Zomb-Pocalypse 2 (7 page)

“To answer your question about the truck,” Silas says from the front seat, uncharacteristically chatty because Ryan’s the one in the dog house. “We came across it parked down one of these streets. That Jamie guy turned and he ate the chick that dried our clothes, it happened back there, right where you’re sitting.”

I see Ryan look down at the chunks, and he pales.

“Silas,” I warn, causing him to give me an innocent look.

The house appears ahead of us, thankfully now zombie free. I look up and down the street, hoping to see someone fleeing the scene, but there’s no one. Silas parks the truck in the driveway and jumps out. I follow him, and Ryan follows me.

We go up to the front door and listen. I can hear a faint noise from inside, but it’s hard to tell what it is.

Silas turns the handle and the door swings open with an ominous creak. Once the door is open, we hear the sobbing.

“Hello,” Silas calls once we’ve shut the door behind us. The sobbing is cut off abruptly like someone is trying to be quiet, but faint, muffled sobs still escape. “We aren’t here to hurt you,” Silas says as he stands in the middle of the entry way listening. The next time we hear the sob, we all stare off to our left, having pinpointed where it came from.

Silas motions to a closed door, and we all creep forward stealthily. Silas throws the door open so hard that it bangs off the wall, and then he charges in with his gun waving around. I think he’s crazy, but I still go in without hesitation to back him up. Ryan and I bump into his back when he stops abruptly.

I peek around Silas’ back and see an older woman, maybe fifty, rocking another woman who looks enough like her that I know right away it’s her daughter. The younger woman has blood ringed around her lips and dribbling down her chin, and my stomach drops to my toes. They are sitting next to a toilet filled with bloody vomit, she must have gotten bitten or scratched.

“Help us?” The older woman begs, and my heart goes out to her. Silas surprises me by stepping forward and kneeling down next to the two women. His hand sweeps across the sick woman’s forehead, checking her temperature.

“Was she bitten?” he asks quietly, and the older woman nods, fat tears splashing down her cheeks.

“Her hand,” she manages to get out, and Silas gently picks up the woman’s hand, making her moan in pain. Her hand is pale and ghastly looking, her fingers are swollen to double their normal size, and the skin around the infection is already starting to flake off.

“What’s her name?” Silas asks quietly, setting her hand back down.

“Norma,” the woman snuffles, relaxing a little beneath Silas’ calm attention. “I’m Margery,” she says, even though Silas didn’t ask.

“I’m Silas, Margery. Do you know what happens when people get bitten?” he asks, and Margery shakes her head, even though I suspect she does—she just doesn’t want to believe it.

“I’m so sorry. I know this is hard to hear, but there is nothing we can do for her,” Silas says, grabbing Margery’s hand instead. Margery pulls it from his grasp and sobs uncontrollably, clutching her daughter to her chest.

After a moment, she seems to compose herself. She reaches down and strokes Norma’s hair and kisses her on the forehead. “I love you sweet girl, you rest now. It won’t be long,” she murmurs and then gently sets her daughter’s head down on a rolled up jacket and stands up.

“I can’t bear for her to turn into one of those things” she says to Silas, and he nods.

“I’ll take care of her for you,” he promises solemnly, and Margery actually smiles a little.

“Thank you, you’re a good boy,” she says, patting him on the shoulder as she quickly walks out of the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.

“Silas,” I say, coming up beside him. “You don’t have to do this alone,” I tell him, but he shrugs me off.

“It’s okay,” he says softly as he pulls his gun out and gently presses it to her temple. Norma looks up at him for a second and nods, like she is giving her permission, and then she closes her eyes.

I turn around and press my face into Ryan’s chest. One second later, the gunshot rings out. It’s deafening in the tiny bathroom.

Ryan wraps his arms around me, and I’m not mad at him anymore. It seems so silly to fight when any moment could be our last.

A gun shot from outside the door interrupts our shared grief, and we all freeze. Silas starts running first, breaking our frozen tableau, and we follow him out, fearing the worst.

I grind to a halt when I see Margery sprawled out on the floor, a rapidly growing puddle of red forming beneath her head. I look away from the gaping hole in her temple, stuffing my fist in my mouth to keep my sobs from escaping.

I didn’t know these people, just the brief ten minutes we intruded on their tragedy but they impacted my emotions, making me feel a huge wave of grief at the injustice of their death.

Silas walks over and grabs Margery underneath her arms, and Ryan joins him in lifting her legs. They lay Norma and Margery together in the bathroom, and I can’t control my tears.

“We need to get out of here,” Silas says, and a slab of granite would have more expression than his face right now. “They’ll have heard the gun shots.”

I don’t need to be told twice, or ask who
they
are.

We rush to the door and peek out, and my heart dips when I see five zombies prowling around the truck.

“Great,” I mutter, already bone-tired from running for my life at every turn.

“No problem,” Silas says as he steps out the front door, looking like he’s spoiling for a fight.

I sigh, pulling my gun from my holster, and force my tired legs to follow him out. I don’t want him getting hurt—or worse—today has been already been hard enough.

Silas savagely takes care of the zombies before Ryan and I get much of a chance to help. He shoots the first three with his rapid, deadly aim, and then he pulls his new hatchet from his belt and attacks the zombies with brute force.

I can tell he’s pissed, and he’s taking it out on the only things we can blame all this crap on—the zombies.

He chops and hacks for a solid five minutes before finally coming back to himself.

He looks up at Ryan and I, who are frozen, watching him in horror.

“Let’s go,” he says, tossing his axe into the box of the truck rather than taking the time right now to clean it. I wince thinking about its bloody tip rubbing against my suitcase, but after watching Silas brutally slay five zombies, I’m not going to be the one that brings it up.

Ryan casually slides into the driver’s seat, and I give him a grateful smile. I’m not sure if Silas should be driving right now.

“Where to boss?” Ryan asks, trying to lighten the mood a bit, but Silas doesn’t even crack a smile.

“Back to the mall,” he says, and my stomach dips at the idea of seeing that place again.

“I thought you said it was overrun?” Ryan asks, hesitating.

“We got most of them and, besides, the camping store is still secure, I made sure to lock the gate, and with the bars on the window, we can stay there again tonight without too much worry.”

I glance at the darkening sky and let out a frustrated sigh. I’d hoped we would’ve made some progress today towards the cabin, but the camping store is our best option right now, and the logical part of me knows we need those supplies.

We get back to the mall just as dusk fades, turning the sky inky black, and my stomach is a bundle of nerves at the prospect of getting out of the truck to go bumbling around in the dark—but it’s not like I want to spend the night in this gore infected truck either.

We stare out at the dark shadows the mall casts, and I know none of us are overly eager. “I’ll take the keys,” Silas says suddenly, holding his hand out to Ryan for the keys like he’s a tardy teenage son that can’t be trusted with them.

I wonder for a moment if Ryan’s going to tell Silas to piss off. After a tense stare down he hands them over, and I relax a bit. Ryan’s a good guy. He knows we have more important fish to fry than a fight with Silas over who gets to hold onto the keys.

“Let’s go,” Silas says, pocketing the keys and already sliding out of the truck without waiting for us to give the okay. I bite back a growl of frustration and force my stiff muscles to move.

If I survive this trip through the dark, I might just kill Silas after all.

Chapter Seven

As I step out of the truck, the first thing I notice is that the night air has cooled considerably. I draw in a deep breath, then wrinkle my nose as rot and decay fill my nostrils. I’m pretty close to jumping back in the truck and resigning myself to a night spent in the zombie gut hotel, when I remember, belatedly, that Silas and I killed a massive amount of zombies here today. That must be the source of the smell, right?

Even if I wanted to protest, it’s too late. Silas is already moving forward like a man on a mission. It makes me doubly glad Ryan was driving because he was considerate and parked as close as possible to the entrance of the mall… If it had been Silas, he probably would’ve parked us around the block for shits and giggles. We move at a fast jog and cover the distance quickly. We don’t bother opening the doors. We just step over the broken glass that the zombies knocked out when they breached the mall earlier. Our boots make loud crunching sounds on the glass, and I break into a sweat as I imagine that the noise is drawing every zombie for a quarter mile.

Silas snaps on his flashlight, and my stomach does a triple flip. It’s not that I’m a fan of stumbling around in the dark, but the light is a beacon that doesn’t leave much guess work for the zombies.

“Silas,” I hiss, and he looks at me, making me want to shake him and yell
don’t look at me, look for zombies.
“Do you think that light is a good idea?” I ask forgoing the dramatics, and he lets out a snort.

“You really want to go feeling around in the dark Blondie?” he asks in a tone that somehow makes me feel foolish. This is a bit of a rock and a hard place situation.

“Let’s just hurry up,” I mutter, choosing to ignore him all together.

My gun shakes a little in my hand as we move quietly, but quickly, through the mall. We hear a moan from somewhere deep in the building and freeze, straining our ears, though I find it hard to hear anything over the loud pounding of my own heart. The zombie moans again, but it doesn’t sound very close, and it’s not the excited moan of a zombie that’s spotted someone tasty to eat.

We pass the fountain and, as Silas’s light sweeps over the area, I see several bodies bobbing lifelessly back and forth in the stagnant water. Ryan sees it too and puts his hand protectively on the small of my back. They aren’t splashing around and raising hell, so I assume they are the zombies that Silas took out when he tried to save Ryder.

We reach the imposing metal gate that separates the camping store from the rest of the mall, and I’m relieved that it’s still intact. I’m surprised to see Silas pull a large set of keys from his pocket, rather than his lock picking set.

“Where’d you get those?” I ask, staring at the jumble of keys.

“I found ‘em in the truck’s cup holder, those assholes took the keys with them when they left,” Silas mutters as he begins the daunting task of trying to find the right key.

I feel slightly less bad for the people that stole our truck. Not only did they steal our truck and leave us stranded, but they didn’t even leave Ryder with access to most of the mall.

I turn back to Ryan as he fans his flashlight across our surroundings; this is the most critical time. If we have to run now, we will be running blind through a mall full of zombies, with no safe zone. Everything seems deserted though, and it’s a creepy feeling, waiting to be attacked is actually worse than just getting it over with.

I’m so relieved when I hear the lock click, and Silas starts to slide the gate open. “Hurry up,” Silas prompts us, in agitation, and I’m so excited to be done with this day that I don’t even mind his bossy tone. Silas shuts the gate behind us and locks it up tight.

I finally feel like I can breathe again when I hear the heavy steel gate settle firmly back into place. My body is begging for me to fall into my sleeping bag and sleep for a solid twelve hours, but I can’t sleep like this. I’m covered head to toe in zombie grime and sweat. I walk towards the middle of the store where the display tent is set up and drop my backpack beside a couple camping chairs and a display camp fire.

“I’m gonna go wash these guts off my face,” I tell the guys, turning on my own flashlight as I head towards the back of the store where, yesterday, I’d checked out an employee bathroom that didn’t look too bad.

I pass through the ladies section and grab a change of clothes. It’s a camping store, but they still have clothes, and they’re the kind you wear hiking because they are rough and durable. In other words, they’re perfect for the zombie apocalypse. I grab a thick pair of socks, heavy blue jeans, a pink flannel shirt, and a tan vest with about a hundred pockets that I just know will come in handy.

I find the bathroom without too much trouble and barricade myself in the small, cube-shaped room. There isn’t a shower, but there is a relatively clean toilet and sink with a small mirror.

The first thing I do is kick off my boots and let out a giant sigh of relief when my aching feet hit the cool linoleum floor. Being this close to a toilet reminds me quickly of my aching bladder, and I have to squeeze my legs together to keep from peeing my pants as I hobble towards the toilet. I’ve been holding my bladder for the last few hours, and that’s no easy thing to do with flesh eating zombies literally nipping at your heels.

I sigh as I stare at the swirly pattern on the floor. This is a rare occasion for me, to have this time alone and not have to worry about zombies attacking.

I stand up and kick my jeans off into a pile on the floor, then I peel off my socks—that are more like a second skin with the amount of sweat I’ve poured into them today. I pull my crusty hoody over my head, wincing when doing so rubs some hardened, nasty gunk against my chin.

The shirt I’m wearing underneath isn’t stained, but it is sweaty and smells like B.O, so I peel it off too and stand in my bra and undies, shivering. I quickly wash my hands in the sink, and the icy water makes my skin break out in goose pimples. The water swirling in the bottom of the drain is black, and I frown as I scrub hard beneath my nails to get off all the dirt and blood caked underneath.

At this point I could probably infect myself with the zombie virus with just an accidental scratch.

I throw on the thick socks and new jeans to help ward off the cold, but I leave the shirt off for now because I have a lot of gore to scrub off my face.

There is a hard, half-used bar of soap, but nothing else to wash with, so I scoop up my old t-shirt and dip it into the water, bending over the sink as I begin to scrub at the back of my neck and, especially, my ear. I’m very careful not to get any of the infectious crap in my eyes or mouth, but I still grimace when the cold water runs into my ear and starts to loosen up some of the crusted zombie paraphernalia. I poke a hesitant finger inside my ear canal and dig out a congealed black lump that has a booger-like consistency. I almost barf as I flick it down into the water and watch it swirl slowly towards the drain. Chunks rise up in my throat, but I force them back down as I vow to never again get myself into a situation where zombie guts can get anywhere near my ears.

I shiver thinking about how I went through half my day like this. The reflection scrubbing away in the mirror is gaunt and pale, and there are big bags under her eyes. I’m barely recognizable as the blonde, carefree cheerleader I was.

I spend fifteen minutes scrubbing my face before shoving my whole head underneath the tiny faucet and scrubbing my hair with the bar of soap. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing; my diva days are well behind me. I don’t have a towel, so I use handfuls of paper towel from the dispenser to pat my hair dry. I worry for a split second about the environmental impact of using so much paper—a remnant of my old life—but it sure as hell doesn’t matter now.

I chuck the massive handful of paper in the garbage and practically dive inside the soft flannel shirt. I zip the vest up to my chin and shove my hands in the pockets. I start to warm up right away. I stare down at my old clothes and decide they aren’t worth saving, not splattered with zombie guts, with a whole store at my disposal. I reach down and unhook my weapons belt from my old jeans and fasten it back onto my hip. The weight feels comforting and familiar. I kick the rest of the clothes into a pile in the corner so they won’t be in the way if the guys need to use the bathroom. It might be the apocalypse, but I’m not a complete slob.

I grab the flashlight off the sink and head back out into the store. The cool air hits me right away, and my wet hair makes me shiver. Thanks to the stupid zombies smashing the windows out, the store is several degrees colder than it would have been. I grab the first knitted hat I see, and I shove the plain black beanie on to cover up my wet hair. I’m sure I won’t be winning any modelling awards, but oh yeah, everyone is dead so I guess it doesn’t really matter.

Once my head isn’t giving away all my body heat, I slow down and take my time. I’m not in any rush to go cram myself into a tiny tent between Ryan and Silas, so I wander up and down the aisles shining my light along the rows of stuff, slowly filling my never-ending vest pockets.

I find a small, plastic compass attached to a keychain and loop it through my vest’s zipper. I have no idea if I’ll ever need it, but it pays to be prepared. I find a display of lighters and add one to three different pockets, then some gum, a Swiss army knife, and a fork that folds up in itself and doubles as a spoon.

Something catches my eye next to all the enamel camping dishes. I shine my light on a package of MREs. I’ve heard about these before. My Dad was a big reader, anything about the military, and these boxes are actually individually packed meals that can even be heated without the use of a stove or fire. I grab three individual boxes off the shelf and carry them back to the tent with me.

“What you got there?” Silas asks when I get close. He’s sitting in one of the camp chairs with a kerosene lantern in front of him like it’s his campfire.

“MREs,” I say, feeling proud of myself.

“No way,” Silas says, sitting up and holding his hand out for me to pass him one.

“Way,” I can’t resist saying, and he shakes his head at me, though there is a ghost of a smile on his lips that he’s trying pretty hard to hide. I look around to give Ryan his share and realize that he isn’t here. “Where’s Ryan?” I ask, feeling a flare of panic in my chest. I have to force myself to calm down. There is no way Ryan would take off on me again.

“Don’t worry, lover boy just went to the bathroom,” Silas mocks, sensing my panic, and I flip my middle finger up at him, which only makes him laugh.

I sit down beside Silas and watch as he expertly peels his dinner apart, adding the salt to start the chemical reaction that heats the meal. “This is pretty amazing,” I murmur as I copy his movements and, for once, Silas doesn’t have a smart ass comment.

As soon as I open my entrée pouch, I can smell the delicious scent of beef stew. I burn my tongue, but it barely slows me down. This is one of the best tasting things I can remember eating in weeks. “We need more of these before we go,” I tell Silas around a huge mouthful of chunky carrot and beef cubes, and he actually grins at me.

Ryan still isn’t back, but I’m starting to fade fast. “I’m gonna hit the hay,” I tell Silas, and he nods, not looking up from his kerosene lamp.

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, I’ll probably join you,” he says, and I look at him sharply, but then give my head a shake. He obviously didn’t mean it like
that
.

“Night,” I mumble as I rush off into the tent, glad the darkness is hiding my stupid girly blush.

I strip off my vest and debate leaving my holsters on, but after trying to lie down with the butt of my pistol poking me in the hip, I give up and take it off. Though I make sure to keep the gun within easy reach.

I crawl into my sleeping bag and take a deep breath. The night air is cool, and there’s a definite nip to it. I hear Ryan come back to the tent and listen as Silas stays up with him while he eats his MRE. I fall asleep quickly, listening to the low murmur of their voices.

It feels like my head just hit the pillow, when I wake up. I hear a quiet snore coming from Ryan, and it feels like a time warp. Wasn’t he just outside? Silas is also in the tent to my left, though he is still and silent. I hear a wailing moan pierce the quiet night and realize that’s what woke me to begin with.

Zombies.

I struggle to sit up and look around. I glance over at Ryan, but he’s asleep. So I turn to Silas instead and find him looking back at me.

“What’s going on?” I whisper, not sure if I should be preparing for battle or going back to sleep.

“Zombies outside the store. They’re at the window, but they can’t get past the bars,” Silas assures me. “The damn things have been moaning and groaning for the last ten minutes,” he says, and I’m concerned that I managed to sleep through it as long as I did.

“You’re sure they can’t get in?” I ask, feeling a prickle of doubt start to nag at my subconscious.

“Yeah, remember when they tried to get in last time and broke the glass? They couldn’t get past the bars then, and it sounds like there are only a couple of them.”

“Okay,” I sigh and lay back down, but I can’t go to sleep knowing they are out there.

Silas lays there for another ten minutes, and we listen to their moans in silence before he throws back his sleeping bag and slips from the tent without a word to me. I sit up and stare after his retreating back. Should I go after him?