Zomb-Pocalypse 5

by Megan Berry

  I feel bulk when my fingers curl around the plastic, and I don’t even know what it is, but I give a hoarse shout of excitement. I pull it out. It’s covered in a few dust balls and abandoned spider webs, but it’s the most glorious thing I’ve ever seen. My mouth waters as I rip into the chocolate covered peanuts with shaking fingers. I want to savor them, but an animalistic hunger takes over and I barely chew or taste them. I reach the bottom of the bag way too quickly, and then I begin crawling on my hands and knees down each aisle, searching underneath the dusty shelves for any more forgotten treasure. I come away empty, but the candy was enough to at least stop the dizzying hunger from gnawing a hole in my belly. I slowly get to my feet and creep around the store looking for anything else that might come in handy—it’s completely empty. I’d been hoping to find a bottle of water, or anything, but nothing is left.

  I find a door labeled washroom and try the handle, but it doesn’t open. I press my ear against the door, wondering if it’s locked because someone locked a zombie inside, but I don’t hear any shuffling when I knock. I stare at the door for a moment before a sign catches my eye: ask cashier for key.

  I head towards the front of the store and poke around in behind the till. All the cigarettes and food have been cleaned out. Even the cash drawer is hanging open and empty, which makes me shake my head. I seriously doubt that money has any value anymore. A key hanging on a hook, dangling from a chain with a small orange parking cone on it, catches my eye. I stare at it for a minute before plucking it up and carrying it towards the bathroom. It’s awkward and big in my hand, but I guess that’s why they did it, to keep customers from running away with their keys.

  I get to the door and pull my gun out, just in case, and then I put the key in the lock, swing the door open, and jump back.

  Nothing runs out and tries to eat me, but the room has no windows so it’s black inside. I get my flashlight out of Silas’s bag, keeping an eye on the dark room. Then I shine the light around each corner, feeling very much like the main character in some sort of horror flick. It’s empty—just a small room with a sink and toilet. I rush to the sink and turn the facet on. It lets out a small squeal, but nothing comes out.

  I turn away and head for the other door. A store like this must have a store room, maybe the scouts didn’t check it? Hope builds in my chest as I turn the knob and it actually opens. It’s a large office with half the room taken up by a desk and the other half obviously used for storage. It’s completely empty, except for empty cardboard boxes scattered around. My heart sinks, but I determinedly turn towards the desk and start pulling each drawer open and shuffling through the paper.

  The last drawer yields a half-eaten bag of cheese puffs. In another life, eating half a bag of stale ass chips that some stranger munched on before me would have grossed me right out, but not today. The puffs are so stale they taste like I’m chewing Styrofoam, but it’s calories and my mouth waters as I quickly chew them down. If I was smarter, I would save some for tomorrow, but I can’t stop myself. My starving body keeps demanding more and more until they are gone.

  When the chips are gone, my thirst returns with a vengeance. So, I tip toe back through the store and doublecheck that I haven’t missed something. I haven’t. I even go back into the bathroom and try the sink for the third time.

  I’m starting to feel hopelessness creep back over me when the beam of my flashlight lands on the gleaming white porcelain throne to my right. My brain instantly rebels at the idea of drinking toilet water, even as my dehydrated body takes a curious step forward in anticipation. I’m pretty sure that this is an all-time low for me, but I’m not so concerned with winning any popularity contests at the moment.

  I lift the lid and see a couple inches of water floating around in the bowl.

  “Oh God,” I moan as I stare at it in horror. Rest stop bathrooms like these are probably what bred the zombie virus in the first place.

  I know I’m going to drink it. I pretty much have to if I want to survive, but that doesn’t mean the idea doesn’t fill me with dread.

  Chapter Five

  When I lean in closer to the toilet, my knee hits it clumsily, making me say a word that would’ve had Dad giving me the ‘look.’ I almost don’t hear the lid of the tank shaking as it rocks precariously from my clumsy bump. The sound draws my attention, and I curiously lift the top of the tank and shine my flashlight inside. The back of the tank is full of water. I pan the light around to make sure I’m not missing any weird stuff growing in the deepest, darkest regions, but it looks clean, like completely clean, and hope starts to bloom in my chest.

  My fingers start to shake in excitement as I sling my backpack off and dig around until I find the empty plastic water bottle that’s kind of crunched up and has definitely seen better days. I fill it up and chug the ice-cold water until the entire bottle is empty and my stomach aches, but I don’t care. It’s almost like I can feel the slowly dying cells in my body bursting back to life. I refill the bottle and resist the urge to drink from it again. My stomach already feels water logged and gross, and it’s not like I have an unlimited supply. I make sure the lid is on tight and then tuck the bottle back into my pack and carry on with my exploration of the store.

  There isn’t one useful thing left in the whole store, but I do find a bunch of scratch and win tickets behind the counter. I stuff them into my bag, on a whim, as I head towards the office at the back. It’s a small dusty room that doesn’t have much to recommend it, but it does have an old scuffed up leather desk chair and it’s a hell of a lot softer than the ground. In all our days on the road, I’ve never spent the night in a gas station before, but it’s here and it’s already cleared out, so I settle in for the night, after doublechecking that the doors are locked. I don’t want to push my luck trying to find somewhere new to sleep when I’m already here. It has four walls, and the zombies are cleared out—it will do.

  I pull the shiny emergency blanket out of my pack, tuck it around my legs, and set to work scratching at the tickets with a quarter that I found in one of the desk drawers. It hardly matters anymore that there used to be strict laws prohibiting me from doing this. I can’t even ever cash them in, I just need something to keep my mind busy and the panic at bay. I scratch the enormous pile until it’s gone, and my finger and thumb are sore from gripping the quarter so tightly. My math is not exact, but I stopped tallying my winnings at around ten thousand dollars—not too shabby for a couple hours’ work.

  “Would’ve been nice,” I mutter to myself.

  I think I say it out loud just to hear something other than the ringing silence that is somehow the most overbearing thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I thought hearing a voice would make me feel better, but it actually creeps me out, like it’s out of place. I lean back and close my eyes, and the face of the man that I stabbed today is the first thing that pops into my mind. I watch his mouth open in an agonizing scream as the first zombie rips into him, and my eyes pop open. I know it isn’t real, but my heart is hammering.

  A tear leaks down my cheek and I angrily wipe it away and close my eyes again, leaning my head down on the desk like we used to do when we’d play duck, duck, goose in school. The horrible face of the gravel voiced man pops prominently back into my brain and the tears come with it. I’m a monster. I never thought I’d be the kind of person that would kill another human being, no matter what the circumstances, but I am. I now know that I’m the type of person that will do anything to survive. The apocalypse has turned me into a monster, I’m just not the noticeable kind with the rotting gray skin. This guy wasn’t even the first person I hurt, or even the second. I lay my head back down on the desk and let the gruesome images come—I deserve it.

  The sound of breaking glass wakes me up, and at first, I don’t realize what the noise is— I just can’t believe that I’ve actually managed to fall asleep with the horror show playing in my head. I hear a male voice and it turns my blood to ice. I sit straight up, and the chair lets out a
super loud groan, and I want to jump out of my own skin. I freeze and strain my ears in the dark, praying that they didn’t just hear that.

  The man laughs and I finally let myself breath again. They didn’t hear me—but I’m still up Shit Creek without a paddle—another one of my dad’s favorite sayings. There is only one way in or out of this room, and whoever just broke in here is on the other side of the door. I ease out of the chair, and it lets out another horrifying creak. I kick my leg free of the space blanket and sling the backpack at my feet up over my shoulder. My hand goes to the belt at my hip, I never took it off, and I grab my trusty nine-millimeter. I’m running low on ammo for it, and I hate the idea of firing it, especially in the middle of the night, but I might not have a choice.

  I can hear their footsteps getting closer as they make their way through the store, laughing loudly and, by the sound of it, knocking stuff over. Each loud bang, as shelves and other useless crap hits the floor, makes my heart stutter in my chest. They’re getting closer. I lift my gun in response and say a silent prayer to some meaningless God. After all, he didn’t help Silas, and what kind of God would let his subjects reanimate and eat each other? I don’t even know what I believe anymore, but I say a prayer anyway. Please don’t let them hurt me, and please don’t make me have to kill another human being today. I’m standing in the middle of the room like an idiot when the thought hits me. It’s the zombie apocalypse, everyone opening up doors these days is going to do so with their guns up and ready to take down any zombies that might be lurking on the other side. I can’t just be standing here like a fool when that door swings open. I have no idea what to expect when it does, and I don’t want these guys to be readier than me. They could shoot first and ask questions later, thinking I’m a zombie. Or, and this is the most likely scenario, they could be bad people and want to do bad things to me. I grip my pistol so hard that my hand aches as I look around for somewhere to conceal myself. This room is like a tin can, but I finally settle for hiding behind the door, since it opens inward and will hide me for a minute, giving me a small opportunity to get the jump on them. I fix my eyes on the door and try to control my erratic pulse.

  I’m barely in place when the door comes flying out. I hold my breath and nearly pee my pants when gunshots echo into the room. The gun clicks empty in a matter of seconds, but that’s all it’s taken for me to start sweating.

  “What the hell, Jerry!” I hear one of the guys yell. There’s a sound of slapping flesh and the other guy grunts.

  “Just wanted to be sure, man,” comes the idiot’s response, and even though I’m terrified, even I’m shaking my head at how stupid he is. Every zombie for miles probably just heard those shots—my ears are still ringing.

  “Let’s check out that desk,” the first guy says.

  I hear them start walking forward, and my heart pounds even harder in my chest. I’ve reached that critical moment where I have to pull on my big girl panties and force my shaking legs to move forward. If I stand here too long, they will most likely see me cowering behind the door and I’ll have lost the element of surprise. I wait until I see their shadows pass by, and then I take a deep breath and step out from behind the door.

  I’m light on my feet, so they don’t hear me. I’ve also lucked out and their backs are towards me. Their hands are down by their sides now, and their guns are tucked back into their belts, so it’s as good as it’s getting for me.

  “Stop right there!” I yell, and the one guy actually jumps. They spin around to face me, and I can see their hands automatically going for the guns. “Don’t touch your weapons,” I shriek hysterically, and they both stop. They are staring at me, assessing, and I know what they see—a little girl that they can easily overpower. I swallow hard and motion at them with my gun. “Stay right there,” I warn them.

  The one guy actually smirks. “Listen, girlie. We won’t hurt you; we didn’t know anyone was in here.” He holds his hand out reassuringly. I point my gun directly at his heart, and he actually has the nerve to laugh. “Do you even know how to use that thing?” he asks skeptically, and I can’t help the flash of anger that burns through me at the dismissive way he talks to me.

  I aim my gun a little left of him and shoot a glass paperweight that’s sitting on the desk. It explodes with glass flying everywhere, and both men yelp and turn away to protect their faces.

  “Does that answer your question?” I ask, relieved that I didn’t miss and make a fool of myself. The man frowns at me.

  “Shit, lady, you didn’t have to do that!” the guy yells at me.

  I channel my inner Silas and shrug, like I don’t have a care in the world. It made me graduate from girlie to lady, so I guess I did have to do it.

  “Listen, we have a safe place. We can give you a ride,” the one guy says.

  I start to worry that I might be the bad guy here. These men haven’t tried anything horrible yet, maybe I jumped the gun?

  “Where’s that?” I ask, and the man grins like he thinks he has me right where he wants me.

  “Ever heard of Louisville?” he asks, and I have to resist the urge to do a fist pump.

  I shake my head and the guy nods cajolingly.

  “It’s a safe town,” he reiterates, and I bite my lip, not sure what to do with these two.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see movement, and it’s the second guy’s hand trying to sneak down to his belt.

  “Are you trying to get yourself shot?” I demand as I swing my gun over in his direction, and he freezes again. Something catches my eye in his belt, and I do a double take; his knife looks achingly familiar.

  “Where did you get that knife?” I demand, and the guy shrugs.

  “My mother gave it to me,” he says without hesitation, and I frown at him.

  “Take your packs off and dump them out on the floor,” I tell them, and both men look confused.

  “Are you trying to rob us?” the one guy scoffs incredulously.

  Instead of answering I move my finger closer to the trigger. They both scramble to take their packs off and dump them unceremoniously on the ground. My eyes quickly sort through the junk they’ve tossed, while still keeping an eye on them so I don’t get myself shot. I see a couple zip ties and motion to them.

  “Use those zip ties to tie up your friend,” I tell the smaller guy, and his jaw actually drops open. “Do you want to die today?” I yell when they don’t immediately move, and the guy drops down and grabs the zip ties. I watch him like a hawk as he secures his buddy’s hands behind his back.

  “Happy?” the guy demands, and I shake my head. I’m not even close to happy.

  “His feet too,” I say, and the guy actually lets out a groan like I used to do before the outbreak when my parents told me I had to clean up my room or I couldn’t go to practice. I barely resist pointing that out.

  The guy finishes his task and stands up, just as his trussed-up companion loses his balance and falls over, hitting the floor hard. I wince a little, but keep my gun pointed on the guy that’s still loose.

  “Now do your own feet,” I tell him, and he looks mutinous.

  I actually have to put my finger all the way onto the trigger before he starts to move. I know that would be a big no-no with Silas and his golden rule that I don’t put my finger on the trigger unless I’m planning on pulling it, but I think, in this situation, he would forgive me.

  The guy stands up with a wobble and I kick another zip tie towards him.

  “What now?” he mutters, and I can tell he’s super pissed off.

  “Tie your wrist to the leg of that desk.” I say, completely winging it at this point.

  The guy stares at the heavy desk and grudgingly lowers himself to the floor. I watch as he tightly secures the zip tie on his wrist to a zip tie that he’s looped around the leg of the desk. When he’s tethered there, I finally venture closer and grab his remaining arm and bring it behind his back and secure his wrists together. He tries fighting me at first and he is much str
onger, but he’s also half hogtied to a desk, so I give him a swift kick in the ribs and the fight goes right out of him as he hunches over in pain.

  I don’t like being this person, but I don’t know what else to do.

  I walk over to the other guy, who cowers when I step near him, and I reach down and pull the familiar blade from the band of his pants. There are a few snacks scattered on the floor from their packs and I take those too. They have a better chance at finding more than I do.

  “It’s not personal,” I tell them as I grab my pack from behind the door and stuff my ill-gotten goods inside. Then I tip toe away, shutting the door firmly behind me. I’m not a complete monster, I don’t want a zombie to come along and tear them to shreds while they can’t defend themselves.

  I step out into the pitch black and instantly feel the temperature drop by several degrees. They broke the large plate glass door at the front of the store, and I can’t help but shake my head at their stupidity. This place is now useless to anyone looking for shelter.

  My heart is pounding double time. I hate wandering around by myself in this mess, and I really don’t like it at night. I hear a shuffling up ahead and the clattering of glass on the floor being kicked up by clumsy feet. It didn’t take long for the noise to attract the dead. I freeze in the darkness and strain my ears, and I’m pretty sure there is only one of them. I don’t know if I’m sure enough to bet my life, but I basically have no choice.

  I tighten my fingers around the knife that I just took off the guy in the other room, and the grip is familiar to me as my fingers settle into the grooves in the handle. I call bullshit that this isn’t Silas’s knife. The thought that I could just open the door to the office and ring the dinner bell and escape, does cross my mind for a moment, but I firmly push it away again. I’m not a murderer. I’ve had to kill to survive—but this would be different.