by Lee Dunter
Ryan said, “Let’s wake the others.”
Cam woke the twins, and Ryan and Albert woke Kyle, who seemed just as well rested as Ryan, and then they met Cam, Roe, and Joe in the twins’ room. The book bags were already stocked and ready. As Ryan strapped on his bag and holster and collected his weapons, a nervous tension built up in his chest.
“How far away is it?” Ryan asked.
The twins shrugged, and Roe said, “Hard to say, really.”
“By car, only a few minutes,” Joe replied. “But on foot, I guess it depends on what’s between here and there.
“Doesn’t matter how long it takes,” Kyle said, “Let’s just get there in one piece.”
“Like Hell it doesn’t matter!” Cam said, tightening the book bag to his shoulders. “I haven’t eaten an actual meal in days! What I wouldn’t do for an Outback steak right now–or God, a Vortex burger. Nothing hits the spot like an Elvis Burger–peanut butter, banana, and cow, baby.”
The group replied with sounds of disgust.
“You’re joking right?” Roe asked. “That can’t be real.”
“Oh, It’s real, and it’s delicious.”
“Okay, pipe down,” Joe said. “Time to get this over with.” He then gave the same speech about preserving ammo and staying safe, but he need not, as they were reluctant veterans now. They constructed a list of needed items: ammunition, water, food that could be preserved, baby food, toilet paper, batteries, radio.
The men made their way downstairs, looking like a small squad of mercenaries. On the bottom floor, they went to the backdoor that led to the playground. The chain-link fence circling the playground was torn, blood and flesh staining the holes where zombies had sacrificed their flesh for admission. Only a few of the infected were still in sight.
“Wait,” Ryan said. He opened the doo to the room that contained the dead bodies, wrinkling his nose. “Let’s take them out before they really start to stink.”
Cam walked past him, grabbing his nostrils. “Start to stink?”
The group’s attitude grew somber as they collected the bodies of the former living. When they were outside, Ryan stopped and turned, making sure Albert locked the door. He gave Albert a thumbs-up. Albert returned the gesture, and then Ryan chased after the others, who had dispatched the nearest zombies.
Albert watched them disappear, waiting until they were gone. He pulled up the shirtsleeve of his right arm and looked down. Near the shoulder was a bloodied bite mark. Sliding down the wall, he prodded it with his finger, wincing at the flare of pain, and sat with his legs stretched out. He didn’t feel good–no, a little feverish, that’s all. It will pass, he told himself. It will pass. He passed out.
Chapter 13
As Ryan watched the zombie hoard approach, chasing the two strangers and slowly gaining on them, he realized that they had been too confident, that they had failed to realize that even in this small town, the undead rule. Ten minutes from the school, the group stood under an unpowered traffic light, its deadness mirroring the lifeless street below. Ryan was faced with a decision: Do we leave these two to die or do we help?
These two men had suddenly appeared, begging and screaming for salvation from the zombies that pursued them. Both men were large, one shirtless and sporting a wife beater tan line, while the other struggled to maintain his faded John Deere hat on his head. Well, look at this shit, Ryan had thought. Their movements were sluggish, as if they had been running for a long time, and Ryan knew the zombies would soon catch them.
The twins looked nervously from the zombies to Ryan. The strangers continued to call for help. “We don’t have the ammo for this,” Roe said. “We could end up screwing ourselves just trying to help.”
“We can’t just leave them to die,” Kyle said.
The others remained silent. The sound of the zombies’ footsteps was only outdone by their ravenous growls and the calls of the two approaching men. There was no time left for thought, and his conscience forced the decision. Ryan slung the gun from his shoulder.
Joe sighed heavily. “Should’ve known. Put your gun away. With your shitty aim, you’ll end up shooting them.”
Ryan saw Roe smirk at this as the twins prepared to fire. Ryan kept his gun in hand. Roe and Joe carefully began picking off the zombies closest to the two men. The gunfire drowned out all other noise. “Now that’s some mighty fine shootin’ boy!” the shirtless man yelled as zombies fell at his heels. Ryan fidgeted. Roe and Joe weren’t doing enough. He held his fire, wondering why he couldn’t help if he was still the leader of the group. I need to help them, or we’re all going down.
The shirtless man, heavier than his companion, was falling behind. The zombies gained ground on him, like sand in an approaching desert storm, their outstretched hands grazing his flesh more and more with each step. A zombie locked onto his shoulders, and then, too quickly for Ryan to make out, something confusing happened. The man with the hat fell to the ground, the shirtless man broke free, and the horde descended on the fallen prey. Ryan had to blink his eyes. Did I just see what I think I saw? Ryan believed he had seen this man intentionally trip the other. He looked at his friends and found no signs of suspicion. Joe ordered fire.
Ryan fired and the rifle slammed against his shoulder. The intended target fell to the ground, spraying blood from its skull. Ryan shoved the lever forward and fired again, aiming for the zombies that swarmed the man on the ground, hoping to save him. But it was too late, for the slower zombies were joining in on the feast. From the mayhem, Ryan heard a sobbing, terrified scream, and he shuddered, imagining himself in the man’s place. The monsters shifted and Ryan caught a glimpse of what was occurring: the zombies kneeled by him and dug their hands into his stomach, ripping apart his insides; the man was leaning up and watching as his own intestines were being pulled into their mouths. Finally, the screams ended and he slumped back.
Ryan felt his knees wobble, and as he fell, the shirtless man reached the group and steadied him, allowing Ryan to find his balance. More zombies closed in, and Roe switched to his M1 carbine. Despite his efforts, the first zombie reached the group, its hands and mouth still bloodied from its previous prey, and it turned towards Ryan to attack. Jumping back, Ryan placed the nozzle of his rifle against the zombie’s temple and fired. Instead of the neat spray to which he had grown accustom, the entire head was ripped apart, an orgy of blood and brain matter.
Time seemed to slow: Ryan observed the furrowed brows and concentrated gazes of his friends as they fired into the raging hoard; observed the undead, some still in uniform, firemen and merchants, others wearing McDonald’s aprons and Wendy’s visors, while others were in pajamas or nude; mothers, fathers, elderly, adolescents, no one was safe from the virus. But still no children, Ryan observed. In his moment of clarity, Ryan knew there was no stopping this mass.
“Time to go?” Ryan asked.
“Time to go,” Joe said.
The twins guided, and the group followed. The warmth of the sun beat down on them as they ran, and Ryan’s shirt soon stuck to his back with sweat. He kept his legs moving, which was no easy task with the weight of the rifle in his arms and the bag on his back. He was a soldier with no conditioning, no training. From behind, screams and growls pierced through the hot, sticky air, a constant reminder that if he gave in to the pain forming in his side and legs, he too may see what his innards looked like under the watchful eye of the sun. This image in mind, Ryan turned to gauge the undead’s distance. He noticed many of the zombies were starting to decay. Their flesh hung in ragged strips, and their pace had slowed, making them more closely resemble Hollywood’s rendition of zombies. These weren’t the danger; it was the ones still fresh that closed in and threatened their life.
Please God, Ryan thought, if you’re there and loving, let this store be open. He hoped Kyle was praying too.
The Wal-Mart sign appeared in the distance, a beacon of hope to the group; Ryan thought, unable to grin, that these words had never been used to
describe a Wal-Mart before. When they reached the parking lot, the zombies still pursued, no less fatigued than when the chase began. Ryan remembered his prayer, but the automatic doors needed electricity, not prayer, and when the group approached, the doors remained shut. Ryan had a moment of panic, but Roe, without hesitation, shoved his machete in between the first set of doors, using it as a lever. The blade bent slightly, and a crack appeared in between the two doors. Joe shoved his fingers through and pried the door open. The group rushed inside the entryway, the doors shutting behind them, locking the undead out. Cam and Ryan repeated the process on the next set of doors, and after they opened it, the group went in.
“That’s not going to hold them forever,” Joe said, beginning to reload his rifle.
Roe set his pack down. “Not at all,” he said, and he dug through the bag and pulled out the second clip for his rifle.
The others tended to their weapons, and the noise echoed in the empty store. Kyle loaned his rifle, which he carried as a spare for Roe, to the suspect stranger, making Ryan nervous.
“What’s the plan?” Cam asked. Ryan looked up, realized all eyes were on him, and fumbled for words. In the silence, he thought he could hear music playing softly in the distance.
The silence was broken by their newest member. “Fuck you guys, I’m going to get booze.” He ran off making cowboy noises, holding the rifle his head like a trophy. Ryan would not be surprised if he shot his gun–no, their gun–in the air.
“Whatever,” Ryan said, hoping not to see him again. “Who wants to get food?” Ryan asked.
“Don’t ask. Tell,” Roe told Ryan.
“I’ll do it,” Cam said. “Food that can be made quickly and stored for a long time? Ya, that sound like a job for a college student.”
“Go with him, Joe.” Joe didn’t object. “Wait,” Ryan said. “See if you can find these.” From his pocket Ryan retrieved a sheet of paper on which was a list of medicine, including antibiotics for Kyle. He handed it to Joe. Joe looked over the list, nodded, and then he and Cam both grabbed grocery cart rimmed with blue plastic and ran off, the carts rattling and squeaking as they went.
“Roe, you see if you can find any ammunition. Oh, and see if you can find a radio.”
“Aye, Aye captain,” Roe said in his northeastern accent and ran off.
“What does that leave? Water, toilet paper?” he asked Kyle.
“I think so. But let’s stick together. I’m not safe with just one hand.” His voice wavered and he looked afraid. Ryan suspected there was something more that was bothering him. He couldn’t help glancing at Kyle’s dressed nub before they grabbed their own carts and made their way through the isles.
In an isle filled with cleaning supplies, Ryan finally asked, “What’s bothering you?”
They found the toilet paper, packaged in bulk, and Kyle had still not responded. Ryan’s mind then drifted as they ran through the isles searching for water. Others have been here. Zombies were dead on the ground, lying in large pools of blackened blood, and items were scattered carelessly around the store, littering the floor and laying sideways on the shelves. Well they’re probably long gone now, hopefully alive and well. He wouldn’t let himself think otherwise. Moments later, he saw Roe and Cam stacking their carts full of food across the isle from which he and Kyle had found water. They began loading their carts.
Kyle finally spoke as he tried to balance a large case between his knee and his one hand. “To answer your question, I think my faith is just a little shaken right now.” His voice was strained with the effort of transferring the water.
Ryan considered his words. “Shaken is better than gone.”
“That’s true. And it’s not gone. I would just like to know what He’s doing up there. I mean, look at what the world has become.” He paused to juggle another case into the shopping cart. “I want answers, and all I’m getting is silence from above.”
Ryan grimaced, stacking another large case and rearranging the cases to fit more, and said, “I haven’t had faith in a long time. My parents were strong believers when I was growing up. I prayed and I prayed when they were killed, but all I ever got back was silence.” He paused, as if to mirror God’s character. “My grandparents didn’t buy into it either, and so over the years I just couldn’t see how faith fits into real life.” Kyle had stopped loading the cart and was leaning against the shelves to listen, his demeanor full of a practiced attentiveness, as if he learned it by counseling others, possibly at his church. “I guess I felt some comfort knowing that even though I had given up on the almighty, there were still people out there carrying the torch, or the crucifix I guess.”
Kyle’s eyes were reflective, easy to read under the magnification of his glasses. Ryan could tell that the words had affected Kyle strongly, the practiced look now gone from his face.
As they finished, Ryan remembered baby Reginald, and they silently headed for the infant section. Ryan gaped at the vast amounts of food and diapers, and deciding that the different brands couldn’t be much different, he scooped in a random variety.
Suddenly, from across the store, above the squeaking of the many rapidly moving shopping cart wheels, Roe’s scream came: “Hey, everyone! Help!”
Ryan tensed, for his mind swarmed with images of zombies decapitating the twins, and he knew the group would not survive without them. Roe continued to yell. Ryan and Kyle grabbed their carts and hunted down the noise. When they found Roe in the electronics section, they both froze, mouths and eyes wide. The shelves were lined with stereos, iPod-stands, and small handheld radios and televisions. One of the stereos was lit up, fighting back the surrounding darkness with a blue glow, and it softly played a country song Ryan recognized as Taylor Swift. Roe stood in a pool of blood, a young woman passed out at his feet. There was a bottle of sleeping pills, a half filled water bottle, and a bloodied razor on the floor next to her. Her forearm was sliced and bleeding–only, she hadn’t done it correctly. Down the road, never across the street, Ryan thought, a bitter reminder of bullies’ suggestions in high school. She wore a sad look, a look of pain.
“Well, well, look what we have here. Mighty fine piece of ass if I ever saw it. I call first. I ain’t taking no sloppy seconds.” Ryan looked up and saw the stranger from the intersection now dressed with a fresh wife beater and a shit-eating grin. Ryan scowled, thinking, Please tell me this sick fuck is joking. Ryan decided to ignore the brute, but Joe punched him in the mouth.
The redneck took a step back, massaging his jaw, and shrugged it off. “Looks like we have a little competition on our hands. Someone else really wants first, do they?”
Joe was about to land a second blow when Ryan grabbed his arm. “He’s not worth it,” Ryan said. The man laughed as Joe backed down.
Kyle interrupted the scene. “She’s alive,” he said, crouching next to her with two fingers on her neck. Ryan whipped around, uncertain if he was relieved or burdened. Well this changes things. Leaving her here seemed cruel, especially since they had saved this perverse man. How then could they justify letting this poor girl die?
Kyle looked up. “Find me some bandages,” he said, taking control. “Not my first rodeo here with this situation.” Cam ran off. Kyle turned back to the girl. “I don’t think she hit anything too serious. Her bleeding isn’t out of control. She should be fine once we wrap her up. This on the hand,” he said, nodding towards the sleeping pills, “we need to deal with.”
Under instruction, Ryan held the girl upright while Kyle stuck his large fingers in her mouth and down her throat. After a few seconds, the girl jerked awake, wide eyed and alarmed. She stared at Ryan. Whoa, Ryan thought. For a moment, he believed he was looking into Deborah’s eyes, for this girl had the exact eyes as Deborah, the piercing dark blue, shaped more round than oval. Then, as if to break the spell, she vomited the putrid smelling pills onto the floor and fell limp in Ryan’s arms. He laid her on her side.
Cam then returned and threw a roll of gauze to Kyle. “Uh, Guys .
. . ” Cam said. “They’re through the first door. We don’t have much time before they come busting in here.”
Feeling uneasy, Ryan looked around and found that only his and Kyle’s shopping carts were present. Ryan brought this issue to attention. The others, reassuring Ryan they would return quickly, left to gather their things, leaving Ryan to watch Kyle clumsily the bandage girl’s arm with one hand. Any minute now that horde of zombies will break in, bent on spreading their poison and taking whoever they can, and we’re sitting here, bandaging a suicide victim. Ryan felt his heart race, a nervous pulse in his chest. He busied his hands by helping Kyle wrap the woman’s arm. Eventually, the woman was bandaged, and everyone had returned, a total of eight shopping carts around them.
In the distance, the glass of the front doors shattered, and the sound of the zombies tearing their way through mixed with the rise of Taylor Swift’s next song. Ryan’s spine went cold. He tensed, listening to confirm what he heard, and then said, “Empty out that cart now!” He pointed to one of the carts filled with water.
Cam looked flustered. “But we need it!”
“The water in the building is still working. We’ll be okay for a while,” Roe said, as he and Joe made room for the injured girl. Cam and Ryan picked up the unconscious girl and placed her in the cart. The sounds of the undead filled the superstore, urging Ryan’s mind to dark places: all he could focus on, despite effort otherwise, was Deborah crawling towards him, the little girl being eaten in the street, the man staring at his intestines . . .
Blue eyes. He pictured a set of blue eyes, and he fought to maintain the warming sensation that the view brought, despite, alarmingly, not knowing if they were Deborah’s or this other girl’s eyes. He had no time to dwell on the issue. The monsters were closing in, and everyone was waiting for his command. Blue eyes.
“Joe, can you get us to the back exit?” The screaming got closer.
