Dawn came quietly, slowly emerging above the mountain range in the distance. The haze of misty gray shifting into a light orange, everything was still and silent. Jamie Blair leaned back in the old rocking chair, the old wood screeched with sudden movement. The aroma of nature, once clean and inviting, now rotten with the decayed remnants of the undead that surrounded the outskirts of the small compound. The metal sheathing around the shed creaked with the light breeze, and Jamie took in a slow deliberate breath as she stretched her eyes through the chain link fence, scanning for more signs of movement amongst the thick forest before her.
The rifle rested in her lap, barrel still warm from the few intruders that attempted to gain entry an hour or so prior. Or maybe it was less, the rush of adrenaline had a way of making seconds last minutes with every reload, Jamie had become somewhat an expert in the ten years since her husband’s passing. She counted the bodies of the undead that now lay motionless on the outside of the chain link fence. Six this morning, the numbers were fading. More will soon begin to stumble their way towards the compound by noon. Jamie caught herself almost missing the days when the undead came in double digits, she felt more purposeful then. In the action of chaos, it’s the only time where her mind isn’t drowning in the thoughts of Teddy.
Jamie stood slowly, leaning the rifle against the doorframe, kicking shell casings to the side with her right foot. She’d used to gather them all after each standoff, as if she tried to keep the area presentable for any potential guests. Jamie was at the age where her joints ached, movements slower, and her vision fading. Being presentable was the least of her concerns. Besides, she’d not seen any other survivors in more than ten years. The last being her husband Teddy, before he left the compound for his daily ritual of hunting and checking snares in the forest, their primary source of meat.
Jamie reflects on Teddy’s death religiously, the guilt eating away at her conscious from the inside out. She’s blocked out the heavier details in her mind, but one thing she could not escape was the wails of her late husband as he’d been viscously attacked by the undead. Jamie had been tending the garden that day, her peace interrupted by gunshots in the distance and the unmistakable cry from her husband. Jamie had grabbed the M16 and raced towards the tortuous screams in the woods, firing at every undead being standing between herself and her husband. In the rush of the moment, Jamie had only grabbed one magazine for the rifle and there were far too many undead to count, and her ammunition was limited. Jamie, ultimately made the decision to put Teddy out of his misery before fleeing back to the compound.
Jamie exhaled slowly, shifting her weight to her right leg, her left knee had become increasingly bothersome, she limped slightly as she made her way to the water well only a few yards from the shed. She reached for the bucket, the handle textured and grainy leaving a shade of burnt orange on her hand, wiping it on her pant leg. She eased the bucket down slowly, careful not to fully submerge, avoiding the heaviness of a full bucket of water. She tugged on the rope in quick sharp pulls, raising the bucket upward in a jerky fashion, water spilling at each tug. Once the bucket was high enough, she’d then grab the handle and rest the bucket on the edge of the cobblestone well. Catching her breath a moment before having to carry the water towards the small garden, where she grew potatoes and carrots. Her right knee ached as she carried the bucket to the garden, scooping water with her cupped hands over her produce.
“For the rabbits” she murmured, “and the other pests.”
Jamie kept a few deadfall traps near the garden, early on when she and Teddy had first discovered this place, she noticed feeding in garden, ruining the produce. Teddy was the one who suggested keeping some kind of trap near the garden as an easy way to catch game without having to leave the compound. It worked, they’d eat Rabbit nearly every evening, and on a special occasion they’d even have carrots and potatoes to pair with it. Jamie glanced at the deadfall trap, remembering the first morning where they’d caught their first rabbit within its gates. Teddy had practically jumped in glee, exclaiming “We’re having a feast tonight!” while Jamie stood in the doorframe taking in the smile on Teddy’s face.
She carried the bucket of remaining water inside of the shed, setting it on the counter in front of the mirror of the makeshift bathroom. After splashing some water on her face she peered at herself in the mirror. Her hair had long turned grey, forehead creased and laugh lines ran deep. Jamie forced a smile, and murmured to herself “There was a time I laughed.” She wiped her face with her t-shirt, and walked over to the kitchen table, which was simply an old barrel with a sheet of plywood on top. An old writing pad rested on the table, along with a pen that was beginning to lose its ink, she observed her entries from the day prior, reading 43309: 11 undead. She always preferred the Julian Date Calendar, especially since keeping track of holidays felt unnecessary now. She had known by now the heat began around day 183 and it would be cool by day 275.
Before Teddy’s death, she used the notepad to jot down the weather, keep track of the food supply, and take notes on their everyday activities. Since then, every entry is the same things: the date, ammo count, and body count. She reached over and opened the remaining ammunition can and spilled out the remains on the plywood, tapping the wood with her fingernail.
When Jamie and Teddy initially stumbled across the compound 23 years ago, they found it empty, abandoned, ample supply of canned goods, potable water and ammunition. They both assumed that whoever had owned this property didn’t make it through the initial outbreak, deciding to remain there for good. It became their way of life, hunting, gathering, gardening, and blasting away at the undead. It was strange just how easily they’d adjusted to their new life of living off-grid, amongst the apocalypse. Their remaining thirteen years together were the happiest they’d ever been.
Jamie studied the remaining bullets scattered across the plywood, before her eyes glazed to the corner of the plywood where she etched Teddy Blair 1974-2033. She counted 81 bullets, lined them up perfectly before loading them into four magazines. She placed the single remaining bullet into the left breast pocket of her coat that rested on the back side of her chair. Jamie reached for the pocketknife on the far edge of the table, and began to etch Jamie Blair 1976-2043. When she finished, she blew the shavings off the table, stacked the magazines neatly and went to grab the flair gun that she kept in an old shoebox underneath the bedframe. After placing the old box on the table, she blew the dust from the lid and opened it up, ensuring it was loaded and prepared.
Jamie then walked over to the pantry, pushing aside a box of stale saltines, before reaching for a bottle of red wine hidden away in the back corner. After pouring herself a cup, she made her way outside and sat back in the old rocking chair and waited for the sun to dip in the west. When it was time, she finished her cup of wine in one large gulp, and walked over to the garden, kicking over the two deadfall traps.
“It’s time.” She whispered to herself, grabbing the flair gun from the table.
Stepping outside, Jamie took in her final sunset. Admiring the beauty of the sky, the golden hues stretching across the horizon, she aimed the flare gun to the sky, squeezed her eyes shut and squeezed the trigger. Red smoke traced upward, releasing a deafening explosion in the sky. The red sparks drizzled in the sky, leaving behind trails of smoke.
Minutes later, the undead began to emerge from the trees. Their screeching and moaning was deafening in Jamie’s ears. She raised her rifle, watching as they limped and dragged their feet. It was an ugly sight, some of them looked dead for a very long time. Some had missing limbs, succumbing to dragging themselves across the dirt, missing ears and eyes dangling from the sockets. One that emerged on the northeast side of the tree line had his skull concaved, missing left side of his skull. Jamie almost laughed, thinking of the movie Return of the Living Dead. It felt silly, ridiculous even, for the undead to crave brains, it’s the only organ they’re after.
“Ugly. Ugly bastards.” Jamie mumbled.
Jamie herself limped over to the east side of her shed, only a couple had emerged before peering at the south side. She waited patiently for the undead to come closer, not wanting to waste any rounds. The flare gun had done it’s job at alerting them, there had been at least 20 or so now, and more began to present themselves amongst the tree line. Jamie walked over to the north side of her gate, raising her rifle at the ones who were nearly fifty meters out. She counted 8 of them, adjusted her sight and fired. She turned toward the east side gate, blasting away another 12.
Jamie reloaded her M16 as she moved herself towards the south gate, the undead clawing away at the chain link on the fence. They started to pile up now, and that’s how Jamie wanted it, the most alive she’d ever felt. Continuing to fire away, it sounded like the fourth of July, like she’d been lighting firecrackers with her friends as a young girl. They slowly began to surround the perimeter, the fence shaking and destined to crumble from the pressure.
Slinging the rifle on her shoulder, Jamie shoves the remaining two magazines in her coat pocket. Lightly tapping the left breast pocket, ensuring the single bullet sat safely. She walked over to the north side of the shed and raised the ladder that had rusted over the years. She leaned the ladder against the wall and climbed to the roof, struggling with the ache of her right knee. Kicking away the ladder moments before the undead completely breached the fence, clawing and scratching at the shed now. She fired at the ones who began to climb over each other. Looking in the distance, there were now hundreds of silhouettes dragging themselves towards her compound. Shots crackled, echoing throughout the evening sky.
“What a beautiful way to go out.” Jamie whispered amongst the chaos.
Reloading her last magazine, she thought of Teddy. Their quiet evenings together, rabbit stew at their makeshift kitchen table. The way he was able to smile with his eyes, and the feeling of his calloused hands around hers. He would be proud of her, if he saw that she was able to survive this long on her own. But it would be a lie if she said she wasn’t lonely. She sprayed the undead with her remaining bullets, she didn’t aim. She didn’t need too.
Pulling the empty magazine, she fumbled with her left breast pocket, gripping the last and final bullet, loading it with efficiency, tucking the weapon underneath her chin. The screeching, and growling from the undead took her back to Teddy’s death. The panic and fear that day had surely vanished, grief had become her only companion. And in this moment she felt relieved, liberated. Glancing at the horde of undead surrounding her perimeter one last time, she whispered “You’re going to have a feast tonight.”