Chapter 13
“You could have given me a little warning, kid.”
Derick smiled and nodded over to his friend. “I guess so. Sorry about that. We did good, though. The wicked didn't get any warning either.”
“I've gotta admit. You've got some balls.”
“I figure we all need some now, otherwise we won't survive.” Derick replied.
“It's a good plan, too,” A.K. admitted. “I'm sure if there is a grocery store nearby it's already been hit, but unless someone was driving a flatbed truck-”
“It's probably been hit more than once, but that's still better than going through someone's cabinets. Especially if we need what's in those cabinets later down the road.”
“Up here...on the right.” A.K. said and even pointed his finger.
It was one of those strip malls that get built for one reason and one reason only.
“A fucking Wal-Mart.” Derick said.
“I don't like it,” A.K. began. “I'm sure there is plenty of shit in there that we need, but I also know there's a lot of the wrong kind of people if you know what I mean? The dead kind.”
I'm going to agree with you on this one,” Derick replied. “So we go with Plan B.”
“There's a Plan B?”
“There's always a Plan B floating around in this head of mine,” Derick grinned. “We park nearby and toss as many cars as we can. Kind of like people used to do before the damn zombie apocalypse. There must be hundreds of them in this lot and there's no telling what we'll find.”
“Then what?” A.K. asked.
Derick pointed. “The Dollar Tree. Gordon will have to hold off on his steaks, but there should be tons of prepackaged shit to eat in there.”
“I'll be damned, kid. I like it.”
“The main focus here is food, so I say we dedicate three of these bags to food only and use the fourth for anything useful we might find.”
“Good. Good.” A.K. was certainly impressed.
“I'll go first. You have the gun so you watch my back.” Derick said.
“Gotcha.”
“No man, I'm serious. Keep your eyes peeled. If one of the wicked happens to see us, this parking lot will fill up quickly.”
“I got it.” A.K. insisted.
Derick started pulling on door handles and hated to go about it that way. If one alarm went off, they were done for. So he concentrated on the cars that he thought were cheaper and hoped for the best. The third car in question, a Dodge minivan, clicked open. Derick crawled in carefully and hoped there was no dead inside, which there wasn't. He began shuffling his hands through the glove compartment and then tunneled through to the back seats. A.K. could see the outline of his friend through the van's tinted glass, but that was all. He watched Derick put a few things into the duffel bag, but couldn't see what the things were. Finally, his young friend emerged back into the driver's seat.
“Find anything good?”
“Not much,” Derick began. “I found some antibiotics and a fifth of liquor.”
“No shit?” A.K. asked.
“Wild Turkey, but part of it's gone.”
“Not bad.”
Actually, it was bad. Real bad. No one drank Wild Turkey willingly, not if they knew any better. Derick had drunk it once, for a tooth ache, and even then it tasted worse than the pain his tooth was giving.
“We should hit the Dollar Tree first,” Derick said. “I'm not in love with the idea of yanking on the handles of these car doors. One alarm-”
“But there could be a lot out here that we need.”
“Yea,” Derick admitted. “We need to get our food first, though. That way if we hit an alarm we can get into the Hummer and haul ass out of here.”
“Yea. That makes sense.” A.K. said. Quickly, he brought a finger to his lips and they both watched as a wicked stumbled through the parking lot. There were sure to be more, but neither man saw any more, which was good enough.
Derick motioned his friend along and they found the Dollar Tree easy enough.
-
“Come on, man. Aren't you supposed to be a strong guy or something?”
“I was a prison guard,” A.K. said – winded. He had jammed Derick's knife into the latch on the back door of the dollar tree. Now only was he pulling on it, he was giving it everything he had and then some. “Not a goddam competition weightlifter.”
“Oh.”
A.K. wisely took his revolver, emptied it of shells and then used the butt of the handle to start whacking away on the knife's handle. Eventually, the latch broke.
“There we go,” A.K. said with a sigh of relief, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow. He then started putting the shells back into his revolver, one by one. “Got it.”
It was daytime and most of the store was probably well-lit because of it. The stockroom wasn't. They were basically flying blind until they found the actual sales floor.
“I'll go first,” Derick said. “I don't like the idea of you using that pistol of yours and alerting every wicked within a country mile of us.”
“Be my guest.” A.K. replied.
Derick retrieved his knife. It was a large-bladed variety and technically speaking, it was a 7” Beef Skinning Knife with a fixed blade. To Derick, it was a “big ass knife” that happened to be within grabbing distance back at the Bass Pro Shops store.
He entered the dark stockroom and could see a foot in front of him, and that was only by the grace of God and the sunlight that poured in from the back door they'd breached. But Derick certainly didn't hear anything. He did, however, quickly spot the door that led out to the sales floor. It was the only other door with daylight pouring in.
“Looks like it's right up-”
Just then, a zombie sprang onto him and forced him to the ground. It was a rather skinny zombie, but a man doesn't think of such things when he has an undead spawn of hell on top of him – teeth snapping.
“Get this fucking thing off of me!”
Where was A.K. - that lazy bastard? He should have been right behind him! He used to be a prison guard, for God's sake!
A.K. managed to wrestle the string bean of a wicked off of Derick, and the young man was quick to get back to his feet. Angrily, he plunged his “big ass knife” into the zombie's skull and blood gushed its way out. Covering the wicked's Dollar Tree shirt in the process.
“Fuck!” Derick said loudly.
“Calm down, kid. It looks like this one worked here.”
Derick put a hand to his head and tried to calm down. Even though both hands shook like a dog taking its daily shit. He did his best to breathe deep.
“We're in the clear, now. I don't see anything out on the sales floor but a lot of Chinese-made shit from plastic and some food.”
“Get the food.” Derick replied.
That was obviously the plan and he didn't need to say it, but it was his way of calming down to a normal level. The plan eased his mind.
Faster than a case of food poisoning at the local Chipotle restaurant, A.K. was filling bags up with food. Spam, granola bars, pretzels; pretty much anything his hands touched. Nutritional information? There was no longer a need for that. They should have read: you eat or you die – it would have made more sense.
It took the men less than five minutes to fill their bags and with quick thinking, Derick began filling up plastic bags from the register with even more food.
“We opened the back door. It's probably not going to be safe to come back, so we need to get it all.”
“All?” A.K. asked.
“Yea, we're going to pack that Hummer down like it's fucking Santa's sleigh. We need to make several trips.” Derick replied.
“And when we get back?”
“We'll have to leave a lot of it in the Hummer, but it'll serve as a food bank or something. Hell man, I don't know. I'm thinking on the fly, here. But I do know that we can't leave all of this behind.”
“OK.” A.K. replied.
And for the next
hour or so, both men bagged up every bit of food they could find. Leaving the shelves of that Dollar Tree as bare as a bride's titties on her wedding night.
-
The sun was starting to fade back into the horizon and night wasn't too far out. The men had packed down the Hummer with not only a shitload of food but also pretty much everything they found to be valuable in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. They'd searched 87 cars (according to A.K.'s count) and hadn't hit a single car alarm. Purely dumb luck.
“I'm going to bring us in closer and then pull off into the backyard of one of these houses. Just be ready to snatch and run.” Derick said.
“Back yard?”
“Yea,” Derick began to explain. “If we're going to be coming to this Hummer for food every so often, we can't have it in the middle of the street. The wicked will kill us off for sure. It'll be a hell of a lot easier to get to the Hummer if it's in a back yard close by.”
“Good thinking.” A.K. replied.
He'd been nothing short of impressed with Derick since leaving earlier in the day. Derick had proven himself to be very resourceful when it came to surviving.
“When we get there, get out and open the rear hatch for me. I'll load up and then hold the hatch for you – then we haul ass.” Derick said.
“OK.” A.K. said.
Suddenly, the former prison guard turned his head and a shudder of alarm ran throughout his extremities.
“That was a military vehicle.”
“Parked?” Derick asked. He also made an effort to see it through the rearview mirror but couldn't. Dusk had officially set in.
“Yea.”
“Are you sure?”
“I'm not positive,” A.K. admitted. “But it sure in the hell looked like one.”
“No soldiers?” Derick asked.
“Not that I could see,” A.K. replied. “I mean it's dark...and we were hauling ass.”
“OK, well we'll mention it to the others but right now we have to stay on plan.”
“OK.” A.K. replied.
“We're pretty close now. Hold on.”
Derick cut the wheel hard left. This time, at least A.K. had a little bit of warning, but not much. He flew against the passenger door and its window, being held there like a carnival ride as the Hummer chewed up bright green grass. Then Derick stood on the SUV's brakes and A.K. was flung onto the dash.
“GO!” Derick said.
Man, we've got to talk about this damn driving of yours. A.K. thought. Still, he jumped from the SUV and spotted a few wicked making their way down – still a good hundred yards out. He grabbed the hatch of the Hummer and pulled it open – holding it while Derick grabbed several bags from the hatch and placed them on the ground.
“OK, switch.” Derick said.
As A.K. leaned in to grab his bags, Derick sunk his “big ass knife” into the base of the former prison guard's skull. Killing him instantly. He'd seen how the man had looked at Pam. Now there were only two more people in the way. Two more people to kill, and then he would finally have Pam all to himself. As Derick pulled A.K.'s body from the hatch and slammed its door closed, there was a new wrinkle in his plan.
“Drop the knife, or my men will shoot.”
Four soldiers, three of them with rifles drawn – aimed right at Derick. As a few wicked approached, one of the soldiers turned and fired into them with his rifle. The shots were military-grade silent.
These weren't survivalists – even Derick knew that much. They all wore patches and insignias and even though he knew very little about the U.S. Army, he knew enough to realize that these men were the real deal. And, if these men were here with their rifles in his face, there were likely a lot more of them somewhere. Maybe humanity had a chance of surviving after all. Time would sort all of that out.
But for now, Derick would do anything to protect his Pam.
“You OK?” Pam asked.
Carlos had drifted away from the group and found himself on the upstairs patio, which overlooked the backyard and scenic lake beyond. Thick plate glass surrounded the patio, for the most part, giving him a flawless view.
“Yea. Just up here doing something thinking.”
“Do you need me to le-”
“No,” he replied. “I guess with everything happening the way it did – so fast, I just haven't had time to process everything, you know?”
“Tell me about it,” Pam said. She took a seat on the same red couch, which stretched out far beyond anything she was used to; like a red carpet for the rich. “Part of me is holding on to what things used to be like. I still remember the feeling of getting to work and hating it. I was going to be on my feet all day long and I knew it. Yet that's the one thing that I hold on to now. Work. I can't remember what the weekends off were like, or shopping for clothes – none of that.”
Carlos nodded. He certainly understood.
“And then the rest of me wants to forget that part, too. I know that we'll never be able to go back to that, so holding on is kind of useless.”
“Everybody's got to have hope.” Carlos said.
“What's the point?” Pam's eyes began to show signs of tears. “I mean...everyone that I've ever cared about, with the exception of you guys...they're probably all dead now.”
“It's tough,” Carlos admitted. “I got thrown into the slam for helping someone I loved. One by one, everyone else left. Eventually, I found myself sitting in a jail cell alone. When a man's in that position, he has to try and find a reason to keep on going. I kept my head down and did what I had to do to survive, but in my heart, I held the memory of my kid close.”
“Like now?” Pam asked.
“Yea,” he replied. He wanted to cry, too but dared not do it. “Like now. We've gotta wake up every morning with almost no hope to speak of, and we've got to keep our heads down and do what we gotta do. Maybe something will eventually change for the better. Maybe somebody will find a cure for this shit. I don't know, but I do know that without hope, we've already given up. If we do that, we're already dead inside.”
It was a large couch, yet Pam's hand found its way to Carlos'.
“I really care about you, Carlos.”
“I know,” he admitted. “And I feel the same way about you.”
“I think for the sake of the group...we should keep this to ourselves.” Pam said.
“I agree.”
From there, with an oversized brute of a man downstairs on watch (which was a mixture of snacking, dozing off and occasionally watching a door that was locked up extra tight), the two of them made love.
-
Derick came to and for a moment, he'd forgotten what happened. Then he remembered. His throbbing head would allow nothing less. One of the soldiers had struck him across the forehead with the butt of his rifle. Derick tried to reach up to his head, he was sure it had drawn blood but found that his hands were now tied to the chair that held him prisoner.
“You're awake.” a man said.
Unlike the others, this man a mixture of white and blue scrubs, though they were certainly in no hospital. Derick managed to move his head and its damnation of a headache around enough to see a fish bowl and a poster of Lebron James.
“Fucking Cavaliers.” he uttered.
“Yea,” the stranger replied with a smile. “I'm a Celtics man myself, you?”
“A fan of knowing what the fuck is going on.”
“Got a name?” the man asked.
Derick stared back at him with anything but the intentions of giving information.
“Relax. My men aren't going to come in here and shoot you.”
My men? Derick thought.
“Look, this will go a whole lot smoother for the both of us if we start out with names.” the stranger said.
“Derick.”
“Good,” the man replied. “I'm Doctor Gellar, United States Army. Tell me, Derick, aside from the man that my soldiers watched you, butcher, are there any others?”
“I had to...he was threatening to-�
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“Derick – relax. I'm not here to judge you and I certainly understand how it must be out here among these things. Are there more of you?”
“No,” Derick lied. “It was just us two and a lot of food we'd taken.”
“Yes. My soldiers found the stash of supplies and I must admit that it was quite impressive.” Doctor Gellar replied.
“What's going on, doc? The Army must know something.” Derick said.
“We do, Derick, and it's your lucky day.”
“How's that?” Derick asked.
He didn't feel so damn lucky, now that he had a gash on his forehead and hands that were bound behind him. Glancing to the room's only window, he could see a large black raven starting through from a nearby tree. It was an odd enough encounter to take his eyes off of the doctor momentarily.
“There are two kinds of these things, Derick-” the doctor began.
“Yea, the regular rots, and alphas. The thinkers.”
“Lurkers, actually,” Doctor Gellar nodded. “And the difference between the two goes well beyond just the ability to reason. You see, Derick, we are creating the lurkers in hopes of eventually combating the rest of them.”
“Making them?”
“That's right,” the doctor said as he pulled a very large syringe from a desk drawer nearby. “The only problem seems to be that our version of the illness only takes to a living host.”
Derick began to struggle for his life, fighting against the ropes that held his hands captive like a goddam slave.
“Relax,” Doctor Gellar knows. “This doesn't hurt, Derick. Plus, you'll no longer feel the need to eat or sleep and many of your senses will be heightened. Best of all, these things out here will no longer seek you out. We still don't know why yet, but maybe with time. I'm about to make you as a super soldier, Derick. This is a gift. You work for me now.”
Derick did everything he could but there was no use. Slowly, Doctor Gellar jabbed cold steel into his hand and pushed the man-made venom into Derick's veins. He did what every dying man does – Derick thought of the people he loved.
Wicked Page 20
