Quin wasn’t about to share, not with any of these pricks. They were all stuck up. Rico and Angie. Patrick and Debra. Sarah and Drew. They were all just a bunch of trouble. And to make sure that he would have his prize to himself, he had to make sure that none of them had the chance to follow him. He had to take care of them now while he had the opportunity.
Quin smiled, took another drag from his joint, and held it in for a long while. When he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he stepped up to the glass doors and blew out smoke. The smoke bellowed out of his mouth in a plume of gray that pressed against the glass in a spread of fog. Once the smoke cleared, Quin found himself staring one of the undead right in the eyes. His face was only inches away from the zombie. The only thing between them was glass.
“I bet it smells to high heaven in that parking lot.” Quin chuckled. He took another hit and put the joint out, making sure to save it for the road.
With the buzz firmly kicked in, Quin stepped away from the glass and raised his shotgun. The plan was simple. Let them in the front door and make his way to the back. He would be out before Sarah and any of the others knew what the hell was happening.
As Quin lifted the gun, picking out which of the undead ghouls to aim at, he knew that his plan was sound. But he also knew he was a little too fucked up and not thinking everything through. He was too close to blow out the glass. He’d have to hightail it to the back, and he just wasn’t in the mood to move that quickly. So he started down the aisle with the intent of getting as far away as possible before blowing the doors wide open.
Chapter 31
“How you holding up, buddy?” Rico asked, looking back at Patrick.
Patrick’s face had red and whitish splotches over it. His eyes looked empty, like he’d been staring at the sun.
“Patrick?” Rico stopped.
Patrick stopped, too. Then he collapsed to the ground, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
The journey had finally come to an end for the young man. It was going to be hard telling the others what happened. No one had a chance to say goodbye. Debra would be devastated. He wished there was some way he could bring him back to the store, but that wasn’t practical. They had managed to make it this far without much contact from the undead. There was no way Rico had any chance of eluding zombies while carrying Patrick on his back.
There was still one last thing to do. He had to make sure Patrick didn’t rise from the dead and become part of the problem. The thought of smashing his head in with a brick like he’d done earlier brought frightful images to his mind. There was no way he could do that. A gunshot would be quick, but that would make too much noise.
Patrick heaved out a final breath. All went silent.
Rico felt for a pulse and came away with what he already knew. Patrick was gone.
He wanted to roll Patrick on his stomach so he wouldn’t have to see his face while he laid him to final rest. Unfortunately, his plan wouldn’t work if he did. Rico pulled out a six-inch hunting knife from Academy and placed it against Patrick’s throat. The blade bit cleanly as it severed flesh.
Rico immediately remembered seeing the video of the journalist who was captured in 2002 by terrorists, and beheaded on film. The poor man was alive as the knife sawed into his neck. The video contained the audio of the journalist’s cries. Time slowed, cementing each instant of torment in Rico’s mind. The haunting memories of suffering such torture continued until his grisly job was complete.
“Goodbye, Patrick. Maybe you’ll get some answers to some questions we all have.” Rico regretted leaving the man on the street, but the dead would just have to bury the dead. He had to hurry back while he had a chance.
There was no way to know if Patrick had been leading them in the right direction. A block away, he saw a most wonderful sight. Academy was just down the street, minutes away.
*
Two zombies lay with their heads crushed on the way to Academy’s back entrance. It was impossible to know, but Rico suspected Q was responsible. That son-of-a-bitch probably had made it to the store a good hour before him. What was that prick up too? Rico expected him to be pissed for taking a punch. Q might be in there right now making up some cockamamie story, trying to make himself look like a hero.
It looked like there was a battle coming up to pick a leader from what was left of the group. If Angie and the others decided to follow Q, well, he wished them luck. He was out of there, and there would be no turning back or time for regrets.
Rico unclipped the radio from his belt. “Hey, it’s Rico. Unlock the door so I can come in.” He waited for a reply and tried again. Nothing.
“Guys? Anyone? Drew, Angie? Q, if you can hear me, let me in. We can work any problems we have out.” Rico felt like he spoke into empty air and clipped the radio back to his belt.
Maybe this was a sign that he should leave. Fuck ’em. Fuck ’em all. It’d be a tough go without more ammo and some basic supplies. He’d have to find a vehicle, too. He almost left, but then his thoughts returned to Drew and all the good the man did. It’d be wrong just to leave without at least saying goodbye. He needed to break the news of Patrick’s death, too. He’d just have to figure out how to find a way in.
There were a few downspouts from the gutter that led from the roof to the ground that he might be able to climb. Even if the screws held, pulling himself up probably was a lot harder than it looked. The dumpster set against the back, not far from the door. It looked like it was high enough for him to get on top and grab onto the roof.
There was only one way to know for sure. He waited for a zombie dragging its leg to pass before he made the mad dash to the wall of vehicles. Once over the barricade, he stepped over to the dumpster. He momentarily thought of banging on the door, but realized that unless someone was in the back room, no one would hear, except for the zombies, of course. Though the vehicle wall had done a good job keeping the undead away, there was no need to call attention if he didn’t need to.
An old pair of gloves lying to the side caught his attention. He picked them up and put them on. The leather fingers were stiff but softened with each finger flex.
Rico found a handhold on the green painted metal and began the climb. The smell emanating from the dumpster was beyond description. Decaying flesh of Steven and Malinda mixed with whatever else fermented in the bottom.
Black flies buzzed around as Rico pulled up. There were two doors on the top. One was open. The other door was closed. Right at the back, the top had about a two foot flat area. From there, it slanted at an angle. He carefully stepped on the flat part and positioned himself under the roof.
Rico raised his arms and came up short. He turned and looked behind him, realizing if he jumped and missed—and if his footing didn’t come down right—he’d slip and hit the concrete pretty hard. That was just the chance he’d have to take. After a few slight knee bends and deep breaths, he made the leap of faith.
The gloves clenched around the metal roofing, and Rico pulled himself up. It wasn’t an easy task, but fear had kicked in a few extra endorphins to ensure success. Good thing for him he spent all that time in the gym after The Spook, or he’d have never made it.
There was a consequence to his actions. His old rib injury throbbed when he walked away. Tough. No time to worry about that now.
Rico headed to the A/C unit on top that had a door and ladder that led to the inside of the store. Drew had painted a large S.O.S on the white metal roof in hopes someone flying by would spot it and call for help. Rico hadn’t heard an aircraft of any type in days.
Once inside the store near the back, something just didn’t feel right. The store was large and no one was expecting him. He almost called out but stopped himself. If something was going on, it might be better if he snuck around until he found out. That would help limit any surprises that might await him. He had his gun out and ready while stealthily moving in search.
He heard some steps and saw Quin with a backpack on his shoulder and the sh
otgun in his hand. Q stopped and turned around, lifting the gun up like he was about to shoot toward the front.
“Q, what the hell are you doing?” Rico called out.
Quin froze instantly.
“Put down the shotgun and let’s talk.”
The shotgun barrel lowered to the floor. Quin flashed his gold teeth, turned, and faced Rico. “Rico the burrito.”
“What’s going on? Where are the others?” Rico held his pistol in both hands pointed to the side.
“They’s around. Where’s that Bruce Lee muthafucka?”
“Patrick didn’t make it, no thanks to you. Zombie bit him, and he died.”
“You and me made it. That’s all that’s important, right?”
“Damn, Q! Don’t you care for anyone else but yourself?” Rico fumed.
“Well, when you put it like that, no, I don’t.” Quin lifted the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The shotgun blasted out its report.
Rico dove for the floor and heard lead shot peppering objects behind him. He felt like a sitting duck and decided to use the chaos of the moment to his advantage. Rather than run, he rolled back in Q’s line of fire and squeezed off two rounds. He didn’t have a clear shot, but he fired anyway. His gun kicked twice, both bullets missed the target. Two additional rolls had him behind a display and on his feet.
“I’m gonna kill you just like I liked that white wannabe Drew!” Quin cycled the shotgun.
Rico bounded from the display he hid behind to the next. Quin fired and missed again. Rico’s heart pounded, and he opened his mouth to suck in more air.
“Where’s Angie?” Rico shouted.
“That stupid bitch ain’t worth my time!”
“What have you done, Quin? Where’s Angie?”
“You know what I done!” Quin shouted over the dead silence. “Come on out and face me like a man, yo!”
“Why, so you can shoot me?”
Quin laughed.
“I never did like you much, copper.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Rico said, ducking out from behind the rack and taking a blind shot.
The shot must have been close to its target, because Quin shouted and ran out from behind cover. By the time Rico thought he had a clear shot, the tall back man was down and out of sight behind a shelf stacked with fishing hats. At least Rico knew where he was now.
“Give up, Quin!” Rico called out.
“Or what, you gonna arrest me, yo?”
“Let’s call a truce. It doesn’t have to end this way. Where are the others?”
“I don’t know. They all ran off after I killed Drew.” Quin lifted his shotgun, but before he could fire again, a handgun discharged. The bullet nicked him across the left shoulder.
“You killed my husband!” Sarah ran onto the scene with a revolver pointed in the air.
Quin dropped the shotgun as his right hand instinctually grabbed his left shoulder.
Sarah fired two more times and missed. Q turned and slipped to the floor. Before he could get up, Sarah shoved the hat display on top of him.
“Get this bitch off of me,” Quin shouted, “before I kill her too.”
“Sarah, put the gun down and get out of the way.” Rico stepped forward with his gun raised.
“I’m going to kill him for what he did to my Drew!” Sarah’s gaze turned to the shotgun. She dropped the revolver and picked it up.
By this time, Quin was out from under the flimsy hat display and on his feet. “Give me my gun back, bitch!”
Sarah lifted the long gun and closed her eyes. Quin ran to the side right before the mighty blast.
The icy noise of shattering glass rang from the front of the store.
Sarah opened her eyes, her mouth opened wide when she realized what she had done.
Quin disappeared as Rico joined Sarah by her side. He blinked twice and watched the end unfold. The undead were in the store. One by one, they leaked in like water pouring in from a hole in a dam.
Moans reverberated off the walls along with the pungent aroma of decay. Zombies were shoulder to shoulder as they shambled into the front.
“Holy shit,” was the only thing Rico was able to mutter as he watched more and more of them stream in through the doorway. Before long, the entire building would be filled with the sea of ghouls that waited outside.
Things looked hopeless, but he wasn’t dead yet. “Sarah, where’s Angie and Debra? Are they okay?”
Sarah slowly turned her head. “They’re safe. Locked up in the public bathroom.”
“We’ve got to get them and get the hell out of here!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her along.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sarah said, jerking away from Rico’s grasp. “I need to be with my husband.” She turned and ran.
There was literally no time for Rico to go after her. The undead were closing in—some of them now no more than twenty feet away, struggling down narrow aisles and past clothing racks. “Sarah, meet us in the bathroom,” he called back as he ran.
“Drew? Drew? I’m coming for you.”
If Angie and Debra weren’t in the bathroom, there would be no time to look for them. Rico would just head to the back and fight his way out the best he could. He reached the bathroom door inside the shopping area and pounded on it. The undead moans seemed to increase when he did.
“Angie! It’s me, Rico. Please… open the door!” He rapped on it a few more times and thought if the door didn’t open in the next few seconds, he’d have to leave. “Angie!”
The dead drew closer.
“Angie!”
The bathroom door swung open. Rico looked in at Angie. Her eyes were dark from crying, her face laden with fear.
“Move,” Rico said, shoving past Angie as he pulled the door closed. He locked it just as the first zombie stepped up to the door.
Now it was the undead that wanted in.
***
Sarah Finley shed large tears over the face of her dead husband. She held his blood covered hand and prayed, oblivious to the undead closing in around her.
They had been together for so long. It would be impossible for her to go on in life without him. She thought about how they had first met at a church home group. About how he had kept looking over at her during the Bible study—making sweet eyes and cute grins. And how, despite the fact that she expected him to talk to her that night, he didn’t. When she least expected it, Drew showed up at her doorstep with flowers, introducing himself for the first official time. He had always been the romantic type. Taking her out to quiet spots for intimate dinners and talks. Walking in the deep woods of a well-lit park at night. Hands held together tight. That tender kiss on the cheek. Then, when he asked for her hand in marriage—pretending like the car had a flat so he could kneel down to fix the tire. The real reason he dropped to his knees was to pop the question.
Her tears turned from sadness to joy as she thought about their life together. About meeting their daughter, Debra. About how hurt she was when she found out how Drew came to know of the young girl. But love was deeper than mere lusts of the flesh, and she forgave him. And to this day, Drew was unaware she knew of his cheating ways, and knew nothing of her forgiveness. Her mind flashed to a time when all three of them went to Six Flags. How they rode the fast rides and ate lots of popcorn, but Drew was the only one to get an upset stomach. How she and Debra gave him a hard time all that weekend. But those days were over. Drew was gone, and all that remained was the walking dead.
When the zombies finally reached Sarah in her grief and started eating her, she tried to ignore the pain. Tried to stay in a peaceful place where music played, children laughed, and happiness electrified the air.
However, it didn’t take long for the pain to become unbearable. Sarah Finley was jerked from her memories by the assault that tore through her entire body. Zombies ripped at her clothing. At her flesh. At her muscles. They bit, swallowed, and gnashed.
Sarah screamed out in agony.
Just before a
zombie at her feet yanked on her calf bone, breaking it free from her leg, Sarah saw the last thing she would have ever wanted to see.
Drew Finley rose to join the feast.
***
Quin zipped across the aisle until he hit a wall and turned, heading for the back. Right now, shooting the front doors open seemed to be a bad idea. He didn’t realize how fast the undead could flood the store. The damned weed made him bulletproof and ten feet tall. He should have prepared his escape better before smoking the joint.
At least he managed to grab his backpack. It contained some food, water, and ammo—enough to get him by for several days. That wouldn’t matter if he didn’t get his ass out in a hurry.
He passed through the doors leading to the back and hit the button on the rollup door. The mechanical clank told him it was opening, so he wrapped the backpack straps on the Harley’s seat. He swung a leg over, turned the key, and hit the start button. The machine roared to life.
Quin slowly let off on the throttle and stopped in front of the wall of cars. Only one zombie was near. It just so happened that the undead was approaching the SUV they moved to make an opening in the wall.
The Harley idled while resting on the stand. Q hopped in the SUV and started it. Once in drive, he mashed the gas and slammed into the zombie in front of it. When he felt the back wheel roll over the zombie, he hit the brake and killed the engine.
No time to worry about anything now but escape. A quick dash had him back on the bike and heading away from Academy.
The Dark Times: A Zombie Novel Page 26
