State of | Book 2 | State of Ruin

by Martinez, P. S.

Her words were urgent, but I batted them away, willing the pain in my head to subside.

  “Get your honky-tonk loving ass up RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT!”

  Chapter Two

  Pineville Welcomes You

  I grunted, flinching from the force of the voice that yelled at me. The movement shot pain into every single spot on my head. I’m pretty sure even my hair was in pain.

  I rolled over and rammed my head into a counter.

  “Shit!” I groaned, pulling myself up onto my elbows.

  The room swam around me.

  The store was bathed in sunlight and I realized with a jolt that the sun had come up long ago. Noise filtered into my alcohol-induced haze and I suddenly grasped the error I’d made by going on my Jack Daniels drinking binge.

  From the sounds outside the store, several zombies were moving around the area. Which meant they were surrounding my vehicle, which also meant I was going to have to fight my way through a group of zombies while dealing with my very own self-imposed version of death-warmed-over.

  I made quick work of packing the contents of my bag and rolling up my sleeping bag.

  With a shaking hand and a swimming head, I popped the last few aspirin I had in my stash in my mouth and swallowed. Jack and I were no longer friends, the dirty rat bastard.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I muttered beneath my breath before standing up.

  Standing up should have been easier. Getting out of the store alive definitely would have been had I not slept away a good portion of the day. Zombies swarmed the front of the store. The sun was beating down onto the asphalt and the undead had taken refuge near the store to keep from baking. Even the undead had some sense of self preservation.

  I stood frozen for a moment too long, trying to decide what to do next.

  A bloated zombie who looked like he probably would make a sloshing sound when he moved spotted me and began banging on the window. Each hit on the glass not only left chunks of flesh and rivulets of rancid juices running down the window, it also hammered spikes of pain a bit deeper into my cranium.

  Pretty soon dozens of undead were banging and trying to push their way inside the little convenience store.

  “If I live through this, I’m never drinking again,” I said aloud.

  A promise I intended to keep. I hoisted my bag onto my back, sat my trusty hat as gingerly on my head as possible, and left the sleeping bag behind the counter. There was no way I’d be able to carry it as I ran and there was no way I’d be able to get to my truck. I was going to have to go it on foot for now.

  I sprinted to the back door.

  I had no idea how many undead were at the back of the store, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t luck out and find none. I was just hoping it would be a lot less than out front. Since the zombies were making so much noise out front, the sound might attract the zombies around the store to the front and give me an advantage.

  I was betting my life on that.

  Louder than what should have been possible, the sound of cracking glass echoed through the front of the store and reached me all the way in the back.

  I reached for my handgun and closed my eyes for a second.

  I knew I had exactly six bullets left in the gun and that was it. I was going to have to make quick work of the zombies with my knife and then run like hell. I gripped the handle of the door and opened it slowly, slipping out of the building as quietly as possible.

  As soon as I was out and the door shut behind me, I knew my luck had come to a screeching halt.

  Zombies.

  Zombies everywhere.

  The first corpse near me went down easily enough—all it took was a knife to the throat and when it fell, its skull gave beneath my booted foot like a rotten egg. Two more surrounded me before I’d even had time to lift my boot out of the rancid gunk.

  I swiveled and plunged my knife hilt-deep into the temple of one corpse while the other stumbled dangerously close. I tried to yank my knife free, but the blade was lodged deep into the zombie’s head and stuck on a bone.

  In a panic, I grabbed my gun from my waistband with my left hand, pointed, and shot the second zombie between the eyes. As the zombie dropped at my feet, I used all my strength to shove the corpse that had become embedded onto my knife off of the blade.

  The gunshot had sealed my fate.

  The zombies from the front of the store were showing up.

  Even if this was the end, I wasn’t going to go down without taking as many undead as I could with me.

  I steadied my shootin’ hand and took my time as I pulled the trigger.

  Every shot took down another zombie and every shot counted. I smiled widely and tucked my gun back into its holster. I held my knife out in front of me as more than twenty decomposing corpses shambled their way toward me.

  Several were moving at a steady pace, but the majority were moving slower than I remembered. I chalked that up to the alcohol still coursing through my body. I met the four quicker zombies halfway and sliced and slashed until my world only consisted of rotten flesh and fetid viscera.

  My hands and arms had become slick with the fluids of the undead I’d taken down. I slid the palm of my hand down my jeans and then gripped the hilt of my knife tighter as I turned to the next group of zombies headed in my direction.

  The corner of my mouth tilted up in a half-smile, half-snarl.

  “Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?” I shouted.

  Maybe I was feeling a little maniacal.

  Maybe I had a reason to.

  I lunged.

  Gnashing teeth and bloated bodies closed in on me.

  Corpses littered the ground all around me, though not enough to have made a difference. The death toll didn’t matter; all that did matter was that I was surrounded, and unlike the living dead, I got tired.

  My arms were shaking and my legs felt like rubber from kicking the first zombies back into the crowd to gain myself a little more time. It had worked pretty well, but I couldn’t keep up the pace, my body was about to give out on me.

  I shoved my knife into the neck of the next zombie, and I realized that I couldn’t tell where my hand ended and my knife began. I kicked out and shoved the zombie back into the one behind him, though they didn’t stay down for long this time.

  Two zombies charged me, ramming me back so far that my backside crashed into the brick building behind me. I had a hand around the thin neck of one gnashing and snarling zombie trying to break free and sink its broken teeth into my skin.

  My knife was deep into the throat of a second zombie and even though its insides were pouring out over my arm from the wound I’d given it, it was still snapping and gurgling. My arms were shaking and my knife hand slipped just a bit, bringing the impaled zombie even closer to his next meal.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the final half-dozen zombies move in to make the kill. They were no more than a dozen feet away. It wouldn’t be long now.

  I closed my eyes, blocking out the bleakness of the world around me.

  I thought of my wife and summoned a picture of how she looked on our wedding day. My knife slipped a little more and the sounds grew louder. I didn’t open my eyes. I wanted to die remembering something good and beautiful.

  Something—anything—unmarred by the ugliness of the world.

  Not my reality.

  My eyes flew open when shots rang out all around me. Zombies were dropping and I suddenly found the strength to fight a little bit longer, a little bit harder. I shoved all my weight against the two zombies that were right on top of me, using the forward momentum and kicking out with a wobbly leg to dislodge the zombie from the edge of my knife.

  When he stumbled back in a daze, I rammed my knife into the eye of the zombie I still held by the neck. I spun, ready to finish off the zombie I’d stabbed in the neck, but a man stood there with an axe stuck into its skull. I blinked against the sunlight.

  “You bit?”

  The man spat on the ground and
pointed his axe at my chest.

  I blinked again, wondering if I was hallucinating.

  “I asked you a question, son.”

  I looked down at the axe and then back up into the face of the man who spat another wad of chewing tobacco on a corpse at our feet.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  His eyes raked over me and I glanced down at myself. I was covered in guts. There wasn’t a spot on me that wasn’t covered in noxious zombie entrails. Two other guys wearing overalls joined the older man to stand there and stare at me like I was a museum exhibit.

  A tall, thin, blond man and a black-haired kid no more than fifteen stood in front of me.

  “You got people?” the blond-haired guy with an unfortunate nose asked. I shook my head. The guys looked at each other, communicating without saying anything.

  Something niggled the back of my mind.

  “Well, look, thanks for helping me out of this mess. I appreciate it.”

  I stuck my hand out before I realized how ridiculous that was, considering it was coated in things I was more than ready to wash off. I put my hand back down to my side.

  “I should probably get going on outa here and I’m sure y’all will want to as well, so I won’t hold ya up more than I already have.”

  I grabbed my fallen hat off of the ground and put it back on. When no one said anything, I shoved my dirty knife into the sheath on my leg and took a step forward. My legs and back were so stiff I felt like an old man as I hobbled a few feet.

  I needed to get the muck off of me in case someone mistook me for one of the living corpses and put me out of my misery.

  “Hey, wait a sec.”

  The blond guy stepped forward, what was left of his thinning hair hanging over his ears.

  “We got a secure place and we got people we take care of. We don’t take in a lot of people and Michael has the final say-so, but we’d be glad to take you back with us. Ya know, to clean up and get ya back on your feet.”

  I held up a hand and winced. My body and shoulders were already stiffening up.

  “I really appreciate that, but I’ll be okay on my own.”

  “Son, you ain’t got a single bullet, have ya?”

  I met the stare of the older man with the axe propped up on his shoulder and clenched my jaw.

  “That’s what I thought. You’re in no condition to drive, no condition to run, and if ya get in another mess like this one, you’ll be in no condition to protect yourself.”

  The man did have a point. Plus, it’d be nice to meet other survivors and if their place were truly protected and secure… well, that’d be nice for once too. To sleep one night without looking over my shoulder, one night without worrying I’d be eaten in my sleep.

  Yeah, I’d sell my soul for that right about now.

  “I’d be obliged to y’all if you’d let me go with you. I’ll be better soon and I’ll get off on my own as soon as possible so I don’t use up too much of your resources.”

  “We’ll talk about that later, let’s get the heck outta here.”

  Man of few words. I liked that.

  We walked up to a large black pickup truck. I climbed up into the bed of the truck and sat down without groaning in pain, which wasn’t an easy task. After a few miles of being jolted around in the back of the truck, I craned my head to see where we were headed. I couldn’t be more than forty miles from the base, and probably a lot closer to Charlotte than I was comfortable with.

  A green sign on the side of the road read “Welcome to Pineville”.

  I wondered what was in Pineville.

  Couldn’t be much different than every other overrun town in the area. I rested the back of my head on the cab of the truck while we moved through the small town.

  I pulled my hat down over my eyes and nodded off before we made it to our destination.

  I was the world’s biggest idiot.

  Chapter Three

  Camp Victory

  My head had been vibrating for a while now, and yet I’d been trying to ignore it. When the truck finally came to a complete stop after a bumpy ride on a gravel road, my head rebounded off of the cab of the truck with a loud thud.

  I moved my stiff body when the guys up front got out of the vehicle and slammed their doors. I got to my feet with most of my manliness still intact and glanced around the area. A densely wooded area surrounded us. We were at what looked like it used to be a campground out in the boonies of Pineville, North Carolina.

  I could see a few cabins and assumed there were several others on the property. I jumped down from the bed of the truck and joined the trio of guys who had saved my neck back at the convenience store.

  “So, what’s this?” I asked.

  “This is what used to be Camp Victory,” the teen replied.

  “Now it is a sanctuary to our group,” the older guy added.

  Sanctuary… That was an unusual term to use, but I got it.

  To feel safe from everything going on in the world now was worth its weight in gold and to have a place of safety and shelter from those horrors, well, that place was most definitely a sanctuary.

  “Let’s go. We’ll show you where you can get cleaned up, then we’ll take you to meet Michael.”

  I followed the men past a large building that looked like it probably was the place everyone would gather to eat or whatever. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Another young man, no older than the boy standing beside me, was perched up in a tree with a rifle pointed out past the wooden gates that surrounded the camp.

  A lookout for zombies? Likely.

  By the time I turned back to my group to follow them, I had already spotted three more lookouts. Once we passed the main building, we turned down a path that led to the right. Another path led to a set of cabins that were set a little apart from the main grouping of buildings.

  “What’s down there?” I asked.

  “That’s where the women and children stay,” the blond, lanky guy answered without breaking stride. I raised a brow but didn’t comment. They kept men and women in different areas of the camp? That didn’t make much sense to me. If the camp ever got overrun, all the women would be at one end of the camp without any help.

  “This here’s the men’s washhouse. Ain’t no hot water, but a shower’s a shower.”

  I walked over to the door of the washhouse.

  “James will find you some clean clothes and bring ‘em by in a bit. You go on ahead and get washed up. It’s about time for lunch.”

  “Wait, I didn’t even catch y’all’s names.”

  The older gentleman grunted and pointed to the teenage boy.

  “That’s James.” James nodded in my direction. The man then pointed to the tall, thin man with the unfortunate nose.

  “That there’s Clyde, and everyone hereabouts calls me Uncle Gus.”

  “I’m Tex. I appreciate y’all taking me in like this when ya didn’t have to.”

  The old man, Uncle Gus, spat on the ground and gave me a tired, tobacco filled grin.

  “Don’t worry about it, son, just get your shower and we’ll see ya in a bit.”

  I went into the washhouse to try to scrape the caked-on muck off of my body. It wasn’t easy. My ice cold shower felt like heaven and I never wanted to release the bar of Irish Spring. I probably scrubbed myself for a good thirty minutes before feeling like I’d gotten completely clean.

  When I was done, there was a pair of jean overalls and a white tee shirt waiting for me outside of the shower stall. I eyed my dirty jeans, only considering for a second to wear the nasty things before discarding that idea.

  I didn’t want to look like Farmer Bill, still fresh, clean clothes were something of a luxury and I didn’t want to offend the people who’d helped me out of a sticky situation.

  I stuck my clean knife inside my boot and headed out of the wash room.

  I didn’t spot Uncle Gus, Clyde, or James when I stepped outside and after a good ten minutes of wait
ing, I started walking back the way we’d come from until I reached what I thought might be the mess hall.

  Nostalgia immediately took me back to my summer camp days as I entered the building, removing my hat. Picnic tables that were originally set up to feed hungry camp goers were now being used to feed hungry survivors.

  I glanced around the rustic cafeteria and found myself the center of attention. A few women were sitting at the other end of the room and as soon as my gaze caught theirs, they swung their eyes away from me to look down at their plates.

  I moved to the other end of the room and stood at a counter with a window that led into a kitchen area. The older woman there wore a white apron over her faded dress. She smiled warmly and handed over a tray with a bowl of piping hot stew and a chunk of crusty bread.

  My stomach grumbled loudly.

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” I said, taking the tray.

  She nodded in reply.

  I looked for a place to sit in the large room. I didn’t want to sit alone, but the few women who sat at a single table were sending off mean-girl vibes that I remembered all too well from high school.

  A dark-haired woman sat alone at a table near the wall.

  I hadn’t even noticed her at first and she never looked up from her food. She just sat there blowing into her stew and ignoring everyone else in the room, lost in her own thoughts.

  I walked over to the table and sat my tray down across from her. The women behind me had become absolutely silent. I frowned when the woman’s eyes rose to meet mine.

  She looked surprised to find me there and then a little panicked.

  “Mind if I sit here?” I asked.

  When she didn’t reply, I wondered if she was sitting alone because she preferred to instead of being snubbed like I’d originally thought. I smiled at her and picked my tray back up.

  “I can find another seat,” I said softly.

  “No, you can sit here,” she said, her voice husky with a Spanish accent. She motioned to the place I’d sat my tray down.

  “Please. I’m sorry, I was just surprised.”

  I sat my tray back down along with my hat and took a seat across from her.