Chapter 8: Art Bingham, September 13th, Year 0

I was stuck in my car with Stacy my wife, and my children Cheryl and Peter, trapped in traffic outside my ward’s gates. The zombies were slowly breaking through our window. It was only a matter of time until the zombies broke through. I pulled Stacy toward me and told her I loved her. I took out my gun and placed it on her head. It would be better for all of us to die by my hands than to be eaten alive.

I woke from my nightmare with a start. Hiram was shaking me. Everyone who had slept in the gymnasium was safe. Hiram had not slept. No one had been out-of-sight except for Bishop Johnson and his wife. They had refused to move from the small room where they and their sons had been staying. The Johnsons were gone. Hiram was certain that no one in the gymnasium could be responsible for the Johnsons’ disappearance. Someone or something we didn’t know was in the enclosure with us.

Hiram and I heard screams from outside. A woman who had gone out of the building to look for the Johnsons screamed that a zombie had made it over our fence. Hiram shouted for his militia to grab their rifles and follow him outside. I called for help to go to our storage facility to grab all the ammunition we could and to bring it outside. Every man and woman with a gun ran outside, including me. I still had my Glock 9 mm pistol. On the ground within the enclosure, approximately 20 feet away, was a zombie. It had been shot multiple times in the head and was not moving.

One of the militia men walked to the fence and shot a zombie standing outside the fence through the head with his rifle. At that point, it became intolerable for all of us to allow any zombie within shooting distance to exist. Every man and woman with a weapon started shooting at the zombies outside our fence. For every zombie that fell, more came into view. The ones that we shot in the head were being eaten, pulled apart by the zombies behind them. For a little less than an hour, all of us lost our sanity. In the last 48 hours, we had fled to the safety of our enclosure only to find that we were not safe, that someone or something dangerous was in here with us. Our fear and anger had risen to a point where we could no longer stand to see the zombies outside our fence and not do something about them.

We shot until our guns were dry and then we reloaded them. Some of the men who had assault weapons started firing them in the fully-automatic mode, emptying their magazines in seconds. When we shot zombies yesterday, when we had first closed our gates, we could only shoot for a few minutes because we had not pulled out all our ammo supplies from storage. This time, because we had brought our ammo from storage, we must have been firing for at least 45 minutes. Finally we ran out of bullets. We had had 30,000 US Military .223 rounds in storage. By the second day of our enclosure in our ark, we had gone through almost all of them. We had not been very accurate in our fire but in those 45 minutes we had to have destroyed thousands of zombies. Yet there was no noticeable change in the number of zombies outside our fence.

I walked over to the zombie who had made it over our fence. Its head had been shot so many times that it was almost entirely decapitated. The razor wire had cut its fingers off. Somehow, it had wedged its arms and legs between the razor wire and climbed into our enclosure. In doing so, the razor wire had cut so deeply into all its muscles and tendons in its arms and legs that it had lost the ability to move these limbs. By the time it had dropped into our enclosure, it had been unable to move independently. It had been harmless. This harmless zombie had resulted in the loss of all our ammunition.

Chapter 9