“What the hell is he doing?” Steve said.
“Playing the lotto.”
“What? The instant wins?” Steve asked.
“I guess. The dumb fuck is standing at the counter playing all of the scratch-offs.” Chris said, followed by a smirk.
A lone zombie shambled into the store; its eyes fixed on the man behind the register.
“Oh, shit.”
“What is it now? What the hell is going on now?”
“A zombie just freakin’ stepped into the store,” Chris whispered. “I don’t think that guy sees it.”
Chris felt two bodies snuggle up against him, as the two of them came to get a look for themselves. Stephanie rested one hand on his back. Chris’ heart skipped a beat, and though he knew it was silly, he thought a special moment passed between them. In all his travels as a full time touring band, he had never taken a single opportunity to score with the ladies. Sure, the chance to sleep with girls had presented itself. He was looking for something more than one night stands though. He wasn’t ready to commit to marriage or have kids or anything that serious. There was no way he could he even afford to take care of children as a musician. The band barely made ends meet as it was.
It was just better to wait. Wait for the right girl and the right time to come along. Now with the world suddenly gone to shit, Chris wondered if all his holding out had been for nothing. All the trashy chicks at the shows and bars were gone now. It was the end of the line, just when he thought things were about to change in his favor, too. Shows were getting better and they were making decent money. But all of that died in one single swipe. The dead were up and walking around.
For a moment, Stephanie and Chris made eye contact and then went back to looking through the glass. He would have smiled, but the worried look on her face suggested it wasn’t appropriate. Chris was disappointed and sighed at the thought that the touch was coincidental, and then he pointed toward the front of the store and the zombie that had just entered.
“Shouldn’t we do something?” Steve asked.
“Yeah, right, and draw attention to ourselves? No way!” Chris said.
The zombie lurched toward the counter with its arms raised. It struggled with each step, restricted by its pants, which had fallen down. It wore a gray Dickey’s work shirt. Its slacks and underwear hugged the creature’s ankles and what light leaked into the store lit its bare ass. It was fresh, having not succumbed to death and the evil curse that reanimated it, for very long.
With the chaos and confusion still in full swing outside, the ghoul must have slipped past the action unnoticed. The gunfire had subsided, but it still waged on. It was impossible to tell which side was winning from inside the cooler.
The creature leaned over the counter and snatched the heavyset redneck by the arm. The redneck brushed its arm away, apparently thinking it was one of his buddies. He looked up to see a monster instead. He jerked backward in repulsion, falling into a rack of inappropriate adult magazines on display behind the counter. The man landed on top of the two dead bodies at his feet. The magazine rack shook violently before settling.
“Buck! Buck!” The man screamed from behind the counter, throwing cigarette cartons at the creature. One box missed the zombie’s head, flying over it, and into the aisle. “Buck! Help me!”
The cigarettes were no match for the zombie as it slowly climbed across the counter, hungry for human flesh. One carton exploded open as it hit the zombie’s face, sending the smaller packs into the air. The creature hissed. Drool and spit hung from its snarling mouth.
Another man in camouflage entered the front door wielding a hunting rifle. Its narrow black barrel cradled an expensive looking scope. He pulled the rifle up against his shoulder and stepped into the store.
“Hey! Puss bag!” The rifleman shouted.
The rifle kicked with a loud report. Blood and dark secretions splashed onto the magazine rack, the bullet exiting the creature’s chest. The metallic clang of an empty shell danced across the tile as he chambered another round.
“Hey! I’m talkin’ to ya pal!” The gun kicked again. Chunks of the zombie’s shoulder tore into pieces. Wet lumps of meat spattered across the wall. The thing didn’t feel pain. It didn’t care that it was shot. It only had one concern and that was to eat. It ignored the gunman, still reaching for the prize behind the counter. It snarled, hissed, and gnashed with its teeth.
The man continued his cries for help. The zombie felt no sympathy or sorrow.
Just as the gunner emptied the chamber and dispensed the empty casing, another undead crept into the store behind him. Unlike its comrade, this ghoul looked familiar. Its camouflaged attire matched that of the rifleman.
“Oh, shit. Phil!” He screamed.
Its putrid face was mangled into potted meat. One ear was nonexistent. The top lip had been peeled away, tearing free a large chunk of cheek muscle and skin. The creature’s snarling grin never wavered as the top teeth were exposed. The man tried to drive another bullet home, but it was too late. The ghoul fell on him with limbs thrashing and teeth gnashing. Its blood-covered teeth sank into the man’s forearm. His attempt to keep the zombie at bay proved to be futile.
He screamed in brutal agony. As he tried to wrestle free from the creature’s powerful jaws, the rifle fell to the floor. The zombie thrashed and shook, tearing away meat as a shark in a feeding frenzy. In a wild panic to escape, the man fell to his knees, and his blood came gushing out. As he tried to cover the gaping hole on his arm, blood flooded through his fingers down both arms.
The hideous creature hovering over him was momentarily pleased as it chewed and swallowed a large portion of muscle. Red slobber dripped from its gore covered chin. The zombie opened its mouth wide, presenting rotting, stained teeth with small bits of flesh stuck in between. Just before it lashed out again, an un-chewed chunk plunged to the tile from its mouth. The man’s screams quickly turned to muffled gurgles. The zombie ripped out his Adam’s apple with its bare hands. Blood gushed free as his throat filled with bubbled attempts to shout out in pain.
“Fuck this man. We got to do something.”
Chris looked back to find Steve pulling boxes away from the walk-in cooler’s access door.
“Wait a second, dude. What the hell do you plan on doing exactly? We can’t help those guys!”
“He’s right, Chris. We need to get out while we can. With the firefight covering our noise, we might have a chance.” Stephanie stood to her feet.
“A chance. A chance for what? It’s a fucking war zone out there. We need to sit tight until this thing blows over.”
“And what if it doesn’t blow over, Chris? If we are going to hold up somewhere, it needs to be somewhere secure. Somewhere less populated.” Stephanie helped Steve with the boxes.
Chris stood to his feet too. Flustered and not wanting to leave, he wasn’t about to be left alone to die. Besides, he knew they were right. Not only would the waging chaos outside help cover their escape, he knew that soon there would be more of the undead. In time, the constant volley of a redneck rampage would pull more zombies from the surrounding area. If they were going to act, it needed to be now, before the entire block was swarming with the plague of death.
Steve and Stephanie cleared the doorway. Chris held the handgun up, fidgeting with it, trying to get an idea of how it worked. Sure, you point and shoot, but how many bullets are left? Thumbing the release, the clip dropped out hitting the cold floor. It startled Steve and Stephanie.
“Sorry,” Chris said, and picked up the clip. It had at least three bullets left. He drove the clip back home. A reassuring ‘click’ ensured that he locked it in place. After a second, he figured out were the safety was. Did the red button mean ‘die’ or ‘stop’? He would find out soon enough.
“Well?” Steve asked.
He looked up from the pistol at Steve and Stephanie.
“We going to do this?” Steve asked shaking the bat in his hands.
“Fuck it, du
de. Let’s go!” Chris nodded.
Stephanie grabbed the door handle.
“Wait… what’s the plan?” Chris stepped up and laid his hand on hers.
“Hell, I don’t know,” she said. “My house is probably twenty minutes from here. It’s not in the middle of nowhere, but it’s a lot less populated than this!”
Chris played a few scenarios out in his head. He put one hand up against the door to let them know he wasn’t ready to bolt just yet. The three just stood there tense and tired.
“Okay, this is the game plan. We hit the front doors fast. Since we have two of those things in the store, we can’t delay. One is by the counter and one is almost right at the front door. Once we’re outside, we do one of two things. You said your place is twenty minutes away. That’s a bit of a walk, so we need some wheels.” Chris pulled the tour van keys from his pocket and bounced them twice in his blood-stained palm. “If we have a clear shot, we make for the van. If it looks iffy, I say, we try for Stephanie’s keys next door. With the ruckus going on in the streets, the coffee shop should have cleared out by now. Just follow my lead and stay close. Cool?”
The two nodded in agreement and then stared at the door. Stephanie breathed a heavy sigh, shrugged, and opened the door leading out.
Chapter Three
The room reeked of putrid meat, rot, blood and fecal matter, all intermingled. Slopping sludge noises and gulping grunts filled the small building as the zombies feasted on the two dead men. Quietly, but with a hasty stride, Steve and Stephanie skittered by several aisles with Chris in the lead. Staying close to the wall with the pistol held out, he briskly walked past a cardboard cutout. Upon first glance, he had thought the poster board was a real person. It startled him. The half-dressed model sported an ice-cold beer in one hand, while wearing a football helmet and bikini.
All three stole a quick glimpse at the dead body lying flat on the floor by the slushy machine. The quiet buzz of fruit flies came from that direction. The feasting noises of zombies came from the direction they were heading; toward the door.
The pants-on-the-floor zombie was enjoying Mr. Scratch-off, who didn’t make a sound. Only wet chomping noises and satisfied groans echoed out from behind the register.
The camo-wearing zombie slouched over the dead gunman. Had that stupid chubby guy not lingered around playing the lotto, his friend, the gunman, might still be alive. Instead, he lay unmoving as the creature hovering over him, cheerfully ripped muscle from bone. In one hand, the zombie held large portions of intestine that strung from inside the gunman’s open stomach like grotesque sausages. With its other hand, it reached into the corpse’s abdomen and pulled out what might have been a liver. Blood and viscera covered the zombie while it gorged itself to no end. Its head jerked and tore the meat into chewy chunks.
It didn’t acknowledge Chris and the others as they slowly snuck by. There was still plenty meaty goodness left to hold its attention.
“The gun,” Stephanie whispered.
“No, forget it. You’ll get us killed.” Chris said under his breath, looking a few feet ahead at their exit.
The double doors led out to the parking lot. Chris had a plan. He would turn around and quickly shut both doors as they exited the store. Unlike the coffee shop window, he knew that the glass on these doors was shatterproof. Chris just hoped those things weren’t smart enough to pull on the door instead of push.
With one deep exhale, he edged past the feeding ghoul and into the parking lot. With weapon at the ready, Chris stepped forward clearing enough room for his friends to follow him out.
The parking lot was complete madness that overran the street beyond.
The blue Sedan was no longer at pump seven. At least a dozen and a half men blasting at an innumerable amount of zombies surrounded the two trucks. Some men brandished rifles; others had various handguns. Chris recognized someone with a pistol like the one he had.
The sea of undead rolled in. Gunfire had drawn them to the store. A wave of twenty to thirty ghouls was closing in from one side of the street. A smaller number of undead were in between the venue and their van. Men were shouting at one another for more ammunition or requesting cover.
If one among them had been sober, the makeshift army might have had better luck in taking down the undead. Their shots were mostly going high and wide. One man dropped his pistol. When he reached down to get it, he was so drunk that he fell to the ground. Two zombies fell on him and knocked his bright orange hat from his head. The man didn’t have time to scream.
“Fire in the hole!” A voice cried out.
Chris’ eyes followed the shout. Standing in one of the truck beds, a man wearing camouflaged suspenders and blue jeans lit a rag stuffed inside a bottle and tossed it toward his target. The bottle shattered as it collided with a ghoul’s head. The cocktail bomb doused the walking corpse and set it aflame. The area filled with the stench of burning hair and sizzling flesh.
The walker screamed and it was then that Chris realized the victim wasn’t a zombie. Zombies didn’t feel pain. The man darted across the street and fell into a ditch burning to death.
The blue Sedan was near where he landed. It was a wrecked heap with its rear sticking up into the air out of the ditch. The driver’s door was open and three zombies were feasted on whoever had been inside.
Chris snapped from the daze of the fray and ran a hand through his curly hair. Steve was by his side, his face showing shock.
“Where’s Stephanie?”
“What?”
Chris looked back toward the doors. Stephanie burst through, scaring him senseless.
“I got the gun!” Stephanie held the rifle in the air.
Chris let her run past and as he had planned, he closed the doors.
“We can’t make it to the van,” Chris said as more zombies funneled out from behind the venue across the street. “It’s too risky!”
“We need to stay out of the line of fire of these drunken bastards anyway.”
Chris leaned against the building. He made a mental note to try his phone next chance he got. Hopefully the phone would work this time. If it did work, he cringed, hoping he would be able to get through to them. Tennessee suddenly seemed so far away. The thought of zombies tearing his mom and dad to shreds made him shake. What he wouldn’t give to speak to them right now.
They moved along the front of the gas station until they reached the edge of the building with Chris in the lead. A putrid zombie lumbered from around the corner at the same time. Chris raised the gun, fired one shot, and hit the ghoul in the throat. The loud report rang in his ears and kicked more than he expected.
The blast sent the zombie back a few steps and blood poured from the hole in its neck. Chris saw his next opportunity as the creature staggered to regain its footing. He ran past it toward the coffee shop. He heard the heavy steps of his friends following close behind.
The loud thud of the bat meeting bone sounded behind him. Steve had swung the bat. He reached the coffee shop entrance and opened the door, waving his two companions inside. As they entered, he took one last look around at the waging war around them. The dead were winning. The faint sound of gunfire ricocheted off of buildings in the distance. Some of the men had fled and they had left both trucks unguarded.
We could just take one of those, Chris thought. He shook off the idea, because the place was swarming with the enemy. In a short amount of time, it seemed as if their numbers had doubled.
Just before going inside, Chris Commons got the shock of his life. Mark, his cousin, shuffled by one of the trucks and was headed toward the coffee shop. Chris’ body fought to stand against the shock. Mark’s blood soaked neck cocked to one side. Chris did not want it to be Mark. You’re just panicking and starting to hallucinate, man. However, he was still too sane to convince himself of the lie.
He stepped inside and closed the door, locking the deadbolt behind.
* * *
“Well, here we are, again.” Stephanie walke
d through the coffee shop as she had done a million times before. Only, this was her first time with a loaded rifle at the ready to fire.
The television was on, but it only showed static. Chris’ backpack and laptop were right where he had left them. He hurried over to gather his things.
Steve had the remote and he was going through the channels. Every channel was the same. The snowy television screen conveyed Chris’ fears. The future seemed hopeless just like the nothingness displayed on the TV.
Chris pulled out his cellphone and tried to call his parents again. It rang once and then it terminated. He tossed the phone in his backpack and zipped it up. “You know. It could be worse.”
“How so? Last time I checked, it was the end of the world, dude.” Steve had given up on the TV and started digging through bags of chips on the counter. He chose Dorito’s. “Can’t get any worse than that, bro,” he said, shoving a few chips into his mouth.
“Jesus, are you always hungry?” Stephanie asked, as she searched for her keys.
“Pretty much,” Chris confirmed.
“You’re as skinny as a rail. If I ate like that, it would go straight to my hips.”
Steve smiled; his eyes looked unnaturally big outlined by the huge frames of his glasses. He stuffed more chips into his mouth.
“It could be worse,” Chris continued. “We could be sleeping in the van tonight.”
“Oh, like we haven’t done that a boat load.” Steve crumpled the empty bag and grabbed another; barbecue this time.
“Yeah, and tonight we don’t have to, so it could be worse.” With the last of his stuff together, Chris shoved the gun into the back of his pants like he had seen done on the movies and then put on his backpack.
Steve chuckled. “Yep, true that, dude.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Stephanie asked.
When Chris looked up to answer, she had a pink purse draped around her arm. She looked ready to go. “Keys?”
She nodded and looked at her purse.
“You got everything you need, Steve?” Chris didn’t remember if Steve had brought anything into the coffee shop or not. It would have been unusual if he had. He was lazy and didn’t want to be responsible for anything if he didn’t have to be. He just was the drummer.
Epidemic of the Undead: A Zombie Novel Page 4
