Z-Risen (Book 2): Outcasts

by Long, Timothy W.

  “Wait. B, A…” I started to spell out the letters.

  “Bad Ass…”

  “Mother Fucker. Got it.” I racked a shell into the gun’s chamber. Talk about a satisfying sound.

  Anna poked the Chevy out of the hotel parking lot, saw that the road was clear of Z’s, and took a left at the first cross street.

  Half a block later, we came across two of them. They were as young as Christy, but they were old in terms of time spent dead. Both were desiccated corpses that barely managed to stay on their feet. The pair of creepers wandered toward the sound of the car, but they couldn’t keep up.

  The next street over was a big mess. Houses smashed in. Furniture and appliances tossed onto yards. Clothes torn and discarded onto browned grass.

  “Why do they drag all their crap out of the house?” I wondered out loud.

  “Probably treasure hunters looking for money hidden in the walls, or maybe just looking for cool shit,” Joel said.

  “This is like little Mexico. Ain’t no one stashing money in walls,” I said.

  “You know this how?” Anna asked.

  I didn’t have an answer to that one.

  We hit a couple of houses and came up empty. A little rambler looked promising, as its blue front door was still bolted shut. When we approached, however, a very angry voice yelled out in Spanish that, best I could tell, we should move the fuck on.

  We did.

  After a fifteen-minute circuit, it was beginning to look like we weren’t going to find a damn thing – but then Joel had an idea.

  “Bet that T J Max had a vending machine.”

  “Goddamn genius,” I replied.

  Anna pulled into the parking lot and around to a side alley that led us to the back of the building. When we’d first hit San Diego, we’d gone into a Walmart, not knowing that it was full of Z’s. The entire nightmare in that giant dark building had stuck with me ever since. For a while, I even wore a ridiculous orange wristband, pilfered from the sporting-goods section, as a reminder to take nothing for granted. The band eventually got crusty with sweat and blood, so I left it in our original Fortress. Now we were thinking about going into another darkened warehouse-style building.

  Wish I’d kept that sweatband. Maybe I wouldn’t have gone for a repeat.

  ###

  07:20 hours approximate

  Location: Clairemont CA, Undead Central

  Joel wedged his big Marine knife into the doorframe and worked at it for a few minutes. I kept an eye out by scouting our perimeter while Anna watched Joel’s back. I came across another door, but it was locked and had a security pad and card-reader. I’d have been screwed, anyway, because the power was out. I tested the door but it didn’t budge.

  The exterior of the building was surrounded by some well-tended shrubbery and a few trees. I felt somewhat secure, but if more than one or two Z’s got wind of us, we’d be hauling ass for the car.

  It was strange being out in the open and in a location I’d never visited before. Here we were, survivors of a world gone completely insane, and we were trying to break into a department store.

  The big Mossberg felt awesome in my hand. It was like something I’d been missing my entire life. When I was a kid I got to fire a shotgun a few times, but it was nothing like this. It was probably a smaller 20 gauge, but it still bruised the hell out of my shoulder. This baby was different. If I played it smart and let them get close, I’d be a ZULU killing machine. I also wore my trusty M45A1 as a backup, and had one extra mag stuffed in a back pocket.

  With all the firepower, I’d done something I hoped I wouldn’t regret. I’d left the pipe wrench back at Fortress. I guess that, if it came down to fighting hand to hand, I’d just use Joel Kelly as my new wrench.

  Something rustled near a dumpster about fifty feet to the west, but I didn’t go to investigate. That would lead to shooting, and shooting would lead to Z’s. I thought a dirty face peeked out, but it was gone before I could get a clear view.

  I hustled back to Joel’s location; we’d already been in the open for too long.

  Joel had his arms crossed while Anna worked at the door.

  “Give up?”

  “Damn thing’s stuck as hell, man. I can’t even get the blade in there deep enough to pry the door open.”

  “Need the assistance of a Navy engineer?” I asked.

  “Do you have a tool kit hidden somewhere in your clothing?” Joel smirked.

  “Just one,” I said.

  I planted my leg on my aching left ankle, then lifted my right foot and bashed the door. It swung in hard, but Anna dashed in and managed to stop it from whipping around and crashing into the other side of the frame.

  “Real fucking subtle,” Anna Sails said. She tugged her gun out of her holster and backed up a few steps, then did a quick sweep.

  Joel slapped me on the back, and in we went.

  The place was dark. Really dark. There wasn’t even an exit sign to help us poke our way around. It was dead quiet, which was actually good news for us. If nothing was moving around in the place, we were probably safe from being rushed by Z’s.

  “First stop is the flashlight department,” I whispered.

  “Shhh!” Anna and Joel shot back.

  I shrugged and stayed close.

  We moved fast, but I kept my head on constant gawk as I swiveled around to check out the fading slit of sunlight streaming through the cracked-open doorframe. I wanted to shut the door, but apparently I’d damaged it too much to even prop it closed. At least we had a little bit of light.

  The back of the building was constructed as a long hallway with metal shelves for inventory. Most shelves were covered in boxes. I opened a few of them and found they contained clothing. Lots and lots of children’s clothing. I thought about grabbing something for Christy, but none of the stuff was her size.

  We moved down the hallway with Joel’s tactical light poking into the dark.

  We tried a few office doors, but they were locked. We crept further down, away from our point of entry.

  “Jackpot,” Joel whispered as he opened a door.

  The room held a few round tables with chairs arrayed around. To my relief, it was free of Z’s.

  Joel played the light around the room and revealed a bulletin board and counters boasting a coffee maker, microwave oven, and sink. There was a small window set high in the rear wall. A little bit of light filtered through, so I went through the drawers. After opening the third one, I came up with a prize: a couple of handheld LED flashlights. One was weaker than the other, but they’d help. I gave the brighter one to Anna. Gentlemen that I was, and all.

  We split up and grabbed what we could. There was a soda vending machine, but it was locked up tight. I’d kill for a fucking Coca-Cola right about now. The snack vending machine was filled with potato chips, candy bars, and crackers. I stared through the quarter-inch-thick glass and just about drooled.

  Joel moved to the door and shut it. He motioned with both hands like he was stabbing someone.

  “What the fuck?” I whispered.

  “Break the glass, dummy,” he shot back.

  “Then gimme your knife, if you can part with it long enough.”

  “You can’t break it with a blade.”

  “No shit. Just gimme the damn thing.”

  Joel walked over and handed it to me while Anna Sails walked the perimeter and kept watch.

  I took the big knife, reversed it, and hammered the hard metal cap into the glass.

  My hand bounced back and I nearly stabbed myself in the shoulder.

  “Another idea, genius?”

  “Do you want to eat this shit or not?” I glared back.

  Joel smiled.

  Anna left the room and returned a moment later with a couple of garments. She tossed them at Joel.

  “What should I do with these?”

  “Wrap them around the muzzle of your piece and shoot the glass, dummy.”

  I chuckled and Joel glared.
>
  “Shit. Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

  Joel had acquired a Springfield XDM 9mm sometime during the escape from the base. It was a small handgun, designed for conceal and carry, but he’d taken to it just the same. He chambered a round, checked the safety, and then wrapped a couple of shirts around his hand and the weapon.

  I looked away when the muzzle flashed. Even with the fake silencer, the shot was still ridiculously loud in the tiny room, but it got the job done. Well, close enough.

  The bullet struck the glass and left a small hole with spider-webbed cracks radiating outward.

  This time, when I hit it, I was not denied.

  Glass shattered and fell in an unholy clatter. We looked at each other, holding breath for a moment, and then moved with a purpose. Joel tossed open cabinet doors and found a box of garbage bags, then he quickly backed up and stared hard at one of the open storage spaces.

  Christ, was there something in there?

  “Bingo as fuck.” He said and tossed me the bags.

  “What is it?”

  “A bunch of plates and utensils.” He grinned. “Oh, and these.”

  I wanted to hug him as he took out a case of bottled water. He placed it on the counter and then followed it with a case of iced tea. Joel stacked another case of water on top of that and then looked at me.

  “Right!”

  I had to put the Mossberg on the counter so I could hustle precious fluids to the doorway. I peeked outside, into the sunlight. That wasn’t my smartest move; I was practically blinded. I took a moment to let my eyes adjust, using the opportunity to crack open a bottle of warm diet Snapple and down it in three massive gulps. I didn’t even care about the aftertaste of artificial sugar.

  I’d stumbled halfway back down the hallway when I remembered I had the small flashlight in my pocket. I took out the palm-sized unit and felt around until I found a button. I clicked it and was met with a beam of light that first flickered, then flared.

  “Shit!” I tried to yell, but began to choke and cough as I went down.

  The Z was almost on me. She was a snarling mess of blood and gore. Someone had stabbed her in the chest, and the knife was still stuck there, jutting from one of her breasts. Her silky print shirt was ripped to shreds and hung wide open, but – even in a lacy black bra – she was about as sexy as a sweaty linebacker.

  I fell back on my sore ankle and went down hard, sprawling on my ass. I lifted my right hand and then remembered I’d left my pipe wrench at home. I went for my side arm, but the Z wasn’t waiting. She fell onto me.

  Even this waif of a girl, who couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, still had the snarling rage. She wasn’t as crazy as a shuffler, but she was fresh dead – and if she was fresh dead, she wasn’t the only Z in the building. Unless she stabbed herself in the boob.

  I pushed her to the side and rolled the other way. She lay dazed for a few seconds and then moved up on all fours. The girl stared at me with those white eyes. I swore, but pulled my gun, aimed, and squeezed the trigger.

  The fucking Z dodged to the side like she knew I was aiming for her! It didn’t matter, though, because I’d forgotten to turn the damn safety off, too.

  The Z leapt into the air and smashed into me. She snarled as she pummeled my chest. I was on my back again, the air driven from my body.

  She bit down on my arm and I shrieked. She tore upward, but came away with a mouth full of cloth. I got my knee into her chest, and then she rammed her elbow into the side of my head.

  I rolled and took her with me, but she skittered away.

  In the dark it was hard to see her form. I snapped the safety off and aimed.

  She came in low, from the direction of the door, and I was again blinded by the sliver of bright sun. She hit me just as I fired. The shot went wide and smashed into the door.

  This chick was really getting on my nerves. If I was going to make a one-way trip to Undeadville, it wasn’t going to be at the teeth of a hundred-pound girl who wore fashionable clothing.

  Then she hit me so hard that I saw stars.

  I grabbed her around the neck and tried to hold her away. Her teeth came within inches of snapping my nose off, but I turned my head enough to avoid that. Her breath reeked of rot. I gagged and held my stomach in check.

  She flailed, hitting me in the sides with both of her hands while I tried to keep her from biting me.

  I yanked the knife out of her chest and drove it into her side. I tugged it back out and made a stab for her head, but panic overrode a controlled aim and the blade split her cheek open. I turned my head to avoid getting a mouthful of gore.

  Something grabbed the girl and she was suddenly lifted off of me. She flew to the floor but was on all fours in a split-second.

  A gun boomed and the girl was driven into the ground. It boomed again and the girl’s head popped.

  I gasped for breath, and then rolled to my side and managed to get to my feet.

  Standing over the Z, with her gun still extended, was my hero: Anna fucking Sails. Her eyes were tight as she looked me over.

  “Creed. If you’re about to join the crawlers I’m going to be very fucking disappointed.”

  “Sails. Jesus Christ. You saved my ass.” I got to my feet and limped toward her.

  “Now we’re even. You saved me at the hospital. Call it good?”

  I stood with one foot cocked, because it screamed in pain every time I put weight on it. A few days out and I was already a damn cripple. I’d strained it while helping Roz dispatch a few Z’s at her house and had been on the mend ever since.

  Sails grabbed my arm and dragged me to the door, propping it open with her hip. She examined the torn shirt and probed at my skin.

  “I guess I don’t have to kill you.” She let my arm drop.

  “Ow.” I tried not to fall over.

  I put my hand on Sails’s shoulder and then draped my arm over her in an embrace. I liked how she was strong and tough but also had all the right curves. Her back tensed, but then she let the tension go.

  “Thanks, Sails.”

  “We’re not married. Get your hand off me,” she said, but didn’t push me away.

  “Sorry. Hurt my ankle. Help me back to the break room so I can finish the load-out?”

  “You’re about an idiot, know that, Creed? How are you going to help with a busted leg?”

  “Yeah. Good point. I’ll just wait here while you guys bring up the...” I didn’t get to finish my sentence because something screeched in the department store.

  Joel appeared a second later, took one look at us, and the corpse, shrugged and deposited a box of goodies next to mine.

  “Movement in there. Lots of it. We need to haul ass,” Joel said and turned to go back in.

  “Wait, man, where you going?”

  “One more box. I got it. Just get this shit in the car.” He turned back. “Can’t you two wait for a touchy feely moment until we’re at least back in the hotel?”

  “He hurt his vagina and needed my help,” Sails protested.

  “Ankle. It gave out when she attacked. Just go. Stand around discussing all this bullshit and nothing will get done.” I didn’t let go of Sails.

  Joel went back. I swallowed when my friend left, but if anyone could take care of himself, it was Joel “Super Marine” Kelly.

  I let go of Sails, limped to the pile of goods, then picked up a box and hobbled to the front door. Sails moved ahead and opened it. She looked both ways and then hustled to the car and popped the trunk.

  “Got to be fucking kidding me!”

  “What? Z? Dead hooker?” I wanted to know what was causing the look on Anna’s face.

  She left the trunk open and as she left to retrieve another box.

  I staggered to the trunk with the box in one hand, and then gasped and gawked. Now where in the hell were we going to put our goods?

  The space was filled with boxes of canned goods. Someone had already crammed the trunk
with corned beef hash, canned tuna, mixed vegetables, and – of course – spinach. There also were bags of noodles and boxes of instant mashed potatoes.

  The irony of our situation really sank in when I heard the first Z round the corner. It staggered into sight, followed quickly by another one. They stared with milk-white eyes. Sunken cheeks. Matted hair. Blood-splattered clothing.

  “We need to go now!”

  Gunfire erupted inside; I knew the sound all too well. Joel was using his AR. Anna’s booming .357 sounded next, but then stopped, presumably so she could reload.

  I lifted the .45, took very careful aim, and shot the first Z. The bullet spun the guy to the right, but I’d missed a direct headshot and only taken off an ear. I fired again, the count in my head ticking to four. Joel had taught me well. Four more and I’d have to reload. I shot the second Z, and this time scored a headshot, but the bullet punched through its cheek and tore a path of destruction. The Z’s jaw half-destroyed jaw unhinged as he continued to advance.

  I dispatched that one, and then, with shaking fingers, reloaded.

  From around the back of the building came at least a dozen more, and just to show how really unfucking lucky we were today, there were a pair of shufflers in the bunch.

  “Joel. We need to go. Now!” I called into the building, no longer worrying about loud noised drawing a horde. They were already here.

  Entry #12 – Do Over

  08:00 hours approximate

  Location: Clairemont, CA - Undead Central

  The nearest Z went down as I emptied my magazine. I reached for a fresh mag, slapped it home, and went on firing. I got lucky with the first shuffler. Real fucking lucky. If the real world were still around, I’d go out and buy a goddamn lottery ticket.

  As the shuffler left the ground, I squeezed off a pair of shots. The first one missed by a mile, but the second one caved in the fucker’s head. I didn’t have time to let out a whoop, though, because the other shuffler was rounding the corner.