Situation Z

by Semple, A. M.

  “Thanks, Marjie.” Wilson walked off with a spring in his step.

  “He’s a little different,” she said quietly. They were standing in near darkness now that Wilson left with the flashlight. It alarmed her that neither Fred nor Jennifer responded. “Is something wrong?” A vast understatement under the circumstances, but there was a lot going unsaid.

  Jennifer shook her head. “Wilson has been very polite. It’s just that he seems a little…um.”

  Fred leaned forward. “Nuts. Do you know if there are any others in the store?”

  Marjie thought for a moment. “I’ve been in the back office, but Wilson was the first person I’ve heard since I’ve been back there. There may be others in the front of the store. It was horrible…” She sniffed, unable to finish her sentence.

  “We’re sorry Marjorie.” Jennifer’s voice was whisper soft. “It’s been bad everywhere.”

  The three of them lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Marjie was debating about asking more when Wilson’s flashlight shot between them.

  “It was so quiet I was afraid you’d been eaten,” Wilson kidded. “Anyone else want to use the can?”

  Fred spoke up. “Wilson, Marjie says it’s possible there are others in the front of the store. Maybe we should just leave.”

  Wilson shined his flashlight around. “Lots of good supplies. I’ll just grab a few before we go.”

  Marjorie didn’t want to be left behind. The possibility of spending more time alone in the store was unbearable. “Uh, Wilson…”

  Wilson misunderstood. “No worries, Marjie, we’ll scope the place out first.” He turned to Fred and Jennifer. “You can check back here and gather supplies. I’ll check out the front of the store.”

  Fred looked at Jennifer. “Why don’t we scope out the front? You and Marjie can check back here and gather supplies.”

  Wilson rubbed his hands together. “Good thinking, Fred. What do you think, Marjie?”

  “Um, sure.” The idea of spending time with a possible nut alone in the back of a dark storeroom wasn’t one of her better moments, but there weren’t a lot of choices under the circumstances.

  Wilson unstrapped a gun from his boot and gave it to Fred. “Ever use one of these?”

  Fred shook his head. “No, never thought I would need to.”

  “It’s so fortunate you ran into me. Always be prepared. You’ll learn. This is the safety.” Wilson gave Fred quick instructions and sent them on their way.

  Marjie watched with more than a little concern as the other two left.

  Wilson seemed to pick up on her mood, and his tone instantly softened. “Don’t worry Marjie, I’m good in a crisis.”

  “Thanks, Wilson, but I can’t help but worry. We can’t be sure of what will happen next.”

  “I know exactly what’s going to happen next. We’re going to grab some grub.”

  “That’s not what I meant, but I think I see your point.”

  Wilson turned the flashlight toward the food pallets. “One step at a time.”

  Chapter 8

  Wilson and Marjorie inspected the back room, then loaded up several boxes with canned foods. Wilson pulled the lid off a can of peaches. “Those two have been gone awhile.” He spoke between mouthfuls.

  Marjorie set her can down. “Do you think they’re all right?”

  Wilson drank the juice from the can. They hadn’t heard any shouts or gunfire. An idea struck him. Maybe Fred had more than the dead on his mind when he took Jennifer with him. “Let’s give them a couple more minutes.”

  She glanced nervously toward the front. “OK.”

  Wilson allowed a couple more minutes to pass then checked his gun and grasped her arm. “Keep them scissors handy.”

  Wilson used an unusual amount of caution now that he had Marjie in tow. He liked her. She made him feel different about himself. Not only that, she seemed like someone who needed protection, and he always considered himself the protecting type.

  Wilson pushed through the swinging doors and stopped. He slowly backed up, so that Marjie following close behind had to retreat as well. With Wilson standing in front of her, she hadn’t seen much other than cans and boxes littering the floor. He turned and whispered. “Maybe I should check around first.”

  She nodded. “What did you see? Is it bad?”

  Wilson thought about the two dismembered limbs he’d seen down the first aisle, and phrased his answer carefully. “Well, it all depends on how you define bad. Under the circumstances, I’d say it was quite normal. It’s nothin’ I can’t handle.” He grasped her arm walking her back toward the pallets of food. “You keep an eye on things back here.” He handed her the Desert Eagle and pointed at the safety. “You have to switch this off before you use it.”

  “But what about you? You’re going to need a weapon.” There was panic in her voice now that they were separating. She didn’t think she could handle being alone again if something should happen to him.

  Wilson looked around and grabbed a nearby push broom. He unscrewed the brush portion, grasping the pole. “This along with my knives should do the trick.” He pointed to several knives concealed in various pockets of his BDUs.

  Marjie was impressed but still concerned. “Wilson, you are coming back?”

  He set the pole down and leaned in till his nose was just inches from hers before speaking. “Of course.” He thumped her on the shoulder, smiled and was out the door before she could answer.

  Marjie retreated further back toward the office, the weight of the Desert Eagle in her hands almost as reassuring as Wilson’s words.

  Wilson moved quickly down the first aisle where he’d seen the limbs. Thinking about Marjie, he decided to remove them from view. Gingerly, he grasped the cloth portion of an arm and quickly tossed it on a shelf behind large jars of generic mayonnaise. The other limb, a jean covered leg was trickier. He tossed it up on a higher shelf where it landed on jumbo sized bags of rice. Hopefully Marjie wouldn’t be looking up. The thought popped in his head that groceries here really did cost an arm and a leg. He ducked down into aisle two and grabbed his stomach. He’d found the owner of the limbs. In front of him was the rest of the person. The name tag was still intact.

  Whoever Todd was, he hadn’t fared well. Someone had made quite a meal of him. Wilson looked around. Nothing to cover the body with, he made a mental note to avoid aisle two. He continued up the aisle and froze when he saw movement in the meat case along the back wall. He gave the broom handle a twirl, testing its weight before continuing. Cautiously, he approached the case. What could only be described as half a person was laying there, looking back at him with glazed eyes and outstretched arms. A bullet hole was in his chest.

  Wilson wished he had his Desert Eagle. The pole would be hard to maneuver at that angle. Figuring the guy wasn’t going anywhere, he moved on to the next row. Cans littered the aisle. He tiptoed around them, listening. He heard what sounded like a shoe being drug across the floor coming from the next aisle.

  When he reached the end cap, he poked his head around and pulled it back. He’d seen quite an eyeful. A man, possibly a stock person, was standing in the middle of the aisle, his face torn and intestines hanging. Gripping the pole tighter, Wilson decided on his next move.

  Retreating up the aisle so that he could attack from behind, Wilson continued down the next row and sidestepped a large pool of blood-soaked cereal boxes. From the back, the man looked almost normal with the exception of intestines dangling around his feet. Wilson felt his stomach turn over and tried to focus on the guy’s head. When he was just a few feet away, he silently held the pole out, checking the length to be sure he got a good hit. There wasn’t enough overlap.

  Stepping closer, he gripped the pole tightly in both hands and swung. The contact was solid, throwing the man momentarily off balance. He groaned and turned around getting his feet tangled in his innards. He stepped forward and fell hard on the cracked linoleum. Wilson swung the pole again making solid contact wit
h his head. The man groaned again and reached for Wilson’s feet.

  Wilson jumped back. He studied the man’s head, realizing the pole wasn’t doing much damage. The guy continued to groan but wasn’t able to get back up. Since the guy’s legs were tangled in his entrails, Wilson decided it was safe to move on to the next row.

  The next three aisles were abandoned. A dead woman who’d been shot through the head was at the end of the last row. It was almost eerie that the rest of the aisle was unscathed. Wilson glanced around taking in the untouched magazine racks, his eyes automatically going to the hunting section. He’d learned a lot from those magazines.

  After checking the front, Wilson decided the store was secure enough. All the dead were either immobile or truly dead. But two things were of concern. He would have to make sure Marjie stayed in aisle one since he didn’t want her seeing the rest of the aisles. And most significantly, Fred and Jennifer were no longer inside the store.

  ****

  The back of the store was too quiet. Marjie found herself continually looking in all directions, expecting to see movement coming from behind any number of boxes. Logically, she knew she was alone. She and Wilson had done a thorough job checking behind all the pallets of food and the storage shelves. But fear overshadowed her logic. Wilson’s easy acceptance of the world turning on itself had helped ease some of the shock of the situation. But now that he was up front, her fear had doubled. The others hadn’t returned. How could she be sure Wilson would? She stared at the swinging doors, willing them to open. When they didn’t, she took a precious moment to focus on the gun in her hand, telling herself that Wilson would come back.

  Marjie turned the heavy weapon over testing its weight as she looked around and thought about Wilson. If he was a nut, he was a nice nut. Had he been a regular customer, she certainly would’ve remembered him. He exuded confidence in the friendliest sort of manner. John would’ve liked him. She decided not to go there. She couldn’t afford to think about her dead co-worker and keep it together. She stared at the doors again. Tired of waiting, she tiptoed toward them and nearly jumped a foot when Wilson passed through them.

  “Hey, Marjie.”

  His whisper was far too loud, but she was too glad to see him to care. “Hi, Wilson.” She glanced around him, not seeing Fred or Jennifer. “You didn’t find them?” Her voice wavered, scared of what his answer would be.

  Wilson shook his head, frowning. “They weren’t up front. Maybe they’re checking around outside.” He stood debating for a moment. Checking outside could take longer, and there was no guarantee that someone dead or alive wouldn’t enter the store while he was gone. “Maybe you should come with me, and we’ll check outside together. Only try not to look around too much.”

  Marjie nodded, handing back his Desert Eagle. “I prefer to stick together.”

  He smiled cheekily. “Strength in numbers, that’s my motto.”

  She managed to smile through her worry. “That’s a good motto.”

  “I always thought so.” He turned and looked through the window of the swinging door. Other than blood, aisle one looked almost decent. He turned back, his eyes urgent. “Stay close.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  She followed behind him, trying not to look at the blood on the floor but straight ahead as they started down aisle one. She heard something dripping. She managed to stay focused on Wilson’s back, though in her peripheral vision she thought she saw what might have been an arm on one of the shelves. A shutter ran through her as she tried to block the image from her mind.

  When they reached the front, Wilson took out his Desert Eagle and switched off the safety. He stood next to the doors and looked out. As his line of sight caught the right side of the door, he nearly jumped. A large woman in a blood soaked dress was just feet away. Part of her scalp was missing and her entire face was covered in blood. Based on the amount of blood around her mouth, she had made a meal of someone. He leaned back whispering to Marjie. “We got one next to the door.” They both backed up several feet.

  It was the first time since Marjie had been working there that she was glad the doors weren’t automatic. “We could try going out the back.”

  Wilson thought about it for a moment. “Visibility is better here. I can…”

  A loud thump startled them both as the lurker leaned in and hit her head against the glass doors. After listening for a minute, Wilson chanced a look.

  He leaned back and whispered. “She’s moved away from the doors. Stay on my left and don’t look right.”

  She nodded. “OK.”

  He pushed through the glass door, grasping Marjie’s arm with his left hand, his Desert Eagle aimed with his right.

  She turned back to see the lurker was on the move, but they were quicker as they hurried along the front of the store.

  They made their way around the perimeter of the store, coming back up to the front again. There’d been no sign of Jennifer or Fred.

  Wilson spoke. “I can’t believe they left.” His spirits instantly deflated. “I’m sorry, Marjie, Fred doesn’t like me much, thinks I’m dangerous. But he shouldn’t have left you behind.”

  She instantly angered. “That’s all right, Wilson. Given the choice, I much prefer you. I don’t feel nearly as afraid since we met.”

  Wilson puffed up a bit. “That so?”

  She managed a smile. “Yes, it is.”

  Wilson caught movement in his peripheral vision and pushed her behind him. He didn’t provide much cover, but she appreciated the gesture.

  “Maybe you should close your eyes, Marjie, this could get ugly.”

  “All right, Wilson.” But she kept her eyes open.

  A small group of dead were shuffling past a cart corral.

  Once he was sure they hadn’t been seen, Wilson turned and took her hand. Seeing that her eyes were open, he motioned for her to back up slowly. They edged around the side of the store, hugging the wall.

  They made it only as far as the back of the store when they met up with one of the dead lurking by Wilson’s truck.

  Wilson aimed his Desert Eagle. “This will only take a second, Marjie.”

  “Oh my god, it’s Frank.” His eyes were glazed over, and he was missing an arm, but still wearing his smock.

  Wilson lowered his gun a few inches. “Who’s Frank?” He felt an inexplicable surge of jealousy and had to remind himself that his competition was dead. Not that he was competing with anybody.

  She started crying. “He’s my co-worker.”

  Frank was making slow progress in their direction.

  Wilson placed a comforting arm around Marjorie. “I don’t have to shoot him in the head.”

  “I don’t know what you should do.”

  Wilson made a fast decision, shooting out both Frank’s kneecaps. Once he fell to the ground, Wilson grabbed Marjie’s arm, and together, they ran to the back entrance of the store.

  She was still crying after they had made it safely inside. She could not believe Wilson had tried to spare her feelings by blowing out Frank’s kneecaps. She was both thankful and disgusted at the same time. Anger at the situation must have been building because all at once she turned furious eyes on Wilson.

  He was holding out a handkerchief and about to try and comfort her. He found himself taking a step back. “I’m sorry, Marjie. There was nothing else we could do.”

  She snatched the handkerchief out of his hand. “That’s no excuse.”

  She looked crazed at the moment, and Wilson tried to be agreeable. “You’re right, Marjie.”

  “I am not.” Her hands were clinched as she took a menacing step toward him. It wasn’t just the disease and disaster. It was years of putting up with this crappy, little job, then seeing what happened to Frank. Her anger knew no bounds.

  “Try counting to ten.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Maybe take some deep breaths.”

  “I’ve had it.”

  “Yes, I
can see that. Nobody’s blaming you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Stop agreeing with me.”

  “Anything you say, Marjie.”

  She lunged. All the self-defense classes Wilson had taken would have come in handy, but some six sense had him just stand his ground.

  She grabbed his shirt front pulling him against her. He waited as she stood shaking and crying, fistfuls of shirt bunched in her palms. “Give me your gun.”

  “Can’t reach it.” He gingerly brought one arm up to adjust her glasses.

  She released him, snatched her glasses off and held them in front of her, bending them until they snapped in two, throwing the pieces at Wilson. He caught one of them, while the other slid across the floor. She ran to the store office and slammed the door.

  Wilson wasted no time picking up the second half of the glasses and assessing the damage. The lenses were fine. He went up front in search of superglue and some cleaning cloths. The glasses were terribly smudged.

  Within ten minutes, he had the glasses put together and polished. He glanced at his watch. Perhaps five more minutes just to let her cool down. He pocketed the superglue. He might need it again. He looked around the store and went to the now warm cooler in floral. He chose a rose bouquet in a glass swan before heading to the back.

  ****

  Marjorie was dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her smock when she heard the faintest of knocks. She sat up straight, her mood precarious. The door edged open.

  “Hey, Marjie, it’s Wilson.”

  She was silent. He took that as a good sign. He turned on his flashlight, shining it on her glasses. “I fixed um, if you want them back.”

  She stood up and was about to grab them, when she saw how nicely he’d glued and polished them. “…oh, thank you.” It was the sweetest thing anyone had done for her in a long time. Her anger dissipated almost instantly. She stared at him a long moment. “I’m sorry I lost my temper, Wilson.”

  “That’s alright, Marjie.” He handed her the glasses, then turned and grabbed the swan. “I thought this might cheer you up. I know how you girls like flowers.”