Survival Instinct: A Zombie Novel (104 page)

“I don’t know, guys, guess not this time. Plus it’s about time for someone else to take over, I think,” Steve joked.

1043 hours

Back at camp, a massive RV was parked next to a kindling fire. The RV’s all-terrain tires allowed them to take a “secret” path away from Greene County National Forest’s public parking zone. Over the years, the free parking near the lodge had grown too crowded, and the adjacent lands had been over-hunted by amateurs and professionals alike. This family preferred prime, untouched hunting grounds. Inside the RV, Steve’s father, Tom, folded up a letter and put it back in his bag. “Oh, Steve,” he sighed. Shaking a disappointed look from his face, he walked out from the side door to greet his son and nephews.

“Good, you’re back and just in time!” he exclaimed, raising a bottle of whiskey. “Unpack your things. It’s time to crown the king.”

Every year on Thanksgiving Day, Tom took his two sons and his older male nephews on a weekend hunting expedition. Each morning, shortly after sunrise, they divided into groups of two and scoured the forest for elk and deer.

On the last day of the trip, the person with the trip’s biggest kill was crowned King of the Hunt. Since the first hunt eight years ago, Steve had been crowned a dominating five times, with Collin winning twice, and Alex once. One year, Tom had called a tie between Alex and Steve, but being the modest person he was, Steve had let Alex have the title. Billy and Mike had yet to receive the honor.

The rules were simple. Everyone was allowed one kill, as per state law, and Tom played judge. The winner and newly-crowned king would receive a bottle of expensive whiskey from Tom, a sum of cash the cousins pooled together, and a year’s worth of bragging rights. To outsiders, the game seemed dull, but to those involved, it was a deeply rooted, respectful tradition. Upon their return on Sunday, Tom would have the entire extended family over for a massive, albeit belated, Thanksgiving feast to celebrate the king.

Tom was raised a hunter and loved the outdoors. Mike, his oldest son, couldn’t have cared less. He went mainly because Tom asked. Billy and Alex didn’t care much about hunting either. If anyone other than Tom had asked them, they would have said that they were just out to shoot guns and drink. Of course, if Tom asked, they looked forward to it every year. Collin, on the other hand, was very much like his Uncle Tom. He genuinely liked getting away and being outdoors. Steve also loved it, but mainly because it gave him a chance to hang out with his cousins, something that became less and less common as they got older.

Even now, the cousins were more like brothers. They grew up together, played sports together, got into trouble together, and went to school together, at least early on. They truly enjoyed the yearly bonding experience and the touch of competition added to the excitement.

Now that they were back at camp, Collin, Billy, Steve, and Alex had changed out of their dirty gear and into more comfortable clothes before gathering back outside. Mike, Steve’s older brother, knelt next to the fire trying to get the coals started again with a combination of crumpled-up newspaper and dried pieces of bark.

“What’s up, guys? Heard someone missed the shot,” Mike said, pausing from blowing gently at the embers.

Steve reached into the ice chest and pulled out a bottle of water. “Yup, just barely missed it,” he responded, covering up his lie with a drink of water.

“So the golden boy’s streak comes to an end this year,” Mike said jokingly.

“Maybe, one of these years, you should try winning,” Steve quipped.

“Not really my thing,” Mike said, tossing in a final log. Suddenly, he pulled his hand back and sucked on his index finger. “Damn! Fucking splinter!”

“Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it, cuz,” Alex said, smiling at his cousin’s agony.

Plastic beach chairs were circled around the fire pit, and the family all sat and relaxed as the bark snapped and popped. Tom poured six glasses of scotch and everyone followed Tom’s lead as he raised his glass for a toast.

“I just want to say that, as always, I have a great time out here with all of you. I hope that after all these years, you too, have as much fun as I do.”

“Thank you, Uncle Tom,” Alex said. “I’m not going to lie; you really outdid yourself this year.”

“Yeah, Uncle T. These new radios, our outfits, all these others goodies—you’re awesome,” Billy added, raising his glass toward Tom.

“You are very welcome, boys. It’s my pleasure to do it. What can I say? I like the best. On a more formal note, it looks like there’s been a regime change.” He paused and shot a quick but unmistakable look of disappointment at Steve. “I’m proud to announce Collin as this year’s king. Give it up to him, boys!”

While everyone cheered and drank to Collin’s success, Tom fired up a portable barbecue and threw on a 12-pack of Italian sausages. As the appetizers cooked, the cousins messed around, showcasing their adolescent side. Billy and Alex filled a wine bottle with water, re-corked it and placed it in the fire. Within minutes the pressure from the boiling water shot the cork out fifty feet in the air. Mike watched and laughed, leaning back in a chair pounding a beer.

Collin stood off to the side, laughing at the sight. He was the one who had shown them how to do that more than fifteen years ago. After his laughter had died down, he turned and faced Steve. “So are you going to tell me why you missed?”

Steve stood silent, watching a pair of squirrels chase after each other. He finished his beer and tossed it over to the portable trash bin. “I’m just tired of always being the apple of his eye, you know? His perfect child. And he just doesn’t get it.”

“I wish I could tell you that I understand, but I won’t, ’cause I don’t. My dad’s an asshole and doesn’t give two shits about me. What doesn’t your dad get?”

“That I’m not his perfect little soldier and that I’m going to do what makes me happy. I’m not going to join, Collin. I just don’t know how to tell him.”

Collin and Steve stood there for quiet minute, gazing into the forest. “You know he knows you missed, right? I’m pretty sure everyone knows,” Collin said, chuckling. “I mean, come on, you never miss.” His last words were interrupted by Tom’s shouts that food was ready. Collin swung his arm around Steve. “Don’t sweat it, man. Take it in stride and enjoy the present.”

“Mr. Philosophical,” Steve joked as they walked back to the RV.

Inside, Tom and his family feasted on the sausages, potato and pasta salads, and an excess of other camp foods until they were bloated.

Life was great.

1705 hours

It was late in the afternoon when the RV pulled into Tom Brason’s driveway. After his wife, Barbara, had passed away, Tom had sold his old house in western Connecticut and moved. His new residence sat on top of a hill overlooking Fullertown, a medium-sized town in southeastern New York. The house was 4,200 square feet, had two stories, and was connected to over two acres of undeveloped hillside land. Only a few other houses occupied the cul-de-sac, leaving the neighborhood fairly quiet. Cell phone service was almost nonexistent, so most knew to just turn off their phones when they came.

The garage looked like a small outdoors shop, a true outdoor enthusiast’s wet dream. Across from Tom’s fully restored 1955 T-Bird and 2008 Yukon Denali sat an endless sea of cupboards and drawers. They were filled with clothing, backpacking supplies, camping equipment, and other hiking and climbing paraphernalia. As if that wasn’t enough, Tom also had a section dedicated to weapons and ammo. Throughout his military career, Tom had the opportunity to collect and purchase a variety of weapons. Some weren’t technically legal by New York law, but he got around that through military privilege. He owned a variety of handguns in every caliber, preferring .45’s over most. His stainless steel gun racks also held various rifles and shotguns. Beneath the guns, Tom always kept a surplus of ammo stocked. Steve and Mike used to joke that he wasn’t at war anymore. His nieces didn’t care about “gun stuff,” but his older nephews always admired his collection, asking if he had anything new to show.

The other relatives would be arriving in roughly an hour, which left the guys enough time to break down equipment and prepare for the party. It took Steve, Alex, Billy, Collin, Mike, and Tom no time to clear out the RV from their hunting trip to Greene County National Forest. As a military man, Tom was very organized and particular, so packing and unpacking was relatively effortless.

After they finished, Tom asked for their help loading a few pallets of inventory into the RV. Most of the cardboard boxes were filled with various calibers of handgun and rifle ammo. Others were filled with miscellaneous merchandise, including Tom’s Beef, a new line of beef jerky that Tom cut, smoked, and packaged himself. He needed the product at his first and most profitable store in up-state New York. He was going to drive it up the following day.

They all agreed without protest, knowing that Tom took such good care of them. It was the least they could do. It took them ten minutes to load the shipment into the RV. Afterwards, everyone dispersed to their own activities. Mike, Collin, Billy, and Alex left to shower and get dressed; they wanted a little time to themselves to relax.

Steve stayed behind in the RV, cleaning his rifle; the satellite TV next to him was on, but muted. On the seat next to him sat his journal. Tom entered, setting down some supplies. Steve could tell something was on his dad’s mind, but didn’t want to ask, fearing he already knew the question.

“Another great trip, huh?” Tom asked, taking out a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Yeah, I think the guys had a really good time. The new radios and stuff were a hit,” Steve replied, not looking up.

Tom picked up the rifle from Steve’s hands and cycled the chamber. “You remember when I got this for you? You were so excited.”

“Yeah, Dad, it was right after I took first at national championships two years ago.”

Tom set the weapon down and pulled a letter from his pocket. He tossed the folded paper in front of his son. Steve didn’t have to open the letter to know what it was. He saw the symbol on the corner and knew immediately. It was his letter of acceptance from the University of Southern California graduate school, including words of excitement from the head of the English department.

Before Steve could explain, Tom spoke. “So, when were you going to tell me about this?”

“We talked about it, Dad. You, me, and Mom.”

“We talked about undergrad. As much as I wanted you to enlist out of high school, I knew your mom would never allow it, so I agreed to you getting your undergrad, then go through officer school.”

“Come on, Dad, that’s your dream! I don’t want to be in the military.”

“My dream? What do you think we’ve been doing all these years? Shooting competitions, trainings, Marine base visits—I was trying to get you ahead of the competition. To be elite!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That you’ll be a Marine, damnit!”

“Well, I won’t, Dad. I want to write,” Steve argued, reaching down to retrieve his journal.

“What is this writing pussy-shit? You are a Brason. You are a warrior!” Tom said, snatching the leather-bound journal from his son’s hand and tossing it against the wall. The pages flickered open as the book landed back on the seat. Something slid halfway out.

Steve may not have been a soldier, but he had his dad’s attitude and temper. He rose and stood strong in his father’s face. “Then what about Mike, huh? Your oldest son. Why isn't he your Marine? Why does it have to be me?”

“Your brother is a lost cause. I tried with him, but he just doesn’t care about anything. Only surfing and smoking his pot—yes, I know he does. It’s no secret. Now stop changing the subject.”

Steve slammed his fist against the wall. “That’s so fucked, Dad! I hate how you won’t let me be my own person. Mom would have supported me no matter what!”

Emotions and anger escalated to a boiling point. Their voices rang throughout the RV, into the yard and house. Hearing the exchange from outside, Collin came over and knocked on the wide open side door.

“Guys, everything okay in here?” he asked timidly.

“Everything is fine, Collin,” Tom said, breathing heavily and staring daggers at his son.

Some of the extended family began arriving early for the party. “We’ll finish this talk later. At least there’s one person in this family who has the balls to serve his country!” he said, storming off back into the house.

Taking out his aggression, Steve began to scrub the barrel of his rifle incredibly hard.

Collin stepped inside and sat down across from him. “You know he doesn’t mean that. Any of it.”

“I know. It’s just that I don’t get it. Why is it so hard for him to understand that I don’t want to be a soldier? I want to be a writer.”

“He will. I mean, Mike’s...lost right now, and he just thought that he had a chance with you.”

“I know, but it’s not fair.”

“I know, cuz. I’ll talk to him about it. But you should probably get ready. The fam is getting here. I’ll talk to you later on, okay?”

Collin left Steve to his thoughts and greeted his family. Steve stayed behind and finished cleaning and re-assembling the rifle. He looked down at his journal. He noticed the picture slightly protruding from the pages. It was a copy of their family portrait from a few years before. Steve slid it gently back in his journal as a bookmark. I miss you so much, Mom, he thought. He took a shower, staying in until the hot water ran out.