by Joe McKinney
Gem’s demeanor changed, and she got up and got a towel from the kitchen and wiped up my spilled coffee. “I’m sorry, baby.”
I put my hand over hers and nodded. I never wanted her to feel bad, because I knew her heart and it was nothing but good.
Hemp chimed in, returning the conversation back to his intended task. “Okay, back to the snares. I know how to construct tripwire snares, large or small. If we’re going after food, rabbits, small game, we can set some up on the smaller paths. The trails that lead to your yard, the bigger ones, we’ll set up some heavier duty traps using some pretty large stones. I saw a few good ones out there that should work nicely. With the deteriorated condition of some of these infecteds, and the probability that they’ll only get worse as time goes on, that still ought to do it. Considering we only need an upper branch capable of supporting that kind of weight, we should be able to set some of these up in pretty strategic locations.”
“Are you hoping to use this system as protection? Doesn’t seem very efficient,” I said.
“I think he’s looking to use it more as an early warning system that they’re finding their way here, babe,” Gem said. “If we start seeing them snared, we know they’re onto our scent.”
“Precisely,” Hemp said.
“I guess it’s better than packing mud cakes along the walkway and trying to get footprints,” I said.
“What are we, six years old again?” Gem laughed.
“Hey, it was fun when I was six.” I stood. “I say we get started today. But when we head out, I think I’d like to take the Crown Vic and we should all go. The dog we can lock in the house and we can leave Jamie in the lab.”
“Bunsen,” said Trina. “Her name’s Bunsen.”
“Got it. Bunsen,” I said.
Gem, as was her custom, grabbed a note pad and made a list. First stop, Radio Shack. More walkies and batteries and surveillance camera systems.
Next stop, another police station. We needed to load up on more guns and ammo. Or a good pawn shop. Some of the shit they kept in the back could be interesting. Hell, even some of the ranch homes would have nice caches of weapons. We were in Georgia, and there was no shortage of guns here.
And Hemp wanted some medical equipment. Particularly an EEG machine. We put that on the list, but we weren’t sure we would have the time, freedom of movement, or the ability to find everything on our list today. After writing a while, Gem looked up.
“What’s the military doing about all of this you think?” she asked. “I have to believe some of them survived and are mobilizing.”
“I haven’t seen one plane or helicopter other than the one that almost crashed on us since this thing began,” I said.
“That is almost impossibly unlikely,” Hemp said. There should be crashed airliners and small craft littering the country.”
“I’m sure if we travel far enough,” I said, “we’ll find them. But for now, let’s get ready to go the store.”
“Forget the useless wallets, just get the guns,” Gem said, smiling as she hefted her Uzi.
“Note to self,” I said. “Stop by the vinyl store and grab the Beatles’ White Album. Someone needs to hear ‘Happiness is a Warm Gun.’”
“I already know that,” Gem smiled. “But happiness also involves my Flexy.”
My house is a ranch, one story with four bedrooms and three baths. I built it a few years ago, and Gem was very familiar with the layout. It was pretty typical, and had a nice long front porch with two steps leading up and a wood railing on all sides except at the steps.
When I built it I was conscious of the fact that I was somewhat removed from any neighbors, so had security on my mind. The thick growth of trees in the surrounding forest was exactly what I wanted, and the only easy way in or out of my property was through a long, winding gravel drive. I’d graded it very flat, and any vehicle could access it with no problem. I’d kept the curves on the soft side, which is what allowed the huge mobile lab to make the drive up to the house.
There was a gate at the bottom, the wood swinging type, that I most often closed. I’d left it open when I headed out to Jamie and Jack’s house because other things were on my mind, but if I had to leave for any extended period of time, I always closed and locked it.
I locked it when we left this time. Hemp suggested we replace the beefy Master Lock with a combo type that any one of us could open without a key. There was no telling what might happen; one of us might lose a key in a scuffle, and the growth on the sides of the fence was very thick, brambly and virtually impassable. Hemp was right again. Gem added the combo lock to the list.
As Hemp hopped back in the car after swinging the gate closed and securing the lock, Gem said, “Hemp, would barbell weights work in place of rocks? For your snares, I mean?”
Hemp nodded. “Good idea. I think 60 lbs per snare would work fine. If you can imagine having that much tension pulling one of your legs in the air, I guess you could figure out how hard it might be to free yourself from the snag.”
“Try 40 lbs. I’m not that ambitious,” Gem said.
“Fuck. It would take 150 lbs to tame that tiger,” I said.
“Only if I were looking at you just out of my reach,” Gem quipped.
I smiled and drove on. Hemp had a little smile on his face as he looked back and forth between me and Gem. I knew he was lonely, and I could tell he wished he had someone to banter with. Besides us, I mean. And it made sense. When he told me the story of his wife and son, I felt for him. He was a great guy, and I couldn’t imagine that with his surfer looks and intellect that he wouldn’t make any woman a bit weak in the knees.
Plus, he was funny. But what did I expect? The Monty Python guys were all Brits, and damn, they cracked the shit out of me.
As I left the gravel drive and hit the street I said, “I think we might just hit a local hardware store, and there’s a Target there where we might get the rest. We’ve got some diverse needs.”
I hit the gas and the Crown Vic’s new tires bit into the pavement and screamed off like the son-of-a-bitch cop car it could’ve been.
Everyone inside smiled. Even Trina.
And I was rethinking Fords. It was a strange, new world, indeed.
*****
When we pulled into the hardware store parking lot, the door to the store hung open, tottering on one hinge. A body lay in the doorway face down, and we could see the back of the skull bashed in, a black mottled pool on the ground around it, clotted and thick.
The flies had not been affected. They still buzzed around in a swarm at our approach. None of us wanted to stay in the car, but Gem volunteered to keep Trina on her lap and play whatever game she wanted to play to occupy her.
On the way to town, Trina had asked us if we were on our way to pick up her mommy and Jesse. She didn’t mention her father Jack, and it may be because in her mind she already knew he was gone. She had been in that house after all, and seeing him like that must have been a nightmare. We were all surprised she slept through the night last night, but she was exhausted, and perhaps even the nightmares couldn’t overpower her need to rejuvenate.
In answer to her question I turned my eyes to Gem. She shook her head slowly, then looked into Trina’s eyes. “We’re still trying to find them, baby. Don’t you worry. They both love you. Just remember that when you miss them.”
Trina said nothing. We promised to get her some dollies at the store if she’d be good and stay with Gem. This seemed to make her forget for the time being.
Normally I hate to lie. Not this time. I wanted to lie to her forever. Make her believe they were still on this earth.
And it kept nagging at me. What we’d seen at the CDC. Those things coming back to life because we didn’t destroy their brains.
I hadn’t done anything to Jesse’s brain. Had she crawled from her earthen grave, now one of them? Was she out there now, even as we faced the horrors of this modified existence, hungry, hungry, starving?
I put it out
of my mind. We had to know more. I didn’t want to picture my Jess like that. But it nagged.
Hemp and I stepped past the body, scattering the flies. I waved them away from my face – they had just been feasting on dead flesh and I didn’t like the idea of them anywhere near my eyes or mouth. We had handheld flashlights, but I knew the first thing I wanted. First we reconnoitered the aisles to make sure none of the hungry dead were lying in wait, if they could even do that, and were relieved to find we were alone in the store.
It wasn’t a big store, and at the entry the light filtering in through the storefront windows was enough to see by. About 15 aisles, a local store that specialized in the things the local people most often needed. Generators, plumbing parts, electrical. I headed for the flashlight section and found what I was looking for immediately. While the front of the store was bathed in light, the rear aisles wouldn’t be. I grabbed all they had on the rack and went to the end cap where the AAA batteries were hung. I took down a 24 pack and popped it open and began loading batteries into a couple of the LED headlamps. Hemp had made his way to the aisle where the rope was stocked.
“Hemp! Where are you, buddy?”
“Aisle 7. Found some good high tensile, thin rope.”
I turned into the aisle and met him. He’d taken a small shopping basket and had put six rolls of the rope in it. I gave him a headlamp.
“Bloody good idea, Flex.” He strapped it on his head and slid the switch. The light was excellent and directed.
He said, “I need some very strong, thin fishing line or something. A fifty pound strength would work well if they have it.”
“Aisle 12 is fishing and camping gear. You good here? I’m heading over to electrical. Stuff for wiring the cameras.”
“Get as much video cable as you can,” he said. I’d like to spread out our field of vision, so we’ll probably have some long runs. Also get some splicing connectors, and if you can find them, some motion detectors. No sense in using the power unless they see something coming. Then they can kick on, and that’ll draw our attention.”
I moved around the edge of the row and made my way down to electrical, grabbing one of the light plastic shopping carts along the way. The kind with the long pole on top so you can’t take them out through the door. Damned staff was too lazy to go retrieve them from the parking lot.
And now there was no staff. Good move, maybe.
I grabbed four motion detectors along the way, then came to the cable wire and pushed all the rolls off the hanging rods into my cart. Same with the connectors.
Then I had a thought. I knew the walkies were okay for a couple of miles at best with obstacles in the way. A super tall antenna would be a big help. The area where we were located wasn’t too hilly, so if I could get an extension antenna wire up high enough, it would open up our distance, perhaps closer to the 28 miles promised by some of the newer walkies. I decided to get the cameras first, then look for something that I could build a makeshift antenna tower with.
“Nothing over here,” Hemp called. “I’m going into the back to see if they’ve got extra stock. There’s a hanger and price for the 50 lb, but it’s empty. I’ll use 30 lb if I have to, but I prefer stronger.”
“Gotcha. I’m getting what we need here. Hey, Hemp! They have video surveillance kits! 6-camera, easy setup.”
Hemp didn’t reply. I unloaded three full sets for 18 cameras. That ought to do it. Hardware stores sure tried to cater to everyone’s needs these days, and I was glad. Radio Shack was officially off the list.
Next, I went to the lock section and found a beefy, 2” hasp master lock with a four-number combination. I didn’t figure the number would have to be that complex considering what we were trying to keep out. I dropped two of them in my basket, too.
Now for the antenna. I was thinking some ½” copper pipe, joined by couplings to a height of 100’ might do it. So ten 10’ sections were on my list. Along with the proper flux and solder and a nice soldering torch to sweat the pipe together. It could be assembled in less than an hour. Standing it up might be a trick, but I was sure Hemp would be able to figure it out. He was an engineer, after all.
I dropped the couplings, solder and torch in my basket, and grabbed the ten lengths of pipe and hefted them out to the Crown Victoria. They clearly weren’t going to fit inside, so I put them down, ran back inside to grab some more rope, and headed back out. Gem helped me bundle them, then we used massive strips of duct tape to secure them to the top of the car just to the side of our mounted AK-47.
Okay, Gem’s AK-47. She loved that thing.
The day was heating up. It was already around 80 degrees.
“Hemp!”
There was no reply. It had been over eight minutes. “Hemp!”
Still nothing.
I left my cart and swung my K7 around to kill position and stood stock still. I heard a bumping sound from the back of the store.
And I ran. I ran to the stockroom door and yanked it open, my headlight bathing each place I turned my head. The room was rectangular, and had several rows of shelves that ran nearly floor to ceiling. My light was nearly absorbed by the room, and only directly ahead of me was illuminated. Hemp was not anywhere in sight, and so far he hadn’t answered. Chills began their trek up and down my spine.
“Hemp! Where are you? Can you hear me, man?”
Still nothing. A shuffle. Off to my left. I yelled again. “Hemp! Answer me or I might shoot you!”
I didn’t think for a second that Hemp would think this was anything like funny. He wasn’t a stupid man.
I turned left and walked quietly, looking down each aisle, my headlamp exposing anything that might move.
Nothing did.
A grunt.
I screamed like a native warrior and ran to the last aisle, turning the corner at speed. A large man, formerly alive but no longer, with peeling skin and reddish-pink glowing eyes, stood right there, stopped dead center at the beginning of the fifty-foot aisle. To stop my forward momentum so that I didn’t crash into the thing, I dropped my gun to hang awkwardly from the shoulder strap, windmilling my arms madly as I struggled to reverse course.
The nostrils flared wide – very wide – and in its moment of what must have been surprise, it just stared down at me. He must have been at least 6’7”, and because he was wearing basketball shorts and a jersey I assumed he’d been playing a little b-ball when his world changed. I felt like I was facing Larry Bird with flesh-eating virus.
His white-yellow teeth shone in my light, and he came at me the next split second, just as I began to make some progress away from him. He didn’t physically move fast, but his sheer size made every step like two of mine. I was startled; he was too close. I continued my stagger backward, lost my balance again and fell, and as I looked up, he appeared to be ready to drop right on top of me.
I scrambled to my feet again and my gun clattered to the floor. As I scurried away, my left foot caught the weapon, kicking it in my intended direction of retreat. I turned my head back to see what chance I had of getting away when my light fell on a disturbing sight.
Hemp’s shoes. The soles shone in my light. He was unconscious on the floor in the middle of the aisle.
I kicked the gun hard forward again as I continued to put distance between me and the lumbering zombie, whose eyes, even without the illumination from my headlamp, glowed after me. Then, in one fluid motion, I scooped the gun from the ground, rolled onto my back and blasted no fewer than 20 rounds into that huge, deteriorating, fat head of his, laying him down like a pile of bricks smashed by a wrecking ball.
As I watched the mass of meat and gore that used to be his face, I saw his eyes slowly fade to black. I stared for a moment. The shine was life. Somehow. In their eyes. I had not given it enough thought, I now knew. If Hemp was still alive, we would give it the analysis it deserved.
If he wasn’t, I had no idea what we would do.
I knew the creature was gone, finally dead, therefore no longer a th
reat. I ran down the aisle closest to me, all the way to the end, and turned left. I still didn’t want to skirt past the thing, no matter how sure I was that it was dead.
I got to the end aisle and saw Hemp on the floor. Kneeling down beside him, I took his arm and gently turned him over. He was out cold, but breathing.
He looked unharmed. Externally, at least. No blood. No injury. No scratches or bites that looked human inflicted. Tucking down, I pulled him up by the waist and somewhat to his feet. I bent forward and rested him over my right shoulder, then struggled to stand up. After nearly going over backward, I regained my balance and walk-jogged to the door of the stockroom, pushed through it, and back into the aisle where my cart was. I lowered Hemp inside the cart and he folded up on top of the cable.
Not wanting to make Hemp’s trip in vain, I pushed over to his basket and loaded the stuff in his cart into mine, on top of him. Then I ran for the door.
I’m not sure why I was still spooked. I was almost certain that one creature was the only danger here, but it was like I was eight years old again, and I was conjuring up goblins and ghosts and a thousand arms reaching out to grab my shirttail and drag me into hell.
But I made it to the door. It did not occur to me at that moment, since I lacked complete and utter sanity, that the cart would not fit around the body in the doorway, or that the fucking metal rod that was sticking up would hit the door frame. So, in a perfectly logical scenario, I pushed that overloaded cart full speed through the entry door, the wheels slamming into the torn-up body on the ground and the 1” metal pipe attached to the cart slamming into the glass wall above the door. As a result, the cart containing Hemp and our precious supplies went into a stutter-flip, sending Hemp and all the crap piled on top of him tumbling to the ground.
I realized at the last second what had happened, and I tried to hang onto the cart, but all I did was slow it ever-so-slightly. Gem saw what had happened and practically leapt from the Crown Vic. She looked at me, her eyes wide.
