She needed to stop somewhere.
"I wouldn't go in that way." A voice called out to her as she made a beeline for the front doors, and Sara came to a stumbling halt. Eyes wide, she looked around for the source of the sound, eventually finding a man in a greyish-blue uniform looking down at her from the roof.
"But—"
"They're all in the halls," he yelled down, gesturing around the building. "Take the fire escape up here."
She hesitated, her chest heaving with every breath she drew. The guy could be a psycho, sure, but the infected on the ground wanted to take a bite out of her.
And she'd take psychotic over cannibalistic—apparently that was the world they were living in now, and as a helicopter whizzed overhead, flying low enough to make her cower, Sara could only hope things would get back to normal soon.
Because this new normal wasn't something she planned to put up with for much longer.
Nobody could.
*****
Strangers– Episode 4
"Did you hear that?"
Collin cast a wary look over his shoulder, looking in the direction of the door. Everyone waited, silently, and a part of him hoped there'd actually be a sound. After spending the morning with these two fuck-ups, he would have given anything to go bash some freak's head in. But there was nothing. The woman, Sara, seemed to be shaking when he glanced her way again, and he wondered if she was going to cry—again.
She kept her shit together as best she could this time, and he tried not to roll his eyes. Weren't personal trainers supposed to be tough as nails and super athletic? She was hot, yeah, but he was surprised she'd been able to survive a fucking zombie invasion on her own. After all, she'd been a mess since they all met up, following the school janitor around like a lost puppy.
If he had to put money on who'd be the first to go of the three of them, Sara would be his horse in that race. Then Hank. The guy had to be late thirties—minimum—and smelled like a public bathroom. It was the chemicals, he'd told the others once they were all settled in the teacher's lounge, that kept him hidden from the freaks. Collin was surprised he was even conscious, given how disgusting the guy smelled—all that bleach could fry a person's brain.
Or so he thought. Collin took shallow breaths, trying not to inhale too deeply. Even if the janitor was seated on the far end of the couch, Collin on the coffee table, he didn't want to risk inhaling the fumes. After all, he'd had a few buddies who thought bleach would be a good way to get high.
It wasn't. Their trip to the hospital and the bills that followed were proof enough. Besides, Collin's vice was alcohol, not drugs. Only idiots got their rocks off on cocaine or heroin or fucking bleach.
"It wouldn't surprise me if a few of them are still walking around," Hank mused after they'd been quiet for a suitable length of time. "Might be the building too… Air conditioning kicking in for a bit."
Sara nodded, her knees pulled to her chest, and Collin resumed picking at the loose skin around his fingernails. His backpack sat nestled on his lap, his gun hidden for safekeeping. After struggling to find shelter in the halls of the school last night, freaks everywhere, he'd reluctantly joined up with the only two normal not dead people he'd seen in almost twenty-four hours. It wouldn't have been his first choice, but they'd managed to clear the hallway of freaks, luring them outside with a lot of effort before bolting the door. They weren't armed, the janitor and the personal trainer, but Collin didn't want to be mistaken for a freak if he surprised them.
So he showed his face, hands up, gun tucked away, and tried to look as unsuspicious and innocent as he could. They'd practically fallen onto him, welcoming him into their weird duo without hesitation. Which was fucked. Hadn't they watched apocalypse movies? Collin could have been some psychopath getting his rocks off in all the chaos.
But then again, so could either one of them. His eyes darted between the pair, his mouth pressed closed in a tight line. Sara could probably take him: she looked a little better fed, definitely more in shape than Collin. Hank might be an even draw: the guy was tall and lean with a dusting of sandy blond hair, balding from the back.
Collin had a real weapon, however. Sara had nothing but the clothes on her back, and Hank had his stink and power cords and tools.
His hands dropped to his bag slowly, tightening around the fabric until he felt the outline of his pistol.
"Is there anything to eat here?" Sara asked after another few moments of silence. Was everyone appraising one another like Collin was? Sizing up the competition? Wondering who would win in a fight? Or was he the only one having fucked up thoughts in a fucked up situation?
Hank shook his head, and then gestured toward the fridge. "I had to clean out all the leftovers last night… It's all in garbage bags, if you want to dig through."
Her nose wrinkled, and Collin tried not to laugh. Princess. Princess Personal Trainer—probably hadn't ever rooted through the garbage in her life.
Not that Collin had ever needed to either. He wasn't that much of a white trash kid that he dug through people cans on garbage day, or went dumpster diving with his friends. If he saw something in good condition sitting on the top of a trash heap, he wouldn't turn his nose up at it. His stomach gurgled, and he wondered just how far down in the garbage bags the food might be.
He was basically running on empty at this point: he'd eaten all the snacks he'd taken from the suburban nightmare, and it wasn’t like he was some hippie who could forage for wild mushrooms or some shit in the forest. Besides, he'd been a little too busy trying to survive the night to care about food. Food could wait. His body might have been a little slower, a little weaker, but he was doing okay so far.
Probably not for much longer, however.
"So there's nothing to eat anywhere in this building?"
"Cafeteria is in a separate block," Hank informed the personal trainer, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. Out the window, Collin could see a huge building looming on the other side of a field—a field littered with freaks. No thanks.
"We could try the surrounding houses?" the woman suggested, and Collin rolled his eyes.
"We aren't a we," he snapped, shaking his head and scoffing. "We don't have to do anything."
Hank spoke up before Sara could, his voice even and calm. "Being in a group is better than being alone."
"Well I don't know shit about either of you, so I'm not about to label us a we."
He was being petty and he knew it. However, the hunger made his temper short—shorter than usual—and Sara's shaking was driving him batshit crazy. Everyone was scared. No need to waste energy on shivering and whimpering and throwing pitiful looks in all directions. Everyone needed to toughen up these days, and if she wasn't going to pull her weight, she could fuck right off.
… If there was any weight to pull. Because. They weren't a group. They were just three normal people sitting in a room together.
Surrounded by roving packs of zombie freaks.
Yeah.
"Nobody knows anything about anyone," Sara said, "but we're not eating each other, so I think that's a pretty good start."
Collin let out something between a laugh and a scoff, then shifted, his body sore from sitting on the coffee table's solid top. He could have easily joined them on the couch, but he liked the little bit of distance between himself and the other two.
"My wife and my neighbors are on their way," Hank added, his elbows resting on his knees, body hunched forward. "We're going up north to my neighbor’s cabin to wait this thing out. I'm sure they wouldn't mind a couple of extra people."
Collin expected Sara to jump at the chance: it was a pretty good plan, actually. However, when he looked at her, he saw her nibbling her plump lower lip, face wracked with uncertainty.
"That's very generous of you," she got out finally, "but I actually wanted to get to the marina. A friend of mine has a boat, and since I know he won't be using it—"
"Why not?" Collin interrupted, and he raised his eyebrows when her eyes darted
his way. She pursed her lips, glaring, and then cleared her throat.
"Because he's infected," she said flatly, "and I left him in a locker at the gym. Hopefully the… disease control people find him."
He wasn't sure what to say to that. Collin licked his lips, uncomfortable with her now that she wasn't a simpering mess.
"I'm sorry to hear that." Hank, on the other hand, seemed to be better at these kinds of things. Collin crossed his arms, annoyed. Everyone was probably dead. Sara didn't get any sort of special consideration because she already had a gruesome story to tell. Maybe he should tell them about the dead kid in the woods he'd seen, or the lady who'd had her face chewed off on the driveway a few days ago.
Or maybe he should just keep his mouth shut. There was no point in running it and making enemies of these two strangers. What good would it do him to act tough? Aloof was the way to go. Yeah. Aloof and dangerous. That'd be his post-apocalyptic reputation. Those kinds of guys were never fucked with in the movies and comics.
"Why don't we make a compromise?" Hank continued. "The houses across the street are probably abandoned. There are less of those… people on that side of the school. Why don't we stock up on supplies, and then I can see if Craig will drive you out to the marina before we head up north?"
Sara's eyebrows rose slightly. "Craig?"
"Neighbor," Hank said, rolling his eyes. "There will be enough room in his damn vehicle for everyone. We can get you to your friend's boat… or, if you change your mind, you can just come with us instead. It’s up to you."
She nibbled her lower lip again, and Collin looked away.
"Why don't we just start with finding some food," she suggested, and he wondered if she too questioned the whole we thing like he did. "We'll go from there. I just… I need some time to think, and I need food to think clearly."
"Makes total sense to me." He felt Hank's gaze shift to him, piercing and unflinching and totally not caring that Collin was scowling. "Collin… Is there somewhere you're trying to get to? Would you like to come up north with us?"
He shrugged his answer. Aloof people don't just spill all their plans to perfect strangers. They give hints, here and there, if absolutely necessary, but he didn't feel that at the moment, it was absolutely necessary to do anything of the sort.
"Food sounds good," he muttered as the silence dragged on, all eyes on him. Hank nodded, then stood.
"Well, let's not just sit around here," the janitor ordered. "Who knows how many other people out there are thinking the same thing. I'm sure the city is full of scavengers by now."
Collin bit the insides of his cheeks, not wanting to let them see his fears, his worries. The city. The city had to be fucked. So many people in such a tight space—it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if everyone he knew was either living in the sewers or wandering the streets as freaks.
And he wished that made him feel something… more. Was it fucked up that he could think something like that, then move on without even considering the reality of the situation?
No. Aloof and dangerous. Those guys don't give a shit about what's happening to everyone else. They care about themselves. They care about self-preservation, about survival.
"Does everyone have a weapon?"
Collin kept quiet as Hank tried to arm them, only half-listening to the man list the kinds of houses that they'd raid. Of course he knew the houses in this neighborhood: rich bastards with their sprawling estates and plush backyards. They had it even better than the suburbanites did. What he would have given to be in a freak-less world: he'd loot the shit out every house around, and he'd have a damn good time doing it. But now he figured it'd be kind of tough to admire the swanky jewels and priceless paintings when, at any moment, a freak could come out of nowhere and take a chunk out of your face.
"I got a hammer," Collin said, unzipping his page and fishing it out. He kept the gun hidden, his own little secret, because there was no way in hell he was letting a janitor or a personal trainer rob him. Guns were probably hot commodities in this new society, and he planned to keep his close to the chest.
Because when shit hit the fan, and he knew it would, Collin planned to bolt. These two weren't worth sticking around for, and Collin wasn't going to get himself killed—or worse—for either of them.
Fuck. That. Noise.
***
"How many of them are out there?"
Hank blinked when Sara's voice brought him out of his search. His head poked out the main door of the school, the metallic barrier opened just enough for him to scan for the infected. It was his task before they darted across the road to the seemingly abandoned houses, their doors left open in the spring breeze, their driveways empty without the pricey cars taking up space.
But he hadn't been looking at the other. Sure, he could see them—all five of them roaming the street, seeming pretty out of it. The ones he and Sara had tricked and pushed out of the school earlier that morning must have dispersed in the sunshine, because there were a lot more before.
"Not as many as this morning," he told her. He hadn't been looking at them. He'd been looking for Susie. Hank had been scanning the street for Craig's massive four-by-four, hoping to see it parked in front of a fire hydrant or something—because that was the kind of crap Craig pulled.
She wasn't there. Neither Susie nor Craig nor that big ugly vehicle were anywhere to be seen. Nothing but a quiet street with a few of the sick wandering around. Normally, at this time of day during the week, there'd be teenagers everywhere. Lunch hour would have started fifteen minutes ago, and they'd be scattered across the campus. The weather was nice enough that most of them probably would have eaten outside. That spring scent was in the air, the kind that only late March brought. It was like a relieving breath after winter's clutches, and on any other day, Hank would have stopped somewhere—a bench, a café, a park—to just sit and enjoy the warmth and the sunshine.
But not today. There was no time to rest today, no time to smell the roses or whatever people did. They had an objective: go through the first four houses across the street, stock up, then retreat back into the school. At that point, Hank could only hope that Susie would finally make an appearance.
Shaking his head, he ducked back inside and gently closed the door. Both he and Sara stunk of chemicals, the smell burning his nose even now after wearing the camouflage for hours. Collin, the teenager who just wouldn't get with the program, refused to be doused when Hank offered.
"They respond better to sounds anyway," the kid had argued, readying a hammer for their venture outside. At the time, Hank had tried to talk him into it, but in the end, he gave up. There was no point in trying to save someone who didn't want to be saved, and he hoped that no harm would come to Sara or himself for the teen's ignorance—and arrogance.
"Only a few in the street," he informed the waiting pair, a crowbar in hand. His grip tightened and loosened around the cool metal, getting a feel for a tool he usually used sparingly. Crowbars were too harsh for a lot of the necessary fixes around the school, and the admins thought janitors looked "menacing" carrying them around.
That was probably a good thing today. Hank wasn't a menacing guy by nature, but if someone could look at him from afar and think better of going after him, he'd be happy with that. With his scent cloaked, he didn't need to worry about the infected people outside: it was the normal people, people like Collin, he'd have to keep an eye on. If the whole city was under attack, those clinging to survival would quickly turn opportunistic, and he wasn't going to have any of it.
Speaking of opportunistic… He spared a glance at Sara, wondering just what kind of woman she was. She spoke eloquently enough, came from a stable career, but even she seemed to be playing her cards pretty close to her chest. Hank couldn't blame her: he'd only given a few details too, sharing only as much as the others did. But they needed to work together if they wanted to survive this thing.
If he tried, Hank probably could have done the run on his own. He was fast en
ough, hidden from the infected's sense of smell… but being a loner wasn't in the grand plan for him. He'd always preferred the company of a few to the many, but he still needed the few, especially now.
"Move quietly, stay low to the ground, and don't scream," he ordered, his voice dropping to a whisper. Sara nodded, and behind her Hank swore he saw Collin roll his eyes. Typical teenager. Like he hadn't dealt with enough of them in his lifetime.
He counted them down in silence. Three. Two. One. Go.
As silently as he shut it, Hank gingerly opened the door, taking one last look around before darting out the main entrance. Crouching low, he jogged across the street, the soft footfalls of Sara and Collin echoing behind him.
They were less soft, less quiet, however, when Collin tripped over something, landing heavily with a grunt. Both Hank and Sara froze in place, and Hank's eyes darted to the nearest of the infected. They seemed to struggle in the sun, their eyes squinted and their pace a little slower. Good. Maybe the sun was their ally.
Collin hopped to his feet quickly, brushing off Sara's hushed offer of assistance. Now it was Hank's turn to roll his eyes. He did so without a word, carrying on as though the distraction hadn't derailed them just a little.
The first house they hit must have cost just shy of a million, and that was probably one of the cheaper properties they'd go through today. It was a surprise to no one to find the front door locked, and the trio cringed as Hank busted up the glass doors at the rear of the property, granting them entrance to an immaculate kitchen.
"We should check the entire house first," Collin said, his voice sounding a little strained. "Before we do anything else… The freaks like to hide."
"They don't exactly strike me as the hiding type," Sara fired back, but Hank nodded all the same.
"No, no, it makes sense," he said as he scanned the area for any signs of movement. "They might have gotten trapped in the houses somehow… We'll check each room together."
Collin's objection was almost predictable. "It'll be faster if we split up."
Z Walkers: The Complete Collection Page 10
