Dead and Dead Again: Kansas City Quarantine

by Dalton Wolf

  Calvin was trying to keep them all loose and ready to play any role necessary. He was glad Athena was stepping up with her considerable intellect because the strain of always having to think up the plans was beginning to drag heavily on his mind. She’d already planned out their entire route, and who would be where and when. And he really hadn’t wanted to think much this day. He had just buried his ex-girlfriend after learning the only thing that had ripped them apart was someone else harming her. He loved Athena with all of his heart. He wouldn’t change anything with her if given any opportunity at wealth or power. But that didn’t change the fact that Lola might still be alive if he’d paid more attention back then. There were a lot of things he felt he might have done differently. But that was then. You can’t go back, and you can’t go forward. We have to live for today. “Ok, let’s go shopping,” he announced in the voice of an eighties valley girl.

  * * * * * *

  Calvin Theodore ‘Scooter’ Hobbes was a friendly, round-faced, average-looking man in his mid-to-late twenties. He wasn’t particularly muscular and as a practice he didn’t scowl, squint or glare at people in any kind of menacing manner and had never done so in his life. Yet, from the minute he entered the store, the other ‘shoppers’ gave him a very wide birth.

  Two burly bikers with blue jeans, black leather vests and shotguns stood in his way down the first isle he turned into by mistake. The one furthest down the isle looked up from the shelves and saw Calvin coming towards them, smiling, with one axe dangling at his side as he sauntered along reading brand names and whistling, the rifle hanging over one chainmail-clad shoulder as an afterthought. The rough gray-bearded biker leaned in and whispered something to his friend, who looked to Calvin in alarm just as his friend yanked him down the isle and out of sight around the corner.

  “Hmm,” he hmmed, filling his lungs with the distinctive leather and lake aroma that permeated the entire building.

  Calvin wouldn’t have dwelled on this incident alone, only it wasn’t alone. Similar things happened the deeper into the building he wandered. He’d turn and walk down an isle and the people there would whisper and point and then they would quickly fade away, leaving him to shop undisturbed.

  Oh, yeah. I forgot how this must look. He realized with a smile.

  Shuffling over to a mirror mounted to a column at the end of the hunting clothes, he studied himself. The axe hanging from his wrist was still coated with matted hair and part of an eyeball from the last zombie he’d killed, and his chain mail was matted with chunks of flesh and an ear and occasionally dripping some dark brownish liquid that looked strangely like congealing blood. They had spotted several Joggers entering the parking lot. Joggers moved slightly faster than Swifties and Leapers, but didn’t have their defensive reflexes. He had told the others to go ahead and stayed back to finish them alone. Even Joel watching from his turret had commented on the enthusiasm Calvin had exhibited dispatching the attackers. Several groups of ‘shoppers’ had made note of his outfit and cheered from a distance before quickly driving off when he had finished. But then he had simply sauntered into the building without checking himself out.

  “I should definitely remember to clean up before I go shopping in public,” he joked over his mic.

  Tripper laughed. “You getting the same looks I am, buddy?”

  “Probably worse. It’s like I’m a US soldier walking any street in the Middle East; full streets of people just empty into the nearest doorways. When I look back, all I see are a few curious heads peeking out. I hope they don’t have rifles.”

  “Everyone in here is armed, Calvin,” Gus pointed out. “But at least they’re hiding, brother. It’s the ones not hiding that you have to watch out for.”

  “It should make shopping easier,” Tripper added. “Me, Sarah, Brick and Boomer are loaded up on the sleeping gear and other camping crap, including cooking stuff. The isle was full of people fighting over things when we got here, but they split in a hurry after one look at us. Also, Athena was right. No one has touched the water purification stuff, yet. We took all we could get to fit into one basket. And about the compasses and waterproof bags, I’ve got a full basket of the bags. First come, first serve. Also found a dozen camp axes and a crap load of solar lights and radios and such. I guess no one is even thinking that far ahead.”

  “Nice,” Calvin responded. “I think they’re all just taking what are on the usual lists. I took a few food processors and dehydrators and jerky supplies. And I just now loaded what medical supplies were left. It was more than I thought there would be. They took all of the big pre-made packs, but the individual items and smaller packs must have been too much trouble for them.”

  “Hey, everyone is in a hurry at the end of the world,” Trip pointed out.

  “I’m running this basket back to the vehicles, then I’ll head for the camping toilets and toiletries,” Calvin informed them.

  “Meet you there, pal,” Trip said.

  “Joel, everything going ok out there? Is it clear?”

  “Yup. No one’s got the guts to come anywhere near the vehicles with me and FeFe pointing turrets at them. And Lucy is staying on her toes, moving the vehicle to block anyone taking an interest in the Paddy Wagon.”

  “Excellent.”

  “FeFe is a bit skittish about actually having to maybe use her turret, though.”

  “Tell her thanks for coming, and to remember, it’s either her or them.”

  “Right.”

  “I can hear you guys, you know?” she growled dryly. “I have one of these little ear plugs too.”

  “Right. Sorry,” Calvin apologized. “How are you doing, Athena?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.

  “It’s like I thought,” Athena answered. “All of the food is gone. All of the guns are gone. Thanks to The Walking Dead, all of the bows and arrows are already gone, but we got lucky with the other stuff. Gus and Scaggs already took two full carts of fishing gear out, including inflatable rafts, waders, rain gear and such. Jackpot on candles and all-weather matches, bow accessories, boots and clothing. I have three baskets full of rain clothes and some are even fireproof. Literally none of the outdoor clothing has been touched yet.

  “I told you it would still be there,” Calvin said. “People don’t think about that stuff until they need it. And that won’t start for quite a few more days, I think.”

  “Yes, you were right, O Great and Wise Calvin,” Athena begrudgingly admitted.

  “That’s ok. You were right about the other things.”

  Calvin delivered his cart to the Paddy Wagon and Joel jumped out to help him unload. Then he headed back into the big outdoor supply store. But on his way to the camping section, his attention was drawn to the silvery panels of untouched heavy solar equipment. Remembering a flatbed he had seen at the front of the store, he clanged back to the entrance and grabbed it. As he pushed the heavy cart back into the store, he informed the others of his plans. “Hey guys, I’m making a side-trip to the solar isle for some generators and things. I’ve got a flatbed. I’ll need someone to help me push it out.”

  “Roger that,” Trip responded tersely, sounding distracted.

  “We’ll be there when we get these taken out and get refilled,” Athena said.

  “Take your time. It’s gonna take a bit to load this.”

  Calvin spent several minutes loading large boxes of generators and smaller solar panels onto the flatbed, still leaving much more on the shelves than were on his cart even with covering every square inch of the cart and stacking it three feet high. When he had stacked as much as would fit, he leaned into it. Even putting his full weight and strength against the push bar the cart barely budged an inch. It was going to take at least two of them to move it. He keyed his mic to call for help, but someone else had another idea.

  “We’ll take that,” said a tall, camouflage-wearing white-trash asshole with rotting teeth, a scraggily black beard and five equally scruffy friends all pointing well-used guns at Calvi
n. The stench of whiskey-breath was overpowering and he could smell that at least half of them hadn’t bathed for at least a week.

  Well, I guess the end won’t matter so much for you, he thought.

  “There are a whole bunch of generators left on the shelves there for you guys,” he offered in a friendly voice, not turning off his mic.

  “But you already loaded this up for us like a nice little guy,” the man drawled with a menacing hiss, making no attempt to be nice.

  “You need a hand, buddy?” Tripper asked.

  “Yeah…I don’t like to let my work go to waste,” Calvin replied, losing his smile.

  “It isn’t going to waste. It’s helping your fellow man.”

  “Was that yes at me, buddy?” Tripper asked again.

  “Yeah, buddy,” Calvin said with a deliberate pause after. “Look, you’re going to need to load your own cart. You can wait here and I’ll even bring this flatbed back for you,” Calvin offered.

  “Nope. You can leave now, but that cart will be going with us.”

  “Just walk away, Calvin,” Athena whispered over his headpiece.

  “I’m not going to do that,” Calvin’s blood went cold and his fingers flexed on the axe handle as he realized he wasn’t going to be able to talk himself out of this.

  It was looking like he either must leave or kill them. He had just buried a good friend and was in no mood to back down from anything, let alone some piece-of-shit douche bags with sixth grade educations and the personal hygiene of cavemen. But he also didn’t want to have to kill anyone, or be killed, over items plentiful enough for both parties. He tried to think of a way to stall them until his friends could arrive and they could negotiate something, but these guys didn’t play by normal rules of society.

  “Let’s just kill him, Marty!” one of the men behind ‘Marty’ yelled, indicating that at least one of them already had a similar mindset.

  “I wanted to give him a chance to just give it to us, Stew, but I guess not…”

  Calvin knew the moment to act had already passed. Time slowed. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. With a nano-second prayer, and reflexes nearly as fast, he threw one axe and reached back for the other and tossed it, trying to leap to the side at the same time, but he was too close to the storage rack and instead bounced off the shelves and back upright. As the second axe left his fingers two slugs slammed into his chest like sledgehammers, throwing him off his feet and against the front of the laden cart. Pain exploded throughout his torso and extended to the ends of his fingers and toes. As his body tilted over the cart he noticed a light out in the ceiling down the aisle and wondered who was going to replace that now.

  Knees buckling, he slowly slid down the stacked boxes on the flatbed, taking some small pleasure in watching Marty fall with an axe buried deep within his skull, one eye obliterated on its path in. His buddy Stew was little better off. The second axe had caved in his chest and only halted when it jammed halfway through his spine, shredding everything in between. Stew was thrown back five feet and now lay on his back screaming pounding his arms on the ground like an eight year old past his bedtime. His legs, however, remained inert, paralyzed.

  Calvin wished his own legs would move, but they clearly had their own agenda, slowly sliding out in front of him against his will. He wanted to reach for the throwing blades behind his neck, but his arms had dropped impotently to his sides.

  I think I just got shot… his dazed mind mused.

  “No!” he heard Athena scream from somewhere behind the cart.

  “You fucktards!” Trip yelled at the same time, and both fired indiscriminately into the camo-wearing attackers.

  Bullets ricocheted all around him. There were four white-trashers left, and they were running backwards, but aiming to finish Calvin off, though he was certain they needn’t have bothered. He was feeling pretty well-done already—though feeling might not have been the proper word because he could feel nothing in his arms, chest, or lower body. His limbs ‘felt’ like Jello and a part of his musing brain made note of the fact that the group didn’t have the medical supplies to heal two gaping chest wounds even with a trained, licensed doctor like MacGreggor. He had watched the hospital burn the day before, so his outlook was pretty bleak. He was a realist, after all.

  Something blocked his vision of the gunmen and he pried open his eyes to see Athena slide down in front of him, blocking his body with her own and firing the M-16 Sarah had given her. Thunderous reports of gunfire hammered his eardrums as Athena and Trip fired over his crumbling body. As he continued his slow slide to a prone position on the floor, now slipping half-under the cart, Calvin was overcome with appreciation for a woman who was badass enough to step into a gunfight to protect her loved-ones. His vision began to tunnel as he heard the chunky-thunks of bodies falling down the aisle. Another detached part of his mind noted that he didn’t hear the metal thud of chain mail clanking against the floor, for which it said a quiet thanks to God and the universe, hoping one of them was listening. His last thought was that he should have asked her to marry him so long ago…

  “I’m sorry, Athena,” he coughed weakly, tasting the distinct iron tang of blood before the darkness took him.

  As Calvin faded away, a brief but desperate gun battle ensued. One skinny man in his early twenties with a swastika tattooed onto his shaved head fired at Athena, but she aimed and put three bullets into his chest. He was the only one able to switch his aim at the newcomers and he missed her by what might as well have been a mile, instead hitting one of the generators on the shelf next to her. The other three kept firing at Calvin until their friend died, and then they began running, firing behind themselves as they went. All three dropped in rapid succession with well-aimed shots through the back to the heart and head, but Athena and Trip continued slamming slug after slug into their unmoving corpses until their weapons were empty. In the ensuing silence of the bloody aftermath, they could hear muffled screams of concern in the distance and people scampering to distance themselves from the neighboring aisles. A heavy cloud of acrid, burned gunpowder hung over the scene like the smog over Los Angeles, glowing a brilliant bluish-white in the fluorescent lighting of the incredibly high-ceilinged store.

  “Calvin!” Athena screamed. Whatever strength she possessed now fled and her knees buckled, dropping her to the floor beside him, flipping the locking snaps on his helm and dropping it to the floor with a heavy, saddened clang.

  “Oh no! Calvin, please speak to me.” She grunted as she pulled him up with all her might and held him to her, whispering into his ear, “Please, my love. Please be ok. Speak to me.” She pleaded.

  But his head lolled back to the floor, his face a blank mask of peace, a dribble of blood trickling down his chin from the corner of his mouth. He was completely unresponsive and she somehow knew he was already gone.

  “What the fuck was that?” Joel asked over the radio. “I can hear gunfire all the way out here.”

  “Some trailer-trash dickweeds shot Calvin!” Tripper called back. “In the solar accessories isle.”

  “We’re coming!” several of the others called.

  Calvin remained unresponsive despite Athena’s pleas. She felt his chest and her shaking fingers stopped at two holes in the leather jerkin he wore over his armor and she let out a great wail of sorrow. The holes were two inches apart, and both seemed to be right over his heart.

  “Oh God no! Oh please God no!” she cried, cradling him in her arms while Trip felt his pulse.

  “I—I can’t tell. I can’t feel anything. I’m too pumped up,” he howled, tears rolling freely down his cheeks.

  “I know. Me too. Oh my Calvin,” she cried.

  “You assholes!” Trip shouted, jumping up and kicking Marty in the head, sending the axe handle banging into the shelves with a satisfying clang.

  Trip and Athena both looked up, pleading eyes imploring help from the others who were arriving in ones and twos. Trip bent down and reached out a steel-clad fist t
o touch his friend again. “Calvin!” he yelled hoarsely, grabbing his buddy’s shoulder and shaking as if willpower alone could bring his friend back. But he wasn’t a doctor, and he wasn’t a faith healer able to heal with the words of God, and the only person he knew personally with the skill to help a shooting victim was all the way across town.

  “Let me in there. Please, move,” Scaggs mumbled quietly.

  When both Tripper and Athena looked up at her in hopeful confusion, she illuminated them. “I’ve got two years of medical school. I’m a certified medical technician and I spent three months helping in an ER to practice for my role in Zombie Hospital Nurses.”

  “Athena is too, but she can’t…neither of us is thinking too well right now,” Tripper said, teary eyes begging for help.

  Athena didn’t seem to hear him, but she too begged Scaggs to bring her lover back. Scaggs sank to her knees and opened the red suede satchel she had been wearing since they’d gone to Hephaestus’ house. She pulled out a stethoscope and held it to Calvin’s neck, because I’ll never get a reading on his chest through chain mail and leather. “He’s got a pulse,” she cried heartily. “But it’s really weak.”

  “Really?” Athena could have sung a song. You’re not dead! Please don’t leave me, Calvin. I can’t live in this world without you.

  Scaggs tried to lay him flat to examine him, to get his vitals and check his breathing, but the glare Athena fired at her said she was not going to release her hold. Changing her mind, she decided to examine the wounds first. Athena did allow her to gently remove a hand from the two holes, and Scaggs felt inside the leather.

  “There’s no wetness from blood loss,” she muttered. “But it could all be internal for all I know. Or if the heart was…nevermind.” Best not point out the worst with his girlfriend sitting right there.

  Steeling herself, she pushed her fingers deeper into the wound and felt around.