The Reckoning - 02

by D. A. Roberts

  Staying low, I moved down the aisle towards the front of the store. I could hear the shuffling stop as they tried to locate me. I quietly sat the shotgun on a display of soda and pulled out my hammer. I slid the thong over my right hand and hefted the weight. Then I drew the machete and held it in my left.

  In one motion I stood and turned to face the zombies. They were less than twenty feet away and I closed the distance quickly, before they reacted. Fortunately, they were slow to react. One raised its hands towards me while the other opened its mouth to shriek. I struck it first.

  In one swift motion, I swung the machete in a sweeping arc. It connected with the neck of the Shrieker and nearly took its head off. It didn’t take it all the way off, but it did sever the spinal cord and ruined the vocal cords in the process. It fell in a heap, taking my machete with it. The body no longer worked, but the head was still moving its mouth and eyes. At least it couldn’t shriek, anymore.

  The second one grabbed my arm and tried to pull me towards its blackened mouth. Before it could pull me in, I swung the hammer. It impacted with the back of the skull and I heard a satisfying crunch. It fell on top of the other one, burying my machete in the process. I shoved it over and retrieved the weapon, and then struck the moving head with the hammer.

  Looking up, I could see more than a dozen zombies moving towards the front of the store from three different directions. I locked the door and moved back behind the counter. The windows were thick plate glass, but the door didn’t look as solid. I knew that neither the plate glass nor the doors would stand up to that many zombies, though.

  Recovering my shotgun, I quickly reloaded it to full capacity. Then I grabbed a box of .44 Magnum ammo from the shelf and reloaded the Super Redhawk. Laying the Redhawk on the counter, I pulled out the Taurus 9mm I’d recovered and dropped the magazine. I worked the slide a few times and found it to be in good working order. Then I grabbed a box of 9mm hollow points and reloaded the magazine.

  I jacked a round into the chamber, then dropped the magazine and replaced the round. Now every gun that I had was loaded. I lay all of the guns on the counter and turned to look at the front door. The dusty glass made it difficult for the zombies to see me in the darkened store. So far, all they were doing was milling about and occasionally trying the door. They’d been attracted by the noise of the gunshots and weren’t worked into a frenzy over food. That would change if they saw me.

  I sat down on the floor and did my best to remain quiet. I was hoping that since they didn’t see any movement, they’d wander off before too long. I’d just have to wait them out. Staying low, I moved over to the cooler and snagged some energy drinks. Then I snagged a couple bags of Doritos and moved back behind the counter.

  I cracked open a drink and opened a bag of chips. I ate in silence for several minutes, listening to the sound of the undead as they patted the glass and pushed on the door. Then I heard a sound I was dreading. I heard the snuffling and sniffing sound of a Tracker. It would know I was inside.

  I looked around quickly, searching for an exit. What I saw was even better. There was a rack of compound bows and boxes of arrows. I snagged a camouflage bow and checked the arrows in the box. They were all practice arrows, but they’d do the trick. Knocking an arrow, I took a deep breath and steadied my nerves.

  Once upon a time, I’d been a decent shot with a bow. Unfortunately, it had been years since I’d gone bow-hunting. I only hoped that my fingers remembered the task. I wanted to take out the zombies as quietly as possible, since noise would only attract more of them. If I had any chance at all of getting out with gas, I had to clear the pumps.

  Right about then, the Tracker spotted me and let out that growl that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It incited the others into action and they started beating on the door. Cracks began to form, almost immediately. Seconds later, the glass imploded with a crash and the Tracker tried to surge inside. The metal crossbar caught him in the chest.

  Before he could get past it, I let fly with my first arrow. It missed him cleanly, but buried into the chest of a big redneck zombie right behind him. It didn’t seem to notice or care that it now had an arrow protruding from its chest. I snatched another arrow and readied it. The Tracker ducked under the bar and stood back up, inside the store. It suddenly occurred to me that the Trackers might be a little smarter than the average zombie.

  My second arrow flew better. It punched through the bridge of the Tracker’s nose and buried nearly halfway to the fletching. It wobbled for a few seconds before falling to the ground. My second arrow was already leaving the bow before it hit the ground. This one struck the big redneck in the right eye. It fell over backwards, pinning a zombie kid beneath him.

  Time seemed to stand still as I methodically knocked and fired arrow after arrow. I stopped with an arrow drawn and ready when the last of them fell. Sixteen zombies lay dead and I had fired well over twenty arrows. I’m not sure how much time had elapsed, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes. Four arrows were embedded into a gas pump and two were stuck in the side of the pick-up. A few others had missed the pumps and vehicles completely. I have no idea where they ended up.

  I stepped out the door, arrow at the ready. I didn’t see any zombies coming from either direction. Slowly, I released the tension on the bowstring and sighed. I could still see the trapped zombie kid struggling to move the big redneck. I put the kid out with a love-tap from the hammer. With the adrenalin cooling in my veins, I began to feel the pain from my exertion. Pulling the bow back and firing that many times takes a great deal of effort. The muscles in my arms were on fire.

  I spent the next fifteen minutes looking for anything that could be used as a pump or a siphon. When I searched the small shed behind the store, I hit the jackpot. There were several red fuel cans of various sizes. One was marked diesel, one was kerosene and three were labeled gasoline.

  I checked the cans, one at a time. They were all full, except the kerosene. It was about half full. I hefted the weight of one of the five gallon cans and realized that it was going to be hell carrying one of them back to the Tool and Die. I decided to see if I could find a working vehicle.

  The pickup had the keys in the ignition, but the battery was completely dead. The Euro-car was a wreck. The little economy model had a flat and I didn’t feel like changing it, unless I didn’t have a choice. That left the mini-van. I headed over to check it out. It looked undamaged, but the door was locked. It was the only Chevy on the lot, so I spent the next fifteen minutes searching the pockets of the dead. I didn’t find any Chevy keys, but I did find a big lock-blade knife in the redneck’s pocket. That went in mine.

  I finally hit pay dirt in the office where the older woman had shot herself. There was a set of Chevy keys hanging on a hook by the door. I snagged them and headed out the door at a trot. I was relieved when the door unlocked when I turned the key.

  I opened the door and scanned the interior. There wasn’t a zombie to be seen, so I climbed in. I had to remove my pack to get in and almost struck my knees on the steering wheel. The old lady had been very short. I slid the seat back, put the key in the ignition and turned it. The “fasten seatbelt” light came on and the soft alarm dinged. I ignored it and checked the gas gauge. It was almost full.

  I almost jumped out of my skin when a twangy female voice came blaring from the speakers singing something about a cheating husband. It was loud and I quickly hit the eject button on the CD player. The radio was still on a channel, but all that came from the speakers was static. With a frown, I hit the power button and the static ceased.

  Crossing my fingers, I engaged the starter and it fired up on the first try. I let it run for a few seconds before shutting it down. Now I had to get to work loading up supplies. There was no reason to fuel the truck, now. We could take the mini-van all the way back to town and still carry a ton of cargo. I got to work loading the important items.

  I loaded the gas cans in the back of the van, followe
d by all the ammo they had left. I even took ammo that we didn’t have guns for. No sense leaving it to rot. I loaded up five bows and all the arrows they had. I recovered all the arrows I could and stuck them in the boxes. I cleared out the chewing tobacco section and helped myself to several bottles of whiskey of various brands. They didn’t have my Bushmills, but I really didn’t expect them too this far out in the sticks.

  I found a display rack of “do-rags” and snagged one. It was leather and I put it in my pocket, after yanking off the tags. Next to it was a shelf with hats. I snagged a black leather wide brimmed hat and slipped it on my head. I also helped myself to a few pairs of sunglasses from another display. Then I loaded up most of their canned goods, including the canned dog food.

  The last thing I found was some walkie-talkies. They had several sets of the same general type. I figured that they’d all have at least one channel in common, so I took them all. I also loaded up all the batteries they had. It was almost sundown when I exited the store for the last time. Then I fired up the mini-van and headed back towards the Tool and Die.

  The trip back to the Tool and Die from the store didn’t take nearly as long as the trip there. I saw only a few wandering zombies, but none that could come close to catching me. I pulled into the driveway and around to the roll-up door. I had to get out and knock on it, although I’m sure he heard me pull in.

  “Gunny, it’s me,” I said, tapping on the metal door.

  Instantly, the door started rolling up. I was back inside the van in an instant, and drove inside as soon as there was enough room. No sooner had I cleared the door, Gunny started rolling it back down. By the time that I had the engine off, the door was shut again. I noticed that Gunny had several battery powered lanterns going, providing enough light to see by. That was good, since the sun was almost down.

  “Gawd-damn, Wylie,” he said, “it’s good to see you.”

  “Did you have any problems?” I asked, shutting the door to the van.

  “Nah,” he replied. “I was just getting worried. It’ll be dark, soon.”

  “I found us a new set of wheels,” I said, gesturing at the van.

  “I see that. Did you give up on the truck?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The van has almost as much cargo space and it’s enclosed.”

  “Good point.”

  Gunny opened the side door on the van and whistled.

  “Look at all that fuckin’ ammo,” he said, smiling.

  “Yeah, I cleaned the store out.

  “What’s the plan, now?” he asked.

  “We’ll spend the night here. We’ll head back into Springfield at first light. I don’t want to run into a pack of zombies in the dark. Besides that, the headlights will attract them to us.”

  I handed him one of the bows.

  “Do you know how to use one of these?”

  “Do I look like fuckin’ Tonto to you?” he asked.

  “I’ll take that as a no, then,” I replied. “I’ll keep one handy for myself. I’m decent with one.”

  “It’s all yours, kemosabe,” he said, grinning.

  In lieu of a reply, I just extended my middle finger in his direction.

  “You wish,” he replied.

  We spent the next few minutes transferring over the supplies from the truck to the van. Odin was happy to see me, but returned to his makeshift bed by the bathroom door. It looked like Gunny had made him a bed out of towels and a blanket.

  “I should have listened to you, earlier,” said Gunny, shaking his head.

  “About what?”

  “I should never have given that dog beans,” he said. “The bastard nearly ran me out of here all afternoon. His ass stinks!”

  I just laughed as I kept moving gear.

  “I tried to warn you.”

  “I think his ass should be banned by the Geneva Convention,” said Gunny.

  “I think it is,” I replied. “It’s covered under chemical warfare.”

  Once we were done transferring the gear, we settled down for the night. It was dark outside and we turned off all but one of the lights. While Gunny dug out cans of food for us to eat, I put batteries in two of the walkie-talkies. I set them both to the same channel and tested them. They worked like a charm.

  “Here, Guns,” I said, handing him one. “The box says they have a ten mile range. Let’s try not to get that far apart.”

  “Good plan,” he said, turning his off and pocketing it.

  I set mine to scan mode, just to see if it could pick up a signal. After a few minutes of nothing, I set it back to my chosen frequency and shut it off to save the battery. Then I stuck mine in my shirt pocket, to keep it handy. Gunny handed me a can of beef macaroni and I started opening it with my P38. By the time mine was open, Gunny was already digging into his. His looked to be chili with beans.

  “Trying to compete with the dog?” I asked, grinning.

  “Self preservation,” he replied. “I’m returning fire.”

  “Ahh, there’s nothing quite like a little Mutual Assured Destruction.”

  “More like, fight fire with fire,” he said, smiling.

  “Trust me, Gunny,” I said. “No one wins in that conflict.”

  I dug my plastic spoon out of my pocket and started spooning cold beef mac into my mouth. It wasn’t a gourmet meal, but it beat a sharp stick in the eye. Not by much, though. I ate two cans before my hunger was fully abated.

  Once we finished eating, I grabbed my flashlight and the Keltec and walked the perimeter. I wanted to make certain that all of the entrances were secure before we bedded down for the night. Content that we’d done all we could to secure the building, I headed back to where my pack and sleeping bag were. I think I was asleep as soon as my head hit the rucksack I was using as a pillow.

  Chapter Five

  Into Hel

  “If you can keep your wits about you while all others are losing theirs, and blaming you. The world will be yours and everything in it; what's more, you'll be a man, my son.”

  - Rudyard Kipling

  13 April

  Morning came and I awoke to the smell of coffee. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and looked around the room. Gunny had rigged a makeshift cook stove out of a propane torch. The coffee smelled great. It was all the incentive I needed to get up and start pulling my boots on.

  “Morning, sunshine,” grumbled Gunny.

  “What time is it?” I asked, getting to my feet.

  “Zero six hundred,” he replied. “Give or take.”

  “Close enough,” I said, reaching for the coffee pot.

  Gunny handed me a coffee mug he’d found in the offices up front. It said “world’s greatest secretary” on it. I didn’t care, so long as it held coffee. I poured myself a generous cup and smelled it. It was definitely “Gunny Brew.” I could smell the bourbon. I took a tentative sip and discovered that it didn’t seem as bad as before.

  “This ain’t half bad,” I said, relieved.

  “It grows on you,” he replied. “Pretty soon, you’ll develop a taste for it.”

  “Hey, so long as it keeps me awake and I’m alive to enjoy it,” I said, taking another sip.

  By the time I finished my second cup of coffee, I was ready for action. We rolled up our sleeping bags and picked up all of our gear. Then we loaded it all into the van. Odin found a nice corner of the shop to relieve himself and it gave me an idea. I went into the bathroom and checked the water. The last time we’d been here, there was still pressure in the lines. I was relieved to find that there still was.

  After cleaning up, I started checking the perimeter. There were a few zombies on the north side of the building, but the van was parked by the south door. If we timed it right, we could be outside and moving before they ever made it around the building.

  We talked it over and decided that I would drive and Gunny would open the door. We got into position and I made sure the passenger door was unlocked. Odin was sitting up in the middle row seat, panting excitedly. He ha
s always liked going places in the car. When I was ready, I fired up the engine. That was Gunny’s cue for opening up the door.

  He pulled furiously on the chain and I knew that since I could hear it over the sound of the engine that the zombies around the building could hear it, too. It seemed to take forever for him to roll open the door enough to drive the van through. Then he was running for the door.

  “Go! Go! Go!” he yelled, diving in the door.

  I already had the van in reverse and was letting off the brake when he slammed the door shut and locked it. I shot backwards out the door, clipping the Sprinter that rounded the corner. I felt him bounce beneath the wheels and then we were clear of the door. I spun the wheels and angled us towards the front of the parking lot. Two more Sprinters rounded the corner and started hitting the passenger side of the van.

  “For fuck’s sake, Go!” shouted Gunny.

  I pulled the transmission into drive and hit the gas. In seconds, we were on the road accelerating away and leaving the Sprinters behind us in our dust. I didn’t slow down until I could see the gas station coming up ahead of us. I wanted to put some distance between us and the Sprinters, but mostly I was just in a hurry to get back to my family.

  I planned on retracing the route we’d taken on the way out here. I had originally planned to take the Humvee we’d passed, but I didn’t know if I wanted to give up the van or not. It was comfortable to drive and held plenty of cargo. It wasn’t armored, though, and that was a major selling point for the Humvee. If the area was clear enough, I’d check the Humvee to see if it would start. If it would, then we’d transfer all the gear over and take it. We’d keep the gasoline. It wouldn’t work in the Humvee since it was a diesel, but it would work great as fuel for Molotov cocktails.

  I kept my eyes peeled for any signs of life, as I drove. I was on the lookout for bands of the dead, but I was hoping to find signs of survivors. Unfortunately, the only movement I saw was the dead. As we passed the little town of Galena, only the dead walked those streets. There were no banners hanging from buildings asking for a rescue. No makeshift barricades, no signal fires. There were only the dead.