“You weren’t kidding, huh?”
He turned without straightening and found Jeremy standing just inside the trees. The kid looked alive and thinking, an improvement. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he eyed the ground like he was ashamed to be butting in on such a private moment.
“Nerves,” Blake said. “Couldn’t be helped. Go ahead if you need to.”
“Nah. I’m not really as scared as I thought I’d be.”
Blake didn’t respond, just watched the kid with amused eyes.
“Okay, I’m more scared than I thought I’d be. I’m scared out of my fucking mind.”
“Me too. Know what, though? I bet your mom’s more frightened than the two of us put together.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “I know. She embarrassed the crap out of me. You know she was saying last night we should just run away? She thought that was safer than me going to Rundberg. Can you believe that?”
“Doesn’t make a lot of sense, no.”
“I think she’s crazy.”
Blake stepped away from the spruce and his dinner. “Hey, your mom isn’t crazy. She cares about you, and that can make her less than rational sometimes, but that doesn’t make her crazy.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Sure, but remember something. You and me are the lucky ones on this little trip.”
“Maybe you’re crazy.”
“Think about it a minute. Those other three, who do they have to go back to? The town might want to see them return with food, but those guys don’t have loved ones. You and me, we have that.”
Jeremy shrugged. “Guess so.”
“Little man, if you heard half the things Holly promised to do to me when we get back, you’d never sleep again.”
The boy smiled. “What kind of things?”
Blake shook his head, smiling. “Maybe later, okay?”
————————————
Chris leaned against the side of the truck’s bed and stretched his arms skyward. His muscles creaked, but it felt good. What was this stopping bullshit? If he was gonna die, he’d rather get it over with than fart around and stall all day. These white trash wanted to kill themselves over some canned veggies so bad, why didn’t they just hop to it? Bring on the destiny, man!
He almost laughed. Destiny. What a load of horseshit. Was he supposed to believe the plague or act of God or whatever the fuck was all part of some karmic roadmap? No, humanity had found itself balls-deep in a colossal, meaningless fuck up. Wasn’t his goddamn fault these Millwood shitheads were starving. He hadn’t created killbillies or stolen food or anything else that had fucked over those folks. So why on earth was it fair that he had to go on the world’s most idiotic shopping trip?
Sneering, he turned the thoughts over and over again. He could just get up and go, take his guns-well, they were somebody else’s guns, but they’d been handed to him-and take off, hike into a field or the woods and keep going until he found some safe place to hole up. He could make a go of it, and he’d make it work. After all, he was a fair shot. Couldn’t handle three thousand killbillies by himself, but four or five wouldn’t be a problem. There had to be a cabin or a secluded house he could claim as his own. He’d probably even find some supplies; maybe grow some crops of his own. Sure, no problem. He’d done it before. Lasted three months, too.
He thought about it, eyeing the .22 laying across his knees and the .380 in his waistband. Plenty of ammo, too. The others would try to stop him, though. Hell, Morris had already threatened him a time or two, swinging that small-town dick like he was in charge of the world. Giant redneck fucker deserved a good kick in the balls. Show him he wasn’t so tough.
He eyed Morris and the skinny one, Eric. They stood at the side of the road, facing away from him and puffing on some smokes. He watched them inhale and exhale, and he found himself wanting a cigarette. It had been too long since his last good drag.
But a smoke wasn’t his main concern right now. The two rednecks held that honor. If he wanted, he could punch a bullet through the back of each of their skulls right now. It wouldn’t be anything personal, just the cost of freedom. Blake and the baby were off in the woods. He could probably take out the road boys and nab the truck before the guys in the woods knew what the hell was happening.
He smiled. It was a pretty good plan. He felt a small swell of pride that he’d been the one to think of it. Chris Stevenson, the baddest motherfucker in Indiana. Giving the rednecks exactly what they deserve.
But did he really want to do it? He mulled it over for a second, decided he didn’t. Sure, he didn’t like these folks, but he was pretty comfortable. He might take off someday, but he’d need a better plan. Might as well sit tight and see how their little errand fared. Who knew? It might turn out to be a fun distraction.
Chris shook his head. These idiots would never know how close they’d come.
————————————
Eric closed his eyes and did a few deep knee-bends. The muscles in his legs burned the slightest bit, better than they had the last few days. He mentally ran through his own prep list. Patting his pocket, he felt the smaller flashlight he’d tucked there an hour earlier. He visualized Tandy’s floor plan, and he hoped it hadn’t changed in the past few years.
Once he felt satisfied, he lit a cigarette. He watched Morris and sucked tobacco smoke deep into his lungs. The hand-rolled cigarettes were rough and strong and tasted pretty terrible, but he’d grown to like them over the last few months. Funny that they were running out of food in the land of corn, but somebody had managed to keep a tobacco crop going. It appeared people were serious about feeding their addictions.
The big man wasn’t doing anything, just standing there, facing east and peering into the distance. He looked like a stone column, sturdy and silent. What was east?
Right.
“You were in Cincinnati when it started, right?”
The big man nodded. He blew two plumes of smoke out his nostrils.
“What was it like?”
“Bad.” No emotion in his voice, like he had hypnotized himself.
“I mean, it’s a big city and all. I saw them trying to pull people out with copters, and I saw those poor bastards on the Serpentine Wall, in the river. Jesus. It amazes me you even made it out.”
Morris nodded.
“You okay?”
That seemed to cut through the static. Morris shook his head and blinked, and suddenly he turned to look at Eric.
“Fine. Just zoning, I guess.” He took another drag off his smoke and coughed a little. “Jesus, these are worse than pot.”
“Pretty gritty, yeah.”
“I can taste the fucking fertilizer.”
“You noticed that, too?”
“Yeah. Nothing like a lungful of shit on a nice spring day, huh?”
“Right. Nothing like it in the whole world.”
Eric took another drag, let the taste soak into his mouth. Morris was right, you could taste every disgusting aspect of the cigarette. No artificial sweeteners here, just dirt and shit and dried-out plant. It almost made him wonder why he’d started smoking in the first place, but he already knew the answer. Screw it. He was addicted, and he’d grown comfortable with the fact. End of story.
————————————
Morris wished Eric would shut up. He understood why the man wanted a conversation. The guy was scared. Hell, he was scared too. The last thing he wanted, however, was small talk. It was too friendly, too normal, and it brought bad memories.
————————————
“So, Idol tonight. Who you guys think’s going home?”
Morris rolled his eyes. This shit again? The guys had been annoying enough when it was just Survivor on Thursdays. This American Idol crap was gonna send him jumping out a window.
“Can we please go one week without talking about that fucking show?”
Carl Barnes walked past, twirling a drywall knife
in his fingers. “You’re still not watching, Morris?”
“Do I sound like I’m watching?”
“Your wife watches though, right?”
“Jesus Christ, yes. Maybe she just wants me to leave.”
Ben Coolidge unscrewed the top from his thermos and took a belt of coffee. At least he said it was coffee. Morris wouldn’t put anything past the guy. “You really should check it out. There’s this one girl on this year got an ass you could eat a steak off of.”
“Who?” Carl asked. “You don’t mean Leslie.”
“I do.”
“She’s sixteen!”
“Don’t make her ass any uglier.”
“Just makes it illegal.”
“I’m not gonna meet her, Carl. Shit, I’m not even voting for her. I’m just thinking about her in the shower once in awhile.”
“Jesus Christ!”
Morris laughed as he walked away from the pair of them. They’d been working on the University of Cincinnati’s new music building for two months now, and he knew he had months of Carl and Ben going back and forth ahead of him. It would be the same deal on the next job, which would probably be a new building on the UC campus. The University gave them more work than any other organization in town. Every year a different department wanted new facilities, so the projects remained plentiful and the contracts profitable. Say what you wanted about higher learning, it kept him employed.
He clicked on his portable radio as he crouched beside the wall, ready to get to work on the drywall. An Alice in Chains song played on WEBN, same as it would every hour on the hour. Some things just didn’t change.
“Well,” Carl said, “Your sweet Leslie’s going home after the way she butchered that Elton John song last night, so you can kiss her tight little dinner plate ass goodbye.”
Morris turned up the volume. “Them Bones” swelled and almost drowned out the dynamic duo.
“They can’t send her home! That just leaves Scott and Jacob, and they’re both queer as the day is long!”
“Least they can sing!”
Jesus Christ, he thought. Two guys with tool belts arguing over American Idol, and one of them has the nerve to use queer as an insult. He’d have to tell Carol once she picked him up. She’d never believe it. Probably give him a good line or two about how hot that Simon guy was, on top of it all.
The song ended abruptly, cutting off in the middle of the second verse. The DJ’s voice poured out of the speakers, the radio’s tinny sound quality doing little to disguise the fear in the man’s words.
“Hey, folks. Sorry about that, but I’ve been told there are riots breaking out in downtown. We hope to have some more information soon. Sorry we don’t have more right now. I’ll do my best to give it to you straight, okay? Right now though, everybody should probably just stay clear of downtown.”
Morris eyed the radio as the music returned. He didn’t notice that Ben and Carl had fallen silent. Instead he considered what he’d just heard. Downtown? Where downtown? Cincinnati was a big place, and Carol worked in the Fifth Third building right off Fountain Square.
As if in answer, his cell phone rang. He snatched it out of his pocket and looked at the display. Carol. He answered as his heart kicked up a few notches.
“You okay?”
“Morris.” She sounded scared, her voice edgy and high-pitched. “Oh my God. People are going crazy down here. I can see them out my window. I don’t know what’s going on, but they’re saying it’s riots.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. Everybody’s freaking out a little here. They don’t know if the rioters are going to… oh my God!”
“What? Carol, what?”
No answer. The line had gone dead. He disconnected and tried again, got a busy signal. A call to his wife’s cell went straight to voicemail.
He slammed his cellphone shut. “Fuck!”
Carl stood over him. “Morris, is everything-”
He didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
————————————
“So here’s a question,” Eric said. “How good do you think our chances are?”
Morris squinted as he chased away his memories. Was Eric really asking this?
“Well?”
So yeah, the guy really was asking.
“Five of us,” he said without turning to face Eric. “Armed, but three of us are out in the open. Supermarket’s about eight blocks in. Three thousand zombies between us and it, give or take a few hundred. That about the size of it?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
He took another drag off the cigarette that tasted like a burning twig. He considered lying. Morale might get them pretty far. On the other hand, he trusted Eric, and the only other person who could possibly hear him was an asshole. Might as well tell the truth.
“I think we’ll make it a block or two.”
Eric stared at him for a long moment. The thin man blinked a few times, and then a tiny smile appeared on his face. “A block or two?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you serious? You don’t even think we’ll make it to the store?”
“No.”
“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
“I’m not.”
“But you volunteered for this.”
“I did.” He took a last, long drag off his smoke and then flicked it into the middle of Highway 50. The cherry glowed against the hardtop. He considered walking into the middle of the road to stomp it out, but then decided he didn’t really care.
“So why?” Eric asked.
“Why what?”
“Why volunteer for something you’re convinced will fail? That’s kind of ridiculous, right?”
He shrugged.
Eric shuffled in place for a second, looking at his shoes. “Um, volunteering and all, does it have anything to do with your wife?”
He waited for Eric to raise his eyes, and then he locked him with a gaze. He didn’t narrow his eyes or frown or snarl, nothing like that, just looked into the man’s eyes in a calm, plain way that told him to mind his own goddamn business.
Then he turned and approached the truck. “We should go.”
He felt Eric’s eyes on his back. Maybe he felt a little guilty for being so blunt with the man, but he didn’t know any other way. Could be they’d reach the grocery store. He certainly planned to do all he could in order to get them there. Hope felt like a ridiculous notion, though. He didn’t know if such a thing even existed anymore.
Maybe they’d find out. Stranger things had happened.
FOUR
“It’s okay,” Blake said. “Just let it come. Don’t try to force it or anything.” He patted Jeremy’s back again, and it did the trick. The boy lurched forward and hurled up at least a single meal. He stepped back and let the kid finish it off by himself.
“Feel better?”
“A little,” Jeremy said as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Still scared, but it’s a little better.”
“Yeah, about the same here. We can wait a sec if you’ve got more.”
“I’m okay. I think I just want to get-”
Blake shushed the boy with a finger. He’d heard something. It took him a second to recognize the sound, but then then realization came, and fear followed close behind it. Something was crunching through fallen leaves, heading their way. Whatever it might be-and he knew damn well just what it was-it sounded like it was in a hurry.
“What?” Jeremy asked.
“Shh.” He pulled the boy behind him and watched the woods. He couldn’t see anything. He wanted to think it was an April wind, but he knew better. He heard distinct steps, and more than one set.
He pulled his pistol. “Let’s get back to the truck.”
“They’re coming, aren’t they?”
“The truck, Jeremy.”
But Jeremy stood frozen, fingers curled in the back of Blake’s jacket. Blake couldn’t get his feet working, either. The mad urge to se
e the things steamrolling their way had him in a powerful grip. Run, dammit, his brain commanded, but his body refused to respond.
He sensed movement to his right, and he turned to find four of the dead cannibals hauling ass through the trees, running like tired spastics. Their arms flailed and slammed into trunks as they sprinted past. Jesus, he thought. How did they get to be so fast? They closed to within fifty yards, moving like hell chased them.
“Run!” Blake screamed, and it got his legs moving. He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over Jeremy, and squeezed off a shot. It went wide, sending bark flying off a maple. The zombies never slowed, didn’t even appear to notice the attack. They kept coming, gaining speed and kicking up leaves.
Blake turned and grabbed Jeremy. He shoved the kid out of the trees and toward the truck. “Fucking move!” The boy finally did what he was told, throwing a last terrified glance over his shoulder before breaking into a sprint.
He spun and fired another shot. It caught the leader in the shoulder and punched straight through. His next shot slammed into its kneecap. The rotting thing twisted and fell, and a corpse right behind it tripped and went crashing. The last two made it past with ease and closed to within twenty yards. He braced the pistol with his free hand. Did he have enough time?
No. He turned and ran.
He burst out of the woods and found himself just over ten yards from the truck. Jeremy was already halfway there, screaming at the top of his lungs. The others were just now turning to see what the hell was happening.
“Zombies!” he called. “Heading this way fast!” He heard one of them-maybe Eric-yell, and he saw them all burst into motion. He hoped they were fast enough to have the Dodge running by the time he reached it.
He heard the sound of mad, staggering feet exit the forest, and he turned to fire. He realized how bad an idea he’d had a split second before his feet twisted and he crashed to the ground. His arms flew wide, and his chin slammed into the gravel and dirt on the side of the road. Stars burned against the back of his eyes, and air exploded from his lungs. He felt his fingers open and heard the pistol tumble away.
Scavengers Page 3
