I gathered everyone’s requests and made a detour. I had time and plenty of room in the basket. I got jeans for us girls and found a belt for what I would put around my waist later. Next, I searched for gloves, the long expensive, hard to rip kind. I only saw two pairs and grabbed both.
Like a maniac, I raced my cart to the back of the store in near darkness. My shining flashlight caught the wheels of bicycles ahead and I knew I was close to my target. I stopped and began my search along a wall past the exercise equipment. That’s when I saw them. A row of large daggers in cloth sleeves. Those would be perfect around my waist or boots. I even had delusions of taping them to the bottom of my boots with the tip sticking out. I imagined myself kicking a zombie in the head with one. I would be badass with them.
The problem is, they were under glass, in a case. I wrestled with the dilemma of how to get them, for a fleeting moment I considered calling for an employee. What an idiot. I got two ten-pound weights and threw them into the glass, smashing it.
Before I could retrieve a single knife, I heard them. Zombies made a low howling sound that grew. They were getting closer. I scooped up three of the knives and threw them in my cart. I debated going after the rest, then I did. I scooped up a bunch. Instead of putting them in the cart and leaving, I unsheathed them.
It was time to see if my training paid off. I tried not to shake as I waited for them. When they burst through, I began throwing, one knife in the head to each of them. I got three and missed a fourth. It came at me with fantastic speed, it was a strong zombie. Shining my light ahead, I ran for all I was worth.
I zigzagged through the maze of overturned carts, discarded clothing, and the like. I was able to open a small lead and went in a circle, back to my cart. At the last instant, I changed plans and went for one of the zombies I dropped earlier. I had enough time to pull the knife from its head, aim, and throw. The zombie howled and fell to the ground dead.
I was so tired and out of breath, all I could do was bend and collect myself. The zombie at my feet moved. With a strong swift kick to the head, it moved no more. I grabbed my cart and made my way to the front of the store, vowing never to do that again. Halfway there, I thought about the knives I left behind. It was too big of a risk to go back, I would make do with the few in my cart. I had had enough of zombies for the day.
At the front of the store, a man had his back to me. I halted my cart and eased one of the daggers out of its sheath.
It was hard to see who it was that stood by the registers. I could make out that it was a lone man and that his back was turned away from me. I stopped. I had the advantage of surprise on my side and put it to good use. In my head, I went over everything I had learned about zombies. They had red eyes— that wouldn’t help me as long as he was turned away from me. Neither would the tell-tale drool from its mouth or its crooked teeth.
He hadn’t seen me, so him wanting to eat me as proof that he was a zombie, was of no use at the moment. I saw no cuts, fatal wounds, and he stood still. I had to admit my knowledge was low and proving useless. I took a chance. I carefully pulled out a knife. My marksmanship was my best military asset. Back in camp, I scored in the top ten consistently.
I got a sense of his distance and judged it to be fifteen yards. I was good with any weapon at up to twenty yards, so he was in my range. With a knife, I can hit a target just outside twenty yards and with a bow and arrow, add another fifty. What I wouldn’t give for a rifle. I never got a chance to see how far away I could be with a scoped-rifle, but my sergeant suggested I try sniper training.
Our army training began with us watching films of zombies eating and chasing people and techniques to combat them. I had followed the manual to date and had always made it a practice to strike them from a distance away. Now, I was near one. I reverted to my training and chose distance.
On the floor near me, I saw overturned clothes racks. I bent down and crawled to one and took a shirt out of its hanger. I crawled back to my cart with it. With a hanger in one hand and a knife in the other, I threw the hanger toward the figure’s right. The man turned toward it and then I saw, he was a zombie.
It wasn’t his growl, he made none. It was his eyes. From where I crouched, the sunlight caught them and they weren’t normal. Besides that, a long bloody scar went down the right side of his face. The scar ran from the top of his head and ended gruesomely at a torn chunk of skin near his neck. I also saw that part of his nose had been eaten.
“Turn around,” I whispered.
I couldn’t take him out the way he faced. My knife was sharp and I knew I could hit him. The problem would be where to hit him. My training led me to believe the perfect spot was between the eyes and it hadn’t let me down yet. I waited.
The zombie mocked me. Why wouldn’t it face me and die like a good zombie? It chose to frustrate me by being slow in its reactions. Katy and Ruthie had been practically elite athletes compared with his movements. The good news is that his demeanor brought me relief in a curious manner. I didn’t fear him as I had my previous encounter. Still, I was cautious. This new world had taught me nothing is at it seems and the next moments would bring the lesson home.
The zombie looked in the direction I threw the hanger. He moved slowly toward it. He stopped. I heard his low howl as he opened his mouth. It was a sound that rose in volume as his mouth widened. In front of him, three more zombies came out of the shadows. These three moved more fluidly than the other. They approached the hanger and looked curiously at it. A sound was made by one to his nearest companion. That one then turned to the next and looking into his face, made the same brief sound. That last zombie turned to the far-off slow zombie and made the same sound. He then repeated the sound. The three zombies turned and walked back into the shadows.
“Oh-my-god!”
I hoped I had whispered my shock, I hadn’t. The slow zombie looked at me and opened his mouth wide. Without hesitation, I leaped up, took aim, and threw my knife into his skull. I hit him before the sound could come out of his mouth.
I bent and breathed a sigh of relief. I killed him before he could warn the others. As I breathed, panic set in. They can communicate. My pulse quickened. I tried drying my sweaty palms on my pants, then reached down into the mess of clothes around me and used some garment as a towel. I washed my face before grabbing my cart and pushing it toward the front doors with caution.
This would be a bad time for the wheels on my cart to start squeaking. I listened to them as I slowly made my way to the front. My cart was full and rode evenly on the store’s smooth surface. Checking all around me like a paranoid schizophrenic, I made it to the door. The store had no power and the glass doors had been busted out long ago. I stepped out first and then lifted my cart over the door’s bottom edge. I was out of the store and nearly home free.
Brittany and I had discussed strategy for today’s shopping adventure. When finished, we would take our cart outside away from the front of the store. The zombies didn’t eat canned food or care about our undies or clothes, so the cart would be safe in the parking lot. I wheeled it a ways off and performed another check of the area for stray zombies.
It was now time to go to work. I grabbed my pack from under the tree and dove into the bottom of the cart. I began my packing with the jerky and penlights first. Then the pack of batteries I found for Brittany’s flashlight, then the clothes. I put in my things followed by Brittany’s and last the others. If I ran out of room, the boys’ clothes would get tossed. I’m not being mean, I’m being practical. This is a new world where looking out for number one is more than a choice, it’s a reality.
On the off chance Brittany is killed, I could wear her clothes, so it made sense to pack them before the others. The last items packed were my knives. I was down to two. I pressed everything in tightly, zipped my pack, and tossed it back under the tree.
I wanted to judge the time of day and looked at the sun for help. This was never my strong suit, I stopped. Throughout the parking lot, I saw cars b
eaten in and bloodied with both red and greenish-black blood. They littered the area and most had collided with one another, few were neatly parked. Broken glass lay in each car. Some had bodies in various degrees of decomposition, though most were empty; their doors wide open in a possible escape attempt.
I hadn’t noticed it before, but at the edge of the lot was an overturned army truck. My heart skipped a beat. M16's, grenades, rocket launchers, and food could all be in the truck. I didn’t hesitate. My feet carried me toward the truck.
A zombie growled inside the store, followed by a scream, a human scream belonging to Brittany. I looked at the storefront and then at the truck. I can only assume it was hyperventilating that happened next, my chest heaved and I felt trapped. A new zombie howl forced my feet into the direction of the store. I ran with reckless abandonment and dived through the broken glass entrance door and rolled along the floor.
I was on my feet quickly and scanning. No zombies were near me. The howling and screams were coming deeper back into the shadows of the store. They were in the direction the three zombies took. I ran toward the area. I know I should have stopped at the registers and searched for a penlight, there was no time. I had to get there before my friends died. I ran straight ahead and was in the food section of the store. The floor was slick in places, I imagined it was blood. Curiosity got the better of me. I stole a glance at my feet to see the multicolored stickiness. Using my limited reasoning skills, I deduced I was in the food section and if it wasn’t blood, it was water and other crap. Probably from freezers going bad that contained my favorite vice, ice cream, Chunky Monkey to be exact. The thought pained me. I pushed it out of my head and continued my mission. Down a long aisle I saw light. The ceiling had partially fallen and the sun shone through. Thank god for small favors.
Past this bright area, I came to a wall. The wall had cut me off from the rest of the food section. I went around looking for a way around it, then I looked up to see if I could get over the top. The wall must have been twenty feet. There was no way I could get over that wall. I continued, frantically looking and then ahead saw shopping carts. They were on each side of an opening. Before fear could stop me, I went between the carts, telling myself my team needed me. Past the carts, I saw shelves with canned goods on them. They must have a shitload of supplies. After another scream, I ran farther in and saw nothing of my friends.
Listening to the sounds of their fighting, I went deeper toward the very back of the store. There I saw my friends, all alive and fighting. Thompson held zombies off with what I imagine were his signature move. Thompson threw cans at two slow zombies, they took a step toward him, then were pushed back by a large can of something. These cans were so big you needed two hands to lift and throw them. Like cannonballs, they flew at their targets.
I left him to it and joined my friends who were in hand-to-hand combat with a team of zombies. Brittany’s screams were not from fear or yelling for help, they were battle screams. She made them as she launched into zombies with her metal pipe. Pride wailed up in me as I watched. My other team member, Jones, was more of a grunter. His grunts were low as he poked and jabbed with broken broomstick handles. When I came alongside them, Jones winked at me, before jabbing a zombie in its eye. He pushed and then pulled his stick back.
“Catch,” said Jones.
“Thanks.” I caught the stick.
“Welcome to the party.”
With my new weapon, I began my charge. The stick was long enough for me to grab it in the center and twirl it. I could hit zombies on my left and right and hold my ground. I moved away from the others for more room. My friends had killed many of the creatures and more poured in.
“Hey,” shouted Charley. “Over here.”
I didn’t see him at first. I went up a little ways and around the corner I heard the zombie screams. I ran up around the corner and there was Charley and more zombies.
Thinking he needed my help, I moved to where he fought two zombies. I took my first whack and got it, but broke my stick. “Oh crap!” I now understood why Jones jabbed and poked, instead of all-out swinging. The zombie moved at my feet. I gathered my strength and with a powerful kick, I put my combat boot through its skull, finishing him.
“Get another one over there.” Charley yelled.
I looked where he pointed and saw the container holding the brooms. I ran for it. I made it, but not before punching a zombie in my path, there was no time to kick it. I went for the brooms. Immediately, I saw them packed in the same box, metal sticks, and wooden sticks. I touched a metal stick and it felt like it was too cheap and thin for the job. I quickly touched a wooden and was satisfied. I grabbed one and untwisted the end while looking up for zombies. I figured I had enough time. I grabbed a second and a third. I carried them all back and lay two at my feet just as more zombies attacked.
My plan was to give Jones back the one I had so recklessly destroyed and used the other as a spare. I looked foolish twirling one broom handle while two others lay between my feet. It didn’t matter, I was on a mission. I shook the nonsense out of my head and went to work. I discovered I could swing carefully and then use the jab method. I did both. Whatever it took to get them to fall, I did. Once on the floor, I jabbed with all my might, directly into their eye sockets. For some, I used a good swift kick.
Charley led me forward toward a set of metal double doors. “If we close those doors, we stop them.”
“All right.”
“Let’s get them.”
“No problem.”
We battled and laid waste to all zombies in our path. We made it to the doors and together shut them. Next to the doors was a metal chain. Charley wrapped the chain around the door handles and I slid my broomstick through them to seal the deal.
We hurried back to help the others. They didn’t need us; they stood victorious with dead zombies at their feet. I was in time to see Thompson finish off the last zombie. He stood over the fallen zombie and smashed its head with one of his giant cans of vegetables.
“Did you get it?” I teased.
“I always do,” said Thompson. His smile was sickening as usual.
“Hey, Zee,” said Brittany, flicking goo off her boots. She walked over to me. “We wondered what happened to you.”
“What happened to me? I finished a year ago. What happened to you?”
Jones turned to me. “You saw it on the way back here, the shopping carts and the wall. This must have been a hideout for people.”
“I don’t see any bodies,” added Thompson. “I guess their zombies.”
“Well, what did you guys find?”
“We got a shopping cart full of stuff back there.” Brittany answered with pride.
“You ladies get the cart,” said Jones. “We are going to take a look in automotive and check firearms.”
“Have fun.”
“Yeah,” said Brittany.
We left to get the cart and get out of the zombie-filled store.
Chapter 10
Brittany and I began the task of navigating the full cart out the store. The cart was so heavy, it almost tipped over twice. I strained to keep it upright. The last test for us would be to get the cart over the door.
“Wait,” I said as we made it to the last register by the door.
“What?”
I went back to the slow-moving zombie and pulled my knife out of its head. I found something to wipe it down with and stuck it in my back pocket. My knife total climbed back to three. Though we had no room for them, I saw a plentiful treat, so I grabbed them and put them in my other back pocket. The world was ending and I wanted a delicacy, what could it hurt?
We struggled to get the cart over the door. In the end, we kicked the bottom out of our way and wheeled our cart out. Under the tree, we went. Brittany grabbed and opened her backpack and handed it to me. She then went back and got Jones’ pack and opened it.
“Get the small canned food first, Zee. Start with the potted meat and then the Vienna sausages.�
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“Okay.” I went to work.
“I’ll get the sardines and a couple cans of salmon for Jones. I’ll put it in his pack so he will be the one carrying it. I’m not carrying them, they are too heavy and I can live without them.”
“Okay.”
We worked in silence for a minute. They had found a whole case of potted meat and another of Vienna. I debated how much of each to put in her bag. My bag was full, but I knew its weight. I could carry more. I went and got my bag and put ten of the potted meat in its folds. After that, I could semi-stack the rest in her pack in a way that wouldn’t look so bulky. I lifted it to fill the weight. It was heavy, but manageable.
“Put more in there,” said Brittany.
She saw my test and didn’t approve. Her look was one I had seen many times at camp. Everyone misjudged her and called her everything from a wallflower to a paper princess. She was beautiful; there is no denying it, even on her ugliest day I couldn’t hold a candle to her beauty. She was, however, much more and had to constantly prove it. She wasn’t a weak female that needed coddling. Often, she would be the first into the fray. I could only assume hitting things gave her power and comforted her.
We loaded our bags and picked up new ones, Thompson’s and Charley’s bags. Not knowing and not wanting to ask what they preferred, I began putting random cans in their packs. Charley had a cloth sack he threw over his shoulder, it couldn’t hold as much as ours. He looked as if he liked vegetables, I put a lot of them in his sack.
Brittany opened Thompson’s pack and carefully stacked cans into it. The pack wasn’t as big as ours, but it held a lot. She put in flip-top soups and others that required no can opener for access. Most of the cart went into our five bags. The few remaining items we could carry or eat as we marched on toward Camp Brandt.
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