by AJ Powers
“I hear that,” Malcom said, enjoying the respite from his incessant grief and appreciating the moment of camaraderie from another man his own age. He didn’t realize just how much he missed it.
As they got closer to the highway, the chatter died down and their movements became more careful. Shepherd instructed him to let his FAL hang from the sling as he handed him a suppressed Mark IV. Malcom was iffy about using the lightweight .22-caliber pistol, but Shepherd reminded him that this wasn’t TV. The pistol sounded like a hiccup compared to his suppressed 5.56, and as long as it was a shot to the melon, it would be just as effective as his 7.62, just less messy.
A few minutes later, Malcom had a chance to try out the pistol on an unsuspecting infected woman about fifteen yards away. The sound of the 40-grain bullet crackling through the woman’s skull was louder than the shot itself. It was more satisfying than the FAL.
“Damn,” Malcom said, looking down at the pistol. “Can I keep this?” he joked.
“Sure,” Shepherd said.
“Really?”
“Yup. Just give me that 1911 at your six o’clock and it’s all yours.”
Malcom shook his head. “Sorry, that one’s not for sale.”
“Fair enough,” he said, before adding, “Then, no. You can’t.”
They went radio silent as they approached the superstore. Malcom was relieved to see that it wasn’t completely overrun with infected. Though there were quite a few roaming around the area, they were able to sneak to the back of the store without detection, climbing up through a loading bay near the edge of the building.
“Remember, this ain’t a movie. That thing is quiet outside, but if you shoot it near one of them crazies—especially in a place like this—then you’re gonna find yourself in the middle of a shit storm real fast. Make it a last resort.”
“Understood.”
“I’m going to head up to the pharmacy. Meet back here in about twenty minutes,” Shepherd said as he stepped forward only to spin back around. “And listen, you seem like a decent guy and all, but I ain’t gonna risk my neck to come save your ass. So don’t do anything stupid.”
“This ain’t my first rodeo,” Malcom said.
“G’luck.” Shepherd nodded before moving forward.
“Hey,” Malcom said, causing Shepherd to look back over his shoulder, “grab me some ibuprofen if you see any.”
Shepherd gave him a thumbs up. “No problem,” he said before disappearing down an aisle.
The store was dim inside, but the evenly spaced skylights above provided enough light for Malcom to see. It was also very quiet, giving him a sliver of hope that there weren’t any infected waiting to ambush him from behind a shelf.
Because shipping and receiving was right next to the sporting goods department, Malcom started his shopping spree behind the gun counter. Besides a break-barrel .410 shotgun and an air rifle, there weren’t any guns left in the cabinet. And since there weren’t any .410 shells on the shelf beneath the gun cabinet, Malcom opted not to take the single shot.
As expected, the major calibers were all missing from the ammo shelf, leaving him with less common cartridges, such as 9x18 Makarov and .303 British. The added weight of bullets he couldn’t shoot wasn’t worth it, so he quickly abandoned his hopes of resupplying his dwindling supply of 7.62x51.
Continuing to the automotive department, he lashed a five-gallon gas can to the back of his bag using a short bungee cord he found in the same aisle. He also grabbed a siphon kit, complete with a pump so he didn’t have to drink gas each time the boat needed a fill up. The unexpected find allowed him to happily scratch breath mints off the shopping list as he continued down the aisle. After finding a road atlas to try to keep track of their trip, Malcom headed over to the camping section.
He was vaguely familiar with the different brands of water filters, but it had been years since he’d even thought about buying one. Once again, he looked for the one with the highest price tag and dropped it into his pack. He also snatched a box of water-purifying tablets off the shelf before paying a visit to the grocery section.
On his way to the grocery side of the store, Malcom got sidetracked in the media department, stopping at one of the five-dollar movie bins in the middle of the floor. If he was able to top off the tank on the boat, he might be able to justify getting some gas for the onboard generator, giving them power to the cabin. There was already a flat-screen TV and a DVD player in the cabin, which could help provide the kids with some entertainment during the long trip in front of them. And the thought of falling asleep to some white noise didn’t sound all that bad, either.
Picking out a few random cartoons and a couple movies he recognized from Mackenzie’s Netflix list, Malcom slid the media into one of the side pockets of his pack and carried on to the grocery section.
He needed to be methodical about the groceries. Canned foods were out of the question. Far too heavy and bulky for such little payout. If he had a car, then it would be a different story. But since he had to shoulder the load himself, with quite a few miles to walk between there and the boat, he needed to get the most bang for the ounce. He grabbed trail mix, dehydrated fruits, and various types of jerky to fill out the inside of his bag. It was a sodium overload, which he assumed would earn him some disapproving glares from the heart surgeon on board, but the salt wasn’t going to kill them between now and Memphis, so he tossed a few more packs inside. He then swiped several packs of tuna, a box of crackers, and a handful of protein bars just for a little diversity in their diet.
With two out of three of the bag’s compartments bursting at the seams, Malcom reserved the last, smaller partition for a few goodies. He went to the candy aisle and grabbed some of his favorites, along with the sugary garbage he could rarely afford to buy his children. He’d never met a kid who didn’t like candy, and it was abundantly clear Tessa and her kids could use some creature comforts to take their minds off the world around them. And though they’d be a melted mess by the time he got back to the boat, it would taste good all the same, hopefully giving them all a break from reality.
Lastly, Malcom moved to the alcohol aisle and browsed the selection of wines. He was by no means a wine connoisseur. Hell, he wasn’t even a wine drinker. Malcom preferred bourbon over anything else, but he wouldn’t turn down a beer if offered. But fermented grapes? That just never struck his fancy, which meant he had no idea what he was looking for.
He remembered her saying pinot noir and assumed it was a wine, so he started looking for that on the bottles. He located several bottles halfway down, scanned the price tags, and made his pick. The bottle clanked off another as he lifted it off the shelf to put into his bag.
Shhhhhit, Malcom thought when he heard dragging footsteps and a crowing growl a few aisles over. Reaching for the Mark IV, he pointed the suppressed pistol toward the end of the aisle just as the infected woman came into view. His mind whirled with alternative options, but there were none.
He squeezed the trigger. The body dropped without protest.
As Shepherd warned him, the pop was significantly more powerful inside the store than it was outside. The vinyl flooring and the aluminum roof allowed the reverberation from the gunshot to bounce across the store several times, guaranteeing that any other infected inside would soon be screaming his way. But once the echo faded, the store fell back to silence.
Until he heard more shuffling footsteps.
Malcom shifted his aim to the left, toward the source of the sound and waited for the infected to come around the corner. The footsteps stopped a few feet away, and silence once again hung in the air.
Then, “Boy, you got lucky with that one,” Shepherd said.
“You scared the shit out of me, Shepherd,” Malcom said, lowering the pistol.
Shepherd was smiling as he rounded the corner, grabbing a six-pack off the shelf while he was there. “This ought to make for a fun night,” he murmured before looking up at Malcom. “Get everything you need?”
<
br /> Malcom nodded.
“All right. Let’s roll.”
Chapter Twenty-One
21 – Near Carrollton, Kentucky – May 27th
“I love you, little guy,” Tessa said to TJ, kissing his forehead as she tucked him into his makeshift bed on the floor. He was already half asleep when she decided to put him down an hour earlier than normal, which wasn’t all that surprising. It had been an eventful day yesterday, and no one slept well last night. She could have easily hit the sack herself if her mind wasn’t so wrapped up with the argument she’d had with Naomi earlier.
She glanced over at her daughter, who was sitting silently in the corner, reading one of Trent’s spy novels by flashlight. She hadn’t said two words to Tessa all day, and Tessa made no attempts to change that. They were angry with each other, and both felt justified for it. Tessa knew that Naomi had every right to hate her for what she did, and the weary mother was prepared to be the bad guy for the next several days, weeks, or even months. Hell, for all she knew, Naomi might not ever forgive her. Tessa couldn’t blame her for that. She wasn’t even able to forgive herself for pulling the trigger, but she’d meant what she told Naomi during the heated discussion—she made her decision, and her only choice was to live with it.
But she couldn’t let the dirty glares and gut-wrenching words from a teenager distract her from her task. Distractions in this world would get her, and her kids, killed. She had to stay sharp and mend relationships another day, whether she liked it or not.
Tessa slipped outside and lay down on the deck of the boat, staring up at the early evening sky. As clouds blew past overhead, her mind drifted to Malcom. Would he make it back by morning? Was he even okay? She heard a few gunshots coming from the direction he went earlier, but after that, everything was quiet. Tessa couldn’t decide if that was really good or really bad.
Her thoughts then moved to the bigger picture as she wondered if things would ever be normal again. Riya had said they were working on a cure, but was that even possible? Based on the observable symptoms Trent had displayed, there was no chance the damage done could be reversed. Perhaps the only hope was to find a way to kill the virus before the patient turned. Or, best case scenario, a vaccine that would create an immunity among the living, allowing the disease to die off over months or years of a dwindling supply of hosts. The science-lover in her was captivated by the level of research that had to be happening across hundreds of labs right now. But the mother in her couldn’t give two damns about the research unless it guaranteed her children a future worth living.
Tessa was fighting to stay conscious, when she heard blood-curdling screams inside. She scrambled to her feet and ran inside to see Naomi holding a frantic TJ.
“What happened?” Tessa asked. When Naomi didn’t respond quickly enough, she repeated the question, nearly screaming in frustration.
“I don’t know!” Naomi barked, before soothing her voice and whispering, “It’s okay,” to her terrified little brother.
As soon as TJ realized Tessa was there, he reached his arms up and cried for her. She lifted him up and bounced her knees as she gently rocked his trembling body, gradually calming him down. “What’s wrong, baby?” Tessa asked.
TJ sniffled and whimpered for a few minutes before he stuttered out, “The…The s-s-scary men wer-were coming for me.”
“Baby, it’s okay,” Tessa said reassuringly. “The bad men can’t get us on the boat. They don’t even know how to swim. How silly is it that they can’t even swim?”
The boy laughed through a couple more sniffles. “Yeah, that’s pretty silly. I can swim.”
“Well, yeah, that’s because you’re a big boy. That’s because you’re stronger than the scary men, which means…” she held the boy up and looked him in the eye, “they aren’t that scary at all then, huh?”
TJ flashed a smile. “Well, they’re kind of scary, but I guess not too scary since they can’t swim.”
“That’s right, buddy. Scary, but not too scary,” she said, slowly dropping to her knees and laying him in bed. “You don’t need to be scared of them. Mama will keep you safe.”
Tessa could feel Naomi’s glare when the words left her lips, only adding to the pain she was dealing with.
“And Mr. Malcom? Will he keep you safe?” TJ said.
Tessa nodded. “Yes. I will keep you safe, and Mr. Malcom will keep Mama safe.”
Comforted by the response, TJ’s eyes grew heavier and heavier as Tessa rubbed his back. After fifteen minutes, the boy was sound asleep again, and Tessa climbed to her feet, feeling more drained than ever. She looked over at Naomi, who had her back to her, and thought about giving her the third degree for her response earlier, but TJ didn’t need to be woken up again because of another blowout fight. And, quite frankly, Tessa didn’t have it in her to argue. Instead, she went back outside. She sat down on the bench, propped her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands. She sighed deeply as she wondered how much more she could handle.
“Long day?” Malcom asked.
Tessa smiled with excitement and relief at the sound of his voice. She slowly lifted her head and looked up at him standing on the platform above the boat, a gas can in his hand. “You have no idea,” Tessa replied.
Malcom boarded the boat and was taken aback when Tessa walked over to him and gave him a long, tight hug.
“I’m glad we didn’t have to leave you,” she said.
Malcom gently pushed her away and held up a finger as a smile crept across his face. He took his pack off and retrieved the bottle of wine inside.
“Okay, now I’m really glad we didn’t have to leave you,” she said through a mixture of laughter and tears. “I think I might love you,” she said, giving him another hug.
“You talking to me or the wine?” he asked, the lighthearted comment slightly derailing the moment.
“Yes,” she mumbled as she stared down absentmindedly at the red wine in her hands. “I’ve got you, so that’s all that matters.”
“Again, me or the bottle?” Malcom laughed.
“See previous reply,” she said before finally tearing her gaze away from the bottle and giving Malcom a smile. “Thank you, Malcom.”
Ignoring the rest of the loot in the bag, Tessa turned to go find a cup in the cabin before she stopped, slowly turning around with a look of distress. “Did you grab a bottle opener?”
“Damn it.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
22 – Near Carrollton, Kentucky – May 27th
Tessa sat down next to Malcom and took a heavenly pull on the pinot noir inside a red, plastic cup. Since he forgot a corkscrew, Malcom utilized the handle of a screwdriver to shove the cork into the bottle, finally giving Tessa access to the divine liquid inside. The tactic made reusing the cork impossible, but after the day she’d had, Tessa didn’t plan on needing it.
Trying to pace herself, Tessa limited herself to small sips as she watched Malcom disassemble his Glock 17. Beneath the dying light of the sky, he wiped down the pistol with a rag and some CLP he found with the toolbox. Though hardly a thorough job, Malcom was satisfied with his efforts and quickly reassembled the 9mm pistol, working the slide a few times before reinserting the magazine. He repeated the process with the FAL, and for the hell of it, his Sig Scorpion.
Cleaning guns was always a cathartic experience for Malcom, allowing him to clear his mind of daily stressors so he could think about the things he was usually too busy or overwhelmed to consider. However, the task became much more important than just avoiding a jam during his trips to the range. The stakes were much higher now, as a failure to feed might very well be the line in the sand between living and dying. Or, becoming one of the infected, which was the same difference in his mind.
Tessa was fascinated by Malcom’s ability to effortlessly strip the guns and clean all the parts inside before putting it all back together. It looked so complicated to her, and yet he did it almost gracefully and without error. Of course, she could
do a triple-bypass with her eyes closed, but that was because she had done thousands of them over the years. She assumed that was the case for Malcom and his guns. He’d probably cleaned them enough times that it became muscle memory.
After pouring herself another cup of wine, she convinced Malcom to try some so she wasn’t drinking alone. He then filled her in on the events of the day, explaining the gunshots she heard earlier that morning, and the nice, albeit strange, couple that saved his hide outside the pharmacy. He floated the idea of returning to town in hopes to get an invite to join Shepherd and Brandie’s group, but when Malcom answered I don’t know to nearly every question Tessa asked about the group, he realized he was never going to sell her on the idea, no matter how good of a light he painted them in.
As night fully captured the sky, Tessa unloaded her day on Malcom, starting with the grueling fight with Naomi.
“I don’t think she’ll ever talk to me again,” she said, her speech a little slurred. “And you know what? I probably wouldn’t either, if I was her.”
“She will,” Malcom said confidently. He took a sip on the wine, surprised he didn’t want to spit it out. “I can’t say that I know what it’s like to have a fifteen-year-old daughter,” he swallowed his emotion as Mackenzie’s face came into his mind’s eye, “but I can tell you girls her age are moody little creatures that will love you one minute and hate you the next.” He then added, “You know what I’m talking about. You were once a moody little creature yourself.”
Expecting a contemptuous response, Malcom was surprised when she looked over at him and said, “What do you mean were?” followed by a weak laugh.
“Well, I’m smart enough not to bark up that tree, but since you already went there...”
Tessa ignored the comment and took a deep breath as she let her head fall back to look up at the stars. “What would you have done if you were me?”
