The zombie closed to within two hundred yards, coming fast. Its staggering gait churned up dust and dead grass. Arms flailing, it almost looked like a kid chasing butterflies. Blake could make out the rotten texture of its skin, the ragged opening of its belly. The world went quiet save the creature’s hissing growl.
He sighted down the pistol’s barrel, took a deep breath and held it. Slowly, his hands steadied and the trembling fear in his belly settled to a dull throb. His finger tightened on the trigger, ready to pull. He counted one, two-
An explosion roared just behind his right ear. He cried out and ducked to the side as something whipped past his temple, buzzing like an angry hornet. He hit the pavement in a heap and slapped a palm to the side of his head. The revolver clattered to the road and went off, sending a round skittering across the blacktop.
Blake looked up in time to see the zombie collapse, its head ruptured like a bag of wet garbage. He lay still for a second, breathing and watching the felled corpse. He didn’t look over his shoulder until he heard laughter, and then he knew exactly what had happened.
Chris stood over him, the hunting rifle now slung over his shoulder. A wicked smile creased the asshole’s face.
“That’s one killbilly down and one redneck on his ass.”
“What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“Keeping you from playing your little hero game. Stop showing your balls like you want to prove they exist.”
“Fuck you. Seriously.”
“Whatever.” Chris held out a hand. Blake shoved it to the side and stood on his own.
“You’re in a better mood today.”
“Sure. What’s the point in dying with a frown on your face, right?”
“You don’t-”
“Stop kidding yourself, Corn-Fed. Three thousand zombies against me and four white trash in a pickup. We don’t stand a goddamn chance.”
Chris’s grin widened. His blond hair framed his face in a way that made Blake want to punch him square in the mush. The guy must have noticed, because he said, “Ease off, tiger,” and walked away, chuckling.
Blake breathed deep, willing himself calm. Of course, calm was still scared as hell, but it felt a little better. He shrugged his denim jacket back into position and returned to the pickup. Morris gave him a pat on the back.
“Shake it off.”
“Guy’s a dick.”
“We all know that. Bet he knows it, too.”
“Hooray for him.”
The big man shrugged, scratched at his beard. “Let’s just finish up and get on the road. I want to get this over with.”
“Right.” Blake jumped into the truck’s bed and returned to his backpack. He wanted to fill another magazine with rounds before they left. Busy work, but it helped. It kept his mind off his coming death.
————————————
Morris let out his breath in a low grumble. He glared at Stevenson’s back. He hoped the guy wouldn’t be trouble, but he had his doubts. Hell, Stevenson had been nothing but for close to six months now. He’d have to keep an eye on the guy, make sure he didn’t decide to fuck over everybody first chance he got.
Casting Chris Stevenson from his mind, he fixed his eyes on the zombie’s splayed form. Even from so far away, he could smell the thing. Of course, their smell was everywhere now. It reminded him of a job he’d worked in Hamilton, Ohio, years before, trying to make environmental improvements on a landfill. At first the stink of garbage had been overpowering. A few weeks in, however, he’d grown used to it. When he’d finished the job five months later, he almost missed the smell. He hoped for a day he might miss the smell of rotting corpses, but he didn’t think it would ever arrive.
It might help if anybody had the slightest idea what had caused the dead to get up and start eating in the first place. During the first few days, when the news stations managed to keep broadcasting, they’d said it was a plague, some mutated form of rabies driving people apeshit. Those bitten were quarantined and then eliminated. Footage had showed soldiers putting rounds in the heads of civilians. When ammunition ran low, the stations had aired footage of soldiers using hammers to bash in skulls.
Just before CNN had gone off the air for the last time, an intern who’d found herself behind the newsdesk claimed chemical weapons were at fault. By that point the media had noticed even those who’d died of natural causes were getting back up pissed and hungry. The intern had switched her story in mid-sentence, deciding the zombies were God’s Wrath. Then she’d slit her wrists.
Watching the tangled corpse, Morris still wondered what made the dead return. He didn’t know if he believed any of the theories he’d heard, though the chemical one made a certain amount of sense. Maybe it was just another cycle of life. Maybe it was the planet striking back at them. Whatever it might be, he knew humanity didn’t deserve it. They may have fucked up their share of things along the way, but nothing could earn them this reward.
“You cool?” Eric asked.
He shrugged.
“You don’t want to back out, do you?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah.”
Eric stood there for a moment, looking like he couldn’t quite figure out what he was supposed to say. Finally, he whispered, “Fine,” and walked to the flatbed trailer they’d hooked to the truck, hands checking the connection. “Not like there’s a choice, anyway.”
No, Morris thought. Guess I’m in it until the end.
————————————
Eric looked up at Chris. The man just sat there with angry shadows swirling around his eyes. Guy probably still thought he’d drawn his name on purpose. He almost wished that were the case, though he had to admit the initial surprise had been the week’s lone bright spot.
“Hey, Chris.”
“What?”
“You go through your prep list?”
“Prep list? That what you’re calling it?”
“Yeah. You run it?”
“Yes.”
“Want to run through it again?”
“No.”
“Well, how about you go ahead and do it again so I can feel a little better having you at my back?”
Chris let out a sigh that carried more than a little annoyance. Too bad. Eric thought back on his years running kitchens and all the prep lists he’d worked through before starting a shift. It was a part of doing any job the right way, and Chris could like it or hate so long as he did what was expected of him.
He watched as Chris lifted a backpack into his lap and reached inside. The man pulled out three loaded magazines for his hunting rifle.
“Spare clips or whatever you call them.”
A box of ammunition followed.
“More bullets.”
A different box.
“For the pistol.”
A large, steel flashlight.
“Maglite.”
He drew more items from the pack, ticking each one off as he did so.
“Rope, one box of matches, walkie-talkie. I can’t seem to find my sippy cup, though. You seen it, Dad?”
“Thanks,” Eric said. “You almost did that without making me want to put five across your eyes.”
“I’m so honored.”
Eric turned away before he said something he might actually regret.
————————————
Jeremy couldn’t feel his hands. He didn’t know when he’d lost his sense of touch, but he knew he’d had it last night. Now he looked down at his hands, curled them into fists, and wondered where the feeling had gone.
They’d dragged his mother away fifteen minutes ago, when she threatened to kill everybody in town if they made him go to Rundberg. He closed his eyes, and he could still see her spit in one man’s face, scratch deep furrows in the cheek of another. She’d looked crazy, but he knew it was just because she loved him.
He loved her, too. He hoped he’d get to see her again. Thinking about
his chances made him start crying.
Hot shame burned up his face. Jesus, he was acting like a fucking baby. He checked to make sure nobody was looking at him. They weren’t. Everybody appeared to be busy with something else. Mr. Dawes had opened up the truck’s hood and looked to be checking the oil. Eric from the old diner was cleaning a revolver, scrubbing the barrel with a wire brush. Chris Stevenson sat in the pickup’s bed, either angry or sad by the look on his face.
Blake had moved to the side, where he talked with his girlfriend. Jeremy knew her name was Holly Jenkins, and he knew she was hotter than hot. She’d been a substitute teacher at Dearborn Middle a year back, and he’d spent a lot of time in his home’s upstairs bathroom thinking about her and figuring out a little about himself. Even now, when just about the only thing he could think about was zombies, the sight of her gave him a funny feeling down below. Man, Blake had to be the luckiest guy on earth.
Well, maybe this was his chance to be that lucky. When they made it back, he’d be a hero, not just some kid. Girls wanted to do things with heroes. Things kids didn’t do.
Morris slammed the pickup’s hood shut and brushed his hands off on his jeans. The funny feeling disappeared as fright replaced it once again. They’d be leaving soon.
Jeremy wished he could see his mom.
————————————
“You better come back to me.”
“I will. Promise.” Blake held Holly tight and breathed deep through her auburn hair. She hadn’t washed it for close to a week because of the rationing, but it smelled wonderful to him, natural and primal. He pressed his hand against the small of her back and was struck by how thin she’d grown. Had she always been this small, or was she starving a day at a time? Urgency churned in his belly. They needed to get on the road and find out how much food was left in Tandy’s, Rundberg’s supermarket.
“Don’t promise,” she said. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Just make it back.”
“I will.”
She kissed him, a desperate, hungry pressure he didn’t want to end. He felt a sudden and powerful need to not leave, to stay in the circle of her arms. He’d moved in with Holly a year before the world ended. Together, they’d turned the apartment above Millwood Hardware into a home. More than anything, he wished they were in that tiny one-bedroom. He wished they could stay there forever.
The kiss ended, and her lips found his ear. “I’ve got a treat for you when you get back.”
“Yeah?”
“You bet. I found some black fishnets.”
He smiled. “Oh, really? You plan to wear them?”
“I figured for a week or so I could wear nothing but.”
He had to hand it to her, she had a way with motivation. “We could maybe be back in a few hours or so.”
“Just remember what you’re coming back to.” Her voice hitched, and he felt her tears touch his cheek.
“I couldn’t forget if I tried.” He kissed her again, tenderly this time. He slid his hands up and down over her back, and she shivered within his embrace. “I love you, Holly.”
“I love you, too,” she replied. Her eyes were red and watering freely now. “Goddammit, you come back to me. Remember to shoot smart, okay? Not scared. Line up your damn sights. Don’t go popping off rounds like an asshole.”
“Right.” He tried to give her another smile, but it faltered on his lips. Instead he kissed her forehead and then her hands. He didn’t want to let her go, but he knew the others were waiting. Whether he liked it or not, it was time to leave.
“I love you,” he said again. It felt so important that she know it. “I really do.”
“Me too.”
He turned and jumped into the back of the Dodge before he could change his mind. He slapped the top of the cab, and Eric hit the gas. He sat down on the wheel well as the truck rolled through the gate.
He looked back and saw Holly wave. He returned the gesture, and tears filled his eyes.
I love you, Holly, he thought. I love you so fucking much.
“Don’t worry,” Chris said. “She probably won’t shuck any cobs before we get back.”
He looked murder at the bastard and received a laugh for his effort. More than ever, he found himself hoping something terrible would happen to Chris. He hoped he’d get to watch.
A noise reached his ears, and Blake realized it was Jeremy Motts. The kid was trying not to cry. His jaw was a firm line, his eyes cold, but tears welled up in those eyes, preparing to fall. Jeremy sniffled once and then turned away, his mouth twisting into an angry knot.
Blake knew how he felt. He wanted to say something, tell Jeremy it would be all right. The words wouldn’t come, though. They felt like lies, and Blake didn’t have it in him to hide the truth from the boy.
He wrapped his arms around himself and hunkered down. He saw Eric and Morris in the cab, looking straight ahead and not saying a word. Chris sat on the opposite wheel well, smiling to himself like he didn’t have a care in the entire fucking world. Probably didn’t, either. He guessed Chris didn’t think about much of anything that wasn’t right in front of him.
Blake cast a last look at Millwood and watched several men push the wrecked cars back into place, closing the barricade. That was it. They were outside now. Good luck, gentlemen. Don’t come back without food.
The truck accelerated. The trailer rumbled along the road, and Millwood faded into the distance. Blake shut his eyes.
“Rundberg, here we come.”
THREE
Even the woods along Highway 50 smelled dead. They stank like a slaughter yard or garbage dump, maybe a cheap Chinese restaurant. The pickup couldn’t outrun the stench. It might have churned Blake’s guts if he hadn’t spent the last ten months breathing the same air. Besides, his nerves continued to give his stomach all the action it could handle.
They’d been on the road just over thirty minutes, Eric taking the country roads easy. Last thing they needed to do was wreck or bottom out the truck. Something like that would leave them fucked before they even got to the hard part. He could picture it now, the five of them walking back to Millwood. Hey, can we grab another truck? We crapped out the last one.
They’d only seen two zombies so far, a pair of females crouched just inside the forest, tearing apart something that might have been a squirrel. Their skin was a bloated green, splitting along the joints. The corpses hissed at them as they drove by, but made no move to follow or attack. They already had their meal.
Blake knew that was about to change, though. Another mile or two and they’d hit Rundberg’s outer edge. From there things could get bad real quick. Three thousand hungry, walking corpses made one hell of a roadblock. Tandy’s sat near the center of town, too. No back way in. They needed to plow through a goddamn zombie army to reach the damn thing. Their mission was many things-crazy, desperate-but easy sure wasn’t one of them.
The truck slowed. Feeling a hot stab of panic, he looked up, wondering what had gone wrong. He searched the surrounding area for threats or catastrophes, but found nothing. All along the highway, the woods stood quiet and still, almost tranquil if you disregarded the stench. He settled in, but he pulled the Glock 37 from his waistband. Best to be prepared.
Jeremy didn’t take it so well. After fifteen minutes or so of steady driving, he’d stopped trying to look tough and instead just stared at his knees, but now he looked every which way, eyes wide and almost vibrating beneath the bill of his Reds cap. His lips quivered, and when he finally spoke he kept asking, “What’s happening? What’s happening?”
“Fucking grow a pair,” Chris said.
Blake looked a warning at the man. “Don’t know, but I don’t think it’s anything serious. Just chill.” He gave the kid a pat on the shoulder and felt muscles stiff as stone. Jeremy was going to lose it if he didn’t relax a little. How could he tell anybody to do that under the circumstances, though? Might as well ask a burning man to sit down and have a beer before dropping to the gr
ound and rolling.
They crawled to a stop on the road’s shoulder. Blake saw Jeremy close his eyes and breathe deep, and he felt relieved.
Eric and Morris climbed out of the cab. The big man rolled his shoulders and stretched. He gave the others a grin.
“Almost there. Anybody have to piss or puke, do it now.”
Blake thought he’d never heard such a good idea. He raised his hand like a school kid. “I’ll accept that offer.”
Chris laughed. “Hope you didn’t have a chunky breakfast.”
“Go to hell.”
“Hey, that’s what this trip’s all about, right?” The bastard gave a single laugh, throwing everything he had into one loud syllable.
Blake grunted as he hopped out of the bed. His knees creaked, and his muscles ached. It felt like he’d spent the day breaking rocks or hauling timber. He hadn’t realized just how big a number the tension had done on his body. If they made it back, Holly could walk around in her fishnets for a whole month, and he’d probably sleep through every last minute of it.
He heard Jeremy say something, saw him climb out of the truck, but he was already at the forest’s edge. Searching for any sign of movement, he saw nothing. Dead, just like the rest of the goddamn world. And he wanted to wait until it was safe before asking Holly to marry him. Bullshit. Safe was a memory. It wouldn’t be back in his lifetime.
His gut told him it was ready. He stepped into the forest, made it maybe ten feet before doubling over and lurching last night’s dinner onto the ground. Grabbing hold of a nearby spruce, he fought to keep himself from falling into his own vomit. He managed a breath, and then his gut kicked up another load.
His stomach quieted. He was finished, and probably a pound or two lighter for his troubles. Groaning, he coughed, spit, and wiped the corners of his mouth with his fingers. Awful stuff, but he knew he’d see worse before sundown.
Scavengers Page 2
