Random Survival Read online

  Three hours later, Mark was done for the night. The space was almost as large as he needed it to be. Maybe two more nights of good digging should do it. Tomorrow night he would haul in the wood necessary to support the dirt ceiling then begin work on his escape hatch. Mark took off his boots, peeled off his socks and shirt, and slid into a clean shirt. Checking his security system once more, he laid his exhausted body down. As his muscles relaxed and formed his frame to the bed, a wave of physical relief swept over him. His final thoughts before he drifted off were of his two remaining children. He hoped they were safe, but more importantly, Mark prayed they were at peace.

  I love you, Bobby. Love you too, Becca.

  The next morning, Mark fixed a pot of coffee, heating the water on a small propane burner on the deck. He ate a hunk of cheese and an apple. He wanted to eat all the fresh produce before it spoiled. Mark scaled the deck to the roof, using the heavy overhanging beams that ran from the house down to the front posts.

  Sandra had used them to hang plants.

  In the summer, Mark rolled sheets of black shade-cloth over the beams so they could sit outside. From the beams it was a simple process to get up on the roof. Once there, he crawled to the peak and used binoculars to scan the area. The height allowed him to see quite a distance. Seeing nothing, he climbed back down and headed for the garage. The tools he needed for his foraging were already loaded in the van.

  The drive didn’t take long. Nothing about the trip suggested the world had changed ‒ except for the lack of people. The sun shone brightly with the promise of a beautiful day. Arriving at his starting point, he backed up the driveway of the house next to the one where he had stopped the day before. He liked to be able to finish as many houses as possible each day, but a lot depended on how many graves he had to dig. Since Mark had started hunting, he had covered close to ninety of the one hundred and forty-five houses that made up his subdivision.

  Mark decided to change his routine starting today. When he finished these houses, he would drive to the next subdivision and just strip the houses as fast as he could. His life might very well depend on collecting as fast as possible. Since almost being shot in the city, Mark never went anywhere unarmed. Opening the rear doors, he slipped a 9mm automatic into his belt at the small of his back; his knife was in a sheath on his belt. There was a fanny pack with assorted small items he might need on the opposite side of the knife. After grabbing the shovel, his toolbox, a five-gallon gas container, and the shotgun, Mark went around to the back of the house.

  This house had two back doors. One came out of the garage while the other was on the deck and opened up into the dining area off the kitchen. He set the toolbox down by the garage door then walked up the deck to peer through the windows. He couldn’t see anyone. He no longer expected to, but it didn’t hurt to check.

  Using a heavy pry bar and a long thin-bladed screwdriver, Mark popped the garage door and went inside. His and hers BMWs were parked alongside each other. A variety of gas-powered tools hung around the garage walls. The first job was to siphon the gas tanks. He found another five-gallon container in the garage that was half-full. Inserting a flexible plastic line into the first BMW’s gas tank, he sucked on it until the gas was inches from his mouth.

  That was why he now used clear hose. He’d tasted gas before and needed no reminders of how nasty it was.

  While the gas flowed into the container, he loaded a small propane heater into the back of the van. Hauling four empty ten-gallon containers from the van, he returned to the garage and switched out the nearly full five-gallon one.

  Mark set up to drain the second car in the same way. With that in process, he went out on the deck where he removed the propane tank from the grill and stowed it in the van with the first five-gallon container. He fell into a rhythm, having done these same actions nearly a hundred times.

  After draining the cars, he moved on to the mower. Mark found a gas-powered chain saw, but decided to take that without draining the gas. The net gain was over twenty gallons of gas ‒ a good beginning. Some houses had no cars at all.

  Inside the house, Mark emptied the cupboards of anything that would keep, including another bag of potatoes. In a drawer he found a large pack of AA batteries. He found a case of bottled water and half a case of diet cola in the pantry, along with several boxed meals. Overall the score on the food and supplies was not very good. He cleaned out the medicine cabinet of anything that might prove useful, like vitamins, aspirin, and decongestant capsules. There was also a box of Band-Aids.

  The good news was there weren’t any bodies. Where could they be since there were two cars in the garage? As long as he didn’t have to bury them, he didn’t dwell on it. He moved to the next house. There, to his dismay, he found a family of five. Mark sighed and walked out back. He pushed his feelings aside and began to dig.

  He’d given up digging separate graves after the first day. To save time and energy, he dug one grave for the parents and one for kids. In the first he laid the father and the mother, wrapped in sheets and a quilted comforter. Her body, having been dead for more than a week, was bloated. Mark had no idea how many more burials he could do. The bodies were only going to get worse. The children were placed in the second grave.

  He’d just begun to cover them when he heard a growl. He looked up. A large pack of dogs in a variety of shapes, sizes, and breeds moved out of the woods thirty yards from the split-rail fence at the rear of the property. A large German Shepherd stepped forward from the pack, lowered its head, and growled. The others joined in, sending a chill up Mark’s back. The pack bolted forward, coming full speed toward him. The sight was unnerving, causing a momentary bolt of panic shooting through him.

  Their sickly thin bodies strained as they sprinted for him. With matted and mangy coats, they looked like demon hounds released from hell. Mark threw the shovel down and ran to the fence, where he propped the shotgun and took aim at the lead dog. He loosed a round. The German Shepherd let out a yelp, landed face first, and flipped over several times. Mark pumped another round into the chamber and fired again. This time the pellets struck two dogs, taking one down, slowing the other. Several of the pack, seeing defenseless fresh meat, started tearing into the wounded animals. But a dozen or more continued on.

  Mark fired three more rounds. Three more animals dropped. He fumbled another cartridge into the gun, but dropped the next. He wouldn’t be able to stop them all before they got to the fence. If he were caught in the open, they would take him down for sure. Fortunately, metal fencing had been secured to the wooden cross-rails. Most of the dogs would not be able to get in the yard. He had to hope they would not be able to clear the fence. That hope was dashed, however, when the first dog bounded over it in one long leap.

  The gun bucked again, catching the dog in mid-flight, but now he was out of shells. Mark dropped the gun and ran for the house, pulling the handgun in his belt free. He fired on the run as he reached the door on the deck. He’d left it open when carrying the bodies out. Mark slammed it shut just as one of the larger dogs launched at his back. The beast hit the glass with such force that it knocked him backward and cracked the double-paned glass. The door slid open a few inches.

  The dog bounced off, stunned, giving Mark time to regain his feet and lock the door. Even locked, however, how much more would the glass withstand? Mark backed away, breathing as if he had run a marathon. Leaning against the refrigerator, he fought to keep from shaking.

  From the garage a smaller, but just as vicious, dog pushed the unlatched inner door aside and bounded in. Mark let out a startled cry, raised his gun, and in a panic, fired six rounds into the dog. A Golden Lab followed, leaping at Mark before he had a chance to aim. The wild animal snapped at his neck. Mark’s only defense was to sidestep and pistol-whip the beast on the side of its head. Its nails slid on the wooden floor as the beast scrabbled for purchase.

  Mark ran toward the open door, slamming it shut before any more dogs could get in. The Lab came at
him again. There was nothing left of the family pet it had once been. Spinning, Mark took aim and fired once as the animal gathered for a leap. The bullet caught the dog in the top of the head. It skidded to a stop at his feet, whimpered once, and died. Mark let out a relieved breath and pushed the beast with his toe to make sure it would not come back at him when he walked away.

  At the kitchen window, Mark watched the dogs feasting on the dead. A few had jumped into the graves and ripped at the dead flesh. Some, not large enough to hurdle the fence, were still outside digging at the ground or attempting to scale the links. A quick check of his magazine told him he only had six rounds left. He would have to make a run for the van to reload.

  But Mark could not leave them alive, or they would be back. Perhaps next time he would not be so lucky. Opening the front door a crack to make sure none of the pack had scaled the fence, he ran to the van and hopped in. Once there, he reloaded the 9mm, grabbed a handful of shotgun shells, and picked up the rifle. Forming a plan of attack, he took a deep calming breath and exited the van.

  Mark took his time picking off the dogs outside the yard as they feasted on their dead pack mates. He liked dogs, but these were no longer man’s best friend. Mark felt no remorse putting them down. It was a very close shot for a rifle that was made for long distances, but it did make the shot easier than using the handgun.

  The sound of at least two more dogs ripping flesh and snarling at each other came from inside one of the graves. From where he stood he had no angle for a shot, so he climbed the fence. Approaching with caution, his heart pounding, Mark picked up the discarded shotgun and reloaded it. No sound came from the first grave, so Mark bypassed it. In the second, however, were two dogs. One of them, a large Chocolate Lab, saw him and snapped threateningly. As it lifted its blood-covered muzzle to reissue the warning, Mark pulled the trigger.

  The second beast was not in sight, but Mark could hear it snarling and tearing at the rotted flesh. He had to inch closer to the edge of the grave to see it. Its teeth were buried in the man’s face, tearing the flesh away. Holding the shotgun over the top of the dog, Mark pulled the trigger again.

  Mark decided to check the first grave, just to be sure. As he came to within three feet, a Pit Bull bounded up and out of the hole and threw itself at him. Mark stumbled backward, surprised, firing as he fell. The pellets caught the animal in the mouth, ripping its face. The shock of the attack and the recoil of the shotgun pushed Mark over the edge of the second grave. He fell into the gore below.

  “Aw, yuk!”

  Three

  After climbing out of the grave, Mark went to get a toy wagon he’d seen in the garage. He couldn’t leave the carnage for other scavengers, so he loaded up the carcasses and deposited them inside the graves. Afterward, Mark went inside, stripped off his clothes, and found replacements to wear home. He called it a day even though there were still at least two more hours of daylight left.

  After emptying the van of his day’s plunder, Mark decided to waste some of his water supply on a sponge bath. If he wanted to bathe more often, he needed to put out barrels to catch rainwater, rather than waste what drinkable water he had available to him.

  As the sun went down, Mark took the weapons he’d fired out back. He stripped, cleaned, and oiled them while enjoying the sunset. It annoyed him that the grass was so long, but to cut it would announce his presence to passing strangers. A mild wind blew, bringing with it the scent of roses. Although the breeze mingled with the smell of the gun oil, memories of happy times flooded him. A smile crossed his sun-creased face until his gaze fell upon the two graves at the back of the yard.

  Normalcy was now an abstract concept.

  Just then, his neighbor opened her door. The one connection he still had to the recent past walked to the grave Mark had dug for her husband. Summer knelt next to it, made the sign of the cross, and prayed. After a while, she sat and talked to her husband. Mark tried not to listen. It was the same routine three or four times a day.

  Before the madness, Summer had been vice-president of a marketing company. She’d never had kids and from the few times they’d spoken, children didn’t seem to be an interest of hers. Now, she was not eating well and no longer made an effort to take care of herself. Not that there was any reason to change, but she went for days wearing the same clothes.

  “Hi, Summer, how are you today?”

  She didn’t always respond, but when she did, the reply seldom matched the question.

  “Oh, we’re doing fine. Theo is resting. He’s had a very hard day. We were trying to decide where to go on vacation this year. We love Cancun, but we’ve been there so many times now, I thought it might be nice to try someplace new.”

  “That would be nice. Are you eating all right? I’m worried about you. Do you need anything?”

  “No,” she said absently. “No, I think we’re doing just fine. Thank you for asking, Mark.”

  “I could fix you something.”

  She leaned over the grave and whispered something to her husband, then straightened up and said, “Maybe some other time. We’re going out to dinner tonight.”

  Mark packed up his weapons and went inside for the night. He went through his nightly security routine, which included making sure he’d locked all windows and doors. Next, he used binoculars and scanned the surrounding area for any signs of movement. Last, in his secret room, Mark set up his alarms.

  After eating a quick meal, Mark went into the cave to dig. Five hours later he had made good progress in the cave, placing support beams. Mark estimated it could be finished in two more days if he could find the materials. When that job was finished, he would be looking for another project to occupy his time and his mind. Anything that would keep him from thinking too much.

  Mark went to the plot map of the subdivision laid out on the desk. Checking off the houses done that day, Mark counted what remained. A few more good days and he would be done.

  Four

  Mark returned home earlier than usual the next day. After a successful day of collecting, he decided to use the remaining daylight to plant the garden he’d been planning. He had just pushed the shovel into the ground when he heard a sound that drove heart-stopping fear throughout his body: a car engine, and multiple engines at that.

  Mark tossed the shovel into the trees, grabbed the rifle, and ran to the deck. Like a monkey, he climbed to the top of the roof. Mark’s worst fears were realized. A platoon of men scurried through the neighborhood, smashing down doors and pillaging what they could find. How he had not heard them approach sooner, Mark didn’t know, but some were already across the street. Others were in the driveway next door.

  He did a quick count of the people he could see. There were at least twenty men in five vehicles: two pickup trucks, a van larger than his, an SUV, and an older full-sized red convertible. The pickup trucks were half full of assorted unimportant items, such as dressers and dining room tables. Mark couldn’t see what was inside the step van. They couldn’t be finding much food or anything useful because he had already stripped the houses at the front of the development.

  Mark slid down the roof until he was halfway between the peak and the bottom edge. He had to get Summer to safety. There were too many intruders to take on.

  Peering through the small hexagonal window on the side of her house, Mark found Summer lounging on her sofa and staring straight ahead, oblivious to everything around her. He was about to slide down and try to get her out the back door when the room filled with men. For a moment, no one moved or spoke. Summer’s shocked look turned to fear.

  Reality had intruded on her small world. Viciously.

  They pounced on her. She screamed until one of the men slapped her. Mark heard the contact up on the roof. One man yanked her head backward over the arm of the sofa by her hair and pressed his mouth to hers, cutting off any more screams. Several men muscled her legs apart and fought over who would be first.

  Mark’s head pounded like it would explode. He rose
up on one knee and sighted the rifle through the window.

  Just then, all the men stepped back as an enormous man in bib-overalls and no shirt strode into the room. He had a great round bald head and muscles on top of muscles. He spoke a few words to the men. By the looks on some of their faces, they weren’t happy with whatever was said. Several backed away. Still others argued with the huge man until he drove a massive fist into one protester's face. He dropped out of sight. No one else protested.

  For a brief moment, Mark hoped that this man would be Summer’s savior.

  The men cleared a path as the large man came forward, his massive chest glistening from the day’s work. His head moved left and right, admiring Summer’s body. He fondled one of her large breasts and some of the men laughed. Then he stepped behind her, his massive body blocking the view. The man unfastened his bibs.

  On the roof, Mark lined up the shot again, his sights on the back of the big man’s head. At that moment, the rear patio door opened and two of the animals came outside. Mark ducked away from the edge so he wouldn’t be noticed.

  Seconds later, two more men came into Mark’s yard from the front of the house. The men talked over the fence.

  A man in Summer’s yard said, “We found us a new plaything.”

  His partner added, “Yeah, Buster’s with her now.”

  Another man said, “Who’s he gonna give her to when he’s done?”

  “Don’t know,” replied the first man. “But it’s gonna be Christmas for someone.”

  The men laughed.

  Mark was desperate to help Summer, but it would do neither of them any good for him to commit suicide.

  Mark risked another look through the window. The large man had finished with Summer. He was patting her bottom and caressing her back, like he had just test driven a car and was admiring its lines. Someone tied a belt around her neck and they led her out of the room.