Once I had gotten past the crowd of shells, I saw few others. Every once in a while I would spot a shell crawling along the gutter or shuffling on the sidewalk, but this was not common. What appeared more plentiful were the bundles of clothing scattered along the street. I wondered if these were the remains of shells that had eaten the rat poison or had collapsed due to something else. I was still considering this when I made a right turn at the end of the street and found myself in front of CheapMart. The shock of finding the store sent a jolt of energy through me.
I am a naturally optimistic person, but even so, I had serious doubts that I’d ever find the place. Despite my newfound energy, I couldn’t help but notice how bad the front of the store looked. Previously, I had not taken the time to examine the damage done by looters or shells or soldiers. Now I looked closely at the broken windows and stacks of boxes and broken shopping carts. I wondered if they had been there before or whether these clear signs of a fight had been left since I had been there.
Suddenly, a sense of dread squeezed my throat to the point that I gasped for air. I rushed over to one of the boarded-up windows at the front of the store and tried to see inside but saw nothing.
“Kat! Christina!” I called without considering the danger of making noise. I didn’t care at that point. If something had happened to them, there was nothing the shells could do to me that would not be welcome. I trotted around the front of the store, looking for something that would give me hope. The truck remained wide open with the engine running. It did not occur to me that the noise of the truck might draw the shells or that it would be wise to conserve the gas in the truck. The only thing that filled my consciousness was the need to find the others. I ended up scurrying all around the store to the back. Nothing I saw gave me the slightest clue about the whereabouts of Kat and the kids. Of course, my overactive imagination provided me with an abundance of gruesome and disheartening images of what had befallen them. I did my best to push the pictures out of sight.
Unfortunately, my best efforts to push aside the images proved less than enough. My head suddenly filled with a scene of Christina running and screaming down an aisle in the store.
“Taylor, help me!” She ran until a hand reached out from behind and caught hold of her hair. The little girl’s head was immediately jerked back and her legs went out from under her. Her head hit the tile floor with a sickening thud. In the next instant, several shells covered her body. I tried to look away from the horrible sight but only managed to spot Kat’s torn body sprawled on the floor a few yards away. I looked back to the place where Christina had been swarmed by shells to see Taylor now joining in on the massacre. He faced me and flashed something between a smile and a snarl. The horror of the scene hit me hard and even after squeezing my eyes closed and rubbing my temples for what seemed like several minutes I could not completely rid myself of the sickening feeling.
Finally, my brain kicked in once again and reminded me that the truck was still running and wasting fuel. I walked slowly back to the truck at the front of the store.
As I turned the corner, I saw that the sound of the engine had drawn the shells which were now crowded around the front and sides of the cab.
Still shaken by the violence of the images in my head, I walked slowly to the back of the truck. Fortunately, the sound and perhaps the vibration of the truck’s engine held the attention of the shells so completely that they did not seem to care about me at all. There was no use trying to get to the cab with the shells all around, so I didn’t even try. Instead, I slowly lifted the cargo door and let it slide up as far as possible. I held my breath as the door let out a high-pitched squeal. The squeaking of the sliding door went unnoticed by the shells. I quickly climbed into the back.
The sight of the yellow boxes of rat poison actually brought a smile to my face. Admittedly, it looked sort of twisted and devious with no real joy but a smile nonetheless.
I picked up one of the boxes and shook it. “How much would it take to kill all of the shells in front of the truck?” I asked myself. I certainly did not want to waste any of the stuff with its potential for ridding the world of shells. Still it would be important to know that. I reasoned the only way to answer the question was to use some poison and wait for the response before using more. Sure it made sense in my mind, but actually standing there and waiting to see what happened proved something else altogether. While I continued pondering my next action, the images of Christina and the others made their way back into my mind. I managed to handle them with the determination that if the images turned out to be real then I would take out as many shells as possible. On the other hand, if the images proved to be nothing but a product of my overactive imagination, the poison would serve to keep them safe. With that in mind, I grabbed a few of the boxes and stepped to the edge of the truck’s cargo area.
“Hey, dumbasses!” I said loudly. “Stop staring at that fucking engine and come get me!”
I waited for a moment, but there was no response. I shook my head at the irony of the situation. How many times had I crept around to avoid attracting those things? Now when I wanted to get their attention, I could not.
A calm voice inside my head said, “Life sure is funny sometimes.” It took me a second, but I recognized the voice as Glen’s. I had to agree with the young minister and said, “You got that right!”
I wondered whether I should risk climbing down and moving to the front of the truck to get the shells’ attention. Even in my slightly deranged state of mind, I recognized the lunacy of such a thing. There had to be a way to get their attention without taking so much risk. I considered simply waiting until the truck ran out of gas and the engine stopped. Given that the truck had at least three quarters of a tank, it would probably keep idling for several hours. It occurred to me that I could make much more noise than simply yelling. There had to be some way to make more noise than the idling engine.
I looked around the cargo area. Besides the boxes of rat poison, I found a ballpeen hammer and an about two-foot long piece of chain. The pair did not look like much in the way of noise makers. Still, I had no idea really about how much noise would be needed to draw the attention of those things.
With the profoundly deep thought that there was only one way to find out, I headed to the back of the cargo area and began hitting the wall with the ballpeen hammer. The slight tapping sound made from the ballpeen hammer was pretty pathetic, and I did not keep it up for long. I felt a bit silly doing it.
Next I tried swinging the piece of chain against the wall of the cargo area. It made little more than a tinkle. This would clearly not be enough to draw the shells away from the engine. Out of frustration, I kicked the wall to produce a good deep thud. I laughed as I did it again. My foot hurt, but at that point I did not care. I swung my leg back and kicked again. This time the sound proved even more satisfying, but it also hurt more and made me stop to have a look at my throbbing foot.
I had knelt down and was rubbing the toe of my shoe when the first shell shuffled around the corner. Soon, a couple more appeared.
“Well, hello, you rotten bastards!” I greeted them cheerfully. “Nice of you to join me. Now we need to wait for a few more of your friends.”
It didn’t matter whether my kicks on the wall or something else had drawn the interest of the shells. In any case, the back of the truck soon became crowded with shells shuffling around aimlessly. I watched them and wondered what made them keep moving. I had never been a big proponent of motivation or figuring out the sources of it, but that was exactly what I wondered right then. What motivated the shells to keep moving rather than simply turning to dust right off the bat?
More useless mental masturbation that nearly got me into trouble as I was so deep in thought I did not immediately see the shell climbing up the other side of the truck. When I did see the shell of a young woman in a lavender sweat suit pulling herself up, I quickly moved over to kick her arm to send her falling back to the pavement. At the sudden movement
, the shells moved around the fallen shell. For a moment, it seemed that the shells were eating. But a few seconds later, the shell in the lavender sweat suit got up. I realized that the shells must be able to distinguish other shells by scent.
“Time to get down to business,” I pronounced aloud. None of the shells appeared to care.
I opened a box and sprinkled a small amount off the back of the truck. The light grains of poison were carried by the wind and floated a few feet away. Some may have hit the ground, but most landed directly on the mob of shells. I detected not even the slightest reaction.
The shell in the lavender sweat suit tried climbing up to me once again. This time she looked at me and said, “We can make it back before they see us.”
The words froze me with shock. Had I been wrong to throw her to the shells? I then saw the flesh ripped from the side of her neck. “Looks like they saw you,” I replied as I pushed her back once more. As she fell backward, the shells behind her hardly responded. The mob had become distracted by something else. I had been surprised by their indifference to the poison. Perhaps I had been mistaken about the power the rat poison had and its potential for fighting against them. If this turned out to be the case, I was definitely not in a good position. The shells had me trapped in the back of the truck, and it seemed like only a matter of time before more of them started climbing up into the cargo area. This possibility did nothing to improve my mood.
With nothing else to do, I figured I had nothing to lose by dumping more poison on the shells. I tore open another box with the strength that comes with anger and frustration. As a result, I spilled more of the poison on my shoes and on the floor around my feet. I stepped over to the edge and looked out at the shells.
The shells continued still milling around aimlessly, but then things changed. All at once, a sort of ripple ran through the crowd. I saw the shells clustering in certain areas. Some of the shells grouped around a tall shell in a dark business suit. At first, it appeared that the others were petting the shell. However, the actions became more forceful until they had pushed the business suit to the ground. They swarmed on it. I looked out, confused as they appeared to devour the shell. A moment later the business suit got to its feet only slightly worse for wear. Apparently, the shells had merely eaten the poison off the clothes. I saw another cluster of shells crawling around on the pavement. I supposed that they had found some scattered poison on the ground.
I was still looking out at the shells when a hand grabbed my foot. I looked down to see lavender sweat suit below me.
“We can make it back before they see us.”
“I don’t think so,” I answered, stepping back and then kicking at her hand.
The poison which had been on my shoe flew off to her. I realized that she had not been reaching for me but rather the powder on my shoe. In fact, as the sandy poison rained down over her, the shell appeared to lose all interest in me. The shell’s attention was completely devoted to getting every bit of the poison into its mouth.
As I looked beyond her to the other shells on the street, I saw that they too had become fully engrossed in devouring as much of the rat poison as possible. It seemed to take a minute for the attractive power of the powder to take effect. However, once it did, the shells were overwhelmed by it. I wondered how long the controlling power would last. I also questioned whether or not the shells would stay as engrossed as it appeared. It certainly seemed that nothing else mattered to them after they had fallen under the effects of the poison. A question entered my mind which seemed impossible to even imagine, let alone ask: Could I walk right past the shells while they were captivated by the powder? It seemed too much to hope for. If this poison worked so well, it would mean that the shells were virtually finished.
After all of my experiences with the shells and the horrible images I carried in my memory of the destruction brought on by these undead things, I was not immediately ready to jump down to the street and walk among them.
A theory was one thing to have as you stood at a safe distance from these murderous zombies, but simply strolling among them was something altogether different. I gazed out at them for quite a while, maybe 15 minutes more or less. I went so far as to sit down with my feet dangling off the back of the truck. Even in that seemingly casual position, I remained ready at any second to jump to my feet and back from the edge of the cargo area. As I watched them, it occurred to me that I should at least check to see if the shells could be distracted from their focus on the powder. With that in mind, I got to my feet and began making noise. It seemed totally counter to everything else I had done to escape the shells. The expression letting sleeping dogs lie came readily to mind. Yet, here I was doing my best to wake the beasts from their trance.
I pounded my hands on the side of the truck, stomped my feet, and shouted. Nothing brought even the slightest glance from the shells. I picked up the piece of wood from the floor and swatted the metal door with it. A loud bang rattled my ears, something like one of those big old gongs at the beginning of old movies. Still, the shells remained completely oblivious to everything other than the powder which they licked off the pavement, themselves and each other.
I walked back to the edge of the cargo area and yelled, “Hey, you stupid, dead motherfuckers! I’m right here! Tasty flesh just waiting for you!”
As strange as it seems, I was actually feeling a bit frustrated and kind of hurt that I couldn’t manage to get some attention from the shells. Talk about being lonely! I was still running this around in my mind when I heard a familiar voice.
Chapter 9
“Kevin?” The voice asked in a hushed tone. “Why are you making so much noise?”
I looked over to the side of the street. Behind a car about a hundred feet away crouched Kat. At the sight, my knees practically buckled as my legs got wobbly and my heart jumped into my throat.
“Kat!” I was unable to keep from yelling. “Kat, you’re okay!”
My statement of the obvious did not bother her as much as the volume I used. She instantly put her finger to her lips to quiet me.
“It’s okay. They won’t even look at you!” I announced with some pride.
Kat stayed quiet as she looked at me with an expression of confusion. The confusion grew even more pronounced as a group shells not far from her began going into convulsions. The movement drew our attention as a trio of shells began writhing around on the ground. After what must have been about thirty seconds, the movement stopped and the bodies of the shells appeared to melt away until only three bundles of clothes remained.
“What the fuck!” Kat exclaimed as she looked back to me.
“Come on!” I called to her, although she had already started toward the truck.
I helped her into the back of the truck and showed her the boxes of rat poison stacked there.
“You mean this stuff kills them just like that?” Kat asked me with a disbelieving smirk.
I smiled back. “Believe me, I know it sounds ridiculous. But the thing is, it sure holds their attention. It’s like they’re totally engrossed in the stuff until they go poof into dust.” I suddenly realized how ridiculous it sounded. “Well, since they’re already dead, I guess technically it doesn’t kill them.”
Kat started to laugh, quietly at first and then hysterically. After a moment, she caught her breath long enough to speak. “Well, when there are dead things walking around chewing people up, nothing should sound ridiculous.” She began laughing again.
I joined her laughter as I moved closer to her and we embraced. Abruptly, she pushed back from me.
“What happened to you?” Kat asked and slapped my arm as if for emphasis. “We waited for such a long time. Taylor wanted to go after you, but I managed to stop him. Christina spent most of the day fucking sobbing.” She paused for a moment as if to check my reaction to her swearing.
“You mean, you’re all okay?” I started, but emotion choked off my words. “I saw the front of the store and thought…” I was unabl
e to finish describing what I had imagined. Instead, I moved in and held Kat tightly. We stayed like that for a time.
Finally, she managed to loosen my embrace and. “Right after you left, those things got a lot more active. Maybe seeing you leave set them off or something. Whatever, they went off and started pounding on the front and tearing off anything they could grab ahold of. Good thing whoever boarded things up did a good job. Only a couple of them got in. Taylor smacked one in the head with a baseball bat, and I got the other with this.” She patted the small hatchet which was holstered on her hip. “Found it in the camping section.”
I smiled and looked out at another group of shells writhing around on the street. “This stuff…this fucking rat poison could get rid of all of those things,” I said more to myself than Kat. The huge ramifications of something I had discovered by sheer luck felt somewhat overwhelming. “There might actually be some reason for hope.”
Kat moved beside me and took my hand. “Well, I have to admit that I never had much hope before, but I can give it a try.”
I looked at her a second. “Well, then let’s get the fuck outta here!”
I helped her down off of the truck and pulled the door closed once more. I followed her down the street, which was now empty of shells but had scattered bundles of dusty clothes.
“You know, I’ve seen a bunch of these little piles of clothes and stuff but never paid them much attention,” Kat said.
I nodded and smiled. “There’s so many of them around, you stop seeing them after a while,” I agreed.
Kat got on her knees and scurried under a space in the wooden barricades near the front of the store. I took me a little longer to get to my knees and under the barricade. Kat stood on the other side, smirking as I got to my feet.
The Most Uncommon Cold (Book 5): Surviving Beyond the Zombie Apocalypse Page 12
