The Walking Dead: Surviving the Apocalypse

By Martin70



This story, "The Walking Dead: Surviving the Apocalypse" by Martin70 is a figment of this author's imagination. All Characters portrayed in this story, are fictional and do not reflect actual people, either living or deceased.

No Studio, Company, or Cooperation is responsible for the content of this story. Any Characters used from any program or book are the sole property of their parent entities and are used here as a tribute to the original writers without their expressed permission, but with the understanding that no money will be made from this story and that no copyright infringement is intended.


Prologue: The Beginning of the End

I don't know when the dead first began walking around after passing away; all I remember is where I was when I saw my first one. I was driving past the hospital in town when it happened. A woman in a hospital gown walked right into my lane on the main drag through town. I hit her doing thirty-five mph and had no time to break, not at all. She flew up onto my windshield and shattered it as she continued to roll from there and landed onto the pavement behind me.

I looked into my rearview mirror, and was about to get out if my now stopped car, when I glanced down the street she'd come from. That's when my blood ran cold and the fear kicked up a notch or three. That street was filled with a mob of people, and I could clearly see that most of them were clearly deceased. I mean, not many people are going to be walking around eating their own entrails right?

Some of this crowd were missing limbs or showed signs of being eaten on, it was rather grotesque to see one teen girl walking around with her top gone and her breasts half eaten away. I really wanted to puke over that one.

At the time though, my survival instincts kicked in and I hit the gas again, tearing out of there like a bat out of hell.

My name is John Spiner, and I'm a survivor. This is my story, and I hope someone lives long enough to read it…


One of the first things I did after I… ran away, was head to my Dad's place to check on him. That's after I pulled over long enough to puke my guts out, the adrenalin having ebbed away. He was watching TV. On the screen, the announcer was telling people to stay inside and to lock all doors and windows. He went on with instructions to fill your bathtub with water and any other containers as well, just in case power was interrupted for a prolonged amount of time while the US Army and our National Guardsman took care of the problem.

Food would be distributed by the National Guard, via door to door. Anyone caught outside by the military would be quarantined and treated harshly if found looting.

I tuned out the TV and asked Dad how much food he had on hand.

"I've got the old stove room full of food. The deep freeze is full too, but we'll lose that and the fridges if the power goes out for very long. Then there's what's stored in the kitchen cupboards. Should last a few months, with just the two of us." Dad replied.

I guess I should take a moment to describe my Dad and me. I'm forty years old, I stand at five foot six inches and my Dad is an inch taller. Our hair is gray, his eyes blue, to my brown and he's over seventy. We're both a bit overweight, I'm two-fifty and Dad's closer to two-eighty. What can I say, we like food, so we keep our places well stocked.

Anyhow, I went into the kitchen and began gathering everything I could from the cupboards and stuffing them into plastic bags Dad keeps in one of the kitchen drawers.

"What are you doing?" Dad asked.

"You're coming to my place and we're taking all the food there too." I told him.

"I don't see the need for that! The National Guard will put these terrorists to bed and then things will get back to normal." He ranted.

I turned to stare at him for a moment. Then, "Dad, is that what they're saying this is on the TV?"

He nodded, "Yep, and we'll whip these guys worse than the Taliban!" he added smugly.

I sighed and rubbed my nose for a second. "Dad, if you'd seen what I just did by the hospital…"

"What did you see?" he asked.

"I saw dead people walking around. I saw a girl, with her tits half eaten off by the way, eating the detached arm of some guy I didn't see. I saw a woman walk out in front of me, which I hit, get up after the fact and start limping in my direction. Half her face was just gone… I saw, I saw…" I was mumbling out the last part.

Dad was looking at me as if I was crazy. Maybe I was, that kind of thing has driven braver men than I to insanity. "Maybe someone was pulling a joke on you…" he said, trying to convince himself.

"You can't fake the stench Pop, it hit me just as I began to peel out of there. It was worse than a slaughterhouse, Dad." I shot back. "It was definitely the smell of death, and ugly death at that."

I shook myself, driving away the memory for a moment. "We need to get you out of town. This place is going to become a death trap if things keep going like this."

My Dad mulled it over for a few minutes before finally nodding. "Okay son, I'll pull my pickup around back and up to the door. We can load it up first."

Just a brief description of my Dad's place, it's a small house, maybe a thousand square feet all told after you figure in the old stove room that was added on many years ago. It was a two bedroom house originally that had once been wood heated. Dad took the stove out when he moved in and converted the stove room into a large pantry. It was filled with mostly canned and dry goods.

It would take both our vehicles to get it all, not to mention Dad's other stuff. I told Dad to pack a bag with a week's worth of clothes. He came back with two bags, one filled with clothes and the other full of guns and ammunition.

Did I mention Dad was a retired cop? He spent twenty years on the Hadrian County Sheriff's Department. Over the years he'd picked up or bought a dozen different handguns and half a dozen rifles. Before that, he was in the Marine Corps for four years and saw action in several countries he can't pronounce. His present physical shape was an embarrassment to him, but he was also coping with a bad back and diabetes these days.

"Got your insulin?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's in a cooler next to the fridge." He said, loading two 9mm Berettas. Each clip held eighteen rounds, they were illegal in most states, but Dad picked them up during a bust and no one said anything. Half the force did the same, and the other half looked the other way.

He handed me a clip holster and then one of the Berettas. Then he gave me his spare badge and donned his old one. "Arm up and put that badge on. If we run into any trouble, flash the badge and we should be okay."

I nodded and put the badge on. After that we spent an hour getting everything loaded up. A few of Dad's neighbors watched us from their doors, but seeing we were armed, didn't try to stop us or interfere.

Once we were ready to go, I did a quick last run through the house to see if we'd missed anything important. I remembered Dad kept a photo album, so I went to his closet and grabbed it on a whim, then headed for the door.

Just as I stepped outside, I heard them. It was the weirdest sound, like the wind howling through trees, only more sinister sounding. I looked down the street and saw a crowd of dead people shambling down the street. They were at least thirty strong and heading our way.

Dad saw them too. He glanced at me by the door and then calmly walked out into the street pulling his gun as he went. He stood and waited.

You see the thing is, Berettas are great for rate of fire, but shit for accuracy, at least at anything much over twenty-five yards. Dad waited, and they saw him. Almost as one, they picked up their pace a bit, not quite running, but still moving deceptively fast. I took aim from the doorway and waited for Dad to fire.

As they closed to forty yards, Dad took his first shot, striking the lead dead guy in the chest. It looked like a heart shot to me but, other than pushing the guy back and sending a spray of blood up behind him, did nothing to actually stop him. He just kept walking.

Dad adjusted his aim and fired again. This time the man went down with a bullet to the brain… Great, just like your typical undead, ya gotta aim for the head.

At that point, I took aim for the next guy in line and squeezed the trigger. I missed him, but hit the woman behind him right between the eyes. Huh, sights must be off. Yeah, that's it, the sights…

Dad said, "Nice shot! Now hit what you're aiming for!"

Chagrined, I took aim again for the same guy and took him out. By then, Dad had shot three more that were getting closer.

A neighbor, down the street from us and closer to the mob of Walkers, opened her door and began yelling at us to stop killing innocent people… Five of the things veered off from the mob and attacked her before she knew what was happening.

I felt the urge to vomit again, but held it back and kept firing. By the time we emptied our clips, and were reloading, all the Walkers visible were down, but I could hear more coming now from other streets and knew we were running out of time fast.

The stupid neighbor was dead, but I put a bullet in her brain-pan anyway. She'd have been a real pain as a Walker, if that was how they were spreading, like a virus.

Dad yelled at me to get a move on as I did a quick once over of the carnage, then ran for my car.

I busted out the glass of the ruined windshield and put on a pair of safety glasses because of the wind and took off, leading my Dad's truck down an alley and praying for a clear path to my place outside of town.

We made okay time getting there, only seeing two more mobs. The first had twenty-three that I counted and the second was over a hundred from the glance of it that I got as we barreled along doing fifty in a twenty-five zone. By the time we were clear of town, I knew it was lost to us, and the country was filling up with other vehicles fleeing the carnage that was once their home.


AN: "And so it begins..." Babylon 5 quote...