The Dark Times: A Zombie Novel

by Dane Hatchell

  The electricity had been out for more than twenty-four hours. There were enough flashlights and batteries to make getting around in the dark easy enough. The challenge was not to attract any unwanted visitors.

  Food in the freezer had defrosted, and the ice cream had turned to goo. At least Rico enjoyed picking the pepperoni off the once frozen pizza and having it for a snack. Eating room-temperature soup and getting past the gelatinous wad of oil was something he just had to get used to. That was, if he were able to survive the next onslaught.

  It was the second day when a situation arose where he had to use his pistol. It was either shoot or die as the numbers of undead attempted to overwhelm him. He survived but had spent a good portion of ammunition. There were six bullets left in the clip. Six shots before he would lose his advantage. Now was the time to pack things up and head elsewhere, but Angie was in no condition to move. He had to bide his time while he could.

  The CVS smelled of rotting corpses. Bodies littered the storefront, and a few were scattered up and down various aisles. Rico had become quite proficient at killing zombies. He considered keeping count but abandoned the thought when the novelty wore off.

  The sun lowered on the horizon, casting its warm orange rays across the ravaged buildings across from the CVS. He maneuvered himself over dead bodies and various items of the barricade that had been pushed aside to sneak a peek of what the future might bring. Sharp pains shot through the hand holding the gun. Rico had been so tense he didn’t realize he was squeezing it so tightly. But tension didn’t reside in just his hand. His whole body was a tight bundle of nerves, and he was breathing like he was out of breath. If he didn’t get some relief soon, his body was going to give out.

  At least Angie had been quiet for a good while now. Maybe she was getting better. Maybe she was dead. That would be some shit. Holed up, trying to save a junkie’s life, only to have her die—and him so worn out, he might be too weak to fight his way out of the store to freedom. It was past time he should have checked in on Angie, but that had to wait.

  The undead gathered from either end of the street out front heading toward the store. A first, he thought there were just five heading his way. Then he saw a few more, followed by a few more. A dozen gave way to two dozen. Another ten or so joined the deadly ranks before it was over. It would only be a few minutes before his resolve would face its greatest challenge. His body tensed so much he thought he felt his eyes bulge. Running low on ammunition, Rico wasn’t sure he was going to survive the next wave of zombies. His arms were tired. His legs were tired. He was tired. The gun felt ten times heavier than normal.

  The ghouls lumbered forward under a sky that drew Rico’s gaze. It was ironic how the heavens, so breathtaking and peaceful, framed something so destructive and chaotic below. Yellows, light purples, baby blues, oranges, whites, and even a tinge of pink cascaded through the billowing clouds. The breeze felt cool, sliding into the store from the gaps in the barricade. Rico wished the air smelled as fresh as the momentary relief it brought, but it didn’t.

  The zombies in the street sang a chorus of moans worthy to praise Satan himself.

  More walking corpses came into view from around the corners of buildings and from behind trees. Rico’s pistol discharge and Angie’s cries had nothing to do with what was drawing the undead. The zombies were drawing themselves at this point.

  Rico’s mouth felt instantly dry.

  Aiming the pistol through a gap in the barricade, he targeted the nearest zombie. It was a woman wearing mom jeans dragging the left leg as she lumbered toward him, only 30 or so feet away. Her arms were at her sides, but he knew that would change once she had him in her sight. Arms would rise up. Eyes would go wide. Mouth would drop open in a snarl. Pace would quicken, albeit slightly. Then that moan. It would just go on and on and on and on.

  Rico waited until another zombie stepped in line directly behind her before he pulled the trigger.

  The female zombie’s head kicked back violently. She went down—a splash of black cherry red jutted from the back of her skull onto the zombie’s face behind her. The bullet leaving her skull hit it in the forehead. Both dropped to the ground, never to get up again.

  Only five more bullets. Five more shots and things were going to get up close and personal.

  He and Angie weren’t going to make it.

  Rico bit his lip and looked back toward the bathroom. His best chance for survival was to lock himself in there with Angie. If worse came to worst, there were enough bullets left for the both of them.

  ***

  Angie lay on the bathroom floor, trying to muster enough will to get up. Her muscles ached from the constant spasms of withdrawal. She felt as bad as she smelled. Vomit, sweat, and shit combined to form one rank-ass stench. Getting off the smack had left her with a giant sized void in her life that perhaps nothing else would ever fill. It wasn’t until now she realized what heroin had truly become. As long she could score a fix, she had a friend, a lover, a constant companion to help her get through whatever degrading horrors life presented. Heroin was her savior, her God, her most intimate lover who she shared her body with.

  Now that intimacy was gone in a way that she had never felt before. Now she was alone. Death waited as her only companion with its arms around her, and if she just gave it a simple nod, it would take her away. She’d been through withdrawal before, but Marcus had always come through at the last minute with the goods. She had never gone the distance to break the habit. Heroin was one hell of an addiction.

  She was at least thankful for Rico, although he hadn’t been to her aid in the last few hours. There was no way she could have gone this far without him.

  Angie had heard stories of people going through withdrawals and not finding the courage to fight it. They would either give in and find a fix, or in worst case, die. There had to be a desire to live. There had to be a reason to fight through the pain. It was mind over matter as the body threatened to shut down.

  However, what did she have valuable enough in life to fight for? Hell, the world was turning to shit. The undead were taking over. That was no world to come home sober to. Yet, here she was, fighting the fight. Why had she lived?

  Then it hit her. She lived because she wanted better for herself. Throughout her life, she had been told she was worthless as a human and had always been used by those who claimed to care for her. When Rico saved her, he had cared for and protected her for no reason at all. He even said good things and tried to make her feel better about herself. This had made her feel special in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. Plus, he took care of her over the past days as well as he could. She at least owed it to Rico to pull through after what he did. He provided when she was at her worst. He kept her warm when she was cold. Kept her cool when she had hot flashes. Dried her off after a bout of sweats. Kept the vomit out of her hair and face. Even changed her underwear and replaced them with Depends.

  Rico cared.

  She’d never had a man show that much compassion before, not even her father.

  Finding the strength for the first time in what felt like weeks, Angie sat up and leaned against the bathroom wall. Her lips were dry. Grabbing a water bottle from the floor, Angie chugged the entire thing in seconds. Her stomach churned and most of the water came right back up, splashing across the cold tile beside her. Maybe she still had a ways to go before all the withdrawal symptoms disappeared.

  She wiped her mouth and decided she had to walk a little before she could run. Grabbing another bottle, she tried again, this time taking small sips. The water felt good as it traveled down her throat and stayed down.

  She picked up a packet of cheese crackers and ate those, too. The process was slow. She didn’t want to throw that up as well.

  Once the crackers were gone, Angie leaned against the wall looking for the strength to stand. It was time to get out of that diaper, get cleaned up, and to step into a new direction in life.

  She had done it.

  Th
e withdrawals hadn’t killed her. There had been word of a few girls on the street trying to go cold turkey with the intent of getting out of the business. There was no telling how true the stories were, but Angie heard that none of those girls had been able to do it. Their bodies shut down, causing seizures, heat attacks, and strokes. Angie had survived. She felt victorious, like a mighty warrior queen. She just hoped she wasn’t celebrating too early. That the victory song wasn’t premature. She’d never done this before. What if it was possible for more withdrawals? The calm before the storm?

  Angie frowned at the thought.

  Lying there for a while, she waited for a new bout of cramps and aches to stir up. They never came. When she was confident they weren’t coming back, she stood and turned the water on in the sink. First things first, and the first thing was to get out of the shit filled diaper.

  Rico had been nice enough to place a few things on the floor next to the sink. Shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, a comb, toothpaste, a tooth brush, a bar of soap, a stack of dish rags, and a towel—all provided by the store, of course. Beside these things in a separate pile was a stack of clothes. A shirt that read ‘I Heart Texas,’ a pair of shorts, a pair of shoes and socks… and best of all, a clean pair of underwear. She just hoped the clothes fit. If they didn’t, they would be better than the shit and piss covered junk she was wearing.

  The battery operated lantern on the counter lit the small room adequately. Angie stripped down and looked at herself in the mirror. Completely naked and covered in her own filth, it wasn’t a pretty sight.

  Angie let the water run and soaped up a dishrag, determined to clean the best she could with what she had. It took several rags to get the job done, and she had one hell of a time washing all the shampoo out of her hair. It dawned on her that running water was a luxury she might soon have to live without.

  ***

  The street teamed with the undead.

  So much so that Rico knew his time was limited. It would be a matter of minutes before the horde of zombies in the street pressed past the unruly barricade blocking the entrance. After a quick glance out the left window near the front of the store, Rico calculated there had to be at least 60 walkers headed straight for him. It was as if they were drawn to each other from their cries and moans, because they gathered in a group before walking toward the store as a pack. For as slow as those things traveled, it still wouldn’t take much time to close the distance.

  A single zombie approached the perimeter of the barricade and bumped its way past the few remaining obstacles. It lost its footing as it stepped on dead bodies and fell to the floor. A number more of the ghoulish brethren followed in its footsteps—just a few yards away. He couldn’t take them all on at once and expect to win.

  Stress had taken him to a new level of fear he hadn’t experience as of yet. His chest began to hurt, growing tighter by the second. The heart was a muscle, too. Had he pushed it to the point it would soon give out?

  Sweat wet his palms. The grip of the baseball bat—an item he found underneath the checkout counter—felt slick. Rico quickly wiped his hands on his pants and prepared for the inevitable. The bat had proved to be a useful weapon in his war against the zombies. Not too heavy so as to slow him down, but dense enough to do major damage as long as the blow found a vital area. The gun snuggly rested between his belt and the small of his back, empty. The last wave of zombies ate the last of his bullets. Surely firing the weapon had to attract more undead. He was damned if he did and dead if he didn’t.

  Batter up, Rico thought, not waiting for the zombie to pull itself up. The bat’s barrel went behind his head and came down in full swing. For this particular attack, he decided against using a batter’s rotational, or linear swing—although it would have given him some momentary satisfaction to see its head fly through the air. He used more of an ax swing, imaging a log perched across the flat stump of a tree. When he was younger, he would chop wood for the fireplace. He’d bring the ax down hard, sending wood chips and splinters flying as the wood split in half. Chopping wood was one of the few things as a kid that made him feel like a man, but this wasn’t wood, and he didn’t have an ax.

  The baseball bat came down fast, and Rico’s aim proved true. Rather than splinters and chips of maple flying every which way, the gore of a dead man who wouldn’t stay dead peppered the area.

  The skull cracked with a loud pop. Not unlike a baseball thrown at 90 miles per hour meeting the bat just before launching through the air for a home run.

  And that was it.

  One hit.

  That’s all it took.

  Rico heaved out a breath—bat in hand, eyes locked on the split skull. The zombie didn’t get up.

  Rico looked outside. He could fend off a few, maybe three or four at a time, if he could get them to scatter out in the store. He could run around the aisle like playing Pac-Man, knocking them off one by one. But not ten or twenty. By the looks of things, fate was about to test his skill level. Too bad, there wasn’t any ‘magic fruit’ to eat to make him invincible.

  Stepping away from the door, the former officer of the law readied the bat.

  The only thing left to do was stand his ground.

  Rico pushed every stray thought out of his mind and focused on the task at hand. His heavy breathing and the growing moans from the dead might be the last sounds to hear before meeting death.

  A hand reached from behind and grabbed Rico’s shoulder.

  The unexpected attack caught him so off guard he spun around and haphazardly swung the bat.

  Angie screamed and ducked just in time to miss getting her head bashed.

  “What the … Angie! It’s you. You’re up,” Rico said with relief in his voice.

  “I whispered your name, but you didn’t—Oh, my god.” Angie turned her gaze outside through the window, and then down to the lifeless bodies strewn around on the floor.

  “Yeah, it’s been bad and about to get worse,” Rico said, trying not to sound as hopeless as he felt. This wasn’t the time to blow sunshine up Angie’s ass, but he didn’t want to freak her out either.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For taking care of me.”

  “You’re welcome and all, but I don’t think now’s the time for that sort of thing. We’re going to die if we let our guard down.” Rico turned and faced the barricade. Two zombies staggered into the store past the barricade and shambled in their direction. “Up for a fight?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Rico licked his lips and shook his head. He looked back at Angie. She had picked up a folding lawn chair and fitted her arm between the seat webbing, creating a makeshift shield. They both laughed at her choice of protection, but what else could she honestly use?

  This was, after all, just a drug store.

  As Rico raised his bat and ran toward the lead zombie, he thought about that. A drug addict in a drug store. Angie must have been serious about quitting. That was the only answer. He had seen her at her worst. From the time he was out, she could have had almost any type of drugs she wanted. Uppers. Downers. Loopers. You name it. But she didn’t take the easy way out this time. She stuck it out.

  Rico’s bat collided with the zombie, sending a sharp pain that stabbed in his elbow. His chest wasn’t as tight as before and he felt a slight surge of energy mask the fatigue. Maybe he had a soft spot in his heart for the little blonde lady. Maybe she was going to turn out to be okay after all.

  A few zombies made it into the store, and Rico didn’t waste any time disposing of them. Angie stood back with the chair held out in front for protection and watched. Probably more afraid of getting into his way than being unwilling to fight.

  Beep… beep… beep…

  Beep… beep… beep…

  Beep… beep… beep…

  A vehicle’s horn grew louder from outside. It kept repeating the three short beeps in a row pattern. Rico and Angie rushed over to the window. A white unmarked
van circled the parking lot, running over zombies that tried reaching for it.

  Beep… beep… beep…

  “At least we’re not the only ones left alive.” Angie leaned over Rico for a better look. “Do you think they know we’re in here? You know, to rescue us?”

  “I don’t know,” Rico said. “They may have heard me fire the gun. There are enough zombies out there heading this way to make them think something’s up. This is a pharmacy, though. They may just be looking for drugs.”

  The side door to the van slid open as the van came to an abrupt stop. One man stepped out and hit the ground running. He was tall and wiry like a stalk of corn. Even from inside the store and all the way across the parking lot, the man looked tall enough to play in the NBA. His skin tone was dark black, and his hair was weaved into thin dreads pulled back in a ponytail that reached down just below his shoulders.

  The shotgun in his right hand came up to his shoulder and spit fire, followed by a boom that rattled the windows. The undead in the line of fire fell backward.

  “Is that guy crazy?” Angie gasped. “There are too many for him to take on by himself.”

  A zombie came into reaching distance of him and the shotgun went off again.

  The zombie’s head launched into the air and fell on the hood of a parked vehicle.

  “Maybe.” Rico smiled. “Maybe not. He at least has enough confidence to believe in himself.”

  The man didn’t waste any more time blasting the undead army. He skirted his way around the larger group and found an opening leading a clear path to the store.

  Rico quickly pulled a few dead zombies out of the way to aid the man’s entry. After he snaked his way past the barricade into the store, the van’s horn started blowing again.

  Beep… beep… beep…