by Crae, Edward
The Hummer would be alright here.
He got out, looking at the cars that were parked around. Though he knew none of them would have the keys in them, they were mostly small cars, and he could easily push them across the ramp as a barrier. Anyone who attempted to drive up onto the roof would be blocked and would have to get out. Then, he could shoot them.
“Fuck it,” he said.
It was pointless. Zombies didn’t drive cars, and they were the biggest concern. There was no reason for any human to actually drive up here, even mercs. They probably knew he was here anyway, and were scoping him out, waiting for him to stand still so they put a bullet through his head.
Dan turned to the east, displaying his middle finger to anyone who was watching. He held it up for several seconds, moving it left and right for all to see. He ended it with a scowling crotch grab, and started down the ramp. He could scavenge for a few hours, then return and sleep it off in the Hummer.
He kept the M4A1, deciding it would be the best all-purpose choice. He checked it over as he descended; making sure the bolt was nice and lubed. It wasn’t sighted for him, but he hadn’t planned on doing any sniping.
The staircase to the ground level appeared to his right. He decided to take it, as it would be easier than staggering down a long ass ramp. The door was torn off its hinges, and Dan approached it cautiously, peering down the stairwell and listening for any movement. It seemed clear, so he quietly padded down the stairs.
The landing on the ground floor was covered in dried blood and shriveled flesh. He stepped around the carnage, holding his breath as he pushed open the exit door. Whatever happened here, the remains of it had been nicely cleaned up—most of them anyway. He wouldn’t worry about it.
After crossing the shadowy ground floor, he stepped out into the evening sun. The entire town was deathly quiet, and he couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. He stopped, trying to remember what was in the area. He needed something substantial to eat, and some clean water to drink. The only thing he could think of was the nearby foreign grocery store—he couldn’t remember the name.
Dan stuck close the buildings as he hurried to the south. The abandoned cars along the road offered good cover from the other direction, and he could duck behind them if he needed to. When he found an alley, he took it, feeling more comfortable in the narrow spaces than out in the open. There was always the danger of Shamblers—or worse—hiding in the shadows, but he would rather face the creatures than be picked off by some sniper.
There was something ahead, he saw, tucked into a small alcove near a restaurant’s back door. It was a body, mutated but still. The skin was covered in fungus and ripped to shreds, and the thing’s innards were spilled out around it. The head had been crushed, too, and what was left of the creature’s brain was smeared across the pavement.
Dan scowled, wondering what had killed it. His only guess was a Stalker of some kind.
“Fuck,” he said, moving on.
He reached the end of the alley that opened onto 2nd Street, leaning against the side of the building to scope out the area ahead. Trash blew around, and the landscaped trees swayed in the wind, but there didn’t seem to be any other movement. Keeping his eyes on the area around him, he made a mad dash across the street, leaping over a fallen light post, and crouched behind a red sedan.
No gunshots. Good.
He turned and crept along the edge of the buildings, where the canopies were still intact, and made his way down the block. There, on the other side of the street, was the small foreign grocery. It was exposed, situated on the corner, but seemed safe. Its one full length window was smashed out, as well as the door, but there were no items scattered around its entrance.
Apparently desperate looters had left it mostly untouched.
He dashed across the street again, ducking into the door’s alcove. Again, there were no gunshots. He turned and peered inside, listening and watching the shadows. When he neither saw nor heard movement, he stepped inside, nearly gagging on the horrendous smell that greeted him.
“Jesus,” he mumbled.
As he expected, the smell of rotting food was rampant. Even from his viewpoint, he could see the meat cases filled with bloated packs of rotting meat, and the subtle hint of movement that he realized was a small horde of rats. He scowled, but knew they were probably too busy to pay any attention to him.
Dan went straight for the canned food section. The shelves were still stacked with just about everything he could imagine. Despite the wide selection, he focused on the canned meats. He would need protein, and lots of it, if he was going to do battle. Smiling, he scanned the shelf. There was canned chicken, canned salmon, canned tuna, canned… squid?
“Gross,” he said, grabbing two cans of chicken.
He stuffed them in his pockets, also grabbing a few cans of salmon. He then went to the end of the aisle where he saw a display of cheap can openers. He grabbed one, stuffed it in his back pocket, and continued on.
The drink case was still intact; full of bottled water of various brands, exploded milk cartons that stunk like shit, and various craft beers he had never heard of. He grabbed a six pack, of course, cracking one open right there in the store.
It was a nice refreshing porter, bittersweet and smooth. It was a stark contrast to the piss he had found at the gas station. There was one good thing about college douchebag towns, he thought; they were full of good beers.
He downed the beer, opened another and guzzled it, and continued on. He crept down the aisle with his remaining beers in tow, feeling the weight of the food cans in his pockets. From the corner of his eye, down another aisle, he saw a handgun lying on the floor. He grunted, creeping over to it. There was a pool of blood nearby that led to a corpse propped up against the shelves. Its head was deformed and bloody, with a huge, gaping hole in the top. Its left hand was open and lying near the gun.
Someone had blown their brains out.
Dan leaned in to look at the name tag. It said, Khalid.
“Sorry, buddy,” Dan whispered, grabbing the handgun.
It was a .45, with eight rounds left in the magazine.
“Sweet.”
He stuffed it in his pants, remembering Shirley’s words about shooting one’s dick off, and kept on going. Realizing that he had forgotten to grab water, he went back to the cooler. He was running out of room in his pockets, but there was a rack nearby with “green bags” that were now free for the taking. He stuffed his beers, the water, and all the cans from his pockets into one, and headed for the front door.
The sound of a helicopter stopped Dan in his tracks. He crouched near the entrance, keeping behind the door jamb, listening as the tell-tale sound approached. A chopper was flying low and to the west. The rumbling sound of a heavy engine followed, and Dan felt the shaking of something large rolling down the street.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself. “Fucking tank.”
He crossed the door to the other side, leaning out slightly to get a better view. The chopper was there, about three blocks away, following above an unseen vehicle on the street. The chopper was black, with the familiar triad symbol painted on its tail rotor housing. It was stalking overhead, ready to let loose a barrage of missiles and bullets. They were definitely looking for something.
Likely, him.
Dan held his breath, falling back into the shadows and hoping that the mercs weren’t hungry.
Chapter Eight
The tank rolled close by the front of the store. Its tracks dug into the pavement, making the whole block shake with its weight. The chopper flew ahead, leaving the armored vehicle behind. Through the window, Dan could see foot soldiers following the tank. They were dressed in urban assault gear, with gray and black camo patterns and black body armor.
They marched by like Gestapo, pointing their weapons around as they sought out anyone they could kill. Dan’s hatred for them grew by the second. He would love mothing more than to put a bullet through the
faces of every last one of them. But he had no desire to face a tank.
His heart nearly stopped as two mercs broke off and began stalking toward the store’s entrance. He slinked to the back of the store, staying out of their line of sight. He would have to find another way out, he knew. There was no shooting in this case. If he killed them, he would only alert the others.
Unless…
He was staring right at a rack of expensive, imported kitchen knives. He almost chuckled, but swallowed his reaction and reached out to grab a nice, straight bladed paring knife. It was longer than usual; more like a Lister knife. He quickly pulled it from its backing, tossing the twist ties to the floor.
Fuck it, he thought. He had killed a guy the first night with a knife. He could do it again.
He heard the two mercs enter the store, stopping to shine their flashlights around.
“Split up,” one of them said. “I’ll go right.”
Dan kept his eyes on the merc who was approaching him. The guy was short, almost too short. Dan could guess why this loser never got into the real Army.
Fucking loser.
He backed into an alcove, concealing himself in the shadows. The guy was getting closer, and the time would come for him to act. His heart raced with excitement as he gripped the knife. When the guy passed him, he sprang out, reaching out to cup his mouth and pull his head back. With the same motion, he plunged the knife into the merc’s throat, slicing it outward aggressively. The merc dropped his rifle and clutched his throat as Dan released him.
The rifle clunked as it hit the floor, and the sound of choking, though muffled, was quite obvious. But Dan watched, grinning, as the merc slowly bled to death.
“Davis?” the other merc called out. “You alright?”
Dan rolled the merc over to look at his face, trying to imagine what his voice sounded like.
“Um,” he stammered. “Yeah. Come ‘ere.”
He gritted his teeth, unsure if the other merc bought it. But the guy’s response eased his fear.
“You find somethin’?”
Dan remained quiet, creeping over to the other side of the aisle to await his next victim. As soon as he saw the suppressor of an assault rifle poke past the edge of the shelf, he grabbed it, pulling and charging forward to disarm the merc. He immediately stabbed downward, catching the merc right in the clavicle. The merc groaned, grabbing Dan’s arm as he sank to his knees. Dan punched him in the face, splattering his nose, and twisted the knife as he growled.
The merc loosened his grip, limping as Dan glared down at him. Dan withdrew the knife, stabbing him again and kicking his lifeless body to the floor.
“Faggot,” he hissed.
He crouched, picking up the merc’s weapon. It was a suppressed Sig 716, complete with holographic sights. He removed the magazine, checking the rounds inside. Winchester .308.
“Fucking sweet,” he said.
He searched the mercs’ bodies, grabbing every magazine they had. They each carried a grenade as well, and Dan stuffed them in his pockets.
Time to go.
Dan ran back to the front of the store, stopping at the window to check the street. Mercs were going in and out of the buildings on either side while the tank rolled slowly forward. Ahead, a pair of them ran out of a door leading to upstairs apartments. They shouted at the merc sticking out of the tank’s top hatch.
The tank stopped as the mercs cleared the way. Its turret turned to the left and rose upward. Dan looked up at the building’s windows, seeing several people crowded there looking out in panic. They disappeared when they saw what was happening, cowering back into their apartment to avoid the explosive shell that was about to lay them to waste.
Dan was torn. What the fuck should he do? He was only one guy. But he did have a silenced rifle. He could kill one of the mercs to put the others off guard. Maybe.
He took aim at the commander who issued orders from the hatch. He centered the red holographic dot right on the man’s face, hoping the sights were just close enough to allow him a shot. Before the man could issue the final order, Dan fired.
The man lurched forward, slumping down into the hatch. A good hit. Dan slinked back into the store, going along the opposite wall to find the back door to the alley. He had no idea whether his action had done anything to help the people up there, but the absence of tank fire told him that he had at least stalled them.
The storeroom was cluttered, but safe. There was a single steel door leading out to the alley. Dan opened it a crack and looked outside. He heard the shouts of men nearby, but couldn’t tell where they were located, and all that he could see was the brick wall on the opposite side of the alley. He dared to poke his head out and look to either side.
Clear.
Gathering his supplies, he slipped out the door and eased it closed. He ran in the opposite direction of the tank, stopping at the end of the alley to check the street. Behind him, he heard the deafening pop of an explosion. He shuddered, thinking he had failed the poor people in the apartment. But the continued gunfire told him otherwise.
Should he go back?
“Fuck no,” he said to himself. “Not my fucking problem. Not my fucking… fuck!”
Of course it was his problem. He was an American, not some cowardly jihadi fuckstick that hid in the dunes when trouble came.
Damn it!
He turned around, running back toward the sound of gunfire. The chopper flew across the alley at the next block, causing Dan to almost shit his pants. He ducked as it passed, then saw movement from the corner of his eye. He looked to the right, smiling at what he saw.
A squad of military—real military—was moving up toward him. Their leader saw him, motioning for him to stay back. The man waved to another behind him, and he was soon joined by another soldier holding a large missile launcher of some kind. The rocketman scanned the sky with his weapon, and Dan could hear the device beep as it locked on to its target. A woosh sounded as a rocket tore out of the launcher and immediately shot upward in search of the chopper. A few seconds later, an explosion rocked the alley.
The squad moved up. Dan watched them proudly, saluting the leader as they passed. The soldiers all nodded to him in respect.
“Good luck bros,” Dan whispered.
Dan turned around yet again, looking up at the sky to judge the time. The sun would be down soon, and the city would be even more dangerous in the dark. It was hard enough to get around in the day time, much less in complete darkness. It was probably time to figure out how to use the night vision goggles in the Hummer.
The sounds of gunfire and rockets erupted behind him as the military engaged the mercs. From the looks of it, the military squad was well equipped, and would make short work of the tank and its escorts. But, even though Dan would love to watch, now was not the time. Through the shaking and rumbling, he raced back to the parking garage, keeping close to the cover of abandoned cars.
He reached the parking garage just as the sky became dark blue and orange. He raced up the stairs, huffing and puffing halfway up and nearly collapsing at the top. He stumbled toward the Hummer breathlessly, leaning against the driver’s side door to catch his breath.
Jesus, he thought. I gotta quit smoking.
He opened the door, tossing his new rifle in the passenger seat, and jumped in. He instinctively reached for the ignition, but then realized he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Despite the need for him to get to his friends as soon as possible, he really wasn’t prepared. He was exhausted, ill-equipped, and hungry as hell.
“Eat, Dan,” he said, crawling into the back seat.
He opened the bag he had acquired, pulling out a can of chicken and the can opener. It was delicious, he discovered, and he gobbled it up like a starving pit bull. With a beer to wash it down, he enjoyed his meal in silence, watching the shadows lengthen as the sun disappeared.
Despite the relaxation, he still felt a strange emptiness. Not only had he lost his home, but he had lost his friends as
well. He was lonely. He felt like the last man on Earth, and that was a foreboding feeling. He needed something to improve his mood.
He downed the rest of the beer and opened another. A couple Vicodin would take the sting off, too, and maybe some videos. He reached into the giant duffle he had packed at the house and took out his laptop. He remembered having downloading a bunch of TV episodes a few months before. He had saved them just in case the power went out.
Thankfully, the laptop was fully charged, and the files were right there waiting for him to watch. Grabbing a blanket from the cargo area, he tented himself under it and laid back in the seat in the darkness.
It was as close to home as he could get.
Dan awoke freezing. The cold had plastered the windows of the Hummer with a thin layer of frost, and his breath came in puffs of visible vapor. He curled himself up tightly in the wool blanket, practically mummified, yet still freezing. It was a foreboding feeling that weighed heavily on his motivation.
Seeing no solution other than starting the Hummer, he crawled into the front seat and turned the key. The engine roared to life—a bit too loudly for his comfort—and settled into a smooth purr as it warmed up. A few minutes later, warm air began to blow from the vents, slowly making the cab a bit more comfortable.
He lay back in the seat, looking around as the frost began to melt away from the windows. It was pitch black outside, with little visibility. All he could see were the stars, and a faint glow to the east. It was in the direction of the university, he knew. There was life there. Probably Gephardt life, but life nonetheless.
That’s where his friends were. That’s where everybody was being held.
He stared longingly, going through many scenarios in his mind. Were they plans? Maybe. Were they good plans? Probably not. Either way, one of them would have to work. Whether he snuck in or went gung ho like Rambo and just walked the fuck in with guns blazing, he was going to get them out or die.
