by Megan Berry
A lump forms in my throat. I know I’m not really mad at him, at least not until he’s back here safe and sound—then I’ll let him have it!
“We need a plan,” I tell Silas, watching him lean over the edge to examine his handy work with the AR-15. I wrinkle my nose at the smell. Zombies smell bad enough on the outside, but their insides are even worse. My eyes water at the smell of their liquefied, rotting guts mixed with old, crusted bowel odor.
“I have a plan,” Silas says in true, surly Silas fashion. I look at him expectantly. I might be mad at him, but that doesn’t mean his plan won’t be a good one.
“We lure them over here and shoot them,” he says, and I send him a bitter smile.
“That easy?” I ask, and he nods.
“We’re going to need a lot more ammo, and I think we should attract them away from the doors—at the back against the brick would be the best. I don’t want them smashing in here.”
My heart jumps into my throat. “How could they?” I ask, thinking about the group that was living here incident free for the last couple weeks.
“There’s a lot of them, if they concentrated their efforts, I don’t know if it would hold,” Silas says, talking as he walks over to the back of the mall, bringing the AR-15 and tripod with him. “It’s hard to shoot straight down, so hopefully I will be able to get most of them before they’re directly underneath us.” He sets the gun up as casually as if he was at the shooting range for a little bit of practice. Then he stands up on the edge of the roof, making my stomach clench with anxiety.
“What are you doing?” I demand, resisting the urge to pull him down off the ledge, but he ignores me, of course.
“Hey you assholes!” Silas shouts, making my mouth fall open in shock. My pulse sky rockets as at least seventy-five pairs of eyes snap in our direction. Moving as one, the horde shifts direction and heads our way. Silas waves his arms and continues to yell.
“I hate you!” he shouts, jumping up and down.
He climbs back down calmly and looks at me. “We have to hurry, we only have ten or fifteen minutes before they get here.” I make an effort to close my gaping mouth, but I can’t peel my eyes away from Silas. He just let a whole lot of crazy slip out, and now he’s back to his old self like nothing happened.
“Come on!” he yells at me, turning at a jog and running towards the door. “We’re gonna need a lot more ammo.”
We reach the store, and I’m already sweating, partly from the harrowing run down the stairs, and partly because I know we are about to get battered with more zombies than I’ve ever seen.
“Grab a basket, we’ll just throw stuff in and separate it when we get back upstairs.” Silas commands, springing into action.
I take a minute to strap on my backpack in case things go bad. I really need to get in the habit of wearing it all the time, just in case. Then my icy fingers are snagging a bright red shopping basket, and Silas is recklessly throwing boxes of bullets and spare magazines inside.
“Get some handguns too,” Silas shouts at me. “Now!” he yells when I stare at him blankly.
I rush forward and grab two shiny pistols that are exactly the same; it will probably be easier not to drag around a bunch of different caliber bullets.
I hold them up to show Silas and he grunts, which I take to mean I did a satisfactory job.
“That’s a Glock, nice choice. You’re going to need the .45 bullets,” Silas says, showing me red ammo boxes with an Eagle on the top.
I hastily throw them in the basket as the first zombie hits the window. I let out a squeak but don’t actually scream.
“Damn,” Silas mutters when more join the first. They beat against the window until the glass shatters, falling to the ground with a tinkle that is almost drowned out by their moans.
The metal bars stop them from coming further into the store, which I am grateful for, but I know that not every store has this added protection.
“Let’s go,” Silas calls out loudly to be heard over the moaning. He picks up the basket, making his muscles bulge with the weight.
He doesn’t stop to see if I will follow as he races for the gate, drawing his gun from his hip as he runs.
I pull mine out too, my stomach churning in fear. Please don’t let these monsters be inside the mall! I pray fervently as I chase after his retreating back.
Silas stops just long enough to pull the gate across the camping store, protecting it from any zombies that might get inside the main mall, and then he’s racing down the middle of the mall. I can hear moans coming from inside a few of the stores.
Oh God.
I hope the metal anti-theft gates will be enough to keep them inside the stores. A zombie staggers out from one of the stores that doesn’t have a gate and Silas runs right into him.
The zombie lets out a growl as he’s thrown to the floor. Silas follows him down hard, spilling the contents of his basket as he falls. “Crap!” I yell as I point my pistol at the zombie who’s struggling to get back on his feet.
A slight pop rents the air, and the zombie’s brains dribble out a hole in the back of his head.
I look down at my gun, wondering if I accidentally pulled the trigger without realizing it, but that’s just crazy. I could never be uncertain about the kick back of the pistol; it both terrifies and exhilarates me when I shoot it.
“Jane, get down!” Silas yells, and I hit the ground without question. On my way down I catch a glimpse of him, sprawled on the ground, gun up and at the ready. I hear a snarl and another pop, and then a massive weight falls on top of me from behind and I feel like I’m being smothered.
I stiffen in terror and let out a scream as I try and claw my way out from underneath the zombie. I expect to feel the horrible bite at any moment, but as I keep struggling, it doesn’t come. It must be the zombie Silas shot, I try to reassure myself, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
I hear the rapid succession of more gun shots, and something cold and wet that can only be zombie ooze leaks onto the back of my neck.
I start to hyperventilate beneath the oppressive weight of the rotting carcass, and when the cold, wet grossness creeps along my neck and I feel it enter my ear—I vomit.
I feel something grab my ankle mid puke, and I scream, but that only makes me start to choke on my own chunks.
I’m dragged coughing and retching, out from beneath the zombie. I look up, expecting to see a flesh eating monster baring its chipped teeth at my leg, but it’s Silas. He stands there holding my leg for a second, looking dumbfounded when he sees me, and I can imagine that I’m quite the sight covered in zombie gore and vomit.
“Did you just puke underneath that zombie?” Silas asks, his mouth quirking up at the corners, and I tug my leg from his hands and struggle to my feet, eying the zombie that had trapped me. He’s huge, like firemen probably had to cut him out through a wall, huge!
“Let’s just go,” I mutter, resisting the urge to take a kick at the bloated corpse of my captor. I shiver when I feel the zombie crud settle more firmly inside my ear drum, thank you gravity, and my hearing is muffled like I’ve dipped my head under water—or, more accurately, zombie guts.
I want to freak out, scream, stomp my feet and, most importantly, race to the bathroom and promptly rip my own ear off and throw it into a bucket of bleach– possibly light it on fire, but Silas is already scooping up the spilled basket and running off, and my legs grudgingly follow.
We’ve almost reached the stairwell when we hear the screams. I skid to a stop, but Silas keeps going.
“Silas!” I call out, knowing full well he heard it too. If I can hear it with my ear full of goop, he heard it for sure.
“Jane,” Silas says, turning back to me, and I know in my very marrow that he isn’t going to help.
“It’s our fault they broke in here. I’m going.” I say, turning around and dropping my basket as I start off in the direction of the screams, but Silas grabs my arm.
“No,” he pushes t
he heavy shopping basket loaded down with ammo into my arms and gives me a push towards the stairs. “I’ll go check it out. You head upstairs and try to draw them towards the back like we planned.”
I want to argue with Silas, but he’s already running towards the noise. I watch his retreating back for a minute before springing into action.
Keeping more zombies out of the mall is probably the most important thing right now. I’m sweating and tired by the time I reach the top of the stairs; this basket probably weighs twenty lbs. My legs shake, but I force myself to keep running towards the back end of the mall. I set the basket down with a thud and lean over the edge to see what I’m dealing with.
A lot of the zombies did end up where we wanted, only a few rogue zombies wandered off on their own to crash the front windows. I take a quick moment to swipe my hand across my ear. It comes away wet and black, and I wipe it on my pants as I pull my gun off my hip.
“Hey!” I yell, making several zombies look up and moan hungrily. I try to take careful aim before I squeeze the trigger, but I miss my first shot. The zombie beside the one I was aiming for takes the slug in the chest, but stays upright.
It’s difficult to shoot downward, so I aim a little further to the back of the crowd. My next shot hits its target, a female zombie with muddy blond hair sticking up in every direction.
I miss the next shot, but I hit the next zombie. It continues like this until my gun runs out of bullets and I have to reload it. I take a minute to look over my shoulder to see if there’s any sign of Silas, but he hasn’t shown up yet. I get a sick knot in my stomach and pray that my demands don’t get him killed. I shake it off pretty quickly though. If, in this entire apocalypse, I have faith in any one person’s ability to survive—it’s Silas.
My hands are trembling as I finish reloading my gun, so I shake them out before picking the pistol up again. When I do, I take deep, steady breaths, and this time I shoot a little better than fifty percent. I load the pistol for the third time, noticing that the barrel is starting to feel warm.
I fire the next fifteen rounds into the crowd and count eleven take downs. I feel pretty impressed with myself, but I know if I was in a situation where I didn’t have time to sit and line them up so carefully, my numbers would be much lower.
The end of the gun has heated up even more, and I don’t want to be responsible for wrecking it, so I grab the Glock from the shopping basket. It’s different than my nine millimeter, but similar enough that I figure out how to load it with the .45 ammo.
I take aim and am surprised at how much more of a recoil it has. It also doesn’t have a silencer, and the crack of the pistol makes me jump. I hear it echo back to me and worry about how many zombies might hear it. I miss the first shot because I wasn’t expecting it to be so different. I brace myself the next time my finger squeezes the trigger and smile when a zombie goes down like a bag of hammers.
“Good shootin,” Silas drawls from behind my shoulder, and I almost drop my gun off the roof.
“You scared me,” I accuse, turning around and feeling relief when I see a pale, shaking Ryder standing a few feet away.
Silas winks, and I send him a smile that I hope conveys how much I appreciate what he did.
“You’ve thinned them out pretty good, Blondie,” Silas says, surveying my handy work, and I feel a glow of satisfaction in my chest at his praise. “Now it’s time to finish them off,” Silas says, getting in behind the AR-15. I hand him a magazine, and he snaps it in.
The sound of round after round chambering is a sweet one as the zombies start to fall. I quickly stuff another magazine for Silas and leave it beside him.
I look for Ryder, who’s still pale and shaking. He’s walked a few feet away and sat down on an upturned milk crate.
“You okay?” I ask, walking towards him, and he jumps like I spooked him.
Ryder doesn’t say anything. He just nods his head, his eyes looking off vacantly, and I have the distinct impression that he’s mad at us for ever coming here. The mall is pretty much ruined now.
I want to tell him that this could have happened at any time, but Silas’ gun is empty and I know he’s going to need more magazines filled.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, patting him on the shoulder as I turn and jog back to Silas, who’s cutting a huge swathe through the zombies with the automatic weapon. He’s not really aiming, more pointing at head level and letting loose.
I kneel down and start loading magazines while Silas keeps dishing out a little justice for the human race. We fall into a pretty good routine, though my fingers are starting to get sore, and I’d imagine that Silas’ trigger finger must be getting numb.
Out of the corner of my eye, I sense Ryder get up and come stand behind us.
“Do you want to take a turn loading ammo?” I ask, turning to look at him just as he lunges at me. I dive out of the way on adrenaline fueled instinct, and Ryder trips over the knee-high wall and scratches at thin air.
He doesn’t even try to catch himself. I reach for him, but it’s too late.
“Ryder!” I scream, looking over the edge just in time to see him hit the ground with a dull thud.
Silas stops shooting and joins me looking over the edge.
“What the hell happened?” Silas demands, but I can only shake my head. I have no idea why Ryder did that. I turn and press my face into Silas’ chest, and he puts his arms around me. I don’t want to see the zombies attack him, I can only hope that he died on impact.
“Holy shit, he’s getting up!” Silas exclaims, making my blood run cold. I know I don’t want to see this, but I peel my face out of Silas’ shirt and look anyway.
Chapter Five
Ryder staggers to his feet. Even crazier than getting up from a twenty-foot nosedive off the roof, is the fact that the zombies aren’t attacking him.
I lean forward to get a closer look, and Silas clutches at the back of my hoodie, probably afraid I’ll be the next one off the roof. “He’s a zombie,” I say when I get a good look at his blank eyes and broken bones sticking out at odd angles, and my mouth hangs open in shock. “Did the fall kill him, and he turned that fast?” I ask, even though I know Silas doesn’t have the answers.
“Maybe when you die the zombie infection takes over, and you come back like that?” Silas suggests, and it’s a grim thought until I remember Kyle’s mother.
“No. I don’t think so,” I say with a frown. “Before we met up with you, we went to a house where the woman had killed herself in the garage.” Remembering Kyle is like a bucket of cold water getting dumped down my icy spine. “She didn’t turn,” I say quietly.
Silas looks relieved to hear it. “He must have turned on the roof, that’s why he was grabbing for you, and that’s why he was clumsy enough to fall off the roof,” he says and then frowns. “That sonofabitch. I asked him if he got bit, and he lied to my face!” Silas looks mad enough to spit nails, and I can see his point. Ryder put us all in danger, but I still feel the need to defend our would-be zombie murderer.
“Silas, you shouldn’t talk like that about the dead.” I say, feeling pity more than anger towards Ryder. He was probably terrified and didn’t want Silas to shoot him while he still had a pulse.
I reflect for a moment about how awful it would be to die alone, or even with a bunch of strangers. It makes me think about Ryan. “Let’s finish up,” I say with a fresh flood of determination. I get up and go back to my position, reloading Silas’ magazines with the AR-15 cartridges.
It doesn’t take much longer to clear out the zombies. I watch them fall one by one and feel nothing until he shoots Ryder, and then I have to look away.
“That’s the last of them, Blondie,” Silas says proudly, standing up and stretching, making his back pop loudly.
“Good,” I say, getting up as well. Spending the last hour crouched on the cold cement hasn’t done me any favors, and I need to stay limbered up for our venture back down through the mall.
The thought of fi
ghting our way through the mall makes me tired just thinking about it, but we need to find Ryan, so I put on a brave face.
Silas digs two flashlights out of his pack and hands me one. “The staircase is going to be dark, and I don’t know if those things can climb,” he says, making me feel even more daunted by the task at hand.
I chuck the Glock and spare ammo into my pack, feeling the added weight settle not just on my back, but around my heart. I hand Silas the other one, and he packs it and his share of the ammo into his own bag. He also throws in the spare magazines for the AR-15 and then hefts the AR up onto his shoulder, leaving his pistol at his belt.
“Ready to go Rambo?” I ask, and Silas chuckles.
“Born ready,” he quips, throwing the door to the staircase open and stepping back in case zombies surge out. “There were at least ten beating against the bottom door the last time I came through,” he warns when we see that the stairwell is clear all the way down.
The stairs are empty, the concrete thankfully doesn’t leave any places to hide. We reach the bottom without incident and pause to listen outside the door.
“I don’t hear anything,” I whisper, and Silas nods, bringing the AR-15 up to his shoulder and motioning for me to open the door.
I pull the door open and jump behind Silas, and the rifle goes off as soon as I’m clear. The sound is deafening against the concrete. Silas takes a step back, and I get ready to retreat back up the stairs. I want to look over his shoulder and see what’s going on, but the empty casings are being flung from the gun and I don’t want to get hit in the face.
The shooting stops and I pop my head around Silas’ shoulder, ready for hand-to-hand combat if I have to, but we are the only ones around. I count four zombies on the ground. “Where did the rest go?” I ask in a quiet voice, and Silas shrugs.
“They might have followed our gunfire back outside earlier, or they could be in the mall somewhere still,” he suggests, and I liked his first idea better.
“What now?” I ask, keeping my eyes alert and scanning the area. I don’t like the mall anymore. There are too many places for the dead to lurk.