by Wimer, Kevin
Chris limped his way across the bathroom floor and back out into the hallway. He dropped the backpack onto the floor and leaned against the wall as he finished reading the letter. If you are the kind of person that I hope you to be. I ask of you to find my daughter, give her this letter and do what I failed to do. Protect her. Chris breathed a heavy sigh as his mind began to wonder as to what he should do. He couldn’t leave this note for someone else. He had been the one who had found it. He still had a sense of duty to a world that no longer had the rule of law. Chris looked at the letter and read it one more time before folding it and putting it into his breast pocket.
Chris took the short few steps back into the bathroom. He looked at the man lying on the floor with his brains splattered across the bathroom wall.
“I’ll do it. I will find her and give her the letter,” he said while looking at the man whose eyes were lifeless and staring back at him, “I will do whatever I can to protect her.”
Chris hobbled back out into the hallway and turned towards the door that lead into the service bay area. He looked at the door and took a breath and let it out with a heavy sigh. It was time to finish searching the building. It was time to get this over with one way or the other. His ankle throbbed. He needed to find a place to lie down and prop his leg up to allow the swelling to go down. He would grab a bottle or two of painkillers and down a handful of them and then eat something. Chris slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled his handgun from its holster. He turned the knob of the door and flung it open as he quickly stepped through hit—waving the gun from one side to the other. He stood in place for a moment while looking around the garage area. It looked empty of walkers—at least it appeared to be. Chris looked at the cars that filled the three spots in the service bay area. One was an older model Corvette—late eighties he thought. The hood of the car was up, and it sat on jack stands. Chris limped past it and stopped. He came to a car that he not only loved but had wanted since he had been a teenager. It was a 1968 Dodge Charger R/T. He hobbled to the driver’s side door and peeked inside. He noticed a set of keys in the ignition and smiled.
Chris opened the driver’s side door and started to get in. He stopped himself and had another quick look around. He didn’t need any more surprises. He looked around the garage and could see no signs of anyone or anything other than the three vehicles. Chris wondered if the walker that he had shot and killed was the owner of the gas station. He wondered if the man had been working in the garage when the outbreak had happened. He had paid little attention to what the man had been wearing but thought he had had on a pair of overalls. Chris leaned into the car and made sure that it was in park. He turned the key ignition to see if the lights in the dash would light up. He smiled and let out a sigh of relief. The battery still held a charge and the gauges on the dash looked to be in working order. He looked at the gas gauge and noticed the car had nearly a full tank of gas. He switched the car off and quietly closed the door. Chris wanted to start it up and see if it would run but he didn’t want the noise to alert any walkers that might be nearby. He was sure the gunfire had been enough to do that. He took a painful step backwards as he stood there looking at the beautiful beast of a car and thought that it wasn’t very particle of a vehicle for the situation that he now found himself in. He looked over the roof of the car and at the vehicle sitting in the service bay next to the Charger. It was an old Ford Bronco. Chris limped over to it and did the same as he had done with the Charger. It too seemed to be in working order. He now had a decision to make. Shit. I’m not going anywhere any time soon. I can decide what one I will take later. Chris thought as he began walking towards the door that lead back inside the gas station.
Chris was halfway to the door when a shadowy figure danced across the wall in front of him. He quickly turned with his gun up and at the ready. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and his muscles had gone ridged with fear. Chris blinked his eyes as his heart raced while looking across the garage and where he had just come from. He could see nothing—nothing but the three vehicles that he had just inspected. Chris’s heart thudded in the center of his chest and his mouth was bone dry as another shadowy figured danced across the walls of the dimly lit garage. It was like he was surrounded by shadowy figures. It felt like the walls were closing in on him. Chris jerked his head to the side and looked towards the windows in the rear of the garage. It wasn’t just one shadowy figure that had shambled by the windows. It was many. Chris felt his breath catching in his throat as he counted the walkers that were now walking by the windows. He had counted to ten when his mind kicked into gear and told him to get the hell out of there. He turned and quickly hobbled across the garage floor and to the door he had come through minutes before. His mind raced with thoughts as he pushed the door open and rushed inside with his rifle firmly planted into his shoulder and his finger on the trigger.
Chris abruptly stopped halfway down the hall. It was the first time he had taken a breath since he had entered the interior of the gas station. He felt a bit light headed—some of that was from the adrenalin rush and some of it was from the pain of his throbbing ankle. Lock the door. Chris nodded his head as he edged his way towards the end of the hallway. Lock the door Christopher and find a place to hold up until they pass by. The voice inside his head was already telling him that it was to late—he couldn’t leave. He was trapped. Chris narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He would kill as many of them as he could. He wouldn’t allow them to feast on him and his brain. Chris would turn the barrel of his gun on himself and do as Carl Yassa had done. He would pull the trigger and blow his own brains out. The blood and brain thirsty bastards that were now surrounding the store would get no pleasure from him. He would take that away from them. Chris still had the power to decide his own fate. He was still of sound mind—if anyone could be in this situation—and would use his mind to figure out this predicament he now found himself in.
CHAPTER 3
Chris peeked around the corner and to the front doors. He could hear the hissing moans of the undead just outside the building—approaching quickly as they shambled across the sidewalk and the hardtop of the parking lot. He stood there with his eyes open wide while watching their shadows grow closer to the door. He looked at the glass doors. It was the kind of doors that swung both in and out. The doors had no real friction to them—easy to push or pull open. Chris cursed the world and himself as he leaped out from the hallway and hobbled in a half run and half limp to the set of doors. His hands trembled as he turned the locks on the doors—locking them and hoping they would hold. Chris had but a tick of a second to leap behind cover. He hit the floor as the doors raddled with walkers banging against them. He took a deep breath and winched in pain as his ankle screamed a fiery hot sensation. He started to cry out but held his tongue—the infected could smell him and he didn’t need them hearing him too. Chris rolled onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows as he had a look around. He was just a few feet from the front doors and just inches from the windows that lined the wall above him. He slowly moved his head towards the windows—shadows of the undead crept in. He rolled onto his hands and knees and began crawling to the cinderblock wall that separated him from the world outside and his would-be killers that now banged on the windows above him.
Chris could feel the urge brought on by fear to stand and run taking a hold of him. The voice inside his head told him to get up and move into the stockroom. It was the place he had to check. It was also the place the walker he had killed just minutes before had come from. Chris looked at the old wooden doors. It was the kind of doors that had two small windows dead center of them. The doors swung on the hingers allowing anyone to get in and out of the stockroom easily. Get your ass up and get in there. The voice inside his head screamed. He couldn’t. He couldn’t move a muscle. Chris knew to stand, and run would only cause a bigger problem. The mob of walkers would see him, and they would push their way through the
glass doors and into the building—trapping him. He had seen it happen before. He had seen a mob of walkers stop at nothing to get to their prey that awaited them inside a building that had only glass barriers to stop them. It didn’t stop them, and the glass did nothing to slow them down. The undead felt no pain and they were fueled by a lust for both blood and brains.
Chris flinched as one of the walker’s head banged against the glass door. He felt his heart leaping into his throat and his breath quicken. The hissing moans of the undead echoed louder with each second that passed. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He had to do something. He told himself to think. He told himself that if he stayed here, he would be eaten alive. The thought of that now consumed him. It was something he wouldn’t allow to happen. Chris opened his eyes and looked at the door and then at the windows above him. The glass was a smeared mess of both blood and God knew what else. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled his handgun as he crawled on his belly towards the stockroom doors. Get inside. Check to make sure there are no walkers. Get to the roof. Chris’s mind formed a plan as he made it to the doors and opened them just enough to peek inside and then crawled through them. He didn’t let the doors swing shut. He held them and guided them back into place. Chris looked around the dimly lit stockroom—skylights in the ceiling above helped to light the room.
Chris lifted himself to one knee and planted his good foot on the floor in front him. He scanned the room with his handgun stretched out in front of him—wherever he turned his head the muzzle of his handgun went with him. His heart was beating like a drum as he looked around the stockroom. He tried to ignore the hissing sounds of the undead outside while concentrating on the interior of the stockroom. The sounds outside were growing. Chris lifted himself off the ground and limped into the center of the room. It wasn’t that big of a stockroom. It had a few boxes stacked on top of each other and shelves filled with various items. He noticed a room in the far-right corner with its door open. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he slowly limped towards it—gun up and at the ready. He held his finger on the trigger and knew with just a flinch of a pull he would send a bullet down range and into whomever dared to poke their head out of the room.
Chris made it to the doorway of the room. He could see a desk and a couple of filing cabinets in one corner and what appeared to be a cot in another corner. Rush in and be ready to pull the trigger. The voice inside his head commanded. Chris rushed in and scanned the room. He found no one inside but could tell someone had been staying here. He was sure it was the walker he had killed earlier. The man had been living here—maybe it had been the man’s full-time residence or maybe he had just gotten trapped here the night of the outbreak. Chris noticed another room with a door. The door to that room was cracked open and he could hear what he thought was the echoing sounds of dripping water. Bathroom. Chris limped to it slowly—the banging sound of undead bodies hitting the glass doors and windows caused him to act a bit quicker. He kicked the door open and held his gun out and at the ready to fire. Nothing. It was just a bathroom with a shower stall. Chris stepped inside and had a quick look around. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for until he found the medicine cabinet. He opened the cabinet and found a bottle of Tylenol and Ibuprofen. Chris grabbed them and popped the lid on both bottles and then dumped a handful of pills into his hand. He opened his canteen and tossed the pills into his mouth—not worrying about mixing the medications or taking more than the recommended dosage. He took a long pull of water from his canteen and swallowed.
Chris put the medication into his pants pocket and limped back out into the stockroom. He knew there had to be a way up and on to the roof. It took him a minute until he found the ladder that led to the hatch in the roof. Chris put his handgun back into its holster and hobbled towards the ladder—stopping just a couple of feet from the ladder when something on a shelf caught his attention. Flammable. The label on the canister caused Chris to smile and his mind to quickly form a plan. It was a small butane canister. The kind used for camping stoves. Chris grabbed a couple and put them into his backpack and headed for the ladder. You bastards are not going to know what hit you. He thought as he began climbing the ladder—taking each rung of the ladder as quickly as he could without falling. His ankle felt like mush and the pain from it caused him and his legs to feel a bit weak. I’m going to blow a few of you to tiny bits and pieces. I hope the rest of you burn. Chris could feel a laugh burbling up from within himself as he reached the top of the ladder. It’s time to send you blood thirsty bastards to Hell. He grunted a bit as he pushed metal hatch door. It took a bit more force for it to swing open. The damn thing hadn’t been opened in years and was nearly rusted shut.
Chris popped his head up through the hatch and had a quick look around. The rain had finally stopped but the air was much colder now. The sky had a dark greyish hue to it and the chill in the air reminded him of an approaching snowstorm—spring was a month or two away. Chris pulled himself up and onto the roof—leaving the hatch open as he quickly hobbled towards the front of the building. He leaned out over the edge and could see the infected below him—banging their bodies against the glass doors while hissing their angry moans of hunger. The bastards were pissed that they couldn’t get inside. Chris could feel his heart beating a tick faster with each second that past. His flesh crawled and his mind filled with thoughts and images of his death while watching the hungry creatures below him. The bastards were working hard to get inside, and it was only a matter of time until they succeeded in doing just that. It was shocking that the glass in the doors hadn’t broken yet. Chris looked at the angry mob of walkers and wondered how he was going to get himself out of this damn mess.
Chris turned away from the front of the station and looked across the roof to see if there was a way off. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach. The only way off the roof was to go back through the hatch and back into the stockroom below and out the front doors. He was not only trapped but screwed if this half-baked plan that he had formed while climbing ladder to the roof didn’t work. He would soon find out if he was going to become food for the angry walkers below. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t. He thought as he unslung his rifle and then dropped his backpack. He hobbled across the roof and to the backside of the building to have a look—hoping there would be something or someone that could help him. He knew if anyone was watching they wouldn’t dare come to his rescue. He wasn’t their problem. Chris looked over the ledge and at the ground below him. This backside of the station was used as overflow for parking. He looked at the parking lot below and found a newer car sitting about fifteen or so feet away. Chris could feel himself starting to smile as he looked at the car. He knew it had a car alarm and if he could get it to go off it would solve his problem with the walkers. The sound of the blaring alarm would draw them to it and away from the front of the store.
The hissing sounds of the undead were getting louder. He could hear the echoing of their bodies smashing against the glass doors and the windows that lined the front of the building. He had to act soon. Chris unslung his rifle and aimed at the car. He took a breath and held it as he pulled the trigger and fired one shot through the windshield—hoping it would set off the alarm. It didn’t. He fired another shot and again it did nothing to set off the alarm. The feeling of hope was now of hopelessness as he stood there looking at the car. He wished now that the car was a few years older—one of the ones with an alarm system that would go off if a bird landed on it. His shoulders started to slump in despair when a shadowy figure below him caught his attention. One of the undead had stepped out and around corner and was heading towards the backside of the parking lot. Chris wanted to jump for joy and shout at the top of his lungs. He had caught the attention of one of them and knew it was only a matter of time until more of them followed.
“Come on! What are you waiting for you ugly bastard!” Chris shouted, “Bring your friends with you!” whooping and hollering between wo
rds, “Let’s make this a party we won’t forget!”
The walker shambled into the parking lot and stopped. It stood there with his milky white dead eyes looking straight ahead. Chris noticed how the bastard sniffed the air. It was a like hunting dog sniffing for its pretty. It sniffed the air and took a few more steps forward and stopped. Chris was above the walker and knew it could no longer smell him. He watched as the walker shambled forward and then stopped and slowly started to turn around. Chris knew the infected bastard had lost interest and was about to head back to the front of the store. He shouted a bit more and then fired a shot into the car. It was the shot he needed and it damn near scared him to death. Chris flinched as the car alarm blared—echoing over the sounds of the infected that were growling and hissing. The walker was in mid turn when the alarm had gone off. Chris watched as it turned back around and began shambling towards the car. He watched as shadowy figures filled the edge of the building and then made their appearance. The dead were walking towards the car and its blaring alarm.
“That’s it you ugly brain sucking freaks!” Chris gleefully shouted, “Follow that ugly bastard out in front of you!”
The walker that had first shambled around the corner was now nearly to the car. His friends were right behind him—within feet of being to the car. Chris felt his heart racing. It was working. The car alarm was drawing them from the front of the building to the back parking lot and to the source of the annoying sound that now filled the air. Chris watched for a tick of a second before turning and taking off in a mad hobble of a dash to where he had dropped his backpack. He rummaged through his pack and found the first of two butane canisters that he had brought up to the roof with him. He kissed it and giggled a laugh as he hobbled back to the other side of the roof. The walkers now surrounded the car and were beating their bodies against it. The car rocked back and forth with each undead body that slammed against it. It wouldn’t be long until the once perfect looking car would be riddled with dents and its windows smeared a red mucky mess.
