The dog circles around my legs and pants. He pauses and cocks his head as he sniffs the air. Stitch lets out a whimper then follows the scent to the rear door of the van. Something causes him to emit a low growl, though I can’t tell if it’s the smell from the corpse that was inside, or the sight of the savage man sitting on the floor.
“It’s okay, Stitch,” I tell him.
The dog looks at me and back at the van, then retreats from the door with his tail tucked between his legs. Blake calls him over and the dog follows him into the back of the delivery truck. I notice the dog seems to be trembling and continues to eye the van from the inside of the truck. Something definitely has him spooked.
“Let’s get moving,” Hoff says. “We only got a few hours of daylight left.”
I set Stevie back down on the ground and notice the shadow on the ground of his father hovering behind me as usual.
“Who’s in there?” Steven asks.
“Some guy. He says his name is Thom,” I tell him. “Found him surrounded on a roof. God knows how long he was stuck up there.”
“He’s a real head case,” Fletcher chimes in. He swaps the nozzle to full can of gas again. “Had some half-eaten body up on the roof.”
Steven cranes his neck around to look back at the van.
“That doesn’t mean he did it,” I say. “It was probably those things.”
“Is that what he said?” Steven asks me.
“Not exactly,” I say. “He’s a little too rattled to talk at the moment.”
Fletcher empties the last of the gasoline into the truck and bangs on the chassis to get Hoff’s attention. The loud engine turns over and rumbles against the backdrop of the quiet afternoon.
“Let’s go, Scout,” Stevie says as he hops inside the back of the truck. As much as I want to keep him company, I know I should ride in the van and try to connect a little more with our new friend. At least, I hope he is a friend.
“Wish I could,” I tell Stevie. “But I’m going to have to ride in the other truck.”
The smile fades from his face and he turns away from the door.
“Don’t worry,” I call to him. “As soon as we stop for the night, I got that special treat for you.”
“Okay,” he sulks. He lets out a sigh as he sits down in the truck. Stitch presses up beside him and tries to lick his face. Stevie smiles and fends off the dog before he rests a hand on the dog’s head and scratches the scruffy hair.
“Want me to ride with you?” Steven asks me. “In case he gives you any trouble.”
“You should be with Stevie,” I urge him. “Fletcher will be with me.”
“Me too,” Midhun adds. “Maybe I can try to talk with him.”
I’m not really sure if more people will just make the man feel more anxious. It might not matter either way. On the other hand, Midhun might have the best chance at making some kind of connection with the man. He always seems to know what to say to help me feel better when this painful world becomes too much.
“That would be great,” I tell Midhun.
We help Fletcher load the rest of the gas cans, and then we pile into the reeking van again. I lose what little appetite I had as I squat down and rest my back against the wall. Thom has hardly moved, and appears to have drifted off to sleep while sitting upright. The sound of the engine starting causes his eyelids to snap open and he scans the interior of the van with a look of panic on his face. Finally his eyes settle on me, and after a long moment, he rests his head against the side of the van and closes his eyes again. As we turn onto the highway, he begins to mumble softly in his sleep. I try to listen, but I can’t make out any words. It’s hard to hear him over the sounds of the vehicle.
“Can you tell what he is saying?” I ask Midhun.
Midhun turns his head to the side and shifts his weight to lean closer to the man. Creases appear on his brow and his mouth goes slack.
“What?” I repeat.
“This man,” Midhun shakes his head. “He is a very sick man.”
“What did he say?” I ask him.
“He says he ate someone... A woman,” Midhun whispers. He shifts uncomfortably beside me while keeping his eyes on the man across from us.
The man ceases mumbling and snores lightly now. My hand rests on the rifle with my finger on the trigger. It would be easy to kill him right now. Maybe it’s even the right thing to do. But I can’t bring myself to do it.
Thirty-three
After a couple hours of driving, we come upon a gun store on the outskirts of a small town. We park a few hundred yards down the road and Hoff and Fletcher get out of the vehicles to recon the area. Through the windshield, I scan the surroundings. There is a vulture pecking at the bones of a corpse up the road. Several more of the dead wander around outside the storefront. Beyond the store, the road curves sharply to the left toward the center of the town. From this vantage point, it’s hard to see just how many of those things could be further down the road.
“You think you can keep an eye on him?” I ask Midhun. “I’ll see if those tough guys need any help.”
Midhun nods and returns his attention to the sleeping man across from him. I pop open the back door of the van and drop down to the street. I decide to leave it open so Midhun can see down the road and keep an eye out for any signs of trouble. Or just in case Thom gives him any trouble and he needs to get out fast. I push those thoughts away and join Fletcher and Hoff in the road beside the delivery truck. As I approach, Hoff hears the sound of my boots on the pavement and lowers the binoculars.
“Count half a dozen,” he says.
“Nothing we can’t handle,” Fletcher says.
“Might be more around the corner,” Hoff says.
“That’s a big ass gun store for such a tiny town,” Fletcher notes.
Hoff grunts in agreement.
“Looks like it’s pretty much untouched too,” Fletcher adds. “Probably a lot of shit we can use in there. We should bring the truck.”
“Too risky,” Hoff says. “The noise could draw out more of them from town.”
“Are we going or what?” I ask them.
The men both turn their heads and look at me. They lock eyes again and Fletcher smirks and shakes his head as he chuckles to himself.
“We’ll come too.”
I turn around to find Blake standing behind me with Quentin, Danielle, and Natalie. The thought occurs to me that maybe we should leave more people to protect the trucks. Maybe I should let the rest of them go without me. I glance back down the road toward town and watch as another vulture flaps into the skyward from behind the store. As much as I would rather stay behind and make sure Stevie is safe, I get the feeling that they might need my help. I look back at the van and notice Midhun watching us through the windshield. He gives me a thumbs up and I wave my hand. Even though I still feel some apprehension about it, I turn and follow the rest of the group down the road.
We move slowly along the pavement, keeping our eyes on the grassy fields on each side of the road. As we near the half-eaten corpse in the road, the vulture lifts its bloody head from the carcass and hisses at us before it vomits on the ground.
“It’s sick or something,” Danielle says.
“No,” I say. “It’s fine. Just a defense mechanism.”
“That shit is disgusting as hell,” Quentin cringes. “Nasty ass bird.”
The vulture spreads its wings and it flaps angrily away, leaving the rotting body in the road. I try not to look when we walk by, but I just can’t help it. The eyes have been eaten out of the skull. Scraps of flesh have been torn away from the torso, and the contents, organs and muscle have been dragged out onto the pavement beside the corpse. As disgusting as it is, the thing that really bothers me is the moving mouth that opens and closes. Hoff grimaces as he raises his rifle and brings the back of it down with a grunt on the skull of the corpse. The cranium gives way with a crack and chunks of brain and congealed blood squirt onto the highway. Hoff shakes off some
gore clinging to the rifle resumes walking down the road.
“Shame College Boy wasn’t here for that,” Natalie says. “He’d be throwing up all over the place.”
The guys all share a moment of quiet laughter. Danielle just rolls her eyes.
A few weeks ago, that would have probably caused me to puke my guts out on the side of the road, too. It is scary how most of us have become used to something like that now. It kind of makes me ashamed that it doesn’t affect me more. Maybe being like Kyle isn’t so awful. The truth is there might be something wrong with the rest of us for not having the same kind of reaction anymore.
The dead take notice of us as approach the gun store. The first corpse, a huge guy in a pair of jeans and a red shirt leads several others in our direction. Quentin raises his rifle and takes the big guy out with a single shot. The clunk of the suppressed rifle shots spur on the others in the crowd. With any luck, the noise won’t attract any more of them from town. Quentin pauses and fires off another round. The head of a girl in a blood soaked tank top snaps back and she collapses to the ground. From this range, I doubt I could do the same. At least, not on the first try.
“Lucky shot,” Fletcher taunts him.
Quentin ignores the comment and stops walking again as he lines another one of the dead up in his sight. He pulls the trigger again and a guy wearing only swim trunks or boxer shorts plummets to the pavement.
“Damn,” Hoff grins. “That’s impressive.”
“He’s a regular killing machine,” Blake adds.
“Fuck you, boss,” Quentin says. He pauses again and fires off one shot, then shifts targets, fires again, and repeats once more.
When I look back down the road, none of the corpses are standing anymore. One of them lays face down on the road and feebly gropes at the ground.
“Ha!” Fletcher laughs. “Missed one.”
“Damn it,” Quentin snaps. “I didn’t miss.”
“It’s still moving,” Blake joins in.
“Whatever man,” Quentin waves a dismissive hand. “I still hit the motherfucker.”
“Take it easy boys,” Danielle says. “Play nice.” She turns her head to gaze in my direction and rolls her eyes.
I smile back and then I bring the barrel of my rifle up to my waist and keep it ready but pointed at the ground like I have learned to do from being around the soldiers. The building has surprisingly little damage considering the value of the weapons inside the store. There are a few cracks in one of the windows, but the iron bars seem to have deterred any looters.
We reach the front door and Fletcher tries to open it, but it is still locked. He lunges at it with his shoulder but only ends up hurting himself. Hoff moves him aside and lifts one of his big boots up and kicks out at the door. The wood splinters around the handle. He kicks a second time and the door swings open.
“I got it loose for him,” Fletcher informs us.
Flies buzz around the interior of the store. The stench of rot hangs in the air. I follow Hoff inside, gripping the rifle tightly in my hands. Hoff takes a few cautious steps, then relaxes and scans the inventory of the store.
“We’re good,” he says. Hoff steps to the side and in the dim light I see a body in a chair at the back of the store. A shotgun sits on the floor beside it. The body has no head at all anymore. There is just a massive splatter of tissue and dried blood plastered to the wall behind it and a puddle of gore on the floor.
“Looks like somebody decided to check out,” Fletcher says casually.
“Can’t blame him,” Quentin says.
“Gross,” says Natalie. “He could at least had the decency to go outside and do that.” She swats a hand at a fly buzzing around her face.
“Enough sightseeing,” Hoff says. “Let’s hurry it up. We don’t have much daylight left.”
I force myself to look away from the gruesome scene and search the gun shop. As much as I have gotten the hang of shooting guns, I still don’t know much about them at all. I don’t know what kind of ammo goes with what guns. Not sure what to grab, I ask Hoff.
“You can check out the back room,” Hoff says as crouches down and retrieves several boxes of ammo from beneath the display counter. He sets the boxes down on the glass display case and points to the letters on the box. “See if they have any five point five-six millimeter rounds. Grab any forty-five or nine millimeter ammo you see, too.”
“Got it,” I say. “I think.”
“Holler if you need me,” he says.
I move past the remains in the chair, cringe as my boots stick in the mess on the floor, and brush aside a curtain that leads to a storage room. Dim light filters through a couple of small nicotine stained windows high up on the wall. There’s a mini fridge, and a desk with invoices heaped beside an ancient computer monitor, and a back door that hangs open a few inches. The afternoon sunlight blankets the exterior of the door and spills inside across the floor.
There are piles of boxes along the wall and on rickety metal shelves. I start to scan the labels on the boxes to find the right kind of ammunition. I find a case of 5.56 millimeter rounds with an eagle on the cardboard box, and I lug the heavy thing back up front and set it on the counter.
“Nice,” Hoff grins. “Find any more?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Just can’t carry the rest.”
“Hang on,” he says as he stuffs a few more boxes into his pack. “I’ll give you a hand.”
Hoff leaves his pack and his rifle on the counter and snags a couple of duffel bags off a shelf near the door. I follow him back to the storage room again. He spots the boxes of ammo on the shelf and begins to load them into the first bag.
“We should be in pretty good shape again now,” Hoff says as he zips up the first bag. He slides it to the side and begins filling up the next bag with more ammunition. He starts talking again, but I stop listening when I notice a slight change in the light near the door out of the corner of my eye.
When I turn my head, I spot the shape of a head silhouetted on the bottom of the door. At first it just seems strange to see something down there. But the shadow slowly rises up the door until I can make out the shapes of shoulders and arms. Then other shadows appear and blot out the sun on the door as the first one of the corpses crashes inside.
I bring up the rifle and start firing without even taking the time to aim. Bullets punch the wall and I hit the thing several times and it stumbles to the ground. I release the trigger and take a moment to aim then fire off a round that punches through the side of his skull. The second corpse stumbles inside and I reach into my pocket for a fresh mag and jerk my head to tell Hoff to get moving. For a moment he looks uncertain about leaving me, but without a rifle he isn’t doing me any good anyway.
“Go on,” I say as I slap a fresh mag in the rifle.
Hoff scoops up the heavy bags and bursts through the curtain as I open fire again. I hear some yelling from the front of the store but I can’t make out the words over the ringing in my ears from the rifle report. The dead continue to push through the door. Three, four, five, six of them, before I stop counting. My heart is racing in terror, but I try to measure my shots and aim each one carefully because I can’t afford to change magazines again. When the rifle finally does click empty, I pivot and race through the curtain. There is no sign of anyone else in the front of the store so I sprint for the entrance.
As I step outside, I see Hoff waving to me from the road while the others run ahead. Corpses come staggering around the side of the building. The first few spot me near the door and moan wildly as they stumble after me. The only thing I can do is run for it. I glance back over my shoulder as I reach the street and see dozens of them trudging along the road behind me. Thank God we didn’t drive the trucks down here.
Since everyone else is hauling weapons and ammo from the store, it doesn’t take me too long to catch up to them. Even though it was close, I can’t help but smile that we all made it out alive, and maybe that wouldn’t be the case if I hadn’t
come along. The moment doesn’t last long, though. The smile fades from my face as we get close to the vehicles and spot a pair of lifeless bodies in the road.
Thirty-four
Kyle is face down in a pool of blood beside the delivery truck. Spurts of red still dribble out the side of his neck. Further down the road, Midhun slumps against the rear tire of the van. His lifeless eyes are open and stare vacantly in my direction. Blood soaks the front of his shirt. As I approach the scene, there is no sign of anyone else. My heart races.
Danielle rushes over to Kyle and clamps her hand over the wound in his neck. She rolls him over and he coughs. Blood and spit gurgle out of his mouth.
“Hang on,” Danielle urges him.
I move passed them and spot Lorento and Steven on the easement behind the van. They have their guns drawn and pointed at someone behind the van. I move between the two vehicles to the other side of the road and see Thom holding Stevie with a knife to his throat. My knife. It must have fallen out of my pocket in the truck. Stevie whimpers softly. A trickle of blood trails down his slender neck.
“Stevie!” I yell.
Screaming probably isn’t the smartest thing to do, but it is a pure visceral reaction to the sight. As soon as I open my mouth, Thom jerks his head in my direction.
Lorento capitalizes on the distraction and fires off two rounds that hit Thom in the face. His hand releases the knife and he staggers back several feet and falls to the ground. Stevie charges toward me and sobs into my chest as I wrap my arms around him.
“You’re okay,” I assure him. I remember the mob of the dead pursuing us down the road. I pick the kid up and carry him over to the delivery truck and set him down. His fingers cling to my shirt when I let go of him. “I need you to get in the truck now, Stevie.”
Gunfire erupts as Stevie scurries inside the truck. I hold my position by the door, unsure whether to get in the truck or go help the others hold off the dead.
“Stay here,” I tell Stevie.
Rise of the Dead (Book 2): Return of the Dead Page 21
