Get Off My L@wn - A Zombie Novel by Perry Kivolowitz Page A

considered leaving it but only for a moment. Unlike before
the war, instant coffee was now better than no coffee.
    Our backpack full, Ruth Ann made her way down
the deck’s stairs and covered me while I closed and flipped the lock on the
sliding door. Even with the hole in the door allowing ready access to the lock
we knew the dead lacked the thought to make use of it. They’d just go through
the door.
    On our way back, Ruth Ann put on the nitrile
gloves and pulled the arrows she’d expended out from their resting places and
picked up her hatchet. It was disgusting but the woman I married was
remarkable. We arrived back at our house without event. We left the garbage bag
with the contaminated weapons out front. We brought the backpack in but didn’t
unpack it. Instead we set out with our ladder to the Boetche’s garage.
    We had the IR illuminator to set up along with
its improvised power supply. I am sure we looked like idiots carrying a 10-foot
ladder with ourselves laden with bows and guns stopping from time to time to
look and listen. Fortunately there was no one there to snicker.
    It was getting late. I was still on the roof
finishing orienting the illuminator towards our house. There was a low beating
noise; we froze.
    “Doug, get down here we’re leaving now!” barked
Ruth Ann.
    “Wait, listen. It’s a helicopter!”
    Quickly, out of the east three Blackhawk
helicopters came zooming low. Two of them had weapons on little wings sprouting
from their sides. The third had legs connected to soldiers dangling out of its
sides. We were dumbfounded.
    My first thought was that I didn’t want them to
shoot us like random water buffalo in a rice paddy (great movie). And, I didn’t
want to make it look like we were desperately in need of rescue. We had already
said no many times to the National Guard. I did the only neutral thing I could
think of.
    I stood up straight and saluted.
    As the helicopters passed I could see a lot of
heads slowly turning to look at us. They may have been as dumbfounded as we
were.
    As we headed back to our house I said to Ruth
Ann, “At least they weren’t black.”
    “What?”
    “Black helicopters, those were green.”
    “So?”
    “In the movies bad things always happen when
black helicopters are around.”
    “I see,” she said.
    It was just about dark and we were out of range
to connect to the house’s security cameras to help ensure we had no unexpected
company. We left the ladder up figuring the undead couldn’t make use of it.
This allowed us to get back to the house sooner while there was still light.
     

 
    T hat night after buttoning up we had a good
dinner including fresh salad from the roof and opened a bottle of wine. We were
both overjoyed at seeing functioning troops again and at our success in
locating some much needed supplies (bow supplies, food and coffee). I checked
the security cameras and was pleased to see the new IR emitter on the Boetche’s
garage gave us a nighttime view all the way to their house.
    We hadn’t listened to the radio yet today so we
tuned in to the update. A horde had finally come out of the Twin Cities. It
crossed the river and was headed into Wisconsin rather than away. America’s
Dairyland was not catching any breaks. Karma no doubt, since the plague was a
Wisconsin export.
    The Twin Cities horde was estimated at two million.
Add this to Chicago B and hordes in Wisconsin totaled six million walking dead.
    The helicopters we saw were heading west to join
what the authorities were calling a “thinning operation.”
    Dealing with a horde that numbered in the
millions, wasn’t as simple as going out there with guns blazing. Terrain had to
work in your favor to cause the horde to bunch up. Sort of “would you mind
standing closer together please so my weapons will be more effective?”
    We were both curious if we could make out
anything about where the helicopters were going or what they were up to. We
bundled up as it was getting pretty