No! Not this again! Must I die again?!
This was worse than coming off of Havoc. His very cells burned with death only to be revived to die and die all over again. He remembered the worst stomach virus he had ever had.
It was Christmas. He had become violently ill after eating the most wonderful meal. It was immediate. It had lasted all night. He could not vomit it out fast enough or satisfying enough to allay the nausea. The room spun so cruelly, there was no way of telling which way was up, down or sideways. Which explains the awkward mess he awoke to the next day.
This was far worse.
Oh just take me already! Fucking kill me! Kill me now! I can’t . . . I can’t . . . I just can’t. Kill me! Kill me!
He was sobbing now. Saliva was running rampant out of his mouth and past his lips, unrestrained. Any words he wanted to render forward were lost as he lost control of his tongue.
Then dark. Blackest of the black.
Then the spark. He could see but the control was no longer his own. He felt his arms, albeit the momentum of them only, dragging his body across the ground. He could barely make out the shapes of what laid in front of him. Long, discolored. Displaced. Ahh, but the smells!
He sniffed in the sweet aroma. He licked his lips which had already started to split and crack. They had swollen themselves stiff. Hard like cancer or a fresh bruise.
Zero heard himself grunt out as he tried to speak, but the message failed to arrive to the correct nerves that controlled his tongue. For speech anyway. Taste however was miss wired. Salt became the sweetest sweet and sweet was received as the foulest foul. Sweet filled his mouth like a waterfall of cotton candy, his tongue swelled and throbbed to lap every last second of sweet of honeyed overflow as if it was the last to be enjoyed on Earth. His jaw pulsed open and closed instinctively, and he suckled the sweet nourishing nectar like a newborn latched on to his mother’s teat.
Light came back to his eyes once more, chasing away the darkness. His irises shrank and receded, a black stressed tide, and color blurred into a ring around them once more. His arms flapped to the ground in exhaustion. He rolled to his side and curled into a ball, and as he licked the last remnants of brain matter from his lips, he fell into a deep sleep once more.
The Burgundy car rolled slowly into the parking lot. Charlie noted the sporadic placement of the carts all over the black top, some still packed full of rotten groceries. Cars, much like the carts, were abandoned in what should be been helter-skelter. The disorder looked much more like a rainbow effect of cars spreading from the doors outward toward the edges of the retaining ditches. Gave new meaning to the words organized chaos. She looked back at the two newcomers in the back seat. Ellie had fallen asleep, lying next to her brother, who had collapsed back into what Charlie hoped was not a coma. She was sure she had not seen his best side yet, but remained weary of them. She figured Ellie would not leave Jace’s side. No. Not Ever. If he ever decided to become a real problem, then they were just going to have to fend for themselves. She prayed it would not come to that.
She parked the car as slowly and quietly as she could manage. There was still quite a bit of ground to cover between them and the store and plenty of obstacles for the walkers to hide in, under or behind. Only Byron remained wide awake staring wide-eyed out the window, his new young charge sleeping restfully in his arms.
“You gonna be able to manage her? You know. While I go take a look-see?” The look on Charlie’s face gave away her worry.
Byron nodded. “I won’t wake them. Cross my heart,” he whispered. She nodded back. “Lock the doors, but be ready to let me back in if there is any trouble.”
She slipped out of the car, quiet as a mouse and pushed her door closed with only the faintest of clicks.
Charlie walked up toward the “food side” of the building, knifing the head of a body that had upended itself into a shopping cart. Better safe than sorry, sorry being bitten and transformed into one of them. She refused to take any chances of it just lying their lying dormant, a Venus-fly trap that ate humans. It did not even flinch. Her blade slid through easy, like a sharp box cutter through dry cardboard. It came out clean and dry. All these places were beginning to smell the same to her
She slowed her pace as she approached the doors. Her skin crawled as she instantly felt its eyes upon her. Her eyes trained on the wheelchair sitting caddy corner before the entrance. Her jaw dropped. Never in her worst nightmares could she have imagined such a fate.
I was wrong. There ARE worse hells.
Wheelchair bound it sat, sporting a stained blue vest buttoned up tidy to the top. Several welcoming patches and buttons adorned it. Welcome to Wally World. We care. Home of the low-low prices. 10 years loyal.
It sat, crumpled and hunched. Emaciated perhaps a bit further than it she would have expected. It had been trapped here. Unfed. Unfeeding. Unable to move or chase. It sat there quiet and observant, she noted. No. Not unable. May chance, unwilling?
His eyes (his not it?) followed her but he made no moves to scratch and paw at her. He made an attempt of a half-cocked smile and a strained head nod by way of greeting and his hands remained on their prospective arm rests.
Of course, she thought. A Wal-Mart greeter. And a special one at that.
She paced back and forth and watched him. Her tense hands stood at the ready, poised to grip her sword. She did not trust the smile was not just his flesh pulled back from starvation. It's eyes continued to train on her, giving up nothing.
Docile it remained. She walked closer and he smiled broadly. Only half of his face could be depended on for this, as the other side drooped as if from stroke. He gave a pleasant grunt which she took as a “Hello”. Charlie relaxed a little and squatted down in front laying both of her hands on her knees for support.
“Hi there.” She barely salvaged a return smile as the tears started to brim in her eyes. “I am so sorry.”
The greeter simply shrugged, as if nothing had really changed. He was quite content that there was finally someone he could still greet on their way in. Even during this pandemic, he was still on the clock. If there was only one of thing things I could ever take pity on, it would be this little guy.
His eyes rolled straight up and his expression changed. Then his eyes shot open wide, as if suddenly he remembered something. Something important he had forgotten to do. He reached over slowly and pulled out a small ream of stickers that he had shoved somewhere in his vest. Slowly and carefully, he unrolled a bit of it, and peeled one off, sticking it to the tip of his pointer finger. He held out his hand to Charlie.
Her pity dissolved and her heart melted. She carefully plucked it off of the proffered finger, not wanting to damage him any further. She looked at it and smoothed it down on her tank top over her heart. The yellow smile face brightened up his face even more than its recipient.
“Thank you”, she paused, wanting to call him something other than zombie.
He crossed his hand over to his right shoulder. An old faded name badge with letters cut from blue painter’s tape brandished the name “CHARLIE”.
Charlie put her hand over her sticker, tapping.
“That is my name too.”
The Zom just kept smiling hard through lips that pulled just a bit too far back, showing a few too many teeth.
“Bye now.” She felt awkward leaving him sitting there. However, there was still the living to take care of. And she had a lot depending on her.
She turned toward the doors, keeping CHARLIE in her peripheral. They were ajar, an electronic cart with a basket wedged between the sliding doors. The power to the place had long since been cut or lost, otherwise she would have heard the opening and closing of the doors from the parking lot. She climbed up and over the seat and was met with the expected. The foyer was in shambles. Gumball machines knocked over, soda machines broke open and looted. The Dasani machines door was torn completely off and not a bottle was to be found. Charlie supposed, even hoped that it was just someone th
at didn’t want to risk going straight in and looting the main floor, opting for the survivalist’s choice. Water. Essential for all life.
Even as she stepped through the secondary doors, the smell could not delay in declaring war on her olfactory sense. From the right and forward, the scents from the sea. From the right, the smell of rust. Coppery. Dirty wet pennies. She knew that she had to canvas the entire store from front to back. She mentally voted to start from the left and work her way over, aisle by aisle.
First Aisle
The floors were soaked. Someone or something has broken the live lobster display, a feat in its own right, as it was made of what was supposed to have been unbreakable Plexiglas. It made Charlie remember how klutzy she was as 'tween. She was adept at tripping over her own feet and dropping anything that was handed to her. Her father once proclaimed that her clumsiness was so epic that she could trip and break space. She smiled when she remembered when her mom had brought home that famous peanut butter jar that had proclaimed it to be unbreakable on its label. Slipping from her hands, she proved all too quickly that anything can be broken.
The air was quiet. She marveled at the silence. In that moment she flew right back to where she was three weeks ago. Silence. No human contact. She had not heard a human voice in weeks. Nor had she used her own. She was not much company to herself, stopped talking out loud to her own ears weeks ago. Never had she felt so utterly alone, even with all of the freaks running around. The little contact she recently had upon meeting Byron and the others seemed so far away now in this place. She knew it existed just right outside. But here, amongst the shadows and stench of death, it was all so fleeting. Like a distant memory. She knew then that she would do anything to protect it. Never again would she be squashed by the silence and made to feel so small. Some people could live alone, all on their devices. She realized in that moment that she could not. Just for her sanity, she would battle that silence until the bitter end.
A pool of blood surrounded a body toward the end of the aisle. Just from the looks of the top of his head, she surmised it had been a walker, not a human. This clued her into thinking that perhaps someone could have fought this one off and escaped, or someone had already came through and cleared the place. Though reluctant to consider trusting anyone else into her little fold, she hoped that it was the latter. It eased her mind a tad that there might be someone else able to take these things on. As of now she presided as the only “muscle” of the group.
Still keeping to her rule, she slid her blade through the base of his skull. Overkill was not overrated in the apocalypse. Rather, overkill was the rule. She cleaned it off using one of the sale ads that were lying all around the floor in piles. She felt something skitter and bump the side of her foot and jumped back, one Glock trained on the offending creature. It responded by snapping back, its claw at the ready.
A small, live lobster backed away in en guarde fashion. Somehow it had broken one its claws free and was quite able to defend itself against the walkers sans one claw. Charlie gave it a sneer. Don’t stray too far little guy. I’m probably coming back for you.
She tiptoed through on to the next aisle, consciously placing each foot down soundlessly on the floor. She realized, she would have to double back and secure the back stock areas as well. She mentally shook her head and rolled her eyes.
I hope this is the only time I have to do this in a building so big. Jeesh, this is some serious Mission Impossible type shit!
Her patience was running thin, but she dared not break her pace. Even her breath was taken in measured quiet doses. She remembered her old voice teacher Dr. Eichorn and the lessons she gave on how to drop your diaphragm down hard, to take in air soundlessly through her mouth. It was only one semester, but who knew that studying how to sing Italian folk arias would come in so handy. In this moment she was extremely thankful to her, and instantly sad as she knew she was possibly no more. She would have to remember to teach this little trick to the others when she had time.
The strain of moving through the aisle alone was beginning to take its toll. She eased up and parked her rear end on an empty bottom shelf. She kept her breath clean and slow, trying to listen carefully for any noises that might give away a walkers position Still holding her gun in her hand, she palmed her face and rubbed out the her weary eyes. Hunting was surely a strain, especially in such poor light. The young huntress felt a bit relieved that her little group could not see her like this. Fragile. Weak. Vulnerable. Her little performance back there, her little show of strength. That was not the real her. Her courage was a mask sewn together by anger and regret. Walls had to be put up to contain them, lest she completely fall apart at the seams. Deep in her heart, when in the quiet times, and there were many, she had asked herself what was there left to fight for. More often than not she could not give herself an answer. Fighting just for her anger’s sake perhaps, but even that eventually would peter out her inner batteries.
But now it was different. She found herself getting attached to the little girl. Fayte was the closest thing she was going to have in raising a daughter of her own. Byron had his charms as well. She was already in love with his cooking, and he was as sweet and as unknowingly innocent as they came. Again, probably the closest thing she would ever know to having a real brother, being an only child. As for Jace and Ellie, it was more like they needed her more than she needed them. She could not abandon them of course. Would not. But something was going to have to be done. He was still on shaky ground with his addiction, and Ellie a mouse of a girl with no kind of combat training. Charlie was the shield and sword between them and the hordes and the huntress knew that was just not going to be enough. Once they could find a sustainable place, she was going to have to teach them how to keep it. More importantly, Charlie had to train them on how to defend it. Her very life and the lives of the others may one day depend on it. Should they decide to leave and go their separate ways afterward, then that would be on them. The walls of Charlie were up and impenetrable. She did not think she could spare the heart of losing anyone else ever again.
She finished off the aisles and double back at the other end, taking special care to look around the end caps and registers. The back stock area remained. It was empty as well, except for the boxes of stale stock still sitting on pallets wrapped up thick in clear heavy-duty plastic. The back stock room looked like it was going to be too much work to play around with for the moment. There was still a good bit left on the shelves that were much easier to get too. She secured all of the entryways into the building at the back end of the house to make sure no one or no thing could sneak in behind them while they camped out for the night. The pallet jack was easy enough to use, and an 8-foot tall wall of canned corn and cereal boxes was ideal for making sure that nothing short of a tank was going to get through this way.
She walked back outside to the front. The concrete on the ground had a square-shaped area of discolor, lighter than the rest where the wheelchair once sat. Charlie looked around the parking lot and everything seemed exactly as it was as before, but the Wal-Mart greeter was nowhere to be found. Well, I’ll be damned. Where in the hell did he go?
She turned back around to the entrance. There was no way he could have made his way through there as the way was still blocked by the cart pusher. She just knew in her heart that he did not have the strength to move on his own, or perhaps even the will.
She sprinted back over to Lady, where Byron was already stepping out of the car, keeping the door between himself and Wal-Mart. He still looked nervous and ready to dive back into the car’s promise of protection. She slowed and held her hands up.
“We’re good the place is pretty much clear. But we had company. You didn’t see anybody leave in a wheelchair by chance did you?”
Bryon looked at her as he she had grown a second head. “No, Charlie. It’s just b-b-been us out h-here.”
Charlie put her hands on her hip and then gave up throwing them up into the air. “Well, I know I didn’t imag
ine it. There was one of those…things…sitting in a wheelchair sitting by the door.”
Jace stepped out of the door, holding himself steady across the top edge of the roof. He was still shivering even though he almost completely covered head to toe in a heavy fleece blanket. “I believe you”, he gave a bit of a smart-ass giggle. “Although, I don’t think that’s worth a whole lot. I have been seeing things off and on since the Hole.”
“Thanks. I think. Can you walk?” She did not wait for an answer, scooping her arm underneath his and waited for him to balance on her. After a couple of limps he steadied himself and his breathing even seemed to ease a bit as they all started to gather themselves up and walk across the parking lot.
A low moan floated from the grounds behind them. Charlie turned and her eyes widened as she barely caught their movement in the glare of the setting sun. Two figures were dragging themselves by their fingertips across the blacktop from underneath two vehicles.
“Shit. Shit shit shit. Everyone, hurry up inside!” Her voice was urgent, desperate, but still quiet. Her urgency was immediately picked up on by the new heavy of the group. Byron scooped up Fayte in one arm, and to her sharp surprise, Ellie in the other. He held them effortlessly and began speed walking across, even taking the time to hop over a curb. Byron refused to put them down until they were at the door. Ellie looked at him wide-eyed in astonishment. Now it was Fayte’s turn to look at Ellie as if she had sprouted a second head. She just shrugged like this was normal and expected. But mostly expected.
Charlie looked back, hoping against hope that these two were strictly the crawling type. It was quickly apparent that they were not as they had pushed themselves up onto their feet. They were still not as fast, but with any walker and all of them out literally against the wall, slow and steady wins the race. Charlie and Jace reached the doors last, having fought a losing battle with Jace’s blanket. They had ditched it half-way up the lot, but neither were concerned as it could be immediately replaced. Charlie huffed but did not stop moving. She slammed into the cart pusher and failed unsuccessfully at freeing it. They were quickly going from bad situation to worse if she could not get them all through. The jammed doors were just as bad as a dead-end alley or one-exit room. Byron stepped to the other side and they both tried it again and the door slid free.
Zombies Don't Ride Motorcycles Page 18