by J. D. Bishop
“Wes, get over here,” Christy said. Wesley was busy rummaging the cabinets for drugs he could use to get high. Christy was sure that half the shit he’d pulled out of the cabinet could get him as high as he wanted, but he didn’t know any of the brand names, so Wes had resisted the urge, afraid he’d shoot himself up with a heart attack drug that would just make his chest hurt and his dick shrivel up or something. “Come on, get your ass over here!”
“Found it,” he exulted excitedly.
Christy half-turned, curious. He sounded excited, which meant he’d found some good shit, and after looking at what was outside, she could use some good shit. “Found what?”
Giggling with happiness, he raised a paper and plastic package and said, “Morphine.”
Christy was going to need some of that in a minute if she kept looking at the scene of chaos below her. Scratch that, she probably needed it anyway. Morphine was the shit. Besides, she had a great excuse to get high on it. She had just been in a car accident. First things first though. “Forget about that for a moment and come look at this.”
Wesley groaned and put the drug down on the counter. “This had better be good, missy.”
Christy held the curtain open for him, pointing. He came up beside her and looked out the window. “Holy crackhead. Someone cue up the Johnny Cash.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Christie agreed.
“What is happening out there? We must really be under a terrorist attack.” Wesley's eyes were drawn to all the smoke and fire.
Christy was irritated. Wes was cute in a certain way, but he really needed to get his head right sometimes. “It's not a terrorist attack. Not like one I’ve ever heard of.”
Christy pointed at a group of people who seemed to be attacking one man. “Do you see those people over there?” When Wes nodded, she asked, “What does it look like they’re doing?”
Wes squinted, cupping his hand against the window to cut glare, and looked out. “It looks like they're attacking the man.”
“I know. It appeared that way to me at first, but look more closely.”
Wes squinted again, then wiped at his eyes before looking again. “What? I don't see what—my God . . . they're eating him!” Wesley's face was a pale green tint as the words soaked all the way into his brain. He rushed over to a waste basket and promptly threw up inside it.
Christy turned away from the window, her own stomach almost rebelling against her. She waited patiently for Wesley to stop heaving. “Now do you believe me?” she asked when he was done. “About the guy from the store?”
Wesley wiped his mouth with his hospital gown, turning to Christy. “A group of crazed cannibals doesn't mean that those are dead people out there.”
“All you need to do is open that door, and you'll see exactly what I’m talking about.”
The gunshots in the hallway had stopped a while ago. They could hear sound and movement here and there through the heavy doors, but they didn't know who or what was making the noise. Christy had advised Wes not to move the metal cabinet and open the door to be nosy, knowing what they would find out in the halls.
Wes must have started to know it too as he glanced at the barricaded door, shaking his head. “Not a chance. We'll leave it closed until we hear the sound of someone's voice on the slim chance that what you're saying is true.”
Christy snorted and crossed her arms over her breasts, glad that while she was still sore and her bruises would take days to fade, she felt better. “That's what I thought. You know, your skepticism is pretty annoying, considering that you’re a druggie and all. Usually, they'll believe anything.”
Wes snickered. “I may be a druggie, but the last thing I am is stupid. Believing in zombies attacking us over the more logical terrorists is kind of insane.”
Christy could only shake her head. “You'll see.”
Wes turned back to the counter, picking up the packet of morphine. “Right now, all I want to see is a needle of morphine sticking in my arm.”
Wesley went over to a cabinet and brought out several needles. He filled each syringe with morphine. “Want some, hot stuff?” he said, brandishing the needle at her. “Just a little taste to make you forget about the Romero movie going on outside?”
Christy thought about it for a moment and then shrugged, offering him her arm. “What the hell? Shoot me up.”
Chapter 13
Jeff weaved in and out of the disjointed traffic, trying to keep his speed up but finding it impossible to go faster than twenty or so most of the time. It was chaos out on the streets now. People were running and screaming, fleeing from the zombies. Smoke and fire was all around them. There were many traffic accidents from people trying to avoid running over zombies, thinking they were actual people. The brains of several zombies were splattered on the hood of the car, as Jeff had no problem running them down, and thankfully, Becky drove what damn near seemed like a tank.
The five teens were driving in Becky's car, headed toward Greg's sister's house. It almost felt like déjà-vu except the situation was even more dire than the last. Becky sat in the passenger seat, while Dante, Tara, and Sean were in the back.
The other teens had expressed a desire to be dropped off at their respective homes. The thing was that all of their houses were on the other side of town, in the opposite direction of Patricia's house. Becky had told them to stop whining.
“Chances are, your family members are already dead, and if they aren't yet, they soon will be. Deal with it,” she had told them coldly. After that little tidbit, except for gasps, there was little noise from the back. Jeff didn’t think it would make Becky any more liked by the group, but he had to admit that she had kept them alive so far.
Tara had put up the most fuss, sniffling and crying against Sean’s shoulder for a while, but in the end, she became quiet. Jeff felt for all of them, but he knew the reality of the situation. His own parents were likely dead. They both worked at places that had large groups of people in the vicinity, and both of them were the type to try and help first, run second. If they were alive, Jeff would be pleasantly surprised. Jeff had no cellphone, so he had no way of knowing if they could be among the living.
Apparently, shortly after Jeff's broadcast, everyone's cellphones had stopped working. Dante didn't have a cellphone, but Tara and Sean did. They had no service shortly after the emergency text came through.
“Ay, yo” Dante said from the backseat. “If y'all gone be forcing a nigga to ride wit y'all, we need to get some real weapons. I ain't for going around staking bitches in the head all night. My name ain’t muthafucking Buffy. Those things is fast as fuck. It's only gone be a matter of time before one of us wind up like Cindy's ass.”
“He's got a point,” Becky agreed. “I think we should stop at a gun shop before we hit Pat's. I need ammo anyway. I’m down to ten rounds.”
“I'm sure Tara and Sean haven’t handled a gun, have they?” Jeff waited for a response, but none was forthcoming. “Guys?”
Becky shrugged when there was no response. “I can show them how. It's not a big deal. Guns are a necessity, more so than ever now.”
The car jerked violently as Jeff casually ran over a half-naked zombie man. He could hear the crunch as he ran over bones, and Jeff hoped that he’d run over his skull.
“All right,” Jeff finally said. “We'll stop and take only what we can carry.”
Jeff was surprised at how calm and collected Becky seemed to be during all of this. The first night, she was as shocked as all of them had been at the dead man. Now, she behaved as if she was detached from the entire situation. Nothing fazed her.
“Shit,” Jeff cursed. The turn up ahead was blocked by a bunch of vehicles that had been abandoned or crashed, and a group of zombies gathered nearby. “The gun shop I know of is a half-mile on the other side of this shit.”
“Go up the other side of the street and go around,” Becky told Jeff.
The zombies were attacking a police car that contained two cops off
to the side of the teens. The policemen were utterly surrounded by a mini-horde, and it looked like they had no chance to live. Their car was stalled.
“Hey, maybe we should help them?” Jeff suggested.
Dante was not having it. “Help a couple of pigs? You got to be shittin' a nigga. How many cops you think went to my hood when the shit hit the fan? Ain’t a pig within a mile of my house right now, I guaran-fucking-tee you that. I wouldn't piss on they asses if they was on fire.”
“He's right,” Becky agreed once again. “If we stop to help everyone we see in distress on the side of the road, we'll end up the ones dead. I’ve only got ten rounds, and there are too many to just stake them down. Keep going before that group notices us and we become roadkill. At least those cops aren't defenseless. They have guns.”
They were right, of course, but it still bothered Jeff to see people in danger with no help, police or not.
Jeff turned down the opposite street and went up a less congested street. It was a struggle to keep it together. The world he once knew was gone. He wondered how far this epidemic stretched. Was it just in Louisiana? Or was this the end? He didn't know if he would live to find out.
Becky turned on the radio and cycled through the stations. All of them were just filled with static. No one was out there broadcasting anything. She sighed and turned it off.
“You know there's a good chance that Greg, his sister, and his niece are all dead, right?” Becky said quietly, looking at Jeff. “Situation’s changed from this morning.”
Jeff had been thinking the same thing. Had he known things were going to get this bad, he would have never suggested for Greg to go off on his own. Strength was in numbers in this situation. He'd never forgive himself if Greg were dead.
“I just don't get it!” Jeff burst out. “Why the fuck isn't the military out in full force destroying these things? They should have every motherfucker from Fort Polk rolling down here and wrecking shop! There's no way the U.S. government doesn't know about this epidemic by now. I mean, they have satellites all over the planet, not to mention that I'm sure calls got out before the cell services went down.”
Becky's next words made Jeff almost stop the car in its tracks. “Maybe they don't want to help.”
Jeff could feel chills on his back and on the hair on his arms. The possibility had never occurred to him. The thought that it might be true was almost too much to bear. But wasn't it? Why had the military been there the night of their crash? It was a strange thing for them to be involved so thoroughly with just a common DUI accident. How had they known they were even there? Why waste time trying to get them to change their story, one that others would surely brand as an outlandish story made up by kids trying to get away with a crime they’d committed.
Becky was watching him intently, as if following his train of thought.
“Do you know something?” Jeff asked her.
“What are you talking about?” Becky asked, shifting around slightly.
“I'm just now remembering that you said your dad worked for the government. You would never say what he does. Never, even when we were—” Jeff bit his tongue, looking in the rearview mirror at the three in the back. They didn't seem to be paying too much attention, more concerned with watching for zombies.
“I don't know any more than you do.”
Jeff wasn't sure if he believed Becky. Her attitude had become too stoic after the first night. But he let the matter drop because they had just arrived at the gun shop. It looked like someone had already come there for guns. The windows were busted out and it looked like most of the gun racks were empty.
Jeff opened his door. There didn't appear to be any zombies nearby. “Everyone out. Let's grab what we can carry, and most importantly, watch each other's backs.”
Dante was the first one in the shop. He was very excited, grabbing the available guns and pointing them around. He picked up a pump-action shotgun with a huge smile. “Damn, this be my shit. Click-clack, muthafucka!”
“That's a terrible choice,” Becky said with a critical eye. “Those things are fast. You need something that fires a bit more rapidly, and it only has a seven-shot tube.”
Normally, Jeff knew, Dante would have 'went off on a bitch', as he liked to say, but Becky had gained his respect. He didn’t let go of the shotgun, but instead put it on his shoulder, turning to her.
“What would the Queen B suggest?” Dante asked in his most proper voice.
“For you, Jeff, and myself, I suggest those rifles over there.” Becky pointed at a rack that contained a row of what looked like military rifles to Jeff. “Ruger Mini-14s. My dad taught me that if you don’t have a military quality M-16 around, go for the Mini-14. A lot of civilian AR-15s are shit, and they fire the same type of round. For the other two, I suggest beginner's semi-automatics.” Becky grabbed several semi-automatic handguns, handed them to Tara and Sean, and began showing them how to load, aim, and fire them.
Dante and Jeff went to the rack of Mini-14s and inspected the guns. The gun was light in his hands as he took it off the rack, and he was surprised. The rifle that he shot when he went hunting with his dad was heavier. At the thought of his father, Jeff felt his emotions threaten again, and he clamped down on them. Maybe that was Becky’s secret—she just had a better control of her emotions.
“Even though we’ll have these assault rifles, we’re still going to want to have several handguns on us, as well, for when we get caught without ammo,” Becky told Dante and Jeff when she came over. “And I’ll grab that Mossberg shotgun just in case. It’s semi-automatic.”
Jeff went looking at the semi-automatics and grabbed two that were to his liking, stuffing them in his pants. By this time, Becky had finished showing Tara and Sean how to handle the guns. She went around gathering ammo rounds for the group, stuffing them in a bag the store had lying around, along with spare magazines for their weapons. Jeff sort of wished the store had bandoliers or holsters or something, but it was a straight gun and ammo shop.
“Carry this,” Becky said to Dante when she was done. The bag looked like it was heavy as hell, but Dante picked it up with no problem. “Good. Just a few more things.”
There were several large hunting knives hanging on the walls that Becky went to examine. She grabbed a rather large one, which had a scabbard, and tied it to her waist. Pulling the knife out of the scabbard, she brandished it around, admiring the handiwork. The early afternoon sunlight glinted off the blade, sending insane flashes of light around the room and flashing over her face, and Jeff shivered.
The knife looked like it was very sharp.
“All right,” Jeff said, “let's go.”
The sound of a footstep crunching glass was heard before any one moved. Jeff looked toward the front of the store and froze when he saw a zombie woman looking back at them. With a screech of hunger, the zombie rushed toward the closest person—Sean.
Sean brought the gun up, but his hands shook too badly and he dropped the gun in his fright. Right before the zombie grabbed him, its head jerked back suddenly, impaled by Becky's large hunting knife. She’d thrown it, and as Jeff watched in shock, she came back up, looking like a pitcher after just throwing a hard fastball.
Becky walked over to the zombie and casually pulled her knife from its head. “Choke up like that again when we’re in a tough situation, and you're most likely dead,” she told Sean. She walked outside and got into the car, putting the Ruger across her lap. “Come on!”
Sean picked up his gun, looking pitiful. “Sorry, guys,” he said. It looked like he had wet his pants too, but Jeff didn't say anything. He might have pissed himself in the same situation. “Uh . . .”
“Damn, that bitch keeps getting badder and badder,” Dante said, looking after Becky and giving a low whistle. He picked up the heavy bag and headed out toward the SUV. “She wifey material.”
Oddly enough, Dante's praise of Becky made Jeff jealous.
After they had put Jeff's Ruger in the back seat bec
ause he couldn't drive with it on his back, they were off again, riding toward Patricia's house. While Jeff drove, Becky went through Dante’s bag, divvying up magazines and showing Dante and Sean how to load spares, the soft click of brass sliding into place punctuating the conversation.
“You have really shown some strength during this,” Jeff told Becky softly while Dante and Sean worked. “I'm truly shocked and proud of you.”
“I have my dad to thank for my survival skills. He . . .” It looked like Becky had said something she didn't want to say, because she added, “My survival instincts are probably the reason I'm taking this whole thing in stride.”
“Either way, I'm proud. I never knew you had it in you.”
Becky turned to him and chuckled softly, shaking her head. “There's a lot you don't know about me.”
Jeff was beginning to think that was truer by the moment.
They were coming up on Patricia's street. This area seemed to be not as bad as other parts of town. There wasn't a zombie in sight. It was eerie with how empty it seemed to be. When they pulled up to Patricia's house, Jeff's heart jumped for joy. Becky's mom's car, the one Greg had taken to pick up his niece, was parked on the sidewalk.
They were all preparing to get out of the car when, a bloody hand slammed against Jeff's window, causing everyone in the car to jump in fright.
It was Greg with a look of extreme distress on his face—and he was alive.
Chapter 14
“Hot, hell, damn,” Elijah whispered. “So the rumors are true.”
Patricia nodded, swallowing down her fear as they watched their boss, Tim, bang against the glass walls that encircled his office. He was snarling and scratching at the glass, trying to break through. Patricia had slammed the door closed just in time when Tim had rushed for her. They were also lucky in that Tim’s office windows were quarter-inch thick, double-paned laminate in order to block out sound. Tim could beat his hands against the glass from here to eternity and not cause a scratch.
