That had been nearly two days ago.
After recovering from the initial fear of being trapped within a virtual lake of zombies, Jake and Kat decided to collect whatever resources they could find within Old Hall. Their quiet search discovered a few useful items but nothing really promising. The contents from a half empty vending machine (chips, granola bars, and some fairly stale peanuts), a can of instant coffee, a half a dozen tea-bags (along with a two-thirds-full bottle of top shelf vodka from the bottom desk drawer of the administration officer's desk), four packs of various cigarettes, two books of matches, half a bottle of Ibuprofen, a twelve-pack of Jolt Cola and, tucked behind jugs of bleach in the janitor's closet, and a small Zip-lock bag of what Kat proclaimed to be (after taking a deep appreciative whiff) high-quality, medical-grade marijuana.
Jake convinced her not to test the quality of the last outright, sighting they didn't know if zombies outside would be attracted by the smell of burning cannabis. Kat had relented, but pouted briefly as they tried the faucets in the restroom, thankfully finding that the building's well-fed water supply was still available.
Then the pair retreated back up to the second floor and inventoried everything they'd carried with them on their “Dead Run.” Jake's tac-vest yielded: two MRE entrees, his full canteen, a fifty-foot bundle of paracord, two candles, five magazines for his M-4 rifle (twenty-nine rounds each), a pair of binoculars, a small first-aid kit, a four ounce bottle of Iodine, three Zip-ties, and an emergency blanket. Additionally, he carried two spare magazines for his Hammer pistol (ten rounds each), a Gerber multi-tool, a liquid-filled compass, three chemical glow-sticks, a full roll of duct tape, one maritime flare, his Zippo lighter, a Ka-Bar, fixed-blade, Tanto-style knife, a Surefire tactical LED flashlight, and three latex condoms.
Kat had given him a grin and raised one delicately arched eyebrow over the last.
“What? You can use them to carry water, or even keep tinder dry,” Jake explained.
“Uh-huh.” She chuckled.
Jake sighed as she fought a giggle fit, then they went through what she'd brought along.
Kat always flat-out refused to wear a tac-vest, insisting that it would only slow her down. The pretty Asian sported only her trademark midriff tank top, black leather pants, a pair of flat-soled knee-high biker boots, the steel-embossed forearm bracers she'd looted from a motorcycle dealership, and a web-belt carrying a trio of small pouches along with two magazines for the Glock 17 riding in its tactical holster on her left thigh. She'd managed to grab her small EDC (Every Day Carry) bag, which Elle had thrust at her before they'd jumped from the roof of their still-moving Hummer though, and now began pulling items from inside.
Her contributions were as follows: two more MREs, a roll of toilet paper, a sharpening stone for her sword, a hundred-foot coiled length of climbing rope, four weighted throwing knives, two spare magazines for her pistol (nineteen rounds each), a bottle of Manic Panic “Royal-blue” hair dye, a tube of MAC “smoked-purple” lipstick, a fingernail clipper, two pairs of underwear (basic black Vicki's bikini-style), a ten pack of Hubba-Bubba chewing gum (original flavor), a small Hello Kitty figure holding a little plastic sword, an audio CD (Joan Jett and the Blackhearts Greatest Hits), and twelve more Latex condoms.
Staring open-mouthed at some of the “necessities” she always carried, Jake was, perhaps for the first time in his life, at a total loss for words. Knowing full well if he pointed out the utter uselessness of lugging a bottle of blue hair dye through the zombie apocalypse, an argument would immediately ensue, he chose to remain silent on that one. Instead, he picked up the strip of condoms. After considering them for a handful of seconds, he slowly turned his head to give Kat a level gaze.
“And you're carrying these because...?”
“Hey! Unlike someone, I don't have any problems admitting it.” Kat shrugged. “I like having sex.”
He blinked, clearly taken aback. “Well. That's...um... blunt.”
Cho smiled impishly. “Should I phrase it another way? Knockin' boots? Tappin' dat ass?”
Jake felt a migraine beginning behind his left eye.
“Humping like lemmings? Ridin' the O-Train? Gettin' my freak on?”
Dropping the strip of condoms back into her bag, Jake closed his eyes and silently begged his building headache to recede. “You have no shame, do you?”
“During the apocalypse?” Kat piped happily. “Let me think. Nope. Not one bit.”
Picking up her Joan Jett CD, he gave her an inquiring look.
Kat's smile grew wider. “Mood music. Never hurts to be prepared, right?”
“Forget I asked,” Jake mumbled, and Kat started stuffing things back in her bag.
That night and the following day alternated between tense moments of fear and lessons in boredom. While it was necessary for the pair to keep careful watch on the dead outside, none of the things seemed at all interested in their hideaway. It didn't appear as if the creatures could smell them, or possessed any kind of weird “sixth sense” allowing them to target a living human, so that was a plus. Jake had theorized previously that zombies hunted solely by visual and auditory means, so as long as neither he nor Kat were heard or spotted peeking through the blinds, they were safe enough for the moment.
There were some problems, however.
First? O'Connor and Cho were trapped inside Old Hall. There was no way to leave without being seen by dozens (if not hundreds) of the dead. Making it safely past that many motivated flesh-eaters, and escaping afterwards without being bitten, would be a real chore. Even for the two of them.
Second? If they did manage to break through the creatures encircling the grounds, the things were sure to follow as they made their escape. After putting some effort into leading all those zombies away from their temporary camp within the airport, they didn't want to lead the herd back towards their friends.
Third? While they could use the two-way radio Laurel had thrust into Jake's tac-vest to call their group for a rescue, there was a damn good chance the rest of that marauder party (who were without a doubt highly motivated to recapture or kill the lot of them), was nearby. Especially after Jake, Kat, and Elle had ventilated their entire security force at the waste treatment plant in the process of rescuing Allan and Maggie. If the marauders managed to trace their transmissions (or if said hostiles knew the area at all), when Laurel and the others arrived to save Jake and Kat's bacon, they could end up in a firefight, along with having to deal with the thousand or more zombies currently outside. The survivors couldn't afford to go head to head with a hostile, heavily-armed group like that if they could avoid it.
Which was why, after nearly two days, Jake and Kat quietly sat in one of the second floor offices, drinking warm Jolt Cola, while snacking on stale peanuts and barbeque Ruffles potato chips. Yes, they had two MREs left, but they wanted to save them just in case they had to go on the offensive (i.e. run like fun for the nearest horizon). If they didn't figure out a way to slip past the horde soon, the worried pair wouldn't have any choice but to attempt fighting their way out (if they could) and pray to lose the zombies under the cover of darkness. Not too likely on unfamiliar ground, to say the least. Then Jake and Kat would have to take the long way around Wilmington, which on foot could take two or three more days, to insure none of the creatures saw them as they carefully made their way back to the airport.
“There's got to be a way out of this,” Jake grumbled for the hundredth time in the last few hours.
“I'm all ears.” Kat remained in her comfortable position on the ugly couch. “But I still say we just wait until dark and make a break for it.”
Jake looked away from the stumbling horrors outside long enough to give her a wry grimace. “Kat, we need a plan. We can’t just stroll out the front door—”
“Actually, I'm for going out the same way we got in. You know. The fire escape?”
“Fine. We can't just hop off the ladder out back, start blasting away at those things, and—”
>
“I was going to stick with my Katana. Besides, you've got that garden tool there,” she motioned behind him. “It's fairly quiet and effective. No need for you to whip out yer hand cannon, Tex.”
Glancing backward, O'Connor saw the hook end of his crowbar sticking up over his right shoulder. He'd carried it since the day of the outbreak, when the recently dead started rising up to feed on the living. Jake had taken it from a small, empty hardware store on the way back to his apartment, just before setting out across Columbus proper, intending to make his way to Laurel or die trying. He'd kept it ever since and attached a shotgun sheath to the back of his tac-vest to carry the industrial-tooled steel brain-smasher. While he could've switched to a machete as most of their group now carried, Jake found the crowbar's eight-pound weight comforting. Besides, he could use it to pry open doors, or even move heavy objects if need be. He didn't know of any machete, regardless of brand name, capable of doing the same.
“It's not just a question of noise, Kat.” Jake rubbed his throbbing temple. “We don't really know the area. We'd have to circle the town and take a long route back, and we don't know if there's any other defensible buildings we can shelter in. We don't have much food or water, either. Granted, the Iodine in my pack, or bleach in the janitor closet, would take care of most organisms that might contaminate water nearby, but we have no way to carry more except for my canteen and maybe a couple of those bottles we found. Why don't you carry a canteen again?”
“It would clash with my outfit. Why do you think?” Kat crossed her leather-clad legs over the back of the couch. “Besides, if I get thirsty and don't have any water I just pop in a piece of gum.”
“Oh, good lord.” Jake began massaging both of his temples.
Kat looked confused. “What? You don't like bubblegum?”
“Dammit, Kat, that's not the point! Without water you get dehydrated and... You know what? Never mind.” Jake realized some conversations just wouldn't go anywhere good. “Like I said, we need a plan.”
“We have one. Bolt when it gets dark.” Kat looked confused.
“That's not a plan.”
“Is too.”
“Is not.” Jake frowned.
“Is too!”
“Look, just so we're both clear on this? Making a break for it is not a plan! That's what you do when a plan fails.” Jake's headache was in full swing now. “We need to think of a way out, before those things somehow realize we're in here and before the others decide to come looking for us. Laurel's probably having a full-blown shit-fit right now. Christ, I'm never going to hear the end of this...”
“You're worrying too much. We'll be fine taking off once the sun goes down tonight. Beside: ninja, remember?” Kat pointed one finger at her unconcerned smile. “Those things can't see that great at night, but me? When it comes to working in the dark, I'm an expert.”
Kat expected Jake to crack wise, seeing how she'd all but spoon-fed him that straight line, but he turned back the window. She frowned, sat up, and took a good look at him as he stood peeking through a small gap in the blinds.
Jacob O'Connor had never thought of himself as what most people considered “handsome”. Maybe in the right kind of light. And from across the room. In his mind, he'd never even be modeling baseball hats. From the rear. A narrow waist, broad shoulders, and the weight his serious gaze carried generated an entirely different opinion on part of Kat's best friend Laurel, however. If she were to be honest, Kat was of the same mindset. To her, the sharp lines of Jake's hawk-like face gave him that whole ‘ruggedly handsome” look just marvelously, even without the patented barbarian-hero block chin.
Besides, she thought, tall, light blue eyes, sandy brown hair, a nice bum? Hot-tay!
More lean than muscular, Jake's six-foot frame looked nothing like the hulking behemoths so popular in action movies or muscle-building magazines, but his chest was deep and the cords in his arms rippled when he'd crossed them. Both brought an appreciative smile to Kat's lips. His hair stuck out at odd angles, almost like a character in the Anime she'd enjoyed watching before the dead rose, and just seemed naturally messy as opposed to styled within an inch of its life. It went well with his punk-rocker CBGB t-shirt, Khakis, and combat boots. It also brought a few questions to mind. Questions like, what would be the quickest way to get that shirt off, him onto the couch where Kat could run her fingers through that messy hair while he lay beneath her, and spend the next few hours getting super-sweaty in the most enjoyable way possible?
That was something Kat had been struggling with for a while, and she wasn't willing to admit it to anyone yet. Especially Jake. Saying she was strongly attracted to him would be a supreme understatement. Her feelings were more along the lines of unbridled affection, coupled with a healthy dose of absolutely, bug-fuck bonkers, horny cave-woman lust. With the exception of the odd kiss (and one near-disastrous make-out session on the roof of an abandoned Agri-supply), Kat had managed to keep her emotions in check. The fact that Jake and her best friend Laurel had become seriously involved was the major contributing factor in that choice. She would do anything for her red-haired roomie.
Well. Almost anything, as it turned out.
She couldn't bring herself to swear off hoping she and Jake would be conveniently trapped somehow, away from the rest of their group, and engage in some friendly snuggling. Just to pass the time, you understand. Then, maybe, something a little more serious? Like a ridiculously long session of wild, Oh-My-God-Did-The-Earth-Move-For-You-Too intensity lovemaking?
He-e-e-e-ey... The voice of Kat's back-brain murmured in her ear.
No. No-no. Not now.
Have you looked out the window lately? The Voice demanded. The situation looks pretty bad. Might not get another chance, you know.
This isn't the time. She replied, willing herself to actually believe it.
What the hell?? Did you take a vow of celibacy when I wasn't paying attention one day or something? The Voice was having none of it. Get your tush up off this couch, walk over there, grab that sexy fellow by his dangly-bits, and work your magic! You're totally into him and besides, it's been months since you've been properly…
Kat firmly locked The Voice in her head away behind the strongest mental doors she could muster, hoping to end that particular internal conversation. Try as she might, she could still hear it pounding on the walls in her head, demanding some nookie in the near future.
Watching him as he scowled at the creatures outside, Kat noticed, not for the first time, that Jake looked beyond stressed-out. It wasn't just the constant fear of trying to survive in the apocalypse, though that would understandably make anyone a bit unstable. It was the mantle of leadership she and the others had, in all actuality, forced upon him. She could see how it weighed on him, pushing down like a mountain's worth of responsibility Jake hadn't asked for and didn't want. Hell, he'd been a ghostwriter, editing cookbooks, science fiction, and novels about sword-swinging time travelers, attempting to forget about all the awful things he'd seen (and had to do) as a civilian combat journalist during his time with Britain's Special Air Service. He'd spent his spare time practicing martial arts, reading, hanging out with his best friend Allen Ryker, and driving his army surplus Jeep (affectionately named the Beast). Jake had been, if not happy, at least content. He'd never wanted to be In Charge, but now was responsible for whether over a dozen people lived or died on a daily basis. Kat shuddered and thanked whatever gods were currently running the planet that she'd never be in the same situation.
“Trust the ninja, 'kay? I got this. We'll leave tonight.” Kat stood and moved to put a light hand on his arm.
“Let me get this straight.” Jake pointed towards the blinds and the rotten crowd beyond. “You have a way for us to get past all those maggot-heads?”
“Sure. What? Like it'll be hard or something?”
“Unseen?” he clarified.
“Yeah.” Kat rolled her eyes. “Attracting zombie attention would, you know, be a bad thing.”
Jake squinted at her. “Does this plan involve explosions? Lots of shooting? Large, conspicuous fires? Those raider assholes are still out there somewhere, remember?”
“Sarcasm is not attractive,” she told him, peeking quickly through the blinds, “especially when the person you're being all snooty with is shortly going to save your hunky butt.”
Heroically not glancing down in the direction of her posterior, Jake snorted, “You'll survive. Mind sharing this grand idea?”
Blue hair bobbed across her eyes as Kat shook her head. “I want it to be a surprise.”
That was worrying. “When did you come up with this plan?”
“Oh, the first night here. While you snoozed,” Kat admitted. “You looked so wiped, I really didn't want to wake you. Besides, yesterday we hoped our stinky friends outside would toddle off like they were supposed to, but they didn't. So we wouldn't have needed the alternative exit strategy until today, now would we?”
“You had this plan yesterday?” Jake ground his teeth.
Kat nodded, still giving him an unconcerned smile.
“And didn't see fit to tell me about it until now?”
“We can't do anything with it till nightfall.” Kat shrugged, turned, and flounced away to plunk down again. She leaned back and swung her knees over the arm of the couch, dangling her calves and absently swinging her booted feet. “You look way more rested now, too. So you know, much better chance of not stumbling over anything in the dark when we leave. Or being fumble-fingered and jittery. That's never helpful when you're trying to be all sneaky-sneaky.”
He stared at her
“What if they break in before dark?”
Kat moved her arms over her head and stretched herself along the couch like, well, a cat, arching her spine and causing Jake to cough in an attempt to cover his bugging eyes.
Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2) Page 2
