Hypersite War: Jon Creek’s Story

Jon Creek was a mail carrier outside Broken Bow, Nebraska, about 90 miles North East of North Platte before he became a zombie killer. He had a wife, Jean and two children, Claudette, a precocious 12 year-old, and an ‘all-boy’ 9 years-old, Johnny Ray. The other member of the family, usually not seen until dinner, was their large mixed breed dog, Chester.

They lived in a small two-story brick house on 5 acres. Jean grew vegetables in a huge garden, and raised forty chickens selling many of her eggs and some of her vegetables to a small café in Broken Bow. One year she made enough to fund a mini-vacation to the Nebraska State Fair at Fonner Park in Grand Island.

As many mail carriers did, Jon drove his own vehicle, a late model SUV with a temporary “Mail” sign magnetically attached to the roof. Jon was a dependable nine-to-five man who worked hard, but also made time to attend his kid’s school plays and ball games, as well as attending the First Baptist Church with the family most Sundays.

When the chaos started in the cities, the word slowly seeped into the rural areas and even then, it was full of misinformation, causing further disbelief when the truth was finally released. Most of the locals found the stories of mutant bugs making people do awful things unbelievable, and that any day now the authorities would discover that some low-life basement drug maker had created a drug that drove the druggies mad. Though not truly hard-hearted, it was difficult for the hardworking rural population to have much sympathy for those trying to end their lives with dope.

In the end, many suburbanites were unprepared for the wave of violence with which they were hit. Unfortunately, the wave crashed into the suburbs, then rolled out into the rural areas tearing into these quiet, reserved communities. One wave stopped however, when it came to Jon’s house and on a cold Nebraska, morning in September Jon Creek became a zombie killer. On that day, he racked up his first five notches he carved into the stock of the famous AK-47 he won at a guns store raffle.

It was the rifle he never intended to own, but on a whim, he filled out a ticket and paid two bucks for the chance. To his surprise, the next month the gun store called and awarded him the rifle, two thirty round magazines, a cleaning kit, and a case of ammunition. He brought it home, unpacked it on the kitchen table, and stood there for thirty minutes wondering what he was going to do with it.

Jon was a good shot and went deer hunting with a group of men every year during the season. He used the old 30.06 that his dad left him. The rifle, slightly worn but tough, shot true and was the only rifle he ever thought he would need, until that September morning.

Jon could hear the kids arguing upstairs.

“Claudette, get outta the bathroom, it’s my turn,” Jimmy Ray yelled. “Sides you make it smell like girl stink!”

The door yanked open, the door knob slamming against the plate Jon had installed so the poor wall might last through his daughter’s teen years. Every time he heard the door thunk against the wall, usually followed by a loud whiney ‘Mom,’ he was glad he had installed it.

“Mom, Jimmy Ray’s being gross and saying bad things,” Claudette tattled.

“Am not,” the young boy said, “just telling the truth. Girls’ gotta certain stink…”

“Mom,” Claudette cried louder, her tone climbing an octave. She stepped toward her room then stopped and bent down, putting her face in his. She grabbed the front of his shirt, “How old are you?” she asked.

“Nine and a half,” the boy said proudly, pulling back slightly from her grasp.

“Well if you wanna see ten you’ll shut up,” Claudette told him.

Jon heard a thump and stumbled footsteps.

“Mom, Claudette pushed me,” Jimmy Lee bawled.

“Okay, you two,” Jon yelled up the stairs, “you want me to get involved?”

“No Dad,” both said in unison.

“You keep going and I’ll have you kiss and make up.”

He heard noises of disgust coming from both and smiled. Then muffled threats, stomping, and Claudette’s door slammed. Those doorknob plates aren’t going to be enough. I will have to buy new hinges, knobs or doors before she leaves home, he thought.

As he heard the music in her room go hyper-sonic, Jon stepped back into the kitchen to finish his coffee. I’ll give her ten minutes to cool off, then then tell her to turn it down. With this running through his head, he noticed Jean’s souvenir plates, hanging in a group on one kitchen wall, vibrating to the music’s base. “Okay, maybe two minutes,” he whispered.

He stood in front of a wall, next to the refrigerator, where he had pinned a road map showing his mail route, and strategized this morning’s deliveries. It had snowed last night and though it was not deep near his house, some of the roads further north had not been plowed of previous snows, and might be impassable.

Raising his coffee cup to his lips, he looked out the kitchen window into the backyard and noticed Chester, a normally passive dog, backing away from the tool shed with tail down and ears back. A second later, a young man stepped from behind the shed with a large pistol, took aim at Chester and fired. Fortunately he slid in the snow as he shot and the bullet missed, kicking up snow and dirt. Chester, an intelligent mutt, rocketed off toward the house.

Jon stepped to utility room and opened the back door without thinking. “Hey you, are you crazy? Get outta my yard, I’m calling the cops!”

The man answered Jon as to his state of mind by pointing his weapon toward the house and firing. The bullet hit the house wall next to Jon and continued through to the inside. Jon would find it later, lodged in one of his favorite Zane Gray westerns.

Jon thought to yell a warning to his family, figuring the music blocked the sound of the gun fire, but chances were that he wouldn’t be understood and someone in his family, currently all upstairs and safe, would come down to ask him to repeat it, so he said nothing. Instead, he opened a closet and pulled the AK-47 from where it hung above the door. He looked out the window and saw the man walking steadily towards him. Jon quickly moved to the top drawer of an antique chest they used to store odds and ends, and removed a loaded magazine. He slipped it into the rifle, slapped the base to lock it in place as the gun store clerk had showed him, then pulled the slide back to load it.

As Jon leveled his gun through the door, the approaching man raised his. Jon knew that at this distance, only about 20 feet, the man’s slug would tear into him, even kill him, so he aimed his rifle at the man’s chest and without further warning pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the man in the sternum, causing him to pause. He quickly regained his balance and continued forward. Jon’s second round went through the man’s skull and he dropped to the snow now newly peppered with red and pink.

Before Jon had time to think about the implications of his actions, he heard and felt banging on the front door. It sounded as though someone was trying to knock it down, if the cracking sounds were an indication. Jon ran to the living room window and saw a huge man in sweat pants and a white wife-beater, standing on the front porch and flailing both fists at the solid oak door causing it to boom like a cannon.

Jean and Claudette ran down the stairs towards the noise. Jon yelled, “Stop! Claudette, get Johnny Ray and you two head up into the attic then crawl back into that little closet where we keep the Christmas ornaments. Go now!”

“But Dad…” she started.

“No buts, go, now,” he yelled as another boom hit the door. Claudette jumped to the sound, then ran upstairs grabbing Johnny Ray who had come to the top landing. “Jean, get the 30.06 and load it. Get any shells for it and get to the back door. Shut and lock it. Keep watch and listen for… this.” He motioned towards the booming.

She nodded and ran.

Jon thought about his dilemma. If he opened the door and missed his shot, he might not have another chance but if this hammering continued, the door would eventually give way and he would lose the barrier. He stepped quietly into the living room, knelt on the large cedar chest that doubled as a seat beneath the curved bay window.

Looking at the man from the side, he found that he didn’t have a good angle for a clean shot at the man’s head. The man stopped beating for a second and Jon tapped the glass with his rifle barrel. “Stop dude, or I will put you down. I got a woman and children to protect!”

The man turned and looked, then took one step towards the noise and presented a smile that gave Jon goose bumps. The AK fired, breaking the window as the bullet passed through. The man slumped, blood spattering against the side of the house, then collapsed and rolled backward onto the sidewalk.

What a mess, Jon thought. Now I gotta fix this window, patch a hole in the back wall, clean the blood off the house, call the police, then figure out what the hell is going on.

Before Jon could think any more about it, he heard a shot from the back and a muffled scream from upstairs.

“Jon, there’s three back here,” Jean screamed.

Jon checked the front yard for others, before running back to Jean’s position. He entered the room just after she fired a second round. A woman limped toward them, the half-moon gleam of a sickle drawing Jon’s attention, then he noticed a dark spot spread across her jeans at the thigh, while her bared her teeth and determined look told him all he needed to know, “Shoot her in the head, it’s the only thing that seems to work.”

Jean grimaced.

“I know, baby, but it’s us or them and I vote, them.”

Jean considered for two blinks, then pointed the rifle at the woman and pulled the trigger. She went down, blood flowering from the back of her head.

Jon set his hand on her shoulder, then he remembered the scream from upstairs. “Stay here and get the other two, I’ll check the front.” He turned and raced back to living room, hearing Jean pull off another round, a pause then a third.

He returned in time to see another large man jogging up the sidewalk, axe handle in hand. Jon yanked the door open and greeted the man with a 7.62 round through his forehead.

After the jogger hit the ground, Jon stepped outside, looked around and yelled back through the house. “Jean, you got anything?”

“Nope, nothing I can see anyway.” She called for the dog and a few seconds later the excited Chester, tramped around on the utility room linoleum where he was sure the dog was ruining Jean’s newly mopped floor. He smiled, figuring that today, the dog would be safe.

“Jean, shut and lock the door, but keep a lookout until I call for you. I am going upstairs and open the door to Johnny Ray’s room on the North and the bathroom across the hall on the South, from there I can keep an eye on things but when I call, you come up, go to the attic and check on the kids. I heard a scream earlier.”

“Okay,” Jean said anxiously, “but hurry.”

Jon shut the door, locked it and threw the dead bolt, then ran upstairs to implement his plan. Though he couldn’t see East and West very well he could see most of it if he stuck his head out of the window, and he only needed to risk it while Jean checked on the kids.

“Jean, take a quick look out the east and west side down there then go check on the kids. They should be in the attic in the Christmas closet.”

“Right,” she said and seconds later she passed him in the hallway and climbed the attic stairs, rifle in hand.

A long three minutes passed but finally he heard Jean’s slightly muffled voice. “Jon, the kids are fine. Johnny Ray got spooked when he thought a spider crawled across his hand. Do you want them to stay up here?”

“No,” he answered. “Let them come down and take my place, one in each room. They can let us know if they see someone coming while we think this through.”

Soon he heard footsteps descending the attic stairs. Jon, looking out Jimmy Ray’s bedroom window, looked over his shoulder at his family grouped in the hallway.

“Jean, keep watch on that side for a minute,” he said, pointing to the bathroom. “Kids come here, I need to show you something.”

Jean paused, then looked at her husband uncertainly.

“It’s necessary,” he said softly.

Jon turned to the kids. “I want you both to look out the window into the backyard.”

Jimmy Ray spoke first, “Dad, there’s three people down there. Is that blood splattered all over the place? Dad, did you shoot those people?”

Claudette looked but said nothing.

“Kids, these people and two others in the front yard tried to hurt us,” Jon said. “There is something wrong with them, they were crazy. Your mom shot these and I shot the ones in the front. They were so crazy that we had to shoot them head because otherwise they kept coming.”

“Host,” Claudette said quietly. “I can’t believe they’re here.”

“What?” Jon asked.

“Yeah Dad, it’s Host!” Johnny Ray said authoritatively. “Seriously, you ain’t heard of Host?”

“Well, I heard the hype that the late night talk shows put out, and a few obscure news reports but—THIS, this is what they were talking about, crazy people?”

“Yep, it’s all over the web, Dad,” Claudette said, rolling her eyes. “Jeesh, you guys get all over us for not paying attention and you don’t even know about the Host!”

“Why are they crazy?” Jean asked from the bathroom.

“Well,” Claudette began, “some reports say that they are carrying, like this secret government virus. It’s like the movies showed about zombies, you know, it takes over their brain. Then others say it’s this real powerful drug that someone is making and it gets you higher than any other drug ever invented but it also makes you crazy.”

“And,” Johnny Ray interrupted, pulling at Jon’s shirt, “some people think that it’s an alien, like an alien take over. They like, crawl up inside you and makes you do things,” Johnny Ray paused, and pointed to the dead bodies. “Things like that, but I don’t think that’s true since aliens would be way smarter than that and would just take over and not just go around act’n all crazy and stuff.”

“Jon, I see a truck coming down the road!” Jean declared from the other room. “It’s an older model blue pickup with a couple of people in the back. They look like they have rifles.”

“Okay, kids, stay in here and keep watch on the back. Claudette, you remember how I taught you to use my 20 gauge?”

She nodded.

He looked at his son. “Johnny Ray, you keep watch and tell your mom if you see anything. Claudette, you go to the closet in my bedroom. Pull the chair near the closet over, reach up above the door and get the shotgun down. Then go over to my dresser, reach underneath and pull out the box of shells. You come back in here and load it like I showed you, then keep watch out back, understand?”

She nodded again.

“They’re slowing at the front, Jon.” Jean called out.

“Gotcha,” he yelled back. “Listen everyone, nobody sticks their heads out windows or you might be a target.” He looked at the kids, and wondered at their resilience and psychological flexibility. “You two understand?”

“Yes, sir,” they said together.

He nodded at them, “Good, you guys are awesome.” Then roughing up Jimmy Ray’s hair he called out, “Jean, do they look like these Host people?”

“Nope, it looks like Sydney Wilson, his mom, dad, and brother. I don’t see Jenny with them. I hope she’s okay.”

“Alright, I’ll go downstairs and greet them. Jean, if they even look a little squirrely you have to take care of business.” he said, as he walked across the hall to face her. “I can count on you right? I know you taught Jim in Sunday school, but if they are this ‘Host’ thing that the kids are talking about then they aren’t who they use to be, okay?”

Jean nodded slowly.

“Jean, okay?” Jon asked more loudly, trying to force her to make eye contact.

He was unsuccessful as her eyes lowered to the floor, then at the bedroom where the kids were, then finally at Jon. “I know, it’s okay.”

“If they’re fine, then I’ll invite them in and we’ll somehow have a little pow-wow.”

Jean nodded weakly.

With his family positioned, he ran down stairs and opened the door as a 40 something man approached. The two young men, his sons, covered him from the truck bed.

“Hold it right there Mr. Wilson,” Jon said clearly, keeping his body to one side of the door and out of the line of fire. “I don’t mean you any harm but as you see we have had a bit of an anxious morning and I’m a little shy of visitors.”

The man, Langley Wilson, a farmer who lived a mile over and attended the same church as the Creek’s, stopped and focused on Jon. His eyes told him that he understood and empathized.

“I don’t see Jenny, she well?” Jon asked.

Mr. Wilson shook his head and the pain was obvious.

“You all in good health? I mean, you haven’t, you know, been doing weird things have you?” Jon tried.

A voice came from above. “Oh, Jon you idiot, invite them in!”

Jon, relaxed and smiled sheepishly. “Yes, sorry about my manners, you all can come in though we will need to figure out who’s gonna keep watch for them crazies.”

Wilson turned. “Sydney, help your momma inside. David, come up here about where I am so you can see all three sides. Let out a warning if you sees someth’n.” He turned back to Jon, “That good enough?”

“Yes sir, but maybe your other son could stand watch out back while my kids watch from the second floor then my wife Jean could come down too?”

“Sure, Sydney, do what Mr. Creek asked. You step out the back a little ways and keep track of all three sides too.”

“Yes sir,” Sydney said as he helped his mother, who was limping.

“Claudette, Johnny Ray!” Jon yelled.

They both appeared at the top of the stairs. “Yes Dad?” they said in unison.

“Johnny Ray, I want you to go to the bathroom and keep watch for these Host things out that window. Claudette you do the same in your brother’s room, OK?” They nodded.

“But Dad, why can’t I just stay in my room?” Johnny Ray asked.

“’Cause I need you to be concentrating on keeping us safe and not playing with your toys, now get to it!”

Both children sprang away to take up their positions.

“You don’t think my boys can handle this?” Mr. Wilson asked.

“Not my intent at all. My kids are a little younger than yours and I want to keep them busy, less exposed for now.”

“I think they’ll be exposed soon enough.” Wilson said, darkly.

“Maybe.” Jon looked at the floor. “Probably.”

Jean came down hefting the 30.06 over her shoulder. Jon felt a wave of pride waft over him. My pioneer woman. He thought.

“Can I make us all some coffee?” She offered. “I think I also have some coffee cake.”

Mr. Wilson looked at his wife, who stared blankly at the wall. “That’d be fine ma’am. Truthfully, they didn’t quite get their breakfast eaten before we were attacked.”

Jean served the freshly brewed coffee and the cake. All but Mrs. Wilson sipped and ate. Jean even took milk and cake to the two boys on watch. When she returned Jon asked, “So, Mr. Wilson, what happened?”

“Well, I was out of town, looking for a new tractor in North Platte and stayed the night. I left the city early and got back to the farm around 10AM. I no sooner pulled into the driveway when I saw the first body in the yard and as I drove around the side, I saw a second one around back. I jumped out of the truck and ran to look for everyone.

“According to what I’ve been able to piece together from David and Sydney, last night they heard something moving around our farm. It disturbed the chickens and made the goats antsy, but neither Mary nor the kids could ever see anything. Mary eventually loaded the 410 and went to make sure no ‘coon or ‘possum had slipped into the chicken coop.

“Mary was gone too long, so David got my 12 gauge and went to look for her. He found her unconscious in the utility shed. He got her back to the house and she told him that she heard a noise in the shed, low, like a raccoon was in there so she went in. She was poking around when she thought something was behind her. She turned too fast, tripped and fell, hitting her head on some boxes. When she came to, David was standing over her.

“I found the boys in the house with the shotguns. They told me this morning, everyone but Jenny came down for breakfast. When they couldn’t find her in the house, Mary went out to look for her, just nightgown, robe, but no house shoes. Syd thought that was odd, so he grabbed Mary’s boots, and was about to head out the door when they saw the men.

The boys grabbed the shotguns and David went to get his mother and Jenny. He said that when he got to the shed, Mary was crying over Jenny’s body,” Wilson hesitated, “her head was beat in.

“David told me that he saw a guy in the driveway carrying a broken metal fence post with what looked like blood on it so he figured that he had murdered Jenny. In normal cases, I would say that wasn’t enough figur’n to take a man’s life, but fortunately, he was right this time. He said he shot the guy in the chest, at twenty feet with double-ought buck, but he didn’t go down so when he kept coming, David shot him again, this time in the head.

“When I got there, Mary was like this.” He pointed to his wife, sitting quietly on the sofa. “I went to the chicken house to get Jenny. I was afraid of more of them crazies, so I just wrapped her in a sheet and,” he paused again, as a sob wracked his body, “I took her to the basement and left her on my work bench. We gathered the weapons, hopped in the truck and … here we are.

“I gotta say I think David’s a little messed up too. After telling me what happened, he wouldn’t speak to me, or to his mother.” Wilson finished.

“Shock,” Jean said. “I think he’ll pop back once…”

Growling came from the couch where Mary Wilson sat. Chester stood there, hackles up, his lips curled back, baring teeth, looking at the woman who still sat unmoving.

“Chester, bad dog,” Jean said, as she began to move towards the animal. “Come on, you can go back outside.” She smiled at Mary, “I guess we all have some weirdness about us today.”

Jean grabbed Chester’s collar and attempted to move the large dog but he crouched, planted his feet and she couldn’t budge him. Suddenly, Mary Wilson turned her head toward the dog and growled back, only her growl came out in five octaves. Then she jumped from her seat, grabbed the 30.06 that Jean had leaned against the wall, and swung it around. A flame spouted from the gun barrel as the rifle sounded, Jean slumped to the floor. Jon immediately joined her, looking for the bullet wound and simultaneously trying to remember where he had set his rifle.

Mary pulled the bolt back to chamber another round, then swiveled the barrel toward her husband. A loud explosion thundered from behind Jon, and Mary took a 12 gauge shotgun blast in the side, falling backward onto the couch.

Jon saw that the woman was bleeding from her chest,and her ribs were peeking out from her side, but the wounds didn’t seem to affect her and she began to get to her feet. He looked across the room at his AK, leaning against the door. He assumed that Host had gained access to the house. He didn’t want to think about what that meant for Wilson’s sons, supposedly standing watch. Wilson, mouth agape, shifted back and forth in his chair, stuck in shock and confusion.

As far as Jon knew, his children were still safe upstairs so he decided to risk the scramble for his rifle. He started to move but as he shifted his weight to spring, a shotgun slide cycled from behind him and he saw David Wilson step into the living room. Tears flowed freely as he lifted the shotgun and pulled the trigger again causing most of Mary’s head to disintegrated and cover the living room wall with gore.

Mr. Wilson finally able to move, jumped from his chair, grabbed the gun from his son and knocked him to the ground. “David what have you done?”

David scrambled backwards a few feet as if he thought that his father might use the shotgun on him. The teen sobbed, his voice carrying with it the vaguest whisper of hysteria. “She did it, she killed Jenny.”

Wilson’s head drooped, as if he half expected this admission, but was unwilling to accept it. “No, no, no,” was all he said, then his strength gave out and he sagged to the floor.

David sobbed, “I killed that thing that killed my Momma and Jenny, that’s what I did Pop,” David said, looking at the bloody mess sprawled across the couch. “I don’t know how it got into her but I think it happened last night, before I found her in the shed. It must take a while for them to get control.

“She acted strange this morning, not bad, just not like Momma, so I followed her out to the chicken coop when she went looking for Jenny. I was quiet and she didn’t know I was there. I walked around to the back of the chicken house and spied through the window as Momma walked up behind Jenny and bashed her in the head with a hammer.” He paused, as his brother ran in the front door.

“Dad, is everything okay?” Claudette said from the second floor.

“Yes, baby, you guys just stay up there for a little bit. I’ll tell you when you can come down.”

David continued, “She hit her even after she was on the ground, then something happened, it was like she was fighting it, then she sank to her knees and started crying. That’s when I went in to help her, I didn’t know what else to do,” his body shook. “You weren’t there and I didn’t know what to do. Something got into her, Pop, something like what got into those others, something mean and evil. Something,” David never finished the thought, he flopped to one side and began screaming into the rug.

Jean sat up moaning a few minutes later. Mary’s shot had only grazed her head and by the time she came to, Jon had carried her to her room. “What did I miss, are the kids alright?”

“Yeah, there good. Uh, David shot… I mean, Mary was a crazy, a Host. David shot her before she could shoot Langley. It’s all pretty messy down there. We wrapped her body up in a blanket and took her to the Wilson’s truck. I know you don’t want to hear all this, but … I need your help. It’s too much for me to handle, and then the kids…” Tears weld up in Jon’s eyes. “It’s just too much.”

He buried his face into his wife’s chest and cried.

****

Together with the Wilson’s they moved the Host bodies to Jon’s wood pile and burned them, then he returned to the Wilson’s farm to help with the bodies there, and to properly bury Mary and Jenny.

In the end, Langley Wilson asked if Jon and his family would move onto their farm. It had more room and resource, and offered better security. Within a year, three other families had found and joined them. The Wilson farm became a ‘safe spot’ where travelers could rest up, safe from Host attack.