The Dark Times: A Zombie Novel

by Dane Hatchell

  The Asian man looked back and nodded. He had slowed the van to a near crawl. Angie imagined so as to not call attention, but with Rico riding a Harley behind them, she didn’t see what difference it would make at this point.

  “Shouldn’t we go faster? Rico’s bike’s going to have them coming for us,” Angie said.

  The driver must have thought so, too. The van immediately picked up speed and turned down a side street that led them away from the parking lot and main entrance.

  “How the hell are we even supposed to get in there?” Angie gasped. “There’s got to be a hundred of those things.”

  “More than that, sugar bear.” Q ran his fingers over his dreads, clearly not fazed by the mob of corpses eager to get inside the store. “At least that’s what this Sarah lady says. She’s good with numbers, or some shit.”

  “Whatever.” Angie exhaled loudly and shook her head. “That can’t be good. What, those things outside outnumber those inside by how many? Ten to one? More than that? They’ll overrun us.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Angie.” Q leaned forward and put his arm around her. He picked up a radio on the floorboard and keyed the microphone. “Hey, we’re back. Let’s get the party started.” Q turned his attention back to Angie. “It’s cool. Trust me. We got just about everything we need in that place. It’s a freakin’ fort. Locked down to the ground!”

  “I don’t know. You’ve only been there a few days. You don’t really know what can happen. Wait—what’s that noise? I hear horns!”

  “That’s part of the plan. The guys know we’re here and they’re using air horns to get them zombies’ attention. Keep them distracted until we sneak our way in.”

  The driver pointed at something as they rounded the building to the backside of the store. He spoke, but his words weren’t coherent enough to understand. At least not at first. Not until Angie saw what he pointed at. A man stood on the roof of the store with a two-way-radio in his hand.

  The rear of the store had vehicles parked to form a wall protecting the large rollup door to the unloading dock. As the van drew closer, the man on the roof brought the radio up to his mouth. A Chevy SUV near the corner of the wall moved out of the way, leaving enough space for the van to enter. A moment later the rollup door began to open. Another person, a black woman in a dirty sundress, stepped out onto the landing and waved the van over. She, too, had a radio in hand. She talked into it briefly and then handed it to a young white girl inside the building.

  Once the van passed the wall of vehicles, the Chevy SUV quickly moved back in place to seal it shut.

  “See, we got it on lock, just like I said.” Q leaned back against his seat and grinned. “Nothin’ to worry about. We got out. They wait for us to get back. Easy moneys, yo.”

  “What about them?”

  “What, the dead out front?” Quin chuckled. “Those things are dumb as dirt. They’re so worked up about that front door that they don’t have time to even consider checking out the back. You might say we got some mannequins and shit in the windows to use as bait to keep the zombies there.”

  “But the doors up front—with that many zombies out there, won’t they eventually break in?”

  “Nah….” Q waved a dismissive hand. “If they get too rowdy, we can just trick ’em same as we did at the drug store. Use the van to lead ’em away. Then come back.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, most definitely,” Q said. “We done it a time or two before.”

  “You have?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “If you’ve done it a time or two before, then why the hell are there so many?”

  “I don’t know, ho. I ain’t no big thinker. I guess ’cause we can’t draw all of them away with the van. You saw how a few dead heads stuck around back at the drug store when Bruce Lee up there tricked ’em out.”

  “Yeah…”

  “Well, yeah nothin’.” Q tightened his lips into a tight O. “That’s just how it works, you feel? We lead them out, but not all of them go. Since they got mad numbers on their side, no matter how slow the van goes to draw them away, there are a lot that linger around. After a while, they go back to the door. Moaning and whining like the little bitches they are. And thus the game begins again, you feel?”

  “So, they just gather up again?”

  “They… know,” the Asian man said in piss-poor English.

  “What?” Angie asked, the van coming to a stop at the open door.

  The woman in the sundress stepped up to the van and opened the doubled doors at the back. Without even a concerned greeting, or a ‘fuck you,’ she began digging through the bags of drugs. Once she had her hands full, she was gone, disappearing back into the store. A young white man who moved the SUV chased after her.

  “Bruce Lee is right.” Q stretched his arms, preparing to step out the van. “They know we’re in here. I don’t know how they know, but they do. Somehow, after leading them away, they come back. It’s like they can sense us inside.”

  “Really? They didn’t act that way so much at the drug store. It’s like they forgot about us after the van led them away.”

  “I don’t know how them dead thing’s minds work. Maybe if enough zombies gather in an area, other zombies can sense that and come looking for dinner. Maybe they like magnets, and as the magnet gets bigger, it has a stronger draw.” Q unassed himself from the seat. “No more talking. We got shit to do, girl.” He rudely climbed over her to get out of the van and didn’t offer a hand to help her.

  Angie stepped out of the van just as Rico dismounted the Harley.

  ***

  Rico watched the Chevy SUV pull out from the wall of vehicles and followed slowly behind the van into the shade of the loading dock. A woman in a sundress immediately stepped over, opened the rear door of the van, and started scrounging through the goods. He parked the Harley to the side and hit the stop to kill the thump thump of the engine.

  Welcoming committee of one, he thought. That could indicate that there weren’t many survivors holed up in the store. Unless, of course, others hid somewhere with crosshairs of rifle scopes aimed at his chest. He set the Harley on the stand and looked around the large room for snipers.

  The woman pulled out several bags from the van and gave him a nonchalant glance as she hurried inside the store. Rico was ready to introduce himself but watched in disbelief with his mouth opened. He wasn’t expecting to be received with hugs and kisses, but the way she acted was downright rude. The guy who moved the SUV raced past him.

  Q and Angie were having a discussion inside the van but he couldn’t hear what about. Was Q hitting on Angie? Were they talking about him? Rico shook it off and told himself not to be so paranoid.

  A door on the van opened. A long, black leg exited as the foot searched and found solid ground. Q eased himself out. He turned to face Rico with crossed arms and a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Angie followed, wearing a none-too-pleased expression.

  “Are you people out of your fucking mind?” Rico pointed toward the front of the building. “It’s only a matter of time before those things find a way into this place.”

  “Leave it to the Five-O to stress, bro.” Q rolled his eyes. “We cool!”

  “No,” Rico said. “We are not cool. Not with that many of those things out there just itching to get in!”

  “Keep your voice down, bro. If you so worried about the situation, you sure don’t act like it.” Q stiffened his back.

  “Angie?” Rico said in a softer voice, his eyebrows lifted.

  Before Angie could say anything, Q put his arm around her and pulled her closely. “One big happy family, yo.”

  Angie turned her gaze to the ground, then back at Rico. “They did save our lives.”

  Rico pressed his lips together and held his mouth shut. This was no time to show his ass and make a bunch of enemies. He needed to stay in control and not call too much attention to himself.

  The Asian man hopped out the driver si
de door and joined them. His arms were loaded down with supplies from the cab. He nodded toward the back of the van and muttered something in his native tongue.

  “Yeah, yeah, Bruce Lee,” Q said. “I hear ya.” Looking to Rico, he said, “Look, bro. You just got here. After you spend a night or two, you’ll see this place is legit. We could use an extra hand scavenging for gear on the outside. With all them dead heads you had scattered in the pharmacy, I know you got this bag. You feel?”

  “I don’t know,” Rico said. “Most of those you saw were stragglers. I was able to win those battles, but you saw what happened when we got severely out numbered. This place is even worse.”

  “Come on, dawg.” Q whipped his dreads back and forth, then ran his fingers over them. “Just a few nights. You look like hell. You could use some rest. Take advantage of our hospitality.”

  Rico sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, this much was true. He was exhausted.

  “Okay, then.” Q nodded. “Then it’s settled. If you don’t want to stay here, that’s cool. Stick with us for a while and decide then. For now, get some rest. Do a few runs with Bruce Lee and me. Then you and your girlfriend can be on your way. You can even take what you can carry in supplies. We got guns and ammunition. You can even trade your bike for one of the cars in the parking lot if you want.”

  Rico thought of the empty gun pressing against the small of his back. If he did decide to leave, he needed to do it on good terms. They might not be as willing to share if they didn’t like him.

  “I’m not Rico’s girlfriend. We’re not even what you would call dating. I’m not anybody’s girlfriend,” Angie said.

  The words slapped Rico like a lead weight—taken aback by the unexpected statement. He just hoped it hadn’t showed. Why did she feel she needed to clarify this now? Sure, it was true. They weren’t dating. Hell, they didn’t even know each other. And what he knew of her wasn’t that great. A prostitute junkie who admitted she couldn’t be trusted. Suddenly that first night of mayhem seemed like lifetime ago. Still, Angie did have her moments where she proved herself. That had been what made Angie special. She showed signs of redemption. His sister Jennifer—who Angie reminded him of—never had.

  Q showed his gold teeth. Not in a pleasant smile. His upturned mouth was slightly twisted, pure arrogance on display.

  If Rico looked at him any longer, he was going to have to wipe that smile off his face with a closed fist. He turned his gaze down to his Harley and cleared his throat. “I could use some ammunition.”

  The big man unfolded his arms. “There’s plenty enough to go around.” Q turned and walked toward the door leading into the store.

  Rico’s hands ached when he let go of the handlebar grips. He had been squeezing them tightly the whole time since he arrived and hadn’t noticed until now. His right leg came over the seat, and he stood on the hard concrete—waiting for Angie to make her move. She set her gaze to the floor and followed Q. Rico trailed behind her.

  The Asian man went to the back of the van and grabbed a few more items. He muttered something under his breath. Rico could only imagine he was aggravated that none of the others came to his aid. Rico had thought about helping but decided it was best if he and Angie stayed together for now.

  “So, is his name really Bruce Lee?” Angie asked.

  “He answers to it, so I guess it don’t really matter,” Q said, placing his arm around Angie again as they walked into the store and down a wide hall. Various rooms lined the hall to either side. They passed a set of bathrooms and entered the store through double swinging doors.

  Bruce Lee followed close behind rattling the goods in his arms with each step.

  The woman wearing the sundress barreled down an aisle and stepped past everyone without saying a single word. She had a set of keys in one hand and a two-way-radio in the other.

  “Let’s wait here for a moment,” Q said.

  Rico heard the radio squawk as she headed down the hallway. The rollup door in the back cranked down with a mechanical whine. When she returned, she spoke into the radio, “All clear.”

  “Roger that,” a faint voice crackled back.

  The interior of the store looked like it was ready to receive customers just as any other workday. The power was on and the shopping area comfortably lit. The intercom played light, airy hits from the past at low level through speakers scattered across the store. The walls were lined with various mounted trophies. Deer heads. Boar heads. Tiger heads. Bear heads. Even an alligator head with gaping jaws open lined the walls. Shelves that displayed clothing also sported various taxidermy animals. Bobcats in attack positions. Ducks in flight. Foxes.

  However, homages to slaughtered animals weren’t what had snatched Rico’s attention.

  He found himself truly smiling for the first time in a long time.

  The rows of locked case shelves at the back of the store were all loaded down with guns, guns, and more guns. And from the looks of it, Q had told the truth. There was plenty of ammunition to go around.

  Chapter 22

  By the time night arrived, Rico had settled down to a semblance of his old self. The feeling was odd considering the horde of eager corpses awaiting them right outside in the parking lot. Somehow, someway, he was able to let himself relax. Perhaps it was the mood brought on by the others in the group. Or maybe even overexertion finally had its toll on his body and mind. Chalking it up to a mixture of the two, the persistent pounding and moaning coming from the dead outside became a distant haze in the farthest reaches of his mind. Like the aftershock hum in the ears after a long night out at a loud concert—the noise was only noticeable when he focused on it.

  So, rather than focus on it and keep dangers fresh, Rico did himself a favor.

  He relaxed, tuned it out; there was nothing he could do about it anyway.

  The outdoor furniture area provided a variety of comfortable chairs and loungers, along with a couch or two. Drew had arranged some chairs in a circle so they could all look at one another while they ate. Tonight’s menu included vegetable soup and bread, chased down by water or soda. The soup had been warmed in a large pot on a camping stove. By Rico’s estimation, there were enough cans of fuel to last the group for several weeks. Hopefully enough until help arrived.

  The first thing that caught Rico’s eye when handed the bowl of soup was the green peas floating on top. He avoided them when he shoved the spoon in and brought it to his mouth. The warmth of the soup slid all the way down to his stomach—bringing with it a feeling of security. It was as if the soup was the best thing he had ever eaten in his life. Rico didn’t realize how hungry he truly was. Had one of the other survivors not told him to slow down, he would have slurped down all of his soup in a matter of seconds. He felt slightly embarrassed making a pig of himself and slowed down to savor the meal, which was a good move, because had he downed it too fast, it might not have stayed down.

  Rico felt comfortable around the new group of strangers despite the fact that he had only met them a few hours before. He guessed he understood why Quin had avoided telling him the number of people taking refuge inside the store. There were only seven of them in total before he and Angie joined. Had he known there were so few, he may have opted out of following Quin. The group was too few in number to realistically put up a fight with the ghouls waiting to eat them outside. If there was one thing in evidence here, it was that the chaos of luck and fate was no stranger to race.

  Quin told them why he preferred to be called ‘Q.’ He explained that his mother called his brother, Jake, ‘J.’ And his aunt Clare, ‘C.’ He had been called a single letter of the alphabet his entire life. Q boasted of being a big shot in the music industry. Rico wasn’t much into rap music, but he knew a few of the bigger names. And the likelihood that Q had laid down some sweet beats with Ice T, Triple Six, and Snoop was near zero. Regardless, Q swore he had connections in the music industry. Said he got to know all those guys by, in his words, “Slingin’ the green, you feel?”
Rico, along with several of the others who had probably already heard this a time or two before, rolled his eyes. Angie, on the other hand, was on the edge of her seat, elbows in her lap, fist against her chin. Eyes wide with excitement. She seemed smitten with this tall, handsome black man. In Rico’s opinion, he was just like most people trying to make it in the music business he had read about—full of shit.

  Then there was Bruce Lee. Although his driver’s license actually revealed him to be one Patrick R. Chang, just about everyone continued to call him Bruce Lee. He didn’t speak much that afternoon. Instead, he took it upon himself to wash up the pot and heat up the cans of soup. When it was ready, he spooned out an equal portion in each bowl. Once everyone was seated, he delivered drinks before sitting down to eat with the group. After that, he slowly ate while watching others. Despite his poor English, Rico got the impression Bruce Lee did get the gist of most conversations.

  Every time Rico thought about Bruce Lee’s real first name, he had to hold back a laugh. Apocalypse or not, an Asian named Patrick, but who only spoke broken English, seemed rather funny. Rico imagined Patrick trying to say, ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish,’ on St. Paddy’s Day.

  Rico wasn’t the only one who found the name amusing, because just after dinner, Drew Finley brought up the same observation.

  “Ever hear of someone from China named Patrick?” he said, laughing aloud, slapping Rico playfully on the back. Not caring if Patrick or anyone else heard him.

  Nevertheless, that’s the kind of person Drew Finley was. Like his wife, Sarah Finley, he was a little on the overbearing side. Obnoxious was a good way to describe the couple, but of course, Rico would never say that to either of their faces. Not in a million years. They might talk his ear right off the side of his head if he let something like that slip. Any time a welcomed moment of silence presented itself, Drew refuse to let silence exist. While another person took a turn to say their piece, Drew acted as if he didn’t listen and spent the time planning what he was going to say next. In fact, that was what Drew did now. While everyone else was trying to eat while their food was still warm, Drew’s mouth ran ninety to nothing. He obviously thought talking was more important than eating. Or maybe it was that he just preferred hearing his voice over eating.