by Annie Walls
I knock before walking into the room where he lounges on the bed in sweatpants, a white long sleeved T-shirt, and his boots. I thought he’d be playing his guitar, but he’s reading my notebook. His hair hangs loose around his face.
“Why do you read that stupid thing?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I like how you think.” His black eye has yellowed, but has since got a bruise on the left side of his face from being whacked repeatedly in the same spot. “You can have it back to write some more in it if you want.” The corner of his lips tugs into a small smile.
“I brought you something.” I pull out the bandana and give it to him.
He runs it through his hands, smiling wider, the smile finally reaching his eyes. “This won’t stay white, you know?”
“Well, I’ll know you use it when it starts to get dirty.”
He thinks about that, then narrows his eyes, “What have you and Reece been up to?”
There isn’t any reason to keep this from him since I was sent here to retrieve him for a meeting. “We’ve been looting. I’ve been helping him make bathtub bombs. It was our agreement.”
He stares at me with a blank face, “That really doesn’t surprise me. You have lots of things up your sleeve.”
“Not really.” I look around, “Do you need anything? I have some painkillers. Reece and I hit a big department store with a pharmacy. Everything had been cleaned out, except the bones of a body on the floor behind the glass. I happened to see a bottle of pills underneath it. Guess whoever it was didn’t want to get eaten alive and swallowed most of them. You can have them.”
“Huh. Trying to give me pills that have been under a rotting corpse for years?” He folds the bandana in half, tying it around his head.
My mouth drops, “They were in the bottle. They’ll still work!” I think.
“Nah, I’m not in any pain. Keep them. You might need them someday.”
“We better get going. We’re having a meeting at the marketplace. I want to get it over with. I’m tired. I also think Glinda wants to dress me up like a prostitute tomorrow.”
His eyebrows rise as the corner of his mouth twitches. I roll my eyes. “Let’s go then,” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement.
Still laughing at me, I have to grab his arm to pull him off the bed. “Oh, I almost forgot.” I pull the little plastic box out of my pocket and hand the guitar picks to him.
He tries to smile at me, but looks a little sad. “Thank you.”
“No problem. You’re always looking for one. Now you have a whole box.”
***
Nighttime means the marketplace is empty, except for our twenty people. Our voices seem small as they resonate through the warehouse. The chatting ceases as Reece pulls a blanket from the mound on his booth. The blanket hid a huge stack of homemade bombs in plastic pipes with fuses running out of them. Gasps and exclamations erupt as everyone figures out what’s going on.
“This is how we’ll enter the zombie base,” Reece states, waving his arms in a dramatic fashion. I bite my lips to keep from laughing at his enthusiasm.
Rudy picks up a bomb and examines it, before glancing at me. “Well, I can’t think of anything better.”
I announce, “I think it’s time for our mission.”
“How do we know those will work?” This comes from Felix Fuller. I’m sure he didn’t mean for it to come out grudgingly. The guy seriously needs to take it easy.
Reece just grins. “I don’t know. You volunteering to test them? I’ll give you one and light the fuse.” If it was possible for Felix to getter any fatter, he did right then, taking in a breath and puffing up like a blowfish.
Rudy speaks up, “This is great. Try to be optimistic.”
“We didn’t know he was doing this! I don’t trust it when I’m going to be handling thousands of the famished!” Felix squeaks in full-effect flair, waving his hand in the air, momentarily forgetting he tries to tone it down. Everyone knows, but no one tells him that they don’t give a rat’s ass how he spends his time in the bedroom. Hence, the chip. I’ve tried talking to him, but he’s stubborn and acts like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want it.
Rudy stays calm, but the look in his eye is one he gets in the betting ring. “Then stay here, Felix Fuller.” He stares into the man’s beady eyes. Sam and Ty crack up about something. I crack a smile their way. “I trust Kan to know what she’s doing. Obviously Reece does too. He’s the one that’s been blowing things up with them.” I cringe. Shit.
“Kan built these?” Thomas complains in outrage. I didn’t want anyone to know I planted the seed, and helped Reece. “We are all going to die. Suicide mission. For what? Your lady love, Rudy?” Thomas glares.
Rudy glances at me then looks away, neck blazing along with his face. Before anyone knows it, he has Thomas by the throat. He speaks through clenched teeth, “You already know this is going to be bad. Now, you’re slamming Kan for giving us better odds? Watch your mouth. I’m sick of hearing it.”
Thomas wheezes. I think it was meant to be a laugh. “Kan,” he says it like I’m something nasty on the bottom of his shoe. “Almost got killed by a putrid that couldn’t even move,” he sneers. Rudy’s grip tightens. Thomas gargles, turning a pleasing shade of red.
I stuff down my momentary pleasure. “Stop! Rudy, stop!” I hurry over and smack his arm, hoping he removes himself from Thomas. It’s like hitting a hard wall, and finally, he lets go.
Thomas gags but stands up straight. “Does she know about –” Thomas starts, but Mac’s arm flashes, and punches Thomas in the face preventing him from saying what he was going to say. Thomas slumps to the ground unconscious. Damn, Mac can pack a punch. Rudy stares at Mac for a long second.
Mac glares at Rudy, “I didn’t do it for you.” I’m bewildered, tired, and decide to ignore them both for the time being. I’ll ask Mac about it later.
Clearing my throat, I get back to the business at hand. “Reece and I have one more looting trip tomorrow morning. The party’s tomorrow night, and that gives us all the next day to get our things in order. We leave the day after that,” I say, glancing at Rudy.
He thinks about it before nodding. “Sounds good.”
I smile wide at him, watching as he returns it. “You’ll get to see Julie soon.” His smile flinches, but he holds it in place, not seeming thrilled. What’s wrong with him? Maybe he’s afraid of what he will find there. I would be too. “It’s better to know than not to.”
He swallows, remembering one of our first conversations. “You’re right.”
Mac scoffs, “Right.”
***
I go to Mac’s room before heading to the vault. He said I could ask him anything, so I will. “Why’d you hit Thomas? I mean, well, he deserved it. I just want to know what he was about to say.”
Mac sits down beside me on the bed and meets my gaze. “No Sunshine, you don’t want to know. Rudy should be the one to tell you, not anyone else. Including me.” He kisses my forehead, and his curls graze my cheek as I shake my head.
“Why does it matter?” I clip, through my teeth. He smiles at that, sitting up straight.
“I think it would matter to you. Trust me.” He runs his tongue on the inside of his bottom lip, worrying. I don’t know what to say. He’s not going to give, so I let it go.
Chapter 26
Mac talks me into going with us to loot. We meet Reece in the parking lot of the community before the sun rises, taking a minivan for the space. Mac coming is a good idea, because he can help carry stuff. The wind brings a chill, turning our noses red. I get to wear the tan leather jacket that matches my boots, feeling guilty about having them. I got a little carried away, but who wouldn’t?
About forty-five minutes into the drive, the sun barely lights up the sky, and I realize we’re rolling into my hometown and gasp.
Reece glances my way, “What’s wrong?”
“This is my hometown, where
I grew up. I also spent the last four years here.”
“Really?” Mac looks around with renewed interest.
Reece says, “Good. Where are the ‘all you can get’ department stores?”
I laugh, “There’s a Wal-Mart and a Target right off the interstate.”
The sun shines brightly, which means there are no signs of famished as the van pulls in the Wal-Mart Supercenter parking lot, empty of cars. Not a single one. Old scorch marks adorn the lot from body disposal. Litter blows all over like leaves in the fall. Reece, Mac, and I glance at each other. Usually, places like this show more signs of outbreak panic. I’m surprised at this because I’ve always avoided where there could be many zombies in one place. Reece drives by the entrances; both doors wide open with no visible movement inside the store. He backs the van into an entrance as far as he can go.
Being parked inside of a Wal-Mart has potential for some comic relief.
My mouth opens to crack a joke until Reece says, “Mac, you take medical supplies. Kan, you go look for any camping gear you can find. I’ll take household items and hardware,” his voice all business and commanding, now that we’re here.
Sunlight bounces off Reece's tattooed bald head and causes a double glare in his sunglasses. His leather vest squeaks as he opens his door. “Keep alert.” Mac and I nod, getting out.
Since the air is warmer in here than outside, Mac pulls his red hoodie off, throwing it in the back. I almost leave my jacket in the van, but slide on my battered army pack taking stock of myself. My machete hangs from its normal spot on the right side of the pack – the Bersas and a hunting knife adorn my belt.
I take a deep breath through my nostrils, making out a faint trace of decay from the living dead with a strange, bitter stench. We stand in a row listening for any sounds of lurking zombies.
“Smell it?” I whisper, glancing to Mac. His brows draw together, and his bottom lip sticks out as his tongue runs across the inside of it rapidly. I can see him perfectly in the light of the open glass doors, sandy blonde curls puff up on one side as if he had run a hand through it. His white T-shirt seems extra bright.
Blue eyes search around intently before stopping at me, burning bright as he flashes me a smile, and tugs on one of my long dreads. “Nothing to worry about. It’s not strong and it’s warm in here. Not an ideal place for the undead,” he reassures me.
I return the smile before letting my gaze seek movement. Light coming in through the doors illuminates enough to make out aisles. The darkened shadows seem to drift outward as I watch.
Reece walks a few feet away searching down the closer aisles. A croaked moan cuts through my awareness seeming to bounce from walls to rafters. I freeze at the sound as the hair on my arms stand on end. A thick slithering comes from between the cash registers. Clearly in no immediate danger, I walk toward the sound without another thought. I can’t see what it is from the darkened area.
“Sunshine,” Mac says quietly close to my ear as he moves to stand in front of me, protectively, before clicking on a small flashlight. I pull my gun as I catch sight of what lays in the flashlight beam. I slide back the rail with ease, silently chambering a bullet.
“Don’t waste your ammo,” he says as the light flashes the length of the zombie on the smooth, tiled floor.
It looks up at us with eyes filmed over a milky color, but darkened black with settled blood. Well on its way to becoming a putrid. With all of its hair still intact, skin sags around his eyes and jaw. One arm reaches out toward us, clawing the air. A few of his cracked fingernails have already fallen off. The bottom half is nothing but gnawed bones with hanging nerves. Thickened blood smears the floor beneath him leaving a trail from where he had been dragging himself. With the other arm completely missing, the flailing one has a huge bag strapped around the shoulder with a few ripped strips of a faded black shirt sleeve.
“Holy shit!” Reece breathes, approaching from behind. “Damned thing is ugly. Might be the source of the smell.”
I doubt it. It’s not old enough for the decayed smell in the air. Judging from how rapidly he can move his arm, if he had legs he would be able to run.
Mac hands me the flashlight. “He was hanging onto that bag for dear life.” He observes, bending over with a knife. The famished’s hand grabs at him. Mac automatically steps on it as if it’s a pesky cockroach. Holding the arm down with his combat boot, Mac slits the bag open. I shine the light on its contents. Liters of rubbing alcohol and dozens of boxes of cold medicine spill out.
Mac scoffs in unison with Reece. I say, “Someone must have been sick.” Reece holds back a snort of amusement. I glance at him sharply. “What the hell is so funny?” He only raises his bushy eyebrows. I must be missing the obvious.
“No one was sick, Sunshine. This dude was going to cook meth. Explains the weird smell. Might be why he is so hyped for an older zombie.” Mac explains as he straightens, stomping his boot to the famished’s head. “Fucking redneck.” Disgust oozes from his tone as the zombie wiggles. He stomps again, this time a crunch sounds, splattering fresh gore. Specks of it hit my jeans.
I cock an eyebrow at Mac crossing my arms. “And you aren’t?” I joke.
He smirks, “Okay, backwoods redneck.” I nod as though I approve.
Reece sighs warily, not trusting this location. “Let’s finish in here.”
Sticking the gun in the front of my jeans, I make my way to the back where the sporting goods section is located. The place has been looted. People looted for anything they could carry. I doubt I’ll find ammunition here. Getting closer to the back, the rank smell thickens. It’s also gotten darker, but I still have Mac’s small flashlight in my back pocket.
My eyes widen as I realize there are aisle racks moved around; arranged to make up separate rooms. Judging by all the garbage and sleeping bags, someone lived here, and by the way it stinks, for some time. I notice more empty bottles and cold medicine packaging. Mac was right. The pre-zombie had been cooking meth. Everything that I came for has been used at some point. I decide against taking anything, believing we have enough of this stuff anyway. The only question that remains is where are the other occupants? I assume they escaped an attack.
A shuffle sounds in the next aisle. Freezing as a groan floats down my own aisle, sending goose bumps up the back of my neck, I turn to see a putrid turning down my aisle at the very end. Excitement surges, and I start walking closer to it when several more turn into the aisle.
I stop to watch as they walk jerkily slow. The first one’s head cocks to one side as if curious about me. It reminds me of a dog waiting on a treat. This one had been a woman, the hair a gangly mess of missing chunks. Her skin still bluish in color, would soon turn green and textured. These putrids aren’t that old, but older than the meth-addled zombie. This might be a good time to try a Molotov. I pull a jar out of my pack, stabbing a slit in the top with the hunting knife before re-sheathing it in my belt, and then dip the cloth to thread it through the slit. A few twists of the cap, and I light the rag with a lighter.
Tossing it to the floor in front of the putrid, the glass busts, making the moonshine splatter and catch fire instantly. The flame spreads on the floor and up the putrid’s body in a licking wave as it follows fumes, spills, and splatters.
I quickly figure out why this is not a good idea. It only makes the zombies come at you while on fire. Blinking at my own stupidity, I note it slows them considerably. Time to get out of here before the burning smell hits me.
A snarl erupts from behind me, before I am slammed in the back, falling forward to the floor. A frustrated grunt escapes me when I catch myself on my knee as pain splinters through it. My huge pack smacks me in the head, but keeps the famished from getting a lock on me.
Holding myself up with my arm, I kick out, scrambling away from the zombie. When I get myself turned around, the famished is on top of me again. We fall, with me on my back, awkwardly because of my pack, as I hold the famished away from me by its neck, and the m
achete clangs on the floor. The zombie’s hand entangles in my dreadlocks. My scalp feels like it’s ripping from my skull. I yelp, feeling its clammy skin almost to the point of slimy. Trying not to cringe away from it as thick drool drips down my neck from its mouth, I use all my strength trying to keep its mouth away from me.
Another inhuman snarl, and I know at least one more comes for me. The fire from the flaming putrid gives me enough light as the second zombie tumbles into me from the side. Throwing my elbow at it, I knock it away from me.
The first zombie’s mouth snaps way too close to my face as I grapple with my Bersa in my left hand. Pulling the trigger, I get a clean shot to the head, turning my head before the gore shower sprays me. The shot still resonates in my ear as the stench of burning putrid becomes thick in my throat, tasting of foul death.
Gunshots echo from the other direction. Reece and Mac. The zombie wastes no time jumping on top of me, but not before I put my feet in the air bending at my knees. Aches spring in my joints with the weight of it. It’s breath smelling like rotten meat and soured blood turns my stomach as I swallow the extra saliva, threatening to help release the its contents. Stained black teeth bite the air in front of me as I push up with both legs with all my strength. Having the desired effect, the zombie disappears sideways as I kick it – able to aim my gun at it immediately, squeezing the trigger.
The putrid torch reaches me, a keening sound coming from its throat. I kick myself away from the already dead famished, easily surfing backward from the slick, zombie blood. One shot to the putrid’s head, and it slumps on top of the dead zombie. Still on fire. Standing up, smoke fills my lungs, and I put my hands on my knees, trying not to hack.
When I’m able to gulp air, relief washes through me in a strong tide, bringing exhaustion with it, but I still have an aisle of slow zombies coming at me. Their scuffling sounds ten times louder now that my famished brawl is over.
An explosion drowns out the putrid parade, then another right after. The double sounds boom inside my ears causing instant pain, and shake the building violently. They are going to bring the Wal-Mart tumbling down on top of us, all the while, making us deaf.
