Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Big Bite Cont

John awoke that morning the same way he woke up every morning, with the sun just coming up over the horizon right into his room. It was grueling having to wake up at the crack of dawn, sometimes earlier depending what had to get done. As usual though he got up, went over to his sink and began to brush his teeth. A middle aged man looked back at him, and although he never would admit it he was quite the looker. His farm had kept him in shape, it was hard work that he did every day and it did show on the lines on his face and the gray in his hair. He kept his hair short; he did that ever since serving in the Army during the first desert storm. It was when he got back from there that he took over his father’s farm, it was so much more peaceful and with his father’s failing health it was really the only thing he had wanted to do.

Through the years of running the farm he had isolated himself from the world, not because he didn’t like people just that he had so much to do here on the farm. Then when his mother died, John found that he could no longer do anything but keep the place going. So, he took over the Pleasant farm, even though most the time it was anything but pleasant.

After taking care of himself in the bathroom, he grabbed a cup of coffee. Sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying the warmth of it and the strong fragrance he noticed something strange. There was a silence, but at this time the yard should have been filled with the sound of waking animals and birds. Coming fully alert immediately he went outside. Sure enough there was a problem. It looked like something had spooked the cows last night because they had crashed through the gate and was now down the drive quite a ways. Whatever it was though had its way with one cow. It had been eaten, torn apart and dragged away. “Shit” John said, “Must have been a pack of coyotes or even some wolves, not unheard of, but damn.” Mad at losing a cow and having to fix the fence.

“Looks like I am going to have to go get some lumber to fix this, damn it. This farm is nothing but a drain on life, I should have sold it to that developer years ago, then maybe I could relax.” At this he reluctantly went over and started to round up the other cows. It wasn’t difficult cause they all new John and that he meant no harm. After putting them up in a different pen, he fed all the livestock and made sure that they all had plenty of water.

John got himself ready to go to town. The best place to get lumber now a days was to go to the Giant Chain place in town, where the ceiling was so high and you could find anything you wanted there. Jumping into his truck he started down the road. His truck was nothing special at all, an old ford that had too much rust, not enough metal on it. Sitting in his back window was a gun rack, and it wouldn’t be right if there wasn’t a gun lying in its rightful spot there. It was a 270, nothing too powerful, but can take a deer down at 100 yds no problem and with the scope, he was some kind of accurate with it.

While driving down the road he noticed something that was just not right. He couldn’t place it, it just seemed quiet, and even though it was still early there should have been more people about. It was close to a 30 minute drive to the store, and halfway he hadn’t seen another vehicle at all. Then though he did see somebody, but something wasn’t right. Again he couldn’t place it, they were walking down the side of the road, a little strange as there weren't really a whole lot of people that live in the area, but what was weird was the way they were walking.

They were walking as if they had hurt their ankle but they were not favoring it, just walking funny, almost like they were dragging their foot along. As John got closer he could tell that their clothes were very tattered and it looked like they were hurt. At this time they turned around and John knew something was wrong with them. He stopped the truck a short distance from them, ‘Are you OK?” John asked, “Can I get someone to call 911 for you?” But the only response that John got was a slobbering mouth opening wide like it was going to eat a giant burger, but it was staring at John. “Shit, what is wrong with this bastard?” And then it got closer where John could smell it.

It was a smell like nothing that John had ever smelled before. It reminded him of that dead coon he had found when he was a kid; it must have been rotting there for a week or more. And a close look at this fellow revealed the fact that he had a gaping hole in its neck, where it may have been chewed open by a dog or something of the like. Quickly he jumped back into his truck. Now it was right at his hood, banging on it making its way towards John in the cab.

John put the truck into reverse, pounding on the gas just as it reached the window and was grabbing for John’s shirt. He went backward about 50 yds or so; it was still coming for him. John made the quick decision, my life over there undead one. He made the connection without even realizing that he did. He knew it was undead and a zombie, how he knew it though could not figure it out. He put the truck into gear and pushes the accelerator all the way to the floor. He must have hit the thing going 45 mph. He stopped and looked into his rear view mirror, but to John’s dismay it was getting back up. Again he put it into reverse and gunned it, hitting it with the ass of the truck with a sickening thud. As it fell over it went under the tires and John could hear the head pop with a squishy kind sound, like dropping a watermelon. It never got back up.

“That’s right, gotta take out there head, I remember now. It is like one of those old zombie movies. I need to get to the store before it is too late and pick up some supplies.” With that John headed out, trying to get to the store, leaving a mangled corpse on the road. What he didn’t see was the crows coming down to eat the flesh, thinking it was an easy meal.