What a fucking thrill!
I’d be lying if I claimed otherwise.
Of course, my exhilarating moment of childish elation abruptly ended when several bullets riddled the front windshield and shattered the rear window. I had fleeting glimpses of gun barrels, arrow tips, and ducking heads, but it didn’t matter how many enemies had targeted us – just that they seemed to be posted at every possible angle.
“Fuck! They’re shooting at us,” Matt cried as he ducked below the dashboard.
“No shit, Sherlock.” I leaned to the side, kept both hands on the wheel, and tried to navigate through a store lit only by randomly placed lanterns, a smidgen of natural lighting from the front windows, and the old Ford’s weak-ass headlights. “What’d you expect? A welcoming committee?”
Before he had a chance to reply, I yanked the car to the left, plowing into a display of car wash detergent. Plastic bottles flew in every direction, and a fountain of blue liquid sprayed the nearby shelves, floor tiles, even our holey windshield.
I would’ve been better off kicking out the glass, but I had no time for that. I just flipped on the wipers, stomped on the gas pedal, and attempted to ignore the cacophony of shouts and gunshots along the impromptu obstacle course – not to mention Matt’s ear-splitting yells.
“Here we go!” I hollered as I maneuvered down an aisle of RV supplies.
More shots rang out, peppering the glass around my head, but I found it hard to accelerate away from the danger. Why? Because the stupid car didn’t fit easily between the packed shelves. Naturally, the store builders had designed the aisles with pedestrians in mind, not some idiot driving an ancient piece-of-shit Ford Focus.
When the car finally emerged from the aisle, I turned left onto a wider path, heading toward the front of the store. But almost immediately, I encountered a row of large holiday displays that blocked much of the walkway. Though Halloween had just passed, the staff had already set up its Thanksgiving and Christmas inventory and that crap seemed to be in every bloody nook and cranny!
To avoid a collision, I haphazardly pivoted down another aisle, which seemed even tighter than the first one. The side-view mirrors propelled a slew of LEGO sets, jigsaw puzzles, and board games to the floor, where the car wheels made short work of the cardboard boxes, leaving a trail of puzzle pieces and plastic figurines in our wake.
As I scraped free of the toy aisle, I again turned the wheel toward the front of the store, figuring the wide lane near the checkout counters would be much roomier and easier to navigate. But once more, several giant displays thwarted me.
Fuck! There’s crap everywhere! How much stuff do humans need?
I swerved left to avoid hitting an enormous bin of holiday-themed stuffed animals, but the Ford’s back end clipped the corner, launching all manner of puffy creatures into the air. Errant bullets blew the stuffing from several plushies, and a ridiculously large elf landed on the hood, partially blocking my view. The windshield wipers failed to knock it off, but we lost our tagalong when I veered into the housewares section, propelling blenders, towels, and other useful items every which way.
Panicked about getting shot – a reasonable fear, under the circumstances – I lost control of the Ford, careened through several carousels of ladies’ dresses, skirts, and pants, and ultimately crashed into the store’s centralized changing area.
Bullets and arrows permeated the windows, making it impossible for me to hop out long enough to free the Ford from the rubble. Apparently grasping that the ride was over, Matt grabbed his bow, bailed out the car, and bolted through the men’s clothing section.
Where the hell’s he going?
I needed to follow my fleeing passenger if I hoped to get his brother’s keys, but I didn’t have the stamina to catch up with him.
For Christ’s sake, he’s, like, two decades younger than me!
I wanted to take a moment to steady my breath, but my unseen attackers hadn’t given up yet.
When the side mirror beside me exploded from a shotgun blast, I knew my time had come to skedaddle. So, I shut off the car, pocketed the keys, grabbed my shotgun, and carefully opened the door.
Whizzing bullets shattered the driver’s-side glass as I dove behind a rack of children’s socks. After rolling into a low crouch, I lifted the Mossberg to defend myself against the onslaught, but the gunfire had momentarily stopped.
As my heart rate slowed and the adrenaline coursing through my veins dissipated, I reflected on the fact that neither Matt nor I had been hit by a flying bullet or arrow. Pretty amazing, given the odds against us.
But seriously, where the hell is that asshat?
I was staring at a row of girly socks, contemplating my next move, when a shadow darkened the unicorns dancing before me. Instinctively, I whirled around and tilted my gun upward.
Instead of meeting Matt’s gaze, however, I found myself looking at the pretty face of a slim, brown-haired woman in her late twenties. Like me, she held a shotgun, which she’d unfortunately aimed at my chest.
Luckily, I didn’t fire, and neither did she. For a few seconds, we merely eyed each other, which gave me enough time to absorb the fact that she wore a decent gunslinger outfit over her Walmart uniform. Probably what she’d donned for Halloween.
“Nice costume,” I said cautiously.
“Who are you?” she asked, ignoring my attempt at small talk and pointedly keeping her weapon trained on me. “You don’t work here.”
“Nope. Just passing through.”
She cocked her head and pursed her lips, clearly not amused by my answer.
I really need to start reading the room better. Someday, my snark might get me shot.
I sighed, realizing only the truth could set me free. “Look, I have no beef with any of you. I really was just passing through. Using Walmart’s back alley to bypass the traffic jam out there. But I got surrounded by zombies and had to pull my truck into one of the service bays. I managed to shoot the door down, just before hundreds of pus-sacks could pour into the auto center, but now I need a key to get out again.”
She squinted, as if gauging my honesty.
“Trust me, I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to. I’ve got to get up to Baton Rouge to find my wife.” I sighed again. “So, when I met Matt outside…”
“That no good piece of shit,” she growled, tightening her grip on the shotgun.
“Yeah, I don’t trust the guy either.” Despite my concern that she might shoot me simply for talking to the jerk, I pointed the Mossberg’s barrel away from her face – as an act of good faith. “He said he was on the right side of the battle here, but something seemed off. Figured his story was bullshit, but he claimed he could get me out… if only I could help him get back in. And I was desperate.” I gestured behind me, toward the crash site. “Hence, the car-shaped battering ram.”
Every story had two sides – if not more – and the truth often lay somewhere in the middle. But my gut told me the young woman’s perspective would be way more accurate than Matt’s slick yarn – and from her disgruntled expression, I suspected she was aching to share her version of the Walmart saga.
She did not disappoint.
“Matt and his gang of thugs tried to take all the supplies for themselves,” she explained. “When the madness began, we had almost fifty people in here – and enough food and water to last all of us a long time.” She grimaced. “But they didn’t see it that way.”
“Lemme guess,” I replied, “Matt was a mechanic here. So, he rallied the auto department, along with the sporting goods folks and some hardware and electronics asshats, and they decided to grab the guns and any other weapons so they could take control of the store. Probably wanted to kick you and all the crafts, clothing, and grocery people outside, too. Right into the Zombiegeddon.”
“Pretty much.” She smiled, lowering the shotgun a little. “Course, you forgot the pharmacists. Pets and gardening are on our side, too.”
A few shouts and gunsh
ots sounded in the distance, and her grin faded.
“Problem was… my husband, Jason, is the manager of the sporting goods department – and the only one with the keys to the guns.”
I lowered my weapon a bit more. “His staff turned on him?”
She nodded sadly. “Bastards. They just ate up Matt’s bullshit, not realizing, of course, that he and his piece-of-shit brother are just as likely to turn on them.”
“Man, people suck.” I aimed the Mossberg at the ground. “Couldn’t they have simply broken the displays and gotten the guns anyway?”
She shook her head, lowering her own weapon the rest of the way. “Not anymore. Walmart had a rash of robberies a few years back, so most stores installed shatterproof glass and steel bars. You’d have to pound on it with a sledgehammer to bust through. We didn’t give ’em that chance.”
“Course, they obviously managed to nab a few firearms. Plus some bows.” I nodded toward the rear end of the store. “Got a pretty crazy welcome back there. And come to think of it, Matt seemed surprised they were shooting at him. Now I understand why.”
She grinned. “Well, actually, he’s been trapped back there for several hours, so he didn’t know we’d managed to push his gang out of that area – and that we’ve been using bows, too. You know, for stealth.” A giggle escaped. “But even if those had been his folks, they still might’ve tried to shoot him. Most people aren’t all that fond of him and his brother. Frankly, those two have always been assholes.”
“What a shocker.”
She bit her lip. “Since we’re being honest… when we heard the gunfire out there, we assumed Matt wasn’t alone. And when the car crashed through the wall, my people probably couldn’t see who was inside. Matt’s not brave enough to risk a crazy stunt like that, so I’m sure they figured he wasn’t the one driving. But just in case…”
“Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” Her smile morphed into a frown again. “Anyway, our side has most of the rifles, pistols, and shotguns, though Matt and his minions manage to get more every time they kill one of us.” She exhaled in frustration. “Taking out the power like they did hasn’t helped either.”
So, the asshat lied about that, too. Big surprise.
“Jesus,” I said, finally daring to rise, my knees creaking mercilessly. “You’ve got some real Mad Max shit going on here.”
She crinkled her forehead, clearly missing the reference. Not astonishing, given that the original movie had come out almost six decades before – and the reboot was already twenty years old.
Gee, lady, thanks for making me feel my age.
“Anyway,” I said, “I’ve got to find Matt’s brother.”
“Why?”
“Cuz I can’t go out the way I came in. Too many hungry zombies in the alley. I need to get my truck – and my poor cat – out through the front of the auto center, and Matt’s brother has the keys to raise the door.”
Pity flashed in the woman’s eyes. Either because I’d admitted to having a cat with me – or because she suspected Matt’s brother wouldn’t easily relinquish the keys.
But what she said next floored me – though, in retrospect, it shouldn’t have.
“Matt’s usually got the keys for the auto center.”
“Shit. That motherfucker.” I shook my head. “I knew he was lying, but I didn’t even think to search him. Should’ve rolled him when I had the chance.”
“Sorry,” she said, sounding sincere. “He’d do anything to get back in here.”
“But wait a second… if he had the keys all this time, why didn’t he use them to unlock the door? Or for that matter, why didn’t his cronies try to free him?”
The young woman grinned wickedly. “Cuz when we managed to trap him in there, we didn’t just lock it… while some of our people gave us cover, Jason and I nailed a bunch of metal bars across the door. And then bent all the nails into the frame. Since the door opens inward, he couldn’t get the damn thing open. We knew he was too big a pussy to try one of the other entrances, and we never allowed his buddies to get close enough to let him out. Frankly, we hoped the zombies would get to him first.”
I laughed. “Yeah, that would’ve been a lucky break.”
“Especially since he’s the ringleader. Without him, his brother might eventually give up.”
Suddenly, I felt guilty – not just naive – for falling for Matt’s bullshit. If I’d known what an evil asshole he was, I might’ve jumped back in the van and let the zombies eat him.
“Well, I’m sorry for ruining your plans. I just wanted to get outta here.”
She nodded. “I get it. We’re all just trying to survive.”
“Yeah, but still… kinda wish I’d killed the jerk when I had the chance.”
“You and me both.” She extended her hand. “By the way, I’m Jeni.”
I accepted the handshake. “And I’m Joe. Sorry again for causing you more trouble.”
Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Help us fight back, and I’ll forgive you.”
Before I had a chance to reply, a volley of arrows punctured the shelves beside us. Instinctively, we each dove to the carpet – me to the right, Jeni to the left. I landed near a wheeled display of winter apparel.
Despite my near-death panic, I admit… spotting the puffy ladies’ coats made me chuckle. During the decade I’d lived in New Orleans, I’d always found it amusing – Southerners’ aversion to cold weather – or, rather, how they’d overreacted to even mild chilliness.
Though Clare had been born and raised in the Big Easy, I’d lived most of my childhood – and adulthood, for that matter – in the North, mainly in Michigan, where residents had been accustomed to below-freezing temperatures and several feet of snow during the winter months. To avoid frostbite, we’d had to bundle up in padded coats and other stifling accessories. Not surprisingly, most kids had lived for snow days – a rare reprieve from school – but weather conditions had had to truly sour for administrators to justify them.
Not so in the South. Requisites differed greatly down there.
I recalled one day, only a few winters before, when it had unexpectedly snowed in New Orleans. At the time, Clare and I had been strolling past the historic French Market, chatting about plans for the holiday season. But soon after spotting the snow, we’d paused to watch the little white flakes dusting the rooftops on either side of Decatur Street.
Lovely, yes. Dangerous, no.
Not enough snow had fallen to accumulate in any significant way. In fact, the flakes had melted as soon as they’d touched the roads, making it seem as though a brief rainstorm had dampened the asphalt – nothing more. Nevertheless, the powers-that-be had canceled school throughout the city.
I shit you not, New Orleans had had an actual snow day – despite any measurable amount of the white stuff. Perhaps officials had worried that bus drivers might get into more accidents amid the sudden snowfall – or maybe they’d just wanted an excuse to play hooky, once a popular pastime in the Big Easy.
Either way, too damn funny.
Of course, what wasn’t funny was getting caught up in a deadly battle for Walmart.
Seriously, how do I get myself in such jams?
I crawled along the rough carpet, lugging the display of winter coats behind me. After a few yards, I parked it against a rack of teen jeans, angling it in such a way that I only had to defend one direction. Not that I thought ladies’ coats would offer much protection against bullets, but perhaps my enemies wouldn’t try shooting what they couldn’t see.
As I crouched there, waiting for another unprovoked attack, I scanned the shelves of brand-new denim jeans. Some of them sported the distinctive “torn look” that had first appeared in the 1980s. Dumbest fad ever – one that reappeared every ten to fifteen years.
Yes, humans actually paid for pre-ripped clothes – which I likened to buying a car with pre-stained seats.
I swear, people are fucking sheep.
“Glad they didn’t get you,” a familiar voice said from a nearby T-shirt rack.
The voice startled me, but I strained to keep my face blank. Matt crouched just above the floor, grinning at me. When I returned the smile, he glanced over his shoulder, clearly watching his back. And apparently trusting me not to blast his front.
If only he’d known my current thought process. Because, yes, I considered shooting him right then and there. I believed Jeni had told me the unadulterated truth. Matt was a lying, murderous piece of shit who deserved a bullet in the head.
Clare had always been amazed by my uncanny intuition – specifically, my ability to figure out people’s true motives. Upon meeting a stranger, I could accurately sense if he or she was a selfish, untrustworthy asshole…
Spoiler alert, most people are.
…or a decent person. I’d never been wrong about my initial impression, but I’d often kept my opinion to myself – until the person in question overtly proved me right. Only then would I admit my true feelings to my wife, whose optimism I never wanted to taint with my general mistrust of everyone and everything.
Of course, the zombie apocalypse had tossed the world upside down, compelling even once-noble citizens to behave like amoral psychopaths just to stay alive.
According to Jeni, though, Matt had always been an asshole, so the end of the world had merely given him an excuse to embrace his depraved instincts. While I had distrusted him from the start, I obviously hadn’t gone far enough with my initial assessment.
Blame it on the exhaustion.
But now, my people-reading skills told me to pull the trigger on Matt. One thing, however, stayed my hand: the fact that it was possible that he’d stashed the keys somewhere during his mad dash from the car (or if Jeni was wrong and he’d never had them), I’d lose my chance to question him.
Zombie Chaos Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 20
