by Brown, TW
Ken was thinking that all the way up to the point when the person emerged from that dark hallway. It took his brain a few seconds to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. Having seen it online as well as some of the more daring newscasts, he knew one of the infected when he saw it.
Witnessing one of those things in person for the first time was unsettling. This man’s insides had been partially ripped out. There were things dangling from his gut that should not be possible if this guy was still mobile. In the dark, the man looked like somebody had thrown a pitcher of black ink at him. Ken knew it was blood before the thing took an unsteady step out into the light shining in through one of the windows.
Once he did, Ken gasped. He recognized the guy. It was one of the drivers that brought regular deliveries to the brewery from Stone Farms.
Seeing it on the television or online had been one thing, but up close and personal like this was something else entirely. He hadn’t realized it, but in the few seconds of seeing this pathetic creature, Ken had taken a couple of steps backward.
“Well, I guess I’m gonna have to deal with you,” he said to the zombie that continued to trudge forward.
As he walked back to his truck, Ken decided that this would probably be the last time he went out of his house without a proper weapon. He’d had a concealed weapon permit for years, but he did not make it a habit of wearing it to the brewery. While most of the local residents wouldn’t bat an eye, there were a good number of out-of-towners that passed through as well as the city’s newer residents—mostly California transplants—that would flip out of their ever-lovin’ minds.
He grabbed the only thing he had handy…the pry bar. Ken turned as the monster emerged from the small building.
All the reports made it very clear. The only way you brought these things down was a head shot. Seeing the insides of this guy dangling from his ripped open belly, Ken guessed they hadn’t been exaggerating. There was no way a living person would be able to endure that kind of damage and still be walking around.
The closer the thing got, the stronger that horrible smell became. Working on a Nebraska farm, he’d been in a slaughter house before and thought there could be nothing in the world to top that stench.
He’d been wrong.
At last, the guy staggered close enough. Ken brought the weapon back and swung for all he was worth. His objective had been to deliver a hard blow and end the poor bastard’s suffering as quickly as possible. Granted, he wasn’t certain if anything remained inside that zombie that had once been the driver he’d known. Still, he wanted it to be as merciful as possible.
The piece of steel connected solidly with the side of the man’s head. There was a sting in his hands at the impact and the head whipped to the side. Ken might’ve even heard a crack that could’ve been skull or perhaps the neck.
The zombie wavered and staggered back a step. Then…it adjusted and came for him again! In the dull light of the street lamps, Ken swore he could see a dent in the side of the thing’s skull. Yet…somehow…it took another step towards him. It opened its mouth and moaned low as its hands came up and reached for him.
Ken brought the weapon over his head and brought it down with everything he had. This time, his fingers felt as if they’d gone numb. The creature dropped to its knees. And now Ken was certain he could see a visible dent in the top of its skull. Remarkably, it started to try and rise once more.
Ken swung…and again and again. He felt something wet splatter his cheek, but he kept up the assault until the thing was on the ground and its head was a ruined mess that spilled over the parking lot.
There was a moment when the thing lay sprawled at his feet…where he waited. He kept expecting it to get back up despite the fact that its head had been shattered and dark globs of skull and brain were strewn about in an ugly, wet halo. After a few deep breaths to calm himself, Ken took a step back, bent over, grabbed his knees, and vomited.
It wasn’t what he’d had to do that made him sick. It wasn’t the sight his eyes could not tear themselves away from. The stench had finally won its own battle.
When he finished, Ken stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and headed back into the office. He had decided that there was no longer any sense of having to be cautious. That allowed him the luxury of turning on the lights.
Instantly he was able to make a guess as to what had happened. There was a bloody handprint on the wall near the alarm panel, and a dark smudge on the keypad. The driver must’ve been bitten, come here, locked himself inside, and then set the alarm. That satisfied his minimal curiosity about the situation and he went behind the counter.
He knew what he was looking for and quickly found the binder with the information that he sought. He now had information as to which of the storage facilities held what items. He looked on the board, found a set of keys and then walked out back to the tall warehouses that sat in rows behind the office.
These would hold all the produce brought in from the satellite farms. He went down the rows, spot checked each one to ensure that it was correct and then got on his phone. After a handful of calls, he hopped into a forklift and began bringing pallets out and loading the first delivery truck.
He’d waited to call the people he intended to involve in this operation until he knew that there would be little to no risk that they would get in trouble. Now that he was certain the police weren’t coming, and that it was unlikely that anybody else was either, he was ready to make his first step to ensure that he and Bennett would be able to endure this global hiccup.
At one point, he considered the possibility that perhaps there would be no recovery from this. He brushed it aside. The United States had the best military in the world. He seriously doubted that things would get so bad that there would be no recovery. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ things returned to normal…it was a matter of ‘when’.
Right?
That thought lodged itself in his mind like a popcorn kernel in the back teeth as Ken continued to load up the trucks. The longer he worked, the more he convinced himself that the produce he was taking would’ve gone bad anyway. There was no sense in it going to waste.
By the time his workers arrived, he’d convinced himself that he was still one of the good guys. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. They would even return the delivery trucks after they finished. In fact, if they busted their asses, they would have the trucks back before sunrise. Not only that, but he’d basically saved the poor unfortunate that would show up to the office in the morning.
The crew worked fast, and while he noticed a few concerned or curious looks, nobody asked any questions. It took just over an hour with four forklifts operating in a sort of mechanized ballet, but eventually they had the storerooms emptied and the trucks full.
Two men were able to drive their own vehicles back with the convoy; one posted itself in front with the other bringing up the rear. As the miniature convoy cut through the edge of Sandy and made its way back using Highway 211, Ken made another phone call.
“This is Greg,” a tired voice answered.
“Hey, Greg. Ken Johnson here.”
“What time is it?” the bleary voice of Greg Clark croaked.
“Just after two.”
“Jesus, Ken…is something wrong? Bennett okay?”
“She’s fine,” Ken dismissed the man’s concern and plowed into the reason he called. “I need you to get over to the store and open her up.”
“Is something wrong at the store?”
Now Greg’s voice was sounding alert. He was the manager of the local grocery store.
“Everything is probably fine, I’ll explain when I get there.”
“Can’t we do whatever this is in the morning?” Greg practically whined.
“No!” Ken snapped. “Get your ass over there now. I’ll explain when I get there.”
“Fine, fine,” Greg grumbled.
Ken hated how he had to talk to the man. He was a decent enough guy, but he was tired an
d his sinuses still felt like they were coated with the foul-smelling funk of that zombie. Besides, he would need to throw a little of his weight around when Greg saw what Ken had called him for. The one thing Ken had in his favor besides his size and ability to intimidate people came from Greg Clark’s desire to be important.
After two failed bids for mayor, Greg had finally managed to wedge his ample butt into a seat on the city council. The opportunity to be one of the town’s saviors would be enough to cajole the man into doing what Ken wanted.
Ten minutes later, the convoy pulled into the empty parking lot of Harvest Market. Ken spotted Greg’s Dodge van parked right by the main entrance.
Just a shade under six feet, but closing in fast on three hundred pounds, Greg Clark reminded Ken of an eggplant. He liked to boast about how he could still fit in size 42 waist pants same as he did his senior year when he was the starting center for the high school football team. And that might be true. However, considering the fact that he had those pants so low that the crack of his ass showed before he bent over, and you couldn’t see if he was wearing a belt or not because his gut hung down over where it might be, Ken wasn’t impressed.
“Where did all these trucks come from?” Greg gasped as Ken walked over to him.
“Stone Farms.” Looking back at the line of delivery trucks, Ken gave a waving motion to indicate that they all pull over to the delivery bay.
“Aren’t those your brewery guys driving the Stone Farm trucks?” Greg said, a suspicious tone creeping into his words.
“Yep.” Ken stepped up close to the store manager and wiped any emotion from his face. “And I doubt they will be making any deliveries for a while. But there is no reason for the produce in their storehouses to go to waste.”
“You stole—” the portly man started, but was instantly silenced.
“We took what we need so that the people in this town can survive,” Ken cut the man off. “Did you see that announcement last night? Everything is shutting down. If you think things will be going back to normal any time soon, then you’re a bigger idiot than I ever thought.”
“And you want to store these stolen goods in my store?” Greg gasped.
Ken had to give the guy a little credit. He’d figured the man would roll over faster than a whipped dog. To show even this amount of backbone were points in the man’s favor.
“Pull your head out of your ass, Greg,” Ken scolded. “If you’ve paid even a little attention, you know that none of the local stations have been broadcasting for almost a week now. It is all national feeds, which means the government has been able to sit on this until it got away from them. Cities are being overrun. China? Japan? Gone…and they ain’t coming back. This is much worse than they are admitting. It could be weeks or even months before things are under control.”
“But stealing all that food?” Greg whimpered.
“It was gonna rot in those warehouses. I was there and saw for myself. One of the drivers was already one of those things and had locked himself in the office. Nobody came when the alarm went off, and I am willing to bet the Stones get notified if their facility is broken into and the alarm rings. I sat there for over twenty minutes and not a soul came after I set off their alarm.”
“I just…” Greg’s voice faded and his head drooped.
“If the law comes, I’ll say it was me,” Ken said.
And he would, too. But the thing was, he seriously doubted that there would be anything like that happening. In the back of his mind, he had the briefest thought that this might be the end of the world, but he brushed it aside.
That was ridiculous.
2
Casualty
Alyssa Miller slipped out the door and looked around. Nothing seemed any different than any other day. The town was quiet as it usually was at this early hour.
The cities might be having all kinds of trouble, but out here, she had not run into anybody with so much as a sniffle. This terrible virus or infection was not a problem in the tiny town of Estacada.
Plugging her headphones into each ear, she stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind her. After a few deep breaths, she started down the road.
Today was her hill run. She would follow NE Pierce Street to 6th, take a right and then follow it to SE Coupland Road where she would pass by her high school.
This was going to be her year. She’d set her sights and put all her focus into being the girls ten-thousand-meter state champ. Last night, after that stupid report on the television, her parents had flipped out. They’d made her come home from her friend Kari’s. They had actually driven the three blocks, telling her that she wasn’t allowed to even walk home!
As she set out on her run, she sucked in the cool morning air and felt her body start to warm up. Knowing that her parents would be mad if they found out acted as her motivation this morning. She needed to be home before they woke up.
As she started up the incline that was Coupland Road, Alyssa worked to not simply keep her tempo, she wanted to put on a little speed. When she reached the part where she had to travel on a narrow path behind the metal barrier that ran along her side, she had to jump over a fallen limb that had come from one of the many trees that walled her off on the right.
She was in a groove and feeling great when a terrible smell poured into her nostrils as she took in a deep breath. Alyssa actually gagged and felt her stomach turn as her eyes began to water.
Maybe that was why she didn’t see the figure sprawled on the narrow path. Alyssa’s feet tangled on something solid and she fell hard. Only, she didn’t land on the rock and gravel strewn path. She yelped as her body slammed down onto another person.
Her mind went through several reactions. Part of her was mortified that she’d landed on another person and possibly hurt them. A different part was angry that somebody had taken her out of her rhythm and ruined what was looking to be one of her best runs ever. The overriding reaction was revulsion and the urge to vomit that would not be denied as she discovered the source of that stink.
No doubt she had just tripped over some homeless person. Obviously that had to be the situation because no other normal human being would allow themselves to become so foul smelling.
She started to push herself away from the person she’d become tangled with and felt one hand grab her left wrist. Instantly there was something decidedly not right about this person besides the horrible smell. Something about their hand felt odd. It was cold, but not a normal kind of cold like if the person had spent the night sleeping outside. She didn’t know what it was, but it caused her to struggle and jerk her hand away.
As she pulled, she felt a sharp pain in the meaty part of her hand near the base of her thumb. Had this person bitten her?
Alyssa renewed her struggle and now she kicked with all she had until managing to break free. Scrambling to her feet, Alyssa took off. Her first steps were unsteady, and she staggered almost drunkenly as she fought to gain her footing on the narrow path. She was heading back the way she’d come, but she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was get home as fast as she could.
As she ran, a thought tried to push itself into her mind, but her fear and adrenaline kept her from fully processing what had happened. By the time she got home, she could feel a wet stickiness where the homeless person had obviously broken the skin.
Maybe she’d scared him as much as he’d scared her. Perhaps he bit her to scare her away. By the time she slipped into the house, she’d convinced herself of that being the truth. Still, that voice in her head struggled to try and make itself heard, but she silenced it as she hopped into the shower. She needed to get cleaned up before her parents woke.
By the time the water was warm enough to send up small clouds of steam, Alyssa had undressed. The bite on her hand was small and there was only one small puncture that oozed blood. She figured she could hide that from her parents without too much trouble after she got cleaned up.
By the time she was done with her sh
ower, her head was pounding. Great, she thought, it would figure that I’d get my period today.
After popping a few ibuprofens, Alyssa finished getting dressed and hurried to her room as she heard her mother starting to stir. As she shut her bedroom door, a wave of dizziness hit. She closed her door and stumbled to her bed.
The room began to grow fuzzy around the edges. Her mouth was filling with a nasty taste that reminded her of that awful smelling homeless person. She gagged twice, got it under control, and then lurched to the wastebasket beside her desk and dropped to her knees as she retched.
“Alyssa?” The concerned voice of her mother came along with a soft knock on her door.
“I’m fine, Mom,” Alyssa managed as she forced back another surge of bile.
“Are you sick?”
“I’m fine,” Alyssa snapped.
She waited for a moment and then breathed a sigh of relief when she heard her mother’s steps retreating. She just needed a few minutes to get her head clear. Maybe if she just shut her eyes for a just a bit…
Alyssa’s eyes closed. A few moments later, her legs began to twitch and she fell over from where she’d been sitting between the foot of her bed and her desk. The trashcan tipped and spilled its murky contents on the floor.
After a moment, the tremors subsided and a long exhale escaped between the girl’s lips. For a moment, there was nothing…then…one finger twitched.
***
“It’s down at the Miller place,” Bennett said as she took hold of Ken’s elbow.
She wasn’t one to often need much in the way of comforting, but if what she’d heard was true, this was upsetting. She’d known the Millers for years. Alyssa had worked a few doors down at the little café and always smiled or waved as she walked past the front of the brewery. Alyssa’s mom had worked for her a while as a server when times had been tough and the family was struggling to make ends meet.
