by Brown, TW
Slowly, he skirted the edge of the lobby and looked out onto the street. The husk of their SUV sat on blackened rims. The street appeared vacant! Did he dare sneak out and take a look around? The last thing he wanted was for something to happen that would leave Heather alone.
He stood in the gaping hole and surveyed the ruins. What had life been like here in Newark, Ohio? Were the people friendly? Did they have an annual cookout…comic book, horror, or sci-fi convention?
The sky was clear, and already it was growing warm. After the rains of the past few days, the humidity was going to be through the roof. He wasn’t too familiar with the weather patterns in these parts, but he’d lived in Columbia, South Carolina for a while and knew full well what to expect. This only increased the need for him to find water.
Stepping cautiously out onto the glass strewn and corpse littered sidewalk, Kevin took a look both ways up what the sign dangling from beside the stoplight identified as “W Church St”. The cross street remained a mystery since the sign had apparently fallen. Not that it mattered. He crouched and tried his best to stay behind cover as he moved through what looked like a horrific battle zone.
He reached a bullet-riddled military vehicle. The door to the driver’s side was gone. There were at least five rotting, bloated corpses in or partially in the cab. Something made Kevin move in for a closer look. A man with a bullet hole in his forehead was visible amidst the jumble. It was obvious that this guy had been savaged by the pack of zombies heaped on top of him. Kevin recognized the face: one of Shaw’s men from that terrible night at the RV campground; he still had nightmares about that night.
From the roof of the combination shower/bathroom, he’d watched helplessly as a pack of goons shot one of his friends, Darrin Goldburn, stole all their stuff, and kidnapped Senator Angela Bergman and her three daughters. The middle daughter, Shari, had been one of those over-processed, no-talent pop stars whose videos were more about her writhing around in next to nothing than about the music. But it was the oldest daughter, Ruth, that snagged Kevin hook, line, and sinker.
Ruth Bergman had been a lawyer before the world died. After he, Mike Rathers, and Darrin had rescued the Bergman women, he and Ruth had gotten to know each other while she rode in the cab of the U-Haul truck with him. They filled the hours talking about anything and everything. He’d really began to feel a bond growing between them. She was the reason that Kevin convinced Mike to stick around after that encounter with Shaw and his men. Shaw had given them an ultimatum: be gone in twenty-four hours or be killed on sight.
The past week of hiding in the crawlspace above a bank waiting for death had managed to wipe any dreams of rescuing those women from his mind. The reality of survival was Kevin’s only goal. Besides, he had Heather to think of now. He’d rescued her from a nightmare the day after Darrin’s murder. That was the day he and Mike discovered that being bit wasn’t a death sentence. Heather had been bitten and not turned.
Only a few weeks past seventeen, she’d come a long way in a short time. The girl was stronger than she gave herself credit. In fact, Heather had returned the favor of her rescue by saving his life barely a week ago.
Looking around, his eyes rested on the charred façade of what looked like it had once been a restaurant. He didn’t expect to find any food, but perhaps some bottled water. Slinging his shotgun over his shoulder, Kevin picked up a sturdy, black-handled blade from the mélange of discarded or abandoned weapons littering the street. He made a mental note to scour the street later to find some more weapons if time permitted. From the looks of things, Shaw and his men left in a hurry. There was a small treasure in weaponry scattered about…most still appeared useable.
Stopping in the doorway, Kevin quickly noticed that the fire hadn’t made it very far inside the building. He stepped in and gave his eyes a second to adjust to the gloom. Most of the tables were still set for a dinner rush that never came. Weaving through the dining area, he wished that he’d thought to bring a flashlight. Of course the batteries were on their last leg, but this place had potential.
He paused in an archway and peered inside. It was too dark to even consider going in, but he could tell that this was the bar or lounge. Since alcohol was not a priority, and getting drunk could be suicidal, he turned back to the dining area proper. It might be nice to have something to take the edge off later, he thought. Maybe later.
A swinging door with a round portal opened to the kitchen area. Just as he pushed it, something grabbed his ankle. Kevin jumped and tried to spin around at the same time. His other foot caught on something solid, sending him crashing into a nearby stack of wooden highchairs and a stack of blue booster seats.
Looking down, the upper half of a once-corpulent, bald man clutched Kevin’s booted ankle with both hands. It gnawed impotently on the sturdy steel toe. With his free foot, Kevin kicked the pathetic thing in the face. He felt the nose crunch like a giant beetle under his heel. The thing ignored him, oblivious to the pain. Again Kevin kicked, snapping the thing’s head back. Sitting up, he brought the big knife down, driving it into the crown of the skull, ending the struggle instantly.
“Fuck,” Kevin gasped and fell onto his back for a moment staring at the heavily cobwebbed light fixture that hung useless just over his head. He fixated on it for a moment. It had five bronze-plated arms, each held an imitation candle. The bulb was in the shape of a tiny flame.
Pulling himself back to his feet, he went back to the dining area and flipped up all the tablecloths so he could see under each table. That’s more like it, he scolded himself after he was certain that the front of the building was clear.
Returning to the swinging door that led to the kitchen, he looked through the portal. Seeing nothing, he swung it open cautiously. There were numerous dark and shadowy areas that he would need to be wary of as he explored. Yet, he reasoned, nothing else has come out to investigate so far. He’d made enough racket in that brief struggle to bring out anything that might be lurking. He wouldn’t assume that the place was clear, but the odds were in his favor.
Besides the assorted grills and prep areas, there were two open but ominously dark rooms on the far side of the kitchen. A row of oblong—perhaps three feet long and a foot high—frosted windows allowed a bit of diffused light to filter in. It was just enough to see by without using the flashlight.
Walking through the kitchen, the lingering smell of rot clung to the air. He spied the door to what had to be a walk-in refrigerator. There would be absolutely no reason to open that door. He stepped into the arch of the first open storage closet and peeked. There were metal shelves on both sides. Could he truly be this lucky? There were rows and rows of canned goods lining the shelves. Months of struggling ignited an instant sense of skepticism. It was mind-boggling as his eyes drank in labels depicting bright red tomatoes, black olives, and artichoke hearts.
The second storage room brought tears to his eyes. Cases of San Pelligrino bottled water lined the walls. Cans of coconut milk and a variety of fruit juices—most likely gone bad by now—also took up the space. This was a bounty beyond his wildest expectations. Any moment now, he thought, I will wake up in that stinky crawlspace. Almost hesitantly, he pinched himself, unsure if that would work to wake him from a dream or not.
What he needed was a way to haul all of this stuff from the storage rooms of this restaurant to someplace that he and Heather could set up as secure. Then they could pick through everything at their leisure. He recalled seeing a large military truck on the way in just a few blocks away. They’d passed it when they were trying to evade the pursuit of Shaw and his band of maniacs. If his memory served, it looked to be in good shape. The only concern would be if the battery still held a charge.
Grabbing a few bottles of the water and a can of tomato juice, Kevin returned to the swinging door. The dining room was still blessedly empty of the walking dead. Pushing the door he exited the kitchen with just a slight pang of regret.
The street looked to be clear. He s
tepped out into the blinding light of the sun and blinked to allow his eyes time to adjust. Even in the short time he’d been inside, the temperature and humidity had climbed noticeably. He scurried up the sidewalk, eyes darting every direction, ears straining to hear the slightest of sounds.
He ducked into the bank and quickly climbed the stairs; the dark square in the ceiling with the knotted line dangling exactly as he’d left it. His only problem was how to climb up while holding the can of tomato juice. He’d stuffed the water into his pockets, but the can proved to be awkward. He set it on the floor and gave it one final wistful glance before climbing. That task almost proved to be beyond his ability. He’d lost a lot of strength the past few days.
“Kevin?” a voice hissed, followed by the ratcheting sound of a pump-action shotgun being jacked.
“It’s me, Heather. Don’t shoot. I’ve got water,” he called back.
A pair of ghostly pale hands reached down to offer help with the last couple of feet up and in. The stench assaulted his nostrils immediately after having been out in the relatively fresh air. It was an instant reminder of the living conditions that he and Heather had endured the past week. That only strengthened his resolve that it was time to quit this place.
As he twisted the top off of a bottle of water and handed it to Heather. As she gulped it down, he related what he’d seen. He skipped over the incident with the creeper. He explained the idea of trying to get the truck that they’d passed—if it would start—and bringing it to the door once they’d hauled everything out to the curb.
“What if bunches of zombies show up?”
“I realize the plan isn’t perfect,” Kevin admitted. “Hell, it barely qualifies as half-assed. It’s just that we have this window of opportunity. I can’t explain why there is little to no activity out there right now, but this is a gift horse we don’t want to look in the mouth. We are in the heart of downtown…I doubt many folks actually lived here. The population masses would be way more dangerous. Plus, we both know that those things start following something and just keep going until they corner it in a building.
“I imagine huge cities like Chicago and New York had it worse than these small towns, which is why these might be where we look for future supply runs.”
“What about those men we were running from…the ones who kidnapped the Bergmans?” Heather asked after draining the second bottle of water.
“From the looks of things on the street, they took quite a hit,” Kevin explained. “I’d be willing to bet that they took a majority of the zombies with them when they bugged out. That might also explain why the streets are so empty.”
“So when do we do this?”
“Normally I’d suggest close to sunset,” Kevin polished off his second bottle and suppressed a belch, “but I think we need to go now. Who knows what might happen, and I don’t want to risk those things coming back.”
Not that there was much, but they grabbed what meager belongings they still had and climbed down. Kevin had Heather sit on his shoulders and put their knotted line back up and close the hatch. Never knew if it might become necessary to return, and there was no sense risking somebody else finding their little hideout.
They made their way down the stairs and through the bank to the street. Kevin was halfway through the window frame when he realized that Heather wasn’t right behind him. He glanced back to find her standing over a cluster of dead zombies and what was left of one of Shaw’s men.
“C’mon,” Kevin hissed.
“They ripped him in half,” Heather whispered. “And on his face…the look…you can see it was so painful.”
Great grasp of the obvious, his mind automatically retorted. “We have to get moving,” he said, shoving that abrasive and sarcastic voice that he was so accustomed to using back into the recesses of his mind. This was a chance to change. She didn’t see him as dorky or socially awkward. This girl didn’t know about the time he wet his pants in gym class during third grade. She had no idea that his entire four years of high school was a nightmare, or that the varsity quarterback, Mike Meyers, chose him as his favorite target for bullying and public ridicule.
Heather joined him on the sidewalk and followed silently to the restaurant. He led her through the dining area and back to the kitchen. She paused when she spotted the creeper, but didn’t say a word. When they reached the open storerooms, she gasped. “There’s so much!” Her hands ran over the shelves like she needed the tactile sensation to confirm what her eyes beheld.
“Let’s start with the cases of bottled water,” Kevin said. “Then we can just start grabbing what we find most appealing. Every couple of trips we should check the street.”
With that, they went to work. Twice they had to stop when a lone shambler and a small pack passed by. Neither time did they so much as slow or change direction. Eventually, there was a decent stack of supplies on the curb.
“Now for the hard part,” Kevin announced after he had finished off a can of stewed tomatoes, a jar of marinated mushrooms, and several bottles of water. “Only switch to your shotgun if it gets hairy. Otherwise, stick to the handhelds.”
Heather nodded and followed him out onto the street. The sun was directly overhead and, as he’d expected, it was sweltering and muggy. The air above the street rippled as the heat reflected off of the asphalt.
Kevin kept his newly acquired and sturdy blade in his hand while Heather still carried the iron-tipped poker that Mike had fashioned. Reaching the corner, they peeked around the building.
“Holy crap,” Heather breathed as she stepped around Kevin for a better look.
The truck Kevin had remembered seeing was now parked in the middle of the street. He remembered distinctly that it had been up on the curb before.
The bed was piled high with boxes. From this distance, it was impossible to tell what the boxes contained. All of that was certainly enough to elicit Heather’s response. However, it was the three people standing in front of the truck, all with variations of the deer-in-the-headlights expression on their faces.
Two of the figures shook off the shock after a few seconds and began to run towards them. The third figure seemed stunned and at a complete loss as to what she should do.
“Kevin!” one of them squealed as she closed the distance considerable faster than the other visibly pregnant one.
“Shari.” Kevin slid his weapon into its sturdy leather sheath in time to be able to catch the girl as she leaped into his arms.
The second girl reached him, throwing her arms around his waist, her muffled sobs feeling like puffs of heat against his side.
“You’re alive!” Shari grabbed his face in her hands, planting a huge kiss on his mouth.
“What…how…?” His eyes flicked to the truck and the lone figure still standing beside it. The third person was obviously male, and visibly nervous as he shifted from one foot to the other, his head on a swivel searching for trouble.
“It was horrible,” the girl nestled against his side whimpered.
“Maybe we could do this later,” Heather said as she stepped closer to the trio while still watching the nervous man by the truck that they were about to commandeer.
“Where’s Mike and Darrin?” Shari asked, ignoring the rude girl trying to pull the plug on such an amazing and unlikely reunion.
“Dead,” Kevin said with a grimace. “But Heather is right, we can catch up on things later. Right now we should try to get out of here while the coast is clear.”
“I’m staying with you,” the tiny, but very pregnant girl, clinging to Kevin’s side insisted.
“We can all stay together, Erin,” Kevin said as he hugged the girl. “Do you guys have room for more supplies in that truck?”
“Lots.” Shari nodded.
“Well, we’ve got a storeroom’s worth of canned food waiting just around the corner in front of an Italian restaurant.”
“I’ll tell Peter.” Shari tossed a glance back at the man still standing nervously by the truc
k. “Do you need to ride back?”
“It’s only right around the corner,” Kevin replied with a shake of his head. “We were actually coming to see if that truck worked. We were going to snag it and load it up ourselves.”
“How funny,” Shari laughed, sounding anything but.
“Are you guys ready to roll?” Kevin asked.
“Yep,” Shari nodded, “we just finished loading everything Peter said was important and was fixing to leave ourselves.”
“Then meet us right over at the building with the stack of boxes in the front.”
“I’m staying with you.” Erin squeezed tighter.
“Okay,” Kevin slipped an arm in between himself and the pregnant teen, “but we have to get moving. I don’t want to be on this street anymore.”
“I can’t believe it’s you!” Shari said with a smile, hugging Kevin once more before turning and jogging back to the big truck.
“C’mon.” Kevin steered Erin around the corner and back towards the restaurant.
The sputter and rumble of a big diesel engine sounded like thunder, shattering the relative silence of the dead city of Newark, Ohio. Kevin and Heather both jumped and picked up the pace.
“So,” Erin wedged in between the two, “who’s this?”
“Oh yeah!” Kevin slapped his forehead. “Heather, Erin Bergman. Erin, Heather Godwin.”
“Nice to meet you.” Heather patted the younger girl on the arm.
“Nice to meet anybody,” Erin replied.
“Of course the other girl was Shari,” Kevin added, then glanced down at Erin. “What about Ruth and your mom?”
The girl stopped in her tracks. Heather kept going but Kevin stopped a few steps later when he realized that Erin was no longer beside him. She was standing in the middle of the street, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“What the hell?” Heather trotted back.
