Dead Country (Book #1)

Chapter 19: Stronghold

My dad rushed by me toward the garden as I stared at the horde of zombies heading our way. The line of approaching figures seemed endless, and I had no idea how deep it was. There were hundreds, if not thousands of zombies marching toward us – toward our home.

I snapped out of my frozen state as my dad reemerged from behind the garage carrying all three gardening tools in his arms. The plot was unfinished, yet there were still several hours of daylight left at least that would allow us to continue working. With the impending zombie parade in the distance however, none of that mattered. We needed to hunker down and wait it out. Hopefully that was possible.

Tools laying on the ground next to me, I watched the garage door lift open and my dad appear from the other side. I picked up the tools and rushed inside as soon as the door mechanism stopped buzzing. My dad took the shovel from my hands, slotting it on the wall. We organized the other tools quickly, then closed the garage door before taking a moment to think our options through.

"I know I ask this a lot, but this time I really mean it. What's the plan?"

Staring back at me, my dad didn't have an immediate answer. We stood safely inside the garage with the light on, tools as well as food for the long winter surrounding us. The open space on the cement floor in front of us was lightly stained from oil leaks. I looked down at it as I focused my ears on the undead army heading our way.

"I guess..." my dad began slowly, hesitantly. "We'll just have to wait it out. Hope they don't see us, or smell us."

"Or hear us," I added, looking over at the gray haired man. "We can't afford to make a mistake now. They could surround the house."

"I have no doubt that they will. It's just a matter of time when that will occur, and when they will move on as they continue to follow that helicopter."

Suddenly I became confused about his last comment. I looked toward my dad and asked, "Do you think... do you think they did it on purpose?"

"Why else would there be such a large group of zombies following it?" He asked with a shrug. "If you hover long enough in one of those things, zombies from all over would congregate around it and then follow it. And seeing as they are, we know they are attracted to noise and most likely movement. I'm just hoping they don't have a good sense of smell."

Squinting slightly as I tried to recall a Walking Dead scene. "Me too..."

Both of us now in the kitchen, my dad stood at the window with his binoculars. Because of the row of trees on our property running parallel to the road, we couldn't see half of what was still heading our way. I stood beside him patiently, wondering if there was something we should be doing other than observing and being quiet. A squirrel, or other small animal could distract the zombies, causing them to veer off and separate from the main group. Then they would permanently be our problem.

"There's so many," my dad declared, lowering his binoculars away from his eyes. "If they don't keep following that helicopter, we're going to be completely swamped. There will be no way out of the house and the garden will have to wait until after winter."

"The garden is the least of our worries," I reminded him. "If they sense our presence and break the patio door, we're screwed. We'll be dead."

My words sunk in quickly. Setting the binoculars on the kitchen counter, my dad ran out through the door and back into the garage. I followed him, curious about the sudden urgency. He had his work gloves back on and was now tugging at a piece of plywood that leaned against the garage wall closest to the door.

"Well c'mon, don't just stand there!" he growled.

I rushed over to grab the pair of gloves I had donned earlier, then helped him carry the piece of wood up the stairs and into the house. He led us into the living room, right up to the patio door, where we leaned the wood against it. Then we hurried back into the garage for another piece and repeated the process.