Z Fever

by Jay Mouton

  The young boy’s stomach wretched and heaved. Bile filled his mouth, and the contents within his insides threatened to spill forth. He leaned against the counter, again concentrating on controlling his fear. It took a minute, but he regained the self-control he so needed from all points on.

  Lighters, Gavin!

  The voice in his head, reminded him why he had even stepped around the counter.

  Tentatively, he crept forward, knowing, full well, that the dead body parts, scattered around the floor in front of him, could do him no further damage.

  He stopped in front of the Bic display, reached up on the tips of his toes, and stretched his right hand forward and upward to try to reach the lighters. He almost got one from the cardboard display, when, suddenly his feet shot out from under him as he slipped on a slick of blood that he’d not spotted.

  Gavin’s lean body flew back, and, again he landed on his backside with a hard smack down!

  “Ouch!” he hollered to the ceiling.

  “Gavin!” Ariel yelled.

  “Gavin, are you alright!” Justine called out, and came running around the corner of one of the aisles, dropping all three of the nylon book bags she’d found for them.

  “I’m, okay!” the boy yelled out, from where he lay, in the wet, now cold, mess under his body. He felt himself wretch, again, but did not let it get hold of him this time.

  WHAM!

  It was Mr. Stuart making his presence obvious, with yet another stab at getting at the food he could hear moving about within the building.

  Justine and Ariel arrived at the front of the counter at the same time. Gavin called out for both of them to stay put, and that he was just fine, he’d simply tripped over something.

  “Are you sure that you’re okay,” Justine repeated her question. Gavin thought he heard slightly more than concern in her voice. He lay in the sticky, wet mixture of blood, bone, and various body parts of a dead man, and a crazy popped into his brain.

  I wonder if she still likes me?

  “I’m sure, Justine,” he said to her, trying to keep his voice down and not agitate the former Mr. Stuart any further. He added, “I’m just getting some of those lighters you asked for.”

  He was just getting ready to lift himself up from the deluge he was nearly swimming in, when his head tilted, ever so slightly, to his left.

  Gavin was face to face with the dead man’s head, the glossed over eyes, seemingly, imploring the boy to do something.

  Then, just near the blooded, matted hair at the top of the man’s skull, Gavin saw what appeared to be a glint of metal. He focused.

  It was the long, thin, dark metal barrel of a gun.

  At that moment, it dawned on Gavin, that the man probably tried to save himself from whatever had done this to him.

  A zombie, Gavin! A zombie did this to him!

  “Yeah,” the boy whispered to himself “I know; it was a zombie.” In spite of the carnage that surrounded him, he grinned at the fact that he was, now, answering the voice in his head.

  Gavin shook it off.

  The former Westside Elementary student stood up, carefully, and picked up several of the lighters that had fallen out of the display when Gavin knocked it from the wall, somehow, during his fall.

  He tucked the lighters into the right, front pocket of his jeans.

  And then, eleven-year-old Gavin Kingsley, leaned over and picked up the shotgun. He took extreme care not to bump its former owner in the head.

  * * * * *

  They were all ready.

  After Justine looked over, and approved of, their quickly, thrown together survival packs, they got ready to shoulder them. Then, to make their move to leave the, relative, safety of Altman’s, to make the trek up County 125, and, finally, home.

  It was something akin to admiration both girls showed for Gavin when he held the shotgun up to their approving glances. All three of them had grown up around rural, northeast Florida. They’d all played and explored areas not so very distant from the vast forests contained within the great, Okefenokee Swamp of south Georgia’s border with Florida; both Justine’s father, and the Kingsley children’s father, Sean, had firearms at home, and all family members had been taught to respect guns, but not to fear them.

  Minutes before, Gavin, as unpleasant as the task was, rummaged around the back-counter area for extra shells for the 20-guage he’d confiscated. He found a half-full box of them just under the cash register on the counter, and stuffed them into the extra pockets of his jeans. The pockets bulged, but he was able to get all of the spare shells he’d found secured.

  Gavin smiled at their good fortune in finding the weapon. In all honesty, he felt the acquisition was his due as his daddy had promised to buy him his own shotgun for his birthday, later in the year.

  The smile that, momentarily, found purchase on the boy’s lips, vanished when he thought of his father. The boy felt little hope at the prospect of ever seeing him, again. Still, “daddy would understand,” he whispered, softly.

  Their next task was, in all probability, likely the most difficult. And, almost assuredly, the most dangerous one they would tackle up to now.

  All three of them shouldered their bookbags, aka, backpacks. Gavin, weighed them each by picking them up one by one, then, took the heaviest. He was shorter than Justine, but the boy was, definitely, a good deal stronger. Ariel, with Justine’s assistance, was able to get the lightest pack snugly on her little shoulders. Gavin, looked at his little sister, now outfitted with her own survival kit, and asked her if she was going to be able to make the long hike home loaded down as she was. She smiled at him, and he smiled back when she thrust her right hand out in front of her, balled her little fist, and pointed her thumb upwards.

  “How about it, Justine?” Gavin asked, feeling a little boost of pride knowing that his friend was such a skilled camper. He remembered, vaguely, that she was in the Girl Scouts, but had no idea that she knew so much about camping, and survival skills. And, it made him feel a whole, lot better about their odds for getting home.

  * * * **

  Right after they’d finished loading up their various supplies into the packs Justine had found, Gavin made them practice what he called a dry run on how they were going to make their escape from Altman’s.

  The first thing Gavin said they should do, was to fool Mr. Stuart, the zombie that would not go away, into thinking they were all at the rear of the building.

  There was a back door out of Altman’s, and another side door that was, more than likely, used to bring new stock into the store. Both doors were, apparently, metal doors, and even stronger than the reinforced glass on the door out in the front of the shop. The main problem, as far as Gavin was concerned, was making enough noise in the back to draw the zombie’s attention, and to get the monster to place his efforts at getting at them through one of the back doors.

  Justine suggested that it was a great idea for a diversion. Gavin wasn’t quite sure about the meaning of the word, as he mouthed it, silently, as if in agreement with the girl. Still, he was pretty sure that the word meant something close to, let’s fool the stupid zombie.

  It was agreed between Gavin and Justine, that he would be the one to stay in the back room and draw the zombie from out in front of the store to the rear of the building. If it worked, and all three of them were sure it would, then Justine and Ariel would, as quietly as possible, go out the front door when they heard Gavin shout out for them to do so. In turn, Gavin would make all the noise that he could, and try to keep the monster preoccupied for a few minutes as the girls made their getaway.

  Gavin would keep the zombie busy for at least three or four minutes, and then he would run to the front door, which Justine was to shut behind them. He would, again, ever so carefully and quietly, quickly take a peek through the blinds to make sure the coast was clear. Then, if it all went down without a glitch in the hitch, as his granddaddy used to say, he would shoot out the door, leave it open behind him, and run as fa
st as his two legs could carry him.

  It’ll work, Gavin!

  He nodded his head in agreement with the voice, thankful that it had reassured him that their plan would be successful.

  If the plan of escape did work, they were to meet up on the opposite side of 125, just on the north side of where County 125 bisected 127 at the hanging stop light. Justine and Ariel were to cross the road, and try to find a little bit of cover in which to hide in the woods that lined the road. Justine’s job was to watch out for any zombies that might be roaming around, looking for the next meal. Ariel’s job was to keep a watch out for Gavin, and tell Justine just as soon as she could see her brother.

  “Whatever you do, Ariel,” Gavin said, giving his little sister the longest hug he’d bestowed up to that moment of the day, “don’t yell out.” He said, more confident that the little girl, fully understood the danger in what they were about to attempt.

  “Right?” Gavin said, nodding his head, as he gave her one last, strong squeeze.

  “Right,” she said, and smiled at him. Her pretty, brown eyes seemed to sparkle with a little more love than usual; and it made Gavin feel that much braver about what he was about to do.

  “I’ve got her, Gavin,” Justine said, her own blue eyes locked onto his. He looked at her, gave her a warm grin, and reached over to give her hand a tight squeeze, too.

  The siblings broke their embrace, and as soon as they did so, Justine and Ariel, hand in hand, turned, and walked to the front door.

  Just before Gavin turned, in order to go begin his diversion in the back, Justine released her hold of Ariel’s hand, rushed forward up to Gavin, and then threw her arms around him. Gavin had to admit to himself, her hug felt every bit as good as his sister’s.

  With that, Gavin, pack shouldered and shotgun cradled in his arm, just the way his daddy had taught him, walked into the back room of Altman’s grocery.

  Once there, the boy started yelling wildly, and using, of all things, an aluminum frying pan that Justine had found hanging from a hook on the inside door, of the little bathroom they all had to take turns using during their stay in the store, to bang against the metal of the door at the very back of the building.

  While Gavin was yelling up a storm, as his frying pan clanged loudly against the door, ringing and echoing all through the entire store, Justine and Ariel waited for Gavin’s signal for them to make their escape. Both girls trembled, side by side, with fear and excitement at what they were about to attempt. For there was, along with their fear, the rush of adrenaline pumping through both of their young bodies.

  It seemed impossible, but Gavin managed to add another decibel to the level of noise he was making in the back room. He continued to clang the pan against the metal, all the while yelling his young lungs out.

  THUMP!

  The sound of what had to have been the zombie thudded against the back door.

  Gavin was taken aback by the dull, softer sound the monster created when it made contact with the metal door; nowhere near as loud as the front door, and that was kind of good as it was, he thought, not as scary.

  THUMP!

  There was no mistaking it, the creature had fallen for their ruse, and was now, battering Mr. Stuart’s worn out, old body against a door even more formidable than the one it lost its fight with out front.

  Gavin, dancing wildly now, the shotgun resting on the top of the desk, right next to door out of the storage room, continued his Rebel yells and the whacking of the frying pan against the inside of the door.

  THUMP!

  THUMP!

  THUMP!

  The zombie may have been an aged, fat man, but it was still going to town against an object that was never, ever going to move for it.

  “NOW! Run, NOW!” Gavin yelled as loud as he could toward the front of the store. Even as he gave the girls his signal to leave the safety of the building, he kept yelling and hitting the door with the frying pan.

  THUMP!

  THUMP!

  Gavin, his arms tiring, slightly, grinned with satisfaction.

  It had worked!

  The hungry zombie was fixated on trying to break into the building that, more than likely by instinct, it knew held its prey.

  THUMP!

  THUMP!

  And on it went, for the next few minutes.

  Gavin assessed that it had been, at the least, three minutes. The monster zombie was still slamming up against the door. Gavin wondered at just how much of a mess was now sliding and dripping down the metal exterior of the wonderful, magnificent door that kept the zombie from getting at him.

  Gavin, carefully, walked over to the desk, still yelling, although he felt his voice begin to hoarsen. He lay the frying pan down next to the shotgun.

  THUMP!

  He, carefully, picked up the shotgun. He eyed-balled the safety, and then felt it, just as daddy had taught him; it was on.

  Still yelling, he cradled the weapon, and then picked the frying pan back up with his right hand.

  Gavin stood in the doorway between the storage room and the front of the store. He looked toward the front door; Ariel and Justine, were nowhere to be seen.

  They’re waiting on you, Romeo!

  He grinned, again, at the silly remark the voice made.

  THUMP!

  “Y’all still want in, Zombie!” Gavin Kingsley yelled at the door, then, taking careful aim with his right arm, he lobbed the frying pan at the door, turned, and walked, almost calmly to the front door of Altman’s.

  THUMP!

  Yes! The boy thought, it’s working just like I thought it would.

  Gavin lifted on of the slats of the blind, and he peered out, into the sun filled world outside the store; the coast was clear.

  Gavin, quietly, opened the front door fully, and slipped outside into the sunlight.

  He turned, and as he was closing the door behind him, even as he heard the door latch slide into place, he heard another beautiful sound from the other side of the building.

  It was fainter, now, but he heard it none the less.

  Thump!

  * * * * *

  “Gavin!” Ariel yelled out to her brother, from somewhere behind the thick growth of trees that lined County 125.

  “Shush,” he said, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

  They had made it, too.

  Gavin, for the first time all day, felt the warmth of his own tears break free from his eyes, and they trickled down his cheeks; tears not of sorrow, but tears filled with a joy.

  Gavin, still carefully cradling the shotgun, walked slowly, through undergrowth along the side of the highway, and made his way to the spot where Ariel and Justine were hiding behind the trees and shrubbery.

  Ariel could not contain her happiness at Gavin’s appearance, as she squealed with delight and relief that her big brother was safe and close by her, once more.

  “Shush,” the grinning boy said, but lay his shotgun down in the grass, and threw his arms around his little sister.

  Justine, too, was relieved and nearly as happy as Ariel seemed. She smiled at Gavin, and simply nodded her head in approval.

  None of them knew what the rest of the journey home would entail, but for now, they were all content to just be close to one another.

  * * * * *

  After Gavin and Justine managed to get Ariel to calm down, they all picked their packs back up and shouldered them. Then, the little party took up their journey along County 125.

  They hiked along as briskly as they were able to, with little Ariel doing her level best to keep stride and carry her share of the load. Gavin figured, it was best not to move too fast, anyway. His daddy had told him that he should never, ever get in a rush when he held a weapon of any kind.

  Justine, too had left the store armed. Well, thought Gavin, she was armed if one considered a baseball bat a weapon. Still, it would be better than nothing.

  They kept up the pace that Ariel could set, but they moved steadily on.

&nbs
p; As the homebound trio passed County 202, to their left, Justine remarked that she thought they had covered at least a couple of miles. Gavin, nodded, and said she was, likely, close.

  They dropped their packs, and each gulped down a full bottle of the water they’d left Altman’s with. The water they carried, was the heaviest aspect of each pack, so their loads were lightened, ever so slightly, at the same time they were able to quench the thirst that had built.

  Gavin peered across the highway, and down 202, and there he spotted what appeared to be, a pick-up truck that was burning. He asked Justine if she thought the same thing. She nodded, yes.

  “Do you think we should go up there and check it out?” Justine asked.

  Gavin, vehemently., shook his head no.

  “Uh-uh! We need to keep moving, and try to pick up the pace a little more,” he told her.

  “But,” Justine said, adding “somebody could be hurt, or need our help.”

  As soon as she let those words slip from her mouth, she knew that Gavin was right. They were three, young school kids, what were they possible going to do to help anybody else during this, whatever it was, catastrophe.

  They looked at each other, both nodding in unison, and then they all reached down for their packs.

  They trudged on.

  Another mile passed, and the sun dropped a little further in the west.

  It was still warmer than it had been earlier that morning, but Gavin knew that once the sun dropped behind the pines that it would get chilly fast. At least the warmer air served to dry the wet shirt that he still wore, even though it took a little while because of the pack on his back.