Harper nodded, also not wanting to linger any longer than needed. He didn’t mind going outside the walls, but he was missing his woman. Ever since he found her, he hated being away from her.
When Damon appeared outside he was both happy and astonished to see Riley had already started filling one gas tank from the fuel stash beneath the station. The tall marine looked up from his duties, tossing heavy curls from his long face. “There you are asshole….”
“Hey, Harper had something for me to see inside,” Damon said defending himself, without going into detail about what was inside. He could live without a few of Riley’s anecdotes.
“Sure, sure. Just make the one handed guy do all the work.”
“Am I ever going to be able to live that down?”
“Doubtful.”
“Sheesh.” Damon shrugged his thick shoulders and rolled his head around his shoulders, stretching his neck. “Well just then sit back and let me finish this.”
With a smile on his face, Riley topped off the can and bowed low to Damon. “After you, my Lord.”
Damon flipped him the bird and grabbed the hose, but cracked a smile before he turned away from the marine.
“I’m gonna see what’s takin’ them so long,” Riley said, before disappearing into the station.
Dealing with the task at hand, Damon filled can after can, scoffing when he came to a tiny three gallon one. It got filled, then three more. Damon jogged to the end of his truck, just to check one more time if there were any left. “Ah ha! There you are,” he said when he spied one tucked next to some canned goods. With the can in hand, feet crunching over broken pavement, he passed by the dead sprinter, then by the open door. He blurted out a laugh when he heard Riley shout in surprise; it was obvious he’d stumbled upon the zombies in the back. “What in the hell? Who’s science project is this?”
Damon heard Harper bark an order, followed by Chloe making a disgusted noise. “Don’t touch it like that!”
It took just a few minutes to fill the remaining cans, and load them into the bed of the truck. Damon was thankful no more zombies surprised him, he was getting sick of their snapping jaws, and their unforgettable stink.
“All set to go?” Damon questioned, appearing in the shadowy doorway.
Chloe skipped towards him, her earlier reservations forgotten, with bags on each arm. “Well we couldn’t save any of the food. The stupid deaders took care of that.” She huffed and popped her hip to the side. “But we did find flashlights, batteries, and some packets of Tylenol and stuff.”
“And you forgot,” Riley reminded, “Lottery tickets and booze.”
Both of which were useless to Damon, and he shook his head. “Dude you got a drinking problem.”
“Nah, just have to keep things interesting.”
“Interesting? We live in a goddamn zombie apocalypse.”
Riley shrugged. “Meh, zombies are old news.”
Pinching his thumb and index finger to his forehead, Damon opened his mouth to speak, but Harper’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Don’t waste your breath, my friend,” he said with his voice low.
Damon nodded and smiled down at Chloe. “Let me get a few of those for you. Then we need to leave. I don’t know about you, but the stink is getting to me.”
Chloe agreed fully and followed Damon’s form out the door, watching his strong shoulders flex as he hefted all the bags she had packed. He turned the side of his face to make sure she was following.
Damon cracked another smile when she walked behind him with a slight skip in her step behind him.
Clouds bunched over the sky in gray sheets as the Silverado pulled away from the gas station, its black paint was riddled with thousands of scratches and dents from zombies and debris.
“Is it gonna rain again?” Riley asked, peering out the tinted window covered with protective chain-link.
“I hope not,” Chloe responded, and rested her head against the cloth seat.
“Just drive this baby home,” Harper rumbled from Damon’s right.
“That’s the plan.”
Damon’s mahogany eyes flickered from the small town street to the surrounding buildings. From what he could tell they had exited the business district and entered the residential. Zombies began to appear again, and Damon was happy to see that their heads seemed to be intact, aside from general decomposition. His desensitization surprised him little as he watched the reanimated cadavers stumble towards them with milky eyes.
On their right a large tan building came into view. It was set back on an overgrown property with a flagpole jutting up from the bent over grass. The American flag was long gone, taken by a storm or ages of neglect. It didn’t take long for the four of them to figure out it was a school, and by the look of it, it was a high school. Damon swerved around a school bus and two other abandoned cars.
Chloe stared out the window longingly; she hadn’t had the chance to be enrolled in high school. She had barely even made it to middle school. A feeling slammed into her gut as she watched the view pass, she missed her family, she missed her friends, and she missed a normal life. All of a sudden being out killing zombies with three old guys didn’t seem so fun anymore. The teen could feel hot tears well up in her tear ducts. She sniffed.
“Why so quiet?” Damon asked to the rear-view mirror.
Chloe peeled her eyes away from the desolate school and let out a deep sigh. She took a deep breath, willing the tears away. “It’s just, just I didn’t get a chance to graduate high school.”
Damon’s heart broke for her. Something so normal and she’ll never get to experience it. Damn the new world.
“You didn’t miss much, I promise,” Riley offered, thinking back to his awkward, depressing years.
“That’s what you say.”
“Homework, detentions, and wedgies…”
“Riley, just stop...” Chloe quietly pleaded, feeling the tears again. “I know it’s stupid. Just leave me alone OK?” She secluded herself back to the corner of the truck, eyes to the window again.
The marine shrugged and went back to twiddling his thumbs behind Damon’s seat. His brilliant blue eyes wandered from his fingers to the window, then to the alcohol between his boots. He brushed his fingernails over his forearm, scratching a nonexistent itch. His finger went to his hair then back to twiddling.
Two minutes down the road, Damon slammed on the brakes. “What the hell?” he swore at the windshield, the truck stopping so quickly Chloe and Riley smacked their heads against the headrests, then again when they attempted to look over the center console at the same time.
Damon’s chest leaned over the steering wheel, his foot steadied over the brake, not wanting to strike the scene ahead of him. Crossing the street were five zombies, all with their skull caps missing, all stumbling in the same direction, away from the Silverado. The peculiar situation had Damon on edge, but the hunger to investigate ate away at him. First the ambush, now wandering zombies not interested in a potential food source; it was all too curious to leave alone.
chapter 5
“Why aren’t they trying to attack us?” Chloe piped from the back seat, her face almost pressed against Riley’s cheek as they both tried desperately to get a better look.
“My thoughts exactly,” Damon replied, while Harper muttered nearly the same thing. “I gotta find out what’s going on. Who’s with me?”
Riley immediately jumped at the thought of something new. Chloe was a little less eager, but was happy to have something else to occupy her mind so she didn’t ponder about her woes. Harper shifted his weight, reluctant to move or speak as if formulating a plan. His eyes went from the zombies to his rifle in his lap; his fingers skillfully unclipped the magazine and saw no rounds. After another second, the big marine spoke, “Well I don’t like the idea, but from the look of it we’re going anyway. Let me just put it out there that Riley and I are out of ammunition. I know you are too, Damon, so if we get to where these things are going and it looks bad�
�we fall back.”
“Yup, sounds good,” Damon agreed, not wanting to lose another foot behind the shambling group. On his way out of the truck he shot Chloe a look, knowing she wouldn’t stay with the vehicle, nor did he want her to this time, but he reminded her of the danger with his gaze.
Damon and Riley led, while Harper strode closely by Chloe with his side arm drawn, ready for the zombies to turn, deciding a tasty meal was more important than a hike through the woods.
Damon’s skin again prickled with adrenaline and nerves as he and the others trailed the fleeing zombies. His eyes studied the staggering undead, and couldn’t find any similarities, other than they were zombies with their blackish brains exposed. The five zombies never turned in their direction or wavered from theirs, not even when a long stringy haired zombie stumbled over a thick log. It wobbled to its unsteady feet and continued on the same path through the thick ankle high greenery. As they ventured deeper into the forest, Damon spotted another undead puppet scrawling through the dirt and brush, face and arms pointing in the same direction as the others were traveling in. Its rotten face and milky eyes paid Damon no mind as he passed by; Riley put an end to it with a hard, debilitating swing of his baseball bat. The sickening crunch seemed to echo through the silent woods like a shotgun blast.
Damon’s shoulders hunched, Harper raised his pistol, both expecting the dead to turn and attack.
Nothing happened.
Riley shrugged, his cheeky face unashamed of the deed.
Damon and the others trailed the five oddities for another mile before they saw anything other than towering trees. A sprawling warehouse seemed to rise up from the earth; Damon figured they had to be outside of the town they had passed through. A building just doesn’t get constructed in the middle of the woods. He halted the group about a hundred meters from the establishment, his corded muscles rippled when he flexed and rotated his neck, as if warming up for an Olympic event.
The building’s exterior was draped in long sheets of flimsy corrugated metal, rust eroded broad areas, nearly encompassing some sections from the roof to the overgrown grass at its base. The sun was directly overhead shining through the budding trees, while decorative patterns skittered across the uneven ground as the spring breeze swayed them by the hundreds, clicking the naked branches together. Damon and Chloe parted with the marines to circle the silent property. If not for the zombies now pawing at the siding, he would have thought the dilapidated place was abandoned and wouldn’t have given it a second thought to pass it by for supplies.
Something urged the mechanic on, knowing the answers to his burning questions were within the old warehouse. He pierced a sideways glance at Chloe, who was searching the woods for any zombies not held by the same hypnosis as the others, her bow at the ready. Catching her gaze, he kicked his head to the side motioning her to follow around the perimeter, listening to the sound of their feet as they made their way through the thick brush. The dead grass tangled with his boot laces unknowing as he trudged on.
Chloe whispered a questioning peep at him when she heard a strange mechanical drone from inside.
He raised his shoulders as a response, not able to hide the surprise in his eyebrows. So curious…
The two of them rounded the last corner nearly slamming directly into Riley. Harper followed at a further distance, watching the woods for any sign of trouble, refusing to be taken by surprise again.
“Did you hear that sound?” Damon asked when Harper joined them.
“What sound? Nothing but trees,” Riley responded sounding slightly disappointed with that.
Damon quickly shook his head. “It sounded like a machine or something is running in there.”
“Maybe a generator,” Harper wondered.
“Maybe.”
“I guess we won’t know until we look inside,” Riley said, “let’s go.”
Damon didn’t argue, his shoulders aching from anxiety, and most likely exhaustion, but he wouldn’t let that stop him today, not now. He pushed to the front, leading the three to the small door in the front. He attempted to wipe away the murky coating to peer inside, but failed and pulled away with a black smudged hand.
“I don’t feel right about this one,” Harper said before they assembled for their normal routine.
“Don’t over think it.”
“It’s kept me alive so far.”
True. “We’ll be smart about it. No risks,” Damon said even though he knew how stupid he sounded.
Harper huffed, but didn’t speak. Damon pulled the door open, the ancient hinges squealed in protest, making Chloe cringe, momentarily losing the grip on her arrow. It bounced off her Nikes, and she quickly snapped it up like no one was looking. Filtered light shone down the hall while millions of specks wafted in every direction.
The quartet stood silently at the entrance to the warehouse, readying themselves for an onslaught of undead fiends, but none came. After a few seconds of watching dust float, Damon stepped forward. His boot crunched over broken glass as he entered the hall, followed closely by Harper, Riley and Chloe. The building was two levels; Damon checked the rusted door to his left, thinking it led to the second floor. It was immoveable from years of erosion, so Damon left it alone moving further into the abyss.
Harper brushed past to take his place at the front of the pack, his flashlight bobbed between shadows. Soon they were enveloped in the blackness of the abandoned building, and packed into the tight quarters of the hall.
Damon could feel a slight sense of anxiety in his blood, thinking they were all out of ammunition and the situation could get out of control quickly.
This could be very bad—his brain stopped. “Do you hear that?” he whispered to the group.
Harper raised an eyebrow, barely turning to the rest. “Is that music?”
They listened for a few seconds more. “That’s Jim Morrison, man,” Riley exclaimed with a smile on his face.
“Who’s Jim Morrison?” Chloe sassed, while crossing her arms, she gazed up at the tall marine confusedly.
“Wha—what?” He threw his hands in the air. “The Doors? Good God Chloe, I don’t know why I keep you around.” He flashed a bright smile.
“You guys wouldn’t know what to do without me,” the teen said, popping her hip out to the side.
Damon waved his hands in the air, interrupting the news flash. “Just stop guys. We’re losing focus.”
“It’s Riley’s fault”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Pull it together.” Harper curtly instructed, flexing his shoulders uncomfortably while checking the surroundings.
Damon shook off the antics and followed Harper with the machete strangled in his right hand. The sound of the music disturbed him, and a heavy feeling settled in his stomach.
“People are strange when you’re a stranger,” Riley sang absently.
Damon snapped his head around. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”
“What?” Riley asked defensively. “It’s catchy—sorry.” He clamped his mouth shut.
It was quiet after that, aside from the exceptionally eerie musical vibes. The lucid beat progressively grew louder as the group continued forward, and when Damon thought he couldn’t stand it the tension any longer, Harper held a hand up, and the three of them stopped with Riley bumping into the back of Damon.
Damon held back the throttling he wished to deliver to the marine and focused on what the four of them had stumbled upon.
The corridor ended in a smallish room in the belly of the warehouse, no larger than the size of a semi-trailer and crammed with long narrow tables. Flickering green fluorescent, illuminated an odd looking man sitting behind the center table littered with glass instruments of all shapes and sizes. A mysterious red liquid bubbled in a flask over a whispering flame of a silver Bunsen burner.
Damon instantly saw the man, and his shoulders tightened, the breath catching in his throat. He squeezed the handle of his machete even though the man’s head
continued to hover over the narrow table as if he were still alone. Through the haunting voice of Jim Morrison, Damon could hear the man mumbling, which caused him to relax slightly. He wasn’t a zombie, quickly shooting his hands out to his sides, he caught the barrels of his companions side arms before they could squeeze the trigger. Chloe found his gaze through the low light and slowly lowered her readied bow.
“Hey you,” Damon called after finding his voice.
At first the mystery man behind the chest high table did not acknowledge him, so Damon took a step forward and opened his mouth to say something else. He felt Harper’s thick hand on his shoulder, but gave him a reassuring look. Damon turned to face the man once more, who had finally stopped mumbling to his hands.
“Wha-What’s this?” The man glanced up from his hands, lifted the black goggles from his face and set them on top of his balding head. His pale blue eyes shone from under bushy gray eyebrows. A genuine smile appeared on his pale, leathery face as he eyed his three visitors. “Chester, Fester, it looks like we have company.”
Damon flicked his head around the shadowed room, thinking he must have missed this Chester and Fester but saw no one except the man under the haunting light.
“Come-Come-Come-lemme have a look.” The man ushered the group in closer, much to Harper’s distaste, but Damon urged them on.
When the man circled around the table Damon was able to get a better look at him. He stood to the mechanic’s shoulder and had a mane of wiry gray hair that stuck out in every direction except the bald spot in the middle of his orb-like head. His skinny frame was draped in a knee length lab coat that appeared stark white in the low light, and hid dirty plaid polyesters underneath. Movement on the floor pulled Damon’s eyes away from the mad scientist garb down to the man’s mismatched loafers.
The Beginning of the End Page 5
