer. I'm so glad that you’re able to join us for dinner,” she said.

  “Thank you so very much for inviting us,” I responded.

  “If you’re spending the night with us we will need to talk about sleeping arrangements,” she said in a formal tone.

  “I'm not sure how long we will be staying. We’re trying to get to Dublin to the relocation center,” I responded. “We both may have family there.”

  “Well, I would advise against leaving immediately; please consider staying at least until the morning. They are more active at night, you know,” she urged.

  Memories of the horrors of the previous days started to flood my mind. She was right about them. Due to their permanently dilated eyes, they could see much better at night than during the daytime. Even if we were able to get our tire repaired tonight, it would be safer to leave in the morning.

  Jennifer looked at me with a serious expression on her face. Just as if she’d been telepathically shouting it to me, I knew she was urging me to take Patricia up on her offer.

  “You’re right. We should spend the night,” I said.

  “Good,” she responded. “You look like you could use a night’s rest.”

  She then started reviewing the writing on a notebook she carried with her. It was obviously a listing of who was staying where in the church. She once again began to speak

  “The simple fact of the matter is even though this is a large building, with over two hundred people it can be a challenge to find appropriate sleeping accommodations for everyone. Most of our private rooms are occupied by married couples with children, so we will need to ask the two of you to sleep in one of the common areas. Although if you want to sleep in adjacent cots that is fine, but we ask for the sake of moral decency that you do not actually sleep together in the same cot,” she explained.

  “That is fine,” Jennifer told her. “As long as you do not separate us. We have gone through too much together to let that happen.”

  “I would never suggest separating the two of you, dear,” she stated while putting her hand on Jennifer's shoulder. “We have morals, but we’re not cold hearted.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I turned back around.

  Suddenly, I felt Jennifer's hand on my arm. She was gripping it tightly.

  I turned and looked at her. Her eyes peered into mine as she said one word.

  “Never.”

  For a moment, my mind flashed back several years to when I first befriended Jennifer at the barbershop. I soon developed feelings for her, and tried my best to start a relationship with her. I went out of my way to try and win her heart, but she insisted that we should just stay friends. Nothing I did for her back then seemed to be enough to convince her to give me a chance to be anything more than a best buddy or guy pal.

  Now, it seemed that she was allowing herself to grow closer to me. However, I realized most, or maybe all, of this closeness was probably artificial, due to both of us being thrown into a hellish situation together which required us both to depend on each other for survival.

  “We’re staying together, not matter what,” I told her in a quiet voice before looking back at our gracious host.

  Patricia explained where the common areas were located and then politely excused herself.

  “Last call for dinner,” a voice boomed over the church intercom. “Mealtime over in ten minutes.”

  Immediately after the announcement was made, Kay and her children walked towards to kitchen. A number of other men and women did the same.

  “Those with kitchen duty tonight will be cleaning up now,” Roy said. “Do you mind if I introduce you to a few more members of our church family?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Over the next hour, with Roy at our side, we met se
veral other church members. We repeated our story to those who asked, and everyone seemed friendly and sincere. It seemed that the church was composed of a very tight knit group of generally friendly people. Jennifer and I eventually decided to step outside and wait for Robert, the mechanic, to come back from patrol.

  We watched as men, some in golf carts and others on foot, patrolled the field surrounding the church. Most of them carried rifles, and a few carried bows. Every so often a few of the patrols would also make a sweep of the road in front of the church. Only once as we waited for Robert did we hear a gunshot. A patrol at the gate told us that seeing a large group of freaks like those that were shot just before we arrived was the exception, and not the rule.

  Night had now fallen, but there was just enough light for me to make out our surroundings. In addition to the fenced perimeter where we stood just outside of the social hall, another fenced off area was setup on one side of the Sunday School build – not too far from where our van was parked. A parsonage, apparently the pastor’s home, was located on the other side of the church. Far behind the buildings on the property a wooded area existed. On either side of the church were open fields.

  I suddenly realized that we had left the dog in our van.

  “I need to go check on the dog,” I told Jennifer.

  “Shoot! I forgot all about him!” she exclaimed.

  “I'm sure he’s fine,” I said. “I just need to ask the guard at the gate if I can go to the van and check on him.”

  “Well, I'm going with you,” she responded.

  “I actually think it might be better if I just go by myself to check on him,” I said. “They might take it better if just one of us asks to go out there.”