Last Stand at Greater Crest

Last Stand at Greater Crest

In the end, I'm the last one left.

You would have picked the Allen brothers and their many guns in apartment 1405 to be the last. Or maybe you would have picked the guy in the first apartment near the office to make it to the end. He disappeared one night never to be seen again.

Nobody else made it. They either commited suicide, ran away, or died at the hands of the red-eyed menace.

Now, it was just me roaming the streets of the Greater Crest Apartments. Lower Cost Living, but with Luxury Style. At least that's what the sign said.

Old Mrs. Pedakis, eighty and deaf, was the next to last resident of Greater Crest Apartment Homes. I found her, dead and stiff, in her chair. She had her TV remote control clutched in her hand. TV was the only thing the old bat had left. In her dying moments, she was still trying to watch the damn thing even though TV didn't work anymore. We didn't have any power even if something was on. Maybe Mrs. Pedakis imagined the pictures on her forty-eight inch LED window to the outside world.

Whatever. I gave Old Mrs. Pedakis a respectable burial by covering her with a sheet and locking her in her apartment. I painted a simple note of "one occupant - zero alive" on the door for any rescuers that might arrive, but I knew that was never going to happen. All of the apartments now had some kind of note on the door. Some were like Mrs. Perdakis's door - "zero alive". Other doors had the ominous note of "One zombie" or maybe two inside. We didn't know what else to call them. They acted just like the monsters from all the movies and television shows. 

One bite from an infected person and soon your neighbor was a red-eyed monster looking to attack you. They would reach out, grab you, and bite you in a tender area. If you were lucky, they would eat you till nothing was left. Usually, enough was left to get up and walk away to start the cycle all over again. We couldn't stop it. Once they got inside the gates, we were done. The only way to stop them was to smack them in the head with a bat, a knife, or a bullet.

We watched, huddled together in our apartment homes as the TV news brought us the bad stuff. Huge armies of Red-Eyes - that's what they called them - rampaged through our armed forces and cities. Our  soldiers fought bravely against an enemy they weren't trained to fight. They retreated to the suburbs to regroup taking any survivors that they found with them. The cities were left to the Air Force to bomb to try and stop the undead from getting out. Bridges, tunnels, highways were all destroyed to keep the zombie menace inside the cities.

Then, the TV stopped showing us the images altogether. It was replaced by the emergency broadcast system blaring out the tones of a dying world. The power failed a few days later ending that for good.

All the residents banded together. Food, water, and weapons were pooled together in those early days. We set up patrols and walked the fence putting zombies away and taking in friendly survivors. One of the Allen brothers gave me a small handgun. It was a pea shooter compared to some of the guns he had, but it was all he could spare. The gun was so small, it would probably be easier to smash the zombies over the head with it than to shoot them with the supplied ammunition. 

We did pretty good against the first swarm. The Red-Eyes flowed over our gates that turned out to be more decorative than functional. We held them at the office, then we beat a retreat into the heart of the complex. The zombies followed, and we massacred them in the street. The gutters ran with blood and brains as the battle raged.

But we won.

After the swarm subsided and fell away, we high-fived each other and shouted out in celebration. We thought we could handle anything. This new world full of deadly zombies was not going to a problem. To mark our victory, the piles of zombie flesh were burned in a huge pile fueled by some gasoline siphoned from a resident’s car. We stood in the light of the flames and congratulated ourselves on a job well done. We were on top of the world. Together, the people of Greater Crest were going to get through this thing.

A second swarm came through. Then, a third.

The swarms were getting bigger and more bloodthirsty. They were learning. They were keeping up with our patterns. The zombies were learning how to hunt us humans better. They figured out how to surround us with smaller groups and cut off our escape routes. Zombies would be waiting for us when we tried to run away. Fighting through that cost us dearly. I watched one of the elder Allen brothers shoot his younger sibling in the head after the young man was bitten by a Red-Eye. I stopped him from pointing the gun at his own head after the mercy killing. We were losing. Day by day, everything was slipping away.   

Greater Crest began to lose people. Every swarm that came through cost us lives and resources. The ammunition ran low, along with food and water. We were reduced to staying in our smelly apartments, huddling in the darkness as the zombies raged outside. Defense was no longer possible. Cooperation broke down. Food and water was stolen. Shots, not at zombies, could be heard throughout the night. Our humanity drained away as the days went by and the residents defended their rations. Factions and alliances grew up overnight. Greater Crest became a war zone. People that fomerly fought shoulder to shoulder were now fighting each other to survive. It was hard to know who your friends were. Maybe nobody was your friend anymore.

The nights brought more horror. Along with the regular, garden variety zombies came the dogs. Dead dogs, walking around on their four paws. Whatever was affecting the Red-Eyes and turning them into walking killers also got to the dogs. They prowled the complex at night picking off anyone unlucky to be outside in the dark. Leaving our apartments became impossible unless you could run really quick. It was getting hard to check up on people now. Some of our residents began to die, of sickness, starvation, thirst.

Or their own hand. Our suicide rate went way up.

People began to leave. Some, like the two remaining Allen brothers, stopped by to say goodbye. They shuffled off one particular rainy day when the zombies weren’t too thick. Everything they owned was stuffed in two large backpacks. Each brother carried a shotgun. I asked them where they were going, and they said they didn’t know. “Just getting out of here,” they said.

Anywhere, it seemed, was better than here.

Other residents didn’t stop by at all. They simply went away. You would go to their apartments and it would be stripped to the bone. Food, water, supplies...all gone. Even the sheets and pillowcases went with them. Some took their cars and left without saying a word. Others just walked out with their entire lives strapped to their back.

And the Red-Eyes and the dogs got worse. They were entering the complex at will now. 

One by one, the apartments went empty. Soon, it was just me, Old Mrs. Perdakis, and Bob. Bob couldn’t leave because of a bum leg, and Mrs. Perdakis was just too old to hit the road. Bob and I became a two man wrecking crew raiding empty apartments for supplies. There wasn’t much left. It was Bob, a former paramedic, who began painting the stats on the doors about the occupants. We would empty the apartments of essentials, and Bob would paint the number of occupants and the status. Bob and I found a few bodies of deceased residents. Suicide was epidemic. So was starving to death or dehydration, it seemed.

That’s how I lost poor Bob. We surprised a mother and son Red-Eye combo in one of the empty apartments. Bob was attacked in the bedroom. He told me to get out, save myself. I went full coward and took his advice slamming the door behind me. I stayed until Bob’s screaming turned into low moans and gurgles. I never went back in to help him. The sleepless nights started then. I now spend my sleeping hours watching the glowing red eyes of zombies pass by my windows as I hide inside my apartment. Once in a while, a zombie will peer inside the glass looking for me in the dark. 

I’m going to have to leave soon.

One look at my supplies will tell you that fact. Even scrounging in all the apartments didn’t give me much. If I ration, I might have a month, maybe six weeks of food left. Water is another problem. My bottled supply ran out a long time ago. I’m reduced to drinking the water out of toilet tanks and hot water heaters. The heavy calcium buildup makes it taste like chalk but it keeps me alive for the moment. Collecting rainwater has met with mixed results.

The main problem is the zombie creatures. They now cruise the apartment complex at will, day and night. I can’t fight them all. I can’t go out anymore unless it’s raining hard or storming. The zombies have problems in the rain tracking prey. I relish those days getting soaked to the bone and trying to collect as much freshwater as possible.

 I spend most of my life in my apartment making inventories of my supplies and calculating when they’ll run out. I can’t sleep anymore. Worry and panic have become my constant companions. Thoughts of suicide pass through my head. The little gun the Allen boy gave me is in my pocket all the time now. There’s just one bullet left. I think I’m saving it just for me.

I have to leave soon. I don’t think I want to die here.

Before Mrs. Perdakis expired, I managed to make it to the flat roof of my apartment building. From up there, you’re able to see a lot of the surrounding area. To the south, the city still smoulders and deep gray pillars of smoke rise into the sky. The cars and trucks are all frozen on the roads and parking lots. Some of them are burning, too. Packs of Red-Eyes and dogs prowl around looking for fresh meat. They break into a run when they see something hunting like a pack of wild animals. 

There is no life. No hope. My heart breaks at the overall sight of the dead world.

I don’t have a place in it anymore. 

One time during a visit to the roof, I stretched out an old bed sheet and weighed down the corners to keep it flat. Using blue house paint, I wrote out a message to any helicopters or airplanes flying by. Something to do, I guess. I didn’t see anything fly over. Nobody saw my message.

I am going to leave soon. I have to.

I’ve packed and unpacked my backpack a dozen times now. To tell the truth, I’m petrified. The zombies and the dogs are thick outside. I’m not sure I can even make the gate. I am weaker due to the reduced calories in my diet and my water rationing. I run slower. The Red-Eyes will get me from behind.

I’m going to wait for a really rainy day when the zombies are blinded. Then, I’ll leave.

Where will I go? I’m not sure. Satellite navigation and phones don’t work anymore. Nobody uses paper maps. I couldn’t find a single map in any of the apartments. All the maps I found were of Greater Crest itself. Fine if I wanted to find the garbage compactor or the pool but not for escaping a line of zombies. I might head south. It will be warmer. AllI need to do is outrun the coming winter and be okay. Just have to find some people. Have to find a normal life. Some group will take me in. Weak as I am, I can still contribute. Maybe pick corn or something. 

I have to leave soon. There is nothing left here to defend. The zombies have won.

The Last Stand at Greater Crest is over.