Zomb-Pocalypse 2

by Megan Berry

  “Back to the mall,” he says, and my stomach dips at the idea of seeing that place again.

  “I thought you said it was overrun?” Ryan asks, hesitating.

  “We got most of them and, besides, the camping store is still secure, I made sure to lock the gate, and with the bars on the window, we can stay there again tonight without too much worry.”

  I glance at the darkening sky and let out a frustrated sigh. I’d hoped we would’ve made some progress today towards the cabin, but the camping store is our best option right now, and the logical part of me knows we need those supplies.

  We get back to the mall just as dusk fades, turning the sky inky black, and my stomach is a bundle of nerves at the prospect of getting out of the truck to go bumbling around in the dark—but it’s not like I want to spend the night in this gore infected truck either.

  We stare out at the dark shadows the mall casts, and I know none of us are overly eager. “I’ll take the keys,” Silas says suddenly, holding his hand out to Ryan for the keys like he’s a tardy teenage son that can’t be trusted with them.

  I wonder for a moment if Ryan’s going to tell Silas to piss off. After a tense stare down he hands them over, and I relax a bit. Ryan’s a good guy. He knows we have more important fish to fry than a fight with Silas over who gets to hold onto the keys.

  “Let’s go,” Silas says, pocketing the keys and already sliding out of the truck without waiting for us to give the okay. I bite back a growl of frustration and force my stiff muscles to move.

  If I survive this trip through the dark, I might just kill Silas after all.

  Chapter Seven

  As I step out of the truck, the first thing I notice is that the night air has cooled considerably. I draw in a deep breath, then wrinkle my nose as rot and decay fill my nostrils. I’m pretty close to jumping back in the truck and resigning myself to a night spent in the zombie gut hotel, when I remember, belatedly, that Silas and I killed a massive amount of zombies here today. That must be the source of the smell, right?

  Even if I wanted to protest, it’s too late. Silas is already moving forward like a man on a mission. It makes me doubly glad Ryan was driving because he was considerate and parked as close as possible to the entrance of the mall… If it had been Silas, he probably would’ve parked us around the block for shits and giggles. We move at a fast jog and cover the distance quickly. We don’t bother opening the doors. We just step over the broken glass that the zombies knocked out when they breached the mall earlier. Our boots make loud crunching sounds on the glass, and I break into a sweat as I imagine that the noise is drawing every zombie for a quarter mile.

  Silas snaps on his flashlight, and my stomach does a triple flip. It’s not that I’m a fan of stumbling around in the dark, but the light is a beacon that doesn’t leave much guess work for the zombies.

  “Silas,” I hiss, and he looks at me, making me want to shake him and yell don’t look at me, look for zombies. “Do you think that light is a good idea?” I ask forgoing the dramatics, and he lets out a snort.

  “You really want to go feeling around in the dark Blondie?” he asks in a tone that somehow makes me feel foolish. This is a bit of a rock and a hard place situation.

  “Let’s just hurry up,” I mutter, choosing to ignore him all together.

  My gun shakes a little in my hand as we move quietly, but quickly, through the mall. We hear a moan from somewhere deep in the building and freeze, straining our ears, though I find it hard to hear anything over the loud pounding of my own heart. The zombie moans again, but it doesn’t sound very close, and it’s not the excited moan of a zombie that’s spotted someone tasty to eat.

  We pass the fountain and, as Silas’s light sweeps over the area, I see several bodies bobbing lifelessly back and forth in the stagnant water. Ryan sees it too and puts his hand protectively on the small of my back. They aren’t splashing around and raising hell, so I assume they are the zombies that Silas took out when he tried to save Ryder.

  We reach the imposing metal gate that separates the camping store from the rest of the mall, and I’m relieved that it’s still intact. I’m surprised to see Silas pull a large set of keys from his pocket, rather than his lock picking set.

  “Where’d you get those?” I ask, staring at the jumble of keys.

  “I found ‘em in the truck’s cup holder, those assholes took the keys with them when they left,” Silas mutters as he begins the daunting task of trying to find the right key.

  I feel slightly less bad for the people that stole our truck. Not only did they steal our truck and leave us stranded, but they didn’t even leave Ryder with access to most of the mall.

  I turn back to Ryan as he fans his flashlight across our surroundings; this is the most critical time. If we have to run now, we will be running blind through a mall full of zombies, with no safe zone. Everything seems deserted though, and it’s a creepy feeling, waiting to be attacked is actually worse than just getting it over with.

  I’m so relieved when I hear the lock click, and Silas starts to slide the gate open. “Hurry up,” Silas prompts us, in agitation, and I’m so excited to be done with this day that I don’t even mind his bossy tone. Silas shuts the gate behind us and locks it up tight.

  I finally feel like I can breathe again when I hear the heavy steel gate settle firmly back into place. My body is begging for me to fall into my sleeping bag and sleep for a solid twelve hours, but I can’t sleep like this. I’m covered head to toe in zombie grime and sweat. I walk towards the middle of the store where the display tent is set up and drop my backpack beside a couple camping chairs and a display camp fire.

  “I’m gonna go wash these guts off my face,” I tell the guys, turning on my own flashlight as I head towards the back of the store where, yesterday, I’d checked out an employee bathroom that didn’t look too bad.

  I pass through the ladies section and grab a change of clothes. It’s a camping store, but they still have clothes, and they’re the kind you wear hiking because they are rough and durable. In other words, they’re perfect for the zombie apocalypse. I grab a thick pair of socks, heavy blue jeans, a pink flannel shirt, and a tan vest with about a hundred pockets that I just know will come in handy.

  I find the bathroom without too much trouble and barricade myself in the small, cube-shaped room. There isn’t a shower, but there is a relatively clean toilet and sink with a small mirror.

  The first thing I do is kick off my boots and let out a giant sigh of relief when my aching feet hit the cool linoleum floor. Being this close to a toilet reminds me quickly of my aching bladder, and I have to squeeze my legs together to keep from peeing my pants as I hobble towards the toilet. I’ve been holding my bladder for the last few hours, and that’s no easy thing to do with flesh eating zombies literally nipping at your heels.

  I sigh as I stare at the swirly pattern on the floor. This is a rare occasion for me, to have this time alone and not have to worry about zombies attacking.

  I stand up and kick my jeans off into a pile on the floor, then I peel off my socks—that are more like a second skin with the amount of sweat I’ve poured into them today. I pull my crusty hoody over my head, wincing when doing so rubs some hardened, nasty gunk against my chin.

  The shirt I’m wearing underneath isn’t stained, but it is sweaty and smells like B.O, so I peel it off too and stand in my bra and undies, shivering. I quickly wash my hands in the sink, and the icy water makes my skin break out in goose pimples. The water swirling in the bottom of the drain is black, and I frown as I scrub hard beneath my nails to get off all the dirt and blood caked underneath.

  At this point I could probably infect myself with the zombie virus with just an accidental scratch.

  I throw on the thick socks and new jeans to help ward off the cold, but I leave the shirt off for now because I have a lot of gore to scrub off my face.

  There is a hard, half-used bar of soap, but nothing else to wash with, so I scoop up my old t-sh
irt and dip it into the water, bending over the sink as I begin to scrub at the back of my neck and, especially, my ear. I’m very careful not to get any of the infectious crap in my eyes or mouth, but I still grimace when the cold water runs into my ear and starts to loosen up some of the crusted zombie paraphernalia. I poke a hesitant finger inside my ear canal and dig out a congealed black lump that has a booger-like consistency. I almost barf as I flick it down into the water and watch it swirl slowly towards the drain. Chunks rise up in my throat, but I force them back down as I vow to never again get myself into a situation where zombie guts can get anywhere near my ears.

  I shiver thinking about how I went through half my day like this. The reflection scrubbing away in the mirror is gaunt and pale, and there are big bags under her eyes. I’m barely recognizable as the blonde, carefree cheerleader I was.

  I spend fifteen minutes scrubbing my face before shoving my whole head underneath the tiny faucet and scrubbing my hair with the bar of soap. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing; my diva days are well behind me. I don’t have a towel, so I use handfuls of paper towel from the dispenser to pat my hair dry. I worry for a split second about the environmental impact of using so much paper—a remnant of my old life—but it sure as hell doesn’t matter now.

  I chuck the massive handful of paper in the garbage and practically dive inside the soft flannel shirt. I zip the vest up to my chin and shove my hands in the pockets. I start to warm up right away. I stare down at my old clothes and decide they aren’t worth saving, not splattered with zombie guts, with a whole store at my disposal. I reach down and unhook my weapons belt from my old jeans and fasten it back onto my hip. The weight feels comforting and familiar. I kick the rest of the clothes into a pile in the corner so they won’t be in the way if the guys need to use the bathroom. It might be the apocalypse, but I’m not a complete slob.

  I grab the flashlight off the sink and head back out into the store. The cool air hits me right away, and my wet hair makes me shiver. Thanks to the stupid zombies smashing the windows out, the store is several degrees colder than it would have been. I grab the first knitted hat I see, and I shove the plain black beanie on to cover up my wet hair. I’m sure I won’t be winning any modelling awards, but oh yeah, everyone is dead so I guess it doesn’t really matter.

  Once my head isn’t giving away all my body heat, I slow down and take my time. I’m not in any rush to go cram myself into a tiny tent between Ryan and Silas, so I wander up and down the aisles shining my light along the rows of stuff, slowly filling my never-ending vest pockets.

  I find a small, plastic compass attached to a keychain and loop it through my vest’s zipper. I have no idea if I’ll ever need it, but it pays to be prepared. I find a display of lighters and add one to three different pockets, then some gum, a Swiss army knife, and a fork that folds up in itself and doubles as a spoon.

  Something catches my eye next to all the enamel camping dishes. I shine my light on a package of MREs. I’ve heard about these before. My Dad was a big reader, anything about the military, and these boxes are actually individually packed meals that can even be heated without the use of a stove or fire. I grab three individual boxes off the shelf and carry them back to the tent with me.

  “What you got there?” Silas asks when I get close. He’s sitting in one of the camp chairs with a kerosene lantern in front of him like it’s his campfire.

  “MREs,” I say, feeling proud of myself.

  “No way,” Silas says, sitting up and holding his hand out for me to pass him one.

  “Way,” I can’t resist saying, and he shakes his head at me, though there is a ghost of a smile on his lips that he’s trying pretty hard to hide. I look around to give Ryan his share and realize that he isn’t here. “Where’s Ryan?” I ask, feeling a flare of panic in my chest. I have to force myself to calm down. There is no way Ryan would take off on me again.

  “Don’t worry, lover boy just went to the bathroom,” Silas mocks, sensing my panic, and I flip my middle finger up at him, which only makes him laugh.

  I sit down beside Silas and watch as he expertly peels his dinner apart, adding the salt to start the chemical reaction that heats the meal. “This is pretty amazing,” I murmur as I copy his movements and, for once, Silas doesn’t have a smart ass comment.

  As soon as I open my entrée pouch, I can smell the delicious scent of beef stew. I burn my tongue, but it barely slows me down. This is one of the best tasting things I can remember eating in weeks. “We need more of these before we go,” I tell Silas around a huge mouthful of chunky carrot and beef cubes, and he actually grins at me.

  Ryan still isn’t back, but I’m starting to fade fast. “I’m gonna hit the hay,” I tell Silas, and he nods, not looking up from his kerosene lamp.

  “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, I’ll probably join you,” he says, and I look at him sharply, but then give my head a shake. He obviously didn’t mean it like that.

  “Night,” I mumble as I rush off into the tent, glad the darkness is hiding my stupid girly blush.

  I strip off my vest and debate leaving my holsters on, but after trying to lie down with the butt of my pistol poking me in the hip, I give up and take it off. Though I make sure to keep the gun within easy reach.

  I crawl into my sleeping bag and take a deep breath. The night air is cool, and there’s a definite nip to it. I hear Ryan come back to the tent and listen as Silas stays up with him while he eats his MRE. I fall asleep quickly, listening to the low murmur of their voices.

  It feels like my head just hit the pillow, when I wake up. I hear a quiet snore coming from Ryan, and it feels like a time warp. Wasn’t he just outside? Silas is also in the tent to my left, though he is still and silent. I hear a wailing moan pierce the quiet night and realize that’s what woke me to begin with.

  Zombies.

  I struggle to sit up and look around. I glance over at Ryan, but he’s asleep. So I turn to Silas instead and find him looking back at me.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper, not sure if I should be preparing for battle or going back to sleep.

  “Zombies outside the store. They’re at the window, but they can’t get past the bars,” Silas assures me. “The damn things have been moaning and groaning for the last ten minutes,” he says, and I’m concerned that I managed to sleep through it as long as I did.

  “You’re sure they can’t get in?” I ask, feeling a prickle of doubt start to nag at my subconscious.

  “Yeah, remember when they tried to get in last time and broke the glass? They couldn’t get past the bars then, and it sounds like there are only a couple of them.”

  “Okay,” I sigh and lay back down, but I can’t go to sleep knowing they are out there.

  Silas lays there for another ten minutes, and we listen to their moans in silence before he throws back his sleeping bag and slips from the tent without a word to me. I sit up and stare after his retreating back. Should I go after him?

  The moans get louder; the zombies must have spotted Silas. I hear the faint retort of his muzzled pistol, and one by one the moans get less and less until everything is completely quiet once again.

  I hear some rustling and then a large shadow fills the entrance of the tent, and I let out a squeak.

  “It’s just me,” Silas says as he zips the tent back up and gets back into his bag.

  “Thanks,” I murmur, but he only grunts in response.

  The next time I wake up, it feels a little warmer and there is sunlight streaming through the thin tent walls. I open my eyes and see my breath billowing white from my mouth—not that much warmer, apparently.

  I struggle to sit up and wonder why nobody woke me. My eyes land on Silas’s side of the tent, and I freeze. They didn’t wake me up because they’re still sleeping. Silas is sprawled out, shirtless, his sleeping bag pushed down to his waist like he’s oblivious to the cold. I don’t mean to look, but my eyes are drawn to his tattooed arms. He has a large dragon tattoo
on his upper arm and shoulder, and the tail curves down his shoulder blade towards his chest. I follow it and discover another tattoo over his ribs. My eyes travel to his well-defined abdomen and the little trail of hair under his belly button that disappears into the sleep bag. I realize that I’m being a creep, and jerk my eyes hastily away from him and concentrate on putting my vest back on.

  “Did you get enough sleep?” Silas asks, and I blush beet red; he was awake.

  I clear my throat. “It was alright,” I say, striving to sound casual as I stand up and grab my belt. I unzip the tent and beat a hasty retreat, stopping outside the tent to quickly loop it on.

  I hear a rustle and wince, of course Silas is following me out.

  “Morning sleepyhead,” Ryan says, and I spin to find him standing between a row of shelves with an armful of supplies. I feel a rush of guilt that I didn’t even notice he wasn’t in the tent.

  “Hey,” I say and rush forward to help. I grab a couple of the fishing rods. “These are a good idea,” I tell him, since it is. We are going to a cabin with a lake. Fresh fish will be a great way to keep from starving. I was never a huge fan of fish before, but I’m more realistic now. I’ll eat whatever keeps the hunger at bay.

  “You two slept late,” Ryan says, obviously not done with the previous topic. I walk away to set the rods over by the rest of the supplies we have stacked up, not looking at Silas.

  “Zombies kept us up,” Silas mutters, and I hear Ryan let out a surprised sound in the back of his throat.

  “I didn’t hear a thing,” he says.

  “Six of them were at the front window last night—I took care of them,” Silas says, and Ryan walks over to the front of the store and peeks out the bars at the carnage.

  “Shit, sorry man, you should’ve woke me up,” he says, and I finally peek at Silas just in time to see him shrug.

  “Blondie was awake. I could have asked her for some back up if I’d needed it.”