I have a bit of a habit when it comes to gifts for friends. The previous short 'Training Day' was written as a Christmas gift. This particular story was written as a birthday / Christmas gift because my friend and Kung Fu instructor, Terry Friesen, has his birthday so close to Christmas!

This is the second of three stories that I have written to tie into my unpublished Zombie novels.

I hope that you take the time to read and that you enjoy this little offering.

I have a bit of a habit when it comes to gifts for friends. The previous short 'Training Day' was written as a Christmas gift. This particular story was written as a birthday / Christmas gift because my friend and Kung Fu instructor, Terry Friesen, has his birthday so close to Christmas!

This is the second of three stories that I have written to tie into my unpublished Zombie novels.

I hope that you take the time to read and that you enjoy this little offering.

Chris Van Deelen is the author of the Skirmisher Publishing LLC sourcebook Creatures of the Tropical Wastes sourcebook, co-author of its Wisdom from the Wastelands game supplement and contributor to the 'Sword of Kos: Hekaton' Anthology.

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March 27^th, 11:20 AM

Not a single cloud marred the perfect azure blue of the early spring sky. The weather was unseasonably warm for this time of year and the air carried the un-mistakable scent of the impending days to come. But not only that, but far darker scents as well… the acrid stench of smoke, burning meat, decay and other less identifiable odors, all equally unpleasant.

Terry Friesen stood at the back door of his home in the southern part of the metropolis of Calgary, Alberta. He peered out through the crack in the curtains, his blue eyes scanning the yard and open alley behind for signs of movement. As he watched, a late model pickup backed out from the yard a few doors down. He could see that the bed was filled with all manner of personal belongings. A grim smile crossed his craggy, weathered face. At least someone else was about to leave the death-trap the city had become over the past eight days.

It was still almost too much to believe that just over a week had passed since the dead began to come back to a parody of life. At first, it almost seemed to be a miracle, but that only lasted a handful of moments. See, the dead had indeed been returned to a state that could not be counted as life. More as un-life.

Undead.

And to make matters worse, who and what they had been in life was forever lost. The shell that remained had but one purpose now, and that was to feast on the flesh of the living, to create more of their kind. And it did not take long for the dead to start outnumbering the living. The reason was that instead of attempting to warn the populace and help the living prepare, most governments across the globe tried to cover it up, to put a spin on the situation.

In the end, and that seemed to be what humanity was facing, the spin and the lack of information cost far more lives than anyone could have imagined.

Only a short time earlier he had heard the broadcast, requesting that those who could to make their way to the Airport, where they would be transported to one of the military bases in the northern part of the province. The problem was that he lived in the extreme southern part of the huge city and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was simply no way that he would be able to travel the distance required to make it to the international airport.

Besides, he needed to get his son before things deteriorated further.

In his early fifties, Terry was still an imposing figure. He was an even six feet in height and had short cropped light brown hair, liberally dusted with grey. His eyes were still a bright blue and they held an intense worry that could not be hidden from casual view. He was dressed in a black T-shirt depicting a striking eagle and worn denim pants. 

Terry had been divorced for coming up on eight years now and he had shared custody with his ex-wife over their three sons. Two of them, Glenn and Matthew were now adults and living on their own. Glenn and his girlfriend recently had a baby girl and had traveled to Ontario to be with her family, while Matthew was up in Fort McMurray, plying his new trade in the oilfields of northern Alberta.

That just left his youngest, Myles, in the city. It was the off week and Myles had been with his mother since the Rising had begun.

He turned away from the window and allowed the curtain to close completely. He looked over his home, seeing the couch and chairs, the table and the island where he had prepared so many meals for his friends and family. Terry stood there, lost in thought for several minutes as he made the final decision on what the future held for those who were important to him.

The city was all but over-run. It was now too dangerous to even walk down the street. It was bad enough that the undead seemed to be everywhere, and their numbers grew with each passing hour, but it was the fast ones, the undead that ran and seemed possessed of un-natural speed that worried him the most. Fortunately, he had yet to encounter one of the creatures, but he had seen plenty of the shamblers.

Still, it was time to leave. It would be a death sentence to stay in the city for much longer. Fortunately, he lived on the outskirts of Calgary and it was not all the difficult to make his escape. He already had his old trusty Jeep loaded with the gear and extra food that he would need, now all he needed to do was travel to where his ex-wife was living and pick up his youngest son.

From there, it would be pretty much a cake-walk to make it to the cabin he had in the foothills of Kananaskis country. It was one of several cabins that he and several other people owned and used throughout the year.  The drawback was that the cabin was where all his firearms were stored. He had a wide selection of hunting rifles and a couple of shotguns, plus over a thousand rounds of ammunition and buckshot.

The weapons might as well be on the dark side of the moon for all the good that they were doing him at the moment. It certainly would make getting to his son and ex-wife a hell of a lot safer.

On the flip side of the coin, Terry Friesen was a renowned martial artist. He had been training in the ancient art of Shaolin Kung Fu for over thirty years and ran a small but successful studio in the north-eastern portion of the city.  Not only was he deadly with his hands and feet, but he was also proficient in the use of various melee weapons, everything from a Bo-staff to knives and swords.

He could not help but smile grimly at the thought. One of his students, Mike Harris, used to joke about things like the Zombie Apocalypse and had been grateful for the weapons training that he had partaken in. After all, as Mike was apt to say, swords do not need reloading and they would never jam on you.

Terry briefly wondered where his friend and student was at the moment, if he made it out of the city with his family or if they were heading to the airport, or if they had succumbed to the undead plague. After all, he had not seen them since before the rising had begun, when they were still training three times a week.

The sound of his cell phone broke his reverie. He had not heard it ring in several days, as the reception and service was becoming spotty, at best. He pulled his Iphone from his pocket and looked at the display. Matthew’s name and number were listed. “Matthew?” He answered. “Are you ok? Where are you right now?”

His son’s voice came though, sounding tinny and the line crackled with static. “Dad? Are you still in the city?”

Terry nodded, despite the fact that his son could not see it. “Yes, I was just about to leave and get Myles. Where are you?”

 “We’re on the highway, leaving Fort Mac.  There are too many fucking zombies for us to even consider staying.”

He reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Even in the smaller towns and cities the undead were taking over.  “Have you been bitten?”  He managed to ask and then quickly added; “Where are you going, and we? Who’s with you?”

Matthew sighed heavily. “No, dad, I haven’t been bitten. You trained me too well for that.”

Terry couldn’t help but laugh. “It sure didn’t seem like at the time.”

 “Let’s not go there, ok?” Matthew sighed and then continued. “We’re heading further north, where there are less people. Maybe hit one of the remote camps. Hopefully they haven’t been hit by the zombies yet.” 

There was silence on the line for several seconds. Terry could barely hear the background noises of several people talking, almost drowned out by the sound of a heavy diesel engine, working hard.  After several seconds, his son picked up where he left off. “As for who’s with me, several of the guys I work with.”

“Are you armed?”

“We have a few knives and lengths of heavy pipe, but we’re hoping that some of the camps might have firearms. But so far, the zombies haven’t been too difficult.”

The further north the camps were, the more likely they would have hunting rifles and shotguns. Some would even have pistols. The northern Canadian woods could be a hazardous place to work, with the bears, wolves, moose and elk, so it was not uncommon for the seismic and oil camps to have weapons at the ready just in case. Also a lot of the people who lived at the camps year round were avid hunters.

“Seen any sprinters?”

“No,” Matthew answered, “But we’ve heard about them. Fucking fast and dangerous as hell.”

“You can say that again,” Terry muttered darkly. “I’m going to go get your brother, and then we’re hitting the cabin in K country. Think you might be able to work your way down there?”

There was a long pregnant pause before Matthew finally answered. “I don’t know, dad. I mean, with all the zombies and shit, I think it might be too dangerous to even try. Maybe in a few months, once the army has things under control we might try but right now? I just don’t like our chances.”

Terry knew that his son was right, but being a father, he was feeling more than a little protective. He really did want his family with him, but the circumstances made that next to impossible. “Ok, do what you can to keep your cell charged. Hopefully we won’t lose the network before the government manages to finally get this under control. But I doubt the cellular service will last much longer, after all, reception and connection has been pretty shitty recently.”

“I know - believe me dad, I know,” There was another long pause and Terry thought that he had lost the connection when Matthew finally spoke again. “Take care of yourself, ok dad?”

There was a lump starting to form in Terry’s throat. Things had been rather strained between him and his second son for quite some time, but he still loved him. “You too, Matt,” He croaked out, his voice slightly husky and unsteady with emotion. “Never forget, I love you.”

“I….” and the line went dead. Terry stood there, and said hello several times into the phone before holding it in front of his face so that he could read the words ‘connection lost’.

Cursing softly, Terry passed the island where he had prepared so many meals and had gained more precious memories than he could easily remember. A few steps further and he was at the front entrance to his home. He grabbed his heavy jacket from the hook on the wall and put it on, all the while looking through the small window on the door, scanning the street outside for signs of movement.

A white, late model mustang raced passed the street in front of his house, almost out of control. Terry shook his head at the futility of the driver. What was the point of driving like that if all it would accomplish is get him or her killed? The thought crossed his mind as he bent down to pick up a pair of heavy police batons that he had been training with before the undead began to take over the city. When he stood up again, he happened to glance out the window just in time to see a man racing down the middle of the road, in what looked like hot pursuit of the mustang that had passed only moments before.

He did not have enough time to get a good look at the runner, but was pretty sure that he had just seen what people had started calling a sprinter, one of the inhumanly fast zombies. His thoughts flashed back to the remake of the classic horror movie Dawn of the Dead, where the heroine of the movie was fleeing from her recently turned husband. All the zombies in that movie were the sprinter variety, and her former lover had chased after her as she drove out of her suburban home to try and flee to safety. The zombie continued to pursue her until he spotted another person, at which time he veered off and went for that unfortunate soul.

But that was just a movie and he wished that the past days were nothing but the most vivid dream he had ever had. Of course that was simply not the case.  Hefting the dual batons in his rough and calloused hands, he instantly felt reassured at the weight of the weapons. They would do quite nicely when it came to taking down the undead, and despite his age, he was still blindingly fast when he wielded them.

Habit was a hard thing to break. He went back to the rear of his home and checked that the sliding door was securely locked and the curtains drawn. After that Terry spent several more minutes checking that all windows were closed on the second floor. Mentally he went over all the items that he had stowed away in the red Jeep parked in his driveway before he finally went to the front. After checking through the window to make sure that the way was still clear, he left his house and locked the door behind him.

For March, the weather was unseasonably warm. A comfortable wind caressed his face as he made his way down the short flight of steps and around the corner of his attached garage. The Jeep was sitting in the driveway, loaded with everything he figured he would need to survive at the cabin for the duration of the crisis.

Terry could not help but snort as he unlocked the driver’s door and slid into the trusty old vehicle. He might as well wish for Jesus to return and save them all from the undead, as that was more likely to happen than the federals getting things in hand.

Someone in the highest offices of the government dropped the ball in a major way with this crisis, of that he had no doubt. But it struck him as odd how it was not just the Canadian government, but it seemed the rest of the world’s leaders as well. From the newscasts coming across the television as well as the internet, it seemed that no one was able to get a firm handle on the undead situation and that the world was going to hell on a bullet train.

The engine to the jeep turned over like the well oiled machine that it was, even though it was exceedingly loud. He checked to make sure that the street was clear of other vehicles, pedestrians or even the undead before he pulled out of his driveway and turned east.

The neighborhood that he lived in had always been fairly quiet, especially at this time of year when it generally was too cold to enjoy the park, which was located about three hundred yards from his house, but at the same time there was not enough snow for the kids to enjoy winter activities.

At the moment, the streets were dead. Nothing moved anywhere. No cars were on the go, no pedestrians were walking along the sidewalks. It was like driving in the middle of the night, but the sun was shining brightly in the sky above.

He turned south at the intersection that led to the small strip mall and business district that was in essence the heart of the community. As he passed the small strip mall, Terry could see several vehicles parked in the nearly empty lot. He also spotted the undead, including what had to be the sprinter that he watched only a few minutes before. The reason he knew it was the sprinter was due to the bright orange safety vest it was wearing. Clearly before the sprinter had died and returned, he had been one of the road workers, probably from the crew that had been working on the Deerfoot trail construction taking place less than a mile from his home. The sprinter also wore dirty jeans and a stained white jacket under the safety vest.

All the creatures were gathered around a mini-van that was stopped just at the entrance to the lot. He counted five zombies, not including the sprinter. Even from the distance, he could see a middle-aged woman seated behind the wheel, looking absolutely terrified as the zombies smashed their rotting fists against the windows of the van, trying in vain to get at the still-living bodies trying to take refuge from them.

A silent war waged in his mind as he slowed down to watch the scene. He was tempted to get out and do what he could to help the woman, but at the same time the desire to go and get his son and flee the infested city was almost overpowering. Wishing the woman the best of luck, he was about to accelerate when he noticed a small head peaking out between the seats. It was a little girl, probably no older than his son Myles.

That clinched it. The internal war he had been waging with his conscience came to an abrupt end. He knew what had to be done, and as much as he did not want to admit it, he was terrified. Other than catching sight of the undead through the windows of his house and seeing them portrayed on the TV and internet, Terry had yet to come face to face with them.

It was one thing to spar and fight when it came to training and tournaments, but it was something entirely different when it came to real life. Not that he had any doubt when it came to his skill and the ability to inflict harm, you cannot train for over thirty years and not be at the top of your game. Even people who have trained for only a handful of years were generally leaps and bounds better at fighting and defending themselves compared to those who have never trained at all. Still, all the training and experience did not mean a thing if you froze up when facing something like the undead. As much as he would have liked to put off the inevitable, there was no choice, sooner, rather than later, Terry would have to face the walking corpse’s one on one.

It was going to be sooner than he would have liked.

He pulled into the lot and laid on the horn. The sound immediately caught the attention of the sprinter, who turned and glared hungrily at him. The other undead were a lot slower on the uptake, but moments later they tore their limited attention from the meal encased in the van to stare at the intruder.

Terry put the jeep into neutral and revved the engine several times. It was all that was needed. The sprinter came racing towards the jeep, his arms outstretched and eager to get at the fool who had been stupid enough to attract his attention. Terry rolled down the driver’s side window, his face a mask of grim determination as he lifted one of the two heavy police batons from the passenger side seat. He took his right hand off the wheel only for a second to switch the transmission back into drive and then floored it, heading towards the onrushing sprinter.

Despite being dead, the sprinter seemed to know that there was no way that he could stand a head on collision with the oncoming vehicle, so it turned to the side, seeing that the person driving it had his arm outside the vehicle. The zombie could clearly see that his meal was holding something in that arm, but he did not care in the slightest. All he cared about was the fact that he was about to enjoy a fresh meal.

The determination never left Terry’s face as he aimed the jeep at the sprinter. As the feet were quickly devoured, he lowered his arm so that he could bring it up in an upswing, and hopefully catch the creature in the head. He knew that he would more than likely lose the baton, and he did not dare try to hold onto it, because he could very well break his wrist or worse. But he had to do something.

At the last second he swerved to the right, so that the sprinter was coming up along the left side of the jeep. Then he swung. The baton hit the zombie in the lower jaw and whipped the head back. Even over the sound of the engine, he could hear the audible crack of the creature’s neck splintered like dry kindling.  As predicted, he lost the baton, the heavy wooden weapon clattering loudly on the pavement. Pain shot through his left wrist and arm at the impact with the sprinter. He slammed on the breaks and brought the speeding vehicle to a halt and then quickly scanned the parking lot. The shamblers were still coming towards him, but the sprinter was lying unmoving on the ground.

He sat in his vehicle for several seconds and flexed his left hand and wrist. Everything moved and seemed to function, but it hurt like hell. Even though he had yet to exit the vehicle, adrenaline pumped through his body, increasing his awareness and even time seemed to slow down. Terry then grabbed the second baton from the passenger seat, He opened the door and got out, slamming it behind him. He jogged over to the sprinter and quickly retrieved the other baton he had dropped. Even though the sprinter was down, it was not done. The jaw snapped and bit, but the creature could not move.

It took only a couple of quick blows with the heavy baton to finish the creature off, stilling it once and for all. By that time, the other zombies had closed within a dozen yards. He hefted both heavy batons in each hand, careful to ensure that they were balanced properly. Last thing he wanted was to drop one of the weapons once he engaged the undead.  

Terry did not waste any time as he stepped up to the first zombie. The undead was dressed in a dirty winter jacket and black pants. He could not see any obvious wounds on the creature and did not expend any more mental energy on it as he savagely smashed the baton into the creature’s skull, crushing the bone and driving shards deep into the rotting brain. Even before it had finished hitting the ground, Terry closed in on the second zombie. This one had been a young, slightly overweight woman in life, and was dressed in jeans, a white frilly blouse, and red high heel shoes, as if she had been out clubbing when she succumbed to the undead.

He swung both batons in a well-practiced, coordinated attack, coming in both low and high at the same time. The left baton smashed into the zombie’s knee, shattering the joint and rendering the leg completely useless. The right hand baton connected the jaw with a sick crunching sound. The dual blows not only spun the zombie around, but knocked her off her feet. She hit the ground heavily and lay there, un-moving.

Two of the five zombies were down, although Terry knew that the woman would be getting up soon enough and he would have to finish her before she could become a serious threat once again. Two of the remaining zombies were literally side by side. It was a young couple, no older than his eldest son Glenn. They were smartly dressed in matching University of Calgary jackets. He was wearing black pants, while she was wearing a skirt. What made the scene even more surreal was the fact that they were holding hands as they closed in.

The male was a few inches closer than the female, and Terry launched a lightning fast spinning back kick. The heel of his right foot caught the zombie straight in the solar plexus and caused it to stagger back several feet. Despite the attack, the two undead continued to hold hands and the girl ended getting pulled with him, causing her body to turn to the side.

Fancy moves were always used in action movies. Those types of moves were rarely, if ever, used in real life. Yes, moves like that were awe-inspiring, but more often than not would get the attacker hurt or worse. Terry did away with anything fancy and came at the female zombie with both Batons, one to either side of her head. The force of the blow caved in her temples, destroying whatever force was animating her.  She collapsed, causing the other zombie to be pulled forward. Terry caught the male zombie with a roundhouse to the temple. He felt the bone crunch beneath the toe of his boot, but the blow did not finish the undead.

Out of the corner of his eye, Terry could see that the last of the zombies was almost within arm’s reach, and he knew that he had to finish the male zombie, and fast, or he could very well be in deep trouble. He resorted to the most basic kick that he knew, the very first kick that he had ever been taught when he began to train over thirty years previously. Raising his left leg, he executed a simple snap-kick and caught the zombie in the stomach. Even though the creature did not feel pain, the force of the blow still caused it to double over and brought the zombie’s head down. Terry did not hesitate, he brought both batons down with all the force that his body could muster and smashed them into the back of the zombie’s head and neck. The vertebrae shattered with another audible crack, and the back of the undead man’s head caved in. It fell to the ground, where it lay next to the body of the female zombie. Even now, the two continued to hold hands as death finally claimed both.

The last zombie was a older woman, probably in her late fifties or early sixties when she had died. She had a head full of curly white hair and had to weigh over two hundred pounds. Half of her face was missing, revealing bone that was covered in dried blood. The remains of her lips were coated in drying blood and the front of her black blouse was slick and shiny with blood. Only the right eye remained and it stared dully at Terry as she closed the last handful of feet to reach him.

As with the previous undead, he did way with the fancy attacks and moves. He squarely struck the woman’s crown with the left baton, and then followed through with the right, swinging up from below, catching her in the cheek. Bone cracked and gave way, forcing the rotund zombie to stagger, but she did not fall. He allowed the momentum of the attack to whip his right hand around in a circle and connected in the same spot on the crown of her skull, while allowing the left hand to come up from below to catch her on the left side of her face, the one where the flesh was all but gone. This time the dual blows dropped the zombie and he made short work of her as she lay on the ground.

Terry turned to face the one zombie that he had not managed to kill outright. It was still trying to get to its feet and he sent her to her final death without a second thought. His body sang with adrenaline, and it felt as if every nerve was on fire. He turned and scanned the parking lot, checking to see if the fight or sound of the jeep had attracted the attention of any other undead. Thankfully it was clear.

Finally the reality of what had just occurred hit him like a run-away freight train. He collapsed to his knees and vomited. The fear finally managed to take root and his entire body shook with a mixture of nerves, fear and the adrenaline rush that he was only now starting to come down from.

“Sir, are you ok?” A shaky feminine voice asked from just off to his side.

Terry continued to dry-heave for almost a minute, his body refusing to respond to his mental commands. Finally he wiped the bile from his face with the back of his hand and stood on shaky legs. “Yes,” he croaked, his throat burning.

Finally he turned to face the speaker. It was the woman from the mini-van. She was standing a few feet from him, concern evident on her face. Terry guessed that she was probably in her early to mid-thirties and was dressed in casual clothing and a lightweight Gore-Tex jacket. A tire-iron was held unsteadily in her left hand. He managed to stand fully up-right and looked around him, at the corpses on the ground.

“You weren’t bit, were you?” She asked, never coming any closer as she spoke.

He shook his head, his eyes closed as he fought to control the nausea that still threatened him. “No, how about you?”

“They couldn’t get into the van,” She answered. “I just wanted to say thank you for saving us.”

Terry waved his hand dismissively. “Anyone would have done what I did,” The lie came easily, as he knew that he surely would have left her to the zombies if he had not seen the child in the backseat of the van. “Something wrong with your van?”

The woman nodded, looking sheepish. “I ran out of gas.”

At first, the statement took him by surprise. It was not often that people ran out of gas. Typically when it happened it was from simple forgetfulness. But then he realized that over the past several days more and more of the infrastructure that made up a major city like Calgary was breaking down as people did not show up for work due to fleeing the city or being attacked by the undead. So he could not blame the woman for running out of gas.

Terry took in the parking lot and the surrounding streets. Nothing moved except a few errant pieces of trash blown about by the warm spring breeze, but at that moment there was no sign of danger. “Let’s get your van to the station and filled up.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you’ve already done so much to help!” The woman protested.

He waved her off. “It’s nothing.”

Together, Terry and the middle aged woman returned to her mini-van. She got into the driver’s seat and he pushed the vehicle towards the gas-bar that was only a few dozen yards from where she had stopped. Once there, he checked to see if the pump was working, and it was, but no one was inside the station to authorize it. However, it did not matter, the woman got out and used her credit card and in a minute, she was filling the van. All the while Terry kept his eyes open on the surrounding parking lot and the station itself, waiting for more of the undead to appear.

Finally the van was topped up and the woman returned the nozzle to the pump. She faced Terry and smiled shyly. “Thank you for everything,” She held out her hand. “My name is Maggie.”

Terry took it and shook it firmly. “Terry, and I was glad to help,” He glanced over her shoulder into the van and saw not one, but a pair of young faces looking out at him, their eyes haunted. Now he was sure that he had done the right thing. “I am guessing you are trying to get out of the city?”

Maggie nodded. “My folks have a farm down south near Lethbridge, and we’re hoping to get there before things get any worse.”

He nodded. “Good idea. I’m heading to K country myself. Things are just too dangerous to stay any longer,” As if to emphasize the statement, Terry looked back at the corpses lying where they had fallen only minutes before.

“Good luck,” she told him, getting into the van.

“You too, and try to stay off the main roads, use side streets and secondary highways, the main roads are going to be exceedingly dangerous.”

And with that, Maggie turned over the engine. She and the two children with her waved as she pulled away from the pumps and into the street. It took only a handful of seconds before the van was out of sight.

Terry wiped his brow free of sweat. It was comfortably warm, but the sweat was from the Adrenaline rush. He was crashing, and hard, and as a result, he felt ill and weak as he made his way back to the jeep. Getting in, he glanced at his Iphone. He had lost maybe ten minutes helping the woman out of her predicament. It certainly felt like it had been a hell of a lot longer than that. Ten minutes would not make any difference.

He placed the police batons on the passenger seat next to a bag and then started the car. Seconds later he pulled out of the parking lot back onto the street. As he drove he kept the speed down and reached into the bag and pulled out a can of diet Coke. His hands shook as he brought the caffeinated beverage to his lips. God, he felt like shit, still feeling mildly nauseated, tired and weak due to the adrenaline crash.

“Mind over matter,” he muttered to himself like a mantra. “I don’t mind and you don’t matter.” He laughed darkly.

It still struck him as off to see the street so empty at that particular time of day, and he also began to take note of the number of abandoned vehicles that were left on the side of the road. Some were even still in the lanes and that forced him to change lanes several times, more than once he moved onto the on-coming lanes to get around them.

Unlike his neighborhood, here the undead were far more evident. He could see the creatures wandering aimlessly in the yards, some standing on doorsteps and pounding relentlessly on the doors, trying to get in at what he had to assume where the living trying to take shelter.

Nothing but the dead, no living anywhere in sight. Of course to make matters even worse his rather loud jeep was attracting the attention of the zombies and they were starting to come into the street to follow him. All the zombies he saw were the shamble types, not one of them were the fast sprinters and for that he was grateful. Fighting one was enough for him and if he never saw one again, it would be too soon.

The closer he got to his ex-wife’s house, the worse the roads became. More and more vehicles were abandoned and he could now see corpses lying in the streets all around. Bags, bits of furniture, toys and other detritus littered the road, sidewalks and yards. It continued like that for about three blocks until he hit a serious road block.

Several of the cars and trucks were on fire and sunlight glinted off the tarnished brass casings that were littering the road at the intersection  There had to be at least several dozen corpses sprawled around him, many missing huge portions of their bodies.

Terry was a jack of all trades. He had done everything from driving buses to selling real-estate to running his own catering service. He even worked in a slaughter house and what he had seen there was nothing to what he was looking at now. Bile rose up his throat and he had to concentrate as he came to a complete stop. The last thing he wanted was to be sick right then and there.

He closed his eyes and took several deep, calming breaths to try and center his thoughts and relax his wire-taught nerves. There was no way that he wanted to open his eyes to the horror that covered the ground before his jeep, but he had no choice. Reluctantly, he raised his head and looked around once again. Carefully, he took in the surrounding streets, cataloging the locations of the wrecked and abandoned vehicles and looking for a way around, due to the fact that the intersection was now all but impassable.

As he looked, he realized that it was clear that the military had been here, and recently, but try as he might, he could not remember hearing the sound of battle. It was not all that far from his home and the sound of gunfire should have been easily detectable, but he simply could not remember hearing it.

Finally he spotted an opening between a smashed Dodge Ram pickup and a white Toyota 4runner. It lead to the front yard of the house on the corner, but it was the only way he could see that he would be able to get through the mess.

Keeping his speed barely above a crawl he drove through the mass of debris, praying with each bump that he would not end up blowing out a tire. The old red jeep rocked back and forth on its suspension as he drove over the corpses, personal belongings, and the seemingly endless sea of spent casings.

Before he realized it, he was through and passed the morass of wrecked vehicles and carnage. The speed of the old red Jeep continued to climb steadily as he wound his way down the street, his ex-wife’s house only a few blocks away.  Before the dead began to walk, the trip would take only a matter of minutes. Now however, being forced to dodge debris, walking corpses, abandoned vehicles, it took far longer than it rightfully should have.

The yard came into view, the winter-brown grass a stark contrast to the brightly painted house where his ex and their youngest son resided. There was a black older model dodge sedan in the driveway that he did not recognize.

Screw it, he thought and he pulled the jeep up over the sidewalk and curb to come to a stop only a few feet from the stairs leading into the house. He jumped out of the old jeep, making sure to grab one of the batons, just to be on the safe side and took the stairs two at a time. Terry was just reaching out to grab the door handle when a piercing scream tore through the strangely quite neighborhood. It took him only a second to realize that the scream came from inside the house! He also knew that it was his son, Myles, and not his ex-wife. The scream was too high-pitched and filled with soul-numbing terror.

His hand wrapped around the door-knob and he turned it. The door was locked. Adrenaline pumped into his over-taxed body and he did not hesitate. He brought his leg up and kicked out as hard as he could, hitting the door right next to the lock. The lock gave way and the door flew open, slamming into the wall so hard it seemed to cause the entire house to rock on its foundation.

Another scream ripped through the open door, far louder this time. Terry charged in, his blue eyes searching the semi-darkness of the front entrance and the hall that led further into the house. Myles cry of terror seemed to come from almost on top of him and he threw caution to the wind. Terry raced down the hall and into the living room. Immediately he could see his ex-wife Sheri on the ground, struggling in vain against a man who had his teeth clamped around her neck, snarling like a rabid dog. Cowering behind an overturned easy chair, Terry saw his eight year old son Myles, still screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Hey!” Terry shouted to be heard over the din of the near ultra-sonic cries coming from the young boy. But it was enough. The zombie gave a savage shake of his head and turned, his dead eyes seeming alive with a hateful malevolence. The creature leapt to his feet with a speed that surprised even the veteran martial artist. The zombie slammed hard into Terry, causing both men to stumble backwards. Terry allowed his instinct to take over and instead of just falling, he grabbed the zombie by the shirt and turned the stumble into a fall, flowing smoothly. As he hit the ground, he allowed the combined momentum to help him propel the undead creature well over his body, helped by his left leg, to land down the entrance hall.

Terry regained his feet a moment later, snatching up the baton that he had dropped when the zombie attacked. The undead sprinter was up almost as fast and it turned to face him, snarling wickedly. Globs of his ex-wife’s flesh falling from the blood-stained mouth. It charged him immediately, the intent evident on the zombie’s twisted and dead features.

Fucking great, Terry thought, another sprinter. Bad enough he faced on only minutes before, but here was another one!

Terry shifted the grip on the baton, so that he was holding it by the shaft. The handle which stuck out at a 90 degree angle was now free. As the sprinter closed the distance, Terry sidestepped lithely and used the baton, hooking the back of the creature’s neck with the handle and used the zombie’s own momentum to cause it to slam face first into the wall.

The sound of the sprinters head smashing through the drywall was even louder than the screams that seemed to ebb non-stop from Myles throat. Immediately the zombie placed both of its hands on either side of its body, smearing the wall with Sheri’s blood. It was trying to break free.

He could not allow that to happen. As he had before, Terry switched his grip on the baton and brought it down as hard as his six foot frame could muster onto the side of the zombie’s knee, shattering the knee cap and destroying the muscles and ACL. The sprinter shuddered as if it had been struck by a bolt of lightning, and he could hear it howl, not with pain, but with rage. He brought the baton down once again, this time on the other knee and it too, splintered like an eggshell.

The damage to the legs was too great and the zombie collapsed, its head tearing free from the drywall. Dust mixed liberally with the blood coating the zombies face and neck and even as it fell, the creature reached out, trying to snag the living being that had caused it so much grief.

Terry however, was not done with it, not by a long shot. He brought the baton down and across, smashing it with his considerable strength across the forearm. The human bone-structure could withstand a great deal of punishment, sometimes bending under blows or pressure that would normally cause the bones to break apart, but each blow Terry landed on the sprinter caused the bone to shatter as if it was made from kindling. Maybe it was the fear-fueled rage, maybe it had something to do with the fact that the creature was no longer living, but the end result was devastating.

By the time he was finished, the sprinter was completely and utterly still, truly dead. He stood over the corpse, his breath coming in great gasps, the usual breath control he practiced all but gone in the heat of the moment. He just stood there, staring down at the pulped remains, until Myles fear choke cry snapped him from his reverie.

“Daddy!”

He ran back to the living room to see that his former wife, the mother to his three sons was slowly getting to her feet. The blood had stopped spurting from her neck as her heart finally gave out and once she passed the veil of life to death, she rose, like they all did.

“Oh, shit, Sheri, no…” He half-whispered, seeing the now undead woman reaching out with still-warm hands towards her youngest son, almost as if to embrace him. He took several hesitant steps towards her, his emotions at odds. There were times he hated her, could not stand the thought of her or to be anywhere near her, but no matter how much time had passed, there was still something of the love that had initially brought the two of them together and that union of love had produced three children.

Myles stared up at his now dead mother as she approached, his eyes wide with terror, tears tracing the outlines of his cheeks. “Mommy?”

“Myles, don’t look!” Terry ordered in his commanding voice that the youngster would so often ignore. But for once, his son did exactly as he was told. Myles turned and curled up into a ball on the floor, covering his head with both arms.

“Sheri, look at me,” He said to the zombie, his voice lower, almost gentle.

The zombie stopped and stared down at her son, almost as if considering him, and then slowly turned to face her ex-husband. The eyes that had at one time shone with life were utterly blank and dead, although still capable of seeing. She reached out with one arm, covered in blood and missing chunks of flesh, from where she had attempted to fend off the attacking sprinter. It was almost as if she was trying to say something to him.

Terry’s throat constricted to the point he could barely breathe, grief and guilt warring for dominance as he closed the distance between himself and his ex-wife. Before he lost all his nerve, he swung at her skull, aiming for the thinner bone of the temple. The blow landed with an unbearably loud crack, causing the zombie to stagger to the left but not felling her. He brought the baton in from the left, holding it firmly in both hands, smashing it into her left temple. This time the blow did the trick and she fell to the carpeted floor. Her body twitched and she turned her pulped skull up to face him, her dead eyes almost accusing.

Two more blows were all that was needed to end her undead existence.

Fighting back tears of his own, Terry reached down and gently lifted Myles into his arms. The youngster was too big to carry one handed, so Terry had to slide the bloody baton into his belt, as he did not want to leave it behind.

He held Myles to his chest, gently cradling the sobbing and hysterical child, whispering words of comfort as he carried the youngster to the Jeep waiting on the lawn. He had no idea how badly the events of the past few minutes would affect the boy, but he knew that what Myles had witnessed would haunt the boy for years, if not for the rest of his life.

Terry opened the door to his old trusty jeep and sat Myles in the seat, ensuring that the boy was secured in the seatbelt. Myles offered no resistance as Terry snapped the seatbelt into place and closed the door, making sure that it was locked. He crossed his arms over the top of the door and let his head rest there for several heartbeats, trying to get the images of the past few minutes out of his mind. Nothing he did could banish the vivid sight of having to destroy the sprinter, and then Sheri.

Anger began to build, replacing the grief and guilt. If only he had not stopped to help the woman in the parking lot, his ex might still be alive and his boy would not be traumatized. He wanted to smash his fist into the roof of the Jeep, he wanted to scream in rage and frustration, let it all out.

He nearly allowed himself to do just that, but the sound of hungry moaning tore his thoughts away from the rage, self-preservation kicking into high-gear. He lifted his head in the direction of the sound, knowing exactly what he was about to see.

Sure enough, a small group of the undead were shuffling across the road and neighboring lawn towards him. A quick count revealed that there were at least a dozen of the creatures, of all walks and ages, most likely attracted by the screams and sound of combat that had emanated from his ex-wife’s home only minutes previous.

He was too exhausted and the last adrenaline burst left him feeling about as strong as a newborn puppy now that it had finally relented. There was no way that he could handle such a large group in the condition he was in. A thought occurred to him as he stepped around the front of the Jeep and got behind the wheel. Over the many years that he had been training martial arts, one of the rules he always taught the various students was that very rarely would one ever find themselves in the perfect fighting conditions. More often than not someone facing danger would be tired from working the whole day, or that the footing they faced would not be a flat surface, but instead grass, gravel, un-even, or coated in snow and ice. One had to know when to fight, and when to run.

This was one of those times running was far preferable to standing one’s ground and fighting. He knew that if he even tried, he would be dead and then his boy would be on his own. And that was something Terry did not want to contemplate.

With Myles still sobbing, Terry backed the Jeep out of the front yard. He hit one of the oncoming zombies, knocking it to the ground. The rear tires bumped and the vehicle shuddered as it crushed the undead creature’s ribcage. A moment later, he was on the street, weaving in and out of the abandoned vehicles and dodging the shambling zombies.

Blocks passed without Terry even noticing. His mind was in a fugue and his body was running on autopilot. He was so tired all he wanted to do was pull the Jeep over and sleep. The hysterical sobs subsided into the occasional hiccup and little gasps.  Fighting the mind-numbing fatigue, Terry kept driving, going well below the speed limit to make sure that he did not hit something that could cause permanent damage to the vehicle. He reached into the bag that he had packed and rummaged around with his hand, keeping his blue eyes on the road. He latched onto a cold can and brought it out, placing it in his lap and reached back in, until he grasped a large candy bar.

“Myles - hey, focus on me,” He said gently as he looked into the rearview mirror to watch his son. The youngster managed to look up, his eyes red and puffy.

“Yes dad?”

Splitting his concentration between the road and his son, Terry handed the can of pop and the bar over the front seat. Myles took the offered treat and mechanically opened the bar and took a bite. He chewed the candy without really tasting it.

“Everything is ok. We will be out of the city in a few minutes and we’re going camping! You love camping, right?

Myles nodded slightly as he finished eating the candy. “Is mommy going to be there?”

Terry’s throat tightened up at the question. He fought an internal war, trying to figure out what to tell his young son. If he told him the truth, Myles would be devastated, but at the same time he knew that his son was smart enough to figure out exactly what had happened. But if he lied and said that his ex-wife was still ok, then maybe Myles would believe it.  And maybe if he said that, the youngster would demand that they return and get his mother, take her with them to the cabin.

“No, sorry, but she won’t be meeting us there. She’s gone,” He could not bring himself to tell Myles that she was now dead, but at least permanently and would not rise to be a deadly danger to those who still lived.

He could see the young boy’s heart break as he looked at him through the rearview mirror and it tore his very soul apart. Terry knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had done the right thing telling Myles the truth, no matter how much it pained him to do so. The tears came once again to Myles’s eyes.

Together, father and son rode in silence. The absolute devastation that Terry witnessed as he made his way to the outskirts of the city astounded him. It was clear that the Canadian forces had been through. The evidence was everywhere. Burning vehicles and buildings, corpses littering the road, sidewalks and lawns, and even more brass casings gleaming dully in the sunlight.

Over the sound of the engine, he began to catch the un-mistakable rattle of gunfire. Not the single shots of hunting rifles or pistols, but the ripping sound associated with weapons being fired on full auto.  He slowed the Jeep down, realizing that he had to be close to the action. Terry scanned the road ahead, catching movement. Watching carefully, he saw what had to be dozens upon dozens of zombies. Even at the distance separating them, the carnage was clear. Blood flew from bodies as bullets ripped into the cold flesh. Limbs were blown off at heavy caliber rounds smashed into the hoard. Many of the undead dropped, but for every zombie destroyed, two seemed to take its place.

A loud explosion caused him to jump in his seat. One of the abandoned vehicles near the mass of undead blew apart. It was not like the typical Hollywood explosions, where the vehicle would have been propelled into the air by the explosion, but instead the windows blew out, the hood was ripped free and the concussion from the detonation of the fuel tank knocked nearly half of the undead to the ground. The shock-wave washed over his Jeep, causing it to rock on its suspension, but that was the worst of it.

Myles had stopped crying and was leaning forward, watching the carnage unfold. Strangely enough, it did not seem to bother the young boy. Then again, despite his best effort to prevent it, Myles mother and elder brothers had allowed him to watch movies and play video games that Terry thought were completely inappropriate for his age. He glanced at his son, wondering if he might not have been mistaken, since the battle unfolding before them did not seem to bother the youngster, instead it seemed to excite him, despite the fear and dread Terry felt at witnessing the violence.

As the two watched, a Canadian Forces APC lumbered up the street, initially having been hidden from sight by the various houses that lined the road. On top of the armored personnel carrier a single soldier manned at 12.7 mm machine gun. He used the weapon with as much precision as such a beast would allow, firing it on full auto. The heavy rounds smashed into the ranks of the undead, blowing limbs off, tearing bodies asunder. Many of the creatures were outright destroyed, and many others were rendered nearly harmless, but still, the hoard continued to advance.

Behind the APC followed a group of armed soldiers, at least two squads worth, who were taking their time, aiming at the undead and carefully dispatching the zombies with well placed headshots. More and more of the creatures fell but, as before, it seemed that for every zombie they destroyed, two more would replace it.

The air around the ongoing battle grew hazy from the combination of spent cordite and smoke from the burning fires as well as the destroyed vehicles and property. It was getting harder and harder to see what was happening, and Terry decided that it was time to continue their flight from the over-run city.

If the soldiers battling the undead was any sort of indication, maybe the federal government might be able to turn the tide and get a grip on the horrific situation. As much as he wanted to believe it was the case, deep down Terry knew that it was nothing more than a pipe-dream. It was apparent that the situation had grown entirely out of control and that most likely there was no turning back.

Once the intersection was cleared, Terry eased the Jeep forward and past. Once again he was grateful for the fact that the old Jeep was off-road capable, knowing that a newer model would have more than likely been caught up on the debris or corpses and been incapable of moving.

As they passed, he turned to look to the north, where the soldiers were still advancing.  A breeze cut through the smoke and haze and he was able to see the battlefield more clearly. It appeared as if the military had managed to cut down all the undead that had been attacking and the amount of fire had dropped off to nothing more than the occasional shot or brief burst as the Canadian forces put a bullet into a zombie’s skull, ending its un-life forever.

Then something in the sky caught his attention. He could clearly see a passenger jet coming in from the East. He knew that there was something horribly wrong with the picture he was seeing. It was coming in far too low and instead of heading towards the north, where the airport was located, it has on a trajectory that would bring it into the downtown core.

“Oh my god!”

The words barely left his mouth when the wing of the jet clipped one of the high-rises on the Eastern edge of the core before it cut a swath of devastation through several blocks of the city center. Fire and explosions could easily be seen, even at the distance, visible over the top of the single and double story homes that lined the streets he was on. Seconds later, the sound of the explosion reached the vehicle, so loud that he could still hear it despite the windows of the Jeep were closed.

Both he and Myles stared, unable to take their eyes from the sight that had just occurred. The image of the jet smashing into the buildings like a toy thrown by an angry child would forever rest in his mind’s eye, never leaving until death claimed him. Finally Terry managed to pull his eyes from the plumes of smoke pouring out of the core and he fixed his gaze on his son. Neither spoke, both completely at a loss for words.

After what seemed to be hours, Terry finally took his foot off the brake and they continued to accelerate down the street.  More zombies could be seen shambling across the road. Some stood in the yards of homes as they passed, turning to stare hungrily as they sped past, while others stood at the entrances of homes, pounding on the doors with their lifeless hands. He realized that those houses must still hold the living, otherwise there was no reason that the zombies would be trying with such single-minded determination to get at them.

He was not sure if it was a good or bad thing, but each creature that they passed turned and would begin to come after them. The vast, vast majority of the zombies shuffling along in their slow, unhurried gait, but occasionally one came racing out of a yard, running for all it was worth. Sprinters, the most deadly of the undead that they had yet to face, and he had destroyed two of them in less than an hour. Each time they picked up a sprinter, Terry would hit the accelerator and the Jeep would jump forward. He took the first intersection they came and would lose the pursuer in no time.

Eventually they were on the outskirts of the city. It had taken far longer than he would have liked, but with the delays and obstacles that he had faced it really did not surprise him in the least. Terry took his time and left the main roads, taking one of the grid roads that were so common. He drove south for about ten minutes before he finally stopped the Jeep. Myles had been quite the entire time, not even a sob or whimper escaping him. When Terry looked over at his son, he was shocked to see that the youngster was sound asleep.

Quietly, he grabbed his batons and got out of the vehicle. He closed the door as gently as he could so he would not disturb the sleeping child. Then he took the time to scan the surrounding fields to ensure that they were indeed alone on the quite stretch of road. He let out a soul-weary sigh and closed his eyes, as he leaned with his back against the red Jeep.

The surrounding land was deceptively peaceful. It was easy to imagine that nothing was wrong at all, that everything was right in the world and that he and Myles were just out for one of their frequent trips into K country for a nice relaxing day as father and son.

But beneath the peace and quiet, even at the distance they were from the city, the sounds of chaos and death were there. All one had to do was concentrate and the sounds of distant gunfire, helicopters, the whine of Jets taking off and even the occasional siren could be made out.

Finally Terry opened his eyes and turned north so he could see the city. They were stopped at the top of a crest, about ten miles from the city itself. He had a clear view of the metropolis and what he saw momentarily took his breath away.

It looked as if the entire downtown core was ablaze. Smoke poured from what had to be hundreds of fires in the city center, entire high-rise buildings were wreathed in billowing waves of nature’s purifying flames. All over the city he could see smaller plumes of smoke rising up from smaller fires, be it vehicles or buildings. Helicopters swarmed the skies, looking like dragonflies buzzing the surface of a lake during the summer. Even from where they stood he could see passenger Airliners lifting off from the Airport in the far north of the city, climbing into the blue sky, taking as many people as they could to safety.

Or, at least to what they hoped was safety.

A light tapping broke his reflection and he glanced into the vehicle. Myles was staring out at him, his own eyes haunted and red from tears. Terry opened the door and let his son climb out. The young boy stood next to his father as Terry gently laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. It did not come as much of a surprise to him as he felt a slight tremor beneath his hand.

Together father and son stood and watched the city of Calgary die.

“I guess we won’t be going home,” Myles said, his small voice breaking the silence.

“No,” Terry answered, still staring at the sight. It was almost hypnotic, watching the events unfold in the metropolis.

“Will we ever be able to go home?”

Terry thought about the question for several heartbeats before he spoke. “I really don’t know. Maybe if the military can beat the zombies, then we might be able to go home.”

“What if they can’t?”

He sighed. “Then I guess we’re going to be staying at our cabin for a very long time.”

The news seemed to brighten the boy’s mood. “Good, then I won’t have to go back to school.”

Terry laughed slightly. “No, I guess you won’t have to. But don’t you think you’ll miss your friends?”

Myles stood there and wiped his face with the back of one hand. “Yes, but maybe some of them can come to stay with us, you know, like they did last summer?”

“We’ll see,” Terry said thickly. He could not bring himself to tell Myles that more than likely his friends from school had either escaped the city with their families, or they were dead, like so many others were, having fallen victim to the creatures that were taking over every major population center across the globe.

Myles seemed to grow petulant with that statement. “Dad, every time you say we’ll see, that means no!”

Normally such an outburst would typically land the youngster in hot water, with a scolding being the best that the boy could expect, to being sent to his room for a time-out being the worst. Terry decided to allow it to slide this time, cutting his young son some slack due to the stress of the past couple of hours. “Sorry Myles, if any of your friends show up, they can certainly stay with you.”

That seemed to mollify the young boy. “Thanks, dad!”

He forced a grin as he looked down at Myles. “You’re welcome.”

“Hey, what about Mr. Harris and Roger? Or how about the brothers and the twins?” Myles asked, starting to get excited. The Harris’s had been training with Terry for over nine years, Mike having started nearly four and a half years ago. They had grown close as friends and Mike treated Myles like his own son. The twins were girls and the brothers were two young boys who had also been training with the studio for several years as well. They were all people who Myles had been growing up with and almost considered to be family now.

“I don’t know if we have that much room, but I’m pretty sure that if they come to join us we could find some,” Terry said, not wanting to commit to anything. He sighed, and gave his son’s shoulder a squeeze. “C’mon, let’s get going, we still have quite a way to drive.”

Myles nodded and climbed back into the Jeep. Terry made sure that the boy was buckled in and he climbed in next and brought the old Jeep to life. Soon, the two of them were on their way, sticking to the grid-roads. He figured that it would be far quicker and safer to use the back-roads like the one he was on rather than risk the major highways like 22X or even secondary roads. Too much traffic would be present, and that brought the risk of more undead and worse with it.

He almost laughed out loud. What could be worse than the zombies? He knew. Any sort of disaster always brought out not only the best in people, but it also brought out the absolute worst. It seemed as if every criminal and parasite decided to come out of the wood-work to take advantage of the situation. It made him wonder if that sort of thing was happening on the main roads now.

The drive to his cabin in Kananaskis country was deceptively peaceful, although it took nearly the remainder of the day for the two of them to finally arrive. The surrounding fields, where the sun reached, were bare and brown, the snow having burned away during the past few days of un-seasonably warm weather, but areas that were in the shade, or in the trees, the snow still lingered and lay heavy on the ground.

The entire time they had not seen a single vehicle or living soul anywhere on the back roads. Cattle still meandered in the fields, chewing on the dry and dead vegetation, and horses looked up from where they stood, curious at the sight of a Jeep passing by. Even the various farms and ranches that they passed were quite. No one moved in the yards and the few places where they could see windows, curtains were drawn.

Myles had always been a talker, one very chatty youngster, but while Terry drove, the boy only occasionally asked if he could have a pop or something to eat, which Terry obliged without hesitation. It worried him, but it was also something that he realized he should have expected. He was not looking forward to the night when the dreams would start.

He knew that they would, for both himself and Myles. Both had suffered heavy psychological trauma that day, and of course it would be far, far worse for the boy. There was simply no getting around it. Terry considered giving the boy something far stronger than pop to drink, thought that maybe if he got the youngster drunk that it would put him into a stupor that would keep the impending nightmares at bay, at least for a little while. He was seriously considering that for himself as well.

The problem is that if he did, then he would have to keep both of them drunk every night for the rest of their lives, or resort to other types of depressants to help them both cope with their zombie-inspired demons. He realized that allowing himself to get drunk would be one hell of a mistake. After all, what if one or more zombies happened to stumble upon the cabin and somehow manage to break in? Being drunk and incapable of defending himself and Myles would not be a good idea.

The sun had already disappeared behind the mountains when he stopped the Jeep before the locked gate, blocking the roadway up to his cabin. The lights revealed that the gate was still closed and the heavy padlock was in place. He looked passed and could see that the snow was un-marred by vehicle tracks.

It surprised him at just how cold the day had turned as he stepped out of the jeep and fished the keys from his jacket pocket. His breath steamed in front of him as he found the correct key and he unlocked the gate. The forest around him and Myles was as silent as a tomb; in fact it was so silent that it felt invasive, that the sounds of him unlocking the gate were an intrusion into the peacefulness of the land.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he opened the gate and returned to the comforting warmth of the Jeep. As soon as he was passed, he got back out and re-secured the gate. He wished that there was some way that he could conceal the tire-tracks but knew that there was nothing that he could do about that.

The road, really not much more than a couple of ruts filled with snow, snaked up from the grid road several hundred feet into the snow encrusted hillside. Here and there Terry could make out the signs of Elk tracks in the snow, as the large herbivores used the road to make their passage easier during the winter months. He was supremely glad that he still had the snow-tires on the Jeep and that the snow was not too deep. It would have been unpleasant if the vehicle had gotten stuck, but it was tough and reliable and had seen him through worse conditions.

After what seemed to be hours, but in reality was only about five minutes, the light from the Jeep illuminated the front of his spacious cabin. It was actually one of several cabins that he and his family owned, all spaced throughout the pines. There was no sign of life, no smoke emanated from the chimneys of any of the cabins. They were going to be cold, damned cold to be sure, but once he got the fire going, it would not take long for the cabin to warm up to a comfortable level.

He looked across the Jeep at his son, who was once again sound asleep. The young boy’s features were relaxed and peaceful, which was a relief for Terry to see. He figured that the nightmares would start soon enough. He figured that it would be best to leave Myles in the Jeep while he got the fire in the main cabin going. When that was accomplished, he would come back and wake the youngster up and bring him in and put him to bed. After that was accomplished, he could unload the supplies from the Jeep and see about securing the cabin from potential intrusion.

Terry gently closed the door of the vehicle and trudged his way through the foot deep snow. It took him nearly a minute to get the cabin’s front door unlocked and when he stepped inside, it felt like he had walked into a deep freezer. The air was so cold inside the cabin that it burned his nostrils to breath it in. It took him nearly ten minutes to get the fire in the large central fire-place lit. The heat from the flames felt wonderful on his aching face, nearly numb from the sub-freezing temperatures of the cabin. But it was enough and he knew from experience that the cabin would warm up soon enough.

He walked back outside and paused only long enough to allow his eyes to adjust to the near total darkness that enveloped him. He turned his head to each side, listening to any change in the night sounds around him. As before, the night was utterly silent, the only sound was that of his breathing, and the occasional tick as the Jeep’s engine continued to cool down.

Back at the Jeep he unlocked the door and the light caused Myles to awaken suddenly. The boy looked around fearfully until he saw his father. He smiled weakly and rubbed his eyes. “Are we there yet?”

Terry nodded. “Where here, come on, let’s get you inside and to bed. It’s been a long day and you’re tired.”

For once, Myles did not argue with his father. Instead he zipped up his coat and slid out of the Jeep, closing the door behind him. Together father and son walked up to the cabin. Already the temperature inside the cabin had risen to a level where they could no longer see their breath, although cold still radiated from every surface. Terry had Myles sit down near the fire as he went into the back rooms. It did not take him long to find a couple of heavy weight sleeping bags and he laid both out in front of the fire, opening them so that they could absorb the heat. Myles stared into the crackling blaze, the light of the fire reflecting off his glasses.

“Are you hungry?” Terry asked.

The youngster shook his head.

Terry was, he realized. Fortunately for him he had brought several weeks worth of perishables from the house, and the Cabin was filled with month’s worth of canned goods. He did not feel like cooking a meal though, and settled on a few granola bars. When he was finished, he felt the sleeping bag that he had taken for Myles. It was warm to the touch.

“Time for bed,” Terry knew that Myles was in shock, as his son took off his socks and jacket without argument and laid them on the floor, next to the sleeping bag. Typically it was like trying to pull teeth from a chicken to get the rambunctious youngster to even think of sleeping, but it was not the case this night.

Terry kissed his son on the cheek and tucked the sleeping bag around his chin. In seconds the boy’s breathing had changed rhythm, indicating that he was already fast asleep.

He walked over to the door and stared out the small window, his eyes on the Jeep. He was so tired. The events of the day, not to mention the numerous adrenaline rushes had taken their toll. He knew that he should unload the vehicle, but in the end decided against it.

It took him only a minute to walk around the interior of the cabin to check that all the windows and the two doors were secured. He then went over to the gun safe that was built into the floor of the cabin and opened it up. He pulled out his hunting rifle and several boxes of ammunition.

Finally he was able to shuck off his boots and jacket. He placed the rifle and the two batons next to the sleeping bag, both on his left, far out of reach of his inquisitive son. Terry was asleep before he hit the pillow.

When he awoke the next morning, he was surprised to realize that he had not dreamed. The sleep was deep and utterly peaceful, not like what he had expected. He sat up and rubbed his eyes and noticed that the cabin had once again grown cold. The fire was long out, only a few embers remained in the fireplace. Shivering against the cold, he grabbed his jacket and boots. As he laced them up, he looked at his son, who was still buried in the sleeping bag, sleeping soundly. His small chest rose and fell in time to his breathing.

Terry worked quickly and quietly. He rebuilt the fire and brought in the supplies from the Jeep. He was gratified to see that there were no new tracks around the vehicle or cabin, not even tracks from animals. It took longer than he thought it would to put everything away and by the time Myles finally rose from his slumber, Terry had a meal cooked and waiting for him.

The boy looked at the meal and sat down to eat without complaint or hesitation. Terry had cooked up a large portion of eggs, bacon, hash-browns and toast, and they even had orange juice to wash it down. Together they ate in silence, which once again took Terry by surprise. Typically Myles would be chatting away non-stop about everything and anything that came to his mind.

Once they had finished eating, Myles finally broke the silence. “What are we going to do today, dad?”

“Well,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “We’re going to make sure that we set up some early warning traps around the cabins and make sure that everything is put away.”

“I hate work.”

Terry burst out laughing. “Sometimes so do I but it still has to be done.”

Myles sat in his chair and looked both thoughtful and sad. “Will mommy become one of them?”

The question hit Terry like a bucket of cold water. He gaped for a moment but quickly recovered. “No, she won’t. I promise.”

The young boy looked to be at the edge of tears, but he bravely sniffed them away and stared into his father’s blue eyes. “When will this be over?”

Terry sighed, all traces of humor gone. “I don’t know.  Hopefully soon, especially if the military is able to get control. Certainly looked that way when we saw them yesterday, didn’t it?”

Myles nodded. “They were kicking those zombies asses!”  He practically yelled in his enthusiasm.

He was about to admonish Myles for using such language but decided to let it slide. “That they were.”

The boy turned somber. “Are we going to be ok?”

“Yes, we’re going to be just fine,” Terry said instantly, but deep down he was not all that certain. At least they were out of the city and they had plenty of food and water, and the mountains were teeming with life, so once the canned food and goods were depleted, they would not go hungry. The thing was, if the situation continued down that road, Terry did not know how long he could protect himself and his youngest boy against the undead.

And he knew that would be the least of their worries. Other survivors might come out of the city and try to wrest their new home and shelter from them. There could be all manner of criminals on the loose now that society was crumbling faster than a sandcastle at high tide. Still, Terry kept all those dark thoughts to himself as he clasped his son’s shoulder and looked into the big, trusting eyes, eyes that desperately wanted to be comforted and promised that he would be protected, no matter what the cost.

“Everything will be fine,” Terry said. “I promise.”

END