The Long Way To Reno

by Mix, Michelle

  There were seventy rows of shelves, and I managed to make it to the very first – a four piece that harbored things like baby lotion, dildos, video games and clothing. Upon reaching the safety railing, I slammed against it and saw that it didn't connect to the other mezzanine – instead, I looked down at screaming people being torn apart, at the snarling zombies that attacked desperate runners. Utterly out of breath, I clutched the railing and looked over the third-story drop to the section I had been in previously, when the alarms went off.

  I saw my abandoned cart, my totes, and then saw the safety net that swung from this level to the Gold side. It was underneath one of the conveyors, and as desperation hit me, I knew I couldn't climb that fast to the conveyors – but I could make the safety net. It was designed to catch falling debris from the totes – books and stuff. Not hold people.

  But I told myself I was small, I lost weight – I felt the vibration under my feet and knew those things were going to catch up to me. I didn't want to look, I was too scared. I climbed over the railing and struggled to reach for the net. All the while, I was breathing heavily, struggling for precious air, and my arms were short – I'm a short person, and I lacked that distance needed for a firm grasp on that net. I wanted to scream, to lunge, something that'd bring the net to me – why didn't I have telekinetic powers? Why wasn't I a mutant of some sort?

  I felt the heavy vibrations coming nearer, and I looked back in time to see Walmart workers sprinting at me. I was so terrified at their sudden nearness that I lunged away from their bloody, outstretched hands. Once my fingers caught in that net, I tightened my grip, falling forward as my entire body swung away from the railing.

  I was hanging over concrete three stories below, and I was screaming at the same time – where I got the breath for that, I don't know, but I screamed because I don't know how I was hanging there without falling. I clutched the net with both hands, legs kicking and then stilling once my feet hit nothing. The creatures snarled and barked at me, trying to use words – panicked, I looked at them, using every ounce of strength I had just to hold tightly onto the net. They were straining to grab me, fingernails inches from my sweaty face when one of them crawled over the other, causing both of them to fall forward.

  I screamed, high pitched and long as one tumbled over onto the floor below, and the other caught hold of the net. Something tore loudly, and my heart and stomach swept up into my throat – I almost lost hold of the net as it disconnected from the conveyor belt supports and wall – we started to swing toward the Gold section in a stomach churning drop that had me screaming even harder.

  The zombie lost his grip and fell snarling to the concrete below, and I immediately latched hold onto the railing of the second floor. It hurt, my weight causing me to slam and drop before my arm caught and my other arm automatically reached for some sort of purchase. I struggled to comprehend that I somehow survived. Gasping for breath and utterly weak with relief and fear –I didn't know which was more prominent – I managed to pull myself up and over the railing, and flopped onto the floor.

  Okay. Okay, I survived that. Now what?

  Somehow I was on my feet again, and I was moving – running across Gold section's 2nd level and racing for the end of it, heading for a stairway – it was hard to move, every part of me jelly. I made it to the first floor, saw that it was clear, and ran for the 1st half of the warehouse. There were screams everywhere, the lights were dimmer here – the fire alarm was still shrieking that incessant noise, but the closer I got to the security offices, it grew more piercing. I clapped my hands over my ears, running awkwardly, and raced around rows of conveyors that would take all the totes we’d picked to the packing level – I stopped short once I saw a group of snarling zombies racing after people I couldn’t see, and dove underneath one of the conveyor belts without even seeing if they had noticed me. I crawled like an animal, breathless and knees hurting on concrete underneath the rows of conveyors, trying to think of another exit. I couldn't think too much. Panic was overwhelming.

  Once I reached the end of those rows, I peeked out from all angles – I didn't see anybody nearby, I couldn't see those zombies – but I saw the massive rows of Costco-like levels before me, and knew I had made it to the 1st half of the building. Only now, that meant I was in the very center of the warehouse – I eked a curse, and looked back the way I'd crawled. I usually took that entrance into the warehouse, and outside those security doors was exits, my purse, my cellphone.

  Mom! Dad! I thought in a panic, stilling. Did they know about this? Was this widespread? Surely it didn't happen here, just here in Fernley. Were they okay? Are we quarantined? Is that why that guy looked up once he was outside?

  I struggled to breathe, hands down on the dirty floor and tried to think. I had to make it outside. I couldn't just stay inside. I looked around myself once more, my head hitting the bottom supports of the conveyor belt. My hair caught, and I eked a protest as I jerked forward, ripping hair from my scalp. I rubbed at it, tears in my eyes, and heard a shuffling sound ahead of me. I saw a guy waving at me – I froze, trying to determine if he were friend or foe.

  "Over here! Over here, hurry!" he hissed, and I knew he was friendly – those things didn't speak like that. Desperate for some sort of help, I looked around myself once more. He was bent over in one of the massive bins, atop of an empty wooden pellet. There were three other people with him – a girl with smeared eye makeup, a large, overweight man that I recognized as part of the group I'd started with this season, and an older worker. They were looking around wildly, the girl clinging to the large guy who blubbered quietly.

  I somehow thought it was hysterical to see such a large man crying openly. I shot forward, my knees refusing to straighten properly after all the abuse I put them through. Once I was securely with the group, we huddled together – though I noticed the disgusting body smells, right now, I was overwhelmed with the need to escape the horrors behind us. We somehow made it to the end of the aisle – there were exactly 246 bins in each row, with each row containing five levels each – and rounded the corner after our leader cleared it.

  We then ran like Hell towards the end of the warehouse – leaving behind the older worker and the overweight man. They protested as loud as they dared, and I, a desperate coward, didn't dare slow down to help them. I needed, wanted to help myself. I wanted to live. I didn't want to die like those I saw die, and because of that, I didn't want to help. I practically flatted the back of the man's shoes I was so close behind him, and the girl embedded her wicked fingernails into my arm and refused to let go.

  We made it to the very end, where they kept the trash compactor and forklifts, golf-carts used for First Response. People were screaming there, but I didn’t dare look in case it slowed me down. I saw the open Exit door – without pause, the girl let go of my arm and sprinted like mad for it. The guy tried to stop her, his head whipping in the other direction, and I slammed into his suddenly stopped back, smashing my nose. Tears sprang out, but I promptly forgot the pain when a group of zombies raced after her. He shoved me backwards, and we were once again running in the other direction. I didn’t even think about his intentions too much – instead of running with him, I was clamoring up one nearest bin, and using the metal supports of the structure to climb upward. I heard him shout something, but I didn’t listen – I wanted to get away so badly. I wanted to live.

  Half crying, half-panting, I somehow made it to the third row, three stories up. My heart was pounding so hard that I couldn’t hear, and my arms were shaking from the intense physical action I’d taken these past few minutes. My legs started cramping as I crouched within the small space provided to me – enough to hold a wooden pallet and what looked to be stacks of coconut water. Cautiously, I eased my head out and saw that no one had followed me.

  Behind me, the girl was busy dying – the snarling creatures, rabid people in Walmart uniforms, McDonald’s shirts, and causal clothing, were wandering away in search of new prey. None of the
m had noticed my desperate climb to freedom. I saw the open Exit door, whimpered. So close, yet so far. My calves cramped, and I had to sit uncomfortably, my ass digging into the metal grating that held me and the pallet. I barely had room to look up – but then I was hugging the wrapped stacks of coconut water, hoping I wouldn’t be seen. I struggled to catch my breath, but I was so pumped with fear and adrenaline that it felt impossible to breathe normally.

  I heard guttural shrieks of a man being torn to shreds – wondered if it were the older one, or the one I’d left behind. Feeling overwhelmed, I pressed my back against the stacks of coconut water and lowered myself to a half-lying position. My knees up, feet flat against the other bin’s contents. I don’t know what it was. But I was in a position of hiding, I could see both sides of me, and I could hear everything.

  I didn’t know what else to do. So I laid there, struggling to breathe, and listened to people being slaughtered.

  Chapter Two

  My ears were ringing. I was so shaky, that when I lifted my hands to examine my fingernails, they wouldn’t stay still. I couldn’t focus on them. The fire alarm shrieked continuously. When I breathed in, I tasted dust, plastic and cold air. If it were this cold inside, it was very cold outside.

  I don’t know how much time had passed since it started, but I was so tired. My eyelids heavy, my body exhausted. Since I couldn’t steady my fingers, I rested them over my stomach, over the material of my neon orange safety vest. I stared up at the bin above me, noting the broken parts of the pallet – I didn’t know what it contained.

  I didn’t hear any more screams. I didn’t hear any more running. Just that fire alarm. I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I thought back on all that had happened and was still in disbelief over the net thing. I survived that, man. How’d I do that? Me, a dorky gamer, swinging like Tarzan between sections. I never ever imagined I’d be doing something like that. I wondered how I looked. Hopefully not too stupid.

  I hoped Mom and Dad were okay. I wanted to hear their voices. As impatient as they were with me, I knew they loved me. Their only child, over a quarter of a century old – plus a few years. A slacking loser that had trouble holding down jobs because she liked playing video games, and was considered…well…lazy. I wanted to cry at that. I wanted to break down and sob because as I considered my life, I could see how useless I was. What did I contribute to society? Other than to Gamestop and Sephora, of course? Nothing. I didn’t finish college, I failed at being a useful daughter, and my numbers were pretty low here, so I don’t know how long I was going to last here, anyway.

  I was one of those losers living with her parents, with no boyfriend, with no real life, and I wanted to continue living that way?

  I sniffled. Used one dirty forearm to wipe my eyes, forgetting my eyeliner and mascara. When I remembered, it was because I’d left smears of black on my skin. Upon reaction, I carefully wiped around my eyes, hoping I was able to tidy what I couldn’t see. I thought about my selfish reactions – having to cringe at leaving people behind. Hell, it happened, it is what it is. I couldn’t do a thing to help them.

  …I couldn’t.

  I rolled, leaned slightly to cautiously peer down at the floor below. Nothing but blood stains. The bodies of the fat man and the girl was gone. No doubt wandering around with the uniformed workers and such.

  Glumly, I clutched the metal edge of the bin, and then twisted to look over the other side of the bin. Nothing. But the door was shut. I was bewildered. When did that happen? I tried to think back as to when I heard it shut, but couldn’t even remember anything after lying down. Maybe I, uh, fainted or something. Scanning the floor below, I saw more bloodstains amid the flashing lights, and I heard nothing human. I wondered if I was the only one that had survived. I couldn’t’ve been. There were hundreds of workers here tonight – they must be holed up, somewhere. I couldn’t imagine where. Maybe I had to go find them, because I wasn’t sure what to do on my own.

  Some movement to my far right caused me to twist in that direction, feeling a jump of hot panic spread through me. But it was just another worker – he’d climbed the bins as I had and was already climbing his way down. I don’t know if he’d noticed me, so I just watched in silence as he made the easy trek down to the floor. Once he was there, he listened for anything that was out of place – then began running away from the walkway that led to the door. He disappeared out of sight and I gave a bewildered expression, wondering why he didn’t take the easy exit.

  Feeling a little braver than I was earlier, I sat up and scanned that area more thoroughly, then repeated the action on the other side. I saw nothing moving. I looked back at the Exit, and realized that I could make it. A short sprint and bang! I was outside. But I hesitated because I still remember vividly that guy earlier – rushing outside and then looking up. Those lights. I remember the lights flashing everywhere, then focusing on him. It couldn’t have been the emergency lights. They aren’t motion controlled.

  I think.

  It just seemed odd. Why look up?

  Was it snowing?

  How stupid. I rolled my eyes at myself, and managed to make it into a sitting position. More cautious than ever, I swung my legs out over the edge of the bin and tried not to look down. I was really high up. And that floor wasn’t soft. Even after a month and a half of working here, my feet still ached after my shift. Just imagine how it’d feel like hitting it from this height. I was shaking, still, and I knew it was just the sudden loss of adrenaline. I read that in a comic once – one of the characters made the other drink orange juice to replenish certain nutrients lost.

  I turned and lowered myself to the supports I’d used to crawl up. It was harder to do now that things were slightly calmer than they were earlier. My arms shook and it hurt my fingers to hold my weight up while my feet – curse my short legs! – struggled to find something to support myself with. But I made it down, sweaty and nearly out of breath; from panic, from caution, from sheer physical effort. I wished I was in shape. Maybe things would’ve been easier.

  I paused and listened – eyes searching the empty row for signs of life. I didn’t see anything, or hear anyone. The coast was clear. I slowly edged around the row and looked toward the Exit door. My heart rate increased, and I started moving towards it, eager to make it. Eager to get outside and – and what?

  I remembered my baggie and reached around me. It was gone. I’d dropped my car keys somewhere in the warehouse. I froze. I needed a vehicle to get back to Reno. Back to mom and dad. Or I could call them. They’ll come get me. But if there was a zombie apocalypse, then maybe it just wasn’t that convenient for them to do so. I’d have to go to them.

  Or maybe….maybe we’re quarantined. Maybe there are Hazmat teams outside of the warehouse, surrounding us with military forces to keep us in and – no…wait…how would that explain the workers from across the street?

  But why look up? Was this a zombie apocalypse? What was happening? My mind was blown, unable to figure out the reasoning behind the gory scenes that’d occurred right in front of me. I knew what it was, it was just…something extremely difficult to accept. I mean, I saw the movies, I played video games with the monsters – but to accept that it was actually happening? It felt like I was in some weird nightmare that wouldn’t allow me to wake up.

  I heaved a low sigh, and marched for the doors, looking around for any signs of those snarling creatures. Those zombies. Biters. Walkers. Infected. As I strode quickly, I decided that they needed another name. I needed to keep myself grounded with my thoughts, because I felt that I could lose my mind the more I lost myself thinking about these things.

  The Impure. Nah. Not catchy enough. The Impure are coming after me! I heard myself scream in my thoughts, and it made me chuckle. I quickly stifled myself and rushed for the door – relief hit me once I touched the metal, and I pushed hard on the bar handle to escape. Only I was puzzled by the slim pipe that had been jammed in between the handle and the doorframe, locking me in. Lock
ing me IN. With those things!

  I panicked, pushing hard, struggling to get out – I yanked at the bar, but I couldn’t move it. I grunted, strained, used all of my desperate strength to budge it, but…nothing. Gasping for breath, I stared at the bar, then whipped around to look behind me. I still saw nothing that could have witnessed my mad struggle for freedom. But I was breathing hard, heavy, and those things could hear me. I struggled to quiet myself, my neck straining with the effort.

  I turned away from the door, and struggled to get a grip, to keep myself from getting hysterical. I stared at the empty rows, absorbed the screech of the fire alarm – the flashing lights.

  Had to ground myself again, because panic was rebuilding from my gut up. In order to do so, I had the flitting image of video game characters trapped in vicious worlds that prevented their escape. The moment my mind touched on these expensive fantasy games, I started to regain control. I was able to think a little more clearly, panic turning into an uncomfortable roil in my midsection instead of an overwhelming suffocation.

  Now…what would Heather Mason do? She’d…probably curse and kick at the door and get angry. Vow to kill. I doubt that was part of my nature. I’m not strong enough to kill something that…zombie-like. She killed monsters. Not…not these things. I swallowed hard. Okay…what would Zoey do? Rochelle? Scarlet? Well…they had guns. And guys like Nick, Francis, Doyle. Me? Nobody.