CHAPTER SEVEN
Hickman opened the pantry door, relieved to find a case of bottled water inside. He used one to wash his blood-soaked hands and face, wiping himself clean with some paper towels before chugging the rest of the water and then letting out a deep breath.
“That was way too fucking close, man,” he muttered, shaking his head at the trio of corpses on the floor.
He stuffed two water bottles into the side pockets of his pants and headed towards the door he’d found during his sweep that led to the stairs down into the hardware store. He stayed silent, noting that it was an open staircase into the store proper, and inched towards the landing.
He had a pretty good birds-eye view of the large space, glancing over four rows of metal shelving. The plate glass windows and door at the front were secure, despite the small army of zombies milling about outside.
He scanned the dim store, noting a brief glimpse of movement at the far end, but nothing jumped out at him. He took a deep breath. Firing was out of the question. The chances of ricocheting against the shelves was too great, not to mention the loud noise would attract the now-docile zombies outside.
He drew his knife and pursed his lips. Looks like it’s the blade again, he thought, shaking his head. It was less than ideal, but it was his safest of the unsafe options. He ducked low and moved as quietly as he could down the stairs, choosing an aisle he’d noted as empty so he could hopefully sneak up on his enemies.
As he reached the end, he peeked around ever-so-slowly, where two corpses were fixated on a cardboard cutout of some more-than-likely deceased celebrity hawking car wax.
Hickman darted out and planted his blade deftly in the back of the closest zombie’s distracted skull. He tore it out and stabbed the other in the side of the head before the first one even hit the ground, and then whipped around in a defensive stance to wait.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he murmured, and strained his ears. He stepped forward and banged the handle of his blade against one of the metal shelves, causing a bit of a ruckus but not enough to echo to outside.
Hickman waited again, but there was nothing. Either I’m alone, or these fuckers have learned to play possum, he thought, and then immediately shuddered in fear at that thought. The one saving grace any survivors had was that the zombies were dumb. If they got smart, then the world was even more fucked than they’d initially thought.
He shook off the thought and walked over to the register, heading behind the counter. Just as Ryan had said, there was a padlock key in the drawer below. He crept by the windows, not wanting to attract any attention, and ducked behind the propane cage as he unlocked it.
There were at least a dozen inside, and he gently rolled each one to see which ones were full. With a stroke of luck, eight of them were, and he grinned.
Eight of these things going off at once is going to cause one hell of an explosion, he thought, and then tapped his chin. But I need to get these far enough up the road before I can set them off. Guess I’m doing some shopping.
Hickman walked down the aisles, looking for something he could use to transport the heavy tanks. He cocked his head at a rope display, and rolled a thick piece around his fist.
“Let’s see,” he murmured, ignoring the fact that he was now talking to himself, “run the rope through the opening, create a propane tank backpack… forty some-odd pounds a piece… yeah, fuck that.” He dropped the rope and continued up the aisle, turning the corner display to find a set of large plastic wagons.
He reached out and fingered the price tag, reading the specifications. 500 POUND CAPACITY! The tag boasted, and he grabbed the back end of the wagon easily, noting how lightweight it was.
“This,” he declared, “this, I can work with.” He turned and spotted a wall of open-ended hooks. “All right, I got a plan.”
A little while later, Hickman stood at the end of the lip on the building where he’d climbed up from the busted car. He attached a hook to one of the propane tanks and lowered the attached rope carefully down into the wagon on the ground. Once it was situated, he lowered the rope a little more to free the hook and then retrieved his rope.
There were several zombies milling around the car, but they weren’t particularly interested in the wagon. He stood up and set the rope down before walking back along the canopy to grab another propane tank from the load he’d hauled up the stairs. He paused to wink at the teenage girl zombie in the window that had startled him the first time.
“What do you think, girl?” he asked, puffing his chest out. “Am I a genius, or what?”
She groaned into the glass, still attempting to chew through it.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Hickman replied thoughtfully. “It’s still going to be a bitch and a half to move that thing up the road.” He shook his head, realizing he was now having a conversation with a corpse, and continued on his way to get another tank.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ortega led the trio of four wheelers down the highway towards Mason. It was almost peaceful, a nice breeze and no zombies in the immediate vicinity. The ten-foot-wide river stretched out parallel to the road, with just open field beyond.
Audrey swerved back and forth playfully, causing Ryan to grip her waist in fear and squeeze his eyes shut. The two men on the vehicle beside her chortled at the young man’s plight.
Ortega slowed to a stop as they reached the outer edge of town, pulling up in the middle of the road. The other two vehicles came to a stop on either side of him, and they all cut their engines to save on gas as they took in the tiny town.
“Man, this place does not look big at all,” the soldier said.
Ryan finally relaxed, leaning back on his hands. “It’s like six blocks by ten blocks.”
“I used to work at a mall up in Carson City that was bigger than this place,” Audrey added.
Ortega turned to Ruben. “So, where does your buddy live?”
“Far end of town, by the river,” the janitor replied, pointing. “Literally the last lot.”
“Okay, I don’t want to take any chances,” the soldier said. “We’ll ride up four blocks and then walk the rest.”
Garrett cocked his head. “You think he’s still alive?”
“If anybody’s capable of it, it’s ole Charlie,” Ruben replied with a nod. “He planned for the end for years. Almost breaks my heart to think he didn’t get a chance to show everybody he was right.”
Ortega took a deep breath. “Well, if he’s there, let’s hope he’s open to some visitors.” He turned the key in the ignition to bring the four wheeler back to life, and moved a lot slower this time, keeping an eye out for zombies. To their surprise, as they moved through town, there was not a single movement. He slowed to a stop and killed the engine a few blocks down from the trailer park, and the others followed suit.
“It was awfully quiet riding through town,” Audrey said when the vehicles were quiet. “You’d think there would be at least a zombie or two, right?”
Ryan shrugged as he swung his leg over to dismount. “Maybe they got bored and left?” he asked. “No sense in sticking around if there aren’t snacks to be had.”
“Snacks?” she snapped and smacked him on the arm. “Really? They’re people, dipshit.”
The young man ducked his head, putting his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. That was tactless,” he admitted. “But you get my point. If people aren’t here, why would they be?”
Ortega checked his weapon. “Well, if they are here, we’ll be ready,” he declared. “Come on, let’s go see if Charlie is home.” He led the group on foot towards the trailer park.
Ruben quietly directed him down a side street a few blocks up, so that they wouldn’t be within line of sight. They didn’t want to surprise him, but they didn’t want him to peg them from too far away just in case he was volatile before he realized they were friendly.
They pressed themselves up against the last house on the block, and Ortega peeked out around the co
rner, taking in the trailer park.
“Ruben, it looks like your buddy was alive at one point, because there are a hell of a lot of dead zombies on the road,” he said. There was a six-foot-tall chain link fence surrounding the park with barbed wire on top, and at least sixty corpses motionless in the street.
“Well in that case, we need to be careful, so we don’t spook him,” Ruben replied.
Ortega shrugged. “What do you suggest-”
CRACK! The sound of a rifle cut through the air, and a brick just above the soldier’s head exploded from the wall, spraying red chunks everywhere.
“That was your one warning shot, soldier boy!” a man screamed. “You just wander on back the way you came! Ain’t nobody here interested in what you peddlin’!”
Ortega took a deep breath and bellowed, “Charlie, I’m Private Ortega and we need-”
CRACK! This shot didn’t hit anything, but it was effective in cutting his plea short.
“How the hell d’you know my name?!” Charlie screamed. “Goddamn government! I knew it! I knew they had me on a list! Dead people risin’ and the government cain’t leave a God fearing patriot alone!”
Ortega let out a low whistle and glanced at Ruben. “Any thoughts?”
“Yeah. One.” The janitor raised a finger, and then yelled, “Charlie! It’s me.”
“Ruben?” the man cried, incredulity in his voice. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s Ruben,” his friend called.
Charlie blurted a string of curses. “Don’t tell me the government got you too, man?”
“You are one dumb motherfucker, you know that?” Ruben called back. “The government didn’t get me, and they didn’t come all this way to take out some old man in a trailer park. They sent a couple soldier boys with a big-ass truck filled with food and other good stuff to help us survive. We here because we need your help!”
There was a pause, and then with less conviction, Charlie asked, “You… you mean the soldier there isn’t trying to kill me?”
“Well, if you fire another shot in his direction, I’m guessin’ he’s gonna start takin’ it personal,” Ruben replied. “But as long as that doesn’t happen, I think we cool.”
Another pause. “Okay,” Charlie declared. “I’m comin’ out.”
“You might want to keep your weapon lowered,” Ruben said quietly to the soldier. “I’ll go first to make sure he’s cool.”
Ortega nodded. “Gotcha.” He lowered his rifle, and waited for Ruben to step out first, the rest of the group cautiously following behind him. As they approached the gate, a decrepit-looking man with scraggly white hair unlocked a padlock on his front gate. He pulled the gate open, his wild snowy beard parting in a smile at the sight of his friend.
“Good to see you, you ole coot,” Ruben said, and they embraced. “I knew you’d still be alive out here.”
Charlie put a hand over his heart, partially covering his black Skynyrd tee. “Man, I been preparin’ for this day my whole life. You think I was gonna miss it?”
The two shared a laugh, and then Ruben motioned to the rest of the group, keeping an arm around the older man. “I’d like to introduce you to some of my friends. This young buck here is Ryan. The distinguished-looking man here is Garrett. The lovely young lady here is Audrey, and I emphasize lady, so you keep that filthy tongue in check, ya hear?”
“Don’t listen to him,” the redhead quipped with a grin, “I could tell him things that would put him in an early grave.”
The old man chuckled. “I like her.”
“And last, but not least, this here is Private Ortega, who I believe you owe an apology to,” Ruben finished, and stared down at his friend sternly.
Charlie extended his hand, head bowed like a scolded child. “I… I hope there’s no hard feelin’s there?”
“No harm, no foul,” Ortega replied, and shook his hand firmly. “I can’t say if the situation was reversed that I wouldn’t have done the exact same thing you did.”
Charlie smiled. “Well, that’s so good to hear. I tell you what, let’s go to my place and have us a little fence mending celebration. I have some cold ones in the fridge that I would be more’n happy to share with y’all.”
“Not really in a position to party at the moment,” Ruben admitted. “We got us a bit of a situation up in town we need some help dealing with.”
Charlie nodded slowly, putting up his hands. “Okay, okay. Well, I tell you what, let’s go to my place and have us a little brainstorming session about how to best deal with the problem at hand. I have some cold ones in the fridge that I would be more’n happy to share with y’all.”
“Charlie…” Ruben scrubbed his hands down his face.
Ortega put a hand on the janitor’s shoulder. “You know, I believe the man would like us to have a beer with him,” he said. “It’s the least we can do while we talk about what we need to do.”
“Well, what do you know?” Charlie declared proudly, punching his friend in the shoulder. “I like this soldier boy already! Come on in!” He laughed and re-secured the padlock behind them, a skip in his step as he led the group further into the trailer park.
CHAPTER NINE
The group gawked at the setup as they headed to the middle of the lot. There were trenches dug all around the lone trailer in the center, filled with barbed wire and wooden stakes boasting death to whatever stumbled in.
“Now, y’all mind your step,” Charlie cautioned. “You don’t want to be gettin’ caught up in any of that.”
Ortega raised an eyebrow. “Preparing for the worst, huh?”
“Yes sir,” the old man replied firmly. “My perimeter isn’t as strong as I would like, so if any of them ever got through I wanted to make sure I’d have a fightin’ chance.” He led them across the trenches and around to the front of his double-wide, where he had quite the setup with an outdoor bar and grill area.
“Damn, man, I’m impressed,” Ruben breathed as he patted the wooden counter.
Charlie grinned. “Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, old friend,” he said, and headed over to the grill. Next to it there was a large outdoor recliner, and he shoved it out of the way to reveal a steel door with a digital keypad. He knelt down and punched in a few numbers, allowing the door to slide open. “Come on in,” he said, stepping down the flight of stairs beneath.
“Well goddamn,” Ruben breathed as they got to the bottom and entered a twenty by twenty room. “How the hell did you afford all this?” He gaped at the floor to ceiling shelves full of food and goods.
“Remember about a decade ago when you were givin’ me hell about cryptocurrencies?” Charlie turned and stuck his thumbs innocently into the belt loops on his cutoff jeans, puffing out his chest. “How you said I was throwing my money away? Well, I hate to say I told you so… but I told you so.” He walked over to the large refrigerator in the corner and opened it up, pulling out a six pack.
He started handing them out, the group all gawking around at the room as they absently took a can.
Ryan, however, furrowed his brow and shook his head. “I’m only seventeen, sir,” he said politely.
“Did you go to high school around here?” Charlie raised a white eyebrow.
The young man nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, then sorry it’s not somethin’ a bit more potent,” the old man replied. “I knew some of the people whose liquor cabinets y’all raided for your parties.”
Ryan blushed and took the beer, cracking open the can without another word.
“All right, y’all come on up and make yourselves at home,” Charlie said. “Let’s see how I can help you out.” He ushered them all up from the basement and they got comfortable on all of the patio chairs adorning his large deck. He cracked open his own can and reclined in his chair, putting his feet up. “Okay. Lay it on me.”
Ortega leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We have a transport truck that’s stuck downtown,” he began. “It’s full of things to
help the survivors here become self-sufficient so that we can all ride out the apocalypse. Problem is, it’s out of gas.”
“Okay.” The old man shrugged. “I don’t see how I can help.”
“Are you dense?” Ruben rolled his eyes. “We need some of your diesel so we can get that thing running again.”
“Are you friggin’ kidding me?” Charlie cried. “I barely have enough to keep me going for the next three months. Why don’t y’all just hit up the gas station and call it a day?”
Ruben glared at him. “Did you not hear the big explosion the other day?”
“Uh, yeah?” the older man replied.
Ruben threw his hands up. “Well, there ya go.”
Charlie sighed, rubbing his beard and shaking his head. “Man… I don’t know.”
“We got people trapped inside one of the shops up there,” Ruben said, his eyes softening. “If we can get that truck going, then we can get them outta there.”
The old man pursed his lips. “And where are you plannin’ on takin’ them?”
“Looks like you have plenty of vacant houses around here,” the janitor replied, motioning to the empty trailers.
“No, no, no,” Charlie said, raising his empty palm. “I know we go way back, but man, it takes a set of wheelbarrow-sized balls to come into my house, drink my beer, want my fuel and then tell me you want a bunch of people to move in! Jesus, man, come on!”
Ortega took a deep breath. “What if I made you deal?”
The old man regarded the soldier for a moment, eyes narrowed. “All right, given that I took a couple of potshots at you, I suppose part of my apology can be hearing you out,” he said. “Let’s hear what you have to say.”
“Okay,” Ortega continued, “you give us some fuel and help us secure the town, and I’ll set you up with your own private solar-powered generator. The rest of us will be sharing, but you’ll have your very own.”
Dead America: The Second Week Box Set [Books 1-6] Page 38
